#someone help call 911 or something

[rosyhoneydew]

When Tommy said, "I didn't say you were, I was talking about me." That changed my life fr we need more relationships onscreen that showcase these kinds of conversations

[theotherbuckley]

Okay but Tommy drops out of high school — he told his father he was gay and he told him he could either be homeless or go to military school. He goes to military school and joins the army and he likes flying the helicopters because it means he doesn’t have to do any of the killing himself. And he makes some friends.

There's one guy who's like the squad leader who's a few years old and built like a Greek god and Tommy's young and a little bit in love. And they're friends maybe even family because this whole group of people spend every waking (and sleeping) moment together. And they all talk like a family and they all say they love each other and tease each other and it's nice. And one night it's just the two of them trading a flask of some sort of alcohol that Tommy doesn't know the name of and the man asks Tommy why he joined the army and where he wants to be in five years and Tommy trusts this man. He's half way in love with him so he doesn't even think twice before he tells the story about the time he came out to his family and his father nearly beat him to death before sending him here. And the conversation tapers off after that and he doesn’t register the change in the air but when he wakes up the next morning he’s being dishonourably discharged because he poses “unacceptable risk to the high standards of morale, good order and discipline, and unit cohesion that are the essence of military capability”. He knows what that means.

Tommy joins the fire department because he doesn’t know what else to do. He represses anything regarding his sexuality because he knows now that it’s wrong. He almost feels like he has a family again because his captain seems to like him and some of the guys are cool even if they say things he doesn’t agree with. And then he starts agreeing because maybe they’re right and he’s wrong and he’s just inherently wrong. So he follows their leads and is just straight racist because that’s how he can fit in.

And then a black lesbian woman joins and says she’s a black lesbian woman and Tommy doesn’t understand that either because you can’t be queer you just can’t be because it’s wrong.

But he nearly dies and and an Asian man saves his life and a black lesbian woman comes up with a better idea than any of them had and she tells them she’s no different and she is just as capable. So he improves himself he does and he tries to be better but he still can’t be who he is because the last 2 times he was honest about that he was betrayed.

Tommy leaves the 118 and “don’t ask, don’t tell” is lifted and he meets this guy he likes who likes him back and the 217 don’t seem to have a problem with the gender neutral pronouns and he slowly but surely lets himself open up again and be who he is and when the thing with that guy doesn’t work out because he’s moving to New York and Tommy’s not sure he’s ready to leave, it’s okay because his crew is there and they support him and he can still be himself.

[reasonsforhope]

Crowdsourcing a question

Okay totally personal post here because, now that search engines suck, my research is failing me. So I'm crowdsourcing my question about the residential care work industry!

Hoping at least some of my followers have experience in/with the industry and some intel on this:

Actual question: How common is it for jobs in residential care work (residential centers, btw, not home care) to actually have two people on the night shift? vs. just saying they always have two people on the night shift in interviews and their official policies, and actually it's not true?

Because my current job was, it turns out, apparently totally lying about "you'll never be on shift alone with clients" at orientation (when it comes to the night shift, anyway). Which, holy fucking safety issues, Batman!

Suffice to say this was a very fun thing to find out like three days before my first regular shift

So, I'm thinking realllll hard about switching companies, and I'm trying to figure out if I could expect to actually have a coworker at a different company, or if it's like an open secret in the field that actually, basically all the night shifts end up being solo shifts, because the industry is so chronically understaffed or w/e

[slowlyfoggydestiny]

Soo it happen again huh

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[teaboot]

Yo I can't speak for 911 dispatch but working on the ground here are some tips for calling or radio'ing help:

First: Give information in the right order. 911 WILL ask, before anything else: City? Police, Fire, or Ambulance? They need to know who they're sending and where. If you're calling me (mall cop) I know you're looking for security presence, so my assumption is that either we don't need 911, 911 has already been called, or I'm about to be calling, so this part isn't always required.

Second: Location. I can't do shit about the five-foot-six Caucasian female wearing green shoes breaking into your car if I don't know where your car is.

Third: The most distinctive thing you see. Trash can on fire? Yellow truck got busted? Body on the ground? Person brandishing a weapon?

Fourth: If the issue is a moving target, pick the most distinctive trait about them first. Something that can be seen at a distance. "Wearing jeans" is not as useful or as distinctive as "orange baseball cap" or "coveralls". "Truck" isn't isn't useful or distinctive as "brown pickup, busted fender".

Fifth: At this point someone is on their way looking for what you've described, but they're still listening. Now is the time to add details. Heading north? Carrying a weapon? Additional clothing, descriptors, etc.

If you are calling emergency dispatch, don't just start talking. They will usually ask for what they need in the order that they need it.

If you're calling for security or CCTV surveillance: Location, distinction, details.

Note: I've only been in the industry a few years but I get a lot of people giving bad descriptions or misordered ones so I thought I'd put out a general PSA, but if anyone with more experience here has anything to correct or add on, please do

[kiemiu]

more boyfriend chris headcanons | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. established relationship headcanons wc 911 (library) + (request)

boyfriend!chris whose first instinct is to protect you. whenever there's a loud sound nearby, he's quick to pull you into him and cradle your head. if there's someone being creepy nearby and he notices that you're uncomfortable around them, he'll pull you behind him, gently rubbing his thumb against your wrist to soothe your worries, and remind you that he's there and that you have nothing to worry about.

boyfriend!chris who gets cuteness aggression around you. he just can't help it. all you have to do is simply exist around him and he's suddenly squealing like a kid in a candy store. he'll latch onto you like a leach and start swinging you around while nuzzling his head into your neck and 'unintentionally' cooing at you in a baby voice.

boyfriend!chris who is the best gossip buddy. anytime you give him a certain look, he knows he's in for a good tea session. the both of you will sit and gossip about other couples, and people you met in passing for hours. he always has the inside scoop on something, and whenever his ears happen to catch onto some extra juicy drama, you're the first person he'll run to yap about it with. he's actually the biggest gossip, and truthfully most of his friends aren't safe, because as soon as they say "can i tell you a secret? you can't tell anyone else though." he immediately excuses you and his brothers from that statement, cause his ears are yours.

boyfriend!chris who adores your laugh. he's suddenly the biggest comedian whenever he's around you. always cracking jokes, and throwing in one-liners into every conversation the two of you have just so he can hear you laugh. he adores it so much, and some of his favorite moments consist of just the two of you together in the quiet confines of his room, crying laughing at stupid memes.

boyfriend!chris who won't leave your side when you're sick. as soon as he gets word that you're feeling unwell, he's doing everything in his power to help you get back to health. he'll look up every method on the internet to help you, almost to the point it becomes overwhelming. after he sets you up with blankets, medicine, and you're well fed, he'll sit by the side of your bed and will refuse to leave you alone.

boyfriend!chris who loves to play online games with you. he'll buy a nintendo switch just to play your favorite games with you like animal crossing, and mario kart. other times, he'll beg matt to let you use his pc which he does most of the time, but for everyone's convenience, chris ended up buying you a new pc so he could play games with you whenever. he'll play all types of video games with you, going from scary, to adventure, to mystery. he'll play it all, your discord calls probably go up to being 8 hours long with the amount of games you play in one sitting. he'll also def try to get you into fortnite, and will most-likely carry you throughout most matches, he still wouldn't choose anyone else to duo with.

boyfriend!chris who remembers the little things. any allergy you have, your favorite desserts, your biggest fears, all of it is stored in the back of his mind. he could name any fact about you in an instant, he can tell you things that you don't even remember telling him. it's honestly a bit surprising but it always makes you feel seen as his partner. he pays attention to everything you do and say, even the smallest of habits.

boyfriend!chris who makes an effort of making time for you. he always sets aside time for you. he's a busy guy with a full schedule, so whenever he has some free time to spare, he'll plan something for the both of you to do together. he turns his phone off when he's out with you just incase someone tries to cut in on that time. if someone tries to sway his decision of doing something else instead of being with you, he'll shoot it down immediately. always saying something along the lines of "i gotta get back home to my baby."

boyfriend!chris who calls you his wife. before you even started dating he called you his girlfriend, but now that you're actually a couple, he calls you his wife. he always uses you as an excuse, saying things like "ahh, the wife's not gonna like this one." and "my wife said i should be back home by 9 'cause she's cooking dinner tonight." when in reality you never said those things, he just wants to get back home to you. on other occasions he just likes to do it because he fully believes in having that future with you. "happy wife, happy life."

boyfriend!chris who loves you for not judging him. chris always feels like people look at him a little differently from his brothers. he falls under people's scrutiny all the time for being weird, loud, annoying, and as much as he likes to pretend that those comments don't hurt him, they really do. so, you've become a personal safe-haven for him. whenever he starts to feel beaten down by the ruthlessness of people's opinions he always goes to you for comfort. he doesn't feel lonely or isolated anymore knowing that you see him for him.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @chrisprincesss @koilaniazul @starsforu @sturn777 @sturniolosiphone @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnsmia @leaningoutthewindow

[ladysharmaa]

Break in

Jay Halstead x reader

summary: when Jay's girlfriend is home alone while he's at Molly's, someone tries to break into their house

Y/n was looking disinterestedly through the fridge, closing it with a sigh when she couldn't find anything to eat that she felt like. It was a slow night, her workday had been quiet at the hospital, with only a few patients showing up.

