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thegeniusofplaytimeco · 4 days ago

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Chapter 14: In a Silent Way

It continues: In the depths of the Playtime Co. factory, you recently faced Huggy Wuggy. You tricked him and sent him straight to death.

You meet Poppy and later even Mommy Long Legs - but are they really a challenge for the genius?

You are also beginning to change, even if it is barely noticeable. It seems as if your journey to redemption is beginning.

---

Here I am again!

Yes, it took a little longer, at least I think so.

Christmas was great, and I celebrated New Year too (not like the people who shoot a thousand rockets into the streets, but that doesn't matter). Anyway, I'm back now.

For those who haven't understood it yet: Now the story really gets going! Pure character development for our reader, but also for the other characters as they also change in the factory.

I don't want to give too much away just yet, so I hope you enjoy reading it!

wc: 8.6k

---

"♫ -On the hiiiiighway to hell-♫ "

Can't she finally shut up?

The group is still here, between the many metal catwalks that lead to the Poppy Room. Cold metal creaks under your footsteps, the darkness interrupted only by flickering light.

The break earlier was short, the critters had eaten something, but the tension remains. Your mind is running at full speed, as always. You analyze everything - the position of the critters, possible injuries, any weakness that could be dangerous now. Your thoughts jump ahead: scenarios of what could await you behind the door with the spray-painted flower.

But she walks next to you.

Olivia.

The woman you've only just met. Her posture, her movements, everything about her seems... different. Too relaxed, too carefree. She doesn't seem to feel the tension, or she's deliberately ignoring it.

"♫ -Hiiighway to hell-♫ "

You breathe out calmly, but the sound of her humming still stings your head.

"♫ -On the highwaaay to-♫ "

You turn your head slightly towards her, but say nothing. Words would be unnecessary, a waste of time. Besides, she's not worth it anyway, as stupid as she is.

She notices your look, stops humming and grins as if she's caught you doing something. "What, you don't like AC/DC?"

You don't answer. Your gaze returns to the door.

She's so damn annoying, why is she even running with us? If she hadn't found us, she'd probably be down there in a pile of corpses right now.

Behind you, the critters whisper softly. Kickin looks nervous, his movements restless. Hoppy, on the other hand, is determined as ever - her gaze fixed on the door. You memorize these details without letting it interfere with your focus.

"All right, boss." Olivia shrugs and laughs softly, but you notice the slight scorn in her voice. "I'll let you have your moment."

This takes you a few steps further. Your thoughts, always analytical, always rational, drift for a moment in a less rational direction.

In my gun, in the second compartment at the top, there should still be the pistol.

Your gaze glides unobtrusively over to her. Olivia walks beside you, her steps springy, as if she's running across a playground rather than through the cold, ominous hallways of Playtime Co. Her silly blonde hair, her goofy outfit not in the least bit appropriate for this environment.

After every fourth step, she takes a little jump. Like a child. A childish, careless behavior that irritates you almost more than the sounds of the old metal corridors below you.

Then there's that ridiculous smile. Broad, carefree, as if you had narrowly escaped a deadly situation twenty minutes ago.

Should I kill her?

The thought comes quietly, coldly, like an algorithm that checks whether a variable should be removed to increase efficiency. Without the critters noticing, it could work. It would save food. Energy. Problems.

But just as quickly as the thought came to you, you pick it apart in your head.

If they found out - and it wouldn't be particularly hard to find out - it would traumatize the group. It would take them time to process it, and time is the last thing we have.

Another hum enters your thoughts.

"♫ -And I'm goin' down, All the way-♫ "

You feel your train of thought sharpening, almost becoming more critical.

It just gives me reasons to question everything even more closely, doesn't it?

You ignore it, like so many things. But in a tiny corner of your mind, its energy lingers. Not because she's important in any way - but because she's... different. Different from anyone you've ever met before.

She should use her energy to think. Maybe then she wouldn't be so mentally absent all the time.

Your gaze turns forward, to the door with the huge flower above it. Each step brings you closer, and your mind returns to what waits beyond that door. Every variable, every possibility is weighed up.

Behind you, the critters are still whispering quietly to each other, but their voices are like background noise that barely catches your attention.

And Olivia? She continues to hum. Quieter and quieter, but just loud enough for you to hear.

"You know, I once had someone in my class who was a bit like you," she says suddenly.

You don't react. You don't look at her. Your steps remain steady and your gaze remains fixed on the door with the spray-painted flower. But you can feel it - the critter's eyes resting on both of you. Their stare is palpable, as if they could thicken the air between you.

"He was the only one who read through the instructions for his calculator," she continues, in a voice that almost sounds like she's telling a secret. "Always liked politics, too. You know, that boring shit."

Do I really have to listen to this stupid shit all the time now?

You exhale quietly, more out of reflex than frustration, and calculate in your head how much energy you could save if she would just stop talking. No humming, no slogans, no stories. The thought lingers in the back of your mind as you analyze every aspect of the surroundings.

Olivia notices your lack of reaction - of course she does - but she remains unfazed. "Well, anyway. The guy was totally boring, but he explained math to all of us when we got stuck. I mean, he really felt like a genius."

You feel a slight twitch at the corner of your mouth, which you immediately suppress. What is she trying to achieve?

"The funny thing was," she continues, "he was really smart. But he had zero idea how to deal with people. Just like you."

The words hang in the air. The critters fall silent behind you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to look at her out of the corner of your eye.

She smiles at you - wide, unwavering, without a trace of fear or restraint. That stupid, stupid grin that slowly burns itself into your mind.

Maybe I should kill her after all.

"But hey!" she suddenly says, almost shouts it, and turns her whole body towards you. Her grin only widens. "It's not your fault. I mean, I've felt like an outsider my whole life too."

It shows, idiot.

You get closer and closer to the door with the flower. The metal catwalks no longer divide, the path is now straight ahead - a direct corridor to your destination.

Olivia takes a step back. You notice it in the corner of your eye, hear it in her light footsteps on the metal and smell the coffee she obviously drank earlier. The smell fades the more distance she keeps.

"You're all so cute!" she suddenly shouts. With a single, exaggerated step, she wraps her arms around DogDay and hugs him tightly while stroking his fur.

The other critters stop abruptly, their gazes alternating between Olivia and you.

She does know that underneath the fur and plastic layer are the innards of a child, doesn't she? How stupid and crazy is she?

"Hey, Y/N."

Bubba is suddenly standing next to you. Of course you notice him - you always notice everything. You had already noticed his presence minutes before, but now he speaks to you directly.

His gaze is questioning, curious, a hint of uncertainty in his posture. He uses this brief interval while you're all just waiting for Olivia to tell you something.

"What do you think of her? Can we trust her?"

You answer without hesitation. "She's stupid, childish and completely incompetent."

Bubba seems slightly surprised, but you continue.

"She doesn't know when to shut up, speaks without thinking and does things without thinking them through."

Bubba remains silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on you as if he is trying to read more into your words than you are revealing.

"But she hasn't let us down yet," he finally says quietly.

You say nothing. Your eyes fix on the flower on the door as you take the last few steps towards it.

When you reach the door, you and Bubba turn around. The sight is, as you would expect, irritating.

Olivia does what she does best: doing idiotic shit.

She hugs the critters one by one, her movements exaggerated, her voice an octave too high as she makes silly noises and talks to them as if they were pets.

"Uhhh! Who's a good puppy?!" she exclaims as she pats DogDay's head exaggeratedly.

"You're so fluffy!" she adds as she strokes Hoppy's ears.

"CatNap, you smell so mysterious!" she says as she almost forces the visibly annoyed Critter into a hug.

"You're so cute, Crafty!" Olivia grins from ear to ear, while Crafty paces nervously, unsure how to react.

The critters look different - some confused, others annoyed, some even seem to enjoy the unexpected chaos.

"How much time do you expect we have left?" Bubba finally asks, his voice low as if he doesn't want to disturb the scene in front of you.

You answer without taking your eyes off Olivia as she continues with her idiotic comments. "I don't expect. I know."

Bubba looks at you blankly, waiting for more.

"We have to hurry," you continue. "At the current pace, we're just under an hour behind schedule."

Bubba nods slowly, taking your hint seriously, although his eyes keep wandering to Olivia and the critters. "And what do we do with... her?" he finally asks, his voice even softer.

You don't answer. Instead, you let your eyes wander briefly to Olivia, who is trying to give Kickin a high-five as he flicks his wings at her hand.

It wastes energy, time and sanity. But in this moment - this irritating, chaotic moment - she does what you can't do: She makes the group smile.

You watch them, their silly movements, the critters' laughter, Bubba's soft giggles. And for a moment - just a fraction of a second - you think back.

Of course, you saved their lives by getting them out of the factory. But you gave them the life they now lead - dirty, locked up, disturbing - in the first place.

Even at home, when you ordered pizza and they were all sitting around the table, or when you explained the plan for this whole "mission" to them. You can't remember smiling. And if you can't remember it, that means it didn't happen.

For a brief moment - less than a second - you feel a strange sensation in your stomach. Not pain, not hunger, but something else. An unpleasant tug that you can't immediately place.

Your eyes remain fixed on Olivia, still clinging to the critter. DogDay looks confused, but he lets her be. Crafty is visibly nervous, while Hoppy eyes her with her arms crossed, almost as if to reprimand Olivia.

"A heart full of sentimentality is dangerous, you know that Y/N."

There it was again. Elliot Ludwig's voice, which you haven't heard for weeks, and yet it sounds as clear in your head as if he were standing right behind you.

It reminds you of something that you should already know.

Feelings are a weakness. They make you careless and interfere with clear decisions. You know that. You've always known it.

Olivia laughs loudly, a shrill, incongruous sound in the silence of the metallic catwalks. DogDay wags his tail slightly, a reflex he can't control, and Bubba, who is always so serious and analytical, seems... less tense.

Your eyes return to the door. This is your destination. You are the only one who can make sure you reach it.

But still - this second, this feeling, remains.

Without further hesitation, you turn around and open the brown wooden door. The sound is heavy and drawn out, almost like a sigh, and a long corridor awaits you behind it.

Yellow wallpaper adorns the walls, the color is faded and uneven. Simple lamps hang every few meters, their light is weak and casts shadows on the walls.

You don't wait for the others. Without a word, you enter and walk on alone. Your footsteps echo on the wood beneath you as you feel Bubba following a few meters behind you.

The stairs in front of you lead downwards, creaking under your weight. You go lower, following the long corridor, and meanwhile your mind drifts off into thoughts.

From -0 to 0.

What was I thinking?

The critters hate me. That is clear. Their looks, their attitude, even the way they sometimes fall silent around me - it's all obvious. Hoppy especially. Just the way she looks when she even hears my name... that look of disgust and distance.

I will never be on an even keel with her.

The realization burns quietly, coldly. But it is not new.

You reach the next room. It's simple, almost cozy: wooden furniture is spread out in a mess, blue cushions lie on the floor as if they had been carelessly left there. But your gaze scans more.

A movement of your neck, a quick turn, and you see it: a cupboard, large and massive, concealing a secret door. It's locked, inaccessible, but that's no obstacle for you.

Your eyes wander back. From a distance, you see Olivia and the critters slowly following you. Olivia is still clinging to DogDay, her arms wrapped tightly around him as she laughs out loud.

You shake your head slightly, barely noticeably.

Why is she like this? Why can't she just... be different?

But deep down, you know that their normality is different. And that their otherness keeps the group alive.

You turn your gaze away and move on, your focus back on the hidden door and the possibilities it holds.

We are about to encounter an experiment.

This is the Poppy Room - the place where the little doll was once locked up in a glass cabinet.

You remember how Elliot used to talk about her with an enthusiasm that irritated you even then. "Poppy's something special," he'd said. "All the kids covet her. She's perfect."

But behind these words you have only seen the numbers. Poppy was one of the first successful experiments ever created. Nobody had done it before her. It was a milestone - and a bestseller at the same time. The production figures and revenue were astronomical, a testament to what was possible.

But you never liked Poppy.

She was arrogant, always acting as if she wanted to help the other experiments, especially the new ones. But you saw through what she really wanted: Information. She wasn't interested in the experiments themselves - only in the things they knew about the company.

She's manipulative, dishonest. But I know she'll be against the Prototype if there's an uprising.

That is her pattern. She's always looking for ways to protect herself, even when she's pretending to help others. And then there's Kissy Missy - one of the few who could remember Playcare. Poppy has always taken advantage of her, using her memories and loyalty for her own ends.

You're already calculating what that could mean. If the Prototype really has control of the factory, Poppy will turn on him. But how much can you count on that? How long can you calculate her loyalty before it breaks?

Your footsteps continue to echo through the room, the cupboard with the hidden door remains in your field of vision. In the background, you hear the light footsteps of the critters and Olivia's still exaggerated voice as she talks to DogDay.

Kissy Missy, Poppy will stop us or help us. But only as long as it suits them.

You stop for a moment, your gaze fixed on the old wooden door. Your hand rises slowly and glides over the worn wood. It feels cold, rough, almost like an echo of past decisions.

You take the last step. Bubba stands beside you, his tall, blue figure restless but silent. Together you open the door, and immediately your thought is proven.

I knew it.

The room behind it is small, quiet and full of dust, but at its center is a cabinet. Solid wood with a glass door that reveals the contents: Poppy.

The little doll sits motionless behind the glass, her eyes lifeless, and yet she seems to be staring at you. Her hair, perfectly coiffed, the blue skirt and the red shoes - everything is as immaculate as it ever was. She looks exactly as she did when she was at the peak of sales.

She is here. Of course she's here. She has stood up to the prototype's rebellion.

"Is that..." Bubba's voice breaks the silence, his words hesitant, almost reverent. "Another experiment?"

You turn your head slightly towards him before your gaze slides back to the doll. "Yes."

The word comes short, concise, like a mechanical answer. For you, Poppy is not a riddle. She is a relic, a reminder of the beginning of these experiments - and of the mistakes that were made.

"She's... small," Bubba mumbles, his brow furrowed as he looks at the doll.

"Watch out," you say without opening the glass door. Your voice is cool, emotionless. "She has her own agenda."

Bubba swallows audibly, his eyes shifting from you back to Poppy. "Why is she locked up?"

"Because otherwise she wouldn't be here." Your answer is as precise as the calculation running in your head. If Poppy is here, the Prototype has deemed her a threat. So she's not on his side. At least not yet.

The footsteps of the critters and Olivia come closer, their voices softer as they enter the room. DogDay is the first to stand next to Bubba, and Olivia pushes through right behind them, her eyes fixed curiously on the glass door.

"Oh wow, she's so cute!" says Olivia, leaning forward slightly as if she wants to take a closer look at the doll. "Can I touch it? With Big Y/N's permission, of course."

Cute. Of course she is. She needs to shut the fuck up before we get into trouble because of her.

You're quicker, of course. Without a movement on your face, you put down your bag, adjust your GrabPack and move in such a way that nobody can see what you're doing. Your movements are precise, mechanical.

You pull the small pistol out of your rucksack, your eyes still fixed on the cupboard. You stow the gun inconspicuously in your right coat pocket.

If she tries to play any games with us, I'll shoot her on sight.

You exhale calmly, your calculations continue to run incessantly. Risks, scenarios, how long it will take to draw the weapon - everything is weighed up.

But when you turn around, something happens that you hadn't anticipated.

Olivia.

She is standing there. Right in front of the wardrobe. Her eyes are sparkling, and there's that stupid grin on her face that always throws you for a loop. But it's not just that. Next to her - open, wide, and empty - is the cupboard.

Of course she did. Of course she opened it.

Before you can react, the light flickers. A brief, bright flash, followed by complete darkness.

A few of the critters make quiet, restless noises, but no one screams. The darkness is thick, almost tangible, and then you feel it: Olivia is clinging to your arm.

Apparently out of safety.

Your instinct screams at you to push her away, to put your hand in your coat pocket, to draw your gun, to do something to regain control. But then you hear it.

One voice.

"You opened my case."

The words are quiet, high-pitched, almost childlike - and yet they echo in the silence as if they were coming from everywhere.

You freeze, every muscle tensed, while the meaning of the words settles in your head.

This is Poppy. She is now free.

The light flickers once, twice - and comes on again. Your eyes immediately turn to the cupboard. Empty. Of course it's empty.

Slowly you move your head back, your mind working like a machine, but this time without clear answers. Olivia is standing in front of you. She's looking straight at you. You're the same height, so eye contact is unavoidable.

Her hands are still clutching at your chest, the nervous grin on her face showing no trace of fear, but... something else. Her cheeks are flushed, and for a moment you wonder if it was the darkness that upset her, or if she really is that... idiotic.

Red spots. Really? She's even more childish than I thought.

A quick glance out of the corner of your eye shows you the critters' reactions. Their faces tell different stories: Some look confused, others still slightly shocked by the sudden darkness.

But then there's Bobby.

She stands there, both hands in front of her face, her eyes wide open, and a huge grin taking up almost her entire face. She looks at you - you and Olivia - as if she were a teenage girl watching the most exciting scene of a romance.

What the hell is she thinking?

Your eyes return to Olivia, whose grip is slow to loosen, her hands sliding away from your chest, but the smirk remains. She doesn't say anything, and that annoys you almost more than anything else.

Behind you, DogDay can be heard growling softly, probably still nervous about the darkness, and Hoppy steps closer to the cupboard, her eyes searching.

Poppy is free. That's the problem now.

You exhale, deeply and quietly, and refocus on the situation. No time for unnecessary emotions or silly dynamics.

"Y/N?" Bubba's voice is quiet, but you can hear the uncertainty in it. His eyes wander restlessly back and forth between you and Olivia before they finally fix on the empty cupboard. "What do we do now?"

You turn your head just slightly, your eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"Isn't it obvious, you idiot," you say coldly, without a trace of patience in your voice.

A few of the critters make startled noises, a collective gasp that only heightens the tension in the room. Even Olivia, who just a moment ago had a nervous grin on her face, suddenly looks shocked. Her expression changes - the red blotches on her cheeks fade and she looks at you as if she expected you to say something else.

You ignore them all.

"We're following the plan."

With that, you turn away and leave the room without paying attention to the others. You don't hear their footsteps, only the glances you feel as they look after you.

Every second you move further away from them, every step takes you deeper underground.

You open the door that was hidden behind the cupboard and enter the next Hallways.

The air is colder down here, denser, and the light is weaker, flickering occasionally. The hallways stretch into the darkness, uneven metal and old cables run along the walls as if they were holding the corridors together.

Alone, only your own footsteps echo through the silence. Your thoughts remain calm, focused. Poppy is free. It's a risk, but a calculable one.

You know the others will follow at some point. Probably Olivia first, with her annoying enthusiasm, and then DogDay, always trying to keep the group together. But now? You don't need any distractions now.

There you are.

A place where your last memory really doesn't make you feel good: Elliot Ludwig's office.

The room in front of you is silent, as if frozen in time. The heavy wooden furniture, the imposing shelves full of files, and the huge desk with the chair behind it - everything is so familiar and yet so empty.

You are still standing here alone. You know that the others are right behind you, their footsteps barely audible on the metallic hallways. They will be with you in less than ten seconds, but you don't care.

"It's about the family."

The words echo in your head as clearly as if you had just said them. You remember perfectly how you once sat here, opposite him, at this desk. You had wanted to explain the situation with the death of your mother.

Elliot was one of the few people who ever listened to you without fear of your success or failure. But when you dared to say that you wanted to take time off to grieve, he had answered you without hesitation:

"Quite simply, Y/N, there's something more important than a death in your family at the moment. "

You should have hit him. Right in the face. So hard that his nose would break and his head would bob backwards. You should have dropped him until his blood ran down his throat and reminded him of what he had said. A moment he would never forget.

But you hadn't done it. Instead, you had remained silent, staring at him while your mind analyzed and weighed up the situation as usual.

Your hand reaches for your pocket, back in the present. You, the Scientific Director, had a key for every room in this building. Even for the head honcho's office.

If not you, who else?

As you think back, you reach for your bag. As Head of Science, you had a key for every room in this building - including the head honcho's office, of course.

If not you, who else?

Your fingers glide over the bunch of keys, the metal jingles softly. You find the right key, slide it into the lock and turn it with a gentle click.

Even before you open the door, you hear footsteps behind you. Olivia and the Smiling Critters have arrived. Their movements are cautious, their voices muffled - but that doesn't stop Olivia for long.

"Hey, Y/N," she says, her voice carrying a mixture of nervousness and defiance. "Why did you call Bubba an idiot earlier?"

You pause, your hand on the door. Your gaze does not wander to her, but remains focused on the office. The question hangs in the air until she continues.

"I mean, he was just trying to help. And anyway - the Smiling Critters are trying their best, you know? They're not perfect, but who is? You can't treat them like that all the time."

Behind you, you hear the critters whispering softly, their voices restless. Olivia takes a step forward, her words becoming more urgent.

"Honestly, sometimes I don't think you get it. They're not machines. They're people - or at least they used to be. And you don't always have to be such a cold unsentimental- "

That was too much.

You turn around, and for the first time the group sees something they've never seen before: you, angry. Not really overflowing with anger, but the facial expressions were different.

"The Smiling Critters," you say, your voice cutting and unexpectedly loud, "are children's corpses ported over in fabric covers. Don't you get it, you fucking idiot?"

The words echo through the hallway and everything is silent for a moment. Olivia stares at you, her face frozen, her eyes widening. Behind her, the Critters move closer together, DogDay lowers his gaze, and Kickin almost hides behind Hoppy. Hoppy looks angry, very angry at you.

You take a deep breath, the anger still burning inside you, but you don't let it out any further. Olivia opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

She notices that something is different. Maybe not just in what you've said, but in yourself - a crack in the cold, analytical façade you always present.

You turn back to the door without another word and push it open.

The office of Elliot Ludwig.

You enter, the others stay behind you, unsure whether they should follow you. The door slowly closes behind you, leaving you alone.

You look around. The room is unchanged. The heavy desk, the bookshelves, the strange silence that always reminds you of that conversation.

"Quite simply, Y/N, there's something more important than a death in your family at the moment."

You kept quiet back then. Today, you might have acted differently.

Outside, you hear Olivia and the Critters whispering softly. They embody something you weren't allowed to have back then - family, connection, something human. But you know you can't stop doing what's necessary.

You force your mind to stop thinking about such nonsense and turn your attention back to what's important.

Ludwig's office looks the same as always. The heavy, brown wooden desk dominates the room, surrounded by the same old bookcases and decorations that you have always despised. However, one detail immediately catches your eye: there is a tape on the table, neatly placed in the middle, almost as if it had been left for you.

Your eyes linger on it for a moment, but your gaze quickly moves on. Directly above you, on the wall, hangs the opening of a vent. The angle points downwards, just enough for you to reach it with your GrabPack.

You don't wait a moment. Your movements are precise and efficient. Your arm shoots forward and the GrabPack's gripper grabs the grille. With a quick jerk, you pull it down.

The sound is muffled, but in the silence it echoes loud enough for you to hear faint footsteps behind you - the rest of the group.

You turn around.

There they are. Olivia, as always, has that goofy look on her face, her grin inappropriate and incomprehensible. The others show a mixture of reactions:

DogDay seems neutral, but his eyes are watchful, always intent on keeping an eye on the group. Hoppy's eyes narrow slightly, a trace of suspicion on her face, as always when she looks at you. Kickin is nervous, almost frantic, his feet fidgeting restlessly on the ground.

Crafty looks exhausted, her shoulders slumped, but she's trying not to attract attention. Bobby holds back a little, her hands nervously in front of her face, but her eyes follow your every move. Picky seems distracted, her eyes wandering aimlessly around the room as if she doesn't quite understand the tension.

CatNap is rather unconcerned, but his ears twitch slightly, a sign of his watchful attention.

And all because I called Bubba an idiot.

Olivia. You're sure she's the reason the group didn't panic. She probably calmed them down with her silly, pointless ways. And of course it worked - they're just as stupid as she is.

"Hurry up," you say coldly, your voice emotionless.

You turn around again without waiting for their reactions and enter the vent.

The path through the narrow shafts is not particularly long. Your mind calculates the distance almost automatically: just under 20 meters. You know exactly that it will lead you straight to the Maintenance Closet.

As you exit the vent, you jump lightly to the floor and straighten up. Your eyes immediately scan the room without losing a moment.

The Maintenance Closet is exactly what you expected: an abandoned room surrounded by bare concrete walls. The room exudes neglect - the dust in the air, the corners full of cobwebs, and the sparse lighting that casts everything in a dull, yellowish light.

The floor is covered with scattered objects. Cardboard boxes are piled up against the walls, some still intact, others dented or half-opened. Sheets and papers are scattered carelessly, some crumpled up, others half hidden under furniture.

A heavy shelf stands against the opposite wall, overloaded with tools, spare parts and boxes that seem to have been untouched for so long that they have almost melted into the shelf. A desk in the corner is littered with old tools and a yellowed file.

You look around, your thoughts sort through your surroundings, analyzing everything that could be useful.

You continue to look around the room, your thoughts organized as always, analyzing every detail of your surroundings, calculating every possibility.

Poppy.

She must have gotten through here. The light failure was no coincidence, and her movements - even with her limited speed - fit the scenario perfectly. From her room, she would either have had to go through the ventilation or the corridors. The ventilation is more likely, she is smaller and more agile, and the ventilation offers protection from direct pursuit.

Your mind draws the blueprints of the factory in front of your inner eye. You see the routes, the possible paths.

If she came through the ventilation, then she would have had to go through this room. The Empty Closet is a strategic connection. And at a speed of no more than 3 mph...

Your mind calculates the distance it could have traveled during this time.

Thirty meters.

Poppy is at most thirty meters away from you. Probably moving, but not fast. She knows what she's doing. Her destination is clear: the Game Station. There is no other logical point that is so close and at the same time offers so many options for hiding or maneuvering.

Your eyes linger on the box in the corner that caught your eye earlier. It stands there too neatly, too deliberately placed in this chaotic room. But before you step closer, you hear the group reach the vent.

Their voices echo softly in the room, Olivia, as always, the loudest.

"This place is full of stuff! Do you think there's anything important here?"

You exhale, short and controlled, while your gaze wanders around the room.

"I don't know, but it's definitely really creepy here," DogDay mumbles.

"It's bad air down here," Hoppy adds, wrinkling her nose slightly.

"Why is it so cold all of a sudden?" Kickin asks nervously, his wings twitching slightly.

You stand still, the movement of your eyes precise and calm, while you register every little thing in the room. But then something moves next to you.

Olivia.

Of course it's her. She stands right next to you, that stupid, wide grin on her face, like she doesn't have a clue what kind of danger you're in. She stares at you, her eyes almost sparkling with some strange energy.

How could someone like that have worked here?

"Oh! Uh, sorry!" she suddenly shouts as something rattles above you.

Your head snaps up, as does hers. A box falls from the ventilation system, crashes to the floor and stirs up dust. Behind it - hidden in the dark opening - you see her.

Poppy.

The little doll stands up there, her big glass eyes fixed on the group. Her voice rings out, high and childlike, but with a strange calm that doesn't match her size.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I was just trying..."

Her gaze glides through the group. First to the Smiling Critters, whose reactions are mixed - DogDay looks familiar, Hoppy watches them attentively, while Kickin nervously takes a step back. Crafty and Bobby stand rigid, almost frozen.

Then her gaze lingers on Olivia, who stares at her with wide eyes and her typical goofy expression. But finally her eyes land on you.

She freezes.

A look of confusion flits across her small face. For a moment, she doesn't seem to know what to say.

And of course, at this very moment, it is Olivia who speaks.

"Ohhh! How cute you are!" She exclaims, her voice exaggeratedly delighted. "How could you have been locked up?"

Poppy says nothing, her big glass eyes keep switching back and forth between you and Olivia. The tension in the room increases noticeably as everyone waits to see what she will say next.

"Ahem. Um, I wanted to thank all of you for freeing me," Poppy finally says, her voice high and unsteady, almost as if she's choosing her words carefully. "I was stuck in there for so long! Thank you. I'd like to pay you back!"

As she speaks, you notice how she deliberately looks at everyone else - except you.

But you know exactly what she wants. Your calculations have long since been completed. Without hesitation, you take a step forward.

Your GrabPack flicks out, a well-aimed shot over her head, before you run straight to the switch. Your other hand shoots the power lever, and with a loud clack, the power is activated.

Poppy moves immediately. She goes to the vent next to her, climbs in and disappears into it. Her voice sounds through the wall, clear and calm.

"There is a train station nearby. It needs a code, and I have it. We're gonna get out of here."

The words echo in the empty room. A moment later she appears again, this time in an opening next to the large vent that leads back into Elliot Ludwig's office.

"As soon as you guys... get on up here! Hmph!"

"Do we really have to go back now?" asks Kickin, his voice full of displeasure.

"Don't be like that," Hoppy replies, her eyes rolling slightly. "We can easily get up to the vent with a robber's ladder."

Without waiting for an answer, the two get down to business. Kickin bends slightly, her hands firmly on the ground, while Hoppy stands on her shoulders. With some effort, she climbs into the vent and begins to pull the other critters up one by one.

Meanwhile, you are still standing downstairs, your gaze fixed on Poppy. Her eyes stare at you unblinkingly, and this time it's not uncertainty but nervousness that's on her face.

Next to you, Olivia breaks the silence. " 'You two know each other?" she asks, her tone curious, almost playful.

You don't answer. Instead, you lift your GrabPack, aim at the holder above the vent and pull yourself upwards in one swift movement.

But the moment you move upwards, Olivia suddenly clings to your arm. Her fingers grip tightly, and without warning she pulls herself up on you as you both enter the vent together.

"Thanks for the cab, boss!" says Olivia with a grin, her voice echoing loud and clear in the confines of the vent.

I should have killed her.

The thought comes and goes, quickly and emotionlessly, as you continue to progress. The vent leads you back to Elliot's office, then on through the upper levels of the factory. The path is no less dangerous than before, and the obstacles pile up.

A hallway whose floor has collapsed brings you to the next problem. The abyss below is deep and dark, and you know without hesitation that a fall here will be fatal.

Olivia, of course, immediately has an idea.

"You could always take someone with you in your GrabPack!" she says with the same carefree energy that always irritates you.

You just think about how incredibly stupid she is. Who returns to that factory without taking their own employee GrabPack with them?

"It's at home," she had said, completely unimpressed.

"That's a good place to be," you replied, your voice as cold as ever.

Of course you won't accept a suggestion from her. You're not mentally retarded. Instead, you choose the longer but safer route for you, Bubba, Crafty and Bobby. They all have a fear of heights, and you see the risk that the pace wouldn't fit due to suboptimal weights.

Olivia, now with your GrabPack, and DogDay persuade CatNap to cling to Olivia as they take the dangerous path. The situation is ridiculous, but they make it.

When you finally arrive, you have a clear view of Poppy.

A room full of locked gates.

Poppy is standing by a large hole in the floor, her posture calm, and she is quietly humming a tune that echoes through the room. But as you approach, she falls silent and slowly turns to face you.

"Listen. I'm going to need you to trust me-"

Her words are abruptly interrupted.

A pink arm shoots out of the hole and grabs Poppy with terrifying speed. Her screams echo through the room as she is dragged into the darkness.

That was Mommy Long Legs, for sure.

None of you stand still. No one but you.

Almost as if on command, the others jump in after them, without time for doubt or discussion.

Are they really that stupid?

Your mind races as you stare fixedly at the hole. You know the danger that lurks down there. Experiment 1222 - a creature of destruction, manipulative and deadly. In one confrontation, it will tear them all apart.

For a moment, you feel something. No frustration, no anger - it's different, strange.

You know what will happen when they meet her down there. They will die. All of them.

An image forms in your mind, unintentional and yet present. The Smiling Critters - creatures that only exist because you made them what they are. They are in this position because you brought them here.

Olivia.

She's here because you kept quiet back then. You didn't tell anyone that the prototype was planning an uprising. Not a single employee. You had thought it irrelevant - unnecessary to waste time.

Even Poppy.

A doll, an experiment. Just like everyone else, trapped in this system that you have helped to build for so long.

Your hand clenches into a fist for a moment, then you let it go again. You jump after it without any further hesitation.

The fall quickly turns into a long, sliding descent. The walls around you fly by, an irregular tunnel of cold metal. The breeze rushes past you, cutting and cold, and for a moment the world seems to stand still.

No sound except the echo of your breaths and the speed of the fall.

Now you are standing here.

"Did you have to take a quick piss up there?" Olivia asks, and you just ignore it.

Directly in front of the locked metal gate of the Game Station.

The surroundings are silent, apart from the quiet hum of the machines coming from somewhere. The massive gate looms in front of you, a monument to isolation that blocks access to the next phase of the factory.

