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hoe4hotchner · 26 days ago

Text

Chapter 7 - Breaking point

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 10.2k

Warnings: Blood, murder, ice pick stabbing, grief, trauma, and vulnerability. Disturbing imagery? (to some maybe), intense emotions, reader has feelings of guilt and fear. Heavy themes. Reader experiences shock and a sense of personal violation, I murder a minor in the ladder half of the chapter (maybe this is the last murder in the fic…. I don't know yet)……. Also maybeeeee there's an almost kiss 😈.

A/N: This took me way too long to edit…… like 4 days. And the only reason is that I'm a dumbass who constantly kept backtracking and adding more things and new scenes to the chapter….. I literally added 2.5k more words to this than it started out with.

Also I've had a busy week so that's that ;)

Masterlist

The sharp screech of tires behind you brought you back from the depths of your shock, but even as the sound echoed through the street, your mind struggled to process what lay in front of you fully. The grotesque sight of Branson’s lifeless body slumped against your front door, the dark pool of blood seeping from his chest, the ice pick still lodged in his heart — it all felt like a sick and twisted dream, something too horrific to be real — too close to home, literally.

The words smeared across your door, “You’re next,” burned into your mind, each letter etched in blood, like a threat — no, it was a threat, a threat you were far too stunned to recognize.

You felt frozen in place, paralyzed by the disbelief of the situation as well as the terror swirling around in your chest. You were unable to tear your gaze from the gruesome sight. Your breath came in shallow gasps — small clouds of condensation forming in the air — the reality of what you saw was slow to sink in. The wind whipped around you, carrying the soft rustling of leaves in the trees, but even that felt distant like it couldn’t quite reach your ears through the numbness creeping through your body.

The slam of the car door echoed sharply — the sound was violent compared to the gentle rustles of the night — a sound that should’ve jolted you, but you barely registered it. He moved with a quick, determined stride, his dark coat billowing slightly in the air as he cut across the street and through the shadows to reach you.

And then, through the thickening fog of your fear, he appeared in front of you. Solid, familiar — the cologne, you recognized it — He was undeniably real, not just something you'd imagined.

Hotch

His face, usually composed, now portrayed subtle cracks of concern as his gaze swept over the scene. Swiftly he swept it over Branson’s lifeless body, taking in the blood and the message scrawled on your door — it was not the first time he had seen a message like that, but the difference was that last time he knew that she could defend herself if necessary. You, not so much.

But then his eyes found you — you were still frozen in shock — they softened as he took in the state you were in, a mix of worry and concern spreading as he took you in. Without a word, he closed the distance between you — his presence felt grounding in the chaos — and pulled you into a firm, shielding embrace. He didn't know what had come over him — He rarely got this close with victims, no matter what they went through. But you were different.

His arms encircled you completely, holding you tightly, as though his strength alone could shield you from the horror just feet away. Although your eyes were blank — staring into the void — your arms instinctively wrapped around his back as you turned your head to let your cheek rest on his chest.

The warmth of his chest against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breathing — it all anchored you, pulling you from the haze that had swallowed your mind. For a brief moment, everything else faded: the blood, the message, the body against your door. All that existed was the safety of his hold, the quiet assurance of his touch. Him.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice rumbled in his chest making it slightly vibrate against your cheek. Hotch kept murmuring reassuring words to you, trying to reach through the panic that gripped you down to your core. But your breath was still shallow, your words tangled in the back of your throat. Your wide, glazed eyes couldn’t stop flicking back to the scene, the blood still fresh, the ice pick still gleaming in the faint light of the moon. Hotch’s arms tightened just a little as he quietly turned both your bodies around, making sure he was the one to face Branson's body, not you.

"I'm sorry... I—" you stammered, finally managing to speak, your voice broke under the weight of everything, everything you couldn't figure out how to express. The words felt hollow, lost in the moment once they'd been spoken. As the world spun around you, your knees threatened to give way, the ground beneath you felt unstable — yet the concrete was newly paid, leaving little room for uneven terrain. But before you could crumble, Hotch hooked one of his hands around your underarm and tightened his grip around you before pulling you closer, his presence was the only thing keeping you upright in that moment.

As he felt your breaths slowly getting calmer, he moved his other hand gently to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a softness that contrasted the harsh reality.

"Don’t apologize," he whispered, his voice was filled with reassurance. His breath ghosted over your temple as he spoke. "Just focus on me. I’m here."

Hotch managed to fish his phone from his coat pocket with the freest of his hands, keeping his arm wrapped securely around you to the best of his ability as he quickly dialed for backup. Even in this moment, his movements were fluid and purposeful, a testament to his training as an agent as well as his instincts as a human. As he spoke, his voice shifted back to its authoritative tone, the one you had heard several times before — sharp, commanding, and laced with urgency as he barked orders into the phone. "I need units at (Y/N)'s address immediately — I don't care, send them all — We've got a homicide, and she’s been threatened. Secure the perimeter, and get forensics down here. Now!"

His eyes were laser-focused, darting back and forth as he processed the situation, and tried to profile the crime scene to the best of his abilities, while still needing to make sure you were okay. The tension in his jaw was evident as he took in the horrific scene, the pieces of the puzzle finally snapping together. His gaze locked onto the message scrawled on your door, the horror of it deepening his frown. He had been too late the last time, but now was his chance to redeem his past actions. "And make it fast. No delays," he added, his voice brokering no argument.

You stood there, pressed against him as your body trembled uncontrollably. The raw reality of what had unfolded settled in your stomach like a heavy, sinking weight. Branson’s lifeless body — each horrifying detail — flashed over and over in your mind, etched too deeply to ignore. The nausea that had been simmering suddenly surged, more forceful than before, and for a moment, you thought you could hold it back. But the bile rose too fast, too fierce.

With a shaky gasp, you pulled away from Hotch as quickly as you could, stumbling a few steps toward the nearest bush. Your body betrayed you as you bent forward, retching, the nausea spilling out in waves. Your fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree beside you, gripping it as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. The sound of your own ragged breaths filled your ears, and all you could feel was the sickening churn in your gut.

Hotch was by your side in an instant, one hand resting gently on your back, while the other gently moved your hair back and into a makeshift ponytail as you emptied what little remained in your stomach. He didn’t say anything, just stayed close, offering silent comfort. When you finally straightened, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you looked pale, beads of sweat evident on your forehead.

"Come on," Hotch said gently, grabbing your hand as he once again wrapped his other arm around your shoulder. His voice was soft but steady. "Let’s get you somewhere safe." His hand remained firm around yours, guiding you with careful, deliberate, and slow steps toward his car. You could feel his thumb brushing gentle circles over your knuckles, each touch grounding you in a way words couldn't. It was like he knew that the smallest connection was just enough to stop you from collapsing completely.

When you reached the car, he opened the passenger door with ease, then gently helped you inside. You barely registered the seat beneath you, still numb from the shock of it all, but his hand lingered on your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. It wasn’t just a gesture of comfort — it was something far deeper, a reminder that he wasn’t just some big-shot FBI unit chief tonight. He was someone who genuinely cared.

You leaned back against the seat, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once, closing your eyes in an attempt to block everything out.

The distant wail of sirens cut through the night, growing louder with each passing second until it was no longer just a sound but a piercing force that seemed to disturb the air around you. In an instant, the street outside was flooded with a sea of flashing red and blue lights, illuminating the darkened neighborhood. Officers descended onto the scene with purpose, their movements quick and coordinated — they knew just what to do. Forensics teams began to set up their equipment, yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze as it was stretched across the area by an officer, and the soft murmur of voices carried through the night. The once-quiet street had transformed into a chaotic hive of activity, the lights casting a surreal, almost otherworldly glow over everything.

Outside the car, the commotion grew as K9 units arrived on the scene, their dogs weaving through the taped-off perimeter. Their barks echoed in the night. The low hum of radios crackled to life as handlers gave commands, and the dogs sniffed along the ground, searching for any trace of the unsub’s path. Their noses skimmed over the blood-streaked pavement and dewy grass, while officers kept a close watch, ensuring nothing was overlooked.

Yet, inside Hotch’s car, the world felt muted — detached from the frenetic scene outside. The flashing lights, the movement of officers, the blaring sirens, the barking dogs — it was all muffled as if a thick layer of glass separated you from the outside world. The bubble of silence around you was eerie, you hated it, but couldn't shake muffled sounds that hit your ears. You sat there, still, eyes locked on the windshield, staring straight ahead but not really seeing anything. The night outside bled into a blur, the colors and shapes swirling together making the world around you distorted.

Your mind, however, was still anchored to a singular image — the last, awful sight of Branson. That scene played on a loop behind your eyes, each detail etched into your memory. Especially the ice pick — it swirled in your thoughts, refusing to let go, trapping you in a state of disbelief. It didn’t feel real. It couldn't be real.

Hotch crouched down in front of you, his tall frame folding with an effortless grace, bringing him just below your level in a way that felt intimate. He didn’t say anything — there were no words that could possibly ease the weight of what you’d witnessed — but his presence was enough. His hand found yours — it was warm compared to your icy one — fingers threading together as though silently promising you weren’t facing this alone.

His thumb traced soft, rhythmic circles over your skin, a small yet deeply intimate gesture, one he likely didn’t even realize he was doing. It was instinct. The weight of his gaze, soft yet concerned, held you, too. It was like he was trying to tell you, without saying a thing, that he was here, that he would shoulder the weight of this even if you couldn’t.

Time seemed to stretch, each minute dragging on as though the weight of what had happened too was too much for the clock to bear. Minutes felt like hours as you and Hotch remained there — silently waiting for your mind to catch up.

You could feel the rise and fall of your own breath as you began to regain consciousness, shaky and uneven, while Hotch remained still. You stole a glance at him, the soft glow of the lights catching the flicker of concern in his eyes, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed beyond this.

After what felt like an eternity, movement outside the car caught your attention. Through the distorted haze of flashing lights and shadows, you saw Morgan approaching, his stride was purposeful — obviously searching for Hotch — his face was etched with a seriousness that made your stomach tighten. His eyes flickered briefly between you and Hotch as he came to a stop just outside the passenger door.

“Hotch,” he said, trying not to alert you to any of the findings forensics had found.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his hand tightening around yours before he finally let go. The warmth of his palm slipping from your grasp felt like a sudden, chilling loss, and you fought the instinct to reach out again. He stood, straightening his tall frame as he reluctantly stepped away, he shot you a glance, as if to silently reassure you that he wasn't far, that he’d still be there even from a few paces away.

Your gaze followed him as he joined Morgan a few steps from the car, his back now partially turned to you. Even with the distance between them, you could see the taut line of his shoulders, the way his body remained rigid with tension. The concern that had softened his face when he held you seemed to harden again as he listened to Morgan, his eyes darting back to the crime scene, then flicking briefly toward you, making sure you were still okay.

From where you sat, you couldn’t hear all the words they exchanged, but the tension of their conversation hung in the air, you could sense it even from afar. Hotch’s jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides as he absorbed whatever Morgan was telling him, his facade of leadership slipping back into place. But before he fully immersed himself in the chaos outside, he cast one last look over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto yours for just a second longer than necessary, as if to remind you — I haven’t forgotten about you.

Morgan was already in full investigation mode, his brow deeply furrowed as he stole another glance back at the crime scene, where the forensics team was still methodically combing through every inch of evidence under the harsh glare of floodlights. The flashing red and blue lights cast a glow over the area, their shifting colors reflecting off the glass of the SUV, throwing fleeting shadows across both men’s faces.

"Talk to me," Hotch’s voice was quiet, and controlled, trying to make sure you wouldn't hear any of their conversation. He crossed his arms, posture rigid, every ounce of his attention locked onto Morgan.

Morgan exhaled, his hand scraping over the back of his neck in a gesture that managed to reveal the gravity of the situation to you. "Forensics team’s been working the scene for the last fifteen minutes," he started. "The ice pick — it's clean. No prints, no identifiable traces — no nothing. Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing." He paused. "But Branson didn’t go down without a fight. He's got defensive wounds on his hands, a struggle for sure. This wasn’t quick."

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with the implication. "He fought back?" The question hung in the air.

“Yeah,” Morgan nodded. “It just wasn’t enough. By the time anyone got here…” His voice trailed off, his gaze shifting toward the door where Branson’s body had been — now on its way to the morgue. The area was marked off with police tape now. “He was already gone.”

Hotch shifted his weight slightly as he processed the information. “Anything else?” he asked.

Morgan’s eyes darkened further, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he shared the next piece of the puzzle. “There is one more thing. The coroner estimated the time of death based on the blood, the body temperature, and rigor mortis. Hotch…” He paused, taking a breath as if preparing himself for the words about to spill from his mouth. “Branson was alive an hour ago. An hour.”

Hotch'ss gaze flicked to you for a brief second, still sitting in the car. He felt the air grow thick with tension around him. An hour meant that the unsub was still nearby, potentially even watching them right now. He could almost feel the clock ticking, each second dragging as they raced against him.

“An hour,” Hotch repeated, his voice low, barely above a whisper but brimming with restrained anger — mostly anger on the situation that this would put you in.