Her boyfriend, Jay, had invited her to join him and the rest of the police department at Molly's. However, she refused, wanting him to spend quality time with his friends, feeling that she had already stolen him from them long enough after he took a few days to take care of her after she fell ill.

Detective Chuckles: Is everything okay out there? The guys miss you! Wish you could be here with me :(

The ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she read Jay's message. But she couldn't deny the butterflies that invaded her stomach knowing he was thinking about her. Their relationship was relatively recent, but they had never felt stronger love.

Jay once revealed to her that he realized she was the most important person to him when he was called on an undercover mission. They had only been dating for about 2 months. When he returned, after all the time they hadn't been together, he was shocked to see her waiting for him. He thought she had abandoned him, realizing that she couldn't live with his job, but he was wrong. He ran to her, picking her up and spinning her around a little, her laughter echoing through the room.

After answering his text, Y/n lay down on the couch, watching a movie while waiting for her boyfriend to come home. She didn't even notice when, halfway through the movie, her eyes started to get heavy, and she gave in to sleep.

She woke up again when she heard the lock on the front door click, almost as if someone was trying to get in. Too lazy to get up, thinking it was Jay trying to get in, Y/n tried to call him to remind him he had a key, in case he was already a little tipsy.

At the end of the second ring, the cop answered, but something made Y/n freeze in place, glancing at the door in alarm. She could hear the noise coming from the other people at the bar, meaning he wasn't the one at the door.

"Baby, you there? Is everything okay?" Jay's voice brought her back to reality.

"Jay, aren't you the one trying to get in by any chance?" her voice shook, still standing in the same spot on the edge of the sofa, now raised.

"What? Guys, shut up, I can't hear Y/n. Baby, I told you I'm at the bar with the rest of the group." his voice immediately became serious. "Why? What's happening?"

"Jay, I think someone is trying to get in." Y/n muttered, holding the phone tighter to stop it from falling due to the shaking of her hands. Her wide, frightened eyes were fixed on the door.

As soon as those words left her mouth, Y/n heard a noise on the other side — Jay was shouting something to Severide. Then, there was silence until the sound of Jay's jeep engine was heard.

"Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You go to our room and lock the door. Then you go to the bathroom and stay in the bathtub until I come and get you. No one else, just me. Do you think you can do that?"

From Jay's voice, Y/n noticed that he went into police mode, speaking calmly but with authority. In fact, this was just so he wouldn't lose control and be able to help his girlfriend, despite the fear that was spreading throughout his body.

"I need verbal responses, baby. Do you understand?"

"I understand." her voice shook.

"Good girl. Everything's going to be okay." Jay tried to comfort her, breaking all the traffic rules and having the sirens on to get home faster.

His heart was tightening in his chest, almost stopping him from breathing. He blamed himself, he knew he should have stayed at home with Y/n, and now she was in danger, and he couldn't protect her.

Behind him, Severide followed him in his vehicle on a 911 call.

"I'm scared, Jay." Y/n's scared voice caught the police officer's attention.

"I know, baby, I know. But I need you to be brave until I arrive. I won't let anything happen to you. I just need you to hold on and then we'll finally go to bed and cuddle. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah." She felt tears coming to her eyes but tried not to let them fall. Just like Jay said, she had to be brave until he came to save her.

Y/n then started to go to her room until she stopped halfway up the stairs when the front door handle stopped turning. For a moment, she thought she was exaggerating and it was just someone who made a mistake in the house. But the panic returned when the automatic rear light came on, indicating that someone had passed by.

Jay only heard the gasp she let out. "What? What's happening?! You need to talk to me, Y/N."

"I think they're trying to get in through the back. I don't know if I locked that door!" She stopped her speech suddenly. "Oh god, I just remembered I left Missy sleeping in the kitchen."

"Y/n, do not go in there just because of the fucking cat!"

Jay didn't even like the little furball who seemed to hate him from the moment Y/n started dating him. However, he knew that his girlfriend would never forgive herself if something happened to the cat.

"Don't scream at me! I would be such a bad owner if I didn't come back to get my cat."

"I don't care about the damn cat when you're in danger!" Jay argued, but he knew Y/n was already heading downstairs to get Missy.

When Y/n arrived, she quickly found the animal on the dining table, looking super calm, an emotion quite contrary to what Y/n was feeling. Picking her up and quickly kissing her head, the girl thought about what her next step in the plan would be: go back up the stairs or find another place to hide.

However, the intruders finally opened the door, and the choice became obvious. Y/n quickly ducked and hid behind the kitchen counter so she wouldn't be seen. On all fours and with Missy under her arm, she grabbed a knife and tried, as silently as possible, to head towards the pantry.

"Y/n, don't go silent on me. Tell me what's going on. I'm three minutes away."

"They're here, Jay. I'm in the pantry with a knife." Her breaths were ragged and shuddering. She had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying. "I was so stupid. Why didn't I do what you said? I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. God, don't apologize, sweetheart." Jay muttered with a heavy heart, running his hand over his face in despair, never having felt greater helplessness.

"They're getting closer." Y/n whispered, closing her eyes and holding her hand in front of her mouth so you wouldn't hear her heavy breathing. Jay slammed his hands on the steering wheel, clenching his jaw and thinking about what he could say to his girlfriend. "I love you, Jay. So much."

"Don't say that like it's goodbye, Y/n. I can't take it." He shook his head, using all his strength not to break down and burst into tears. "I'm almost there. One minute."

But Y/n was no longer able to respond. That's because a man, dressed all in black, entered the kitchen and looked around. She was peeking through the pantry bars, hoping he wouldn't be able to hear her and that Missy kept quiet.

She just had to hold on for one minute. Jay would be there on time. Either way, she held the knife in front of her, ready to attack. But deep down, she knew she had no chance against the muscular man. Very easily he would be able to throw her down and take the knife from her. But she wouldn't go down without a fight.

She knew that if it came to that, she would have to try to scratch him to get his DNA under her nails. That way Jay and his team would have a better chance of catching this man.

The man got closer and closer to the pantry. Y/n's hands were shaking uncontrollably. She just wanted to close her eyes and discover that it was all a nightmare. But as much as she wanted to, this was reality and the fact that she could die that day became more and more real and scary.

She didn't want to die without kissing Jay one last time. Without calling her parents to tell them she loved them. Without telling her best friend she should take the first step and text the boy she liked. She wanted to be a mother. She wanted to marry Jay and experience an eternity with him.

But just as she was ready to run out with the knife pointed at him as soon as he opened the pantry door, the man was pulled aside. She heard a moan of pain followed by things falling to the floor. Y/n wanted to go out and see what was happening, but Jay's words echoed in her head: stay hidden until he came to get her.

And then came immense relief. She heard sirens. Before she could process everything that was happening, the pantry door opened. Y/n, in a moment of panic, got up and tried to attack, the person easily dodging and putting his hands up in defense. It was only then that she realized that the person in front of her was Jay, and the intruder was on the ground, bruised, and being arrested by another police officer.

Missy, with all the commotion, quickly ran up the stairs, probably hiding in the guest room until things calmed down. In turn, Y/n dropped the knife on the floor, her face contorting and her lips trembling. She began to cry, finally releasing all the panic and fear she felt. She was pulled into Jay's arms and into his chest.

With his arms around her, feeling his warmth and the movements of his chest, Y/n finally felt safe. Jay kissed her head, saying words of comfort in hopes that she would calm down.

"Jay…" she cried, grabbing his shirt with a very tight grip.

"I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. You're safe. Shh…"

Jay then just pushed her away slightly, holding her face with both of his hands. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm okay. I was so scared."

"I know, baby. But you were so brave, I'm so proud of you. And I'll never let this happen again, I promise." he gave her a small kiss on the lips, pulling her back to him. She would never disappear from his sight again.

"Hey, sweetheart." Gabby's voice broke the moment between her and Jay. Y/n she turned her head to look at the woman she adored so much, only now realizing that Severide and Brett were watching the scene from afar. However, she continued to grab Jay's shirt, ensuring he stayed close to her. "Do you mind if we go to the ambulance just to make sure everything is okay?"

A moment of hesitation. Brett, realizing the problem, stepped forward and with a gentle smile said, "Jay can come too."

So, Y/n nodded in permission, following the paramedics to the ambulance. Outside, there were two more police cars and neighbors were in front of their houses in their pajamas to see what was going on. Always under Jay's arm, Y/n waited for Dawson and Brett to do their assessment, ensuring that everything was really okay.

After ensuring that there was no need to go to the hospital, despite a lot of resistance on Jay's part, Y/n won the argument with the condition that the next day, Will would stop by to check on her. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to sleep with Jay next to her.

Once in bed, the man had one arm over her protectively, making sure there was no space between them. "I will protect you until the end of my life. I love you."

"I love you too." she looked at him with just love in her eyes. Finding a more comfortable position, Y/n closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

But Jay stayed up all night. The most important thing is that Y/n recovers after that traumatizing night. And if she had any nightmares, he would be there to protect her.

[cjlouwho]

prompt: im not gay, but my husband is.

(I loved those scenes in 911 and lonestar where they only wanted the straight white guy to work on them, so I think it would be funny happening with married, bi buck!)

“No, I don't want you touching me.”

They'd been sent on a call to a woman's residence. She had fallen in her driveway on the way to her car. From the moment they pulled up, trouble had started. She didn't want Hen touching her, wouldn't accept help from Chimney, and the second she spotted Diaz on Eddie's uniform she stopped him.

“Well, you're a straight, white man, Bobby,” Chimney said with a smile. “You wanna take the lead?”