You look around, quickly analyzing the situation and the group. Olivia still has that unnerving grin, as if she thinks this is all an adventure, while DogDay positions himself at her side, alert and focused.

Hoppy and Kickin stand together, both looking tense but ready. Bubba, Crafty, Bobby and CatNap move closer, their eyes wandering between you and the gate, obviously waiting for you to make a move.

"Wait here," you say curtly, without looking at her.

Your steps take you to the left, towards the Power Room. As you move, your eyes briefly meet Olivia's, who is standing there with her typical goofy expression.

"Come with me," you say, your voice as neutral as ever.

Olivia reacts immediately, a wide grin spreading across her face as she leans forward slightly and places a finger on her lower lip. "Uhhh, is something not teen friendly coming up? Or why are we moving away from the critters?"

Her voice carries this exaggeratedly teasing tone, and her eyes sparkle with feigned mischief.

How can an adult human being be so mentally retarded?

You say nothing, just turn away and keep walking as she follows you with quick steps. Her presence behind you is almost palpable, so much so that you have to force yourself to ignore her and focus on the power room.

You enter the Power Room, a small, compact space that seems to hang in the air. The walls are made of raw cement, cracked and cold. Cables hang loosely from the ceiling, some of them wobble slightly when you close the door behind you.

To complete this puzzle.

Your mind works immediately.

You must connect one of their GrabPack hands to the power source on the Left side, so the wall will not break off the wire. Then, they must go to the right side without having the wire hit the left power beam.

Once at the right power beam, they wrap the wire around the beam, then walk to the right beam and do the same. Finally, they go back to the right and shoot their other hand to the inactive power source.

A simple process. Clearly structured. Precise.

"So, boss, what do I have to do?" Olivia's voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You sigh softly and point to the left side of the room. "Connect the GrabPack to the energy source on the left. Then go over to the right side without the wire touching the left beam."

She nods eagerly. "Okay, sounds simple enough."

"Then wrap the wire around the right-hand beam. Move on to the next station, do the same, and finally connect the other hand to the inactive energy source."

"All right, boss! This will be a piece of cake." She raises her GrabPack and aims at the energy source.

Your eyes follow her every move. It takes exactly five seconds for her to pull the wire the wrong way, and you hear a loud BZZT as the energy connection is broken.

"Oops."

Of course.

"Wrong," you say curtly. "Once again. Listen and do exactly what I say."

She tries again, slowly this time, and actually manages to attach the wire to the left power source without anything going wrong.

"Now go to the right side without the wire touching the left beam."

"Dude, I can't fly, you know?" She grins at you, lifting one leg in the air as if she's dancing. "Or do you want me to float elegantly, like an angel?"

You ignore her. "Go. Slowly."

She takes a few uncertain steps to the right, lifts the wire almost too high and almost lets it touch the beam. You take a deep breath, but say nothing.

"Wow, Dude, you're staring so intensely. Am I impressive?"

"No."

"Ouch." She laughs and wraps the wire around the right beam.

The rest of the process is no better. She manages to undo the wire three times, bumps into the walls and at one point even mutters, "Maybe I'd be better if you cheered me on. Like, 'Go, Olivia, you're the best!"

"I don't waste time with things like that."

She rolls her eyes, but continues to grin. "You really are the perfect motivational coach, genius."

Five minutes pass, during which your patience reaches the limits of its endurance. But in the end, it finally succeeds. The energy connection is activated and the puzzle is complete.

"I did it!" she exclaims triumphantly. "Well, well, Y/N, I'm a natural after all."

You just look at her, your face remains expressionless as always. Five minutes. For a puzzle that should have taken ten seconds.

Without another word, you make your way back to the others. Olivia walks beside you, and meanwhile she mutters once: "You must have been staring at me while I was bent over the beam."

You give her a quick glance. She's wearing a grin that reminds you of a cat, smug and playful. Without reacting, you delete the comment from your mind.

You walk on, down a long corridor that leads to another locked gate. But something is different.

The ceiling.

It is unusually high and so dark that you cannot see through it. Your eyes linger on it for a moment while your mind calculates the possibilities.

Mommy Long Legs.

The thought is unavoidable. Here, in this height and darkness, she could attack you without you seeing her first. Her ability to stretch out and disappear into the darkness makes this corridor her perfect hunting ground.

Olivia doesn't notice anything. She shoots the scanner on the door in front of you with the red hand of her GrabPack to unlock it.

But before the hand touches the scanner, it happens.

A pink arm shoots out of the darkness above you, grabs your hand and pulls it upwards.

Mommy Long Legs: "gasp New playmates! And even the Smiling Critters!"

Her arm pulls up and the cable between the GrabPack and her hand snaps with a loud bang. Mommy Long Legs - the culprit - glides down from the darkness. Her long limbs seem unnatural and grotesque, and she moves with an elegance that seems uncanny.

"It's been so long..."

Her right hand lowers, and in her grip she holds Poppy hostage. Webbing covers Poppy's mouth, preventing her from speaking, but her eyes are wide open, fixing on you - pleadingly.

"Isn't this exciting, Poppy? Very exciting, Mommy! Mommy heard that Ms. Poppy was going to just give you the train code to escape. Now how is that fun? Instead, why don't we make a game out of it? The Game Station is still working. It will be just like old times."

Her voice changes again, she imitates Poppy in a childlike way:

"And if you win all three games, I'll give you the train code! Mommy loves that idea, Poppy! Ooo, you're going to have so much fun. Head to Musical Memory and Mommy will get things started. Obey the rules, or I'll tear you apart, and eat your insides while you're still alive."

An eerie laugh erupts from her as she moves back into the darkness. But before she disappears completely, she stops for a moment.

Her eyes glide over the group and linger on you.

Her gaze changes.

Her confident, mocking expression becomes something else - terror.

"What... What are you doing here?"

You don't answer. Your empty, cold eyes remain fixed on her.

"You... How did you survive? Impossible... You should be dead-!"

Your voice cuts through the silence, calm and razor-sharp: "Just like your son."

Dead silence.

Mommy Long Legs' eyes widen and she freezes.

"What... WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"

Her angry roar fills the room as she slides lower, her arms spread out menacingly. The others instinctively move behind you, even Poppy moves her eyes to you, her nervousness unmistakable.

But you don't move. No fear, no nervousness, just the same stoic manner that always accompanies you.

"I said, 'Just like your son'. Now go, before your game ends like your failed pregnancy."

The words are like poison.

Olivia pulls on your arm, trying to get you to shut up, while Poppy looks at you with a look that almost begs you to stop.

Mommy Long Legs trembles, her rage palpable, but she slowly retreats. With a final scream, she disappears into the darkness again.

With a loud click, the massive gate to the Game Station opens. You stride forward without hesitation, the others follow you, more hesitantly, but full of admiration - or fear.

"Damn!" Kickin breaks the silence with a triumphant grin. "He totally showed her!"

"But... what did he mean by 'failed pregnancy'?" asks CatNap, visibly irritated as she eyes you suspiciously.

"Who cares!" Kickin waves it off. "He dissed her and she knew she didn't stand a chance."

You turn around. Some of the group, like Bubba and Crafty, seem almost amused, maybe even a little relieved. But Olivia looks at you like you've just been a shining knight who rescued her cat from a tree - that admiring mixture of naivety and disbelief that almost makes you nervous.

This will take you to the Game Station.

The Game Station is a huge underground facility, completely filled with artificial light, as no natural light could ever penetrate here. Someone had once suggested in an official proposal that fake windows be installed here to give the children an illusion of daylight - an attempt to protect their mental health. But as it is now, the station feels oppressively artificial, despite the bright colors that adorn the walls and play equipment.

The walls are painted in a colorful mix of red, yellow and blue. There are play structures everywhere: slides, circular climbing frames and spinning play wheels that look like remnants from a happier time long gone. In the center, a massive train sits enthroned beneath a bright logo that proclaims "Game Station" in playful letters.

An eerie contrast: while the play structures are supposed to look like a paradise for children, the place has an aura of abandonment - as if the lights went out here a long time ago and no one had the courage to return.

After you have passed through the station, you will finally reach the train. A glowing console will prompt you to enter a code to activate it.

"Uhhhhh..." Olivia deliberately drags out the word and looks at you questioningly. "What's the code so we can leave?"

You reply in your usual matter-of-fact tone: "We have to play Musical Memory, Wack-a-Wuggy and Statues first to get the full code."

Olivia grimaces. "Can't we just... guess?" She grins mischievously. "And we can always rescue Poppy later." The grin widens, almost like that of a cat that has just discovered a new toy.

"That's not possible," you say matter-of-factly. "The third code contains a randomly generated element - a sequence of four digits. If you consider that we have to type them in and every wrong entry costs us five seconds of delay, it would be inefficient. It makes more sense to play the games."

"But I don't want to play by the rules!" Olivia starts to pout like a child. For a moment, it looks like she's actually going to throw herself on the floor like a toddler in the supermarket.

You sigh audibly before shaking your head. "By 'actually' do you mean...?" Olivia raises an eyebrow and looks at you challengingly. "You have a shortcut that gets us straight through?"

"The solution is right in front of you," you reply dryly.

For a moment, Olivia actually seems to think you're pointing at something in the room and turns around, searching. Bubba slaps his forehead in resignation, while Bobby snorts in embarrassment.

"Ahhhhh..." Olivia's expression brightens as the penny drops. "You're the solution!"

"The others stay here," you say firmly. "You and I will get the codes."

"But...!" Bubba starts, but you interrupt him. "If you come along, it'll only be more dangerous. Besides, you're blocking the games."

With a quick step, you turn away and walk off. Olivia follows you with a broad grin as she flutters after you.

"What a gorgeous genius you are! "

---

Let's go! Y/N even messes with Mommy Long Legs, and there's nothing she can do about it. But what do you think he meant by "failed pregnancy"? I'm happy to finally publish another chapter for this story. Now the game is really starting, and character development for Y/N is also getting underway - in case that wasn't already clear. For the Poppy Playtime stories, however, I'm taking a short break (which means I'm working less on them and concentrating more on my Arcane story). There'll be a new chapter for Poppy Playtime at the end of January, and I'll pick up right where I left off - including some of my other stories. Thanks to everyone for reading, and happy new year! 🎉

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thats-by-the-by · 3 months ago

Text

Revenge

This is crossposted on Ao3. Read it Here. Mind the tags.

Evie stands at the back of the audience, her eyes narrowed. Her hood is up - not that she really needs to have it up, with the green mask over the lower portion of her face and the borrowed Rook uniform she was lent. She can see Henry and Jacob in the box, both glowing gold in her eagle vision. Henry will get Jacob out of here, and she will eliminate the problem. Roth.

The man is backstage, out of view for most of the audience. Not her, though. He's a stain in her eagle vision - while so many of her targets are gold for importance, or red for danger - he is a tar pit. A red so deep it looks like dried blood, so dark she could have easily mistaken it for some spilled oil. It's not often that she finds herself craving a death, George and her Father taught her to cherish human life, to never end one without dire need.

What this man did to Tommy, and what Tommy claims he's doing to Jacob, though. That is a death she would gladly put on her hands, Templar agent and Blighter leader aside. Even if none of what Tommy claims about his relationship with Jacob is true, this man is a blight on the city. A cancer that needs carving out.

Evie is not a violent person.

Contrary to the accusations that Jacob threw at her - even contrary to the words that ring true in her head and the blood that stains her hands - Evie doesn't relish violence. Evie prefers to make her targets go quickly, go painlessly into whatever awaits them after this life. To cause undue suffering to a target isn't the Assassin way - it's a Templar trick, to hurt people before you kill them. To make them suffer.

Evie lets herself blend into the crowd, escaping the notice of drunk and strung out Blighters. A few audience members give her a side eye, but do nothing more than call her rude as she pushes her way through the crowds, getting closer to the small, unguarded side door that she'll use to make her entrance. There aren't any groups around it, and as she exits the crowd - the Blighters are all drunk and high, arguing in the foyer for an added moment of entertainment for Roth's guests.

Serves him right.

It's laughably easy to pick the lock that opens the door, and she risks a look up at the booth where Henry and Jacob once were. It's slow going, apparently, as Jacob has only just started to follow Henry. He looks almost like he's in a daze - the tabloids and gossip columns have reported on this sudden change in behaviour, yes, but she hadn't believed it. He looks like he's on syrup.

Evie will have to ask Henry about it later.

Evie plucks a sword off a table as she ducks backstage - a prop from an early scene in the act, hopefully unneeded in the rest of the play. It's all blunt edges and soft steel. Unbecoming for a weapon, though perfect as a prop for the stage. It will take a lot more force to use this to kill Roth. It will hurt him. No swift and painless death, no peace in the action. This is an act of violence, an act of harm her Father would be disapointed in her for enacting.

This is her feelings getting in the way of this mission.

Her blades still adorn her arms, comforting in their weight. She still has a kukri blade and a gun strapped to her hips and hidden under her coat. She has the weapon she is trained to use. She has the weapons gifted to her by two people she cares about - even if the gun was given to her by a begrudging Jacob Starrick, even if she only begrudgingly cares about him herself. She doesn't need to use this sword - archaic in design and near unusable in practice.

But her Father is dead, and her brother is alive again. She won't loose another family member.

Roth sits with his back two her, and he doesn't notice her bringing the Sword of Damocles down on his head. But he does notice the impact.

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober2024 #no.18 #revenge #assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #fic #referenced abuse #implied drug use #templar jacob au

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miles-prentiss · 2 years ago

Text

Where is my mind

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues, Childhood Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Substance Abuse, Schizophrenia, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Dreams, Panic Attacks, Short One Shot, One Shot, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy

Words: 414

I walk down the long hallway the walls a saturated marron colour

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

"Hello!" I call out unaware of my surroundings.

I reach the end of the hall, I am met with a off white door, I open the door with hesitation not knowing what is awaiting my arrival.

The door open revealing a living room which seem familiar .

"Hello?" I call out once more.

... no reply .

I begin the gather what Is surrounding me, soft yellow wall, a dark green couch, a muted red carpet, off white lace curtains.

I turn around to see a man who was once standing behind me.

I stand in confusion not knowing who the man infront of me.

"What do you not know your own father?" He asked as if he was informing me on who exactly he was.

I couldn't believe it.

"I thought- you're in prison!?" I enquired.

"What do you not miss your pa?" I ignored his statement and walked away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He demanded grabing my shoulder and spinning me around to face him.

I flinched and his grip on my shoulder is getting tighter. He takes his free hand and wraps it tightly around my neck ,blocking my oxygen supply.

"Pleaae..." I let out a pathetic whimper.

"Ahhh!" I sit up walking myself up from my slumber in a cold sweat.

"Why?...why now?"

The past is catching up with me fast than I thought, I hang my head in defeat not wanting to deal with this at the moment.

I turn to my alarm clock which reads '3:12AM' 'the devils hour'.

I get out of bed and walk over to my bathroom. I flick on the light, illuminating the bathroom.

I stare at myself in the mirror, my dark curls framing my face, dark circles for eyes, the pale yellow-ish tone on my skin.

I turn to look at the shelf bellow the mirror which is filled with numerous boxes of pills

I look back up to the mirror to see Him behind me, his hand wrapped firmly around my neck, I turn around only for him not to be there.

I Fall back against the sink, knees coming up to my chest, hand falling into my arms, tears rolling down my face, slight ringing in my ear

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." I repeat over and over knowing how I failed being my mother's perfect little girl

"Where is my mind?"

#Mental Health Issues #childhood trauma #psychological trauma #tw ptsd #implied child abuse #child abuse #past abuse #tw abuse #Physical Abuse #Emotional/Psychological Abuse #Drug Abuse #Implied/Referenced Abuse #Substance Abuse #Schizophrenia

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morganitering · 1 year ago

Text

Because I'm the Weakest

Pairing: yandere!Satosugu x fem!reader

Warnings: Rape/non-con, Dead dove, darkfic, dissociation, trauma, rape fantasy, rape aftermath, vomiting (not during sex), unhealthy relationships, non-consensual drug usage, drugged sex, canon typical violence, sexism, implied/referenced alcohol usage/abuse

Contains: F/M/M, spitroasting, oral sex, penis in vagina sex, blow jobs, face-sitting, come play, overstimulation, voyeurism, slight size kink, humiliation/degradation, vaginal fingering, mentioned Nanami.

Word count: ~6,5k

Summary: Growing up as a female sorcerer has not been easy, especially when you are overshadowed by two prodigies. You used to form a tight-knit friend group, but now in adulthood everyone battled their own demons whether it be a god complex or feelings of inferiority. Gojo Satoru revives a group chat that was almost long forgotten, inviting you and his boyfriend for a long weekend, just like the old days. Before the regrettable night, you wouldn't have ever thought that you'd need to raise a fist against a friend.

A/N: Hey everyone, another fic but this time featuring our two favorite dudes with insanity turned to the max. This fic is once again full of warnings and proceed with caution and read the tags! Remember to take care of yourself. Otherwise enjoy and feel free to like and comment <3

read on ao3 PART II

“Booring,” Satoru complained audibly as he looked through the streaming services’ different movies and series. The little icons changed from bombshell babes to twisted faces with titles written in blood. He was sprawled over the corner of a ridiculously huge couch and he was wiggling his foot as a nervous tick of his. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, instead he had opted for something more relaxed and comfortable.

“If you’re so bored you should help us out in the kitchen,” Suguru sighed, his black hair draping over his shoulders, still slightly wet from the shower he had taken earlier. When you had pointed out that he was leaving droplets of water everywhere where he went, Suguru had just smiled at you and told you that it’s better for hair to air dry.

He held a knife in his right hand and the other one held onto a cucumber to keep it in place. His fingers were slender but by no means unmanly. Suguru wasn’t too fixated on the vegetable in front of him, chopping away with confidence only experience would provide.

“And where would the fun be in that since I got you two as my private chefs?” Satoru pouted as he shoveled candy in his face.

“You’re going to lose your appetite, if you eat candy now,” you chimed in, poking the halloumi that kept on sizzling on the pan. The water evaporated in a mist that warmed your cheeks in the cool apartment. It wasn’t actually cold in the open plan kitchen, but you had spent long enough in front of the appliances to break a sweat.

“I’d eat it anyway,” the white haired man whined as he got up from the couch finally settling on a tv series that started playing mindlessly in the background. “So, what am I supposed to do?” He asked after grabbing a piece of pomegranate from a small see through bowl. He walked behind you both like a shark, eyeing the ingredients and you, uncomfortably close.

“Set the table and learn to bitch less,” you joked.

“You wound me,” Satoru said, feigning sadness, but did as he was told.

The three of you were residing in an apartment that Satoru had bought himself from one of the skyscrapers surrounding Tokyo. After Jujutsu High it had gotten increasingly hard for the three of you to meet as adult responsibilities weighed heavily on both of their shoulders, – especially Satoru’s, but you saw the similar pain carried in Suguru just as well.

You were not weak, but you could not compare to the two prodigies. On the days when you felt down, the pain of third wheeling constantly ate you up, sometimes so much so that you rather left the two men talking together in the group chat. It furthered the wedge between you and them, until the messages became sparse and you almost could pretend not to know them.

It had been six months since the last time you met, but one day Satoru broke the silence and a notification popped up from your shared chat. It had taken you by a surprise, you were vaguely aware that even him and Suguru had issues with fitting each other in their lives, due to individual missions and what not. So the fact that Satoru decided to deliberately send a message to you as well, got you anxiously excited. He reached out to you. You. A high school friend that barely kept in touch with him.

“Guys! I refuse to work this weekend so come to my place. Let’s have a get together like the good old times ❤️ ❤️?? A little sleepover if you will!”

“Lol what about the higher ups?” Suguru had asked, typing back way too fast.

“Actually never mind I don’t want to be made into an accomplice in your crimes,” Suguru had continued.

“Am I invited too?” You had asked, hands shaking slightly as you stared at the bright screen, already tucked into bed. It was late, but Satoru was a known night owl.

“Damn, what have I done to earn this type of reputation 😭” Satoru complained, reacting to both your and Suguru’s message. You could hear his voice as if he was there in the same room as you.

“Of course you are invited, silly. I wouldn’t send this here if you weren’t.”

So now you were there, living an almost ridiculously domestic life with the couple that you had been hanging out with ever since you were sixteen. They had not changed too much. They were still both tall and slender but years had rid them of the rest of the baby fat as they started to resemble more men than boys, vigorous fighting showing in their bodies in an ever gained muscle mass. You supposed you were the same too. Battle hardened. That’s the word you were looking for.

You were just about to sit down but you saw long limbs reaching out to the white chair pulling it backwards. You looked at Satoru with a raised eyebrow. He was acting weird.

“What? I’m a host. I’m being hospitable,” he said, voice melodic as he pressed his hand on your shoulder to pet your arm reassuringly a few times. Suguru laughed quietly as he sat down next to Satoru.

You ate and drank, buzzing with energy. It was like no time had passed and you wondered why did you ever stop talking to these two. After a drink or two you were brave enough to ask for some hot gossip. Like every high school friend, you went through old drama, like how ugly Nanami’s haircut used to be.

“Has Nanami found love yet?” You had asked. He seemed like the type to find a decent relationship first out of all of you, but to everyone’s surprise it was these two men.

“Do you still have a crush on him? I heard that he’s quite a looker nowadays” Suguru bounced a question back at you with a smile tugging on his lips. It was that one expression that looked a tad too kind.

“No, I don’t. I was just curious,” you tried to move on from the subject. You did not really discuss your relationship history with these two, at least not anymore.

“Why?” Suguru asked, leaning on the hand he had placed on the table. The atmosphere felt off, it was as if he was challenging you. You looked at Satoru who seemed to be equally as interested in your answer.

You scratched your neck awkwardly.

“I- I think he’s too soft,” you said blushing at the implication of your words. You had turned your gaze to your almost empty bowl, your mind going to improper places. As you were buried in your embarrassment, Satoru and Suguru shared a silent look with each other.

At some point during the evening you had moved to the white haired man’s bedroom. He wanted to show you the view from the window since he lived on the 30th floor. It was magnificent. The busy streets were bustling even during the night and you stared at the small lights that blinked in different colors. Your eyes followed the cars that swerved left and right as some people were gathered up in front of bars for a smoke break. You barely could make them out from the height you were in.

Satoru’s bedroom was basically the size of someone’s apartment. The bed was huge and sleek, unlike the common area. This room was a lot moodier and darker and it actually showed that he lived here, small bits and bobs decorating shelves and few paintings were hung up on the wall that you reckoned were Suguru’s taste.

Your drinks had changed from light cocktails to expensive red wine that you were almost scared to consume, but when Satoru saw hesitation in you he made a point to assure you that it’s all on him and after that almost instantaneously Suguru asked you something, leaving you no room to overthink.

The uneasiness still followed you. It was a gut feeling that you were really bad at listening to. You did not believe you were in danger – at least you’d like to think that as a jujutsu sorcerer you’d be trained to recognize threats by now. Luckily the red wine relaxed you, lulling you to the feeling of safety.

The volume of music was loud as the three of you listened to some throwback songs that still made you shamelessly want to dance. You were celebrating embarrassingly in Satoru’s room laughing, swaying your bodies along with the beat. It was as if you were in a club, except this was way more intimate. The world spinned around you, the warm lights mixed with the glimpses of the night sky and the longer outlines of your friends. You felt light, time slowing down and going overspeed at the same time as if you were alone on the highway. Your friends’ smiles stretched on their faces, eyes twinkling manically as both of the men appeared to you in double. Eventually when you tired each other out the whole group collapsed on the bed still humming happily. Satoru’s bed was plush and big enough to have room for the three of you.

You noted the way the silk felt like a warm hug underneath you, the ceiling moving like a slithering snake’s skin on savannah.

Satoru was lying on his back on the left side of you, his white hair now more tousled than before whereas Suguru was on the right leaving you in the middle of the two men.

“I think we should play a question game,” Satoru’s voice was bordering on a whisper. The music had stopped.

You stayed silent. “Satoru, I’m not feeling too good,” you managed to say. The bed was a ship and you were a passenger of the sea.

“I didn’t know you’re that lightweight,” Satoru’s hand reached out to your head to pet you, the gesture meant to lower your guards, but in your ever increasing discomfort, his touch only managed to make your skin tingle with aversion.

“Just humor us for a bit, it could be like the good old days, right?” Suguru argued, flashing a dead smile at you.

“Okay, whatever. Ask me something,” you rolled your eyes, too tired to fight them in your weird mental and physical stage.

“Hmm,” Satoru turned to his side to face you, his blue gaze piercing yours as you were still laying on your back. You had no idea when he had removed his sunglasses. You heard Suguru moving next to you as well. “What do you mean by Nanami being too soft?” The way Satoru laid down the question was impish.

The tone of the conversation had taken a full one-eighty and you opened your mouth to answer with only lies on the tip of your tongue, but then you decided against that. Those two had a very good bullshit radar.

“Do you want to hear what I think?” Satoru grinned playfully as he licked his plump lips once.

“I think Nanami would bore you out of your mind, missionary on Mondays without the lights on? Ugh, I wouldn’t want that for my worst enemy,” he said, laughter hollow full of malice. You couldn’t believe your own ears.

“I think you want it rough and behind that tough girl act, there’s an insatiable woman with some wild fantasies,” he blabbered his obscene thoughts. “Tell me, have you ever had sex with two men?” Gojo’s voice was loud and it was as if he was talking to you from a speaker that had been locked in another room. He was too close, too far away and simultaneously too here.

“What the-” you got cut off.

“Don’t curse. It’s unseemly from a woman,” Geto said calmly.

“Answer me,” Gojo demanded. During high school you would have described Gojo’s eyes as a beautiful spring day. You would have said that he reminded you of blue skies with perfectly white fluffy clouds, but now his eyes had turned to something much paler and darker. They reminded you of deep untouched snow drifts turned to blue in the moonlight as they sparkled ominously, waiting for the first little animal that dared to break the pristine condition.

“What did you do to me?” Your voice was not your own, it was weak, the accusation of your words turning dull as the red wine you had drank earlier sanded the edges away.

“Nothing permanent,” Geto said.

His admittance striked terror in you. Realization hit you, you were not safe here and you felt the familiar warmth flowing in you like a second nature. You manipulated the cursed energy, channeled it and let it flow steadily in your body guiding the power to your hands, but something in it felt unstable, it felt like a chord that was almost broken just barely connecting.

“Did you know that some drugs really affect the ability to use cursed energy? Not that it would matter in your case,” Geto explained, his voice overflowing around you, sticking to your skin like honey.

“Fuck you!” You yelled letting out a gust of wind to both sides, throwing the two men away from you. They landed nimbly to the floor, like cats, as you yourself hopped up from the bed, your vision blurred, walls moving back and forth, small figurines on the shelves changing color others dancing in front of your eye lids. Your head ached, pain banging against your skull, gnawing at the nerve endings that sent panic infused messages across your body, screaming: Stop moving!

“Oh so you want to spar? Go on then, show me what you have,” Geto purred.

It was a pathetic attempt in your current state. Your feet took you towards the door that Geto had come to protect. Hands and feet clashed together in close combat as you drew your cursed energy that was flickering unevenly in your body. Every time you got too close to escaping either Geto or Gojo kicked you further away.

The white haired bastard wasn’t even using his infinity which only added salt to your wounds. He deliberately chose to prance around you, letting you at times touch him a wild smile on his face. There was no cursed energy, no flashy techniques, just you and two overpowered men.

“Do you remember what they said in school when facing someone stronger than you?” Gojo asked, dodging your fist.

“Don’t be a hero,” Geto grabbed your arm and twisted it painfully behind you. “Contact someone better equipped to handle it,” he said and shoved you forwards with a force so great that you staggered towards Gojo’s table with the MacBook wobbling with force earning a “Hey, that’s my computer!” protest from the man himself.

The lights went out with a sound of shattering glass, leaving the three of you enveloped in the darkness, only city lights illuminating the room. Disorientated by the sudden change in environment you froze, breathing heavily as the two men practically surrounded you. Gojo appeared in front of you not a hair out of place.

“And with that, you’re dead. You really should not get distracted during training,” the white haired man shared his advice talking to you with the same tone he used on his pupils. “Truce?” He offered his hand.

You looked up. There was something sinister about the way they hovered over you. Geto’s beautiful prince-like features had turned harsh and angular, the shadows sharpening his face even more. You swallowed a bunch of bile, the effects of forcing yourself to move taking place.

“The power disparity is too big,” Geto said. He almost pitied you. You were a smart girl, you’d figure the best move soon.

You grabbed the hand bitterly. Gojo helped you up and Geto wrapped his arm around your waist when you were about to fall again.

“Careful,” he mumbled, his hand trailing underneath your shirt. His touch felt cold against your burning skin that was damp from sweat. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he taunted.

“Take her shirt off. I’ve waited long enough,” Gojo said impatiently, tapping his foot on the floor.

“Always so demanding,” Geto chuckled as he worked your shirt up, unclasping your bra unceremoniously, your breasts now free for the two men to ogle.

“Perfect tits,” Gojo said as he pawed at you and played with your nipples. You were completely overwhelmed and out of energy. Luckily, you did not have to stand on your own as Geto helped you to stay up his hands unzipping your jeans.

“Why me?” You squeaked your head drooping in defeat as you looked at Geto’s hand that vanished underneath your panties, your trousers still on you. Your question went unanswered.

“Satoru I think you might have been right about your theory,” You felt Geto’s smile on your neck as he referenced the earlier conversation regarding Nanami.

“Really? Is she wet?” Gojo asked curiously.

“Soaking,” Geto said as he explored your soft folds with ease. “Did fighting us make you feel better about what’s going to happen? At least you can tell your friends that you did not break easy,” Geto mumbled onto your skin pressing kisses to your neck, his hand still working on you going up and down tantalizing on your slit.

Gojo dropped to his knees pulling down the rest of your clothes. A whimper left your mouth as you shook your head powerlessly.

“Lift her leg up,” Gojo instructed. Geto slid his hand behind your right knee, lifting it up till you were wobbling on one foot as you leaned on him for support. The white haired man had his lips slightly apart as he looked in awe at the sight unfolding in front of him. His mouth was watering as Geto maneuvered his hand back to your folds, spreading them in front of Gojo’s face so that his boyfriend could take a long hard look at everything you were offering.

You saw the gears turning in Gojo’s head as his expression turned to a mischievous one. “I want her to sit on my face,” he licked his lips and made his way to the bed, throwing the shirt on the floor.

“Can you move?” Geto asked as he let go of your leg, holding onto your trembling body. He tipped your head towards him, his face looking almost worried. It reminded you of the old times, but this was not the old Suguru. This was someone new. Twisted.

He helped you to the bed, where Gojo had been waiting, completely naked, his chest heaving in anticipation. Your eyes scanned him from head to toe, stopping at his cock that had already started to curve upwards. It already looked big, bigger than anything you had ever taken.

“Like what you see baby? Cause me too,” Gojo said jokingly. “Well, come here then or do you want to fuck us dry? Because I’m fine with that,” he hurried you, the threat looming over you.

You climbed on top of him, saddling his face. Gojo’s hands immediately grabbed at your ass, pulling you towards his mouth. You could imagine the pink tip of his tongue trying out where you were the most sensitive. He was too impatient to tease you, quickly finding the bundle of nerves that was begging for his attention. He lapped at it as obscenely wet noises filled the room. Gojo sucked on your clit and you moaned loudly, throwing your head back, a sheen layer of sweat on you.

You felt him hum into your cunt as you felt the weight shift behind you on the mattress, Geto’s hand moving on Satoru’s length, pumping it roughly.

“You see, Satoru here is a bit of a munch. He is loud during the day, but put a cock in his mouth and it works wonders at silencing him. Apparently he likes the taste of pussy too,” Geto said with a devious smile on his lips. Gojo groaned animalistically into your wet heat as the black haired man felt his own hardness straining against his boxers. It took everything in his power to not to take off his clothes and fuck you till you were cock drunk and babbling incoherently, but he had too much fun playing with you.

“How does it feel like having the strongest sorcerer lapping you up like a regular man?” Geto’s voice was just a hush in your ear. “Men and women around the globe are going to be jealous when they hear that Gojo Satoru wanted to stick his dick in you,” Geto taunted you both as his hand focused on rotating around Satoru’s tip, spreading out the drops of precome around his cock. Satoru bucked his hips up involuntarily.

You came. Hard. You thrashed around Gojo’s head as the man between your legs held onto you stubbornly, licking and sucking through your orgasm. You felt something warm trickling straight to his face as the pressure in the lower half of your body exploded. Your voice was high pitched and desperate as you rode his face till you were sore, your already weak legs giving out.