“Yeah,” Morgan confirmed. “Whoever did this — it wasn’t some random break-in, man. They knew what they were doing. They were fast, precise, and they left that message on the door just for her.”

Hotch inhaled deeply, his mind already racing through potential scenarios and calculating their next steps. The meticulousness of the crime screamed intent, a calculated plan rather than a spur-of-the-moment attack — but he still couldn't shake the feeling that this was supposed to be you, not Branson. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He glanced at you again, sitting in the car with a dazed expression. You had just missed Branson’s killer, and the idea that he might still be nearby sent adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“We need to get her out of here, now,” Hotch said, his voice clipped, each word felt sharp as they rolled off his tongue. He could feel the urgency pulsing through him, a powerful instinct urging him to act before it was too late. “Have the team sweep the area, and I want surveillance from every corner of this block sent to Garcia.” He knew they couldn’t afford to underestimate the killer’s capabilities.

Morgan nodded as he absorbed Hotch’s command. “Already in motion. We’re pulling footage from all nearby cameras.” He turned, his mind already racing through the logistical challenges, mentally preparing for the immediate task of gathering intel.

Hotch’s eyes stayed locked on you, lost in your thoughts, oblivious to the full scope of how close the danger had been — how close it still was. “She’s not safe here,” he murmured, more to himself than to Morgan. “Not until we figure out who’s behind this.”

“I'll take her back to the BAU,” he decided, his voice steadier now. “We can keep her safe there while we investigate. I want someone with her at all times — she deserves protection until we can ensure she’s out of harm’s way — I'll take the first shift.”

Hotch gave a curt nod, his protective instincts in full gear, as his mind shifted back to you and what needed to be done next. You weren't going to like it though, he knew that much.

Hotch slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar contours of the car offering him a semblance of control in a world that had quickly spun wildly out of it. The engine rumbled to life as he turned the key, shattering the silence that had settled around you. As he pulled away from the chaotic scene, the flashing lights of police cruisers faded into the distance behind you, but the weight of everything still pressed heavily on your chest. The bright colors, usually a beacon of help, now felt more like a reminder of the nightmare you had just escaped.

You sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out at the darkened streets, lost in your thoughts. The night felt surreal.

As the city blurred past, memories of Branson began to flood your mind — his expressions, the way he relentlessly pushed you to your limits, and those moments when his frustration spilled over into harsh words. You could almost hear him now, his voice echoing in your thoughts, the biting criticism ringing in your ears. “You call that a spin? You need to push harder, or you won’t make it to sectionals.” You knew he never meant it like that, only wanting to push you to perfection.

The sting of his words had cut deeper than you realized, a reminder of the high expectations he had set for you and the relentless pursuit of excellence he embodied. But now, in the wake of his tragic end, those very words morphed into haunting echoes of regret. Guilt washed over you like a cold wave, relentless and overwhelming. What had you missed? Were you the cause of this?

You replayed every interaction, every practice session, scrutinizing your memories for clues, for hints that could have warned you of the danger. Each laugh shared, every supportive word felt tainted now. The more you thought about it, the more the guilt clawed at you, a heavy weight settling in your stomach, twisting tighter with every breath.

Had you truly been so absorbed in your own aspirations that you failed to notice that someone had been creeping around in the shadows?

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring your view of the city. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the swell of emotions threatening to break free. Branson deserved better, and you felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility as if you could have somehow altered the course of events if only you had been more aware, more present.

A sharp exhale from Hotch broke through your reverie, drawing you back to the present. “Are you okay?” he asked, glancing at you briefly before refocusing on the road ahead, his grip tightening on the steering wheel slightly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the word feeling hollow as it left your lips. Even as you spoke, the image of Branson’s lifeless body remained etched in your mind.

“I just... I can’t believe he’s gone,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the rawness of your grief. “I don’t understand how this could happen. What did I miss? Who did this?” You wanted answers, a reason, something that could explain the senseless violence that had ripped your world apart.

Hotch’s brow furrowed with concern as he drove, his focus unwavering. “You couldn’t have known what was coming. This isn’t on you.” His voice was steady, almost like a lifeline amid the turmoil. But the reassurance felt distant as if it were meant for someone else, someone who wasn’t grappling with the painful reality of loss.

You turned your gaze out the window, watching the city lights flicker by. Deep down, you knew Hotch was right; you hadn’t seen the signs, but that didn’t erase the guilt gnawing at your insides.

“What if I could have helped him?” you asked softly, more to yourself than to him. “What if I could have changed something? What if I had been here just a moment earlier?” The ‘what ifs’ were suffocating, spiraling into a vortex of self-blame and sorrow.

Hotch’s hand shifted slightly on the wheel as he considered your words. “You’re not a mind reader,” he replied, his tone was firm but gentle — he was always gentle with you. “You were focused on your training, on your goals. There was no way you could have anticipated this.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You have to remember that you did everything you could in your capacity. Sometimes, evil acts without warning, and it’s not something you can control — Besides if you'd been here earlier, I'm not sure we would be having this conversation right now.” Hotch hated to speak those words, but he needed you to know that there was nothing you could've done.

The weight of his words sank in, but the guilt still gnawed at you relentlessly. Had you failed him? You still couldn't shake the feeling that you should have done more, seen more.

“Branson’s death is on the person who took his life, not you,” Hotch said, “He was in a dangerous position, and whatever conflict he had, those were between him and whoever hurt him. You didn’t cause this.” Hotch didn't want to admit the real truth behind Branson's death, he couldn't, not when you were this distraught.

You nodded, but inside, the turmoil raged on. “It just feels so unfair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was always so strong. I thought he could handle anything.”

“Right now, you need to focus on staying safe,” Hotch continued, “I'm taking you to the BAU for the night. You need to be out of the public eye until we figure out what’s going on. The last thing we want is for you to be targeted next.”

You felt a swell of gratitude toward Hotch for his unwavering commitment to your safety, but anxiety fluttered in your chest. “What if they find me? What if—”

“They won’t,” Hotch interjected, “I'll make sure of it. The team is already mobilizing to ensure your safety, and we have protocols in place for situations like this.” His confidence provided a flicker of hope.

His protective tone gave you a sense of comfort, but the lingering shadows of doubt remained. How close had you really come to danger? The realization that you had missed the killer — maybe only by mere seconds — sent shivers down your spine.

As Hotch turned down a quiet street, you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. “Thank you for being here,” you said quietly, the gratitude spilling from your heart. You knew that the gravity of your situation wasn’t lost on him; he understood the stakes far too well.

He nodded, his focus unwavering as he navigated through the darkened roads, the steady rhythm of the engine creating a false sense of normalcy. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he replied, “We’ll figure this out together. One way or the other.” You leaned back in your seat, trying to absorb his words.

Hotch took a sharp corner, the familiar outline of the BAU building looming ahead like a fortress amidst the darkness of the night. A swell of unease twisted in your stomach.

“Hotch, I don’t think I need to go back there,” you protested, your voice wavering slightly, betraying the fear that lingered just beneath the surface. “I can stay at my apartment. I’ll be fine. I promise.” The thought of returning to the very place that had become a backdrop for the whole case sent chills through you, and you desperately clung to the hope of finding safety within your own four walls.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you as if he had already anticipated your objections. “No, you’re not fine. Not after what happened tonight.” His voice was firm. “I need you to understand this isn’t just about you feeling safe; it’s about your safety. The unsub is targeting people close to you, and we can’t take any chances, not when you've outright been threatened on your own doorstep.”

“But I can handle this! I’m not a child,” you insisted, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. You hated the feeling of being trapped, like a bird caged against its will, desperately flapping its wings to escape. The independence you had always prided yourself on felt stripped away, replaced by a suffocating sense of helplessness.

“Believe me, I know you’re not a child,” Hotch replied, his tone suggested that he understood your frustration but wouldn’t back down. “But the facts are clear. Branson was murdered in your doorway. You need protection until we get a handle on this.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you said, your voice quieter now, revealing the vulnerability you were struggling to hide. “I can’t keep you away from your work.”

“You’re not a burden,” Hotch said. “You’re my priority. We can’t afford to let our guard down, especially when you’re in the crosshairs of someone who’s already proven they can kill — multiple times.”

You glanced out the window, the streetlights flickering slightly. As much as you wanted to argue, deep down, you knew he was right.

“Just for tonight,” you complied, the words tasting bittersweet as they left your lips. “But I don’t want to be locked up like some kind of prisoner.” The image of being confined within four walls, stripped of your freedom, sent a shiver down your spine.

Hotch’s lips twitched into a smile. “I understand,” he replied, his eyes were full of empathy as he looked at you. “This isn’t about taking your freedom away; it’s about ensuring your safety. You’ll have space, and we’ll keep things as normal as possible.” His promise resonated with you, yet the fear of losing control over your life lingered like a ghost in the back of your mind.

As he parked in the parking garage of the BAU, Hotch turned off the engine, and a heavy silence enveloped you both for a moment. He seemed to sense your apprehension, his eyes softening as they met yours again. “Let’s get you inside,” he said gently, reaching over to squeeze your hand in a gesture that was meant to comfort you.

Stepping out of the car, the chill basement wrapped around you. The cold seemed to seep into your bones. Hotch fell into step next to you as you made your way through the concrete confines of the parking garage, the low hum of distant machinery and flickering fluorescent lights overhead punctuating the silence.

When you finally reached his office, Hotch unlocked and opened the door and gestured for you to step inside. The warm light from the lamp in the corner illuminated the space, softening the sharp edges of his furniture and making it feel a little less foreboding. You walked in, your body feeling heavy with exhaustion as if each step required immense effort. Hotch closed the door behind you.

“Are you hungry or thirsty? I can grab you something,” Hotch offered, concern etched on his features, his brow slightly furrowed as he studied you. He didn't know what he was looking for.

You shook your head slowly, fatigue weighing heavily on your eyelids and limbs. “No, I’m okay. Just… tired.” The admission felt like a weight lifted, but it was also a reminder of how drained you truly were from the emotional turmoil of the night.

“Why don’t you lie down on the couch?” he suggested gently, glancing over at his couch. The soft fabric looked inviting you thought. “It’s been a long night.”

As he moved to grab a blanket from the lower drawer of his desk, you nodded, grateful for the opportunity to rest. The idea of sinking into the softness of the couch felt like a small oasis. At least it was better than nothing. You crawled onto the couch, the gentle fabric cradling you as you settled in, letting out a small sigh of relief.

Hotch returned with the blanket. He draped it over you with a care that spoke volumes. “Thank you,” you murmured, feeling the warmth envelop you like a protective cocoon, easing some of the tension that your body still held onto.

He paused for a moment, studying you. You could see the concern carved on his face. “You really should try to get some sleep,” he urged softly, his voice was soothing. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

As he turned to grab some files from his desk, you felt a sudden rush of vulnerability wash over you. You stopped him, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke. “You don’t have to go. I don’t mind if you work while I sleep.”

Hotch turned back to face you, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and you noticed how the tension in his features began to ease as he processed your request. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to have you here,” you replied, settling deeper into the cushions.

“Okay,” he replied, his smile growing warmer and more genuine. He placed the files back down on his desk, the clatter of paper breaking the silence. Then, he took a seat in his chair, he felt close enough that you could still sense his presence without the pressure of conversation.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips before sleep began to pull you under.

“Goodnight."

As you drifted off, Hotch couldn’t help but steal glances at you. He watched as your eyelids fluttered, surrendering to the exhaustion. Your breathing became slow and steady, and for a moment, you almost seemed peaceful despite everything.

His mind raced with thoughts of Branson, and the danger still lurking in the shadows, yet here, in this moment, all he could see was you. He found himself entranced by the way the blanket hugged your form, how your hair fell over your face in soft strands.

As he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him, he realized he was completely forgetting the files he had intended to work on. Every time he glanced at you, the contents of the documents seemed to fade into the background. He leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he took in the serenity of the scene before him.

Hotch found solace in knowing you were safe, even if just for the night. He would do everything in his power to ensure that it stayed that way.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was how stiff your body felt, your muscles tight from hours spent curled up on the couch. What had started as a comfortable escape from the night’s events had become a reminder of how unforgiving furniture could be as a resting place. You stretched gingerly, feeling the pull of your sore limbs, each movement was stiff. Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking as the soft, golden light of the rising sun filtered in through the large windows on the opposite end of the room.

The office was quiet. You blinked a few times, the world around you coming into focus. The blanket Hotch had given you was still wrapped snugly around your body, providing some form of comfort, if not against last night's event, then at least against the lingering chill in the air.

As you sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you glanced around the office. It felt strange to be here, so close to home yet so far. And somehow still feeling safe within the four walls of Hotch's office. The lamp on his desk was still on, casting a soft glow around it, and you realized he must have stayed nearby the whole night. The thought brought a small smile to your lips, knowing he hadn’t left you to face the fear alone.

Glancing around, you shifted your legs off the couch and stood, still cocooned in the blanket. The office was cold, making you wonder if they turned the AC off during the night, it made you shiver as you padded toward the door in just your socks, your shoes abandoned somewhere by the couch during the night. The quietness of the office felt almost surreal, especially when you were used to the constant sound of keys being tapped, papers being shuffled and phones being answered. You hesitated for a moment with your hand on the doorknob. Part of you wanted to stay hidden away in the relative safety of Hotch's office, but the pull of needing to know what was happening outside, to know if there was any news about your case pushed you forward.