“Wait,” Eddie put his hands on his hip, “do interracial relationships matter to you too?” he asked the woman. “Because, if so, Bobby's out.”

She looked around at everyone in a panic. “You!” she exclaimed when her eyes met Buck's. “You can do it, right?!”

“Yes, I am capable of placing a splint on your leg,” he said with no enthusiasm as Hen handed over the splint.

He bent down to get started but she held her arm out to stop him. “You're normal, right? You're not married to someone,” she glanced up at Bobby, “different, are you? Not gay or anything?”

“Oh, no ma'am, I'm not gay,” Buck assured her, before adding with a flash of his ring, “my husband is though.”

“Y- Your what?”

“My husband.”

“So you are gay?”

“Ma'am, please don't get him started,” Hen begged. “He will not shut up once he gets going.”

“There are actually some people that believe bisexuality doesn't exist,” Buck began, waving a finger to emphasize his point. The groans from the rest of the 118 didn't detour him. “It has been proven to cause mental health issues for people who identify as such, and in extreme cases-”

“Okay, okay,” Bobby interrupted, patting Buck's back a couple of times to get him to stop. “This lady is very clearly “in distress” and we should be focused on helping her.” He stared over at the woman, “If she'll let any of us.”

“Can't you call another team or something? One that isn't filled with minorities and heathens?”

“The 112?” Hen suggested.

Eddie shook his head. “All women crew today.” He looked down at the lady, “I'm guessing you wouldn't like that?”

“They're just not as capable as men,” she whined.

“143?” Chimney asked.

Buck stood back up. “With Captain Garcia?”

“No!” She yelled.

“217?” Eddie offered.

Buck perked up at that. He smiled at the lady on the ground. “You'd get to meet my husband!” he exclaimed. “He's working ground ops today. I could call him, give him a heads up?” He bent back down to the woman's level. “He is the gay one though.”

The woman groaned before pushing herself up and grabbing her purse, jerking away at Buck's attempt to help. “You know what? I'm just gonna take myself to the hospital,” she said as she started to hobble away.

“Say hello to Dr. Cohen for us,” Bobby said, sending her off with a wave. She let out one more angry yelp before getting into her car and slamming the door.

*****

Tommy had gotten home about an hour before Buck, already dressed in a white button down shirt tucked into black dress pants for dinner reservations they had that night.

When he heard the sounds of Buck's car door shutting, he headed to the front door and opened it, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey you,” he said with a smile.

Buck smiled back, dropping his duffel the second he reached the porch. He immediately wrapped himself around Tommy, surprising him with a kiss that elicited a moan from him.

“I got to call you my husband at work today,” Buck explained between kisses as Tommy gripped his waist. He led Tommy backward into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. “Twice.”

Tommy breathed out a laugh, pulling back just enough to look into Buck's eyes. “This was your first shift back after our honeymoon,” he reminded him. “So you lasted, what, twelve hours into your workday before mentioning me?”

Buck shook his head. “It was our first call of the day,” he informed him. “More like two hours.”

Tommy hummed, running his hands up and down Buck's waist. “Your whole team owes me double then,” he said before pressing a gentle kiss to Buck's lips.

It was Buck's turn to pull back this time. “What are you talking about?”

“They were taking bets on how long it would take for you to mention you were married. I said it'd be less than twelve hours, and you'd mention it more than once. Wait-” He paused, then gave Buck's waist a squeeze, “did you mention bisexual erasure?”

Buck sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It's an important topic, Tommy!”

Tommy simply smiled. “I hit the jackpot, Babe.”

“You placed bets on me?” Buck asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Mhm,” Tommy replied. He shrugged. “I won like five hundred dollars.”

Buck's eyes darkened at that. In one quick motion, he turned them and shoved Tommy against the door, pawing at his shirt to get it untucked. “That's so hot,” he moaned, smashing his mouth against Tommy's in a sloppy kiss.

They never did make their dinner reservations.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 5!

i won't lie folks, these rec lists are the only reason i know what week it is. but hey, every week brings us closer to the return of 911! in the meantime, enjoy these fics <3

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

am i who you think about in bed? | rarakiplin/@hoediaz | 6.8k | M

eddie sleeps with men that aren't buck until, well, you know. eddie's hoe phase is something so very dear to me <3 i love how this fic captures him (and that phase lol) so much!! and That Moment in the bar... unmatched

and if someone asked me if i love you (i'd lie) | forgetmyname/@kingmieczyslaw | 10.3k | E

Eddie has a concussion. Suddenly he can't lie. It would be fine if he wasn't trying his best to not confess his undying love for Buck. this is such a fun fic <3 i love the firefam's reactions to eddie's predicament!!

and longingly i long | effervescentwolf/@effervescentwolf | 14k | M

Asking for what you want is asking too much of Buck, except it isn’t really. Not when it’s Eddie. i read this fic, immediately clicked the little back to the top button, and still have it open in a tab to reread asap, that's how good this is. the hurt/comfort hits so so hard, truly marvellous!!

bobby versus buddie | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 10.4k | M

Five times Bobby tried to gently hold Buddie's hands and tell them they were in love, and one time they got the picture. i adore how this fic captures bobby and athena and bobby's relationship with buck and eddie and also buddie <3 just a delight to read!!

buck, bothered and bewitched | bellabrady | 5.8k | not rated

Buck gets turned into a Golden Retriever. SUCH a fun fic. i really do think that animal transformation-esque fics are an untapped market... this is a brilliant example of just how good they can be!!

give me a call if you ever get lonely. | dylaesthetics | 7.7k | E

 Now that Eddie’s come out as gay, Buck helps him explore his kinks and fetishes. Not in the way you think. And later, exactly in the way you think. truly what a brilliant fic concept... hot and fun and cute <3

i just wanna tell you how i'm feeling | calvingseason | 7.7k | T

healing through shitty memes sure is cathartic. i do love a good crack treated seriously fic <3 eddie in this one genuinely had me laughing out loud!

if you say it with your hands | hammersmiths/@henwilsons | 9.9k | T

Eddie starts casually falling asleep against Buck, and Buck is very normal about it. oh the joy of the literal sleeping together tag!! this is soft and cute and just perfect <3 one of my favourites to reread!

leave the light on (i'll be coming home) | HMSLusitania/@hmslusitania | 44.4k | M

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home. i've been waiting to be in the right mood to read this one - since joining the fandom last year, it's probably the most recced fic i've seen! and, well, having read it, i totally get that. a wonderfully written fic, i loved the OCs but also adored buck and christopher here <3

let me know you (bedhead and morning breath) | burnthatbridge/@burnthatbridge | 6.2k | E

Buck hasn't gotten off since the lightning strike. Eddie watches him do something about it. THIS FIC. holy shit this fic. so good, so hot, so fun, so them!!

love me most | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 11.3k | T

Eddie’s not impressed that Buck and Tommy’s first date was supposed to be dinner and a movie. He thinks he can come up with something more creative, and he takes Buck on a date to prove his point. It’s a fake date, obviously. It’s not like he’s in love with Buck or anything.) i'm obsessed with eddie's behaviour in this fic <3 such a wonderful buddie dynamic!!

no takebacks | ever_yours/@ever-yours118 | 4.5k | M

In which Buck accidentally sends a confession to Eddie, lingers in the bargaining stage of grief, and maybe doesn’t end up regretting it so much, after all. love love love buck here, so true to character!! such a fun fic <3

PTA "coup d'état" | Bookworm0303/@insertlovelyperson | 26.5k | T

Buck attends some PTA meetings for Eddie. It goes about as well as you'd expect. this fic has so many funny moments, i can't even count how many times i had to put my phone down just to laugh. i especially loved ravi!! oh, the pta shenanigans... delightful fic!!

[reidology13]

we don't talk about it

Spencer Reid x fem victim!reader

cw: fluff, angst, attempted murder, drug use, drug addiction, hospitals, badly written withdrawal, bad parenting mention, gambling mention, set around season 4, that's it I think wc: 2.6k a/n: this is the first part of a fairly short series I have planned for the next while, hope you enjoy!

── ���⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You registered the blood before you felt the pain. The beat of the music pumped the blood through your veins, sweat hanging in the air alongside the cloying scent of perfume.

You popped a pill into your mouth, unsure what it was or where it had come from, stumbling over to the bar for a shot of vodka to wash it down. You’d just made it to the bar when a man shoved past you, hitting you roughly in the torso. You could tell something was off by the way that the pressure lingered after he had walked away. Your hand reached for the feeling, trying to figure out what was causing it, and found an odd, slightly sticky liquid soaking your dress.

You cringed, pulling your hand back to look at it, expecting to see nothing, the clear remnants of a sugary cocktail spilt on your dress. Instead, you were faced with a darkness painting your palms, and even then it took you a moment to realise what it was, the coloured lights altering its appearance. When you did recognise it, the pain still lagged, and you wondered if the plethora of drugs in your system were acting as an anaesthetic. 

You stumbled outside, growing lightheaded from the blood loss, holding your hand over the wound to stifle the seemingly endless stream of blood that flowed between your fingers. You flipped open your phone, about to call 911, when, finally, the pain hit. Something between the blood loss, the drugs, and the excruciating pain you were in sent your head spinning towards the ground, and the last thing you remembered before you passed out was the thought that you were never going to wake up.