Gojo pushed you off of him, gasping for air, pupils blown out in arousal. His face glistened in your juices and his saliva.

“You know what, for a man who’s shaming me for being talkative, you sure speak a lot yourself Suguru,” he pointed out. Suguru laughed, honest to god laughed, his eyes squinting contently as Satoru pulled him into a kiss.

There was something incredibly erotic watching the two men, knowing that Geto would taste the remnants of you as their lips smacked together messily. Their bodies tangled together, black hair flowing around white as Gojo buried his hand in Geto’s luscious strands. Gojo pulled his boyfriend’s face up gently exposing the bobbing Adam's apple that he kissed reverently. It was now Geto’s turn to saddle Gojo.

“I think you need to take your clothes off. Give her a little show,” Satoru said, biting into the skin on Suguru’s clavicle as his hands fumbled with the black haired man’s belt that opened with a clink.

Geto pulled his black t-shirt over his head, his taut muscles flexing. It felt like forever when Gojo caressed the man on top of him, his face in a constant grin. He took down the boxers inch by inch until Geto’s cock sprang out after being suppressed inside his clothes for too long.

“Get on fours,” Gojo ordered as you clumsily did what he told you to. He moved behind you whereas Geto took place in front of you.

“Arch your back.”

You stretched yourself, lowering your torso and propping your butt up almost as if you were offering yourself on a silver platter. Gojo’s hand came down to your ass with force making your body jerk when he dug his nails on the soft skin.

“Wow, you must fuck a lot of dudes judging by how low you can go. If I knew you were a whore, I would have bent you over earlier,” he laughed, his finger prodding on your entrance.

Geto pulled you from your hair. It wasn’t the nice kind of pain that came when one would grab them near the scalp; instead it stung like hell, when Geto yanked your head up, putting you on the perfect level of his cock.

Gojo inserted one finger simultaneously inside you and almost immediately added another. You whined as his fingers scissored you open, your lips almost touching the head of Geto.

“You know, I get to lie with this amazing man every day. Show him the same respect as I do,” Gojo said. Had you not been caught up in their fucked up power play, their love for each other would have truly warmed your heart.

Geto’s thumb stroked your cheek as if to apologize for what was about to happen. He let his hand trail down to your bottom lip, swiping across it gently.

“Open.”

Satoru pushed his hand almost knuckles deep into you, a guttural moan making its escape from your lips as he used his hand to finger fuck you. Geto used your opening mouth to his advantage to stuff his cock in you. He was huge, your jaw already hurting. His tangy taste spreaded in your mouth as he softly rocked back and forth, not wanting to choke you just yet.

You hollowed out your cheeks and focused on the tip of his cock as you used one of your hands to touch what you could not fit. Geto’s eyes were half lidded as he guided your head to a rhythm that he liked as you squirmed underneath Gojo’s touch.

Gojo removed his hand from you leaving you empty, you almost missed the sensation of him, but soon felt the man behind you poking your folds with something much bigger than his fingers. You mewled in panic when he entered you, your eyes widening in shock. God he was huge.

“Focus. Eyes up here,” Geto said, patting your cheek with an open palm. The way you looked up at him made Suguru feel close to high, your pupils widened to the size of a plate, eyes glistening in tears that you held back, still holding onto a sliver of pride. Brave girl, he thought to himself.

Gojo fucked you sloppily, squelching, slapping and your gurgling filling the room as both the men used your body to chase their own highs. You felt like you were drowning and when one withdrew the other one rammed into you without a second thought. It was hard to keep your attention on Geto when his boyfriend did everything in his power to make your task at hand challenging, when his long cock grazed upon that one spot inside you from time to time.

“I’m going to finish in your mouth,” Geto was out of breath, his grip tightened around your skull. Gojo groaned behind you with his fingers digging into your hips. You were sure that you’d have handprints tattooed on your skin by the end of this night.

Geto’s movement got erratic, his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag around him painfully. The black haired man relished in the wet warmth your mouth provided him. He was panting as pleasure coursed through him, your despaired moans only driving him further. Hot stripes of his come coated your mouth. You wanted to spit it out, or swallow it, anything to get rid of it as your face soured in disgust.

“Keep it in your mouth,” he advised as he pulled out of you. You almost wanted to spit it on his face as an act of defiance. Geto smiled at the confrontational look on your face as if he knew what you were thinking. “Good girl,” he purred when you had decided not to go against him.

Gojo flipped you quickly around to lie on your back, your legs floating in the air awkwardly as he entered back into you swiftly. He pulled you in a feverish kiss, his soft lips slightly swollen. His tongue prodded inside your mouth, Suguru’s come spreading into his mouth as you explored each other. It felt disgusting, playing with someone’s fluids like this, but somehow it made your cunt clench around your white haired high school friend.

There was something deeply primal in the way Gojo drove into you, his head almost resting on yours as he fucked you deep and hard. You were vaguely aware of Geto’s eyes following the act in front of him, admiring the way Satoru’s muscles moved with every move, drinking up the disheveled look on you.

Satoru’s hips came to halt as he plastered his seed on your walls, making sure that he wasn’t too deep, keeping his thrusts shallow enough so he could see him leaking out of your used cunt.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, spent, the after glow warming him. “You didn’t come right?” He asked you, feeling slightly tired.

“No, but it doesn’t matter,” you rasped out your throat feeling hoarse after the abuse it had taken. Frankly you wanted to sleep as well.

“Suguru, can you help her out? I want to watch,” Gojo said as he fluffed the pillow underneath him to get into a comfortable position as if he was about to open the television and watch his favorite show.

“If you hold onto her other leg,” he said as he propped your left leg around his waist and Gojo took hold of your right one. You were helpless and unable to protect yourself when you tried to squirm away from the two devious men.

Geto’s nimble fingers gathered up Satoru’s come that was trickling down between your cheeks. He pushed it back inside you, moving his fingers slowly without a hurry in the world. It reminded you of the calm before a storm.

“You’re going to give us one more right?” Geto’s voice was reassured when he added another finger into you, thumb trailing to your sensitive clit. He knew just what to do, to get you fast back to the edge that you were teetering on earlier, already feeling overstimulated from the rough treatment you had gotten. His fingers made a come-hither movement hitting precisely your g-spot.

Gojo held onto you whispering sweet nothings to your ear, his thumb caressing your thigh. He was gentle, his touch light, eyes half lidded as he enjoyed the small whimpers coming from your mouth. He spoke to you, told you how much he had wanted you from the beginning. He spoke of how he saw that you wanted him – them. Gojo let you know how well you were doing, taking what they dished out to you, how you were brave and oh so good. He attempted to bury you in his twisted love, six feet underground, anxiety and arousal covering Geto’s fingers.

It was too overwhelming. Gojo next to you, Geto between your legs, your world still spinning around you, overstimulating touch and a coil about to snap. You wailed hollowly as you came apart on Suguru’s fingers one last time.

***

It was deep in the night, around two AM to be precise. You had shot your eyes open as the wave of nausea hit you. The two men had fallen asleep cuddling each other, limbs tangled on each other. You got up as quickly as you could, your head ache punishing you from your choices, stomach churning dangerously.

With a pitter patter from your naked feet, you carried yourself to the extravagant bathroom, barely having time to put the lights on as your nausea took over.

You doubled over the toilet seat, emptying your stomach of your earlier dinner and whatever else your friends had slipped in your drink. You held onto your hair desperately trying not to make a mess. A warm hand landed on your fist bunching up the rest of your hair gently.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Suguru said affectionately, stroking your head. “Let it all out. You’re going to feel better soon.”

The acidic taste filled your mouth once again as if it was reacting to Suguru’s company. Your body forced you to throw up stomach fluids after having nothing else in it.

The way he took care of you brought up memories of the times you had taken one too many drinks, after your partner of that time had broken up with you. You remembered the way he had held you crying, snot and tears covering his shirt as you broke down.

The sound of water pouring into a glass echoed on the walls and you heard the rattle of an ice drawer disturbing the silence.

“You should drink this,” Satoru showed up leaning on the door frame, offering the glass to you. You hesitated.

“It’s just water.” He said and took a sip as if it would prove you anything. “See?”

You grabbed it from his hand, when you decided that you didn’t care anymore, downing the entire glass in almost one swing. The cold scraped your tender throat punishingly. You should have drank more slowly.

Waking up after the night had turned to day, the windows no longer covered by the blinds. You did not remember a lot of the act, except vomiting, but that came afterwards. The city was already moving fast, a new day offering new opportunities and new exciting journeys.

You felt physically a lot better, still weird, but you no longer felt like collapsing to the ground nor did you see things twice. It was almost like you had a hangover. You looked around Gojo’s room rolling on the bed that was empty feeling relieved of having space.

There were still signs of yesterday's fighting, but random shards had been taken care of and the lightbulb changed into a working one. You had your own pajamas on you, not having the slightest idea when and how you got into your clothes. Feeling nervous you got out of the bedroom walking to the toilet to empty your bladder. As you wiped, you felt around your crotch, searching for the remainder of different body fluids. You had cleaned yourself up. Or someone had.

You washed your hands, scrubbing them together with fervor, pumping out a heap of soap on your palm.

You repeated it once.

Twice.

Until your skin was scrubbed dry.

You looked at yourself in the mirror just to see familiar features, but not anyone you could recognize. You opened the overnight bag that you had left on the side of the sink to brush your teeth and spit out the foaming toothpaste. A smell of dough frying on the pan wafted to your nose as you heard commotion from the kitchen.

You took steps to the living room to find Suguru in front of the stove flipping pancakes as Satoru was hunched over a pile of strawberries nibbling on them happily. Upbeat rock played in the background as the two men joked around and chatted. You stared at them, something seething in you.

“Good morning! We’re making brunch,” Suguru exclaimed as he flipped a pancake over “Do you want coffee or tea?”

Nails bit into your skin as you clenched your fists together hard, your knuckles turning to white as anger turned on like a switch. You wanted to rage, go absolutely berserker, throw things at them, scream how dare you over and over. Some part of you also wanted to forget the night, pretend that it’s a nightmare, sit down with them to eat some fucking brunch.

“What if I tell someone,” it wasn’t really a question that you wanted them to answer.

“And what would you achieve with that?” Gojo retorted, popping a ridiculously big strawberry in his mouth, leaving the green stem outside as he bit down, the trash floating to the table.

Suguru placed the now ready pancake onto the white plate. He grabbed the black ladle to pour more mixture on the warm pan, before he started speaking calm but collected. It was this matter of fact tone that he used as if he was disappointed in your stupidity since he was always speaking the truth. The audacity of men or something like that.

“You know first hand how some clans look down on women, not believing that women should be sorcerers in the first place. So how do you think these powerful people are going to react to you saying that two of the strongest sorcerers assaulted you?” He mused, the conversation reminding you of ethics class where people discussed your human rights as a starter dish, completely disregarding that they were talking about real lives.

You knew how those types of people would react. They would see it only as normal, a woman’s place as a breeding machine, your sorcerer blood and womb more precious than your soul. They would argue that you were lucky or maybe that you had asked for it. Besides, it wasn’t exactly atypical of people in your line of work going insane, the trail of dead comrades keeping one up for countless nights. And who better to take anger out on than the people who are perceived as less.

“Even if they did believe you, it wouldn’t change our life at all. They need our skills and well, his money,” Suguru continued as Satoru grabbed three coffee cups and placed them on the kitchen island. As if, you were staying. “It would change yours though.”

That’s when realization hit you. They were the type of evil that were completely aware of their sins. They knew exactly what was right and wrong, but they simply did not care, the world as their oyster.

“You’re insane,” a tear rolled down your eye, your body trembling like a leaf.

“Not denying that one,” Satoru quipped, not taking anything serious like usual.

“If you want to, you can leave. You are free to run your mouth however you want, block our numbers, whatever makes you sleep better. Or you can eat some pancakes as friends and have powerful allies for the rest of your life,” Geto said. “I’ll ask again, coffee or tea?”

You bit your lip as the conflicted emotions flashed through your face. You despised that you viewed them still as your friends as much as your enemies. It was weird to love someone who had hurt you in one of the most violating ways possible.

“Coffee,” you mumbled as you sat down on the bar stool hanging your hands on your sides as Suguru poured the dark liquid on the blue cup.

“We got you Plan B too,” Satoru said, throwing the cardboard box into your hands. “You should take it. I’m not ready to be a father,” he added.

You fumbled the package open, popping out the small pill on your hand. You didn’t know how they knew that you weren’t on birth control nor did you really care. You placed the tablet on your tongue taking generous gulps of water as the couple continued on cooking.

Music played as the sun shone brighter, lighting up the whole kitchen, furniture basking up in the natural glow. You ate in peace, mainly Satoru and Suguru talking together but every once in a while you added something in the conversation. You fell quickly back to the old habits, maybe at times chuckling at their stupid jokes.

You pushed away the night. You tucked it in a corner of your mind that you did not dare to look at for many weeks to come. You were just three old high school buddies catching up, nothing more. The flashbacks you saw were not yours and the long weekend continued on as a happy sleep over.

#tw: noncon #dark fic #yandere jjk #yandere geto suguru #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen

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atlabeth · 9 months ago

Text

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.2k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake.

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point.

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel.

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there.

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always.

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.”

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?”

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.”

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.”

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says.

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes.

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says.

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.”

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.”

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.”

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file.

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene.

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house.

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt.

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control.

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics.

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it.

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything.

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect.

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.”

“What has he been charged for?”

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail a little less than a year ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs.

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind.

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive.

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh.

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising.

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock.

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford.

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.”

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?”

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?”

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says.

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…”

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house.

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all.

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub.

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?”

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.”

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.”

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.”

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him.

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things:

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be.

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school.

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts.

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says.

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.”

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.”

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?”

You nod. “He lives with me.”

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too.

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going.

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.”

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.”

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?”

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you.

“Really?”

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him.

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her.

And he didn’t even know when she died.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad.

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says.

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.”

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.”

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even.

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.”

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.”

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“…No.”

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.”

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.”

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.”

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says.

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.”

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.”

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door.

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again.

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?”

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.”

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret.

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.”

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case—

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him.

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind.

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!”

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.”

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts.

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief.

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused.

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss.

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.”

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.”

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses.

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once.

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck.

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on.

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity.

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs.

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air.

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it.

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing.

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people.

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong.

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you.

Because god— what are the odds?

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother?

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years.

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time.

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you.

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.”

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties.

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?”

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.”

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now.

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face.

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.”

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.”

“And home is?”

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.”

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says.

“Sources can lie.”

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.”

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up.

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had.

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened.

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”

“None of those sound like questions,” you say.

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it?”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.”

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?”

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You didn’t tell him—”

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?”

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse.

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.”

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.”

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.”

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?”

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.”

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply.

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly.

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken.

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.”

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you.

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.”

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.”

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.”

“…I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least.

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.”

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.”

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.”

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You know th—”

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.”

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.”

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking.

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.”

“The profile—”

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.”

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly.

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this.

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right.

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do.

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him.

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie.

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.”

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands.

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor.

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.”

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.”

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him.

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him.

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things.

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.”

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again.

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.”

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.”

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.”

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation.

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.”

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego.

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.”

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside.

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch…

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore.

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you.

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual.

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off.

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation.

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time.

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks.

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says.

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong.

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier.

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once.

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron.

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard.

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you.

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round.

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed.

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?”

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly.

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully.

Your eyes open and you frown.

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate.

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.”

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?”

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.”

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?”

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron.

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction.

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up.

“Go for it,” you finally say.

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?”

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.”

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you.

“Thank you,” he says.

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.”

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything.

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand.

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.”

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third.

No one expected this to happen so soon.

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt.

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work.

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation.

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved.

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it.

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press.

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.”

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.”

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.”

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on.

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.”

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight.

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city.

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information.

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.”

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says.

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.”

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.”

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.”

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.”

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?”

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.”

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully.

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.”

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.

“And?” Hotch asks.

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.”

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.”

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again.

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.”

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.”

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up.

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.”

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.”

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.”

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.”

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.”

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.”

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.”

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.”

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.”

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.”

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says.

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods.

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him.

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says.

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks.

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.”

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him.

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?”

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.”

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?”

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—”

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.”

“What would I do without you?” he asks.

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.”

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up.

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him.

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze.

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind.

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”

And he does.

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear.

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale.

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame.

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner.

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff.

Of course you have to deal with this now.

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down.

“You’re already packed.”

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning.

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask.

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks.

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?”

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.”

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit.

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?”

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head.

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open.

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.”

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail.

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests.

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.”

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops.

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff.

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.”

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.”

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up.

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.”

“…Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.”

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?”

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to.

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.”

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.”

“What have they said about me?” he asks.

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…”

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.”

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.”

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.”

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.”

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home.

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before.

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard.

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at.

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims.

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters.

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that.

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him.

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that.

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?”

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.”

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.”

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching.

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up.

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night.

And now…

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not.

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?”

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it.

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.”

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him.

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.”

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words.

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why.

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes.

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs.

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze.

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.”

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.”

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body.

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life.

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.”

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.”

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?”

“…You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.”

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.”

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.”

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say.

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.”

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises.

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother was dead, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided.

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?”

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!”

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.”

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.”

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to.

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget.

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out.

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw your way back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here.

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now.

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.”

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.”

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.”

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.”

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says.

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.”

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.”

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?”

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.”

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you.

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think.

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave.

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?”

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.”

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.”

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.”

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.”

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.”

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you.

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.”

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you.

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you.

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him.

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force.

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead.

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake.

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms.

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment.

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers.

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron.

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!”

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours.

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.”

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name.

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die.

You wake up in the hospital alone.

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you.

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real.

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life.

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day.

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all.

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life.

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind.

He was going to kill you.

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU.

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him.

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you.

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly.

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.”

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask.

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…”

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.”

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?”

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start.

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.”

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.”

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.”

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!”

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—”

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper.

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life.

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues.

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number.

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.”

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner.

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.”

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together.

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.”

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.”

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit.

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.”

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.”

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out.

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.”

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down.

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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dear-ao3 · 5 months ago

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[ID: Screenshot of tags on an AO3 fanfic. They read: “Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Petty Theft, Grand Theft, Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Consensual Drug Use, implied attempted molestation, Geeze these tags sound bad..., not as bad as it sounds, probably, Murder, Assassination, Human Experimentation, Biological Weapons, Arson,” /End ID]

#ao3 #ao3 tags #ao3 funny #thank you for submitting !!#submission

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noirsdoll · 8 days ago

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-> pretty please? part one

all aboard! | the dinner party

pairing: curly x reader

words: 4.2k

tags: rape, drugging, implied/referenced abuse, mentions of baby trapping, mentions of jimmy being an asshole, reader is so much worse, no crash au, anya hate (im sorry), poor curly

notes: um… first post ever? so nervous but uhhh wanted to write a reader who is literally jimmy but hates everything jimmy is and wants to fuck curly. parallels!! i want curly so bad oh my godddd

writing style + some ideas inspired by @rimqueen !! go check out her stuff she is amazing!!

read it on ao3

Dumb, blond and pretty. Tears bead along his waterline, the prettiest sobs choking from his throat. Blond hair curls on his chest, frames that perfect cock. He looks like a picture, the type of fantasy you’d cook up with your hand between your legs.

Curly gazes up at you like he’s been stabbed, but he’s the one stabbing you. He stuffs you full of cock, it’s impossible not to prod at your cervix with the angle you’ve gotten him in, seated in his lap. He winces when he feels it. You moan.

The quiet hum of the Tulpar displaces your sound and that soft slide of skin on skin. Curly’s eyes are so far gone, so distant. The sharp points of your nails drag along the doughy parts of him. You salivate thinking about the muscle hidden underneath it all— muscle he could use to fight back, but he’s far too kind for that.

The perfect captain, reduced to a mess, reduced to nothing, reduced to fat tits and big hands and meaty thighs. You smile, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips. You go back in for seconds, he lets you because that’s his responsibility.

Delicate like tripwire, you’ve walked circles around him, poked and prodded at him. He keens like a dog when you scratch behind the ears. Poor thing, it’s not his fault. It’s you who kept thinking about it. Getting filled up by his fat cock till it bulges out of your belly, seeing his fingers wind in the sheets to stop himself from moving into you.

His pretty eyes are glazed over, you tap his cheek and he comes to. Curly looks at you, he’s really crying now, big globs cascading down his face. You wipe them away, shush him like a baby, stretched so impossibly on his dick that it’s hard to focus.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He sniffles and says nothing, leaving you to stew in your guilt. You’re not guilty, you were just too eager. He’ll forgive you for this once you’re done.

Curly doesn’t meet your eyes at the morning meeting. He addresses everyone else with that worn smile of his. The one that had heat coiling in your stomach, the one you had to ruin. Split open on your fingers, the shine of spit on his pouty lips.

Swansea, Jimmy, Daisuke, that bitch Anya. She says something and he laughs, that perfect glimmer of pearly whites. Not that same pretty shade of white his cum is, you remember the way he went red as it dripped out of you. You hope it got you pregnant, then he’ll have no reason to talk to her.

You approach them both, unable to hide your grin when Curly locks up like a sore muscle. “Anya, good morning!”

She turns to look at you, a bashful smile on her face. “Oh, good morning!”

“I was doing inventory on our stock, there’s a bottle of sleeping pills missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Absolute bullshit on your part, you just need her gone.

To your surprise, Anya’s face drains in colour. Seems there was some truth to your words. “There is? I’ll go check on that right away.” She turns and leaves immediately.

You glance at Curly. “Looks like she’ll be missing the meeting. I don’t mind filling her in afterwards.”

He glares at you. It’s a new expression, but it gets you soaked all the same. “What are you doing?”

“Did you have fun last night?” You’re giddy just thinking about it, replaying every moment of it in a pornographic loop— you don’t know why Curly chose to be a captain when he’d fare much better in front of a camera.

He crosses his arms, looking away. “It’s not happening again.” Curly’s eyes are more sunken than normal.

“You didn’t like it? Not even a little?” Despite everything, your heart sinks a little. Not enough to discourage you, of course, but you like to think you’re fairly pretty. He must be a narcissist, one with a type for airheads like Anya.

“I have work to do. Go help Anya.” He leaves to pilot the ship.

Jimmy takes that as an invitation to sidle up next to you. “What’s up with him?”

You glance at him in disgust. There’s something leering about Jimmy’s gaze, the way he oversees the rest of the crew with an air of superiority. Not to mention how he looks at Anya like he’s mentally undressing her. You might hate her, but you hate Jimmy more.

“Sleeping pills, really?” Curly already told him off when Anya originally came forward about Jimmy— you’re surprised he didn’t do something rash like crash the ship. Seems like now he’s employing new techniques on her.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing over at Swansea and Daisuke, who are clearly much more engrossed in bolts and nuts and whatever engineers talk about.

“I’m telling Curly.” To help him feel less alone.

Jimmy scoffs. “He already knows.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s got the resilience of pillow fluff.” He shrugs, “so I’m using sleeping pills on her now, so what?”

“You’re a monster.” You grimace.

“I’m a man with needs. The Pony Express should give us fleshlights or something if they really cared.” Jimmy glances down at you. “Or dildos, I guess.”

What a prick. You’re surprised he hasn’t been put in a holding cell yet. You head down to the medbay to check on Anya. She’s sitting at the table, staring down at the inventory list.

You take the seat across from her. “Everything okay?”

She jumps at the sound. Anya quickly scrambles to put away the list. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

You’re unsure how to gently breach the subject, so you just flat out say it. “Jimmy told me.”

She stops what she’s doing, her eyes trembling as she looks at you. “Oh, he did?”

“That’s where the missing pills were from. Not sure how you want to record that on the log, but uh…,” you trail off. “Curly isn’t going to do anything about it, trust me.” You also just want her to back off from him.

Anya sinks back into her seat, forlorn. “I know… I just, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, I’ll keep an eye out for you, yeah?” You say, softly. “It’s the two of us women on this ship. We should look out for each other.” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You think you’d rather foil whatever Jimmy plans to do to her than actually help her.

She nods, a hopeful smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“No, really,” she insists. “You’re a good person.”

Your smile falls. “See you around, Anya.”

You slip the sleeping pills out from Jimmy’s pocket when he isn’t looking. You drop a couple in Curly’s evening coffee. He drinks one at the same time every night. You don’t know why he bothers– the beans are all stale and it tastes more like cardboard than anything. He’s a man of habit, you guess.

When he starts nodding off at dinner, it’s your cue to help him to his quarters. You make a few teasing remarks about your tired captain to displace any suspicion. Jimmy gives you a knowing look.

Curly’s big and heavy, just like his cock. Curse of the sleeping pills— it’s soft. You settle for dragging your slit down the length of it, coating it in slick. This isn’t as fun as seeing him cry or seeing any of his reactions, but you’re not one to complain. You grab at his tits, sucking a pretty bruise into his pale skin. It blooms like a flower underneath his collarbone.

His cock twitches as you finish the hickey, nudging your clit and pushing you over the edge. You finish yourself off, getting up and off of him and doing up his clothes as best as you can. You dip out of his room like nothing happened, a pleased grin on your face.

It’ll be up to him to notice what you did.

It’s the weekend. Daisuke’s brought out his gaming console— a retro one that probably costs a shit-ton of money. You envy his ability to not have to care about finances. This freighter is like a summer camp to him.

He’s beaten you a handful of times now, but you’ve made peace with the fact he’ll always be better than you at video games. Gotta let the guy have one thing going for him in his life.

You hear the sound of the automatic doors opening. It’s Swansea. “Alright, kid. Playtime’s over. I got a motherboard with your name on it.”

“What?” Daisuke whines. “But it’s literally the weekend!”

He stops by the back of the couch, hands on his hips. “Learning ain’t pause for nobody. Meet me in the Utility Room after you’re done with that round.”

“Ugh, fine.” He sighs, turning back to the screen with much less enthusiasm.

“It can’t be all that bad,” you say, eyes on the screen as you button-mash to no avail.

“Swansea’s super smart but like, it’s impossible to see what he’s doing ‘cause his hands are so big. Then he gets upset when I mess up.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

He nods earnestly. “I have, I swear! Swansea just doesn’t care.

Daisuke looks like he wants to say more, but he’s stopped by something on your right. You turn away from the game, ignoring your character dying, to see Curly standing there. He looks livid.

“Meet me in the cockpit. Now.”

On your way there, Jimmy bumps shoulders with you, you feel him take the sleeping pills from your uniform pocket, lacking any sort of sleight of hand. Joke’s on him— you swapped them out for Tic-Tacs. Anya’s going to have minty fresh breath.

As you step into the cockpit, Curly starts to unbutton the collar of his uniform, swivelling in his chair to face you.

You pause in the doorway. “Woah, not even gonna say hello first?”

He huffs, exposing the bruise you left on his chest. “What is this?”

You plop down in Jimmy’s chair, propping your feet up on the dash. “I dunno, what is it, Captain?”

He leans back in his seat, running a hand down his face. “I said we had to stop, you didn’t listen—”

“You didn’t listen when Anya came forward about Jimmy.” You shrug.

Curly turns to look at you. “That’s what this is all about? Anya?” He asks warily.

“No,” you lean toward him, over the little partition separating both your chairs, “I think you’re cute.”

He grimaces, doing his uniform back up. “And I think you’re a pain in my side.”

“You don’t like me back, Curly?”

“Captain,” he corrects you.

“Captain,” you bat your eyelashes, “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. I meant it.” You reach over and put a hand on his thigh. He freezes up. “I just want you to feel good. That’s it.”

He looks away toward the display. His eyes are watering. “You’re just like him.”

That makes you pause. “What?”

“Jimmy. You and him, you’re the same,” he repeats, turning to look at you, his jaw set.

You frown, he can’t be serious. “Him? I’m nothing like him, I would never.” Curly’s just trying to distract you.

You get on your knees in front of him. “Are you trying to tell me that you have a thing for your best friend?” Resting your cheek on his thigh, you run your fingers along his stomach. He’s so warm, he could be your own personal space heater if he let you close enough to snuggle in his lap.

“God,” he sighs, spreading his legs wider. “You don’t give up, do you?”

You shake your head, grinning. You knew he was gonna give in eventually. You’ve always been praised for your resilience, and it’s really paying off. Curly’s cock is heavy in your mouth, weighing down your tongue.

You play with your food, circling the fat head with your tongue before you take it all down your throat. Curly’s hips shift, he knocks the back of your throat and you gag.

Glancing up at Curly, he looks almost conflicted, lips pulled in a thin line as he looks on. You sink deeper down then, his passiveness splits into a moan. That pretty face of ecstasy.

You watch every minute shift in his expression, drooling slick into your panties. Fuck, he’s hot, in the way men shouldn’t be. The top button of his uniform strains against the size of his tits, they’re bigger than yours.

Trailing your mouth down, you run your tongue along the seam of his balls. Curly’s dick rests on your brow bone as you try to fit them in your mouth. Your lips split and your eyes roll back at the taste. He smells like musk and something so Curly that has your thighs rubbing together.

Eventually, you get to your feet, fumbling with the myriad of buttons on your uniform before you seat yourself in his lap. Your cunt’s leaving a wet spot on the fabric, you can’t help it.

Leaning closer, you kiss Curly soft, slow. He lets you do it more than he reciprocates, but every soft movement of his lips has your heart going in your chest.

You pull away, his forehead against yours, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend like this is some form of romantic, because it should be— that’s what you deserve for your hard work.

“Do you like me now, Curly?” You smile shakily, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the base of his cock.

He looks like he’s two seconds away from crying, but at this point he always does. You kiss away his brewing tears. You can be gentle, you could be so good for him. He just needs to see it.

You throw your arms around him and kiss him harder, trying to show your sincerity. Your pussy’s pressed right up against his cock, your heartbeats match.

If he doesn’t understand, you’ll make him.

It’s nighttime when you finally finish up with your work and you’re able to head back to your quarters. On your way you hear noises of a struggle. You stop and peer out from around the corner.

It’s Jimmy. He’s got his hand around Anya’s throat. She’s got two hands on his forearm, trying to pull him off. Then he shoves her back against the wall, her head meets the metal with an ugly clang. Anya goes limp in his grip, sobbing.

As the automatic doors close behind them, the sound abruptly cuts off. Are the quarters sound-proof? You leave with your newfound information.

Daisuke would’ve been so much better for you, you think as you watch him. He’s soldering something, you don’t know what. You’re sitting far enough away to not need goggles. Daisuke’s so simple. Nothing to worry about in his life, bouncing around from this internship to his video games and back again. If you came onto him, he wouldn’t complain.

Curly’s making himself choose between you and authority when he could have both. You’ve never made him choose either. He’s got no one else on this ship that would care for him the way you would, the way you’ve been trying to show him.

He doesn’t get it, you lament, that’s why he said you were like Jimmy. You’re not like him. You’re good. That’s what Anya said. Anya, who got her brain knocked around while you just watched.

It wasn’t any of your business. You did help her. You didn’t let Jimmy get the sleeping pills. Though that might be the reason she was walking funny. Whatever, she probably deserved it. At least she’s staying away from Curly now.

The buzz of the soldering iron stops and Daisuke slides up his protective mask. “Wanna see what I’m working on?”

You nod and get up to look. It’s a tiny metal Polle. The shaping is a little crude, but it’s very impressive.

“How long did that take you?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, like, a couple hours? I make stuff like this when Swansea gives me free time.”

“Maybe you’re better suited for this than engineering.”

Daisuke looks at you. “You think so? My mom wants me to be an engineer.”

“Who cares what she says? Do what you want.”

He blinks for a moment before he nods, resolute. “Okay.”

Heading out of the Utility Room, you see Curly and Anya in the hallway. Curly’s got a hand on either side of her, the illusion of a comforting embrace.

“I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” He whispers, but you hear it all the same.

“Are you cheating on me?!” You exclaim, rushing towards them. You shove Curly away from her and get in between them, he staggers back in confusion.

“I’m not— We’re not—,”

You glance at Anya, pleading your case. “He made me do things. Things I didn’t want to do.” You glare at Curly. “And now what, you’re gonna try it with every girl on the Tulpar?”

“What are you talking about?” Curly asks.

“Don’t play dumb, Captain. Anya, I told you I’d look out for you. I told you that you should’ve stayed away from him, he’s a jerk, he’s—“

“I’m pregnant.” She says, eyes downcast.

You fall silent, blinking at her. “What?” You turn to Curly. “How could you—?”

“It’s Jimmy’s.” He says. “I’m going to talk to him. Again.” Curly leaves, glaring at you over his shoulder.