With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The familiar scent of coffee and paper greeted you. The office was mostly still, not a lot of people had shown up for work yet you presumed. As you glanced toward the bridge that overlooked the bullpen, you spotted the lights on in the conference room, telling you the team had presumably already gathered, likely debriefing or strategizing about the night’s events — hopefully.

Your stomach tightened at the thought of joining them — you wanted to know what was going on, yet frightened by the idea that the killings were turning into a sick game on a far larger scale. You lingered for a moment outside of the door, wrapping the blanket tighter around your frame.

But there was a tug in your chest, a need to know. A need to understand what the next steps were. You had been too close to the danger, too close to losing everything, and now the questions that had plagued you all night demanded answers. You took a deep breath and walked toward the conference room.

Your steps were slow and quiet, the soft padding of your socks barely making a sound against the floor. You felt oddly detached from everything around you — groggy, bones achy, and still mentally processing everything.

Through the glass in the door, you caught sight of the team, their expressions grave as they pored over the case files. Papers were scattered in every direction, and from the tense looks on their faces, you could tell they were deep in conversation.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, and though his back was to you, the familiar sight of him, so composed and in control, offered a sense of reassurance. It was strange how someone you didn't really know could be a pillar of strength in a moment when everything around you felt like it was crumbling.

You paused just outside the door, unsure if you should intrude. They were clearly in the middle of something important, and the last thing you wanted was to be a distraction. Exhaustion still clung to you, making your body feel sluggish, your mind slow to fully wake from sleep.

You watched them silently, your mind racing through the events of the previous night. It left a sick feeling in your stomach, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to shake the images away.

A part of you longed to join them in the room, to step into the conversation and hear for yourself what they’d discovered. But another part of you — the part that was bone-tired and emotionally drained — wanted nothing more than to retreat to Hotch’s office, crawl back onto the couch, and hide away from the word in your blanket.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at Hotch. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. You knew he was doing everything in his power to keep you safe. For now, that had to be enough — right?

Despite your hesitation, curiosity gnawed at you. You had to know.

With a deep breath, you gently pushed open the door open, hoping to slip inside unnoticed. The conversation sounded intense as you entered, and you instinctively tried to make yourself as invisible as possible, not wanting to disrupt their work. You hovered by the door, watching as they analyzed the spread of documents, their minds already far ahead, piecing together the puzzle of the case.

"The unsub never cared about Branson. He was always after Y/N," Hotch said, his words cutting through the room like a blade. The certainty in his tone made the atmosphere shift. "She was the target from the beginning."

Your body went stiff, a wave of terror washing over you as the meaning of his words hit you. Every muscle tensed, heart hammering in your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the room seemed to close in around you.

"What?!" The word tumbled out of your mouth, laced with panic. It wasn’t just a question — it was a plea for this to somehow be untrue.

The world slowed for a beat, and as your voice echoed through the room, every head turned toward you. The expressions on their faces mirrored your shock and disbelief, but none of them said a word.

Hotch’s voice cut through the room, sharper and more commanding than you'd expected. “What are you doing up?”

“I just... I wanted to see if you’d figured anything out,” you said quietly, your voice sounding smaller than intended.

"Y/N," Hotch began, his tone much gentler now, "the evidence points to the unsub targeting you specifically. Branson’s murder, the message on your door — it was all meant to scare you, to make you vulnerable."

You blinked, trying to process what he was saying, but the words made your legs feel weak. The killer was after you, not Branson. Everything was about you. A chill ran down your spine as you remembered the blood-soaked message on your front door.

"Why?" you managed to choke out.

Hotch took a step toward you. "We’re still working on the motive, but this isn’t random. Whoever this is... they know you."

You felt like the floor had dropped from beneath you. Your mind raced with the implications — who could possibly be after you like this? Why?

Hotch's eyes never left yours as he carefully laid out the pieces of the profile. "At first, we thought Leah was the target," he explained, his words clear yet heavy. "But it became clear that she was never the unsub’s endgame. Leah was used as a pawn — to isolate you, to send a message, and ultimately to draw you in."

You blinked, struggling to absorb the gravity of his words. The cold, clinical breakdown of Leah's murder felt like a punch to the gut. Leah hadn't just been an innocent victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been killed to get to you. The memory of finding her body at the rink flashed through your mind. It had all seemed so random, so senseless back then.

"Leah’s death was staged for you to find," Hotch continued. "The unsub knew it would devastate you, that it would leave you vulnerable. He needed you emotionally off-balance, unsure of who to trust, and it worked."

"Branson was the last obstacle," Hotch said, his brow furrowing as he pieced everything together. "The unsub knew how close you were to him, how much time you spent together at the pavilion. Branson wasn’t just your coach — he was a fixture in your life, a constant presence. The unsub needed to remove him, to sever any connection that could shield you, completely cut off anyone who might stand in the way between him and you."

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You felt every gaze in the room on you.

"The M.O. has been consistent," Hotch continued, pacing slightly as he spoke. "Each victim, from the very first to Branson, was carefully selected — not randomly, not by coincidence. They were all connected to you. The unsub wasn’t targeting them for who they were, but for what they meant. Branson was just the final step in isolating you."

Your throat tightened, a lump forming as the weight of what he was saying hit you. Every life lost, every crime scene you’d encountered, was part of a sick, calculated plan designed to strip away your safety net. Leah, Branson… they weren’t just victims. They were tools, pieces of a puzzle the unsub had been meticulously constructing around you.

"But why me?" you managed to ask, your voice on the verge of breaking. "Why go through all of this just to get to me?"

Hotch took a deep breath, his expression softening. "We’re still working on the why," he admitted, "but what we do know is that the unsub has a fixation on you. Whether it's personal or something more symbolic, you're the one he want. He's most likely been watching you, planning this for a long time."

Hotch turned back toward the board, the photos of the victims now arranged in a way that made their connection to you painfully obvious. Leah, Branson, and the others — each face staring back at you. "This unsub has one goal — to get to you."

You could feel your legs trembling beneath you. It wasn’t just about being in the wrong place at the wrong time anymore. It had always been about you.

It had always been about you.

When the meeting finally adjourned, you slipped out of the room without a word, unnoticed by the rest of the team. Your feet moved on autopilot, carrying you toward the nearest exit, seeking the open air before you even realized what you were doing. The moment you stepped outside, the cold wind hit you. It cut through the blanket, sending a shiver down your spine, but the chill was a welcome contrast to the suffocating weight pressing on your chest.

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as if the pressure might hold you together when everything inside felt like it was unraveling. You pressed your back against the nearest wall, seeking support as your legs threatened to give way beneath you.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through the silence. You opened your eyes to see Hotch stepping toward you. He stopped a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance, his hands buried in his pockets. The quiet between you was heavy, almost tangible as if both of you were waiting for the other to speak first.

“Y/N,” he began softly, his voice cutting through the air. “You’ve been quiet today. I wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. I know this is a lot to be thrown into, and I can tell that it’s weighing on you.”

“I just…” You hesitated, your voice trembling slightly as you fought to put the emotions into words. Admitting it out loud made it feel more real, and you weren’t sure you were ready to face that. “I can’t help but feel responsible, Hotch. If I had been more aware — if I had paid more attention to what was happening at the rink — maybe I could have prevented something.” Your voice cracked at the end.

“I don’t know how to process this,” you finally admitted, the confession slipping from your lips in a whisper, barely holding back the flood of emotions threatening to spill.

Without hesitation, Hotch stepped closer. “You can’t blame yourself for this, Y/N,” he said. “You had no way of knowing what was happening. Leah and Branson’s deaths aren’t on you.”

Despite Hotch’s reassurances, the guilt still clung to you. "But I trained with her, I was there, and I missed all the signs. If I had just noticed something — anything — I could’ve helped," you murmured. The image of Leah’s face, her laughter, how she would light up once stepping onto the ice. The more you thought about it, the more it felt like you had failed her.

Hotch’s expression didn’t waver, but his voice dropped, taking on a more personal tone. "We all miss things sometimes," he said. "Even when we’re right in the middle of it, even when we're trained to see it. Believe me, I know how hard it is not to carry that burden. But you’re here now, and you're helping us piece this together. That's what matters."

You looked away for a moment, tears stinging at the back of your eyes as you fought to hold them back. His words were kind, but the pain of losing Leah — and the fear of losing more people you cared about—was still raw.

"I just don’t want to let anyone else down," you whispered, your voice so quiet it barely rose above the wind.

You could feel the warmth of his presence beside you. "You won’t," he said softly. "We’re in this together, Y/N. You’re not alone in this fight."

“None of this is your fault,” Hotch continued. “You've done everything you could to help us, and you’re still here — That’s what matters.”

You nodded, your head moving almost on its own, but inside, the doubt still lingered. The truth of Hotch’s words felt distant, buried beneath the crushing weight of your thoughts. “It just feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff,” you murmured, trying to paint him the picture you were experiencing. The words spilled out before you could stop them. There was a tremor in your voice, although small it was undeniable. “And I can’t see what’s below. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“I know what it feels like to be on that edge,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “To feel like the ground’s going to give way, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. But you’re not standing there alone.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak, but you managed a quiet, “How do you deal with it?”

“You focus on what you can control,” he said finally. “The people you can protect, the steps you can take. And you lean on the people who are there for you.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not facing this alone, Y/N. We’re going to stop him. I promise you won’t lose anyone else.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net. You hadn’t expected his sincerity to reach so deeply, and as it sank in, a strange warmth pulsed through your chest — a stirring that went beyond gratitude. His reassurance should have brought only comfort, but there was something more layered within it, a growing tension between you that you couldn’t ignore, something that had lingered in each shared glance, simmering just below the surface for weeks.

Every word he spoke felt like it drew you in, pulling you into his orbit. It was almost unnerving, the invisible connection weaving between you despite your circumstances. And yet, it also felt steady — something constant amid the whirlwind.

You looked at him, taking in the seriousness in his expression, his posture, the way he seemed so prepared to protect you from anything — and yet also so keenly aware of the risks. The thought made your heart ache.

In this moment, with the two of you standing just inches apart, it felt as though the case had created a connection that you could no longer deny. Every word, every glance between you held a gravity that went beyond the investigation. You saw it in his eyes.

You felt the urge to speak, to break the silence, but the words caught in your throat, held back, like you couldn’t quite articulate what you wanted to say. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, one that seemed to say everything you couldn’t.

Hotch’s hand twitched at his side as if he, too, was grappling with the pull between you, resisting the instinct to reach out. You could feel his restraint, the careful way he held himself, aware that even the smallest movement might tip you both over an invisible line. There was a sense of inevitability, of something that had been building for far too long, yet held back by professionalism.

You watched his breath escape into the cold, hanging between you. For just a heartbeat, his normally guarded expression softened, and in that fleeting vulnerability, you glimpsed something raw, something he’d worked so hard to keep hidden. There was a gentleness beneath the intensity of his gaze, a silent acknowledgment that you weren’t just another civilian to protect, not just a responsibility to bear.

His dark eyes held yours, searching, as though trying to communicate everything that words could never capture. Every second that passed felt like it brought you closer to some uncharted line.

The world beyond the two of you seemed to fade into a blur. It was just the two of you, bound in a space that felt like it could shatter with a breath, yet impossibly strong.

The distance between you shrank, each heartbeat a steady drumbeat against the air. Though the cold nipped at your skin, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, almost magnetic, pulling you closer. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the crispness of the air.

“Hotch…” The word slipped from your lips, softer than you’d intended. His gaze held yours, and in it, you saw everything — the worry, the protectiveness, the tension — everything.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding, and almost without realizing it, you leaned just a fraction closer. The smallest movement, but it felt monumental. Hotch’s hand brushed the side of your arm, his touch controlled yet hesitant as if testing the waters. The warmth of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you.

In that brief, suspended moment, it felt like everything you’d been holding back — every unsaid word, every hidden glance, every moment of shared silence — they aligned.

And then — the sharp, intrusive ring of his phone shattered the quiet, piercing through the stillness like an alarm.

In an instant, the spell broke. The warmth between you dissipated, replaced by a jarring awareness of the space you now stood in — the same world you had briefly left behind. Hotch blinked, and you saw his expression shift, the softness in his eyes vanishing as his features hardened, slipping back into the familiar armor of his professionalism. He released your arm, his fingers trailing away, leaving only the faintest sensation of warmth that seemed to fade too quickly.

With practiced efficiency, he pulled the phone from his pocket, glancing down at the screen as his shoulders straightened and his jaw tightened. The moment — fragile and fleeting — was gone as if it had never been, as if the connection you’d felt just seconds before had been nothing more than a daydream.

You exhaled softly, feeling the chill settle over you once more. The air felt colder now, sharper, biting against your skin. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of the emptiness left behind, as Hotch lifted the phone to his ear, his voice low and commanding as he responded.

"Hotchner," He replied as he answered the phone.

Hotch's expression shifted in an instant. He didn’t need to say a word; the two of you moved in sync, instinctively heading toward his car.

“I’ll drive,” he said, his tone commanding but not unkind.