.*☆¸•

You did, however, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying down in a hospital bed, the sharp, sanitised smell instantly recognisable. You had spent enough early mornings recovering from exceptionally dangerous highs to know your way around most of the hospitals in the Upper East Side with your eyes closed. Which, at the time, they were. When you did open them, you regretted it immediately, squinting against the blinding whiteness of the room in an attempt to see your surroundings. There was someone sitting next to your bed, a blurry figure that you were sure you had never seen before. You blinked repeatedly until your vision cleared slightly, and you were faced with a greasy mop of hair, underneath which might have been a man.

“You’re awake.” He sounded too relieved to be a stranger, and you momentarily questioned if you were suffering from amnesia. Then you saw the badge attached to his belt, which made a lot more sense as a reason to be invested in your wellbeing.

“What happened?” You rubbed at your eyes with a shaking hand, trying to ward off the headache that was already forming in the harsh light. You were surprised by how fine you felt, given the fact that your most recent memory was of being covered in blood. 

“Well, you were stabbed two days ago by a serial killer. You’re lucky, he’d been shooting his victims until now. He needed to be closer to his victims, and he made a mistake.” The man leaned towards you, his features growing clearer with proximity.

“Oh. Who are you?” You weren't quite prepared to process just how close to death you had really been just yet. Changing the topic seemed to be the only way to postpone the impending interview that would force you to face it.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI.” The way his voice went up as he spoke was a little bit annoying, and wasn’t doing anything to help the steady throbbing in your skull. Scratch your original plan of postponing the serious talk, you wanted to get everything over and done with as fast as possible so that you could get some rest.

“Well, I didn’t really notice at first, he knocked into me. I didn’t feel any pain ‘cause, fuck-” You groaned, a painful shiver running down your spine.

“Yes, they found GHB, cocaine, methamphetamines, and alcohol in your system. That pain you're feeling right now is withdrawal, something I’m guessing you haven’t felt before.” Despite his words, his voice carried none of the sympathy or disgust you would have suspected from someone like him. It didn’t feel like a judgement, but an acknowledgement of how hard it was: it was understanding.

“That… that makes sense.” Your thoughts were foggy, stopping just before they were fully formed, leaving incomplete puzzles with a single piece missing, words without any vowels. Enough that everything you said or felt was left wanting.

“Since you’re the only person so far to survive him, you’re the best witness we have. You’re also the most at risk.” He paused, and you took the chance to butt in, asking the question that seemed the most pertinent before you could forget it.

“What do you mean, ‘at risk’?” You grumbled, the roughness of your voice doing its best to cover up the genuine curiosity in your tone. This was a negotiation, no matter what he said, and you knew negotiations. If your father had taught you one good thing, it was that you never showed anyone your hand. Technically, at the time that hadn’t been metaphorical, he had been teaching you how to play poker at the ripe age of six.

“There’s a fairly significant chance that he’ll come back, try and finish the job. If he finds out you’re still alive, that is.” He said it like it wasn’t anything at all, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing you had ever been told, just common sense. To him, you supposed it was.

“He’s going to try and kill me again?” There went keeping your cards to your chest. Whose voice was going up now, huh? To be fair, he hadn’t just been told that he was the target of a serial killer who had just landed him in the hospital by stabbing him.

“If you’re willing to do exactly what I say, then no.” His tone had gained a seriousness that it had been lacking before, and maybe that was what had been annoying you, because it was suddenly mostly bearable.

“And so, your plan is for us to…” You trailed off, painfully aware of your loss of footing in the conversation. Again, only one of you was coming down from a high while also healing from a stab wound, and you felt that it was deeply unfair of him to use your circumstances to his advantage.

“You and I would stay in an FBI safe house, working on the case and reporting any breakthroughs back to my team until they find and arrest him.”

“Safe house?” You baulked, “Like, stuck inside with you all of the time, no going out, no fun? That kind of safe house?” The thought of it sent a shiver of anxiety and apprehension through you. For one, you didn’t know this man, and you would be locked in a small space with him for who knew how long, you could only imagine all of the gross habits he had. He probably didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet.

To be completely fair, you had snorted coke off of a public toilet roll holder before, so you couldn’t really judge him when it came to hygiene. That brought you to your second problem with the propositioned arrangement: any time spent in the safe house was time where you would be fully, stone-cold, sober. It wasn’t a feeling you were particularly accustomed with, nor was it one you wanted to be.

“If by ‘fun,’ you mean what I think you mean, then yes. Personally, I’m sure that we, if you agree to help, will have plenty of fun while we’re there. More importantly, I’m sure we will solve the case.” He spoke like he was trying to sell you something, like you really had a choice at all in the matter. Death or time in a house with some guy. The answer was pretty straight forward.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be your witness.” You conceded, hoping that your agreement would be enough to make him go away for a while. If you were going to spend the next however long with him, you would like to take the short span of time you had as a free woman and keep it to yourself.

He did, standing up and silently leaving the room, as well as you to your own thoughts. You hoped that they would report you as dead on the news, that they wouldn’t tell your parents what was going on. A little bit because you wanted to scare them, make them care about you for a moment. Mostly because it sounded fucking hilarious.

.*☆¸•

You didn’t have to wait long for your answer, depending on what we’re going to consider a long period of time. It was only a few days that you spent in the hospital, but they were painful, and to be completely honest, fucking terrifying. It was like a four day fever, but with added muscle spasms, constant paranoia, and anxiety unlike anything you’d ever felt before. No matter how stretched out those days felt, the moment the time came to leave, it felt as though you’d only been given a few minutes to prepare yourself mentally. Spencer walked into your room on the third day, bringing with him two other people, one was a man you had never seen before, while the other was a woman you’d seen outside your room on your first day at the hospital. Well, technically, your third. Spencer introduced you, although you were sure they both already knew your name, and probably all of your darkest secrets. Then he turned back to you, gesturing to the duo as he introduced them.

“This is Aaron Hotchner and Jennifer Jareau. They’ll be our point of contact while we work on your case.” Aaron nodded simply, and Jennifer offered a wave alongside a short greeting.

“Hi.” You waved back weakly, your arm aching with the movement. Jennifer gave you a kind, if not slightly pitying, smile as you dropped your arm with a wince. She seemed nice, but you were glad that it wasn’t her you were sharing the safe house with.

“Call me JJ, I’m the media liaison with the BAU, so I’ll be in charge of keeping the media from endangering you by reporting your survival.” She took a few steps forward, standing directly in front of you, and you could tell she was expecting you to ask questions. Luckily for her, you actually had one.

“What will my parents get told?” You tried not to sound too anxious for an answer, knowing that she would assume you wanted them told the truth of your circumstances.

“Due to the fact that you're not a minor, we have no legal reason to tell them. So unless there are any extenuating circumstances we’re unaware of, they will be told that you are dead. I know that might be hard for-” You cut her off before she could continue to believe that either party cared about the situation.

“Good, I don’t want them to know.” You spoke bluntly, a clear statement, leaving no room for questions or misunderstandings. JJ stepped back, taking your words as her sign to leave.

The man didn’t speak, simply standing beside Spencer as the number of people in the room dropped from four to three. There was silence for a while, none of you willing to speak and break it. Eventually, Spencer must have decided it had been long enough, clearing his throat in that pointed way people think is subtle, and glanced over at the man – Agent Hotchner, you reminded yourself. 

“We’ll check in on you via phone calls regularly, so that you can update us on the case and tell us what you need delivered to the safe house.” Spencer had already told you that, but you didn’t say anything, just nodding and thanking him, “Please write down a list of things you want to be moved to the safe house from your apartment.” He handed you a notepad, along with a pencil, and you wrote down all of the basics you could think of, as well as a few less necessary items—well, that depends on the definition of ‘necessary’ we’re using, you value your sanity—including makeup, your violin, books, and a few other hobbies. You gave him the notepad back, before grabbing it again, scribbling down to include your iPod and your headphones. He looked over it, nodded, and walked out of the room without another word. You liked him.

When it was just Spencer and you left in the room, he came and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at you softly.

“How are you? You look a bit better than you have for the past few days.” He was being ridiculously nice and understanding, just like he had been since you’d woken up in the hospital. It made you feel even more guilty for yelling at him the day before when he had come into your room and asked how you were doing. You’d thought it was pretty obvious that the answer was ‘not good’ and made sure to tell him just that, in probably the meanest way possible.

“Yeah, I feel better.” You gave him your weak attempt at a grin, accompanied by a small wince because your whole body ached, that muscle deep ache that sinks its claws into your soul just to ruin your day.

“Good.” He smiled, tight-lipped and stilted, the kind that never appeared on a red carpet or magazine cover, but now that you’d seen it, you decided it definitely needed to.

“When are we going to the safe house?” You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer as you pushed yourself up in the bed, sitting with a soft grunt. 

“It should be fully set up by now.” He tapped his fingers against the paper thin sheets as he spoke, the constant movement slightly distracting. “Hopefully we’ll be able to go tomorrow after your personal items are moved in.”

“Perfect, this hospital is so not hot.”

“They do have a very good air conditioning system.” You tried—and miserably failed—to hold back a very ungraceful laugh at his words, deciding quite quickly that this was going to be an entertaining few weeks, if nothing else.

“That’s not what I meant.” You winced at the soft pain that reverberated through you alongside your laughter.

“Oh, um, what did you mean?” He was completely oblivious, and seemed rather embarrassed about the fact, you couldn’t help but attempt to comfort him.