Something shatters inside you, and you don’t know why. You ignore it, because all you can see is Anya. Anya with a little rape baby growing inside her, Anya with a court case and Anya with money and all you can think about is how goddamn lucky she is.

She sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her makeup never runs, despite everything, but her eyes are bloodshot. Tentatively, she hugs you. Your heart stops, confusion and what your body mistakes as guilt running through you.

Anya wraps her arms around herself, staring down at the rusted floors. “We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

You nod, fighting everything in you that makes your face want to wrinkle with disgust. “Yeah.”

“I have… enough painkillers to…,” she winces, burying her face in her hands. “Please. I want you to tell me not to do it.”

You stare at her for a moment, so long that she meets your eyes again. “What else would I say?”

“I don’t know… you and I, we’re the same, aren’t we?” Anya smiles shakily. “You’ve got Curly and I’ve got Jimmy. You’re okay, right?”

You’re lying to her. You keep lying to her. She’s too airheaded to know the truth. You nod. “Yeah, it really shook me up though.”

“I’ll look out for you too.”

“Thank you.” But inside, you want to laugh. She can’t even protect herself and she wants to help you?

“After what you told me about Curly, it seems like you’re the only person I can trust,” she admits quietly. “I’m grateful you’re here, y’know.”

Your words are lodged in your throat. You can’t say it back.

You’re not sure what exactly to do now. You’ve been informally declared the midwife of Anya’s moneybag, and Curly’s doing everything in his power to put space between you and him. Like he can try. There’s no restraining orders in space.

And there’s no locks on the sleeping quarters.

You dip into his room, the automatic doors opening at your whim. You expect him to be sleeping at this hour, but he’s sitting at his tiny desk, the warm light of the incandescent lamp on his golden features. Curly’s pretty like a sculpture, he barely offers you the generosity of a glance as you walk in.

You sit on his bed, his back to you. “What do you want?” He says, scribbling something in his captain’s log.

You rest your hands on your lap. You’re wearing nothing but a sheer nightdress, no point in underwear when you’re gonna take it off anyways. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You never just want to talk.” It’s an accomplishment, really, that you’ve pushed the kind-hearted captain to this level of bitterness. You’ve been breaking him down—persuading him to see your side of things, and it seems to be working.

He turns to look at you now, and that ever-present filter of exhaustion looks so good on him. “They think I assaulted you.” Curly can’t say rape, it’s kinda cute.

“A girl can dream,” you sigh. “Jimmy’s the real rapist.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m trying to hold this ship together and you and him just keep fucking things up.” He looks exasperated.

You scowl. You and him, it’s always you and him. “Don’t drag me into this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He shakes his head. “You and I, we…,” he cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Curly can’t say it.

Nodding, you say, “we did. I remember you dragging me down to the cockpit and telling me to ‘get on my knees if I want to keep my job.’ That’s not very workplace appropriate, is it, Curly?”

His face pales. “You wouldn’t. That would ruin my life.”

“Anya’s life is ruined now,” you shrug.

“You don’t give a shit about Anya.”

“I don’t.” You get up, walking over to him. Running your fingers through his hair, you cup his cheek. “She’s got a suicide plan ready to go. How about I tell her to go through with it? Put the blame on both your poor leadership and Jimmy’s wandering dick, would you prefer that?”

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” Curly looks up at you, bewildered.

“You. That’s all I want, Curly. You make it so difficult.”

—

You are the hurricane that has blazed through his life. You are what brings out the worst parts in him, what makes him sink into himself and hide. Not Jimmy, not Anya, not Pony Express’s termination. You. It all comes back to you.

Curly thought you were just another Jimmy, he attracts them like a magnet. That’s what he told you, hoping to spark an ounce of self-realization. But you’re something much worse. You don’t hide, you don’t need to. Every fault will end with the blame on his shoulders.

You have made him so many things he never imagined himself being. A rapist? He’s not– he would never hurt someone, especially not a woman. But here he is, his hands balling into fists, rage blurring his thoughts as much as his vision.

Curly gets up out of his chair, he towers over you because he is a man and you are nothing. He is the captain and you are a subordinate who gets off on biting the hand that feeds you. He hates punishment in every form, he much prefers talking, but words don’t work around you.

And this is the thing that finally scares you. Because he knows that you know that no one can hear you in these sound-proof quarters.

Curly tosses you onto his mattress, you yelp and your eyes go wide, you push at his chest but he is more muscle than he isn’t. Under your dress is your leaking chasm of a pussy. Of course, you’re turned on even now, because every wire in your brain is so dutifully crossed.

A hand around your throat is sufficient work for holding you down, your blunt nails drag along the corded muscle of his forearms. You look so small, so negligible.

Maybe Curly understands Jimmy just a little, just enough to not actually be like him. Fortunately for you, the look of fear in your eyes is enough to satiate him. He lets go of you, sitting back on his heels and staring at the mess between your legs. No blood, he wouldn’t do that to you. Jimmy would, and he is so far from Jimmy.

It’s sobering, this feeling, much better than any attempt at therapy. He feels sane, like he’s been given something tangible to latch onto and it’s you, what he can inflict on you.

You’re not crying, but you’re visibly shaken. You drag your knees up to your chest, crowded against the headboard in a sorry attempt to put distance between you and him. You swallow, your eyes never leaving him, as you come to the realization that he could be so much more than you give him credit for.

“Hey, come here.” He pulls you closer because that is the easiest thing to do. It’s Curly who apologizes, Curly who strokes your hair and makes love to you the way you have been begging him to.

Because that is his responsibility.

#🕸️—writing #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #curly x reader #mouthwashing #mouthwashing fanfic #grant curly #curly x you #curly smut #curly x reader smut #mouthwashing fandom

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thegeniusofplaytimeco · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 13: Keep Your Eyes Peeled

Summary:

It begins, you as the Doctor who created the experiments VS The Experiments! But the chapter starts slowly, a little background lore, inner monologues and explanations of plot points that may have been left open. Your unmatched mind, your way of thinking that is ahead of every person on this planet and the challenge that comes with it. But in all these thoughts, the situation seems even more surreal on the hand: While you are standing here, Huggy Wuggy is waiting just a few meters away from you, waiting to attack.

Notes:

This story hasn't gotten an update in a damn long time! I'm sorry to everyone, but I hope you know that I have several stories going on. It's quite hard to keep moving from one character to another because all my characters are so damn different. A child plagued by terror. A teenager who suddenly discovers his superpower. A spy who spies on a foreign world. And of course the genius, who is on a completely different path, far from the one that a person has ever walked. Okay, enough talk! Enjoy reading and leave kudos and a comment! wc: 5.5 k

---

Panic.

Normally something you didn't know. Normal people knew it, but you didn't.

Arguments at home, with parents or siblings. Stress at work, that oppressed feeling in your stomach, and the knowledge that there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Not being able to keep to a time slot and then having to apologize to someone else for it. Having once tried to take responsibility, but now having to live with the consequences and failure.

You had it easy, honestly. That was always down to two things.

You were absolutely emotionless, Stoic, and always reacted and lived with logic. All things had a reason, some due to human stupidity, some due to science, and other things could happen absolutely by chance. You never believed in things like luck, chance exists, is mathematically verifiable and fitted more into your rational way of thinking.

The second point is even simpler than your always thinking too much way of thinking: you are simply better. You don't need stress, neither in life nor at work. People create stressful situations, so you distance yourself from them as much as possible or give them orders, because if you want something to be good, you have to do it, after all, nobody else is even remotely on your level.

But there it was again: your life had absolutely no reason to be lived. Others would probably have killed themselves in your skin within the first few days. A life that consisted of numbers, dates and absolutely nothing else. Feelings were secondary; in your opinion, you only acted on them if you were either an idiot or completely without a plan.

It may sound edgy to most people, but it didn't matter to you whether you died alone or not. In the end, whether you die alone or with others, absolutely nothing changes in the result. You didn't care what other people thought about you, to you everyone was worth less than you anyway.

You were called a genius, what other person had such an acronym? You were at the top, no, you are the top. There will never be anyone who can even begin to think as far as you. You've always been a thousand steps ahead, when you do something; say something; plan something: it was perfect. It would probably take other people years to understand a single move you make.

That's why feelings were of secondary importance to you, if at all. You can always feel, at least normal people can, but thinking and knowledge were better. Being able to assess others, write reports, solve complicated equations and formulas that took others years to do, that was your field. The world can be explained with the help of numbers, which you saw everywhere in your everyday life.

But in this whole world, there were only an incredible few people who existed in your eyes.

Once there were your parents, without them you wouldn't have been born. Thanks to cell division during sex, you had the incredible misfortune of being born. You were a fairly quiet child, but the costs from your birth to the age of seven were 310,754 dollars. Of course, you weren't able to write things down as a small child, i.e. the costs, but at seven you started to do so and estimated approximately how much you cost, based on your bank statements.

Then your brother, Rin. United by a bond that neither your parents nor anyone else would understand. Brothers who carried the same blood and yet were so different, and the rarest of things, who could still stand each other. You played soccer together on the school team, and you had always promised Rin that one day you would make it big and earn so much that you wouldn't be able to spend it.

That's how it would have turned out if you hadn't done the year abroad and...

Doesn't matter.

And then there he was: Elliot Ludwig. Probably the only person who made you think twice before you said something. Elliot was dangerous, and you were sure you were the only one who knew that.

A person who can look millions of people in the eye, give their children a smile, and at the same time has children's corpses in the basement and turns them into toys.

However, you or Harley Sawyer carried out the operations.

So who was really the monster?

All in all, you could say that your life is a tale of woe, with a protagonist who you neither know whether he wants to be the main character, nor whether he feels anything at all or wants to live.

In your opinion, life, birth to death, was an absolute waste. A genius like you was absolutely wrong at that time. Like someone trying to explain colors to a blind man, you wandered from place to place to gain knowledge, to satisfy your hunger for information and to become something at the same time.

And that's how you ended up here: Playtime Co.

A company that was not known to you for its many toys, but for the scientific situation that absolutely destroyed it. Rising electricity prices, sales figures not as high as before, and reports of employees disappearing. You had a rough idea of what was happening there, and by simple addition and logic you had an idea of how it could be done much better.

That was the birth of genius.

The previous head doctor at the hospital, who was described by others as a miracle, finally found his place in the Emotional and Dark World. A genius who worked directly under the boss, ran the labs, and even people like Harley Sawyer were subordinate to him. Truly the smartest and best employee Playtime Co would ever have.

Thinking back to work always made you think of your mother. How she used to tell you and your brother that you needed a "good job", "where you don't break yourself". If only she knew what you've done, how many bodies you've destroyed and turned into damned monsters and deformities.

Percentage-wise, you had to think about your mother more often than anything else. Her voice, somewhere in the back of your emotionless, cold and rational mind. It was as if Playtime Co was the evil that drew you to the deeds, and then there was your mother, who always believed that you weren't really the way you acted. On top of that, you had always seen how your mother took care of everyone in the family, but they always left her alone.

It was unfair. But that was life. That's why you left out feelings, thoughts and everything else that made a mere mortal. There were enough other idiots who thought like that, and as long as you thought perfectly and always knew what was coming, you were ahead of every fucking person on this filthy planet.

Your life was one big pile of complicated garbage, but it doesn't matter anyway. Sooner or later everyone dies, whether you were famous, maybe made it into the history books or whatever, in the end it doesn't matter anyway.

Because all Humans will someday Meet with an Accident or Disease and Die, Without Exception.

All these thoughts, all this knowledge, the knowledge that you would die anyway, made every day feel like the same day. It didn't really matter, every day was just another hand on the clock that slowly pointed to your inevitable death. But death was just as normal to you as life. You never understood why people were afraid of it and didn't just accept it.

You were a solution in search of a problem

"A heart full of sentimentality is dangerous"

Was it something you told yourself or something that was drummed into you?

So what, and what difference does it make now, especially in this situation:

You here, right next to Olivia, in front of the gate where in the infinite darkness Huggy Wuggy is waiting to tear you apart. The subtle smell of toxic enzymes that only your nose can detect is still buzzing in the air as a sign, a warning.

"I think I peed my pants." Olivia says, standing to your left as your two pairs of eyes waver on the colorful gate of the Make-A-Friend room in front of you.

What a fucking idiot.

She was already annoying now, in a situation like this you had to think quickly, which isn't a problem for you, but now it's different. Not only were the Smilling Critters lined up behind the two of you, desperately lining up, but this woman was here too.

There are more variables than you thought, and that causes problems.

Huggy will wait there in front until someone moves into his territory. He will either come out slowly, staggering after his prey, or run. If he runs after it slowly, the adrenaline kicks in, so the meat gets better and he'd rather have it that way.

If he runs, we have absolutely no chance, so we're lucky he won't run. No, it's not luck, I'm starting to sound like that Olivia, that idiot. It's simply the result of Huggys eating habits, nothing more.

Also, if he steps any further into the main room and the hallway, the alarm will go off anyway. That means both of the vents in this room will open, and that will take us into the Conveyor Belt System. But...

You glance slightly to your left, catching sight of Olivia still staring into the darkness, wearing a nervous smile. Your second, important glance goes to the door to the right of the machine, the vent entrance.

Will the critters and that idiot Olivia manage to follow me in the Belt System? Huggy will definitely chase us, and he fits crouched in the ventilation shaft. But with an average speed of 5kmh and the fact that the critters will block each other and panic, it will be difficult to get everyone through easily.

So all the variables have to be right, and we have to unwind Huggy in the Storage Bay, otherwise everyone dies. If everyone dies, no one gets what they want and it's all for nothing. With ten people we'll definitely have problems in the later systems, and in the puzzles with my GrabPack this 'Olivia' will get on my nerves.

In your head, hundreds, thousands of thoughts go through a process that would even make natural selection look bad. Every conceivable possibility, every outcome and every possible person with all their characteristics goes around from the back of your head to reality.

It all happens in seconds, fractions of a second, and the others don't even notice your gaze moving across the room in that brief moment. All the variables were set up correctly, you've rearranged the equation of your survival so many times in your mind that everything will work out. But in the end, everyone but you in this room was just a variable, given a letter by thousands in your head.

They are just variables, nothing more.

"When I tell you to run, you do it." You say, a stoic tone of voice and seriousness that has always lingered in your voice. With that, you slowly take steps forward, into the hallway, aiming to set foot in the darkness where Huggy lingers.

You don't even listen to the words that fall behind you, neither Oliva's nor DogDay's or Hoppy's shouting anything at you. You know they heard what you said, even if they didn't, Oliva did, and that's enough for you. As you walk slowly towards them, you hear the voices behind you that you had intended to block out.

"What's he doing?"

"can't you see that Kickin! He's going to fight the monster now!"

"What nonsense are you two talking about? Huggy is bigger than all of us by far, at least physically." Bubba interrupts, with his head up and his eyes glued to your back.

"Depends on what size we're talking about..." Olivia interjects, with a hand in her hair to comb it back, and a big nervous grin directed at the critters.

"What?" Bubba asks quickly, seemingly not understanding the perverse and rather stupid joke Olivia was about to make.

"Nothing." Olivia says quickly, and a feeling spreads, creating even more nervousness. She hopes Bubba won't ask you later about her joke and what you might say to her.

"But Y/N just said that we should run, didn't he?" DogDay now asks, standing behind CatNap and hugging him from behind, looking around the group.

"Wait...you really trust him?" Now Olivia says, and her voice suddenly becomes serious.

"What do you mean?" Not taking a second, Bubba immediately jumped at the question and put both arms in front of his chest. Bobby, standing next to him, turns to her as well and taps Crafty on the shoulder, causing her to stop shaking.

With that, the rest of the Smilling Critters turned to Olivia, her question arousing everyone's interest.

"So...you know who he is, right?"

That was absolute silence for the time being. Everyone, even Olivia, turns in your direction. While you are already many meters away and in the bright hallway, just a few steps away from the darkness, you think again.

I don't have to run into the darkness, according to the blueprint of this hallway there should be a motion sensor here. But to activate it, Huggy has to walk past it, throwing something won't help, because the sensor has to be activated for several seconds. Only Huggy can do this when he sees me again and needs a few seconds to realize it.

You realize it, a fine human instinct that you had already developed before: You are being watched. The eyes that meet your back, see you standing there with your hair, your black coat, the GrabPack and backpack underneath.

So you turn around and your theory is confirmed. New pairs of eyes stare straight at you, but they don't disappear. You don't make a gesture, you told them what you were going to do and that they had to run, so now you try the last three steps.

"You've heard his title here at the company, haven't you?" Olivia whispers down to the Smilling Critters, which made absolutely no sense because Two was the same size as her. All the Critters formed a circle, Olivia also forming a compartment, and with her head slightly bowed she tells her thoughts into the group. "The genius."

"Yeah..." Bubba remarks, standing directly opposite her in a circle next to Bobby and Crafty. He wags his trunk slightly, looks around the group quickly and continues to answer. "He's the smartest, isn't he?"

With that, Olivia slaps a hand against her forehead and looks hopelessly at the group. There's a conflict going on inside her as to whether she should really tell them the truth, the whole truth. She is quite sure, which she hasn't often been in life, that you had already told them what you had done here.

"He worked above Harley Sawyer a..." Her face, to the shock of the others, turns serious. The previously humorous, take-nothing-seriously woman suddenly spoke in a serious and sentimental voice, and the critters listen. "Really, really bad person."

All eyes are on you as you walk slowly into the darkness.

Step number 1: The darkness is cooler than the Great Make-A-Friend Room, you notice that immediately. Your legs slow down a little, your shoulders rise slightly and you know it's getting serious.

"He has done things that I am certainly not allowed to talk about with you children."

Step Two: Your eyes adjust to the darkness after just a few seconds of exposure. You see the Long Hallway in front of you, dark and smeared with blood everywhere, and then there is this huge figure in front of you.

"I can tell you though, if there's one person the world really hates, it's definitely Y/N. Probably the same the other way around, you've often heard that everyone is dirt to him, the only one from the company who could talk to him on a level was Mr. Ludwig."

Step number three: It was no longer a step. You stand still, deathly still and with an upturned gaze at the experiment that just stood before you. Absolutely nothing has changed in your face, the stoic look that seems almost bored, the stiff posture as it has always been, and the mind that has already thought of everything.

"I can't believe he really wants to bring you here, I don't know what for anyway, probably just to clear his conscience. But I don't think someone like him can sleep at all, with all the things he's done."

With that, you suddenly sprint back, which none of the others seem to have expected. Their faces are indescribable, but they change directly to terror and panic when they see the giant Huggy Wuggy behind you.

You don't even say anything, you don't even run, even though the alarm is now sounding.

"WHAT THE?!"

"THERE HE IS! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

"BUT WHERE TO?"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

The alarm is quieter than you thought, and the red lights don't seem to be working either. But that's all secondary, your eyes land on the vent next to the machine, which was now open.

"HEY Y/N?! WHAT'S THE PLAN?!"

You turn around, and the sight burns itself into your mind.

She, Olivia, standing straight in her white T-shirt and black jeans, and Huggy slowly approaching behind her. What exactly was it in that moment that burned itself into your mind? Was it her stupidity, why she didn't just follow you with the critters and finally go into the vent as agreed? Or, was it the fact that she somehow managed to look flawless in this, for the others, panic-stricken situation?

"That's the plan!" You shout, even though normally you would have just gone ahead and left the others to their fate.

"THIS IS A FUCKING SHIT PLAN!" She shouts back, or rather screams. Huggy's footsteps become more and more present, and with that, the critters and Olivia finally run over to you and quickly line up in front of the vent.

"HEY DON'T PUSH ME!"

"I DIDN'T!"

"THE GIANT THING IS GETTING CLOSER AND CLOSER!"

You climb onto the conveyor belt, enter the vent and start the chase. Diligently behind you are the others, while Olivia quickly jumps in, the critters all go one after the other, still completely panicked, but no matter. You waste no time, feel the bag on your back rattle and quickly run off.

"HEY Y/N WAIT!" Olivia shouts behind you, and to the shock of the others, you stop for a second to see what's going on. Crafty has apparently fallen down, not expecting the conveyor belt to still move slightly. "COME ON! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE FAST!"

It starts with the slamming down of the vent opening where you were standing a few seconds ago.

Panicked footsteps, thick air and a strong smell of terror in the air. You all run as a group through the Conveyor Belt System, where you have no problem keeping the perfect pace at the front, while some at the back are already slowing down.

"DAMN! HOW MUCH LONGER?!" Olivia yells as she catches her breath and keeps her eyes on your back. Her pink backpack rattles on her back, her permanent grin gone and replaced with a panic face. "I SHOULDN'T HAVE SKIPPED GYM CLASS!"

Left, right, straight ahead, right, straight ahead, left, down, straight ahead, then turn back and just keep walking, then left again and out to the right, which will take you to Storage Bay.

Although most of the paths have not yet been taken, you were already far ahead in your thoughts. Thanks to the blueprints, of which there were over 60, you know exactly where to go, which paths are a 'trap' and how to get directly to Storage Bay, the room you thought was the most logical place to go.

"DAMN THERE'S HUGGY!"

You turn left again, and the others need several seconds to keep up with you.

"HOW ARE YOU SO FAST?! HEY! SHIFT DOWN A GEAR NOW! THIS IS NOT THE OLYMPICS!""

She's so damn stupid.

For a moment, an incredibly brief moment that only good eyes could see, you turn your neck minimally and have a good view to the rear. Olivia and the others can barely keep up with you, and you're immediately made aware of it by their noses, loud breathing and loud footsteps.

Instead of stopping talking and concentrating on keeping up with me, like the Smilling Critters do, she just keeps on talking. I can already hear that she's out of breath and won't make it much further.

"Just straight ahead!" You didn't shout it or make an effort to wrap it up so they could all hear it, given their condition.

"DAMN! WHY DO SMART PEOPLE ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SO FUNNY?"

The final sprint follows. Your legs feel as good as ever, you could easily run this distance another twenty times before you notice anything. The conveyor belt beneath you suddenly turns to hard plastic and you are no longer in the belt system.

The new room, where you are all still standing on a small catwalk, consists only of a long catwalk containing multiple pipes and conveyor belts positioned everywhere. But your path is directly blocked by boxes that are stacked high and won't let you through.

You will realize it immediately:

We have to go down a step, onto the catwalk below us.

But how? In a few seconds Huggy will arrive here, destroy the door and run towards us. I don't have infinite time, less than five seconds, if that.

"HEY WHAT ARE WE DOING NOW?" Olivia shouts in your ear as she stands next to you. You all stand on the narrow catwalk, blocked by the boxes and panic in the air.

So you do it, you look around, so quickly that it almost seems like you never did it. All the information from this room flows into your mind, the length of the catwalk to the door, the width, the number of people and even the approximate room temperature. By turning your head to broaden your field of view, you take in all possible information that could help you resolve this situation.

That's how you always did it in the experiments. By looking straight ahead, we are using our central, paracentral and macular visions. But you could do much better: your Blessed Mind allowed you to absorb and process all things at lightning speed, even if you only saw them for a fraction of a millisecond.

In the experiments, it was often the tools, such as the scalpel or clamps. In the event that the patient, now the experiment, woke up, which never happened because you had calculated the exact amount of sleeping pills for the body, you still knew what you should have done.

By including all possible information, the solution seems far too simple for you:

The large box above you, on a stationary conveyor belt.

She was perfect, with your GrabPack you could hit her at an angle, and as soon as Huggy runs at you, you pull her down, hitting not only him, but also the catwalk.

How long would it have taken other people to realize all this, because it only took you 1.7 seconds. But you weren't really a human being, more like the waste of all thoughts and feelings that no one else could process.

"Y/N! WHAT NOW!"

You don't answer, stand in front of Olivia and the Smilling Critters and keep your eyes on the box. The critters panic and stand behind you, with Olivia standing in front of them and directly behind you, in a pose like a mother cat protecting her children.

"HEY! HE'S ABOUT TO COME IN HERE AND KILL US ALL! WHAT'S THE PLAN?!"

"I already told you." You finally reply, turning to face her, her eyes still on your back. Your tone of voice was calm, which Olivia can't understand one bit in this situation, standing frozen as if a giant monster wasn't going to come out and kill you all in a few seconds. "That's the plan."

"DAMN YOU BASTARD NOW SAY IT! I DON'T WANT TO DIE YET OKAY?"

You don't react, press the GrabPack button and land your hand on the box above you. It was wood-colored with yellow lines around the edges and a line through the middle, which somehow doesn't fit here in terms of color. While your hand is already stuck to it and your backpack starts to wobble slightly, you make a mental calculation to be on the safe side, but it only confirms it.

With a gravitational acceleration of 9.81 , the box will have a weight force of approximately 981 newtons. Even if it is lighter, it will be light enough to break through the catwalk and take Huggy with it.

"WHY ARE WE STILL STANDING HERE! WE HAVE TO LEAVE!"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

"I'm scared..."

"IF ALL TEN OF US GO FOR HIM, HE HAS NO CHANCE!"

You ignore the stupid statements behind you, they are unnecessary and so idiotic that they don't even find a place in your mind. Your eyes stay on the vent entrance about 5 meters in front of you. If you mess up the timing by a second, that's it.

Your idea to give the critters something like an apology. Try to come to terms with your incredibly unnecessary life. To find the strength to apologize to your brother for everything. To get your negativity back and start from scratch again.

To make your mother proud for once in your life.

"I HEAR THE BANG, HE'S HERE!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Y/N! WE HAVE TO RUN AWAY RIGHT NOW!"

You stand still, and the moment Huggy bangs through the metal door, it's quiet. Time passes slowly, your eyes are by far the quickest in the room to comprehend the situation.

At this very moment, with Huggy standing less than ten feet in front of you, no one dares to question your determination. The whole idea was already crazy: the person who turned the Smilling Critters from humans into monsters wants to help them get their old bodies back.

But you act: With a strong press of the switch, the blue and red toy hand of your GrabPack pull on the box, which falls straight down.

It hits Huggy on the head and pushes him down so that he hits the floor of the catwalk with it. She also destroys the platform beneath you, and for a moment you are in the air. The critters scream, but the loudest screaming voice is still Olivia.

You land on your feet and are the only one to do so. As you watch for another second as Huggy slips off the side of the catwalk and falls off, you turn around to see how the others are doing, even though you don't care.

Olivia has fallen on her butt, legs outstretched as she stares into nothingness while holding a nervous smile paired with an aggrieved expression.

DogDay, who had apparently been hugging CatNap, was lying on his stomach. With his tail wagging in the air and his legs bent against his body. CatNap was sitting on his back with a smile on his face, showing that the whole situation had scared him, but now that it was over and the adrenaline had worn off, he would like to do it again.

Hoppy and Kickin are lying right next to each other on their sides, with their chests rising steadily and breathing loudly, which even you can hear. While Hoppy slowly tries to get up, and for a moment her left leg is not in rhythm with her right, Kickin jumps up. He straightens up, holds up his beak and says something like "Phew! Not so bad!".

Bubba, who is completely shocked and doesn't seem to understand the situation, is completely beside himself. After all, he is sitting leaning against the railing with a distraught look on his face. His shakes are shaking, as are his legs, and his arms are just lying next to his blue body.

Picky, Crafty and Bobby lie on top of each other. They almost form a small ball, with Bobby on top and Crafty on the bottom, with Picky in the middle. But they don't stay like that for long, Bobby gets up quickly, helps Picky and Crafty by holding her hand out and stands next to Bubba at the railing.

And then there you are: Absolutely stoic. No sweat, no trembling legs, an almost bored look on your face and complete control of the situation.

"Was this...your plan all along?" Olivia says, for the first time speaking softly and with an adrenaline-drenched tone of voice.

You don't answer, just look down at her, still sitting there on the catwalk, gazing back. It was pathetic for you how a grown-up person could be so stupid and still not understand anything, even though the panic situation was long gone.

You scoff, pass her, straighten your GrabPack and walk ahead again as the head of the group. It was a waste of time for you, and time was ticking, so you don't have much left to waste.

Meanwhile, something completely different was going on with Olivia, her thoughts were in pieces and her smile disappeared from her face.

This guy knew all along what was going to happen. He knew the way since the Make-A-Friend Room and was able to direct us here, and immediately solved the problem with the blocked path!

How far can he see ahead? Could it be that before he entered this factory, he already knew that he would meet another person? That's why he took a GrabPack with him, even though the paths were cleared by me!

Unbelievable... How the hell did he know all this?! How many steps ahead of us is he? Huggy would have slaughtered everyone without a problem, but with simple thinking Y/N put him in checkmate.

He is...

With that, her eyes land on you again, you, the guy walking at the head of the group. She is completely flashed, while her mind slowly puts the pieces of the puzzle together, just as you did hours, days or even years ago.

A genius.

With that, she walks off, past the critters, who are all already busy chatting, and stands next to you again. You don't move a bit, the only sign that you're alive are your footsteps, which leave a slight metallic sound on the catwalk.

We are honestly lucky that he is on our side. Not only does he probably know the inside of this factory better than anyone else, no, he also knows all the experiments.

And in addition...

Her eyes land on your jaw, your pale skin and your eyes. Each feature gets full attention, while the rest of her body continues on automatic. She literally analyzes you and compares what she sees here with the stories she has heard about you.

He doesn't look too bad...

This brings you to an abrupt halt.

"Huh? What's going on up ahead?" Says Kickin, only seven meters behind you. With one hand, he walks around the yellow fur on his head while his eyes land on you and Olivia.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Bobby shivers behind you, with her arms now against the other side.

"We can take a little break here." You say, turning around and looking at the critters. Your eyes land in the middle of DogDay, watching the others out of the corner of your eye.

The word break hasn't even left your mouth for a second before Picky sits down against the railing and rummages around in her backpack.

"Who's up for a slice of pizza?"

Another two seconds pass and the critters organize something like a buffet. They carefully place food and drink on the metal catwalk and distribute it among themselves.

You and Olivia stand next to her, like teachers in a kindergarten group, looking down on them and watching them together. You don't move an inch as you realize that a coffee would be good to completely heighten your senses, which they always are.

"To think we were just running away from a giant blue monster." Whispering in your direction, with her hands on her hips, Olivia turns to you and starts to smile. "I don't know if it's the coffee I spilled earlier or something else. But! my pants are wet."

Fucking idiot.

And so ends Chapter One, a long journey characterized by too many thoughts and too much panic for the Smilling Critters and Olivia who is now along for the ride!

But that's only one of four, which means there's a lot to come. A slow redemption, slow relationships that build, many encounters with experiments that plague your past and maybe finally learning to empathize.

Maybe this Journey isn't so much about becoming anything. Maybe it's about unbecoming everything that isn't really you.

Notes:

Wow, after the chase scene they all take a break together, quite unexpected. I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who helped me get to 260 kudos! Many thanks to all of you! It really means a lot to me to see that people are reading my stories. The next update will be for my Arcane fanfiction again, then for the Rat story. After all, time is ticking there, and I think it will be the first of my stories to end. Thank you all for reading, leave kudos and comments!

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futuremrscameron · 4 months ago

Text

biker!pogue reader x rafe

content warnings: rafe is his own warning honestly, mentions of drugs/drug abuse, heavily implied mental illness, mentions of child abuse, referenced murder, stalking, frued level mommy issues, blood, physical violence, abandonment issues, rafe is a freak, toxic relationships, smut, ignoring red flags for a hot man, dubious age gap (not between biker!pogue and rafe)

______________________________________________________________

she’s jj’s role model/surrogate older sister (the pogues love her too)

lived in obx her whole life before moving to the mainland at 16 to become a professional motorcyclist. jj cried so hard that day but if you ask him about it he will deny deny deny.

she’s known him since he was a baby, often having to look after him when he found his way to the porch of his non-baby proofed home while luke was still sleeping off his hangover

her parents were very startled when she brought home a random white baby

"mommy look what i found?"

"what's that baby-"

while her parents are freaking out trying to contact luke through officers shoupe and sheriff peterkins she's playing peek-a-boo with a one year old jj.

after that incident she became his unofficial guardian, walking him to school, teaching him important life hacks like how to pick a lock (for when his bike or locker gets stuck or how he he uses it later for less legal activities)

gave him his first dirtbike and thought him how to ride it

her home is his home, a second place to stay while luke is on one of his benders or in a mood

she make sure he does his homework (not so great at that part)

only three years older than the jj and the pogues (jj doesn't realize how wild it is that a seven year old was walking his four year old self to school until he's like 13)

she's always wearing a leather jacket, always, she's got a shit ton of them

loooooooves racing. got a bicycle at 5, a dirt bike at 13, and a motorcycle at 14 (got it by working at a mechanic shop and pimping an old ride)

her parents weren’t too thrilled about her getting into racing and tried their best to keep her away from it but after she started working as a mechanic and staying out later and later they knew that giving her their blessing and safety rules was the best way to avoid the worst possible outcome

she loves jj more than anything in the world, more than racing but she would never tell him that cause she knows he’ll be so annoying about it.

an eleven year old jj follows her as she gets on her motorcycle and revs the engine. he puts and presses his hands together as he begs, “please please please please.”