You hesitated for a split second, catching the hint of concern lingering beneath his steely resolve. “Hotch, you know I would have gone either way, right?”

He gave a slight nod. “I know. Which is exactly why you’re coming with me.” His jaw set as he started the engine, adding in a tone just above a murmur, “It’s safer this way.”

As you neared the rink, the darkness in the sky seemed to darken the closer you got, and Hotch’s hands tightened on the wheel. He cast you a sidelong glance, his eyes steady and serious. “Stay close to me. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

You nodded. “Got it. Right beside you.”

He exhaled, his grip on the wheel loosening just a fraction. “Good.”

As you entered the rink, the scene that unfolded felt like stepping into a nightmare. The quiet space was transformed into a tense, chaotic tableau. Clusters of staff and coaches huddled together, their hushed voices forming a low hum that seemed to vibrate with barely restrained fear.

As you moved further in, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the anxiety that clung to the air. Some of the coaches stood with their arms crossed, brows furrowed, watching the crowd as if bracing for more bad news. Others paced nervously, their gazes darting around as though expecting something — or someone — to appear from the shadows any second now. It was as if the entire crowd had been frozen, caught in a collective breath of dread, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hotch’s hand found the small of your back. He leaned in, his voice low. “Keep your eyes sharp. People are scared — they might not even realize what they’ve seen.” Hotch remained close by your side.

“What happened?” Hotch’s voice cut through the anxious murmur that blanketed the rink.

A staff member stepped forward, clearly shaken, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly. He swallowed, struggling to find his voice. “It’s… it’s one of the skaters. They found another body in the locker room. It’s bad… really bad.” Each word was heavy, laden with a gravity that turned the air even colder.

Your heart sank, a coil of dread tightening in your stomach as the realization hit — another life taken, another person lost. You turned to Hotch, locking eyes, the horror in his expression mirroring your own.

“Stay behind me,” Hotch instructed. “I don’t want you to see more than you have to.” His protective tone made it clear he understood the weight of what you were about to witness, even if he wished you didn’t have to. But you knew there was no turning back now; you needed to see this through.

The locker room greeted you with an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the faint hum rink cooling system in the back. The sight before you was haunting. There, sprawled on the cold, tiled floor, lay another skater. Recognition hit you instantly as you took in her familiar features. She was young, barely more than a child, perhaps no older than fifteen or sixteen — just a teenager.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the contrast of her bright skating gear against the dark, glistening pool was a sight too tragic to bear. The vivid hues of her outfit, now lay drowned in a sea of red, her innocence stolen. The room felt as if it were spinning. Every instinct screamed for you to look away, to spare yourself the trauma, yet you found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to turn from the horror that lay before you. This wasn’t supposed to happen — you barely even knew this girl — the unsub wasn't supposed to target people you didn't know — or people you knew for the matter.

Hotch’s gaze fell on you, noticing the tremor in your shoulders, the haunted look in your eyes. His concern deepened, and he quickly stepped closer, his hand resting on your arm. “Stay back,” he instructed, his voice firm but soft, gently encouraging you to distance yourself from the scene — he knew you weren't strong enough to continue seeing the horrors for much longer.

But you couldn’t move. It was as though every part of you was chained to the scene before you. You felt a chill creeping over you, a sense that you would never be able to feel safe in the pavilion again.

As the rest of the team arrived, your heart hammered in your chest. Each face that passed, each hurried glance, only served to remind you of the moment, amplifying the dread that had already taken root deep in your bones.

“Get her out of here!” Hotch commanded as the rest of the team entered the locker room, his voice cutting through the noise with an authority that brooked no argument. The tone of his command was a jolt to your system, pulling you back to reality as you struggled to comprehend the situation.

“Come on, honey, let’s go take a breath of air,” Emily’s voice was soft but firm, her hands wrapping around your shoulders as she gently steered you out of the locker room. You leaned into her touch, grateful for the solid, presence amid the storm swirling inside you. Each step she guided you felt like a small reprieve from the nightmare.

Emily gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze, sensing the weight you carried. “Take your time,” she murmured, her tone was soothing. The ache in your chest pulsed with each heartbeat, and though you felt yourself moving farther from the scene, you knew that the memory of this moment— the sense of loss and helplessness you constantly felt — would stay with you, woven deep into your mind.

Emily led you to the bleachers, where the soft hum of the rink faded into the background. You sank onto a cold metal seat, your mind racing as you grappled with the surreal reality of it all. The icy breath of the arena brought a sharp clarity, but it also deepened the ache in your chest. You had always viewed skating as a sanctuary, a place of beauty and grace, but now it felt tainted, marred by the violence that had infiltrated your world. The camaraderie and support you once cherished seemed distant, replaced by an unsettling feeling of vulnerability.

She guided you to the bleachers. The muted hum of the rink felt like it receded as you sank down onto the cold metal seat — although it still rang in your ears. Emily didn’t speak, just offered a reassuring closeness, as if she understood the depths of your emotions. Deep down, a part of you feared that the pavilion — if not skating all together — wouldn't feel the same ever again.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @sreidlvewrites @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi

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1hot-mess-express1 · 8 months ago

Text

Eepy

WC: 3,084

Based on Eloguentmoon's Romantic Confessions prompt #12 “You are all I can think about.”

Summary: Satoru can't sleep, and it's all your fault

CW: Slightly suggestive

A/N: I wrote this way too fast, not sure I like it but the brain rot is getting to me (Not proofread). Also would love to have someone to Beta read/edit since I can never bring myself to do that haha, so if anyone is interested message me!

Satoru’s alarm blares through the otherwise quiet morning air, and he can’t be bothered to jump in surprise despite its ear-grating volume. With a groan, he swings his arm over to slap at his phone a few times, somehow effectively turning off the alarm before reaching up to drag his hand across his face and rubbing the grit from his sunken eyes. He sits upright, his head sagging slightly, his feet haphazardly placed on the ground, and he is staring at his wall, trying to gain the motivation to hoist himself from the bed. He doesn’t notice when his eyes droop and his hands fall limp at his side until he’s startled from his partial sleep by obnoxiously loud music wafting in from your shared bathroom down the hall. He curses before standing up and shuffling his way to the bathroom. Standing in the hallway, he looks at you through the mirror as you brush your teeth, getting toothpaste all over your cheeks before glancing up at him and smiling through your toothbrush.

“So you’re why these counters are always so dirty, huh? Knew it wasn’t me,” Satoru chuckles to himself while you spit the foam into the sink, effectively spraying the entire bowl.

You turn to face him fully, hands on your hips like some kind of angry cartoon character. “You’re so full of it, Gojo. You get toothpaste all over the mirror. Just the other day, I watched you wipe hair gel on the counter, too.”

“Did not, whatever, move. It’s my turn. I have an exam today, and I can’t be late.” He emphasizes his point by lightly shoving you with his shoulder before reaching for his toothbrush. With a grumble and a subtle stomp, you push into his side, reaching for the water cup.

“It's not my fault you slept in, loser.” You make a point of sticking your tongue out at him in the mirror before filling your cup and swishing your mouth out. Satoru reaches over your hand to grab the capless toothpaste before placing some onto his toothbrush and bringing it to his mouth.

“It's not my fault I was up all night either,” he mumbles through his toothbrush, lazily swiping at his pearly whites while glaring daggers into you through the mirror as you begin to brush out your hair.

“I fail to see how that’s my fault. You didn’t have to stay up and movie marathon with me…could have gone to bed at any point.” You elbow him slightly while yanking at a particularly gruesome knot in your hair and fail to notice the slight blush that covers his cheeks at your statement. You’re right; he didn’t have to stay up, but when he thinks back to last night, having you curled up to his side, head resting on his shoulder while you make the softest snoring noise, he can’t help but think that he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, right, you woulda cried like a baby if I said no. Can’t make it through a jump scare without crying about it,” he giggles to himself before ruffling your hair, effectively undoing your progress, and sliding out of the bathroom before you could yell at him.

He clicks the door shut and rubs his eyes again. God, he was so lovesick, literally.

The exhaustion from staying up late with you made him feel awful. His eyes were egregiously sunken in, his skin paler than usual, and his stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t focus while studying, his mind always wandering to you; he wondered what you were up to, what movies you might watch tonight, and if you ended up texting that frat guy back. He thought about how cute you looked in his shirt, washing the dishes while you bitched about it not being his day to do laundry; honestly, he wasn’t paying attention. How could he when you were standing there, engulfed in his shirt, the late sun highlighting your profile perfectly, the back of your plush thighs staring at him, begging to be squeezed?

After you fell asleep against him during your now nightly movie binges, he found himself tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep while visions of you flashed through his mind repeatedly. Thinking of your hands on his thigh haphazardly as the tiny breaths you puffed out tickled his neck, your chest unknowingly squished into his arm so he could feel the slow rise and fall of your chest—nothing like his own erratic breaths as he tried desperately to keep his attention on whatever movie was playing. When he’d tuck you into your bed after you fell asleep, sometimes he couldn’t help but sit and watch you as you slept so peacefully, unaware of his presence, your hair falling around your face and your arms tucked close to your chin. He knows how creepy that sounds, but he was frankly lovesick, like he said.

After dragging his palms down his face, he pushes himself from the door with a newfound determination to just get today over with. He throws on a hoodie before glancing at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. He stops for a moment and contemplates doing his hair or even throwing on jeans to try and feel more like himself, but even reaching his arms up to his head makes him feel exhausted, so with a groan, he throws on a beanie and decides not to think about it.

When he makes his way to the front door, he’s met with you, tipped over in a skirt, trying to pull on your shoes; the back of your skirt is riding up, nearly exposing your panties to him.

“Gojo?” You must have felt him staring, and he felt his face heat up in response.

He gulps the shakiness in his voice down before speaking, “Yeah?”

“Do you want to walk to class together today?” you stand up to your full height now, and he can’t help but give you a once over; he looks like a bum next to you, “I have a presentation today, so I figured I should show up a little early.” You offer him a smile as you pull a coat on, trapping your hair underneath it.

Almost on instinct, he steps towards you and pulls the hair out from your coat, noticing how good you smell when he drops the locks down to your shoulders, “Sure, but I gotta be quick, can’t miss another exam, or I’m fucked, think you can keep up?” He chuckles lightly before swinging his bag over his shoulders and peering down at you.

“That’s a pretty high demand, considering your legs are so freakishly long, but I’ll try.” you let out a breathy laugh before grabbing your bag and reaching for the door.

Satoru slips his shoes on and follows you into the crisp morning air.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you look like shit.” You say while looking him over once and taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. Really, he didn’t look much different than every other overworked college student, but he didn’t look like Gojo. He always wore something bordering on too nice for school, dress pants or jeans and a button-up shirt of some kind, never sweat pants and a hoodie.

He scoffed, kicking at rocks on the sidewalk, “So you wore something nice once, and now I’m the bum? Jeez, that’s unfair.”

“Rude, first of all, I look cute in my sweats, I’ll have you know; secondly, it’s just…weird, you hate leaving your hair down and have told me on several occasions that you can’t stand the way it gets in your eyes, but also you just look sick, are you sleeping okay?” You spare him a glance before looking down towards your shoes, your voice growing a little quieter, “You really don’t have to stay up with me, yaknow?”

“No,” he stammers out a bit too fast for his liking, slowing his pace a little to look at you entirely, “I mean, that’s not it, I just…have a lot on my mind yaknow? Term’s almost over so I’ll be able to sleep all I want soon, and I’ll be back to annoying the shit outta you don’t worry” he lets out a hearty laugh at his last statement. You seem to perk up a little at this statement as if you were really worried about him.

The rest of the day drags on forever. He falls asleep in his last class, not stirring, even when his classmates hurriedly stuff their belongings into their bags. He lies there blissfully unaware of the world around him. That is until he’s jolted back to reality by a delicate hand pushing his hair away from his eyes. Groggy and unsure, he looks up to see you through the stubborn sleep in his eyes. You look upset, brows furrowed, and a hand on your hip while you lean down to be at eye level with him.

“That’s it, you’re grounded, Mr.” you huff out before pushing his shoulder in an attempt to get him to move from his place on the desk.

“Who the fuck’r you to ground me?” he mutters out, slowly making his way to stand before offering you an indignant look.

“At this rate, I’m starting to think I’m your mother,” you state before reaching down to grab his bag, but he swats your hand away, slinging it over his shoulder haphazardly.

“Don’t need you to baby me, ‘m grown yaknow?” he speaks through a yawn while stretching out his obscenely lanky body, showing off just the tiny bit of midriff, causing you to avert your eyes with a light flush to your cheeks, but this goes unnoticed by Satoru’s hazy mind.

“At this rate, I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep in traffic,” you grumble out, tagging behind him as he slowly trudges out to the parking lot. He trips over his own feet a bit, his exhaustion weighing on him like a ton of bricks, swaying slightly, blinking repeatedly in an effort to keep himself awake and upright, blue eyes burning from the afternoon sun. Your smaller frame, keeping pace with him, easily draws a look of concern on your features before you throw his arm over your shoulder in an effort to keep him walking straight. He recedes further into his hood in an effort to hide the blush creeping across his face. Your smaller frame does little to keep him upright; he’s certain that if he were to collapse right now, he’d take you both out, but he keeps this thought to himself, not wanting you to let go of him. He pulls you ever so slightly closer to him, nerves alive at the feel of your small hand on his back despite the copious layers between you.