“It means, like, something is bad. ‘Hot’ means it’s cool.” You figured any mentions of Paris Hilton would only further confuse him, given how pop culture blind he clearly was.

��Um, okay.” He gave you that awkward smile, waving as he stumbled towards the exit of the room. He looked like he was fairly used to not being in the know, and like that was something he was judged for fairly frequently. You felt a little bad, but more than anything you wanted to be alone, the headache from the previous days creeping back in. So you settled for just being as nice to him as you could, and letting him leave.

“See you tomorrow?” You smiled softly at the sweet face he made, halting on his way out the door to speak again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“See you.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast - Comment to be added <3

[jogetsobsessed]

Dominos (Part 2 of The Prophecy) - Paul Lahote x reader

Could technically be read as a stand-alone!

I'm so sorry for the long wait for this, I simply could not figure out what I wanted to do. Also, the two OC characters are simply random and are just there as space fillers (but I did choose the name Evan from 911 #wewillgetbuddie). P.S. This has a lot of dialogue and I don't know how to properly write dialogue so oopsie.

My present to all of you for hitting 200 followers!!

Always enjoy, I hope this lived up to all your expectations!

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It hurt for a long time.

It felt like you were drowning and that you were never going to be able to surface. Life was moving in slow motion, as you grappled with the sudden change in your life. 

You lost everything. 

Everything important to you was gone. Your friends, your support system, the man who you loved. People tried to reach out at first. Emily and Kim called you every day for weeks, but after a while, the calls stopped coming. Embry and Quil both texted you, checking to see how you were doing and if they could help anyway, but like the calls you ignored the texts. 

You felt pathetic. 

They all felt bad for you and you know it. They knew how in love you were with Paul and they were all witnesses to the tragic ending. And you hated it. 

Hated how people would look at you. You felt that you couldn't go anywhere without someone looking at you with sympathy in their eyes. And you could only take that for so long. 

So after months of hiding in your bedroom and wallowing in your despair, you decided to make a change. You were going to do something for yourself. Something that was going to be hard, one of the hardest decisions you had ever had to make. 

You found an apartment 250 miles away. Growing up you had made the almost five-hour car ride to Portland, Oregon a couple times a year, so you knew that you liked the city well enough. It was a massive change, going from small-town living to city life. But it's what you need. Being somewhere where no one knew you, where no one knew about the unnatural life that the people of the tribe lived. It was your chance to live a normal life. 

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Normal life suited you well. 

The move had been hard at first, you left behind your parents and the few friends outside of the pack that had still been in contact with. It took a while for you to start feeling like yourself again. But that's because you didn't know who you were without Paul. Moving to Portland was a chance for you to find who you were. 

Six months after you moved you experienced your very own meet cute. 

It happened at work, you had blindly reached out to hit the button for the elevator when your hand met someone else's. Quickly your phone was away from your face and you looked up and swore you almost swooned.  

His name was Evan. 

The company he worked for had just opened up a Portland office and was renting space on the third floor. You told him you worked on the seventeenth floor when he had asked and watched the number seventeen light up. Immediately he started a conversation. It was small talk, you told him that you also had not been in Portland long and chose the simple way out by saying that a long-term relationship ended so you wanted a fresh start. 

It hadn't occurred to you that he never got off on the third floor. 

He rode up to the seventeenth floor just to talk to you. And once the elevator stopped and the doors started to open he asked you out. He insisted that he needed a tour guide to find the best ramen that Portland had to offer. 

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5 years later 

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“And after that the rest is history”, you laughed as you felt Evans's arm slightly squeeze your waist in affection. 

You wouldn't believe where you were, back home in Forks. You had managed to avoid it since you left because your parents moved down to just outside of Portland after they realized that your move was permanent. 

Your engagement to Evan had come just over a year after you met him. After swearing up and down that after Paul you were never going to let yourself love someone again you found yourself drowning in the love that you had for Evan. And when he got down on one knee you didn't even let him finish what he was saying before you were throwing yourself in his arms shouting ‘yes’. 

But your parents hadn't moved down until you Facetimed them a year after your wedding holding up ultrasound photos. They screamed and cried tears of joy, they were going to get to be grandparents. You hadn't told them everything that had happened with Paul but they knew enough. They knew that he had broken your heart and now saw how your husband was putting it back together piece by piece. They saw how happy you were. 

And you are happy. 

You were getting everything that you wanted, everything that he had promised you. 

Marriage, a big house with a white picket fence, and children.

That’s why when you received an invite to Emily and Sam’s wedding you gladly accepted. There was no reason for you not to go, you learned a long time ago that letting the thought of Paul control your life was no way to live. If after all these years Emily still sent you an invite obviously she wanted you here. 

So here you were, standing with Jared, Kim, Embry, and his imprint Ava. Kim had just about burst into tears when she saw you sitting with Evan and your son in the back of the ceremony. She was standing beside Emily at the altar and you could have sworn she almost ran back down the aisle to scoop you in her arms. And that's what she did as soon as Sam and Emily were announced as Mr and Mrs Uley. 

There was so much catching up to do, that was evident. Five years of not talking to one of your best friends, especially at the stage of life all of you were in. You could see it in all of their eyes when you introduced Evan to them that they approved, it was almost a look of relief like they were glad that you had been able to move on after everything that had happened. You had both apologized for not inviting each other to your weddings but that could be forgiven. Especially when you both realize that you had young sons. Her and Jared’s son is three and your son is almost two. 

The two of them quickly got along and were off playing in the designated kid's area of the field where the reception was being held. You were having so much fun laughing with old friends and introducing your husband to everyone that you almost didn't catch the moment she walked by. 

Rachel Black had her arm hooked through the extended arm of some man, one that you recognized but didn't know quite where from. All you knew was that it wasn't him. 

Embry was the first to clock your glance. He followed your gaze and quickly noticed who you were looking at.

“Who the hell is that?” 

You had cut Jared off in the middle of his story about getting thrown out of the Mariners game and saw his eyes bug out of his head when he followed your gaze. She moved carefree throughout the wedding, stopping to say hi to people here and there as she and her mystery man made their way to a table near where her father was talking to Chief Swan. 

“Her fiance”, Kim mumbled over the rim of her champagne glass. 

“What!”, you were definitely louder than you had meant to be, guests nearby turning to look at you and your friends. Sheepishly you gaze at them all, a smile wincing at the sudden onset of attention. 

“It’s a long story Y/N”, Embry said pleadingly. He did not want to get into this right now, you know he didn't. However, there is absolutely no way for you to let this go. 

The woman who had unintentionally wrecked your relationship was now hanging off the arm of another man. And now you were wondering if that's why you hadn't seen the said man at all tonight. As far as you know he’s still one of Sam’s best friends, not that you cared to double-check. 

One look from you Embry’s way was enough for him to huff and motion to an empty table a little further away from the impromptu dance floor. Pulling your husband behind you, you marched your way over plopping down on one of the empty chairs. 

“I’m gonna go check on our boy”, Evan said, emphasizing the word as he kissed the top of your head and started to cross the field. You knew what he was doing, he was making everything easier. You were sure that your old friends had assumed that you had let Evan in on the pack's secret (which you had after you had gotten engaged). But you figured that he thought they would want to talk as freely if he was around. That's why you love him so much, he knew how to read a room and understood the special circumstances surrounding your past relationship and the baggage that followed you because of it. 

After everyone else had made it back to the table, barring Ava who had gotten swept into a conversation with Leah and her mom, you shot them all looking waiting to see who was going to start. 

“They got married…six months after you moved” 

This information was shocking, I mean Paul had always been one to move fast, but six months? 

“And everything was okay for a while. They seemed like they were really in love”, you flinched at Jared's words and Kim, noticing your actions, slapped her husband's chest with the back of her hand, rolling her eyes at his carelessness. Jared however wasn't phased and kept going. 

“And then the fighting started. It was small things at first, we would see them bicker when walking up the steps at Em’s, or when Paul phased we could hear him replaying their argument over what to have for dinner the night before”. 

He paused, taking in a deep breath, resting his hand on top of Kim’s where she had it laid on the table in front of her. Lucky for him Embry decided to take pity on his brother and cut in. 

“Y/N things got bad. Paul and Rachel both have very strong ummm…personalities”. He chuckled nervously as he bit his lip. You knew this made him uncomfortable and part of you felt bad for making him tell you all of this but you needed to know. You needed to know for the sake of knowing, it's not like anything in your life was gonna change because of it. Happiness had finally found you, and part of you felt bad that Paul’s had only been temporary, even though he had shamed your heart. 

“The small fights turned into screaming matches, and they weren't always private. And umm at some point the screaming escalated to the two of them breaking things. Rachel would throw glasses and beer bottles and such and Paul broke one too many kitchen chairs for them to keep replacing them”. 

“Eventually we had to step in, I mean the boys had to physically step in Y/N”, Kim cut in, the look in her eyes telling you that she was reliving the drama. “Sam, Jared, and Embry let themselves into Paul and Rachel's place one day when he was home and she wasn't and they had to drag him kicking and screaming out of there practically”. 

“It's not like he was abusive, it 's just that they are both so damn toxic”. Jared chuckled as he struggled to describe what it was like watching their relationship from start to finish. 

The three of them filled you in on specific instances of when the crazy started to show, while also reiterating how sorry they felt for how they handled everything that night years ago. 

“So where is he now?”, you blurted out. The wine finally made your head feel a little fuzzy and your filter started to thin. This question caught them off guard, the three of them exchanging awkward glances back and forth. 