“like hell jayj that’s no place for a kid, and isn’t it a school night?”

jj stayed over most of the time he basically lived with her. she often drove him to school before buying him his first dirt bike.

he pouts, “i promise i’ll get up in time please! pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaassssse.”

“fine!”

he grins and jumps up and down excitedly. “but you have to promise not to leave my side before the race and stay with bobby during.”

he groans dramatically, she tries not to coo and pinch his cheek. “awww come on!”

she crosses arms and muster up your best stern expression. “or i can have mom pick you up.”

he pouts. “fine.”

she’s sarcastic as hell like almost annoyingly so. can’t answer someone’s question without being sarcastic

she loves trashy tv (lifetime movies, tlc shows, etc, etc,)

gets arrested for street racing a lot

“c’mon sheriff peterkins you got the wrong girl.” she sits on the bench leans against the wall, pouting at the woman across from her.

the sheriff rolls her eyes. “save it, i already called your parents.”

all semblance of innocence is gone as she she stands up and rushes to the bars. “what the fuck!?”

“language!” shoupe calls from his office

also been arrested for fighting luke maybank

when she opened the door and saw jj with a black eye and busted lip she already knew. she marches towards the maybank residence, jj following close behind her. he's crying.

"please don't."

she stomps ahead, pace unrelenting not even waiting for jj's short twelve year-old legs to catch up. "go back home jj" she knocks on the door like a cop. the door opens. “what the fu-”

he’s on the floor before he can even blink.

she looks up at the failing light in her cell, now sporting a black eye herself. sheriff peterkins hangs up the phone and looks at her. she sighs. "i can't say that anyone feels bad for that man... but i'm sorry you had to do that."

biker!pogue doesn't say anything, just look down at her hands shaking. the reality of what she's done finally sinks in and her hands can't stop shaking. "he begged me not to and i did it anyway. he told me to stop." she looks down at her hands on her lap. they're still bloody and bruised. it's not hers. "how am i any better than him?" she cries, hands over her mouth to cover her sobs. "i made it worse. god i- he's gonna hurt him because of me." sheriff peterkins gets up from her chair, "now that is not true. you don’t know that and what he does is not on you. do you hear me? it’s not your fault."

"but it is!" she cries, body curling in on itself as she sobs. sheriff peterkins frowns, her heart aches for the girl, guilt eats at her but there's nothing she can do to ease her pain.

on a happier note, shes queer!

her gay awakening was mercedes varnado

her and jj LOVE wrestling. he would come over and watch it with her all the time

they’d talk about the cool moves and costumes and she stared at mercedes for longer than she found out was “normal” for straight girls

jj’s the first person she comes out to

she was scared he would look at her different or not wanna be around her anymore

she was only seventeen when she took him to a diner. they drank milkshakes and talked about everything from school to what new half illegal the pogues were up to.

“sounds cool baby bird.” he blushes at the childish nickname, “come on i’m not a kid anymore.” she pouts, “come on you’ll always be my baby bird.”

“yeah but i’m like a teenager now you know. it’ll ruin my street cred.”

she bites her lip trying to hold in a laugh. “of course. i won’t call you that anymore.”

“no! i mean…” he toys with his straw suddenly very interested in his empty glass. she knows he tends to avoid eye contact when stressed. she read online that it’s a trauma response. her hand balls into a fist at the thought of that man.

“i like it i just mean you know it would be kept for when it’s just us.”

her heart squeezes at the sight of boy before her. he’s become so emotionally mature these days, shes thankful that he’s not showing signs of being an asshole like hiss dad. he’s grown up so much, he used to only come up to her waist but now they’re the same height.

she smiles, “totally.” he grins, proud of this huge accomplishment that she knows he’s probably spent days rehearsing how to bring it up to her.

“um speaking of i um actually brought you here to tell you something important. i was a little scared if i’m being honest.” she chuckles but jj sees through her tough exterior. she hates/loves that he can.

he holds her hand, “you know you can tell me anything.”

she nods, “yeah um gosh this shouldn’t be so hard.” she chuckles nervously. “um-” she meets his eyes. “jj. i’m…gay”

he looks shocked. “oh.”

she feels her stomach twist. “good oh or bad oh?”

“good oh. sorry didn’t mean to scare you i’m glad you told me. i love you all that stuff.” she laughs at his attempt as casualness. “so you don’t like guys?” she shakes her head, “no i do i just also like girls.”

he looks shocked, “you can do that!?” she laughs, “yeah bud you can do that.” he nods. “cool.”

he looks deep in thought and she smiles. she debates telling him but decided not to. he’s a smart kid he’ll figure it out soon.

she and rafe are exes (kind of)

they officially met during one of the boneyard parties. the key word is “officially”, they’ve seen each other around before but never officially met until later (pre-s1)

one spilled drink on her shirt leads to a conversation which leads to them making out in his car. they’re a bundle of hands and kisses, she’s on his lap alternating between biting his lip and kissing his neck. he pulls back first to admire her. the moonlight seems extra bright that night, illuminating her in the car. no one can tell rafe that it’s not a sign that she’s an angel (despite her personality).

“you’re beautiful. you don’t know how long i’ve been thinking about this. you. i’ve seen you race. you’re so beautiful.” she presses a finger to his lip.

“rafe.”

“yeah?”

“shut up and kiss me.”

“okay.”

their height difference is perfect. he’s 6’2, she’s 5’0. i love a good height difference idc idc. especially if it’s a tiny girl who talks like she’s a giant.

it was love at first sight for rafe

the final bell had rung throughout kildare academy, ushering in summer break. rafe rushed out of his class, his bag already packed and on his back. he ran past teachers and students alike, not bothering to say excuse me. he ignores sarah’s call for him to watch where he’s going and be considerate of others. he laughs as he collides with his two best friends, kelce and topper.

one outside they hear the revving of a motorcycle. the rider comes into view as they stop in front of the sidewalk. the biker parks and gets off, leaning against the bike like they’re waiting for someone.

kelce whistles at the mystery figure, topper looks confused, and rafe is intrigued.

“kelce, you don’t even know if it’s a girl.”

“are you kidding me? look at that figure.”

“okay well they’re on private property.”

“they’re on the sidewalk top.”

“yeah but-”

rafe ignores the duo, still entranced by the biker. they’re all brought back to reality when kiara, a former pogue and sarah’s newest friend, brushes past them.

topper frowns and calls after her, “hey watch where you’re going kie!”

she doesn’t even look back as she flicks him off “fuck off top you have no room to talk!”

a nearby teacher calls for her to watch her language but she’s already at the sidewalk and hugging the motorcyclist.

someone nearby says what rafe’s thinking, “kie knows her?” he’s so intrigued he might see if sarah knows anything. a mini crowd has formed while other pass them to head home or to the beach for the summer.

kiara backs up and the helmet comes off. a girl.

“i told you she’s a girl. pay up.”

“we didn’t bet asshole.”

the same teacher tells topper to watch his language.

her deep brown skin is flushed from the summer heat and being trapped under that helmet for god knows how long. her micro braids are up in a clip safe for a few strands. she smiles at kiara with all the fondness of a long lost friend. rafe finds himself wishing he was on the receiving end of that radiant smile. she’s rubs kiara’s arms and frowns as she says something he can’t quite make out before taking off her leather jacket and puts it over kiara’s shoulders. ‘a leather jacket in this weather?’ rafe decides she’s insane, beautiful but insane. with the leather jacket off he can finally see her arms and he feels faint. her arms. his eyes scan further down to her chest sweat cascading down and sitting in the space between her-

“hello! earth to rafe!” sarah’s voice breaks him out of his leering.

he rolls his eyes trying to see the pretty motorcyclist behind his sister who's blocking the view. he catches one last glimpse of them before they speed off.

he sighs and drags his hand across his face, "i already know where this is going and the answer's no." he pushes past her and heads to (ward's) his car.

she follows after him ranting about how important it is that she doesn't miss the party from the moment they get in the car until they reach tannyhill.

if he asks about kiara's new friend with the motorcycle that's his business.

biker!pogue sees him when he pushes past her at barry’s

she parks in front of the familiar trailer and turns her engine off. she takes off the helmet and is hit by the overwhelming familar smell of weed.

"jesus christ." she mumbles as she places her helmet on the left handlebar. she adjusts her black and gray striped skirt and graphic tee crop top. maybe she’s wearing a push-up bra to get a better deal but that’s her business. the leather jacket doesn’t stick to her skin since it’s twice her size.

there's screaming from inside that grows louder as she gets closer. before she can knock the door whips open nearly hitting her in the face. 'fucking assholes.'

"hey you almost hit me with the door you di-" the word dies on her tongue when she sees a flustered, manic looking blonde. he's definitely a kook, the polo gives him away. he brushes his messy hair back and stops past her and gets on his dirt bike. they lock eyes one last time before he puts his helmet on and speeds away.

time stands still as she tries to piece together where she knows him from.

“yo princess peach!” she looks back to see barry looks down at her standing at his steps. she rolls her eyes at the nickname and enters the trailer.

“unhappy customer care bear?” he frowns at the nickname

he glares at her “how many times i gotta tell you to stop calling me that? fucks with my street cred.” she snorts and flops down on his couch, “i’ll stop when you stop calling me princess peach.”

he sits down next to her. “see that’s actually cute, and it fits. look at you with your pink fucking bike looking like a princess.”

she smiles, “flattery will get you nowhere barry.”

she stands up and walks to his stash, he shrugs. “worth a shot. what do you want?”

she looks through his stuff, “the usual. plus some info.”

he smirks, “info? you been watching too many cop shows peach. i ain’t a rat.” he lights joint and takes a hit as he watches her grab what she’s looking for.

“not ratting anyone out, just wanna know who that guy was. the one that stormed out of here.”

he frowns, “country club? ah don’t worry ‘bout him.”

she sits down next to him and grabs the joint from him before he takes another hit. she takes a hit, “he’s a kook bear, i don’t wanna see you go down for selling to some rich punk cause he mouthed off to you and you laced his shit.”

he throws his head back, “that was one fucking time.”

“i’m interested, what happened to your no kook rule. and what were you two screaming about.”

“he wanted some shit i didn’t have you know how it goes.”

she nods. “tale as old as time.” she takes another hit. “what was it?”

he looks at her and laughs, “damn nancy drew you want his social security too?” he takes the joint from her.

she rolls her eyes, “fuck you. i just know you don’t let anyone talk to you crazy so i thought he was someone special.”

he grins, “he’s got deep pockets aight? you done asking questions? you’re fuckin’ with my high.”

she stands up and takes off the leather jacket, throwing it at his face, “fuck you.” she leaves the trailer and gets on her bike.

“come back again soon!”

if you ask her she'll tell you she barely remembers him cause he made that little of an impact (liar)

their vibes are very much ‘me and my girl don’t argue she tells me to shut the fuck up and i listen’ and ‘my girl’s mad at me. hope i die.’

one of his worse crashouts was the first time she dumped him

jj came over as he usually does. he wanted it to be a surprise, she’d been working at the mechanic’s damn near every day. he came by with her favorite snacks and the dvd for the jersey shore’s first complete season. instead he’s met with rafe’s tongue down her throat.

“what the fuck!?”

“jayj!?”

“so should i go or?”

jj chases a half naked rafe across the backyard.

you know that episode in the boondocks when grandad gets addicted to weed and huey asks him to choose between weed and them and grandad without hesitation chooses weed? yeah that’s how their breakup went down.

birthed this iconic voicemail. she listens to it and laughs when she's feeling down

barry has to listen to rafe cry about how “that damn kid ruined it” and how he was gonna “really do it this time” after doing another line

he’s even more crushed when she leaves obx for the mainland to pursue her dream of becoming a famous racer

like he’s proud and happy for her but he’s absolutely crushed

“i mean i knew it was coming but i mean she just left!” he does another line. “didn’t even say goodbye like who the fuck does that? thought we had something you know?”

barry scratches his head, “so you gonna be here a while or…?”

she comes back to obx at the beginning of s2 when tensions between the pogues and kooks (mainly rafe) are at an all time high throwing rafe off his game even more

rafe finds out she’s back in town through sources (kelce) and immediately gets on his bike to go to her. ward is not happy with this especially since it’s right rafe said they should kill all the pogues who know what he did. he watches race switch gears and hop on his bike.

“rafe. rafe where they hell are you going!? we’re having a conversation right now.

rafe shakes his head and grins. “she’s back.”

“who? no. no, rafe-” ward knows how bad he got last time she was in the picture does not want history repressing itself. rafe revs the engine and puts on his helmet.

“i gotta go.”

ward steps up to him, placing a soft but firm hand on his chest. “no. hey! rafe no, you are already in deep shit i can’t protect you if you keep doing stupid shit.”

rafe knows he’s disappointing his father, it pains him but he wants to make it better. he can’t do that without her. “i’m sorry.”

rafe takes off.

“rafe! goddamit…”

she’s pissed when she finds out he’s been terrorizing jj and the pogues

rafe’s at the country club with kelce and topper when he sees her again for the first time. though their reunion did not go the way he envisioned it

she tells him if he ever lays a hand on jj again she’ll kill him (he nearly cums on the spot)

their arguments are awkward for third parties because they always go from screaming and angry to intense staring and close talking

he hears her before he sees her. "rafe!"

he perks up at the sound of her voice, at first he thinks it's the coke or his mind playing tricks on him but he hears it again. "rafe! i know you're in there asshole open up!"

barry opens the door and pulls her in. "goddamn girl! the fuck's the matter with you? banging on my door like fuckin' twelve at five in the fuckin' morning."

she tugs her arm out of his grip, "fuck you." she looks at rafe, her rage disappears as they lock eyes, replaced by grief.

“angel?” she stands in front of him, hands on her hips like a disappointed mother. “what the fuck rafe? you've been harassing jj and his friends again and don't try to deny it i know you have.”

“what?”

"don't play dumb either. i knew you were an asshole but what the fuck? you tried to kill sarah!"

he frowns at the mention of his sister. "no, no she provoked me."

"i don't give a fuck! she's your sister what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"what the fuck's wrong with me?" he stands up nearly knocking over the table, barry tells him to chill but he's not listening he gets in her face, "what the fuck's wrong with you? you just leave without saying goodbye and act like i don't exist when you come back? who does that?"

she doesn’t back then though his close proximity sends chills down her spine. “this isn’t about me.”

he chuckles but there’s no humor in his tone. “almost everything i do is about you.”

the two of them stare into each other's eyes, a mutual understanding between them, everything else falls into the background. barry’s just standing there like ‘🧍🏻‍♂️’ “so are we going or…”

speaking of the men in her life pissing her off, jj showing her his gun does not go own well

“what the hell is wrong with you!?” her arms are crossed, standing up and looking down at the boy in front of her. he doesn’t say anything. “that’s not a rhetorical question jj i actually wanna know.”

“you actually wanna know?”

“yes!”

“and why would you give a shit? huh!? you’re barely around!”

“that’s not fair jj.”

“no who’s not fair is you leaving me here! what’s not fair is you fucking hooking up with at psycho rafe cameron after all he’s done to us! what’s not fair is you trying to play big sister like nothing’s changed!”

“jj!”

he stands up and gets in her face, he’s no longer the little boy she walked to school. “i don’t need your lectures, i don’t need your advice, and i definitely don’t need you anymore.”

she feels her heart shatter into a million pieces as he walks away.

his two triggers are being called a murderer (true) and being told she would never love a monster like him

when he meets up with sarah at the dock she tells him that biker!pogue deserves better than him and how she hopes locking him away for what he’s done will help her realize that

she picks him up from jail when ward “dies”

he knows something’s wrong when he sees her. she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tight.

“i’m so sorry rafe.” he wraps his arms around her waist on the ride home. she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze at every red light. by the time they reach tannyhill the last of the boat wreckage is being removed from the water.

“rafe?” wheezie stands at the sliding glass door holding herself up. "wheeze-" she runs over to him and hugs him, crying in his arms. he's taken by surprise but quickly adjusts, wrapping his hands around her.

rose comes looking for wheezie and finds the trio outside. rose sees biker!pogue and confusion flashes in her eyes, but it's quickly covered up by the pain of loss and disappears back into the house.

she ends up staying at tannyhill for "moral support"

"really i don’t wanna intrude.” rose chuckles as she brings in pillows to rafe's room, "please, the way rafe talks about you? you're practically family."

rafe and her have a much needed heart to heart

they lay side by side looking up at the ceiling. “i want you to stay." she looks at him. he's already looking at her. she brushes his cheek with her thumb, he leans into the touch. "i'll stay as long as you want." she gives him a soft smile. he stares at her for a minute, deliberating. he kisses her.

deep down she knows it's coming but it still catches her off-guard. she knows this won't help him. it will probably make him worse, but she does it anyway. she kisses him back. they're suddenly sitting up, both on their knees he shrinks himself so she's above him as he chases after her lips. her grip on his face is soft but firm, she pulls away first. “rafe."

he looks close to tears, "please.” he nuzzles against her hand, "i'll be good."

that breaks her heart. she nods, "you don't need to be with me."

he kisses her on the cheek. jaw. eye. neck. shoulder. wrist.

she cradles his face and kisses him deeply.

he moans. he's halfway in her lap as their kissing grows more frantic and heated. his hand moves down her shorts, she gasps.

"tell me i'm good."

she grips the sheer with one hand and his hair with the other. "you're so good rafe."

he speeds up his movement at that, making note of her shortness of breath and tightening grip. "yeah?" his breath is hot against her neck,

she nods and meets his gaze. "yeah." he kisses her again, her moans swallowed by him.

he likes it, keeping them for himself.

she grips his shoulder and shudders against him. they both breathe heavily. she looks at him looks down. he follows her line of sight. he looks back up, at her lips then meeting her eyes.

“you don’t have to-”

she pushes him down and straddles his hips. “be a good boy and stay quiet yeah?” he nods.

probably the closest he’s come to seeing heaven. (pun half intended)

she bumps into sarah in the kitchen that night

sarah jumps and nearly drops her glass when she turns around and sees biker pogue!reader behind her. she chuckles, "sorry, didn't mean to scare you." sarah shrugs, "not scared, just startled."

it's awkward. "um i just came for some water so." she grabs a bottle from the fridge and gives sarah one last parting glance. "i'm sorry for your loss."

sarah looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole. like she's just been reminded of her father's grizzly death. 'great nice going' she thinks to herself. "sorry, again. um bye." she turns to leave and beats herself up for her awkwardness and poor choice of words. the idea of rafe's sisters not liking her makes her stomach feel weird.

"you should stay away from rafe." she stops in her tracks and turns around, "what?" sarah walks up to her slowly, "he's not a good person. you don't know him, the things he's done-" "

"i know." sarah backs up, eyes squinted and lips pursed like she's just been told aliens are real. "i know he killed sheriff peterkins, i know-" she swallows, "i know he tried to kill you."

sarah's face falls, she looks betrayed. "you know?"

biker pogue!reader reaches out to her but sarah pulls back. "sarah i'm sorry and i know he's unpredictable but-" sarah's voice rises, "then you know what he's capable of."

she nods, "i do." sarah shakes her head, "love makes us all stupid huh?" usually she would deny it but this time she says "yeah, yeah it does." sarah doesn't look angry or betrayed anymore. this time the look she gives her is one of pity and understanding. she hugs her, "be careful." she leaves her with much to think about.

she can't blame sarah for not wanting to be around rafe right now but she still feels

“sarah left. i’m trying to keep the family from falling apart she just- she doesn’t get it!” he’s yelling but she knows it’s not from rage but regret and heartbreak? how did they get here? did the resentment start?

“i don’t know how to make her get it i don’t know what to do.” he cries into his hands.

she rubs his shoulder, “hey she just needs some space, and that’s not your job. you’re trying your best. you’re a good guy rafe.”

he stares, to anyone else it would look cold but she knows he’s contemplating her words, struggling to believe them. he kisses her. she blinks slowly, “rafe…”

he pushes himself away from her walking to the other side of the room. “i’m sorry.”

she moves towards him. “hey no it’s fine i- i wanted you to kiss me.”

his eyebrows furrow, deeply confused. whether it’s by her acceptance of him or the kiss she doesn’t know. “you did?”

“i mean it’s probably a bad time now but yeah i’ve been wanting to kiss you since i got back.”

he nods stiffly and leaves the room. she’s left standing there more confused than ever.

when he’s working with lambry and her brother biker!pogue notices that he’s slightly more put together and while she wants to know why she doesn’t wanna pressure him into telling her

she’s in his room chilling when he comes bursting in telling her he has the cross

“that’s not all is there?” he hates that she knows him so well, he shakes his head and sniffs. “no uh no there’s more.”

she nods, “okay, do you wanna tell me?”

he shakes his head, “i’m scared you’ll look at me differently.”

“i highly doubt that, i know a lot of shit about you and none of it has scared me away.”

he looks at her like she’s just told him she’s found atlantis. he’s trying to compute why she does. why stay with him when he’s like this? he needs to know. “you won’t after this?” he grabs her by the wrist and pulls her off the bed dragging her outside to the truck.

“rafe what is your problem!” she knows it’s not coke, last he used was the day after ward’s death when he came to her with his theory about rose hiding something. “you’ll see.” he opens the truck and she sees the body, she almost falls to the ground.

“wh- what is this? what- where’s that lady is- wait this is-”

“the guy that was here the other day.” she looks at him, there’s no fear in her eyes but shock and confusion. “you didn’t do it.”

he tilts his head, “why do you think that?” she looks at the body again, “i don’t know. you seem more disturbed by this than peterkins. it’s not adrenaline though it’s… was it her?”

he’s always amazed by how smart she is. he nods. “okay.”

she hears screaming coming from downstairs and by the time she gets there she sees sarah in a chair passing out

she runs to her, pushing rose out of the way to check on her. “sarah? sarah honey answer me.” she looks back at rose and rafe, disgust and anger in her eyes as she cries. “what did you do?”

rose reaches out to her but her hand is quickly slapped away. “you drugged your own daughter?” rose has the decency to look ashamed while rafe just stares unflinching in his resolve. she turns to rafe, “it’s not too late you can still stop this you can do the right thing-”

rafe turns to rose, “take her to the car, i’ll clean it up.” rose nods while biker!pogue looks at him, “clean it up? rafe that’s a person! you can’t just-” suddenly there’s a pinch feeling in her neck. she turns to rose who’s holding a needle.

she looks remorseful but that doesn’t change anything.

biker!pogue sluggishly turns to rafe, “you dick.” she tries to swing at him but is too slow. he catches her before she falls and sits her gently on the chair across from sarah.

“i’m sorry. i hope you can forgive me.” she blinks twice before she’s consumed by darkness.

when she wakes up on the ship and sees ward she thinks she's dead

she hears about their plan with the cross and thinks it's idiotic

"rafe your dad faked his death, rose fucking drugged me and sarah, and wheezie's scared out of her fucking mind. nothing about any this is normal!"

“this just makes you look worse cause you know all this and you’re still dating me.”

“bitch!?”

he's right though

rafe refuses to let her come with him when they're lured to that room and tells her to stay put

"fuck you i'm coming with you!"

"like hell you are!"

"rafe-"

"i need you to stay here, watch over wheezie." she frowns, not liking the thought of leaving him but understanding him. she nods.

he kisses her forehead and leaves.

she doesn't listen, which is how she finds herself on the upper deck leaning over the railing looking down at kiara and jj fighting off a hired soldier

she sees jj fall overboard and it breaks her

she thinks she screams but it’s hard to tell with her ears ringing. kiara immediately jumps after him and she finds herself loving the girl even more. she runs down to the deck, the man that hurt jj is still on the floor getting his barring back from that kick to the chest kiara delivered. she punches him in the face and he's back down.

she stomps on his wrist, the one holding the machete. "you like beating up on kids? huh!? makes you feel big and bad?" she doesn't wait for a reply, she kicks him in the side once, twice, three times. while he’s dissociated and groaning in pain she grabs the machete and repeatedly brings it down in a blind rage. over and over and over. blood splashes on her face, jolting her back to reality.

she sits there and for what feels like forever

rafe finds her after what feels like forever. she jumps at first before she realizes it’s him. he holds her shoulders softly holding her against his chest.

he hold her at arms length getting a good look at her. he looks at her hands. she balls them into fists. “they’re not mine.” she doesn’t meet his eyes, staring ahead at nothing.

“i know. i don’t care about any of that though i’m just happy you’re okay.” he hugs her. “i thought i lost you.”

he keeps talking but all she can make out is "cross" "pogues" and “alive”.

she looks down at her hands. they're bloody and bruised but they don't shake. rafe holds them in his hands, “hey it’s okay. you’re okay.” she shakes her head, letting out a mumbled whine

“i was angry.” her voice comes out shaky. “my-my body just…. moved.”

“whatever he did the fucker had it coming.”

she looks up at him and stares like she’s finally seeing him for the first time. “no-”

“he hurt you didn’t he?”

she shakes her head, troubled by his deduction. “he hurt jj.”

“like i said, deserved.”

she pushes him away, “they were right about you. you’re dangerous. you’re not even fucking flinching at the sight of- of a- a fucking dead guy. how could you look at me like i’m-i’m-” an angel. “i killed someone rafe! do you get that!? i’m a monster!”

“hey!” he snaps gaining the attention of his family and some workers.

he lowers his voice, “don’t say that okay? you’re not a monster. you did something a lot of people would do in the same situation.”

she shakes her head “no.”

he nods, “yes, hey!” he grips her face, stop shaking your head it’s true. now you listen to me, you’re a good person okay? this, this moment doesn’t represent you. doesn’t change shit so don’t go wasting your tears on him okay?”

she nods, sobs turning to sniffling. he brings her in for a hug, she cries into his chest. he looks up and sees rose staring down at them in shock and fear. he holds her closer and kisses her head. “it’s okay. i’ll protect you.”

three nights later the boat is close to shore when he realizes there is actually something that could be the final nail in their relationship (a kryptonite)

they’re lying in bed she’s facing away from him but his arms are wrapped around her waist.

“if jj's dead i'll never forgive you." he stills and looks at her back. he kisses her shoulder. he knows she means it.

things are tense between them until he gets back from singh

she’s patching him up when he tells her about his journey and the pogues being alive

“jj’s alive.”

she stops sewing. “how do you know?”

he grimaces from the pain of the last sew and pull, “kiara was there. we escaped together and she fucking pushed me overboard and stole my boat to save her scooby doo gang.”

she smiles at this, “smart girl.”

he frowns, “whose side are you on?”

“stop frowning your face will get stuck like that.”

when jj comes back to obx their reunion is a tearful one.

she hugs him so tight eyes wide as takes in his scent. she pulls back first to get a good look at him, checking him for any injuries. he smiles, "i know." she knocks her forehead against his, "don't do anything stupid like that again." he lets out a wet laugh, "no promises."

one of the reasons biker!pogue "ignores" his red flags is that he’s unfortunately a good boyfriend (if you don’t look to deeply)

he bought her a diamond encrusted lighter for her birthday

with some of the money he owed barry

he got her a necklace with the letter 'R' so that he’s “always close to her heart”

it’s only after their second breakup that she finds out it’s a tracker

biker!pogue after pulling up to the country club: i’m not a fucking dog rafe! so what the fuck possessed you to put fucking tracker on me!

kelce and topper: i’m sorry what?

after their second breakup caused by rafe melting the cross he became in her words “more annoying” (dear reader he was stalking her)

“rafe! i know you’re in there open the fuck up!”

rafe starts coughing uncontrollably. barry pats his back while staring at him in disgust and an undertook of concern. “yo chill man it’s just princess peach. yo peach! calm down yeah-” rafe covers his mouth. barry pushes his hand away. “the fuck’s wrong with you man all that coke finally fuck up your head!?”

rafe glares at him “i didn’t want her to know anyone’s here much less me and your dumbass ruined that!”

“first off you’re not gonna call me a dumbass in my home, and second who’s the real dumbass, the man that didn’t know there was beef between you two and said what’s up to an old friend? or the man who doesn’t want to be found and came to the place everyone knows he hangs at?”

rafe frowns, “well when you put it like that-”

“you look dumb as hell? yeah i know.” he gets up and move stop the door. rafe starts freaking out grabbing at his hand. “what are you doing!?” “calm down man. i’m serious act like you got some sense or i’m kicking you the fuck out.”

“barry i know you’re in there!”

barry sighs, “i’m comin’ peach.”

“don’t fucking answer her!?” rafe whisper yells from his hiding spot behind the couch’s left arm.

barry stares him down, trying to figure out when he made thee move from his couch to that corner and how he didn’t make any noise. “look country club whatever you did to makes her mad you probably deserve.”

“don’t!”

barry opens the door and is met with a smiling biker!pogue. “thank you bear.” she turns her attention to a poorly hidden rafe. “rafe cameron what the fuck problem? is it the coke? you wanna die? i’m just tryna figure out what made you lose your goddamn mind and put a fucking tracker on my bike.”

rafe stands up and sits on the couch like a scorned child. barry’s mouth falls open in shock, “a tracker man? what the fuck? why not just call her!”

“we broke up.”

“she blocked me on everything.”

the exes stare at each other for a couple seconds. barry clears his throat, very uncomfortable with the tension.

rafe crosses his arms, “how’d you find it?”

she sends him a knowing look.

he scoffs and scratches at his upper lip. pope. that fucking pogue.”

“hey! watch it! i’m not your concern anymore. i don’t need to give you updates on my location and you have no right to put a fucking tracker on me.”

he stands up and steps up to her. “how else am i supposed to protect you?”

barry tries to make space between them, “woah okay man how bout we all chill?”

biker!pogue scoffs and steps closer, “no fuck that. what part of ‘we’re done.’ did you not get?”

rafe pretends to think of an answer, lips pursed and furrowed brows. “um the part where it’s fucking stupid cause i didn’t even do anything.”

she points a manicured finger in his face. “you know what you fucking did rafe!”

“why do you always take their side?” the veins in rafe’s neck are bulging.

“oh where we go again!”

barry wonders if this is what his friends feel like whenever they break up a fight between him and a customer. or him and anyone.

rafe chuckles, “yeah here we go again because your last answer was bullshit!”

he spits out ‘bullshit’ like it’s acid on his tongue. she steps forward not quite getting in his face but pointing up at him.

“fuck you cameron i don’t owe you shit!”

he leans down, matching her glare. “the fuck you don’t!”

her eyes widen at his audacity. she gets closer but there’s basically no room between them at this point. “excuse me!”

barry grabs his keys. “i’m gonna go.” they don’t hear him over their yelling but he still tries his best to make as little noise as possible while leaving the trailer.

when he comes back two hours later he finds their clothes all over the floor leading to his bedroom. he opens the door and finds them cuddling. “yo not on my bed bro!”

biker!pogue is not any better unfortunately she matches his freak

they drunkenly make out in ward’s office stumbling around as they remove articles clothing. after a long night of stolen kisses, networking, and teasing they left the country club event early.

she puts some distance between them and backs up until she hits the desk. he moves like a lion stalking its prey, eyes trained on her, every step precise. he’s in front of her now, he grips the back of her neck and plants teasingly slow kisses from her neck to her shoulders.

he lifts her up onto the desk to get a better angle. she giggles at the action, “okay caveman.”

he lets out a him of agreement but doesn’t let up like adam after he tasted the forbidden fruit he wants more. she closes her eyes and grips his hair before pulling him away. he groans and pulls her against him. “tell me what to do.”

she smirks and slowly pushes him down to his knees.

he looks up at her as he kisses his way up each leg, moving the dress when it gets in his way.

he crumples up the dress, she frowns “hey this was thirty bucks.”

he rolls his eyes, “i’ll get you a new one. lord knows you need a better one.”