You walk home the rest of the way in silence, only letting go of him when you breach the front door of your shared apartment, where Satoru drops his bag at the door with a dramatic thud before sulking over to the couch throwing himself across the couch and reaching for the remote, absentmindedly scrolling through Netflix.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snap out before striding over to him, snatching the remote from his hands and moving to the edge of the couch before yanking his shoes off, halfheartedly tossing them in front of the door.

“Well, I was looking for a movie, grump ass,” Satoru mumbles pulling his feet closer to himself in embarrassment.

“Nope, I said you’re grounded, go get in your bed,” You really were starting to sound like his mom at this rate.

He looks up at you, absolutely flabbergasted, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words to tell you just how insane you sound.

“Gojo, you can’t hardly stand up straight, you look like shit, and pretty soon your grades are gonna start dropping…” You bark out before looking meek, fiddling with a stray thread on the arm of the couch to avoid his gaze before continuing, “I’m worried about you. What’s going on?” you look up at him with probably the most adorable look on your face and he’s not sure why, but he crumbles on the spot, he’ll blame the lack of sleep later if this goes poorly for him.

Folding his arms under his chin, letting his eyes fall closed he mumbles, “It’s your fault anyways,” silently praying you dont hear him but of course you do.

“How is this my fault?” you bark out with offense, “You’re the one choosing to stay up, besides I know you stay up after you put me to bed.”

At this, his eyes shoot up, and his face goes beat red. Have you heard him? Oh god, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole at the thought alone. You knew he put you to bed, too? Obviously, you didn’t think you teleported to your bed, but why didn’t you say anything? His heart was in his throat, and his eyes began to sting. This was definitely the exhaustion. He buries his face deeper into the couch, hoping to avoid whatever this is, but of course, you saunter around the couch and crouch down to his level, pushing his hair back with a tentative hand.

“Gojo…please, just tell me what’s wrong, I can’t stand to see you like this…” your voice barely above a whisper. He mumbles into the couch, tucking his head impossibly further into the cushions.

“What?” You lean in impossibly closer, and he feels dizzy. God, why were you like this?

His head shoots up from the couch, allowing you too see just how red his face is, blue eyes determined and brows trained down in anger.

“You’re all I can fucking think about, and it’s killing me!” He huffs out in a single breath. Your eyes go wide, and you bring your hand closer to your chest, leaning back on your heels and putting distance between you two.

When you speak, your voice is shaky and barely audible, “I-I’m sorry…” Shit, his jaw goes slack, and he can’t seem to find the words when your eyes glitter, threatening to spill over with tears at his sudden outburst.

“No, fuck, I-I…It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, I just…” He reaches out tentatively, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing soothing circles into your cheek, searching your eyes for the words that might make this better. He lets out a heavy sigh, looking down again, he thinks to himself fuck it. He looks back up at you, gently urging your head closer to his, “You’re all I can think about. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he lets out a breathy laugh, “I close my eyes to sleep, and all I can see is your cute little pout begging me to share my snacks, or the way you look first thing in the morning, hair a mess and eyes heavy with sleep, when I read I hear you laugh over and over again, that sweet giggle or the roaring laughter that has you rolling on the floor, I think about how you feel pressed into my side, the way I count your heartbeats to keep myself from freaking out cause I’m afraid to wake you. God, I think about how you call me Gojo still despite the fact that we live together cause you’re grossly polite; I just can’t get you out of my head.” His voice trails off at the end as your silence engulfs him in shame, and he can't bear to look you in the eyes anymore. He moves to pull his hand away from you, ready to rot in his room, never escaping his shame again, but instead, you place your much smaller hand over his; your hand is freezing, but his skin feels like it’s on fire.

“I-I don’t actually fall asleep on movie nights,” you stutter out and he looks at you brows clenched in confusion. “I…I just pretend to sleep so I can get closer to you, a-and that day I stole your shirt? I still had clothes to wear but you left it in my basket and I couldn’t help myself” you mumble out gaze trained on a loose thread in his hoodie.

He looks at you, blinking in confusion before what you said registers, and a devilish smirk makes its way across his features.

“You’re a filthy pervert, huh? Sorry, I never would have pegged you for the creepy roommate.” He lets out a hearty laugh as your face goes beat red.

“Hey, I know about your underwear collection, Satoru, if you play that game.” It's his turn to feel embarrassed as he reaches his uncannily long arms over the edge of the couch, dragging you over the side and settling you to lay on his chest.

“Say that again sweet girl,” he speaks in a whisper brushing your hair back and staring egregiosuly at your lips.

“I know about your underwear collection?...Satoru,” You state in a teasing tone, leaning slightly in to his lips.

He lets out a breathy chuckle before closing the distance and encompassing your lips in a restrained kiss. You let out the smallest whimper, and his grip tightens around your waist as he begins trying to coax your mouth open for him. He presses you against him, relishing in the way you shiver when his warm hand reaches under your shirt, feather-light touches causing you to squeak into his mouth. He wastes no time tracing the edge of your tongue with his slow and deliberate teasing. You reach into his hair, pulling lightly at his hair before pulling your face away from his, looking into his eyes, and pushing the stray hairs back away from his eyes.

“You’re still grounded; nothing nasty until you sleep, lover boy,” you smile through the words, and Satoru is certain that his heart stopped right then and there.

“Yeah yeah whatever, going to sleep now,” he says before rolling onto his side, tugging you close to him, burying his nose into your hair, letting his eyes fall closed as his breaths begin to even out, focusing on the way your chest rises and falls against his. For the first time in entirely too long he falls into a deep sleep, clutching tightly to your frame, oh yeah you were in for it when he woke up.

#jjk x you #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #gojo satoru x you #roommate!gojo

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prettythrills · 4 months ago

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Chapter One - One That Got Away

Dont buy TLOU | Daily Click | Series Masterlist

Kinks/Warnings: Canon-typical violence, death, light gore, mild language, canon-typical setting

🎙️ Xan Says: Woo woo I really like this chapter actually! 😆 I did edit this late last night but for the most part there shouldn’t be many typos? But if there are, just ignore them. :p So anyways I hope you guys enjoy this! Also also, if you didn’t notice I added dialogue in from the game! I’m really proud of that but I think its a wee choppy but look past it for the love of god.

W/C: 1.1K

A loud bang wakes you from your sleep. You jolt awake, your dreams of a peaceful life fading away fast. You were familiar with the person standing before you — a new addition to the WLF that was learning quickly.

“Did you forget? We’re doing that raid on the village today. Issac told me to come find you. We have to go, now.” She said, obviously being in a rush. “Cmon, we have to go,” She’s trying to pull you up but you don’t move. “Seriously!” She stresses.

You were reluctant to leave for two reasons. One, the raid was poorly planned. It seemed like another one of Issacs plans for more bases all over Seattle. It was so fucking stupid. You had no other information other than you’d go in, wipe them out, and take over their village — horrible in the eyes of others but a-okay in the eyes of these soldiers. Second, because you were exhausted.

The large black clock on the wall of the dingy med-bay reads 09:45:06. Why was literally anyone willing to leave right now? You could barely see anything from how dark it had been, not to mention that it’d been raining out.

You weren’t really in the mood to hear anything from Issac or anyone else, so you drag your feet towards your worn backpack, retrieving your guns and snagging a med kit before following the girl.

Rain water sloshes underneath your feet as you step out. You pull your hood over your head before you listen for instructions.

“Listen up!” Issac barks from the front of the group. “We’re raiding that island of Scars. Don’t hesitate, take anyone and everyone out immediately. Do we understand?” His voice was full of disdain when speaking about the Scars. A resounding “yes sir!” waves over the crowd. A few people break off into groups but of course, you were stuck with Issac and his posse.

You hated every second of this. You were shivering as it became slightly windy out, the trees swaying in the direction of the wind. Leaves are spread across the ground of all different shades.

Had you have been inside right now, the rain would’ve been peaceful. But now you hate every second of the rain.

The trip to the village was long and hard. Seraphites were in your every corner. You heard the screams from your people and theirs. It was gruesome to say the least. This overall seemed like a death mission. It was too risky — it seemed like they had more people than you and god were they armed to the nines.

You can hear bullets in the distance mixed with your own. You’d never gotten used to the kickback on this new gun you’d stolen once on lookout, but you were trying it again.

You ignored the shoulder pain and you continued forward. Whistles vary from long to short, which you’d assumed was their way of communicating. These people might’ve been trained but you knew you were better.

In terms of skill, you and Abby were on the same level; albeit not like, exactly level. But you two had skills that could get you a spot as the “best Scar killers” compared to the other soldiers.

You’re currently ducking behind a large truck as you reload your guns and wrap bandages around any scars that were visible to you at the moment.

“How did we let this happen?” A male Seraphite questioned. “I don’t know, but we’re ready.” Another male responds. But how ready were they? This was like a two-fer. They let their guards down just enough so that they hadn’t been paying much attention to their surroundings.

You aim your gun. Inhale. You line up your shot on the first guy, resting your finger on the trigger of your gun. Exhale. You pull the trigger and the bullet flies, landing in his forehead. The other guy looks around frantically, yelling and pointing his gun in any direction.

You sneak up behind him, putting him in a chokehold. “Not a word.” You grumble angrily, grunting with effort. When life slips away from his body, you toss him to the floor. Obviously you pick up their guns, inspecting them and taking the ammo out. Slim chance any of this could be useful anyway.

You make your way back to your group, moving through the mainly cleared parts of the village. Boots sloshed in the mud and people screamed as your guns blazed. You switch to a pistol with a makeshift silencer. The gun, in your opinion, had been a bit faster than the one you were currently using.

“Maggie, is this area secure?” A man yells over gunfire. “It better be! We just mowed down these fucks. What’s the plan?” She responded while also firing her gun. “We’re heading to the capital. Take your team and clean the villages by the farmlands.”

You listened to the conversation, and it intrigued you. You almost followed the woman but any ideas of that are gone as more Scars appear. “How many of these motherfuckers are on this island?” You grumbled. The bloodshed continued, more bodies dropped and weapons flew.

To the unarmed, scared people, this would’ve been a great area to snag a couple guns and whatnot from. You continue following behind Issac. For what it seems now, it was clear. Walking the streets was.. hard. Bodies of Seraphites and Wolves line the streets with gruesome injuries, blood gushing from their wounds. The sight of death always almost nearly made you gag, but you chose to ignore it.

Chatter passes through Issacs group. He was taking the group towards an old radio tower. You looked up into the distance and it didn’t seem to be very far away — maybe a few minutes give or take. You were glad that by now the rain wasn’t as hard as it was. It was quiet for a while, then gunshots rang out.

“More Scars ahead. Keep your head on a swivel.” Issac instructed. The groups ahead of you were fighting back, but it’s hard to tell if it’s a winning or a losing battle— but why would you care about that right now? You wanted to survive. Every man for himself. Horrible mentality to have obviously. But that’s just the way this crazy, fucked up world works.

You join your team in the onslaught of killings, snapping necks and killing Scars that lunged at you. Some part of you wishes that this wasn’t so gruesome.

A gun fired. “Got one!” A guy from your team yells. Your head shoots up, looking towards him. “No! Yara!” A voice yells. You know this voice, it’s all too familiar to you. You couldn’t believe it. “Holy fuck, is that Abby?”

#lottieinterrupted #✎ᝰ - 𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐚 #tlou #the last of us #the last of us two #the last of us part two #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby x you #i Hope this isn’t as fast as it is in my mind..#methinks i just read too fast

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yandere-kokeshi · 1 year ago

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Yandere Shigaraki with gn darling who's sick

Warnings: yandere behavior and stockholm syndrome.

A/N: so... this idea came up for @vicemistress , this was originally supposed to be posted a few weeks ago but because of some personal things, it got side tracked.

Anyways, enjoy this <3

The minute he sees you cough, Shigaraki is staring at you as if you had just said the most gruesome sentence ever. While he does adore you and love you with all his heart, you being sick makes his heart race. All those negative voices in his head talking about you: What if this doesn’t pass? What if this isn’t just the flu? What if you die? What if you get worse?

Though, he’s Shigaraki. He’s a leader and needs to show strength, not weakness. His face is still the same: grumpy as ever and continues to play his games, but he watches you closely from the corner of his eye. Making sure to ask you questions, regarding your health or how you're feeling that day.

Sooner or later, it’s expected for you to get progressively worse. And when that happens, with the help of the internet, Shiggy is surprisingly well with you being sick. This man is determined to help you as much as he can. He’s stealing every supply possible on the markets, as well as making sure you are staying plenty hydrated and getting the rest your body needs.

He often gives you medicine, hand-feeding you with the soup he had made minutes before (that he definitely did not steal) and giving you a ginger ale. If you run a fever, he’s right beside you with a damp towel which is resting on your forehead, making sure to kiss your lips whilst ignoring your whining about getting him sick.

Every morning, he has a routine with you, making sure you get into the bath and offering to help you wash your hair or body, leaving the door slightly ajar in case you need anything. Afterward, he wraps you in a bunch of blankets like a burrito and takes care of you, reminding you to take the vitamins and medication he got for you.