“I don't know, none of us do. He was supposed to be here but since last night it's been radio silence. No one has heard a word from him”, Embry said. 

----------

You felt like you were being watched. 

After finishing your conversation with your friends the four of you walked over to where the kids were running around. Evan and Ava had been making small talk as they gave the four of you space. 

And now as you watched your friends interact with your son and husband you were trying to have a good time and appreciate the moment. 

But you couldn't, because someone was watching your every movement. 

You tried to brush it off, but the longer the night went on you could still sense it. Trying your best to act nonchalant you looked at the outskirts of the field and just beyond the tree line. You didn't want to worry anyone, especially your husband. Evan was having such a good time, he and the boys got along well and you knew that as soon as you got back home he was gonna start bugging you to come back up here. 

You were scanning the tree line again when you saw something or someone. And as you squinted to get a better look your heart stopped beating. 

Paul. 

He was hidden (not very well) in the trees, just past the makeshift dance floor. He looked disheveled, his pants and partially unbuttoned white shirt were wrinkled and slightly dirty, no doubt from spending the entire night stalking from the trees. 

He looks different from the last time you saw him, he looks…older maybe? No longer clean-shaven, some scruff was clear even from where you stood. Lines and marks litter his face and his eyes. Oh, his eyes look so tired. 

His body stiffened when the two of you made eye contact and he realized that he had been caught. But he didn't skitter away like a scared animal when you excused yourself from your group, promising your husband that this should only take a minute. 

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You couldn't believe it, here you were face to face with the man who you swore up and down that if you ever saw again you would kill. But here you were, face to face with him and you couldn't even think of anything to say. 

Because the thing is you weren't mad at him anymore.

No, you felt bad for him. 

You had everything and he had nothing. 

He looked like a scared little boy as he stood before you messing with his fingers, something you remember him doing to try and relax. Gone was the macho-man personality. He looked embarrassed. 

“Hi”, his voice was shy, even more unlike him than acting embarrassed. 

“What do you want Paul?” he startled at your tone but you didn't care. You weren't going to give him the time of day. This conversation was not between two old friends catching up after now seeing each other for a few years. No, you were having this conversation out of necessity and necessity only. 

“I just wanna talk, it's been a while”. 

“Yeah I know, last time we talked you dumped me over text and when I went to try and talk to you about it hours later you didn't even look phased. Already cuddled up to your imprint”, you made sure to lace your words with venom, you wanted to make it hurt. Make him relive his actions and decisions. 

His nostrils flared at your last word. He hated being reminded of her, of that bond that they still shared. The stupid bond that had ruined his life. The same bond he thought had ruined your life. But seeing you here, walking hand in hand with a man, a small child in your arms he realized he had been wrong. 

The only thing that had gotten Paul through all his fights with Rachel and all the time he spent alone after was the thought of you. How after he worked through everything he could get you back. Paul knew how devastated you had been. He had never told anyone but he knew you were there that day at Emily’s. He knew you had started up the porch and decided to put his arm around Rachel, to send you a message. 

In some sick way, that thought of you being alone and missing him got him through the darkness. But now he realized that he had been wrong. 

You hadn't spent the past five years moping around and waiting for him to confess his love for you. The love for you which almost killed him. He had tried to shove it down, he had been blessed with an imprint, and he should be happy. 

But that wasn't the case. 

He hated himself for it, dragging Rachel into the mess that was his life. Because she wanted him to love her, she wanted a happy marriage and a long life with Paul. And that's what Paul thought he wanted. The bond did make Paul feel for Rachel, he wanted to protect and keep her safe. He didn't want to see her sad. But those feelings didn't stop his love for you. 

You had become the center of their marital problems. 

Hundreds of miles away, completely moved on and completely oblivious to the stake that you held in their relationship. 

Rachel learned very quickly that she wasn't the only woman Paul loved. And she had tried to live with it for a while. Growing up she had learned how special it was to be an imprint for one of the shifters. It was devastating to realize that she would never get that from Paul. 

And after a while of trying to make it work and a little intervention from their friends, they called it quits. She had moved on, meeting someone who truly loved her and could put her first. 

Paul however hadn't. 

“I’m sorry about that Y/N. I just wanna…” 

“You wanna what Paul? I’m not playing these games, it's late and I don't wanna spend the rest of the night arguing with you, because guess what we have nothing to argue about anymore because we are nothing”

“Don't say that Y/N”

“Don't say what Paul said? Don't say that we are nothing, are you crazy? Like generally have you lost your damn mind?” 

“Y/N I love you and I know you still have to feel the same, I know how upset you were after we broke up”, his voice cracked as he pleaded with you. And you couldn't help but laugh. 

“We didn't break up Paul, you dumped me…over text. Five years ago might I add, and you really must have lost it. I’m fucking married Paul, I have a child with a man that I love, someone who isn't like you, he isn't a coward”. 

“No, no don't say Y/N, please”, he was begging now. Full-on begging. 

“Paul I have nothing to say to you because I’m not going to say anything that you wanna hear. I don't love you”. 

Time seemed to stop at your admission. 

The forest seemed to be still, the soft breeze dying down and the rusting of the animal inhabitants went silent. And the light from Paul's very sad eyes seemed to dim even more if that was even possible. He truly had spent all this time that you still loved him and believed that the two of you could happen again. 

What happened next was something you could have never predicted, not after knowing Paul for as long as you had. 

He dropped to his knees, blubbering like an infant and pleading with you. 

“Y/N please, we can make this work I know we can. Just give me one more chance, I still love you”. 

He was making a scene. People were starting to notice the distressed man at your feet as he sobbed into his hands pleading with you to come back to him. Luckily Jared noticed the mumbling of some people near him and immediately saw what was happening. 

“Shit”, he muttered under his breath as he grabbed a fistful of Embry’s suit jacket to pull him with him as they took off jogging trying to act nonchalant. This was still their friend's wedding and there was no chance they would let Paul and his inability to get a hold of his emotions ruin it. 

The rest of the pack spotted the incident and quickly jumped into action. Sam had noticed what was happening and was putting all his trust in his friends to handle it, the last thing he wanted for Emily’s day to be ruined. 

“Come on buddy, I think you need to calm down”, Jared told Paul as Jacob helped him pull Paul off the ground. Paul was still breaking down, it was like the floodgates had broken. Every emotion that he had buried for so long was just pouring out of him. It was hard for the pack to watch as one of their own, someone who was normally so stoic and cocky completely broke. 

“No, stop, I'm not going anywhere. She’s not listening”, he protested, trying to shove off the various sets of hands trying to control him.

“I think she's listening perfectly fine Paul, I mean come on man, she has a husband. This isn't new news”. Seth said from his spot next to you, his body slightly angled in front of yours, ready to defend if Paul lost control and shifted. 

“But I still love her”, he wailed. The boys were shoving him back now, deeper into the forest, for the sake of the wedding but also partially for his dignity. 

And that was the last you saw of him, getting half-carried, thrashing around like an angry toddler sobbing as he disappeared into the woods. 

Once he was gone you couldn't hold it in anymore. It was your turn to sob. 

Even after all the pain and suffering he had put you through you hadn't wanted to hurt him like that. Seeing someone usually so strong shatter and at your words devastated you. 

You don't know how long you stood there before Kim darted in front of you and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. 

It's confusing, you didn't know why you were crying. You had no reason to feel bad after what he had done to you and everything you had said was true, after everything he had done even if you weren't happily married you wouldn't get back with him. However, you felt so guilty, like you had been the one to ruin his life, even though Paul had made his decision. 

Paul had been the one to knock down the first domino and start the chain reaction. He had made his bed and now he has to lie in it. 

However, while you knew all this to be true you couldn't help but call out to him, you knew he was listening, wherever they had carried him to. 

“I’m sorry Paul, I’m so sorry”. 

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blobsblobican (you asked to be tagged in part 2!)

[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 1

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Waah idk why I'm so nervous to post this part T~T 🖤🖤 I really hope you enjoy! And it would make me super happy if you lmk what you think!! 🖤🖤

Commissions are open!

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Masterlist: x

Prologue

Divider by @plum98

The scream is loud.

It’s shrill and abrasive, and it ends as quickly as it began—like the person’s breath was abruptly interrupted.

You bolt up. The sound awakens a deep, primal urge within you, and in a matter of seconds, you’re on high alert.

The fact that you’re home alone really only makes the whole situation that much worse.

You count the seconds ever so slowly ticking by. You don’t dare to move an inch. You just hold your breath, waiting, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat in your eardrums.

When you reach 100 and there isn’t another piercing scream, only then does your body recover from the freeze instinct. You move to the windows, try to see something—anything outside.

When nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, you nervously chew at your lip. Did you just imagine it? You don’t see anyone outside; no worried onlookers trying to find the source of the noise, no frantic person wandering the streets for help, nothing.

What are the chances only you would’ve heard it?

The scream replays itself in your head. It sounded like it could’ve come from your downstairs neighbor.

You’re probably the closest person in the vicinity, you realize. If they need help, you might be the only person who could assist them.

You grab your phone and rush out the door. Down the steps, you reach your neighbor’s door and offer three quick knocks against the wood.

You wait, nervously, anxiously, every second ticking by feeling much too long for comfort. When there’s no answer, you knock again. The memory of the scream rings in your ears again, and you feel your hands get sweaty with stress.

No one answers the door. You check your phone, calculate that at least seven minutes have gone by. Would it be appropriate to call the cops?