“excuse me!? i didn’t know this was dress to impress.”

he frowns, “i’m sorry.” he kisses her through her underwear, her breath hitches. “don’t be mad at me.” he gives a teasing lick, she groans and tightens her grip in his hair making him look up at her. “no teasing. be a good boy and show me you’re sorry.”

he smiles “yes ma’am.”

one time rafe comes to one of her races with a girl

the fucking audacity. they arrived just as the race was about to begin, he’s trying to throw her off her game and that’s one thing she won’t allow. she wins the race and makes a beeline to him and his girl. the way she kisses him is messy. teeth colliding, tongues clashing, spit down the chin, lip biting, and lots of moaning and groping. she's marking her territory.

she breaks the kiss and looks to their right where the girl once was. she looks at rafe, eyes wide with fake curiosity and innocence, "do you think it was something i said?"

he laughs and pulls her close, hands on her waist. he bends down and whispers against her hair, "feel better?"

she shakes her head, "not yet."

he knows it’s going to be a long night.

rafe and jj are jealous of the other “taking all her time away from them”

she thinks rafe’s jealousy is worse (and she's right he's a grown man jealous of a child)

“you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“do i look like i’m joking?” he crosses his arms and flares like thats supposed to spook her

“you look like a dumbass and you sound like an idiot. you’re jealous of jj!? jj’s my brother you asshole!”

“he’s clingy and he knows when we’re together and that’s when he chooses to call!

“he needs me!”

“he’s needy!”

“he’s a kid!”

“please! he’s been around the fucking world and survived being shot at!”

“that’s not a normal thing to happen for a boy his age rafe! he needs a strong support system!”

“what about me? what about the help i need!?”

“do not start that with that bullshit! i am constantly helping you in on your side even when i probably shouldn’t be!”

jj is just as bad as rafe but he’s more pouty about it and she can’t stay mad at him for long when he looks so cute

he slashed rafe’s tires and was caught in the act by one other than biker!pogue. he’s thankful because if he was found by anyone else he’d be in jail or six feet under. though he would prefer death than the disappointed look being sent his way.

“please say something.”

“i’m shocked. i have no words. what were you thinking?”

“i was thinking ‘fuck rafe cameron’.”

“jj!”

“he’s been taking up all your time and he’s a dick.”

“jj, just cause i’m with rafe doesn’t mean i don’t love you. and i’m sorry, you’re right i have been neglecting you a bit.”

“i know i cause more problems than i’m worth but please, please don’t hate me.”

his pout tugs at her heartstrings, she melts.

“oh jayj.” she hugs him. “i could never hate you.” she rubs his hair while his face against her stomach. “i love you baby bird.”

he smirks against her stomach, “i love you too.”

rafe’s just standing there like 🧍🏼

they probably shouldn’t be together but being apart is worse

they cannot survive separation

she’s patching him up when he tells her about his journey and the pogues being alive

“jj’s alive.”

she stops sewing. “how do you know?”

he grimaces from the pain of the last sew and pull, “kiara was there. we escaped together and she fucking pushed me overboard and stole my boat to save her scooby doo gang.”

she smiles at this, “smart girl.”

he frowns, “whose side are you on?”

“stop frowning your face will get stuck like that.”

she’s kind of his conscious (it’s why he has her saved in his phone as ‘angel🥰’)

convinced him not to kill his dad

they’re on his bed watching reruns of the real housewives of atlanta when he brings up his predicament. he’s lying in her lap tracing her thigh as she runs her hands through his hair.

“there’s something i need to do… but i’m afraid it’ll hurt someone i love in the process.”

she pauses the episode as looks down at the man in her lap. “well i’d say do what’s best for your state of mind. if the thought of that person getting hurt isn’t enough to outweigh the risks. doesn’t make you a bad person. just consider how you’d sleep at night knowing you hurt them.”

he looks at her like she’s God™️

she’s beautiful. she’s beautiful and she doesn’t know that she just changed his life and saved his dad

the way she didn’t judge his question✅ she didn’t make him feel like a monster for not considering someone else’s as reason enough to care ✅ she ran her hands through his hair✅ his head was in her lap✅ she combined emotion and logic to give him an answer✅

he goes to her place immediately after dropping ward off at the runway

she’s in her jammies when she opens the door

rafe stands at the door looking like a pathetic wet dog. she’s smiling when she opens the door but it only takes one look at him for it to turn into a frown. rafe hates being the reason for it. “oh my god. come in, come in." she pulls him in and shuts the door behind her before immediately fussing over him, “you’re bleeding.”

“it’s not mine.”

she stares at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “my dad he- he got hurt.”

she nods. “is he gonna be okay?”

“i don’t know.”

she goes to the pogues’ ceremony after they find el dorado

rafe tags along because he can’t stand being away from her for more than an hour and cause he knows it’s important to her

“look at you! so handsome.” she pinches jj’s cheek and ruffles his hair.

he softly grabs her hand to stop the overload of affection though he secretly likes it. “come on you’re ruining my street cred and bad boy image.”

she laughs but nods, “of course wouldn’t want that.” she stares at him with adoration and fondness in her eyes. “i’m proud of you.”

he smiles, “thanks. actually couldn’t have done it without you.”

she scoffs, “please-”

“no really you- you’ve been my only family. i couldn’t have done this without you telling me that i am better than my dad and how smart i am and how i’m a good person, even if you’re wrong about that.”

“jayj…” she’s close to tears. he smiles “i love you.”

“i love you too.” they hug.

______________________________________________________________

i’ve been working on this for a minute i hope y’all liked it and if you did please comment like share yk i love feedback

#⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡biker!pogue #rafe cameron x black oc #⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹♡biker!pogue reader #rafe cameron x black reader #biker!pogue #obx fic #rafe x reader #biker pogue!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x black reader

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 months ago

Text

Posting schedule: Friday Misdemeanor, and Wednesdays for one the occasional one shot. Tag lists are always open.

Join us in the VoxTek Discord server for a Vox themed Hazbin place to hang and get teasers for upcoming chapters!

my AO3 and Kofi

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart

Cover done by @redvexillum

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes,triggering content and sexual content. Potentially DD:DNE, mind the warnings Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, murder

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59. 60

Why Is MisD Reader Coded... white? A supplemental reading explaining the historical context, why the deliberate choice was made to code the Reader as a white woman for the sake of plot points, and why I personally would find it disrespectful to have not done so.

MisD Sidepieces: One shots or fics that take place in a MisD AU or are MisD canon but written by another.

Inappropriate Demeanor by @nyx-umbrakinesis (Canon placement, end of chapter 22) Chapter 2 (canon placement between chapter 24 and 25)

Audio Chapters by Nyx Productions: Chapter 1: part 1 part 2, Chapter 2: Part 1, part 2, part 3, chapter 3, Part 1, part 2, part 3, Chapter 4: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2

For Eternity (Completed)

Banner by @redvexillum

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult Warnings: This fic contains sexual content, explorations of consent within Angel Dust's contract in relation to sex work, Sexual assault, Possessive and obsessive behaviors, Power dynamics, Adam being an ass, kidnapping, Vox is in hell for a reason, Val is in hell for a reason, Vox has a weird thing for Alastor, Angel Dust is sweet as pie, murder, revenge, implied sexual assault and harassment, miscarriage and death.

Summary: Isabel died young, leaving behind her husband to pick up the pieces. Finding herself in Heaven, she waits for her husband to join her. And waits. And waits. Years and decades pass as she faces the realization that Alastor may not be joining her in Heaven, leaving her largely alone in a realm of double standards and fake smiles.

She must decide if she is going to move on from her marriage or do whatever it takes to reunite with her husband. Would he even still want her? Would she survive the dangers to find him? Would the cost be worth what could be gained?

Is Heaven really Heaven if the one you love isn't there with you?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Another day in Paradise (On hiatus)

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: Adult for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

A Taste of Sugar

Alastor x reader Rated: Adult for smut TW: blood kink, bondage, reader with trauma from food insecurity Summary: As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

Chapters: 1, 2

Wild Flowers (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adult, 18+ Content warnings: Sex pollen trope and related questionable consent due to intoxication, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, praise, dancing that shouldn't be that sexy, biting, a touch of blood drinking, female masterbation, some possessiveness, Alastor being a bit of an ass

Summary: You had always loved flowers, so when you found a patch of pretty purple wildflowers growing in the small forest behind the hotel, you didn't think twice about picking a small handful to bring back to your room. While they smelled lovely, you were wholly unprepared for the side effects of exposure or the repercussions of offering the terrifyingly handsome Radio Demon a smell on your way to your room.

With your body burning from the inside out with an overwhelming need and a displeased Radio Demon pushing his way into your room, you have no idea what you're in for.

All you wanted was to pick some flowers but you got so much more.

Audio version brought to you by @nyx-umbrakinesis, Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6.

Steamy Situations 18+ (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off. Audio Fic credits: Read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis (Audio fic part 1, part 2)

Read me to sleep? (One shot)

Alastor x readerRating: G Summary: After a long, shitty day out and about you drag yourself home to the hotel to seek shelter and comfort in the one place you knew you could find it.

Home is where the heart is (One shot fluff)

Vox x Reader Rated: General Warnings: I accidently spilled a little angst on the fluff serving. Sorry?

Summary: You're cooking dinner when your secret boyfriend comes home. Caught up in the moment, confessions are made and hearts are put on the line.

A Bed of Electric FLowers (One Shot)

Header done in part by the wonderful, amazing, fantastical @redvexillum

Vox x ReaderRated: Adult CW: Sex pollen trope, sex toy use, female masterbation, Vox's glowstick dick, way too many tv details, Male receiving oral,

Summary: A unexpected floral arrangement is delivered to your door as you're trying to ignore the lingering absence of your flat faced boyfriend. When Vox returns home and finds you in a compromising position, he's eager to assist even without a clue as to what has you so worked up.

Sister Dearest (One shot)

Requested: Vox x Alastor’s!Sister!Reader rated: Adult

Summary: Sneaking out of the protection of the protection of your brother's district was dangerous. Not only did you risk Alastor's wrath, you risked catching the eye of some unsavory characters. While you could meet many friends upon the streets of the forbidden tech district, you find Vox and his alluring promises of a good time.He knew of your brother and seemed to hold no animosity, surely he was a friend to the Radio Demon, right? Surely you could trust his company, right?Right?

Power (One Shot)

Vox x Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Porn without plot, Power dynamics, Secretary reader, Choking on dick, Office blowjob.

Summary: Vox is wound tight after his on air showdown with the newly returned Alastor. The show must go on though and you have just what he needs to get into the right headspace to move forward.

(None, for now)

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wangxianficfinder · 23 days ago

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In the mood for...

Dec 16th

~*~

1. Itmf fics for good!wen xu (or as good as he can be in his circumstances). We don't know much about him, which gives his character a lot of wiggle room potential. I've seen some interesting takes where he kinda parallels interpretations of zuko's cousin Lu Ten in avatar the last airbendee fics. Be interesting to see more of those

🔒 Contrapuntal by WithBroomBefore (T, 35k, WQ & WWX, WangXian, LQR/WQ, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV WQ, Everyone Lives, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Sickfic, Trans LWJ, Trans Male LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Minor Character Death, Murder)

these all have Wei Ying joining the Wens and oftentimes, being a positive influence on Wen Xu:

All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos (M, 92k, WWX & WRH, WangXian, WWX is a Wen, Abuse, Whipping, Manipulations, Warning: WRH, Smart WWX, Possessive Behavior, Warning: JGS, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Society Level Victim Blaming, Victim Blaming)

Scars of Lightning by The_peregrine_falcon (T, 6k, YZY & WWX, WWX & WRH, WangXian, YZY’s A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Wen WWX, zidian, YZY is a bitch, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Heavy Angst, Lotus Pier, Nightless City, Young WWX, Muteness, Hurt kind of comfort)

Sunset, Sunrise by Ariana Deralte (ArianaDeralte) (T, 59k, WWX & WRH, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Crack, Temporary Character Death, sorry I killed a-Yuan for a few paragraphs before the time travel, WWX is a Wen, Genius WWX, WRH gets to rewatch the series as a treat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in this house we acknowledge that all the sects have flaws, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, WWX Has ADHD, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Autistic LWJ)

Train Rides Change Everything by Seriana (E, 508k, WangXian, SangXu, ChengJue, ChenLi, Modern AU, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Abusive Jiang Family, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slut Shaming, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abusive YZY, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Beta JC, Omega JYL, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Beta NHS, WC Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Forced Marriage, First Time, Forced Bitching - Omegaverse, Alpha WX, Minor Character Death, Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, drug overdose, Sexual Tension, Omega JC) has a good (ish) Wen Cu. He's no boy scout, but he's far from the unredeemable person he is often seen as

Where The Arrow Points by Nillegible (G, 4k, WIP, WN & WQ, WN & WWX, JC & WWX, Time Travel Fix-It, Fix-It, No Sunshot Campaign, Because Um. WN murders WRH, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, really) this fic seems to have been abandoned after only one chapter, unfortunately, but about half of that is from Wen Xu's POV and I found him interesting! He's still an antagonist (I think??? the fic died so early it's hard to tell) but he some complexity and positive qualities.

The Oriole Behind You by mercyandmagic (M, 97k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, JC/MM, CP/XY, MXY/NHS, NMJ/WQ, WN/QS, JYL/JZX, JZN/SS, SL/XXC, WX/WZL, LQR/Sisi, Arranged Marriage, Things are not as they appear, alternative title - WRH is the world's greatest matchmaker, Lan Family Feels, Jiang Family Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Lives) I remember this one having good!WX

🔒 Three Little Things by Netrixie (M, 39k, NHS/WX, LXC/NMJ, No Yin Iron, Crack Treated Seriously, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Background Character Death, Patricide, four people get beheaded, Enemies to lovers speedrun edition, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Angst) it could be this one too, where WenXu goes against his father (I haven't finished reading it yet though)

~*~

2. Hello! I hope you are all well this winter festive season! I have an ITMF request - do you know any recs that have a a whole humiliating spectacle comeuppance for Madam Yu, a la the trials in Dispersing Clouds and Truth Will Out (When Caught on Video). I’m JC ambivalent tbh but if you know of any where Madam Yu gets her just desserts for her abuse of WWX and JC stands with him, that would be great!! Thank you <3

🔒 The Second Hand Unwinds by trulywicked (E, 75k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Not Yunmeng Jiang Sect Friendly, Not Jiāng Family Friendly, Not YZY Friendly, Time Travelling LWJ, Protective LWJ, Fluff, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, JGS is his own warning, Wooing, LWJ is romantic af, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Protection Squad)

My heart knows (you’re the missing piece) by makexianxianhappytoday (T, 73k, WangXian, Jiang Family Bashing, Canon Divergence, Rogue cultivator!wwx, JYL Bashing, WWX leaves Jiang sect, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, JC Bashing, Protective! LWJ, Butterfly Effect, No Golden Core Transfer, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Mastermind!NHS, JZX is WWX's friend, Good brother!LXC, Lan Yi is ALIVE, BAMF!WWX, a lil OOC ngl)

so i cut the shackles and changed my name by MichelleFeather (T, 34k, WangXian, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, WWX is a Lan, Good Uncle LQR, Supportive LQR, Protective LQR, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, JFM and YZY Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, Abusive Jiang Family, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Hurt WWX, Genius WWX, No Sunshot Campaign, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cultivation Sect Politics, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Divergence, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, WRH isn't a power hungry tyrant, mostly, BSSR is WWX's Grandparent) an investigation into Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian is ongoing in so i cut the shackles and changed my name

~*~

3. Hey hey!! I wanted to submit an Im in the Mood For ask, for any fic where WWX and LWJ have a rocky relationship at the start, due to political circumstance or LWJ acting rude, and LWJ then reaching out to fix the relationship! Thank you very much! We all appreciate the work you guys do immensely :]

💖🔒 love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, Arranged Marriage, political scheming, Gratuitous Domesticity, Mutual Pining, EXTREME SLOWBURN, the inherent eroticism of the forehead ribbon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, neither wwx nor lwj want to be Perceived, but sorry kids! it’s gonna happen!, rated E but the the NSFW stuff doesn’t begin until chapter 19!, bottom LWJ in chapter 20 and 27, Mojo’s post)

🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke ( M, 180k, WangXian, Arranged marriage, Canon Divergence)

the river and the sea by sasamelons (T, 7k, WangXian, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Falling In Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Mutual Pining)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

~*~

4. Hiii thank you all so much for your help and recommendations ❤️

ITMF fics where Wei Wuxian is really harmed by the resentful energy / war/abuse injuries /starvation from surviving and then returning to live in the BM, and he and the Wens know: he is hurt, weak, slowly dying. Something with sad and depressed Wei Ying and the Wens, who try to take care of him while he still has some time and A-Yuan cheering him up. Maybe the whole cultivation world problem is a factor in Wei Ying giving up on his health and putting his all into protecting the Wens, who see and try to help however possible. Maybe Lan Zhan sees/thinks something is off and comes to them to help or at least spend time with them.

Maybe the siege happens anyway, maybe the plot changes (e.g. someone saves the Wens and helps Wei Ying, or they leave somewhere else, or they are left alone and become a village/sect), maybe Wei Ying dies/comes to the brink of death from poor health before someone can kill him, maybe he decides to accept and speed the process and break the Seal while sacrificing himself, maybe he slowly gets better. Overall, I really crave hurt and sick Wei Ying knowing the inevitable consequence of his poor health and getting comfort and love from the Wens (and any other people).

Thank you everyone ❤️ @shellennium

~*~

5. for the next mood post: in the mood for a fic where jin guangyao is the vilain/antagonist! (Please do not include fics in the jgy bashing/not jgy friendly/evil jgy tags, I've already searched those).

Game Night by Hobbsy3 (T, 46k, WangXian, XuanLi, NieLan, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture, Witness Protection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Dark Comedy, Modern AU, Protective LWJ, Protective JYL, Protective JC, Fusion with the movie ‘Game Night’, Mentioned Junior Quartet, TGCF cameos if you squint)

Starlight by KouriArashi (T, 38k, wangxian, Stardust Fusion, Action/Adventure, Developing Relationship, Mutual Pining, Murder, Ghosts, Magic, Child Abuse) Stardust AU with JGY as the evilest prince

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, WangXian, QingLi, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, only the summoner sticks around, slightly dark!JYL, WQ lives, Slow Burn for yanqing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Versatile | Switch WangXian)

i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending)

i’ll take a secondhand monster by Stratisphyre (T, 24k, MXY & WWX, MXY & JGY, LWJ & LSZ & MXY, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Bullying, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidfic, Minor canonical character death, Injured WWX, Earn Your Happy Ending)

in this place where we don’t have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX dies at Qiongqi path, Demonic Cultivation)

🔒💖 Everyanything by deliciousblizzardshark & lingeringdust (E, 46k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Trans WWX, Protective LWJ, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Is it bad parenting to bring a baby on a nighthunt, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Fluff and Angst, Vaginal Sex, Canon-Typical Major Character Death) has a JGY as the ultimate antagonist and a big showdown vs. him at the end

Your love gives me Wings by SaiaiSaiko (M, 27k, WangXian, WWX Lives, MXY Lives, Winx Club Fusion, Enchantix Form, Sirenix From Winx Club, Believix From Winx Club, Fairy WWX, Witch WWX, Curses, Bad Health through Curses, Spiritual Tools are Pixies, Accelerated Aging, older looking WWX, Fairy NHS, BAMF WWX, BAMF NHS, WWX in WWX's Body, JZX Lives, NMJ Lives, JYL Lives, The following tags contain spoilers, Evil JGS, Trans MXY, Self-Discovery, Misgendering, Victim JGY, Curse Breaking) although it is in a wierd way

~*~

6. Itmf: people sometimes liken Golden cores to being part of someone's soul. What if, ripping it out and putting it in jc, created a harry potter type horcrux situation? And that's why wwx didn't perish in the burial mounds, despite all odds? That maybe so long as jc lives, wwx can't die?

in this place where we don’t have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX dies at Qiongqi path, Demonic Cultivation) link in #5 not exactly the scenario requested, but a fic where JC having WWX's core means people are able to bring him back to life earlier

forget the shade from this other tree by VagabondDawn (T, 11k, Canon Divergence, JZX Lives, No Qiongqi Path Ambush, Vague gesturing towards WWX forming a sect, canon-typical WangXian) And another one where a spell meant to target WWX affects JC instead (pretty minor plot point though)

Also idk if mikkeneko turned it into a full fic, but this plotbunny

Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Canon Divergence, Ghost WWX, Hurt/comfort, Family bonding, Fluff, Angst) ghost on the lotus peir by gotcocomilk , i dont remember exactly it was the condition but wwx was trapped in life because his core was in jc and it allowed him to use spiritual energy of some sorts (do you mean this fic? If not let me know 😊 - Mod C)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

~*~

7. Hi! This is for ITMF. A modern cultivation au where a basic cultivation (like meditating, recognizing the difference of monster, etc) is teached in school but for more deeper learning have to go to sect affliated school. I want wwx as a teacher but anything alright. Or just a story where cultivation is normal is okay too. Thanks! / Hi! A few days ago i think i sent an ITMF ask about modern cultivation au? I dont remember if i mentioned it but if not can you add that it doesnt have to in school setting as long as cultivation is normal. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

Roadside Attractions by Bodldops (T, 10k, WangXian, Teacher WWX, Teacher LWJ, The power of organized aunties)

🔒 Song of Divination by LittleSummary (M, 28k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, WIP, Single Parent WWX, Modern with Magic, Demonic Cultivation, Amnesiac WWX, Curses, Past Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Canon JC, No JC & WWX Reconciliation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, LSZ is a Wei, MXY is a Wei)

Documented Fact by Scrippio (T, 7k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, College/University, Professors, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Zizhen POV, Humor)

Back to Bite One by diamondbruise (E, 21k, wangxian, modern w cultivation, past sex pollen, case fic, forced marriage technically, misunderstandings, happy ending) This last one isn't school-based but portrays the same cultivation practices as canon times in a modern setting.

~*~

8. hello!! i'm ITMF a fic where JC and WWX reconcile by just beating the shit out of each other. Just a very cathartic brawl where they scream at each other and clear a lot of stuff up. @silas-octapisseron

~*~

9. Is this the rec page? I'm new to this, so I'm not sure but I'm going to shoot my shot😅 are there any Wangxian fics where they're dating in their early teens and canon still happens while they're dating. Like, they don't even ever officially break up when Wei Wuxian turns to demonic cultivation and helps the wens in the burial mounds. Are there fics like that? Please let me know, please and thank you and I hope you have a nice day or night😁 @yasssbassss

seldom all they seem by Fahye (E, 25k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, or rather Arranged Betrothal, followed by Weapons-Grade Thirst) Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have an early arranged betrothal before canon events happen in seldom all they seem so close, but not quite what the requested wanted.

~*~

10. ITMF: WangXian de-aging or age play. Preferably nonsexual. Thank you 💖 @br0therw1ves

Glimpses Of The Past by A_simple_Cookie, GoschateWabn (G, 54k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LWJ & WWX, WIP, Age Regression/De-Aging, Good Sibling JC, YLLZ WWX, Young WWX, Childhood Memories, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics, LWJ Has a YLLZ Kink, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Family Bonding, Post-Canon, WWX Needs a Hug, Gremlin WWX, Hijinks & Shenanigans, beware WWX shenanigans inside) De aged to all different ages on different days

A Child’s Wish by Hauntcats (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, Celestial meddling, Not JC Friendly, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone gets what they deserve, Age Regression/De-Aging, Child LWJ)

found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, WangXian, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, De-aged WWX, in which JC and LWJ have to learn to deal with each other, Post-Canon, Getting Together, JL makes an appearance, LSZ best boy, Referenced Child Neglect, discussion of parental loss, child food insecurity, Case Fic, Kind Of, Nightmares)

little a-ying by byeollie (Not Rated, 16k, WangXian, JL & LSZ & LJY, JC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Curses, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff, Babysitting, everyone has to look after a mischievous WWX, Yunmeng Bros, LQR has a heart, Established Relationship, Junior Trio Dynamics, Unreliable Narrator, Family Feels, Found Family, yunmeng bros reconciliation, Post-Canon, Mild Hurt/Comfort)

Rewritten by yamadori (Katsumi27) (G, 6k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Age Regression/De-Aging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

Silver & Gold by beeswaxing (E, 198k, wangxian, JL/LSZ, LJY/OYZZ, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fix-It of Sorts, Family Bonding, Established Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Literal Sleeping Together, Romance, BAMF WWX, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Underage Kissing, Protective WWX, Fluff)

sugar stains by lanjingyeet (T, 18k, WangXian, Kid Fic, (kind of), General Shenanigans, WWX gets turned into a child and it is exactly as chaotic as you'd expect, also the answer to the riddle was love all along, Spirits, questionable parenting, junior trio on babysitting duty, everyone is doing their best ok, Age Regression/De-Aging, Child WWX)

tiny gentians by humancorn (G, 1k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, )Location: Cloud Recesses, Age Regression/De-Aging, De-Aged WWX, Fluff, Pre-Slash)

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, [Podfic] Grow by jellyfishfire) translations into multiple languages available

~*~

11. Hi! Its been a long time since my last ask. But I am hungry for some good fox wei wuxian and dragon lan wangji. And this is the best place for this. Kindly recommend me some fics that are Dragon lwj and fox wwx themed and

- Multi story fic / not oneshot or two shot

- Angst/historical/royal au 's are preferred.

Thank you @lostsoul234

~*~

12. Hello, I am in the mood of fic where Lan Zhan dies (preferable temporarily) at Nightless city battle. Where he either jump after Wei Wuxian from the cliff or he is killed in the battle. I think you might have similar request fic recs somewhere but I forgot to save it. Thank you.

🔒 Blossoming flowers in a full moon - 花好月圆 by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens (T, 64k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, make LWJ happy agenda, wangxian cuddle to Immortality)

coax our vineyard through by Shializaro (G, 8k, JFM/YZY, WangXian, POV JFM, Time Travel, POV Outsider, Letters, Rumors, BAMF YZY, Off-screen BAMF WWX)

If I Could Go Back in Time by Runningbarefoot (M, 122k, WangXian, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Role Reversal, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, YLLZ WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, The Twin Jade Brotherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Slow Burn)

Blood from a Stone by muchlessvermillion (M, 47k, WangXianCheng, Time Loop, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Pining, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Cultivation Sect Politics, Sect Leader JC, Politics, Temporary Character, Death Suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Getting Together, Polyamory, Love Confessions) it's offscreen but it impacts the narrative, if that makes sense?

~*~

13. Hi, I'm in the mood for as many dom/sub Wangxian fics as you can share. No bottom Lan Zhan please. Huge bonus points if it's a lengthy fic with a darkji tag, or has some elements of darklanzhan. Thanks! @thehappyyellow

~*~

14. Hi! This is for ITMF. I want to read a fic where LWJ is the one who left WWX. Like, i read too much of a story where WWX left LWJ. So i want to read the opposite.

Bonus if JYL/JWY/WN/WQ is protective of WWX @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

estuaries by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 34k, wangixan, modern, breakup/makeup, pining while fucking, single dad WWX, angst w/ happy ending)

🧡 Life as a House by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 55k, WangXian, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Post-Divorce, Father-Son Relationship, Reconciliation, Angst with a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LWJ Needs A Hug, lsz is a good boy, recovery from abuse, Therapy, Abusive Relationships, lwj pov, No Powers)

~*~

15. Hello! I hope all of you beautiful people are well! I was hoping for ITMF that keep bothering me.

Does anyone has a wangxian fic fic ACCURATE canon Lan Xichen. By that, I mean, in which he is just a Himbo like MXTX explained to us. Not some knowledgeble and intelligent one who somehow got tricked.

Also, if possible, if it exist, maybe some dark Lan Zhan that figures out that manipulating his brother is not that hard and may fix more of his problems than he expected.

Thank you! @lostandmessedup

~*~

16. Do you have any mobility aid user wwx 👀

Thank you so much for your hard work mods 🙏🙏

No jc bashing or a/b/o please

Elder, an Aesthetic by MarbleGlove (G, 8k, JC & WWX, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign)

Like a Water-Worn Stone by meyari (T, 41k, wangxian, major character death, Hurt/Comfort, very little hurt, lots of comfort, Chronic Illness, Serious Injuries, Self-Medication, Disability, PTSD, Depression, Self-Worth Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aftermath of war, Aftermath of Violence, Prisoner of War, Identity Issues, Warning: Jīn Guāngshàn, enslavement (discussion of), abuse (discussion of), actually very fluffy despite the warnings)

Work in Tandem by MimiSpearmint (E, 23k, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ, Modern with Magic, Single Parent LWJ, when you just want disability-led sword lessons for your child, swordflight instructor WWX, swordflight instructor LWJ, Fluff, give LWJ friends agenda, Protective LWJ, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, a lil bit slut-shamey but in a hot consensual way, imma say we lean into canon sex dynamics in this one, Implied off-screen D/s negotiations, Work in Tandem [Podfic] by GinevraReads (GinevraFangirl))

Black Sun by thelastdboy (E, 51k, WangXian, WIP, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Fall of Lotus Pier, Modern with Magic, No Sunshot Campaign, Hurt WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Not Cultivation World Friendly, WZL Redemption, Wen Remnants Live, WWX Lives, Amputation, Hurt LWJ, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultivation Sect Politics, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Disability, Classism)

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club)

~*~

17. Hi! Thank you for everything you do.

I am in the mood for a fic where there is a confrontation between Lan Qiren and Wei Wuxian. The most important part is that during the confrontation is that Wei Wuxian says that he does not respect Lan Qiren and does not believe he is worthy of respect. Lan Qiren is an awful teacher who never taught him anything. He is not a good disciple of the Lan sect as he breaks rules all the time. He is not a good uncle because he seems to put his own wants and needs before his nephews wants and needs. He is not a good person because he treats people unfairly and is prejudiced. Lan Qiren was disrespectful towards Wei Wuxian’s mother, a dead woman, for something she did years ago.

I just want a fic that addresses these points and shows that Wei Wuxian really doesn’t care about Lan Qiren and in fact really dislikes him. I would also like to see some karma visited upon Lan Qiren and for him to be shocked that Wei Wuxian, and maybe even most his or the younger generation, see him as a joke.

I don’t know if there is anything out there like this but I would love to read it! @kjwaikiki

For 17, Wei Ying is a disciple of Baoshan Sanren in this one but it otherwise fits the request

Going on charmingly by scribbet (T, 21k, WangXian, Teenage LWJ, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR's Disciple, Genius WWX, Petty LWJ, Meddling LXC, What if LWJ didn't have an excuse to instantly write WWX off?, Canon Divergence, JFM Doesn't Adopt WWX, POV LWJ)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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peggyao3 · 5 months ago

Text

Relic - Pt. 5 "Prometheus"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Giedi Prime, 2 years later - 10,190 BG

He feels so-

hopeless,

broken.

One should think he has long accepted that there is no one up there in the universe to come and save him.

No one to soothe him at night, in his dreams, after he threw up upon being summoned to quench the Baron's appetite for power, even though Feyd-Rautha's physical appearance no longer meets his tastes.

But Feyd still goes to sleep every night with childish, foolish, laughable hope, only for regular nightmares to taunt him with their sticky embrace.

When he first stopped dreaming, he threw a tantrum, not telling anyone what riddled him. He was given slave warriors to kill and new blades to blunt on human bones. Under the pretense of a training injury, Feyd had ordered the Suk Doctor to examine him, pointing him towards his brain, secretly expecting a hole there, thinking his brain might have devoured itself because he doesn't deserve goodness.

But the Suk declared, there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing aside from the usual, all the invisible things that made him rot from inside.

After a week of lonely nights, he started taking spice before sleeping, knowing that the drug opens the mind, if to prescience then maybe to shared dreams as well. And it worked! Or so he thought the first night when he found a soft hand in his and the kindest voice among all of the stars whispering: "Look, doesn't this remind you of something?"

Every time he tries to speak then, he wakes up screaming, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets that smelled like cinnamon, before he can ask any of the burning questions or say what's been tearing his heart apart. His greatest regret is that he never said I love you back.

Eventually, he comes to a numbing conclusion. That is not his beloved. That is just a memory of her.

He had to stop ingesting when his sclerae became sullied with a tint of blue that bleeds into the irises. That was one year ago.

After the spice came a phase of intense studies in the bowels of Giedi Prime's archives, ignoring the admittedly quite interesting fact that centuries of his own House's history are obliterated and nowhere to be found.

Feyd learned that 23,500 years ago, in the year 13,402 BG, a strike by an asteroid devastated Old Earth, the birthplace of humankind, making it uninhabitable until it was re-seeded with plant and animal life 42 years later and became a natural park, for humans too.

In 200 BG, 10,400 years ago, Earth was once again rendered uninhabitable for centuries by atomics during the Butlerian Jihad which obliterated all thinking machines.

The first Zensunni wanderers, nowadays known as Fremen, are said to have originated from Old Earth and at some point fled in a grand exodus from planet to planet.

How does this information still exist, but not the location of the cradle of mankind among the stars? There are no more recent records. Humankind has spread itself so thin across the universe, the world of their origin has become naught but a fairytale.