With his quirk, he’s careful around you and aware of what he can do. Now with you being sick? He’s so careful to the point he’s treating you like glass that could shatter at any second. He’s only clinging pinkies with you, resting his head onto your chest if you so much as cough or wine about pain. He might as well give you a toddler sippy cup with a straw so you don’t spill it.

It’s no surprise that this man is clingy and stubborn. With this said, Shigaraki is never leaving your side — not even when using the bathroom. He’s right outside, playing on his phone while grumbling about ‘how slow you are’. But, the minute you stumble on something or roll out of bed, he’s dragging you back before laying beside you to continue with his gaming; glancing your way to make sure you are doing okay.

While on the outside, he still acts the same - taking into consideration that you may not enjoy his threats or teasing from how sick you are which he tunes down, however, on the inside, he’s stressing a bunch.

Like the first part, he worries and thinks about the worst-case scenarios for you. Even if you say it’s the flu or how Kurogiri comments that he shouldn’t worry, he still has that thought of ‘what if it isn’t?’. Most that you can do, to subdue these thoughts, are to comfort him; grab him by the shoulders and hug him, which, makes him wrap his arms around your plushy body.

If you are too weak to do anything, whether that’s eating or using the bathroom, he will spoon-feed you and carry you to the restroom to let you do your business. While he may complain, this guy loves you a whole lot. Seeing you sick breaks his heart. He wants everything to go back to normal.

But with his stubbornness, it’s expected he’ll get sick. Which… you’ll have to care for him. But hey, your kisses always make it better. So it’s a 50/50.

—

Masterlist || Please reblog or comment instead of liking, it helps a bunch!

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dumbkiri · 1 year ago

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𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀʟʟ

[Name] Jaeger was present for the fall of Shiganshina. She saved many lives of the mass, but couldn't save her own mother. Despite all that, she was charged for abandonment by a Garrison official named Woerman.

ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Leave a request in my inbox, comment down below for more! I'm going through some and editing as we speak. Series do come first though!

Dear Eren,

In a week’s time, I will be heading outside the walls. When I do I have to tell you the story about Captain Levi and how he saved me from five titans! One day, I’ll make sure to introduce you to him, wouldn’t that be amazing? Would I be the best sibling then?

Anyways that’s not why I am addressing you. I got a very angry letter from mom saying that you wanted to join the Scouts and follow in my footsteps. She warned me that if I don’t stop those “reckless” ideas from forming she would personally drag me off my horse by my ear the next time she sees me to give me a lecture. Surely my ears would fall off for two different reasons!

So little brother, what makes you want to join the Scouts? Aren’t my stories of the outside world enough for you? It’s beautiful out there,but Eren, you do not want to venture outside the walls. Not now. The way it is, you won’t be able to survive.

Titans are exceptional beings that are made and subjected to eating humans. You do not want to see that, I promise you. I have seen plenty of my comrades die in front of me. And I know you have seen the men and women come back with gruesome injuries before. Most don’t make it back home.

I apologize if this scares you, but that’s the point. The world is a cruel and scary place. You know nothing about it and I’m trying my best to keep you hopeful. But titans are ten times bigger and stronger than you all.

I know what that helpless feeling feels like. I almost lost my life until Captain Levi saved me from an awful death. You don’t want to see what a titan can do to a person you love.

With that being said, Eren, you should enjoy the peace in your life right now. Hug mom more often, treat Mikasa nicer, fight harder for Armin and dad? Well you know how he can be sometimes.

He loves us though. He loves all of us, that’s why he keeps fighting. It’s why I keep fighting. I will do everything in my power to keep my family safe this time that includes little Mikasa.

I’ll see you soon, Eren. Give mom a big hug for me, will you? And tell her that I love her too.

Sincerely, [Name] Jaeger

This was Eren’s fifth time rereading the letter his older sister sent him. And today was the day he, along with his mother and Mikasa, were going to send [Name] off with a good luck goodbye. He was going to see her again! This was really the only time he got to spend with her. Before she was sent out of the walls to go exploring.

But something was different today. There was a knock at the door and his mother approached it with a giant smile on her face and a pep to her step. He slightly pouted wondering why she was like that when not even a minute ago she had scolded him about joining the Survey Corps again.

Then his eyes widened in surprise when he saw who exactly was at the door. His smile is uncontainable just like his mother’s. “[Name]! You’re home!” He shouted happily as he ran to his sister and jumped into her awaiting hug.

“Eren, it’s nice to see you again,” Her voice was just a tad bit softer than their mother’s. Her arms squeezed him in a tight hug as she laughed about his struggle to breathe through it all.

“He couldn’t even wait for me to greet you,” Carla sighed and [Name] dropped Eren on the floor as she went to hug her mom. The women laughed about something [Name] had said and Eren blushed when his sister teased him about his excitement for seeing her.

Then a question popped into his head, “Shouldn’t you be gone already? The bells should be ringing any time soon! What if you-”

[Name] looked down at Eren with a gentle smile on her face, “Calm down, Eren. I was given the day off today to speak with Commander Pixis about…politics. Really boring stuff, I tell you.” Eren could see that his sister was just trying to change the subject.

“Oh yeah! I promised Hanji and Levi that I would introduce my kid siblings to them on their way out! Say that you two wanna tag along!” [Name] shouted enthusiastically, her hands on her hips with a proud stance. She knew her brother would be stoked to see his idol and his reaction proved to be correct.

“No way, really! I can meet Captain Levi!” Eren shouted back with the same amount of glee in his voice. His sister nodded her head and gestured outside where a big black horse was standing in a prideful manner waiting for his rider.

Mikasa awed at the sight of the horse before quickly reverting back to her state of neutrality. This was noticed by both of her female guardians and Carla, despite being against the idea of her son joining the Scouts, allowed for this to happen.

“Be safe out there and listen to [Name], got it?” She asked the children with a stern voice and both of them nodded their heads.

[Name] gave a quick kiss on her mom’s cheek and bid her farewell saying, “We’ll be back before supper! I missed your cooking so much!”

Carla laughed and waved her kids off, “Don’t worry, I’ll make plenty for you to take back to your friends too.” The woman closed the door and [Name] laid her hands on the small backs of her siblings. She led them to the calm and quiet horse that patiently waited.

“Let’s do this, yeah?”

Eren watched as [Name] effortlessly picked up Mikasa and sat her in front of the horse’s back with her hands gripping tightly on the silver colored mane. Then [Name] swung herself onto the saddle with a huff steadying Mikasa so she wouldn’t fall.

Eren stepped closer to the black horse and set his hand on the strong hip, petting it softly. “He’s very pretty, [Name],” Eren complimented and the horse trotted in place with a proud neigh. He looked at his sister who extended her hand out to him, “Reaper says thank you for the compliment.”

He knew his sister was strong, but to pull his weight on top of the horse was cool. She used to be so weak back then, but the military must have changed her strength. He was placed behind his sister with his hands clenching on her brown jacket that had the Survey Corps emblem on the back.

“Alright, kids! Hold on tight! Reaper will lose you in the dust if you fall!” [Name] joked lightheartedly and pulled the reins for her horse to go running to where the citizens meet up with the Scouts.

This had to be the best day for Eren, he thought.

……

Hanji was patiently waiting. At least, that’s what she thought she was doing. But her legs couldn’t stop shaking from anticipation. She couldn’t possibly wait to be introduced to her best friend’s siblings! She casually looked to her right and saw her comrade, Levi Ackerman, looking around the crowd that formed on the sides of the path.

His eyes flicked from person to person as if he was waiting to see a specific person.

She wanted to tease him, but first she had to pull him in.

“Aww, I’m gonna miss [Name] on this expedition!” Hanji pouted as she hung her head back in exasperation. Then she straightened out her back and she shouted ahead of her comrades, “Hey Erwin! Why did you let [Name] have to speak to Commander Pixis! It literally could’ve been anyone else in this regiment!”

“Shut it, four-eyes. You’re already giving me a headache.”

Hanji looked to the right and saw Levi giving her a glare already. She smiled and pulled her horse to get closer to Levi’s. “Come on, I know you feel the same, Levi. I know you were looking at the crowd to see the familiar [h.color] hair and beautiful [e.color] eyes. I noticed how close the two of you have been-”

“You’re annoying as ever,” Levi grumbled looking away with a scoff of irritation.

Hanji opened her mouth to retort, but she heard her name being called out with excitement. She whipped her body around as best as she could and saw a woman waving at her with a giant smile.

“Hange~! Levi~!”

Her energetic voice was loud as ever and it brought a smile to the crazy scientist’s face. Then Hanji focused on the kid [Name] brought with her. There was a little girl with long black hair sitting in front of her with stone cold eyes.

Hange recalled that her younger sister went through a lot of trauma as a kid, but they didn’t know how much. The little girl’s eyes reminded them of Levi’s.

The citizens made way for the giant horse [Name] rode on and Reaper casually walked in between Hange’s and Levi’s horses. Upon meeting, the two black horses nudged their faces against each other as their greeting while the humans greeted each other.

“[Name]! I thought you would never come! Both Levi and I were searching for you!” Hange shouted and immediately took notice of hands holding onto [Name]’s vest. “Oh and who is this?”

Hange leaned backwards and saw a boy with brown hair and very pretty teal eyes look at her with a certain shyness in them.

“Hange, Levi, this is my little brother, Eren! Levi, he’s your biggest fan!” [Name] gleamed and pulled a nervous Eren to the front, his bottom resting on her left thigh while Mikasa rested on the right one.

The boy and the man were face to face with each other. Levi being taller on his horse was glaring down at Eren with his neutral look on his face.

“H-hello…sir, I mean, captain!” Eren stuttered out then shoved his face into [Name]’s chest with a quaking smile. Mikasa noticed that Eren was a bit out of his comfort zone and she glared at Levi for the stare he directed at Eren.

Hange laughed and jeered, “Geez, Levi, would it kill you to smile? Hey, Eren, I heard you wanted to join the Scouts!”

This made Eren pick his head up and with a smile, he nodded his head, “Yes, I do! I want to see what’s beyond the walls!” His smile went away and with gloom, said, “These stuffy walls…we’re just like cattle stuck in here waiting for the titans to pick us off.”

“Oh,” Hange said softly and looked at [Name] for some continuation.

“Yeah, Eren, is determined to join the ranks. But mom is strictly against the idea for obvious reasons,” [Name] drawled out and she moved onto the next topic.

“Anyways, this is our sister, Mikasa Ackerman. She is very protective of our Eren which should be my job, but hey! Can’t always be there!” [Name] laughed and Levi caught on to her last name.

“Ackerman?” His eyes lingered on the foreign girl and she nodded her head slowly. They both had the same last name, but didn’t know who connected them to each other.

[Name] watched Levi carefully waiting for more of a reaction than the one of curiosity. Then she continued, “These two love to get into fights with other children. Mikasa is super strong and fast while Eren is very determined! He never knows when to quit!”

Levi hummed in response and focused on the task ahead. He had to get his head back into the game of this cruel world. It was a good thing [Name] wasn’t joining them today. Hanji was right about them getting closer in a relationship.

He didn’t want a distraction on the field and this mission prolongs his feelings for the woman. But when he glanced at her from the side, holding those children in her arms protectively with a smile on her face while talking to Hanji made him question his life with her.

Could they- No, could anyone in the Scouts have a family knowing that they could die outside the walls and never come back? Was it possible to protect one another from the titans?

He couldn’t even protect his friends. Isabel barely made it with [Name]’s help. Even he didn’t know how the two of them survived the abnormal titan.

“[Name] tells me about the outside all the time, but really! How is it?” Eren asked with enthusiasm that broke through his shy shell. Hange laughed at his question and opened her mouth to respond, but Levi beat her to it with his soft voice.

“It’s beautiful out there.”

This silenced the three loud people as they looked at him with shocked expressions. But Eren was the first to break the silence as his hands clenched in anticipation, “It really is, isn’t it? I want to see it! I want to see it all!”

Levi’s eyes widened for a fraction seeing the pretty eyes that belonged to Eren remind him of Isabel. Even his attitude that [Name] spoke of reminded him of the red haired woman.

“Just be patient, Eren,” [Name] said with a gentle voice and a certain sadness in her eyes. Hange and Levi knew that look all too well. [Name] had a point in saying that the boy needed patience. Not everyone was willing to sacrifice their life just to see what was beyond the walls. She wanted to keep his innocence in place.

Levi looked from [Name]’s face over to her brother, he said, “You’re sister is right, brat. Enjoy the life you have now before you dedicate it to the Scouts.”

Then the five of them shot their heads forward when Erwin began his speech for the next expedition. Levi and Hanji shifted in their saddle while [Name] put her siblings back into their respective places.

Levi heard [Name] whisper to her siblings, “That is Commander Erwin, he’s very motivational. Do you guys wanna feel the rush of riding beside the Scouts?”

“Yes, I do!” Eren whispered with excitement and Levi rolled his eyes. This kid was a different breed for sure.

“Okay, hold on tight and make sure to give Hanji and Levi the best “see you later”.”

See you later? Not a goodbye.