You open the phone app, then hesitate. Would they even take you seriously? You never once called the police in your life, and just thinking about it has you conjuring up a whole slew of ways it could go wrong.

You linger around the door for a few more minutes, then eventually give up and return up to your apartment. Your plan is to call your parents or roommate or maybe even your friend—anyone who might be able to advise you on what to do. But as soon as you reach your door, you get an eerie chill up your spine. Something isn’t right.

Your door is open.

It’s just a crack; barely even noticeable, and though you did leave in a rush, you’re fairly certain you didn’t leave the door open. It’s not something you would do.

You clutch your phone between tense fingers. Calling for help—even though it should be—is no longer on your mind. All you’re thinking about is who the fuck is in your home right now—and why.

It’s, again, like a fight, flight or freeze instinct kicking in. Except this time, your usual sense of self-preservation is overridden and you’re fully ready to fight.

You open the door, half expecting to see someone in the middle of your living room, but there’s no one there. Relief nearly washes over you, until you glance down and notice a trail of dirt leading deeper into your house.

Seeing it suddenly makes it all the more real.

There’s really someone here. There’s a stranger in your house.

As quietly as humanly possible, you follow along the trail. You’re so focused that your surroundings almost seem to melt away. When you see it; the silhouette of a person you don’t recognize, who doesn’t belong here, in your house, you act without second thought.

One hard hit to the back of the head is all it takes. The person crumples to the floor on impact. You gasp, the sound completely involuntary because holy shit—did that just happen?

Suddenly remembering your phone, you yank it up and dial 911.

The person seems to be knocked out cold, and as the line is ringing, you realize your hand hurts from hitting them so hard. A wave of fear tightens in your chest. Surely, you didn’t severely injure them, right? Surely, they’re just knocked out for a little while, and then they’ll wake up, and they’ll be fine, and you won’t get into any trouble, right?

It all counts as self-defense anyways, right?

Having never called the cops before, you don’t think much of the wait time. Your mind is so preoccupied with what you’ve done, with what’s happened in such a short amount of time, that you don’t even realize how long you’re waiting for.

But then you start to get nervous that the intruder will wake up. Or, worse, that they won’t wake up. The line is still ringing, and when you bring your phone down to check how long it’s been, you find that over five minutes have passed.

What the fuck is going on?

You can only stand to wait a few more minutes before you realize no one’s going to answer.

Maybe something’s down with the lines, or some other big emergency happened elsewhere and they don’t have the staff required to answer. Whatever it is, you’re on your own right now.

You hang up, tell yourself you’ll call back in a few minutes, and then you’re left staring at the knocked-out body of the intruder.

Judging by the shape and size of the figure, they seem to be male. They’re relatively tall and lean, with a square kind of build that tapers down at their hips. You can’t see their face, but they have thick, curly brown hair that reaches below their ears.

You should flip them over, you think. You should flip them over and take a picture of their face so that you have some kind of proof.

You kneel down, wrap your fingers around their form, and, as gently as you can so as to not wake them, you turn them over.

Your stomach drops at the sight. You can’t see their face since it’s hidden beneath orange-tilted goggles and some kind of mouthguard. But it’s what you see on their clothes that has you feeling light-headed.

Blood.

They’re covered in it.

It’s splattered along the front of their hoody, staining the fabric in a dark crimson color. You can’t tell if it’s theirs or someone else’s, and though all logic points to the former, you don’t even want to piece everything together.

You notice as well, now that they’re turned over, that they have a belt tied around their hips. And two blood-soaked axes are hanging from it.

You nearly scream, but the bile threatening to rise up your throat has you holding it all in. And you’re thankful for it, because god knows you don’t want them to wake up now.

If you weren’t high on adrenaline, you’re certain you’d be panicking—more so than you are now, at least. But it’s like your senses are heightened, and your thoughts are much clearer than they otherwise would be, and something inside you is forcing you to stay as calm as possible.

Secure them.

You need to find something to secure them before they wake up.

The best thing you can find on such short notice is a long-sleeved shirt you’d haphazardly left in the living room. You’d meant to put it away, but you hadn’t gotten to it yet—and you’ve never been so thankful for your laziness.

Your hands are shaking as you wrap the sleeves around the stranger’s wrists. You try to make it as tight as possible, and then you knot it over and over again until you’ve no more fabric left to tighten.

You’re grabbing your phone and dialing 911 again as soon as you can. But when you bring it up to your ear, the line doesn’t ring. You wait—fifteen seconds, thirty, a minute—expecting the ringing to start at any moment, but it doesn’t.

On the other end of the line, there’s just silence. Eerie, cold, dead silence. The ends of your hair stand at attention from the goosebumps rising on your skin. Something’s definitely not right.

Just as you’re about to hang up—static blares from your phone. It’s loud and unbearable and completely overpowering, like the sound is ringing inside your own head. It's impossible to think straight.

You scream, throwing your phone to stop the noise. But even with the phone away from your ears, it’s like the noise keeps echoing in your mind. All you can do is press your hands to your ears and squeeze your eyes shut and scream in agony.

It’s dizzying. It’s nauseating. You have no space to think, no space to do anything but clutch your ears and pray the noise will stop. It’s maddening.

You feel like you’re on the verge of passing out from the sheer pain and intensity of it all when, in an instant, it stops.

You don’t pull your hands away from your ears for a good few seconds afterward. Your heart is pumping loudly in your chest. Your jaw hurts from grinding your teeth. Every muscle in your body feels sore from overexertion.

What just happened—are you losing your mind?

Slowly, you hesitantly let go of your head and open your eyes.

He’s awake.

You don’t know if it was your screaming that woke him up—all you know is that he’s conscious, and he's sitting upright and looking at you.

A mix of emotions wash over you at once. You’re relieved he’s alive, confused as to what the hell just happened—and most of all—you’re fucking nauseous with fear.

Fear regarding the source of that noise, but also regarding the fact that there’s a stranger in your house, covered in blood, and the cops aren’t answering. There’s something wrong with your phone, you're home alone, and your neighbor might be bleeding out beneath the floor under your feet. And there's a stranger restrained in your house and you have no idea what the fuck to do.

The worst part is that the person—that man—looks like he's completely calm and at ease. Like he's in total control of the situation.

The nausea worsens, butterflies making you utterly sick to your stomach. It almost feels like you're the one restrained, not him.

You don’t know what to do with yourself.

You stare at him, and he stares back. Or, at least, you think he does; it’s hard to tell beneath his colored lenses.

Your gaze flickers to the hatchets, still secured around his waist. You kick yourself for not taking them off of him. And then you look at your phone, which you threw halfway between you and him, and you swallow back the lump in your throat.

When you look back at him, you notice that he’d followed your gaze to also look at your phone. He looks back at you, tilts his head, and your stomach twists in knots.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You feel like you’ve accidentally trapped some kind of predatory animal in your apartment. It feels like, at any moment, if you make the wrong move, he’ll lunge at you and rip your throat out.

Never once breaking eye contact, you slowly creep forward to reach your phone.

He doesn’t say a single word as you move, which makes it all the worse. He merely watches you, curiously, like you're one of the most fascinating things he's ever seen.

When you finally reach your phone, you pick it up, open it, and dial 911 again.

You’re hesitant to press it to your ears. You don’t know what kind of malfunction happened earlier, but you’re not too keen on repeating the experience. You hold it at somewhat of a distance, just in case.

It doesn’t ring.

Just like earlier, all that comes through the line is dead silence. You wait maybe a minute before, out of fear of the static interrupting again, you close the line.

You try not to let your panic show through, because you can feel the stranger eyeing your every move. You dial your roommate’s number, but it’s the same problem.

With unsteady hands, you text your parents that you need help contacting 911. Although they don’t live close to you anymore, they’re usually the fastest to answer your texts. And you need help fast.

When they don’t answer, you text your roommate and friends the same thing. Surely, at least one of them is bound to see the text and help you—right?

“You can—you can try all you want. You won’t be able to reach anyone, a-anyways.”

Your blood freezes.

It takes you a second to register his words, and another to react.

“What… what do you mean?” you ask, though the words make your tongue go numb, as if your body’s warning you that just talking to him is a bad idea.

“He’s watching.”

In the culmination of your entire lifetime, you don’t recall having ever felt such pure, tangible fear.

The feeling is similar to that sensation you get when you’re at the peak of a nightmare—when you’re just about to come face-to-face with the monster, or when you’re about to reach the ground after falling from a great height—when you’re just about to die and it all feels so real.

But this moment feels surreal.

“Who’s watching?”

There’s more conviction in your voice than you feel in your entire system. You don’t know how you manage to sound so calm, so self-assured and in control of the situation, but it’s certainly not how you feel on the inside.

“He is. The one who’s—“ he cracks his neck abruptly to the side, interrupting his own sentence before finishing, “always watching.”

Another chill up your spine, though you manage to mask it fairly well, all things considered.

“Don’t—don’t worry. The police will be here—here—they’ll be here soon. Maybe 15, 20 minutes?”

You don’t know whether you should be relieved or unnerved by his reassurance.

“How… do you know that?” you ask hesitantly.

He shrugs, the movement entirely too comfortable, entirely too nonchalant.

“S-s’almost always the same.”

You want out. You want out of this conversation, out of this whole situation. You want him out of your house.

“What do you mean?” you ask, “How many times have you done this?”

You don’t know if you want the answer to your own question. In all honesty, you don’t even want to consider what the “this” in your question even refers to.