Tonight, Feyd smiles at himself in the mirror in his room, trying to curl up the corners of his mouth like he used to, when a bed of white marble with blue pillows occupied by his woman was waiting for him and a fern was rustling in a terracotta pot. But his cheeks won't grow as round as they used to and Feyd despises how he looks and how his eyes stare back at him like frosty marbles, how his face looks like a gaunt skull with no life in it.

The lonely, demonic creature who stares back at him in the bleak mirror is denied access to the dream land and left to rot in his body, in his flesh prison.

Why does he still look at himself in the mirror every night and go to sleep with a tummy ache, only to wake up hollow and like his soul has been carved out of his chest and wonder:

Is she dead?

If she's dead, then what's the point?

Unconsciously he knows what he keeps searching for in the mirror. For any signs that he was ever lovable, or if his worst fears are true, that she abandoned him by choice.

There is no proof that Old Earth is not still out there, still inhabited by humans who may be unaware of how mankind has branched out across the galaxies.

On the other hand, there is also no proof that Feyd's woman has ever been real.

Among the stars

Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are.

"I am… here!"

Wallach IX, 10,190 BG

Around a heavy, wooden roundtable are gathered the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, flanked by the Bene Gesserit sisters Miriam and Sylvia, the Princess Irulan in place of the Padishah Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV, a face dancer named Thomin to represent the Bene Tleilax and Gwyn from Ix.

"If you can't stop behaving like animals, this discussion will never find an end!" The Princess Irulan's voice bristles in a way that makes Miriam and Sylvia scoff internally at their fellow Bene Gesserit. Thomin and Gwyn are by Bene Gesserit definition, in fact, animals.

The sun on Wallach IX stands already low above the hills and cascades hazy slants of light into the private conference chamber.

"I simply don't trust gifts from the sisterhood," Thomin smiles coldly, spindly fingers folded on the table.

"She is surprisingly useless," the Reverend Mother replies with equal coldness, gazing through the dark mesh of veil. "Why would we keep her?"

"I must insist on the historical value!" Irulan chides.

"Useless for us, Irulan."

Irulan knows her former teacher doesn't actually intend to hand the woman over to the Bene Tleilax for genetic horrors, so it is really only between her and Gwyn from Ix.

"Well, as a historian, I have undoubtedly the biggest use for her among the honorable attendees."

"I strongly object," says Gwyn. "Her technological knowledge could prove invaluable to us!"

Thomin chimes in. "Her genetic information might give crucial clues as to-"

"You just said you don't trust gifts from the sisterhood, so why don't you let those who wear their real face talk," Gwyn jibes at the Tleilaxu face dancer.

Thomin deflects: "What I would like to know is why the Guild deemed it appropriate to hand over such an exceptional flotsam to the Bene Gesserit."

"Of course, they entrusted us with it," Gaius Helen Mohiam snaps. "Who else would have been capable of dealing with whatever could have been inside the sarcophagus?"

That makes the attendees grow quiet for a moment.

"What did you say her first words were?" Gwyn asks.

"I am here," Sylvia says. "Naturally, we only found what she said later."

"I'm sure she would like a friend," Irulan ponders. They're still talking about a human being after all.

"Or would you like a friend?" Miriam barbs.

"Enough of this shit," Thomin's chosen face twists into an unpleasant grimace. "I didn't come here to argue with children. Who gets the relic?!"

The woman sits in the school's relic chamber by herself, knees folded against her chest, staring up at Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night, or what's left of it, rich blues and swirly stars reduced to faded colors. She wonders if this is what will become of her too in this strange new world. Still, the painting is enough to stir her imagination.

She often thinks of her good friend and beloved Feyd and the many nights they've shared before she entered the long sleep and left him behind. She left him to die in the fires of earth from which only the cowardly could escape as pioneers aboard spaceships, venturing out to colonize the solar system when Earth suffocated beneath the smog of climate change and the rubble of bombs as starving nations tore each other apart.

Expensive suicide is what the people on Earth had mocked the cryogenic pods which would take the pioneers to Mars and Titan as sleepers to reawaken and colonize the solar system. A new home, but only for scientists and engineers.

Some cynics even called their cryo pods sarcophagi.

Often she wonders if Feyd was able to complete his life and escape from his vile uncle, if he found the happiness he so deserved. She can't bear the thought that her poor, hairless Feyd might have eventually died of the cancer she was sure he had. She had never asked him because he had never mentioned it. It had never felt right.

She had abandoned him to live with her family in a new world. Now she is here, 24,000 years late after drifting through space in her lonely sarcophagus, sending a distress signal every few days. And she has no one. Such fundamental loneliness can only be met with apathy and busying the mind.

After the war from which she had fled in the year 2100 as of her own calendar, eventually came what is now called the Butlerian Jihad, many many centuries later. Men had revolted against artificial intelligence and now there are no more computers, only human computers. Her first reaction to that had been: In this new age, no data is anonymous unless you are the mentat. No calculation can be conducted unless you own a mentat.

She pensively traces a spot above her right ear and finds herself mourning after the necklace that was taken from her after she had thawed.

She hasn't come much further with the history books yet. There is so much to catch up on and the language first had to be learned, which had consumed most of her first one and a half years on Wallach IX. Now, two years after her arrival, she feels somewhat solid in Galach, wistfully surprised to find relics from so many Earthen languages in it.

A subtle knock on the door pulls her out of her melancholic trance and her gown rustles around her legs that are used to wearing trousers as she stands. An acolyte has come to pick her up and parade her to the assembly of people who are anonymous strangers to her. In her head, a mean voice calls it an auction.

She has already cried her quiet fury and understood that autonomy is as real as daydreams in this new world. On a chess board full of intricate pieces, she is only a block being pushed here or there, but in truth she doesn't even belong on the board.

Outside, looking to the left, she finds a fern swaying softly in a bronze pot and the memories of loving nights cut through her with such unexpected vehemence, she can hardly breathe. Guilt suffocates her.

However their dreams had passed through space and time, they are no more, and she is all alone and that thought overwhelms her as she pads through the garden with its trimmed hedges and softly gurgling water. The size of the universe overwhelms her. The number of inhabited worlds overwhelms her. The amount of history to catch up on makes her feel like a mote in God's eye and the hostile kind of hospitality from the 'sisterhood' since her jarring awakening fills her chest with a numbing rage.

In a moment like this, this order of manipulative women would pledge to recite the litany against fear, but she refuses to condition her body in such a way. And with that mindset, she hasn't even made it to the rank of acolyte.

"To be completely honest, I don't like the fact that most of the great Houses have been purposely excluded from this," Thomin notes and that makes Irulan wonder too.

"And which Houses are you missing at this roundtable?" The Reverend mother coldly inquires, her patience running thin.

"If the Harkonnens find out that we-"

"Harkonnens?"

Five heads whip around to the new presence in the room, only the Reverend mother moves a bit more slowly and drones: "Good. You are here."

"She looks just like us," Gwyn is baffled.

"Of course, she looks just like us!" Gaius Helen Mohiam snaps. "What did you expect?"

"Something more primitive perhaps, I don't know."

"You're disgracing your own intelligence in front of our guest."

"Did you just say Harkonnens?" The guest in question inquires, her expression so blatantly haunted that it would make even the most untalented acolyte grow hot with shame, because anyone taught by the sisterhood should be able to mask that.

"Yes, child, what do you know about the Harkonnens?" Mohiam probes.

The sisterhood has let her pick her own studies after teaching her the basics of Galach. She had gone for science first, then art. The reverend mother had disapprovingly clicked her tongue, as contemporary politics and religion would have been the right choice. It proves unequivocally that the woman is of lesser intellect.

"Do you know someone named Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen?" Her voice trembles like the strings of an off-tune baliset.

"He is the na-Baron of Giedi Prime?" Gwyn replies as if the inquiry was a test for the attendees.

What no one expects is for the relic to break down crying so hard, she sounds like a wounded animal, primitive like Gwyn had suggested, producing gut-wrenching noise. The Bene Gesserit sisters turn away with disdain, except for Irulan whose face is painted by confused compassion.

The woman's legs give out and she unceremoniously squats down on the floor, covering her grimacing face with her arms. For the longest time, the attendees think she's merely sobbing, but after a while the sound warps into tearful but distinct laughter as she sways herself back and forth.

"He lives now?" She peeks at the blurry roundtable through the haze of tears. How could this be? Across not only space but time they've communicated simultaneously in their sleep. According to Einstein's theory of relativity, time is supposed to stretch and compress depending on relative motion, but never run backwards. Feyd should have never been able to talk to her.

Unless he really is her macroscopic, quantum-entangled twin, a phenomenon which Einstein himself had described as 'spooky action at a distance', though that was referring to microscopic particles.

"Speak plainly! Who is Feyd-Rautha to you?" Mohiam demands.

Too bad, Irulan catches herself thinking. The woman already has a friend.

"I saw him," she yells. "I've talked to him so many times, I dreamed about him every night back home, for months! He's my friend. I love him." It is ridiculously easy to admit that, even in front of a council of semi-hostile strangers.

"Hm. Tell me something about him, child."

She draws a quick and trembling breath. "Feyd is a-about this tall, blue eyes, pale skin, no hair, v-very sweet and kind, oh God, I miss him so much, please just bring me to him~"

"That could be a lot of people, but definitely not Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." The reverend mother purses her lips under her veil. "Tell us something more distinct."

"He's being abused by his uncle," she snaps with such venom that even the old Bene Gesserit's fingers briefly clench in her lap. The roundtable grows still and only the woman's shoulders heave with hard breaths.

"Then he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen."

Upon that, the woman nearly bursts out laughing. How ridiculous, how cruel that this is what defines him in public and makes him recognizable, not all the sweet traits of his. People of power know of his abuse and no one deems it appropriate to take action against it?

The reverend mother continues. "Your dreams were visions of the future. This is what we call prescience. That you are prescient surprises me."

"They were dreams, not visions! We've talked about current events and each night we could remember the previous ones." She struggles to find the right words in Galach. "We had agency!"

But the reverend mother isn't listening to her anymore, coming to a staggering conclusion with her frighteningly sharp wit. If she speaks the truth, everything points towards their relic being a primordial Bene Gesserit, erratically skilled even without any training. Mohiam turns to her sisters and ponders: "If she was capable of prescience, perhaps her nervous system developed other abilities as well."

"You suggest she performed Prana Bindu while contained in the cryo pod?" Irulan concludes.

"It would explain how her cells survived it for 24,000 years," Sylvia muses. "Her cells should have degenerated irrevocably thousands of years ago."

The four Bene Gesserit in the room turn towards the woman and ogle her like a thing from a curiosity cabinet. If she weren't so emotionally frayed, she would feel flayed by the many scheming glances.

"This changes everything," Mohiam decides. "The guests may return to their guest rooms. I wish you a swift and safe departure tomorrow."

"I thought we had a deal," Thomin complains and kicks his chair back.

"We were far from having a deal," Mohiam says coldly.

Gwyn laments: "At least let me have a look at the cryo pod or the necklac-"

"A swift departure." The reverend mother repeats and tilts her head subtly towards Irulan, emphasizing that this includes her too. Irulan's lips quiver briefly before she straightens her back, casting a longing look at the disheveled woman before she leaves with the others.

As soon as it's only the three familiar faces from the sisterhood, the relic yells: "I refuse to stay here. I don't want your training or even your hospitality, I only want him! More than anything in the world."

To her surprise, the two younger ones flinch and glower, as if suspecting her voice might break out with new unforeseen powers.

"You love him?" Sylvia doubts but is swiftly silenced by the reverend mother with an acute sweep of the hand.

"Quiet," Mohiam addresses the relic "There's no need to throw a tantrum. You will be brought to him as soon as the circumstances allow."

"I- Oh." The woman stands helplessly like a lost child, hands clutched in front of her pelvis as fresh tears well and soon stream down her cheeks and quivering lips. She had expected more resistance, more cruelty.

"Go now. We will discuss more soon." Dumbstruck, she does as instructed and pads out of the conference room, mind caught in a limbo of disbelief and rejoicing.

The three Bene Gesserit remain.

"She must be controlled. I don't have to remind you that one of her first inquiries when she understood Galach was about computers and where to find one."

"She will be distracted, if she really loves Feyd-Rautha."

"Isn't that careless?" Miriam is baffled. Obviously, they shouldn't let the woman go to Giedi Prime and slip out of their immediate reach before conditioning her mind and body to a proper training.

"Her DNA is mysteriously rogue but powerful. That's all we need to know."

Miriam and Sylvia understand now. The reverend mother doesn't intend to train the wayward woman from Old Earth who is too obsessed with her old ways to indulge in the Bene Gesserit conditioning. She only means to breed her with Feyd-Rautha, so that the child may be trained. Since Lady Jessica disobeyed the sisterhood's order and denied them a daughter, there is currently no fitting prospect for the Harkonnen heir anyway.

"And if Feyd didn't share her visions?"

"We will soon find out. Even if he didn't, perhaps he can be warmed up to someone who is so... blatantly and bizarrely smitten with him." The reverend mother can't help the tiny twitch of her upper lip, betraying her disdain.

"So, we will contact House Harkonnen?"

"No," Mohiam declares. "The old Baron will deny their union if we are the ones who initiate. Let the rumors spread and let Feyd-Rautha do the work for us."

In Greek mythology, Prometheus (/prəˈmiːθiəs/; Ancient Greek: Προμηθεύς, [promɛːtʰéu̯s], possibly meaning "forethought") is one of the Titans and a god of fire. Prometheus is best known for defying the Olympian gods by taking fire from them and giving it to humanity in the form of technology, knowledge and, more generally, civilization. Prometheus is known for his intelligence and for being a champion of humankind and is also generally seen as the author of the human arts and sciences.

A/N: The time it took me to get my Dune lore sorted and throw around the dates from the confoozing BG/AG calendar was longer than it took me to write the actual chapter 😭 Also, Frank Herbert, please don't slap me, I tried to match the vibe of the secret meeting in the beginning of Dune Messiah, but I have nothing on thee, Frank Herbert 🧎

P.S. No breeding in this fic, but the Bene Gesserit sure do dream of it.

TAG LIST: @nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @charmingballoon, @sebastianswallows

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

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steviewashere · 7 months ago

Text

Welcome Home

Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Steve Harrington & Wayne Munson, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (Not Graphic But Prevalent), Referenced Period Typical Homophobic Slur(s), Referenced Drug Use (Recreational Use of Marijuana) Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Wayne Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Wayne Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington has Bad Parents, Coming Out, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Gets a Hug, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Al Munson is a Bad Person

Read the content warning!!

🫂—————🫂 He knows the person he wants isn’t home. But Steve can’t afford to stall any longer. If he continues to wait out in his car, it’ll probably be towed, and he’ll be arrested, and he won’t have the person he needs to bail him out. It’s not like he can just turn the car around, though; make his way back home.

Home doesn’t even exist anymore. It took one night where he thought he was alone, because he was always alone, for them to come back and see him. See him with another boy. Not experimenting, because he knows damn well who he is. But making semblance of love, because he’s been desperate enough for it his entire like. Now that he had it, or something as close to it as he can get from a late night cruising pull, it’s even farther away.

Yeah, maybe he should’ve rain checked. Maybe he should’ve bought out a motel room for the night. Maybe he should’ve just entertained himself with his own hand and the wrinkled magazines that Eddie smuggled for him.

Speaking of Eddie, he’s not here. His government replaced van isn’t parked outside the new Munson’s trailer. Only Wayne’s is. And he’s not sure if he’s ready to face another adult. He is an adult, he knows this, but sitting behind the big wheel of his car—his hands look like they belong to a child and looking at himself in the rearview mirror, it’s like matching gazes with ten year old him; wide-eyed, afraid, and forced against his will.

He is afraid. And maybe he should just let himself feel that. But he doesn’t have the time or the energy or the gall. So he shuts his engine off, hauls an old duffel bag over his shoulder, and makes the arduous journey that is the thirty second walk up the front steps.

Knocking, he swallows his pride. Every part of him is lost and disorganized. He didn’t style his hair. And he couldn’t grab his belt from where it had been kicked under his bed in panic. His shoes are untied. There’s also a large hickey at the base of his neck, unhidden by the stretched collar of some ratty maroon t-shirt he thought he tossed years ago. It’s stark against him in the reflection of the nearest window. He can also catch the dark bruises left on his biceps—grabbed by his dad when he tried to make an initial escape. Maybe he should’ve risked the arrest.

The doors open rather quickly, though. And through the screen, a plume of smoke pools over him from—what smells like—a stale joint. Wayne Munson stands on the other side with tired eyes and a pinched mouth. He’s dressed down in flannel pajamas and has that joint between his fingers. All his movements are slow as he takes Steve in.

“Eddie’s not home right now,” he states instead of offering a greeting. “Is there something I can do you for?” His eyes dip low from Steve’s. Following down the stretch of his neck, where it’s tense and rigid, over that hickey. Pauses momentarily. And then continues to look around, over, down—right up until he notes the bruises on Steve’s arms. “You…Uh…You making a runaway from a bad date, kid?”

Steve swallows. It stings a bit, though not from the hickey. When he closes his eyes to gather his words, he can almost feel the hand around his throat—the wedding ring cold over his wanted bruise, but the red hot spray of spit over his forehead. All as he cowered against his bedroom wall, tense to the floor he stood on, praying that his dad would make it quick.

He’s shaking, he knows. Trembling something minute that, hopefully, Wayne won’t pick up on. “Good evening, Mr. Munson,” Steve greets quietly, voice quaking. “I—I’m sorry to intrude, but I don’t know…There’s nowhere else I can go right now.” He peels his eyes open and peeks up through the screen door. Wayne’s eyes are the size of saucers when they lock stares. He hefts the bag over his shoulder higher, there’s a warm ache through his upper back. Slammed against the wall; remember, he reminds himself.

The screen opens wide and Wayne gestures over to the couch. “Leave your stuff by the door, kid.”

He steps through, plops his bag by the small breakfast nook, and chucks his sneakers to mingle with the pile. Then, he just stands in the doorway. Wayne’s off of his right shoulder. Towering over him a bit, but warm and solid. Steve knows he doesn’t have to be afraid, yet something in him skitters when Wayne’s left hand rests gently on his lower back. “Have a seat,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Acknowledging, without words to say, Steve nods. He shuffles over to the sofa and sits on the farthest cushion on the right, where he tends to settle when he comes over.

“You eat?” Wayne asks.

“No,” Steve mutters, “my dad didn’t give me enough time.”

“You like pepperoni on your pizza?”

Steve nods. “Anything except mushrooms, sir.”

“Wayne,” he says softly over his shoulder, “that’s my name and you wear it out all you like. I ain’t your daddy.” Steve just grunts in response, watching warily as Wayne orders them some food.

When he’s done, Wayne faces him again, leaning against the edge of the dining table. His joint has long since been put out, resting warm in the ashtray on the same table. Steve leans forward on his cushion, hands dropped between his knees. His hair falls limp in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters now, does it?

“I’ll only be here a night, promise.” His shoulders hunch inwards. That ache back and persistent. And he knows wherever he sleeps, be it on the floor or the sofa or even in the grass outside, he’ll just wake up hurt. More than just physically. “I know that there really isn’t space for me here and I…I don’t know. I’m not expecting you to take me in just because I get myself in messes.”

For a moment, the room stretches with silence. Going diagonal with the former words.

Then, Wayne takes a deep breath. Shuffles over to a dining chair. And plops down, watching. “You mind telling me what happened?” He asks gruffly, though not pessimistically. “If you’re in trouble, I can only let you stay here a night.”

“Depends on what you view as trouble, Wayne.”

Wayne narrows his eyes, twisting his mouth. His left hand rests on the surface of the table, fingers stretched towards the ashtray and the discarded lighter next to it. “Illegal shit. Anything that gets you in trouble with that Powell bastard. Not including weed. That’d make me a hypocrite, and that’s one thing I ain’t.”

Again, Steve nods his agreement, the acknowledgement. He fidgets with the tips of his fingers. Nails digging into the fatty parts, turning them white with pressure. “I didn’t do anything illegal, swear. Just did something stupid.” Warily once more, he eyes Wayne. “How do you feel about Reagan?”

“That man can rot in hell for all I care.”

He chuckles, despite everything. Then, he takes a sobering breath. “I had a…I picked up a boy tonight. Because I wanted to have—We were going to have sex, to put it simply, Mr. Munson. And I took him to my room, thinking I’d be alone for the rest of the night…”

“And you weren’t,” Wayne states, not asking. What questions need to be asked to an admittance like that? Steve nods, mouth pinched and eyes shiny. “I’m guessing your folks came home.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers just loud enough to be heard. “I must’ve made a…noise loud enough to be heard downstairs. And my dad had just come home. And he…maybe the boy also made a noise, I don’t know. But one thing came after the other, and the next thing I knew my dad had gripped me on my arms and threw me against the wall and I thought he was going to kill me dead right in my own room and he was spitting about…he called me a-a fag and a fairy and I…

“I didn’t fight back. I didn’t speak. I was so scared. I am scared, Wayne,” Steve admits, voice trembling and his nose burning. “All I could do was take it.”

Carefully, Wayne extracts himself from his seat and situates himself on the coffee table. Right in front of Steve. “Where all did he hurt you, Steve?”

He swallows, remembering. “My arms,” he mutters, pointing, “and my neck and…he dropped me down on the ground and while I was reaching for my shirt, he got me on the ribs.” Narrowly, he misses Wayne’s furious gaze. Instead, he finds a shiny blank spot between mugs on the far wall. “He was so furious he didn’t even take his dress shoes off by the door,” he meekly states, “and he didn’t stop until my mom screamed at him to at least let me grab some of my stuff. She told him it wouldn’t be worth it, and I quote, ‘to murder our son.’ He told her that I wasn’t his, but he let me leave.”

He’ll never thank his mom for that, but at least she granted him grace. Though, she didn’t look pleased either. Her face set and jaw clenched. He knows that if she had the chance, when he wasn’t in earshot, she would’ve said the exact same thing as his dad. Steve withers further at the thought, if that’s even possible.

“I’m just lucky that I’m not dead, right?” He adds a moment later, face wet with tears and throat thick with grief.

Wayne sharply inhales. “You’re safe here,” he says lowly, “just as Eddie is. You’ll forever be safe here, I promise you that.”

Steve’s eyes cut back to him. That ferocity in his gaze like a warm blanket over Steve’s shoulders, something he can cling onto and believe. “You know about him?”

“You’re not the first kid to run here from their daddy,” Wayne utters.

Something in Steve’s stomach twists slowly. His chest crackling with those words. Remembers when Eddie Munson was out of school for a week in eighth grade. When he came back: long sleeves in late May, hair shaved close to his scalp, heavy eyes, and new silver scars over his knuckles.

“I’m not…”

“Eddie would never cut his hair voluntarily,” Wayne states, voice grim.

Steve looks down at his lap, fingers picking nervously at each other. He murmurs, “I’m safe here,” but more of a reminder to himself. He’s not sure if he’s had a promised safety in years. All the stuff with Vecna and the Upside Down and now his dad—which never started with tonight; it had been growing to that, always something small like a slap to the wrist or a dull smack to the back of his head, but his life had never been almost choked out of him. He never feared, just always worried.

God, he always worried. And now here he is, trembling with his tail between his legs.

The silence stretches between them after that. Wayne gets up at some point to pay for the pizza, gather a couple plates, even relight his half-gone joint. And in the time it takes him to sit back down on the sofa with the food, Eddie comes back.

He tumbles through the door, a thousand words spilling out of him, coat hanging off of his elbows, and one shoe already stepped out of. He’s a whirlwind of movement and thing after another after another. But then he spots them on the couch; Wayne eating slowly and Steve curled nervously, face turned away from the door. “Aw man,” Eddie drawls. “Sharing pizza and weed without me? You guys always have all the fun when I’m not here.”

“Ed,” Wayne mutters, “we need to have a conversation, alright?”

Steve peers over, just as Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Did I…Is it something I did?” Eddie murmurs, voice falling meek. “Is everything okay?”

He can’t help but try to hide further. Flinching into himself, eyes closing on their own accord, cheeks flushed, and lips trembling. Tries to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he’s already opened the waterworks once tonight—they’re not going to close up again just from this. He looks to Wayne, eyes pleading for him to explain. He’s so tired of having to digest this, let alone regurgitate it.

“Come sit in my chair, Ed,” Wayne says, gesturing to the brown chair near the window. He waits until Eddie does what he’s told, sitting slowly and looking at them with his too big, concerned eyes. His eyebrows raise, even Steve can make that out through his blurry vision, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Okay, I need you to listen and not ask questions. No interruptions unless I ask you to respond, you got that?”

“Wh—Yeah, Wayne. I’m all ears; you’re freaking me out.”

Wayne nods gently, his left hand out in a placating manner. “You remember, I mean you most definitely do, but do you remember when you had to come here all those years ago?” He asks softly. Eddie acknowledges by nodding, nothing more. “Steve is going through something similar,” he explains gently, “and I’m letting him stay. If you want to know the specifics, that’s something that you’ll have to hear when Steve’s ready, got it?”

Eddie inhales slowly. His face gaining that same furious ferocity that Wayne’s had. But then he looks to Steve and all the hard features of his face soften. Back to something familiar and warm and homely. “Stevie?” He ventures. “You okay?”

He shrugs. Answers thickly, “I don’t know.” His cheeks wet with more tears and he roughly wipes them away with a shaking hand. “I don’t…I thought they loved me? Even just a little bit.”

Warmth crowds him as Wayne lays a firm arm over his upper back, hand wrapping around his right shoulder, just missing his bicep. “Eddie? Why don’t you clean up a bit in your room for his stuff? Get some new sheets on your mattress, too. Think he could use a sleepover, that alright?”

“Course,” Eddie answers almost instantly, voice soft and calm. “I’ll set out some pajamas, too, Stevie. You want a sweatshirt or a t-shirt?”

Steve sniffs and swallows heavily. ��Sweatshirt, please.”

Slowly and carefully, Eddie comes over towards the couch. He places a gentle hand on the back of Steve’s head. Thumb running up and down at the base of his skull. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “we’ve got you now, though.” And with that, Eddie retreats to his bedroom, the door clicking softly behind him. The rustle of things being moved around ever apparent through the thin wood.

Wayne clears his throat and pulls Steve in a little closer, tighter. He says close to Steve’s ear, “We love you here, you got that? You have no reason to hide yourself or sneak around or try and fit yourself in a box.”

He nods minutely. “M’kay,” he mutters, “I’ll try and find another place soon, I promise. I just don’t have the money—“

“Nonsense,” Wayne states steadfast, “this is your home now. And I won’t have it any other way.” He pulls back just enough to make them lock eyes again. The air smells of grease and weed and Irish Spring. Amber light flooding around them and dim enough to not hurt his head. Everything around him is soft, gentle. It feels like home. Wayne holds him by the shoulders, firm but not suffocating. “Don’t tell Eddie I said this,” he whispers, “but he doesn’t shut up about you. He’d kill me if I didn’t let you stay and I’d beat myself up about it. As long as you stay true and playful with my boy, then you’re my boy, too. You hear me?”

Steve’s eyes blur again and his nose stings and he wishes that he could stop crying, but this is nice. The warmth and the love and the tenderness. He could burn alive from it and still be grateful. It’s so much better than the lonely, cold sprawl of his parents’ house. A house he never thought he’d leave.

“I hear you,” he musters.

“Good,” Wayne murmurs. “Why don’t you go use up some of the hot water and take as long of a shower as you want? I’ll get your things into Eddie’s room and—don’t tell that Powell bastard at the station—but I’ll roll something for you, if you want it.”

Despite everything, Steve finds himself laughing from his belly and smiling enough to ache his cheeks. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Warning, though, I’m really annoying when I’m high.”

“Then annoying you’ll be,” Wayne gets out around a chuckle. “And keep smiling, boy. You ain’t got a thing to worry or fear here. Even if your daddy comes running on over, I’ll make him leave just as fast with his tail between his legs, swear it.”

His smile relaxes to something soft, a ghost of a thing. He leans forward and hesitantly wraps his arms around Wayne, relishing in the hug that he gets in return. “Thank you,” he says, muffled into Wayne’s pajama shirt, “think you literally saved my life tonight.”

“You’re a good kid, Steve,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re always welcome in my home.”

He knows he’s crying again, a gentle and silent thing into Wayne’s shoulder. And yet, despite everything, he’s lighter.

Later, he tells Eddie all that happened and is held close, a hand in his hair and fingers tracing over his trembling shoulders. Later, Wayne will make a grand breakfast spread to celebrate new family. And even later, Wayne’ll crack a joke about no funny business while he’s sleeping. But Steve will know, through the tired and playful glint in Wayne’s eyes, he’s all too happy that Steve and Eddie figured themselves out.

For now, though, Wayne hands him a clean, soft towel. It’s dark green and well loved. And he knows, too, that his soul will eventually look just like that. And just like the towel, he soaks it all up. Including the warm, “Welcome home, son,” Wayne says before he closes the bathroom door.

🫂—————🫂

#read the content warning #cw referenced child abuse #stranger things #steve harrington #wayne munson #steve harrington & wayne munson #steddie #eddie munson #angst and hurt/comfort

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slixqrta · 29 days ago

Text

yandere! omega x omega! reader

synopsis: an omega who doesn’t fit the stereotypical narrative of a submissive partner and an omega who does.

TW: 18+ writing, gn! reader, male! yandere omegaverse, mentioned and referenced violence, a brief mention of drugs, implied references of past sa towards the reader, manipulation, implied descriptions of reader getting depressed, implied mention of future noncon/dubcon, yandere elements.

a/n: so ah, my first post at tumblr, and since I always found interesting the omegaverse concept, i thought why not? why not writing one of my own and post it? and so, here i am. I hope the people who finds this to enjoy!! also be aware this contain some context that might not be suitable to some readers as mentioned in the TW area. and the divider is from @.cafekitsune

maxwell doesn’t fit the narrative of what an omega should be or act. he knows that, it’s something that he is proud of.

from the very first moment, he learned of his secondary gender, max promised to himself that he won’t let people take advantage of him because of it.

the long days of attending the gym, learning self-defense and taking daily doses of his anti-heat medication made him feel more confident. he is no longer that little boy who was often picked by his classmates, by alphas who often overlooked him. now from the most people’s eyes, he appears to be an alpha with his height and strength, ready to attack if necessary, so no one dares to approach him mostly of the time.

however, the alphas are another story.

those idiots, well a great amount of them, thinks maxwell is a challenge to be beaten.

his mind can replays the countless times where an alpha entered his life, promising equality and fairness, only to betray that promise. each time, max found himself standing his ground, taking them down the instant they shattered his trust.

there was one who was caught in the act of replacing his anti-heat pills with placebo, another one tried to convince him to stop attending the gym daily and to take lessons on ‘housekeeping’ classes, and the last one was dumb enough to even try to remove the condom during sex. that was the final straw.

after that incident, max stayed on his own.

the weekly pill that he managed to buy from a secret source serves to make his scent disappear. max doesn’t concern himself with how it works or where it comes from—his only focus is on the alphas who remain unaware of his true status as a omega as he walks through the streets. there is no one to bother him anymore.

his life is now peaceful.

there is no alpha to irritate him nor no society’s expectations thrown at him. he is at peace, ready to start a new life, ready to pretend to be a beta in the background of society and ignore all of his past problems. that was his plan, to live a perfect and solitude life at his small apartment, yet things changed when you popped at his life.

an omega who didn’t know better.

an omega who was raised that everyone is equal regardless of their secondary gender.

an omega who, unfortunately, didn’t know how awful most alphas act when things don’t go their planned way.

he found you sitting behind a dumpster on his way home after a night at the gym. the bruises on your skin were a clear sign you'd ndured from your alpha, and as a result, you had fled from them, ending up on the streets. max also notice of the faded bite mark on the back of your shoulder, a silent indication that it had been some time since your escape. his heart got heavier when seeing you in a state like this, and so max took you to his place.

his bachelorette apartment became your safe heaven, your new home. after spending days in complety silence following your rescue, you told max your name and the story of what had happened.

the alpha who you believed to be your soulmate, became abusive after trusting the words of the neighbors’ false accusations of your infidelity. the alpha ignored your pleadings, resorting to brutal force, demanding a confession for something you never did. after days unable to move properly, you gain enough courage to leave them with the little money you had in hands which led you to meet max weeks later at that dumpster.

it is no surprise the story shocked him. max always knew that alphas were dense when the subject was about their mates, but never he would think that an alpha would treat an omega so poorly like that. it disgusts him.

he can’t imagine how hard would his life be if he hadn’t fight to stand up for himself.