Levi looked ahead with a newfound motive. That’s right, he’s coming back to see her smile. To hear her imaginative stories of the outside wall that were lucrative to speak of.

The gates opened up and everyone began riding out to their mission. The five of them rode next to each other for another 30 seconds until [Name] stopped her horse at the entrance. He kept his eyes forward while hearing the voice of Eren Jaeger shouting at them.

His voice was surprisingly louder than the horses running.

“Hanji! Levi! We’ll see you later! Mom has the best food waiting for you!”

Hanji turned around with a smile on her face as she waved at them, her horse continuing to make the distance bigger,

“See ya guys later! I can’t wait to taste it!”

Levi split off from Hanji and his squad followed closely behind him. He already said his ‘see you later’ to [Name] earlier. But he must admit that Eren’s was a bit better with that childlike excitement in his voice.

Little did he know, Levi would come back hearing that the town his friend lived in with her family was destroyed by titans. The terrifying news the bearer held was enough to make him charge straight into Shiganshina to see the destruction.

……

“A fucking hole made by a Titan that was bigger than the walls breached?” Levi questioned angrily, not believing a single word the messengers relay to them.

He stood among Erwin Smith and Hange Zoe along with their respective squad mates.

“Y-yessir! It came down with a single strike of lightning and it peered over the wall! Then it just kicked a hole in and titans started coming through!”

Erwin Smith hummed and stepped up, “What about the Scout that was left behind. She was ordered to speak with Commander Pixis about the Garrison Regiment.”

The lead messenger nodded his head, “Y-yeah, of course! You’re talking about [Name] Jaeger! She granted the civilians of Shiganshina a lot of time by killing the first titans that came through! But then…”

The messenger stopped and thought about his words. The silence was enough to stop the heart of Hange as she grabbed the soldier by the shoulders, “Hey, don’t stop in the middle of explaining like that! She’s not dead!”

The soldier said a small ‘okay’ then resumed his sentence, “But then her family was in danger. She abandoned her post and left to save them. I heard that her mother was terribly injured and her kid siblings just weren’t strong enough to help her…I-I don’t know the whole story. But she’s being held accountable for abandonment.”

“How much time did she grant the civilians?”

Erwin’s question stunted the man and his blue eyes were hauntingly glaring at the messenger.

“H-huh?”

“He asked how much time did she give the people to escape? How many shitty titans did she kill by herself?” Levi reiterated in his own words.

The lead messenger looked back at his colleague and they brought out a piece of paper. Their eyes scanning over the account of witnesses and Garrison soldiers about the woman who wore wings on her back.

“[Name] Jaeger gave a whole seven minutes and 19 seconds of time to run away. She proceeded to kill 27 titans by herself and assisted the Garrison soldiers with many more. Yet she abandoned her post and left an abnormal Titan to burst through the interior wall which she could have stopped.”

The Scouts were silent with the account.

Levi huffed out in annoyance, “You’re telling me, she helped the Garrison soldiers fight and reduced the amount of lives lost only for you guys to put the blame on her for another abnormal Titan bashing in? Isn’t it the job of the Garrison to help evacuate citizens? Why wasn’t anyone helping her family?”

“No disrespect to you all, but you guys weren’t there. The silence that engulfed Shiganshina…the cries of terror after the hole was created…the titans walking- The fear was enough to stun us!”

“Not enough to stun [Name] Jaeger,” Erwin spoke up with his naturally deep voice, “it seems to me she was the only one who responded accordingly to an attack. She’s not a Garrison Soldier, but she did the job of one. Explain to me why that is.” He demanded the shorter man before him and the messenger shook his head.

“I’m not sure why,” The man said quietly nervously looking at the intense eyes Erwin had that made him submit to an actual answer, “M-maybe because she’s braver than me, okay! Maybe I was afraid of losing my life! She’s used to seeing titans, she’s a Scout for crying out loud and one of the best! I’m just a messenger, I never fought a real titan and she has that experience!”

“She was amazing out there,” The second messenger, the one with the witness statements, said out loud for the scouts to hear. The female continued on with a certain spark in her eyes, “[Name] Jaeger had killed so easily that it looked like anyone could do it. She gave me the confidence to kill two titans by myself even with my heart racing in fear. But when I stopped, she didn’t, she continued onward and she thanked me…me for helping her out even though I only killed two.”

Hanji smiled softly and said, “Yeah, that’s what she does best. She lets you know that you did good even if you don’t think the same of yourself. But please, tell me why the Garrison is charging her for abandonment, but none of you are facing the same consequence.”

The female looked at her partner and she sighed, “Captain Woermann is the one charging her because he believes she could have stopped the second titan from blowing another hole.”

Erwin hummed and asked the woman, “Do you think he’s right?”

“No,” she shook her head, “ the cannons did nothing to stop the second titan. It had armor all over his body. I’m one hundred percent sure that her blades couldn’t have pierced through the plates at all.”

The topic changed immediately when Levi asked an important question that can change the charges against his friend, “Was anyone with her when she tried to save her family?”

The woman’s eyes widened and she nodded her head, “Y-yeah, actually, it was Hannes.”

The male messenger rolled his eyes and scoffed, catching the attention of the scouts.

“What’s with that reaction,” Levi questioned, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

“Hannes is a drunk,” the man replied with a sneer, “all he did early in the day was drink with his buddies. That man can’t guard shit and-”

“Good,” Erwin smiled and looked at Levi and Hanji, “that’s good. We can use his story to get [Name] out of her trial without any punishments given.”

#x reader #x female reader #attack on titan #anime imagine #eren yeager #levi ackerman x reader

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raysources · 2 years ago

Text

𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — a collection of one - liners taken from various songs on one of my ships’ playlists. slightly edited for clarity. change pronouns as necessary.

❛ to tell you is too scary , so i’ll just say something else . ❜ ❛ what the hell do i have to lose ? ❜ ❛ i wanna get stuck in your head . ❜ ❛ i think that i should probably tell you this in case there is an accident and i never see you again . ❜ ❛ maybe i won’t ever say what’s in my head . ❜ ❛ am i pretty now ? ❜ ❛ am i pretty enough to lie to ? ❜ ❛ say my name like a slur , but i’ve been called worse . ❜ ❛ am i pretty enough to love back ? ❜ ❛ maybe i’m in love . ❜ ❛ oh my god , if i tell him , he’ll tell her , and then she will know i like her . ❜ ❛ i don’t think that i can take this heartbreak any longer . ❜ ❛ i will not hold it in . ❜ ❛ you never even knew about the heartache i was going through . ❜ ❛ we could be happy , can’t you see ? ❜ ❛ you’re not a monster , just a human . ❜ ❛ you’re not gruesome , just human , and you made a few mistakes . ❜ ❛ i am broken down in shame . ❜ ❛ i believe that you will see a better day . ❜ ❛ i don’t wanna know i’m not capable of coming out alive . ❜ ❛ i mean every word i say . ❜ ❛ you love me , but you don’t know it yet . ❜ ❛ everything is just an accident . ❜ ❛ if i never laid eyes on you , would i feel something missing ? ❜ ❛ if you never laid eyes on me , would you know something’s gone ? ❜ ❛ let’s just live in the afterglow . ❜ ❛ ever think , what if we never met ? ❜ ❛ i was always alone until you came along . ❜ ❛ i think i like you maybe more than i should . ❜ ❛ with you , i just can’t shut up . ❜ ❛ you are my favorite drug . ❜ ❛ you’re perfect in the way that you are . ❜ ❛ compassion always set you apart . ❜ ❛ you are worth the trouble to keep . ❜ ❛ you and i will always belong . ❜ ❛ she doesn’t get your humor like i do . ❜ ❛ she’ll never know your story like i do . ❜ ❛ what you’re looking for has been here the whole time . ❜ ❛ you belong with me . ❜ ❛ i can’t help thinking this is how it ought to be . ❜ ❛ you’ve got a smile that can light up this whole town . ❜ ❛ have you ever thought just maybe , you belong with me ? ❜ ❛ do you feel like me ? ❜ ❛ how are your lungs ? are they in pain ? ❜ ❛ would you be so kind as to fall in love with me ? ❜ ❛ i know you know that i like you . ❜ ❛ i like you , but that’s not enough . ❜ ❛ let’s swap chests today . ❜ ❛ please fall in love with me . ❜ ❛ will i ever learn ? ❜ ❛ how can i resist ya ? ❜ ❛ why did i ever let you go ? ❜ ❛ you know that i’m not that strong . ❜ ❛ goodbye doesn’t mean forever . ❜ ❛ i like you but not that way . ❜ ❛ i just think that you’re cute . ❜ ❛ on you , i have been sold . ❜ ❛ you made my life happy once again . ❜ ❛ it’s you i wanna be around . ❜ ❛ i’ve been waiting for a pretty face to walk right through the door , but now i’ve found : you came in through the window . ❜ ❛ you’re the person that i love to see . ❜ ❛ it’s always sunny with you . ❜ ❛ i’ve been waiting for a girl like you for a while . ❜ ❛ you’re the only thing that’s making me smile . ❜ ❛ i know that he loves me . ❜ ❛ he’s no romeo . ❜ ❛ pull yourself together . ❜ ❛ after you leave , i’ll be so alright it’s true . ❜ ❛ how could i ever be so dumb to believe i’d be the one you would adore ? ❜ ❛ i wanna be with you . ❜ ❛ i wanna be with you all the time . ❜ ❛ i wanna be loved by you every night . ❜ ❛ i guess god wants us apart for heaven’s sake . ❜ ❛ show me all the dark parts of your mind . ❜

#rp prompts #lyric starters #sentence starters #ask meme #rp ask meme #mine.#mine : prompts.

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elysiaheaven · 2 months ago

Note

Artist/Writer Reader dedicating every work they have about ronin so they won't forget what he looks like or how it felt being with him after the end where you kill him

PAINTING HIM-RONIN X G.N READER

Words:3000!

Genre: Gore

Summary: Artist/Writer Reader dedicating every work they have about ronin so they won't forget what he looks like or how it felt being with him after the end where you kill him

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Graphic Violence, Murder, Death, Obsession, Body Horror, Necrophilia, Mental Illness, Gore

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! P.S: This is actually gore! DNI IF YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE!

EDIT: I'M SORRY KILLER CHAT FANS! i may or may not have killed...ehe-

Killed, The first victim was her. Angel from...light!

Every canvas, every page soaked with the remnants of his memory—your brush digs into the mess of blood and flesh, dragging gore across the surface like a mourner desperate to stitch together what’s left of a corpse. Each stroke feels like bringing him back, just a little. Enough to stop him from slipping into the abyss of time, where he can’t taunt you, mock you, or offer that crooked grin that made your heart freeze.

You killed Ronin, his broken body slumped at your feet, and yet the thought of forgetting what he looked like haunts you more than the kill itself. You see the blood like paint, the spilled viscera like ink—so you dedicate everything to him. If you don’t, his face will blur into oblivion, and that cannot happen. He would never forgive you for that.

The first canvas? Angel. His beloved friend. You gutted her. Her blood became the first pigment—thick, clotted, beautiful. Ronin would have loved the poetry of it, wouldn't he? Your hands, trembling from grief, steady themselves as you dip your brush into the pools of red and guts. The painting begins to form—his plum-colored hair, the way his lips curled when he teased you, how his maroon gaze sharpened whenever he saw an opportunity to push someone just a bit further into the darkness. His beanie, slightly You commit everything to the canvas in gruesome detail, as if carving his likeness from memory would bring him back to life.

But it’s not enough. One painting turns into ten, then twenty. Your studio becomes a shrine to his twisted charm, each artwork more grotesque than the last. Organs splayed out to recreate the color palettes he loved—dark reds, bruised purples, blackened grays. Angel's heart serves as your finest brush, sinews and tendons stretched across frames like makeshift canvases. Her soul, too, is now part of his memory, like a sacrifice for the monster he was and the monster he made you.

Every painting captures him in different stages of your obsession. In some, he’s smirking, crowbar dangling casually from his hand, taunting you. In others, he’s resting—serene, perhaps even affectionate. You paint him kissing the top of your head, the way he used to do when he thought you wouldn’t notice. There’s one where his fingers ghost over your throat—a quiet reminder that he always liked having you at his mercy, even when he pretended otherwise. You paint him perfectly, obsessively, so he never truly leaves.

And the murders? They become necessary, part of the ritual. You take pieces of every victim—Angel’s entrails, another’s fingers, teeth, eyes—and add them to the art. Each painting becomes a testament to how he made you feel, the ecstasy and torment intertwined. The sensation of his hand brushing yours, the way your stomach twisted when he whispered something vile in your ear—these feelings, too, need preservation. And blood, with its rich crimson decay, is the only medium worthy enough to hold them.

You know he'd approve.

You can almost hear him, even now. “Go on, sweetheart,” his voice purrs in your mind, that mocking edge still laced with affection. “Make it worth it.”

And you do.

You keep painting, keep killing, because as long as you do— He’ll never truly be gone.

The painting calls to you. Not just any painting—this one will be your masterpiece. You can feel it bubbling beneath your skin, as if your very bones are whispering his name. It isn’t enough to remember him; you need to become him, need to smear his essence into every inch of this work so vividly that the line between flesh and art evaporates. The aorta you hold drips warm blood down your wrist, a perfect artery, pulsing faintly even though the life it belonged to has long since gone cold.