But it’s out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself.

He tilts his head, like he’s considering it. And then, after a few seconds, he shrugs again.

“Lost count.”

You don’t like his answer.

15-20 minutes, you think. There’s a chance he's lying to put you at ease, to prevent you from calling again.

But there’s a chance he’s right.

There’s a chance a neighbor heard, or your friends or family saw the text and are getting help. Either way, you realize that you have time to burn. You need to stay calm, focused.

He doesn’t seem agitated, which you take to be a good thing. He doesn’t seem frustrated or angry or unstable. If anything, it’s like he’s open to talking.

What more could you ask for?

You rack your brain for the best course of action. But you’re at a loss. You’re panicking on the inside.

You realize that one of the best things you could probably do is keep him preoccupied, keep him distracted.

“…How old are you?”

You don’t know why that, of all things, is the first question to come to mind. But it seems like a safe enough bet; it’s not too personal so as to upset him, and yet it might help narrow his identity or motivations down.

If only you’d had the chance to remove his mask and snap a pic of his face before he woke up.

You don’t expect him to take as long to answer as he does. He tilts his head again, looks up like he’s trying to calculate something in his head.

And then his answer sends another wave of unease through your system.

“Lost count,” he admits, repeating his previous answer.

You don’t know what that means, what it entails, but you don't even want to know either, at this point.

You rack your brain for another question, something light and easy to keep him talking, when he suddenly jerks his shoulder in a way that doesn’t look entirely voluntary.

You pause.

Did he... did he consume something?

It would explain a few things, though not everything.

He seems coherent enough to hold a conversation, but it’s not like he’s making the most sense. And, at the very least, blaming the strangeness of this whole situation on something simple would make you feel better.

To test out your theory, you ask him outright, “Why are you here? Do you know where you are?”

He looks around, like he’s only now noticing he’s in your apartment.

“This the—the—the upstairs unit? Your place?”

You nod, slowly, but even as you do, you’re not sure you want him to know that. And then you also don’t want to know the answer to the next question, but you need to ask.

“What happened?”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for his response. The way he states it too—so simply, so obviously, like it was as normal as going for groceries—makes you completely sick to your stomach.

And the magnitude of the situation fully crashes down on you when he answers.

“I killed her.”

[muhlsworld]

WHATS WRONG WITH ME?

synopsis: you rescue nika from a bad date.

WARNINGS: suggestive (no actual smut), cussing, talks about sex, not proofread

it was a relaxing evening in seattle. you were getting ready to watch one of your favorite movies when your best friend nika sends you a text saying ‘911’. instead of answering the text you called her. “hey is everything okay?” you asked the second she picked up the phone. “yeah i’m on my way, don’t worry i’ll be there soon.” nika said quickly and then hanging up. you were so confused until you got a second text from her.

‘bad date. had to leave. omw to yours’

then it all made sense. you simply liked her message waiting for her to show up. a few minutes later you heard the door open. knowing it was nika since she had your spare key. “in the living room.” you shouted so she could go towards you. she walked in the living room looking as beautiful as ever. wearing that black leather set that you helped pick out.

“omg im so sorry for barging in but i just had the worst date ever.” nika said with her head in her hands. “wanna tell me about it?” you asked trying to be as supportive as you could. “the date itself wasn’t that bad you know? he was cute and respectful. but after the dinner we went back to his place.” she said stopping slightly and you nodded understanding what she was referring to.

waiting for her to continue you placed a comforting hand on her thigh. “it was going good too, we were making out and it wasn’t the worst but as i went to sit on his lap i felt nothing. like actually nothing” she said almost embarrassed. “so he wasn’t hard yet right?” you asked slightly uncomfortable with the conversation. “see that’s what i thought too so we kept going but he just wouldn’t get hard. like we literally couldn’t even do anything.” she stated frustrated.

you look at her in shock with what she was telling you. you honestly didn’t know what to tell her to make her feel better. so you opted for slightly rubbing her thigh to make her feel comforted. then she spoke up again “is there something wrong with me?” nika asked. “what the hell? no what are you talking about?” you asked confused at the question. “am i not hot enough?” she asked sheepishly.

you looked at her like she was insane. she was the most beautiful woman you’ve set your eyes on. she was literally a goddess in your eyes. “what nika? why would you say that?” you asked. “i don’t know it’s just…” she paused for a little “do you think i’m hot?” nika asked. before your brain could stop you from speaking you blurted out “of course i do”. your eyes went wide are your confession.

you slapped your hand on your forehead from the embarrassment. but what you didn’t see was nikas smirk. “you think i’m hot?” she asked almost seductively. you nodded hesitantly. the tension in the room growing thicker and thicker. “so you wouldn’t mind helping me out right?” she asked. you shook your head and then said “what do you need help with?”

“let me kiss you.” nike said bluntly. you mouth dropped slightly at the statement. “help me prove to myself that i can make someone horny. help me make sure there’s nothing wrong with me.” she practically begged. your mouth went dry at those words. without waiting any longer you answered.

“okay.”

and with that confirmation nika turned to face towards you on the couch and leaned in slightly so your lips touched. it was a quick peck at first. and then once she saw you were okay with it she pulled you onto her lap. each one of your legs on either side of hers. nikas hands were planted on your waist as your hands went around her neck.

once you were settled in her lap, she captured your lips in yet another kiss. but this time it was hungrier. one of her wants move slowly up your back until she reached your head. so she grabbed a fistful of your hair as she tugged a little. you opened your mouth slightly at the sensation and nika took the initiative to slide her tongue in your mouth.

you moaned as she inserted her tongue into your mouth. nika took that as a sign that she was doing good. so with that she placed her hand back down on your waist firmly. your heart was practically beating out of your chest. you felt like everything was on fire. but you knew nika was only doing this to prove something to herself. so you let her.

after making out for a few minutes she started to place kisses down your jawline and up to your earlobe. she tugged at your earlobe with her teeth and you let out a sigh of satisfaction. she started to kiss down you neck sucking slightly at certain spots. and that’s when your body betrayed you.

you started to slowly grind down on nikas legs begging for some friction. nika was happy with what she was doing to you and she was showing it by grabbing you waist harsher and guiding your hips down into her.

this went on for a few minutes until you couldn’t take it anymore. you wanted more. you needed more. and nika did too. nika started to slide her hand down to your thighs slightly massaging your thigh, inching herself closer to where you wanted her most. but before she did she looked up at you. “are you sure?” she asked. “there’s no going back after this.” she stated. you nodded slowly getting of her lap and leading her your bedroom.

the night consisted of pure pleasure between the two of you. and you couldn’t have been more happy that nikas date ended the way it did.

A/N: please give me requests 🙏

[deerlino]

WHEN CHAN STUMBLES

— chan, who’s usually super serious and all put together, just totally loses it when he sees you. like, his brain completely shuts down—seriously, someone call 911 because it looks like he had a stroke or something. but nah, he’s just crazy in love with you. <3

words ༯ 0.5k / pairing ༯ bang chan x gn!reader / genres ༯ college au (study night, supposedly), fluff, humor, crack, established relationship / warnings ༯ no warnings for this one, just pure, sweet fluff !

a/n ༯ hey yo heyo! this is my first piece here and i’m lowkey nervous to post it, but here we go! chan is the absolute cutest in this one, love him. hope you enjoy, tho! <3

Chan had always been the epitome of seriousness. He was the guy who could ace an exam, lead a group project, and still manage to hit the gym—all in one day. Your friends had nicknamed him “Superman,” but to you, he was just Chan. Your Chan.

Tonight, you were hanging out in his dorm room, supposed to be studying for your upcoming finals. His desk was cluttered with textbooks, highlighters, and half-empty coffee cups, but neither of you seemed too worried about it. You’d been dating for six months now, and his dorm had become your second home.

“Okay, if I have to read one more sentence about organic chemistry, I swear I’ll scream,” you groaned, dropping your highlighter dramatically.

Chan chuckled, glancing up from his laptop. “You know, you say that every time we study.”

“And every time, I mean it.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Alright, take a break. You’ve earned it.”

You stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh as you leaned back on his bed. Chan watched you with that soft look he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But you noticed. You always noticed.

“So, how’s your paper going?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Eh, it’s going,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get it done.”

“Of course, you will. You’re Chan, the man who does everything.”

He laughed, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it go to my head.”

You rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Can I help? Maybe proofread or something?”

Chan glanced at you, and in that moment, it was like his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. It was like someone had hit the pause button on his brain.

“Uh, Chan? Earth to Chan?” you waved your hand in front of his face, giggling.

He blinked, snapping out of his trance. “Sorry, I just... you’re really... distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Distracting? Me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Like, a lot.”

You crawled closer to him on the bed, closing the distance between you. “How so?”

Chan swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on yours. “Because... you’re... you. And you’re here. And it’s just really hard to think straight when you look at me like that.”

You grinned, your heart swelling with affection. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “God, I must look like an idiot.”

“An adorable idiot,” you corrected, pulling his hands away from his face. “And for the record, I think you look pretty hot when you’re all serious and studious.”

His eyes lit up at your words, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, leaning in to kiss him softly.

Chan melted into the kiss, his serious facade crumbling completely. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed in bliss.

“You know, you’re the only person who can make me feel like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like my brain has completely shut down and all I can think about is you.”

You laughed softly, brushing your lips against his again. “Good. Because I feel the same way.”

© deerlino (est. 030624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3