“i know it’s hard to tell someone about the abuses you’ve been through, but i’m happy that you were brave to open up with me.” he said, offering a hug that you happily accepted, resting your head on his chest as one of his hands gently caress your hair. “you know, you can stay here as much you need. i won’t rush you to leave.”

those words brought you comfort, safety and even happiness. never in million years, you would believe that someone would you. most of the time, when people witness an alpha and an omega fighting, they didn’t intervene. to their eyes, the submissive partner should be the one to blame. if a mere omega can’t handle an alpha’s outburst of anger, then they aren’t worthy.

to society’s eyes, omega aren’t nothing but a way to keep their partners from being violent outdoors. omegas are use as a form of entertainment to alphas, a maid to take care of the house, a baby machine to bear the stress of raising children on their own and a plaything to be used when they need to relieve stress.

it’s a miracle that you are no longer part of this circle of abusive, free from the fear and anxiety that comes with being an omega.

well, you can’t exactly go outside anymore, but at least you don’t have to live in fear of punishment like you used to. sure, you don’t have a personal income because of it, but that doesn’t matter, does it? as long as you with max, you’ll never need to step outside and risk yourself for a handful of pennies.

“the outside world is far too dangerous for a fragile omega like you.”

that’s what max always tell you when you try to bring up the subject of searching for a job. and always, you agree with his statement even though it hurts your heart.

don’t you realize that you are in the same position as before?

it took you a long time to notice how small the apartment feels. perhaps the months spent confined within these walls has heightened your awareness of the lack of personal space—or the absence of any time truly yours.

there is no privacy, no place to hide—not from this apartment, not from him and not from your own thoughts. the days blur together, each one an endless loop of the same routine.

you can’t take this anymore, not when max’s presence start getting overwhelming. and feeling your heat coming closer isn’t helping either.

to think max would stop giving you the anti heat pills after you ‘tried’ to escape drives you crazy.

it started in a weekend night. shaking your whole body as you dragged yourself to the bedroom. the heavy blanket covering your nude form as your fingers try to pleasure yourself, a stupid way to compress your moans.

you were so focused in staying quiet that you failed to notice max joining you in bed. his hands going underneath the blanket, not wasting time in tracing the many beauty marks from your skin.

he knows it’s wrong to touch you like this.

but, for the first time in his life, max has the upper hand in a situation like this.

he needs you.

and he will makes you need him even more.

“take a deep breath, [name]…” his mouth curved into a soft smile, a completely opposite of his actions. “i promise to make our first time a gentle one.”

118 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 7 months ago

Text

Vice;Grip || chapter 4 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, recreational drinking, depiction of a panic attack, there is a quick moment where you can infer that reader thinks vernon might be actively su*cidal but that is not the case and this is not outright stated, nip stim, dirty talk, piv sex, reader has a high fever but no specific illness is mentioned, a (verbal) fight with some yelling

wc: 6700

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

5 months ago

Five texts went unanswered.

I’m sorry.

I was so fucked up, I wasn’t saying what I meant.

Call me so I can explain.

I’m really sorry.

Please, Vernon.

Each time, they delivered, but no response came. You thought you might feel better if he told you to go away. The silence felt too open, like nothing was settled. Like maybe you just hadn’t said the right thing yet. Like maybe you could - or should - keep trying.

Four weeks passed; you tried not to let it drown you, tried to tread above the rising water of the situation. You swam through guilt, your own anger, guilt again. The knowledge of what had upset him nibbled at your toes like fish you couldn’t see in the murky depths. You tried to pretend it wasn’t there, that it was only seaweed underfoot.

You tried to reason with yourself; you hadn’t done anything that bad. He’d been upset because you’d implied he’d get bored of you someday - even though of course he would - and he thought… you didn’t know, he thought that was an attack on his character?

(You knew that wasn’t why he was mad.)

Or, because you’d implied that he would leave, when you were the one who’d gone silent before? That was valid, you thought. You had been the one to make him chase, when your grey days swallowed you up.

(You knew that wasn’t the whole truth, either.)

You kicked at the fish, kept swimming on.

Three times, you found yourself on the brink of coming clean to Chan. The first time, it had almost escaped from your mouth, prompted by nothing but your own need to hear someone absolve you; you wanted to tell Chan I think I hurt him, so he could say, it doesn’t sound like it’s your fault.

Chan didn’t lie to you, though, even when you wanted him to. He wouldn’t tell you it wasn’t your fault, because it was. So, you tucked the words back in, zipped them up safely.

The next time, he’d asked - “You still… with that guy?” He’d made a vague hand motion that must have meant still seeing, or still sleeping with.

I messed it up again.

I think I liked him too much.

“It’s been like a month,” you said lightly, like it was no big deal. “We’ve been busy.”

His sideways look was scalding. Chan didn’t lie to you; Chan was used to you lying to him, knew all the signs.

He let it go anyway.

Maybe he knew those signs, too. Maybe he knew without you telling him that you’d let the bunny rabbit instincts win - that you’d hid, scared, the second your fragile, broken brain told you to.

The third time, you almost told him all of it, even that it was Vernon. Chan was having dinner at your apartment, helping you clean up after, when his phone buzzed on the table.

“Hey, hyung,” he’d answered, tilting his head to grip the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he ran water in the sink and started rinsing the plates. “Yeah, I’m in. I don’t know, probably in like twenty minutes? Fifteen if I make all the green lights.”

You listened absently as you picked up the rest of the table - napkins in the trash, utensils tight in one hand, now-empty wine glasses in the other.

“Oh,” Chan said, surprised. “Vernon, too? Nice. Should I stop for beer since there’ll be more of us?”

You dropped a wine glass. Chan helped you sweep, and then you ran the vacuum cleaner. Still, you kept finding errant pieces of glass for days. You carried them carefully to the garbage.

It felt fitting, that hearing his name had caused this.

Twice, you called and left voicemails.

Two days after the argument, you’d called on your lunch break. It had rang six times and then his voicemail picked up.

“Vernon… listen, I know I pissed you off. I’d really like the chance to explain myself when I’m not… you know. I didn’t say it how I meant it. Text me. Or call me, whichever.”

After the four weeks crept by and the rest of your texts went unanswered as well, you tried again.

It took almost a whole bottle of wine by yourself to work up the courage, and you hoped he wouldn’t hear the slur in your voice when you told him, “I don’t know why I’m even calling. It’s been a month. I hate that this is just… unresolved. I hate making people mad. I want to know that you know I’m sorry. I want to know that… well. I just… wish we were talking again. I don’t… I don’t know why I’m calling.”

You sat at the stool by your easel for the first time in years, tested your balance, tucked one foot underneath the way you used to. Your hands shook a little as you mixed a purple so dark it was probably actually just black. You covered the canvas, the color of nine at night in the summertime, and stared at it, watching it dry.

When you could, you switched brushes, used a rounder texture to form something that might pass as clouds along the mottled sky. Then, you painted a full moon; it cracked like an egg.

You liked this, you followed the idea, paintbrush hurrying to chase the inspiration, whites and yellows coloring in whatever it was that might leak from the moon like marrow.

The bottom half of the canvas became a moving, living ocean; the blues were eight at night in the summertime but they looked good together with the hour after. You finished with the moon’s reflective path, a jagged yellow streak that dipped and bobbed through the waves.

You walked to the bathroom and washed your brushes, leaving them somewhere to dry where the cat couldn’t mess with them. Then you went back to the canvas, staring at it from a few feet away, your hands on your hips.

You’d done it - you’d painted something you didn’t want to burn.

One painting, one tiny step back towards the life you’d lost - that you’d let yourself lose, that you’d definitively pushed away.

4 months ago

It rained for three days. You lit lamps during the day, suddenly craved soups even though it was the height of spring and the weather had been consistently warm for weeks. The rain just called for it.

It called for you to sleep, too, luring you into bed with a steady patter against the windows. You slept early, and deeply, the cat curled up near your head. The rain beat against the windows like a metronome, helped your heart rate steady, helped your thoughts slow and settle.

You slept deeply, the sounds of the rain pulling you under, and when you were startled awake a few hours in, it was with no concept of where or who you were.

Your phone was still vibrating, jarring; you scrambled to grab it from the nightstand and the cat scrambled out of the room.

Your mom, you thought wildly. Or Chan.

What else could it be, but an emergency? No one else called at three in the morning. Someone used to, but only on the weekend, and that person hadn’t answered you in over a month.

“H’lo?” you mumbled, eyes too blurry to see the screen. You closed them, pressed the phone tighter to your ear to hear better.

No one spoke, but you could hear breathing - ragged and unsteady.

“Hello?” you repeated, more clearly, starting to wake up a bit, starting to worry. You rubbed at your eyes, then pulled the phone away so you could see the name on the screen.

Of course it was him.

“Vernon?” you asked, like you didn’t believe the word on the screen, but you were met with only silence - even his breathing went quiet for a second, like hearing his name had caused him to hold it. Like he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted you to know he was there.

You said his name again, like a question, and it sounded like maybe he tried to speak but the noise - choked and quick - faded quickly. Your heart started to race, and certainty settled into your bones: something was wrong.

“Hey,” you said, a little sharply, like maybe he needed to snap out of it. “Are you okay?”

Finally, a word. “Dunno,” he managed, his voice thick.

“I’m coming there,” you said, already throwing the blankets off your legs and staggering to your closet to pull at some sweatpants. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“No,” he protested, but the way he gasped the breath after it cemented what you already knew - he needed you.

Or, he needed someone, and you were someone, and you would have to do.

“I’m on my way. Stay there, okay? Wait for me.” You were hopping on one foot as you said this, pulling clothes and shoes on, frantically reaching around in the dark for things like deodorant and car keys.

When he didn’t answer, you stopped moving, stopped trying to find your things. When you spoke again, your voice came out softer, a gentle plea instead of sharp instruction. “Hansol,” you said, quiet. “Wait for me. Okay?”

He ended the call without promising.

You stayed tucked into the building’s doorframe until you saw the Uber pull up; the rain was coming down in sheets, and you had to run to the car, splashing through still water until you could slide into the backseat. Your feet were soaked.

You spent the first five minutes of the ride wiping rain out of your eyes and trying to wring out the ends of your sleeves; the fabric clung to your hands, wet and cold. Outside the car, the rain water ran down the windows and the windshield wipers ran on the fastest setting.

im on my way, okay?

[ ]

vernon you’re scaring me

When the car pulled to a stop, you jumped out as soon as it was safe, bolting through the rain a second time and letting yourself into the building with the code you knew by heart. You took the stairs two at a time, heart flying. You were at once both scared to death of what you’d find when you got there, and refusing to put the specific fear to words, refusing to consider that it could be an option.

“Where are you?” you called, as soon as you got his door open. The apartment was mostly unlit, but for the light above the sink, and a dim light from the direction of his bedroom. “Vernon?”

You were met with silence and you almost choked on your heart as it climbed up your throat. You slipped off your shoes and made your way inside, heading for his bedroom.

You almost threw up with relief when you found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The light you saw came from his bathroom - the door was closed almost completely, but light spilled out through the crack.

“What’s wrong, what’s happening?” you asked, inching closer. His hands were clenched into fists and bent back at an angle, veins raised along his tensed forearms. His breath went in raspy and came out in huffs, too quick to be productive.

You were pretty sure you knew what this was. You knelt in front of him, ran your hands over his tensed-up arms once, and then nudged under his chin gently with your forefinger, urging him to lift up and look at you.

He let you, his eyes faraway.

“Panic attack?” you guessed quietly. He nodded once, trying to tuck his chin back down, to look away and hide from the shame of this moment being witnessed - being recognized.

“If I put on my breathing app, will you do it?” you asked.

The sound he made was almost like a laugh. “I’ll try,” he muttered.

You opened your phone and set the app up, placing it on the bed beside him, the light from the screen tinting him pink. You heard the familiar, soothing voice begin to recite the directions, and you rocked back on your heels.

“I’m going to your kitchen real quick,” you told him, putting your hands on his knees to push yourself to standing. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll do the breathing with you in a sec.”

You shivered once as you stood with his fridge open; you’d been in his kitchen plenty of times, but never really perused on your own. Your gaze moved over beer and energy drinks, finally landing on juice. You slapped the bottle on the counter and rummaged in the closest cabinets until you found a glass.

Returning to his bedroom, you could hear your breathing app intoning hold… two… three… four… exhale slowly… two… three… four. It was hard to tell if Vernon was following - his head was still tucked, but his hands clenched and unclenched, like he was trying to return circulation after they’d fallen asleep.

You waited patiently until the breathing cycle ended, then nudged the glass into his hand. When he took it, you sat gently next to him, watching silently until he drank some.

“Where are you at?” you asked, and then started to explain what you meant.

Vernon interrupted; he’d understood the first time.

He usually did.

“Better,” he said, then added, “Not, like, better. But, better. Still buzzing.”

You knew the feeling - you tended to get buzzing in your legs first, then hands, and then it would crawl up your arms and into your chest if you didn’t shake it. When the attack receded, you usually felt it leave your chest first and then work its way slowly back down your arms.

“What usually helps?” you asked. “Is the breathing cycle better, or grounding?”

“Grounding, probably,” he said.

“Start by drinking some juice,” you instructed. “Then, can you tell me five things you see?”

“It’s dark,” he grumbled, but he brought the glass to his lips as requested. You rolled your eyes at his sass and walked over to turn on the lamp he kept on his desk. It cast the room in yellow, all the raindrops on the window suddenly catching the light.

“Now do it,” you said, coming back to sit by him again.

You heard him take a breath. He was better already - hands unclenched now, breathing still a bit quick but not raspy or gasped. “It feels silly to do out loud.”

“I’ll do it, too,” you said. “I see your laptop, your lamp, your cell phone, your dresser, and your very old and embarrassing Blink-182 poster. Literally, Vernon, is it 2003?”

He laughed, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re roasting me right now,” he said, voice still a little thin and breathy.

“Five things you see,” you reminded him firmly.

He huffed in mild irritation. “Hamper,” he recited, finally. “Shoes. Empty Red Bull can.”

You laughed.

“Cologne bottle,” he finished, then looked up at you. “Girl who came out at three in the morning, in the rain, after a month of not speaking, because she was worried about me.”

You spluttered. “I was not.”

He knocked his shoulder into yours playfully. “I have it in writing.”

You let out an indignant breath. “I should have let you suffer alone,” you muttered.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he admitted, then dutifully drank some more juice.

“Okay,” you said, remembering what you were doing. “Four things you can hear.”

He sighed. “Bossy girl,” he listed, and you whacked at his knee. “Rain. Aircon. Traffic outside.”

You finished the exercise together.

“Now how is it?” you asked, reaching to take his empty glass.

He flexed his hands in front of him. “Buzzing’s down to my hands,” he reported. “Think I’m past the worst.”

“How do you feel, otherwise?”

He grimaced. “Exhausted, honestly.”

You looked at the clock - it was after 4:30 in the morning, almost time for sunrise to begin.

“You should try and sleep more,” you said, starting to rise.

“Stay?” he asked, and you thought you heard a note of, well, panic in it. Like he was scared to be alone again.

Something inside you screamed and beat its fists against your insides, furious and terrified as it felt you melt into goo at his request. Something inside you knew that you were walking into a building on fire. But there was no way you’d stay outside, not now, not if he was in there.

“Of course,” you said, as if it was obvious, as if you stayed over all the time - as if this weren’t, in fact, a first.

He seemed to take in your appearance for the first time, the still-drying patches on your clothes, the goosebumps on your damp skin. “You’re cold,” he said, frowning, like you should have led with that as soon as you came in, handled your needs first.

“I’m okay,” you denied, but he rolled his eyes and leaned over the other side of his bed, coming up with a rumpled black hoodie.

“I promise it’s clean,” he said, a little sheepishly, and you pulled off your damp tshirt and tugged the hoodie over your head, instantly warmer and surrounded by his smell. He left for the bathroom, and when you heard the sink run and the telltale buzzing from his electric toothbrush, you got up and turned his lamp back off. When he emerged, you were under the blankets, huddled warm and cozy inside his hoodie.

When he climbed into bed, you draped yourself over him, a leg over his legs, an arm over his torso, your face pressing against his t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you lay in silence for a while, listening to the rain, awash in relief that he was okay - that you two were okay, that he’d let you back in even after you’d fucked it up.

Just as you were starting to drift a little, you felt his chest move under you, and he said, quietly, “I’m sorry for making you come out in the storm. In the middle of the night, too.”

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head but not lifting it up to look at him. Your words carried out into the dark of the room. “You can call me. You can call me when you need me. I don’t care if it’s late. I don’t care if it’s… a hurricane, or whatever.”

It was too honest. It was too close to the truth. You shivered in the dark again, and you felt him hold you tighter for a second, as if to chase the chill away.

He let the moment go, didn’t chase it down and shine a light on it. But you know he heard you - you think, probably, he heard the whole thing, all the parts you didn’t say.

You waited in silence again, let the moment go, let the rain wash this away, too. Then, you ventured, “I’m sorry for what I said to you, last month. Really.”

You felt him nod above you. “I know. It’s… it’s okay.”

Is it? you wondered. But you didn’t push it - because you were scared that his forgiveness was fragile and might shatter if pressed, because you’d already admitted something you weren’t sure you’d meant to tonight, because saying anything seemed wrong while you were between his arms with the rain serenading you both from outside.

You drifted off; you woke up with his hands on your skin beneath his hoodie. You sighed, eyes still closed, as he refamiliarized himself with your body. You breathed in deeply when his fingers brushed up your stomach and found your breasts, teased over your nipples so lightly that it almost tickled, made you shudder in place.

You felt his lips at the nape of your neck, and that made you shiver, too. He pressed kisses along the tops of your shoulder as he teased one peak and then the other, finally giving in to your tiny, needy noises and rolling both buds between firm fingers. You moaned, long, feeling it pulled from deep within you until he let go, soothing over the spots with warm palms.

“Missed that sound,” he murmured against your back, and you pressed back against him desperately, suddenly sure that if he wasn’t inside you this instant you would completely lose it. You reached backwards, grabbing at his hips, trying to pull him closer.

“Need you,” you whined, hating it but knowing it was true anyway, the need larger than the embarrassment. You could feel him pressing against your ass, too many layers between you, and you shifted against him, hoping to spur him into action.

He hummed, pleased, and slid a clever hand back down over your stomach and past the waistbands of your sweats and panties, groaning low in his throat when he found arousal pooling between your legs. He barely bothered to work you open, likely feeling the same desperation you were after the time apart. You felt him shimmy out of his shorts, then his hands back on your skin as he peeled away your bottoms as well.

You kicked them off of your ankles and inhaled as you felt him slide along your slit, teasing at your entrance. He kept one hand up your hoodie, pressed against your chest to hold you tight against him, as he pushed into your heat one inch at a time. You heard yourself make a sound you couldn’t name, somewhere close to a whine, as you felt each bit of him rub against your walls as they struggled to adjust.

“Fuck,” he breathed, mouth close to your neck. “Tighter than I remember.”

He bottomed out and stilled, that one hand still holding you tight against his body. You closed your eyes and felt the moment: his heart beating against your back, your own pulse thundering through your limbs, your pussy pulsing around him as it adjusted and fluttered, his breath warm and steady on your skin, his hands soothing and grounding as they held you tight, the rain still falling steadily outside. You stayed still, eyes closed, as he caressed your hips, your lower belly, your thighs, as he pressed chaste and feather-light kisses along your shoulder.

Finally, he shifted, fucking into you in small movements, barely withdrawing at all before tilting his hips to push back in. You rocked back against him, silently begging for more.

He pulled out almost completely, and then slid back in; the sound you let out bordered on a sob, your nerves alight and sizzling as he began repeating the motion, each stroke slow and long, unhurried, burying himself as completely as he could. You floated like this, completely enveloped by him, still wearing his hoodie, as he took his time with you, until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

“More, Vernon,” you begged, “please.”

“As you wish,” he teased, and used his knee to move yours, bending your leg and hooking it up around his to open you up more, to give himself more room as he set a quicker, steady pace. Relieved, you matched his strokes, half-tempted to roll over so you could kiss him, but not wanting to lose even a second of the delicious feeling of him stretching you, of the friction that made your eyes want to roll back and your toes curl up.

It took you completely by surprise when he began pistoning into you, holding you in place by your waist, and a gasp flew from your mouth, morphing into a series of moans and cries as his hips battered at yours. Even more so when he grabbed at your thigh and tugged, rolling you onto your back and readjusting himself over you, slipping right back in as you wrapped your legs around him and tried to pull him closer.

His pace slowed only marginally as he grabbed at your hands and raised them above your head. Bent close over you, you finally got what you’d wanted the whole time - his lips finally found yours and you kissed hungrily as he fucked you deep. Above your head, you felt your fingers curl against his, lacing together. You squeezed his fingers tight when you came, his name slipping from your lips as your legs shook and your world went white. Vernon came with a cry, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched as he emptied himself in your still-pulsing heat, and then collapsed next to you, both of you panting.

“Shower?” he asked, when he’d caught his breath.

You tilted your phone so you could see the time. “I should probably just go home,” you admitted. “I have work.” This realization hit you - you’d gotten maybe four and a half hours of sleep, and not even all at once. Thank god it was Friday and you only had one day to struggle through.

He nodded, understanding. After you dressed, he wandered after you like a shadow. “You around tomorrow night?” he asked, and you could hear the effort to sound off-handed.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes flicking to his for a second. “Yeah, I’ll be around.”

When your ride pulled up and you stepped outside, you shielded your eyes from how bright everything was in the early morning light after days of gloom and clouds. Around you, everything glistened and sparkled, still wet from the days of incessant rain, as if everything you could see had been washed clean.

3 months ago

hi :]

what’s wrong with your face?

are you insulting my smiley?

again i ask you: is it 2003?

im gonna ignore that. come over?

can’t, sorry. i’m sick

whats wrong with u?

should i start listing?

ha ha. girl stuff?

vernon!!!!

lmao i mean if its not that i figured youd just tell me whats wrong

i have a fever, you ass

It was true - you’d carried your comforter from your bed to your couch that morning and had barely moved since. The cat was on top of your legs and you didn’t have the strength or energy to move him. Through the day, your fever had risen; you hadn’t helped things by refusing to get up, which meant you were probably dehydrated. As Vernon texted you, you took mental inventory of how badly everything on your body hurt - your limbs, your hips, everything ached. The pain in your head was sharp and bloody, and you felt like you were sweltering even though your feet were ice cold.

You felt too miserable to even watch a show; instead, you looked around your living room absently. You were pretty sure you were seeing colors off to the side, hazy swatches of red and blue.

Well, you thought dryly, that’s not good.

Then, your hallucinations took form, because the couch was dipping under you and someone was placing a cool hand against your head. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch just because the coolness felt nice.

“You need to drink something,” someone told you.

“I had the lemonade,” you said.

There was a pause. “I don’t… think there’s lemonade here. Hey - wake up and look at me.”

You blinked, and looked towards the voice. The world’s most beautiful man looked down at you, frowning.

“Wow,” you heard yourself. “You’re so handsome. What are you here for?”

He laughed. “I’m here to take care of you,” he said. “I’m bringing you water, okay?”

You frowned. “I don’t want water. My throat hurts. I want juice.”

There was another pause, and then the voice came again, from further away. “I’ll bring you juice, but you need to drink water now.”

Then he was back, snapping in front of your face. “Hey, look at me again. This is serious. Have you taken any medicine? I don’t want to give you double of something and overdose you.”

“I don’t think I’ve left the couch today,” you told him honestly.

“Okay,” he said, and you didn’t remember him moving or leaving but he was somehow pressing pills into your hand, waiting for you to place them on your tongue before handing you a plastic cup full of water.

“Drink all of it,” he instructed.

“You’re too pretty to be so bossy,” you grumbled around the mouthful of pills.

He waited until you drained the cup. “I’m going to go to the store,” he told you. “Can you think of anything else you need besides juice?”

You didn’t remember if you answered him, or even him leaving. You think you slept. When you woke, someone was rummaging around your kitchen.

“Chan?” you called, blearily.

Instead, Vernon poked his head around the corner of your kitchen, a grocery store bag hanging off his arm.

“Hey,” he said. “How do you feel?”

You blinked at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck are you doing here?”

His smile widened. “Your fever must be down a little. You need anything? You still want juice?”

You just stared at him, bewildered. He finished putting away a few more things and then came back out to you, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Definitely lower,” he said. “Do you have an actual thermometer? I couldn’t find it.”

“Yeah,” you said, still confused. “In my bathroom. Vernon, seriously, what’s going on?”

“Come on,” he said. “You should shower and put on clean pajamas and then maybe try to eat some of the soup I got.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I can shower,” you admitted. “I don’t think I can stand up that long.”

He held out his hand. “I’ve got you. Just a quick rinse.”

He helped you off the couch and into the bathroom, where you sat on the closed toilet while he started the water and got it running warm, but not hot. You kept silent as he helped you undress, as he held your hand while you gingerly stepped over the bathtub’s lip, your legs aching.

“You okay?” he checked, once you were behind the shower curtain.

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I’m going in your room to get you clean clothes to put on.”

“Hurry.”

“I’m right outside. If you feel weird, just call me.”

You did okay, though, washing up and turning the water off on your own, reaching for the towel you kept on a hook. He came in when he heard the water change, and helped you dry off, his hands firm and his gaze gentle. Then he led you back to your bed, guiding you under the blankets.

“Do you think you could eat some soup?” he asked. “I bet you didn’t eat all day.”

You scrunched your nose. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

He shrugged. “It’s pre-made. I’ll heat some up.”

You tried to eat as much of the soup as you could, and then floated absently as Vernon cleaned up.

“Hey,” you said, struggling to sit up. “I don’t think I fed the cat tonight.”

“Tell me what to do,” he said, pushing on your shoulder to keep you from climbing out of bed.

“You can’t just- he’s particular - there’s a process -”

“Tell me the process, then,” Vernon said firmly.

Later, after he’d turned out all the lights, he came to the side of the bed and checked your temperature again - this time with your actual thermometer.

“I’m waking you up in three hours to take another fever-reducer,” he warned you, walking to set the thermometer down on your dresser.

“Okay,” you said, too tired to argue. You were already half-asleep as it was - you had no idea what time it was.

You barely registered it when he climbed into the bed next to you, just rolled over and buried your face in his chest, one arm reaching around his middle, already back under.

His alarm startled you both. You felt him pull away - you were sleeping in the same position, neither of you had moved - and then the alarm fell quiet.

“Medicine,” he said, starting to extract himself. You whined; you were comfy, and warm, and didn’t want him to leave.

“Don’t,” you whined. “Don’t leave.”

He laughed a little, a quiet huff of amusement. “I’m just going to the kitchen. Then I’ll be back.”

He watched you take another round of pills and drink half the water, leaving the glass on your nightstand. Then, as promised, he got right back in bed.

When you woke again, your bed was empty. And, impossibly, you felt both relief and disappointment. Then, from the living room, you heard a clatter and then a curse.

“Vernon?” you called.

Your bedroom door cracked open. Like a flash of lightning, the cat streaked into the room and under the bed.

“Sorry,” Vernon said from the doorway. “He was pissed that I wouldn’t let him in there with you. I wanted you to sleep. He was mutinying.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You didn’t go home?”

“Wanted to see how you were before I left,” he said. “You sound better. You look better, too - I mean, you looked really off yesterday. It was kind of scary.”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “Okay enough that I can keep my fever down by myself. I shouldn’t have let it get that high yesterday, I should have stayed on top of it.”

He looked at you for a long time. Then, he clapped his hand against your doorframe, as if he’d made a decision. “Okay. I’ll go home, I guess. Just… let me know if it gets bad, okay? And eat something. I bought stuff for you yesterday - it’s all in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for doing that,” you said, a little sheepishly.

“It was nothing,” he promised.

After he left, you stayed in the bed, rolling onto your side so you could smell the blankets where he’d slept. It helped you feel safer, like you weren’t actually alone.

It occurred to you that you’d spent the night together twice in a row, now. The rules were breaking - the rules were changing.

Your head pounded, and so did your heart. Nothing had ever been this frightening in your life, you thought.

2 months ago

Vernon saw you as sunshine - not like it was your demeanor, because that wasn’t true. More like - something he needed without realizing he needed it, something he realized he needed only in its absence. Something that made things better and brighter, something that could sometimes be too bright. Something that made the grey days feel greyer in a can you understand happiness if you never feel sadness kind of way.

He tipped your head back to kiss you, caught your bottom lip between his teeth, rolled his hips into yours, watched your hands clench into fists in his sheets.

He forgot himself a little; or maybe he just gave in to something he’d been holding back for months - maybe even a year. Something cracked, marrow slipped out of him, sluiced into the rocky ocean below.

After, he held you close, whispered, “Don’t go home. Stay. Jagi, stay here.”

And, he had to give you credit - you were at least honest. You at least told him your truth, in your own way.

“I can’t,” you said, and he knew you, knew how you meant it. He didn’t argue or call you back when you dressed, when you left again, just how you’d done things almost every time over the last two years.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t want you, maybe even love you, and only have parts of you. It was too hard, it wasn’t fair. Two years, and he had nothing to show for it. Maybe he’d find someone, if he wasn’t spinning his wheels with you.

He saw you like sunshine. Something that was missed when it was gone. Something that couldn’t be forced to stay, something that didn’t come when it was called.

1 month ago

You could tell that something was different. You’d been around Vernon plenty when he was low - this was different.

“You’re being weird tonight,” you observed.

His eyes cut sideways at you. He’d never looked at you like that - this was another clue. Then his face went flat again.

“I’m not,” he said, and you frowned.

“You are,” you insisted. “What’s going on? What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” he said, tone hollow.

“I’m not playing this game with you, Vernon!” you said, temper flaring. “If there’s a problem, you’re going to have to use your words and tell me.”

“I said there’s no problem,” he repeated, cool and even. Something inside you snapped tight, painful. You could feel it all coming to a boil right before your eyes - the way the boundaries had been shifting, the way he’d called you jagi, the way he’d looked when you’d walked away. It terrified you, made you want to show your claws, and it was infuriating that he was icing you out when you were ready to draw blood.

“Vernon!” you cried. “I cannot deal with this little apathy game anymore! I need you to engage here. I need you to care about something, and not just give me this expressionless, emotionless -”

“Care about something?” he thundered, wheeling on you. It startled you into silence. “That’s bullshit. Because I have been caring about you way more than I should, for ages now, and look what fucking good it’s done for me.”

Stunned, you blinked at him. Your heart pounded painfully, and your thoughts felt staticky and unclear. You needed to get away from him; you needed to process this in silence.

Finally, you spoke, your voice coming out tiny. “I’m going home.”

Vernon rolled his eyes, slapped his hand down to grab at his phone. “I’ll take you.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to.”

He ignored this, picking up his keys. “I said I’ll take you. It’s fine.”

You shouldn’t have followed him to the car. You shouldn’t have assumed he’d be mad for a few weeks and then get over it again, just like you two had done more than once now.

He drove you in silence, his face coming in fragmented pieces as he passed under streetlights. You were watching him, silently, when he finally spoke again.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, still perfectly even.

Tears sprang to your eyes before you’d even processed the sentence, something inside you reacting before your brain really knew what you were reacting to.

“What?” you asked. “Why?”

You knew why.

He just kept driving.

“Pull over,” you demanded, suddenly furious, suddenly terrified, suddenly realizing you were losing him, right now, in real time.

He ignored you, didn’t even glance over at you.

“Vernon, I want to talk about this, pull over!” you cried, leaning forward in your seat, the seat belt tightening on your shoulder. “Pull over!”

Eventually, he listened, flicking on his turn signal and slowing as the car bumped off the pavement and onto the dirt shoulder.

“What?” he asked flatly, finally turning to face you.

“I asked why,” you said, heat laced through your voice.

He shook his head. “I’ve wasted two years with you -”

“Wasted?” you echoed, feeling the word like a punch to the gut. You felt like you couldn’t inhale.

“Well?” he asked, as if to say, well, wasn’t it?

“Fuck you, Vernon,” you spat.

“Fuck me is right!” he yelled, loud in the enclosed space of the sedan. “What are we doing? Just fucking, for eternity?”

You blinked at him. “You never asked me for anything else!”

“I tried,” he growled.

“Like hell you tried!”

“I did,” he asserted. “You ran, scared, every time.”

“Of course I was scared,” you snapped, because you couldn’t deny that one for a second. Your voice comes out choked. “I was right to be scared, and you know it!”

“Why?” he asked, the question falling between you, a landmine.

“Because,” you said seriously, the first tear finally falling. “This only ends one way.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you, out the windshield again. Then, he clicked on his turn signal again, shifted the car back into drive, and pulled back onto the highway.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, as the car met even pavement again. “You’re making sure of that, aren’t you?”

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thank you so much for reading! one chapter left to go!

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