Angel’s aorta. It dangles from your hand like a macabre ribbon, the very lifeline she thought she’d use to avenge him. Poor girl. She thought she could stop you, that her hatred was righteous, that she’d be the one to punish you for taking her Ronin away. But she didn’t understand—he was never just hers. He was yours too.

And now, he’s yours forever.

You plunge the aorta into the canvas, dragging it down in jagged, sloppy strokes. The wet squelch makes you laugh—a crazed, broken laugh that bursts from your chest before you can stop it. You laugh because it feels good, because the scent of copper and rot makes your head spin with memories. His crooked smirk, the way his fingers would always brush too close to your pulse just to watch you squirm. “You’re mine,” you whisper, the words ripping from your throat in hysterics. You mean them now more than ever.

The blood pools at the base of the canvas, thick and sticky, making your shoes squelch on the ground. Your laughter rings in the empty room, wild and manic, as if you’re sharing the joke with him—because of course you are.

He’s still here. He never left.

You stagger back from the painting, breathless and exhilarated, and your eyes land on the fridge. The white appliance hums softly, a mundane noise in the middle of your grotesque symphony. Inside it, his body rests.

Or at least, the parts that still matter. His head, perfectly preserved in plastic wrap, the purple strands of his hair slick with congealed blood. His lips, frozen in that familiar, mocking grin, as if daring you to stop. His eyes, half-lidded, still seem to follow you, even in death.

And oh, he haunts you. He whispers in the back of your mind, each word curling like smoke. "Messy, babe. You're getting better, though. Sloppy little artist." "You having fun without me? How rude." "Aren’t you tired yet? No? Good. You’re just getting started."

The hallucinations—or memories?—make you laugh harder. You clutch your stomach, almost doubling over from the euphoria. It’s too funny. He’s gone, rotting in your fridge, but he owns every thought in your head. You painted him to keep him alive, to preserve the parts of him that matter. But you didn’t need the art to keep him, did you? He’s already inside you. You killed him, but he won.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand—only to smear blood across your cheek. The wet, coppery scent makes your pulse race faster. You swear you hear his laugh behind you, low and amused, like he’s standing right there, just out of sight.

"You’ll never be done with me," the voice purrs in your ear, too close, too real. You whip around, but nothing is there. Just the paintings, just the art—just him, in a thousand forms, staring back at you with every twisted canvas.

You stagger to the fridge again, the cold metal smooth under your blood-slick hands. You open the door slowly, reverently. His eyes meet yours. And they sparkle. For just a moment, you almost believe he’s alive again, smirking at you with that devil-may-care attitude that made you love—and hate—him in equal measure.

And then you do what any artist would do. You kiss his cold lips. Just a quick kiss—more out of habit than anything else. They taste like iron, like death, and you can’t help the grin spreading across your face. He’d find this so hilarious. He’d love it.

You slam the fridge door shut, the high of creation still buzzing in your skull. But you’re not done. Not yet. There’s always more to paint, more to kill, more to preserve.

And as you look at the latest canvas, streaked with Angel’s blood and organs, you know it’s not enough. You’ll need more victims. More paint. And if you have to rip the world apart to keep Ronin with you, then so be it.

After all, love like this demands sacrifice. And you’re more than willing to give it.

You step back, surveying your work, and the laughter bubbles up again, uncontrollable and manic. “Look at this masterpiece!” you shout into the empty studio, your voice echoing against the walls lined with grotesque canvases. Each one captures a piece of him, a fragment of the wild darkness that coursed through your veins when he was alive.

“You’d be so proud, Ronin! This is what you wanted, right?!” Your laughter is a twisted song, dripping with the madness that now defines you. The cacophony blends with the memories, echoing in your mind like the last haunting notes of his laughter—his mocking, delightful laughter that used to send shivers down your spine.

“More blood, more guts! We can’t let them forget you!” The absurdity of it all sends you spiraling further into hysteria. You clutch your sides as you stumble toward the fridge again, your fingers tinged with crimson. You swing the door open wide, and the cold air hits your face like a slap.

There he is, his head, his grin still somehow mocking you, as if he knows the chaos you’ve unleashed in the name of preserving his memory. You lean in close, and the chill of the fridge fills your lungs, mixing with the warm, iron scent of the blood and gore that now saturates your very being. “I swear, Ronin, they’ll all know your name! They’ll know how beautiful you are, even in death!”

You can’t stop laughing, the sound twisting and spiraling into something both joyous and grotesque. “You think I’m crazy? Maybe I am! But look at what I’ve created!” The laugh echoes back at you, a hollow sound that sends chills racing down your spine. It feels like a dance, a frantic celebration of everything that’s left of him.

You hold out your hands, covered in blood, and spin in circles, grinning like a lunatic. “I’m your artist, Ronin! Your devoted little artist! And this—this is my tribute to you!”

With every turn, your laughter crescendos, merging with the memory of his teasing words. “You think you’re an artist? Let’s make it a masterpiece, sweetheart!” His voice wraps around you, intoxicating and thrilling, urging you to push the boundaries even further.

“Let’s paint the world with their screams! Just like you said!” You shout, clapping your hands together, the sound wet and squelching. The adrenaline surges, a euphoric high that wraps around your chest like a vice. You feel alive, more than you have in what feels like a lifetime.

“They’ll come for us, won’t they?” You giggle, a wild sound that reverberates through the room. “They’ll see what we’ve done, and they’ll try to take it away! But they can’t, can they? No one can take you from me!” You stagger back from the fridge, your eyes alight with the thrill of it all, and the laughter grows, spilling out of you like the blood you’ve painted with.

You grab a brush, drenched in thick, clotted red, and dance it across the canvas, splattering the remnants of the aorta as if they were confetti. “This is your celebration! Just like you wanted! I’ll make them see! I’ll make them feel!” The colors bleed together, twisted and grotesque, as you pour every ounce of madness and love into the work.

“Can’t you feel it, Ronin?” you whisper, laughing madly as the paint drips and pools, blending with the vibrant hues of death and decay. “We’re unstoppable! Just like you said! We’ll carve our names into the darkness!”

Your laughter echoes again, a wild and beautiful sound, haunting and euphoric, drowning out the fear that tries to creep in. It’s just you, the canvas, and the memories of him, entwined in a dance of chaos and creation.

“Forever together, right?” you chuckle softly, your heart racing. “Just you and me against the world.”

You turn back to the fridge, and for a brief moment, it feels like he’s smiling at you, that glimmer in his cold eyes full of pride and mischief.

“I won’t let you go, Ronin! Not ever!” You scream into the void, your laughter spiraling once more, spiraling into the chaos you’ve created—this gory, beautiful tribute to the love that was, and the madness that will always remain.

The air was thick with the scent of iron as you prepared for the grand finale of your chaotic masterpiece. Misaki, the bubbly friend whose laughter had once filled the void left by Ronin, was your next target. “Time to end this little charade,” you sneered, a twisted grin spreading across your face.

You lured her into a trap under the guise of a casual meet-up, laughter spilling like honey as you reminisced about the past. “Remember those fun times we had?” you chirped, your voice dripping with feigned innocence. But beneath the surface, your heart raced with anticipation, the thrill of what was to come pulsing through your veins.

When the moment was right, you struck. “Sorry, Misaki, but your show’s over!” The blade glinted in the dim light as it plunged into her gut, the laughter fading from her eyes as confusion morphed into shock. You watched, fascinated, as her blood pooled around her, painting the ground in hues of crimson.

“Why did you kill her?” V shouted, rushing in, his eyes wide with disbelief. The rage in his voice echoed the disbelief of your actions. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

You couldn’t help it—your laughter erupted, wild and unhinged. “Justice? There’s no justice in this world! Only chaos!” With a swift movement, you pulled out your knife and stabbed him in the leg, the blade piercing flesh with a sickening squelch.

His scream rang out, a symphony of pain that only fueled your insanity. “See? No justice, only vengeance! Just like Ronin would want!” You cackled, feeling the thrill of power surge through you.

V stumbled back, clutching his wound, and in a fit of rage, he grabbed a crowbar lying nearby, just like Ronin used to do. “You’re going to pay for this!” he growled, but his resolve was faltering as he limped toward you.

“Come on, V! You can do better than that!” you taunted, laughing harder as he swung the crowbar. The connection between metal and flesh was loud and satisfying as it cracked against your skull. You reeled, but the pain was merely a reminder of the twisted love you shared with Ronin.

You met his gaze, your smile widening, the madness spilling over. “I’ll show you just how far this can go!” You lunged forward, knocking the crowbar from his grip, and seized your opportunity.

With each blow, you savored the moment, channeling the darkness Ronin had instilled in you. “Beat the hell out of you! Just like Ronin would!” you laughed, feeling giddy as you struck again and again, the world fading into a haze of red and laughter.

Finally, he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. You stepped back, breathless, surveying the chaos around you. “Ronin, I sent your friends to hell! Enjoy it with them!” you yelled, your voice ringing through the empty space.

But he didn’t respond, not in the way you wanted. His presence loomed, as always, like a shadow you couldn’t shake off. You could feel his gaze, cold and assessing, lingering on your every move.

“Why won’t you leave me?” you hissed, a mixture of anger and desperation flooding your heart. “Look at me! I’m doing this for you!”

A chilling silence enveloped you, and you stared into the void, awaiting a response. And then you whispered, almost pleading, “You think I’m pretty in this blood, don’t you?”

In that moment, your insanity felt tangible. “I’m pretty when I’m married in red blood, just like you wanted!” you laughed, the sound spiraling into the air. “We’re meant to be together, forever! I’ll keep you alive in every kill!”

You stood amidst the carnage, laughter bubbling up like a wild, unstoppable force. “HA HA HA! Look at this! Look at all this blood!” The remnants of your latest masterpiece surrounded you, glistening under the flickering light like a grotesque work of art.

“Why did you make me do it?” you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls, a haunting cry for the one who had twisted you into this chaotic being. “You wanted this, didn’t you, Ronin? You wanted me to feel alive!”

The laughter took hold, consuming you entirely as you spun in circles, arms outstretched, a mad dancer celebrating a morbid victory. “What’s more beautiful than this?!” you cackled, your eyes wide, drunk on the thrill of your dark creations. “Crazy? Gorety? Grotesque? It’s perfection!”

Every scream of your victims resonated in your mind, a symphony of chaos that only intensified your exhilaration. “They never knew! They never understood what we shared!” you shouted to the void, breathless and wild. “I did it all for you! For us! Don’t you see?!”

But the silence was deafening, and your laughter grew manic, bouncing off the walls like a deranged echo. “Are you proud of me, Ronin?!” you yelled, your voice cracking. “Am I your perfect little monster?”

With every flick of your wrist, you painted the walls with their blood, each stroke a twisted love letter to the one who haunted you. “They’re all gone! All of them! Just like you wanted!” You doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down your face. “I’m the artist now, and this is my canvas!”

“PLS BE WITH ME!” you screamed into the void, desperation mingling with mania. “I don’t want to be alone in this darkness! I did what you’d want, Ronin! I’m just following your legacy!”

Your laughter morphed into something darker, a haunting melody that filled the empty room. “What’s justice, anyway? Nothing but a lie! I’ll carve my own fate with their blood! We’ll reign together in this twisted world!”

You could almost hear him, his presence swirling around you, a ghostly embrace. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You’ll always be with me!” Your voice echoed, filled with an unsettling mixture of joy and despair.

You lifted your arms, twirling in the gore, laughter spilling from your lips like a twisted song. “Oh, Ronin! We’re creating a new world! A beautiful mess! Who needs justice when we have this?!”

And even as your mind spiraled further into madness, the laughter persisted, a relentless cacophony that drowned out the chaos of reality, binding you to the one you loved in death. “We’re immortal, my darling! Forever and ever! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

In shadows deep, he lingers still, A specter woven into my will, With every stroke, his laughter flows, In crimson tides where madness grows.

“Remember me,” his whispers tease, Through the canvas, he rides the breeze, Each drip and splatter, a memory spun, In the dance of death, we are forever one.

The brush, my weapon, paints the night, A tribute to love lost, a twisted rite, With every victim, his essence remains, A haunting melody in my veins.

I swirl the colors, a wicked delight, A gallery of horrors beneath the moonlight, “Do not forget,” his voice echoes low, In every shade, his spirit will show.

Gore and beauty, intertwined they play, A morbid dance that won’t fade away, With every heartbeat, I capture his face, A love so grotesque, it defies time and space.

“Forever yours,” I cry to the dark, As I bleed my soul onto the stark, Each canvas a shrine, a bloody embrace, In the art of despair, I find my place.

“You haunt me still, you’re my muse,” In this gallery of nightmares, I choose, To keep your memory alive, to let it spread, In the strokes of blood, where we both tread.

So let the world shudder, let them recoil, For our love is buried deep in this soil, With every brushstroke, I conjure your name, In the twisted embrace of passion and pain.

And as long as I breathe, you’ll never depart, For you’re etched in the fabric of my broken heart, In every painting, your laughter I’ll weave, In this haunting tale, I’ll never leave...!

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