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lavender-devotion · 2 months

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Hi Hi! I wasn't sure if you're open but can I request a Alastor x reader who is a charlie's older sister and she is alastor's fiance. They never told their hotel friends, basically they're in a secret relationship, until Lucifer arrived (from episode 5 dad beat dad) and announced she's engaged. but no body knew who her fiance was until alastor popped up behind her and pressed a kiss on her. Charlie's happy and Lucifer D:

As soon as I saw this request I immediately ran to make this meme, lmao I'm sorry 😭

anywho, here we go lmao

Summary: You’re Lucifer's eldest and, much like Charlie, you’re desperate to have his support and approval---he’s your dad, of course you are. So, when he finally visits the hotel, you can't wait to tell him that you're engaged. And he's overjoyed...that is, until he finds out that you're engaged to the Radio Demon. What happens when your fiancé and your dad start feuding over you, forcing you to pick a side? Your family, or the love of your life?

Tags: Alastor x Fem!Reader, No Use of (Y/N), Reader is Lucifer's Eldest, Secret Relationship, Lucifer has a heart attack bc Alastor, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, we're just gonna pretend Alastor has been at the hotel a longer time than in canon bc Plot, Charlie is a Good Sister TW: None <3 Word Count: 2.6k Read it on Ao3 <3

When you'd first met Alastor, you had been…skeptical of him, to say the least.

To be completely honest, you’d hated him—and that was putting it lightly. You hated how condescending he was, you hated the fact that he clearly had ulterior motives, you hated that he kept everything about himself a secret, you hated his damn smile, you hated…him!

And the feeling was definitely mutual.

Alastor hated your obvious distrust of him, he hated the fact that you neither feared nor respected him, he hated the way you’d constantly tell Charlie and the others to be wary of him, he hated the way you always seemed to get in the way of his plans, he hated…you!

And no matter how many lessons Charlie had on friendship and trust—lessons that she forced the two of you to attend, I might add—or how many lectures about how the two of you needed to get along or how much she begged the two of you to stop fighting, nothing ever worked.

But…then something changed.

At some point between then and now, the two of you began to soften and learn more about each other---often against your will, and your wishes---and you found...that you had more in common than previously thought.

You both preferred radio to television, you both had a love and penchant for cooking, you both enjoyed quite a few of the same novels, and on and on it went. And those similarities brought the two of you closer together and, although neither of you ever wanted to admit it, you actually began to get along. Eventually, after enough time had passed, the two of you managed to forget why you didn't get along in the first place---all of it becoming a distant memory.

Of course, one thing led to another, and now you were lucky enough to have a pretty little ring on your left hand---not married yet, but soon to be.

Obviously none of the others knew about any of this, by both of your wishes. You were both private people and, knowing everyone else, they would ask questions and the two of you would end up having to spill your entire life's stories to finally get them to leave it be---and even that wasn't guaranteed!

So, to avoid the drama of it all, you just...kept things quiet. Private.

It wasn't particularly hard---Alastor wasn't much of a PDA person, especially in public; neither of you were particularly big fans of pet names; your dates were always fairly simple; and the two of you had your own jobs within the hotel to attend to, so half the time you weren't even in each other's presence.

It was...nice. Having someone to lean on, being able to see another side of Alastor---and having him all to yourself. No one else had him like you did, and you preferred it that way. Of course, though, all good things had to come to an end.

Your and Charlie's father, Lucifer, was coming to the hotel for the first time and---knowing him---it'd be the last, so now was possibly your only chance to tell him about your engagement in person.

Part of you was nervous, considering that you hadn't even told him---or anyone else---you were dating someone and now you were just going to spring an engagement on all of them, but another part of you was relieved and excited. Obviously, you would miss the privacy, but who knew? Maybe everyone's constant curiosity wouldn't bother you as much as you thought, and you might actually end up enjoying a more public relationship.

One where you could kiss him whenever you pleased, instead of being forced to wait until the two of you were alone; one where you could wish him goodbye with an "I love you," instead of snarky "don't die" on the way out; one where you could simply blow off any potential suitors with an "I'm married," instead of having to convince them that you really weren't interested in dating. Maybe all of that would be nice too.

"Nervous?" Alastor asked, the static overlay of his voice drawing you out of your thoughts. You turned away from the mirror you were looking into, instead turning your attention to your beloved---his ever-present smile softening as he looked at you.

"A little, I just..." you sighed, "I just want this to go well, but---knowing my dad---he's going to freak out and it'll be a whole thing."

He chuckled and stepped forward until he was close enough to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face, "not to worry, my dear, I'm sure everything will go just fine."

"But-"

"And if it doesn't," he continued, "I'll be by your side to help you fix it all. You won't be alone."

You smiled and let him draw you into a chaste kiss, some of your tension dissipating in his presence. Somehow he always knew how to make you feel better.

"What would I ever do without you?" You asked, gently cupping his face.

He tilted his head slightly to press another kiss to your palm, "you'll never have to find out."

Suddenly the unmistakable sound of Charlie's voice made its way up to your shared room, introducing everything and everyone in the hotel to---who you assumed to be---your father. So there was no more preparing yourself for it, now you just had to do. Besides, maybe Alastor was right, maybe he'd take the announcement better than you thought.

There was only one way to find out.

----------

"WHAT??? HIM???"

He did not, in fact, take it better than you thought.

You tried to wait for the perfect time to break the news, but---of course---your dad had immediately spotted the ring on your finger- (a detail that, somehow, everyone else had missed) -and pressed you for more information, his actual reason for visiting long forgotten. By both him and everyone else, apparently.

Getting a meeting with Heaven was suddenly playing second fiddle to everyone's curiosity about who you'd been dating behind their backs---who you were now engaged to. So, after a lot of pressing and pressing, you'd finally relented and admitted that it was Alastor. Which had led to...all of this.

Charlie was vibrating off the walls, everyone else was in various states of shock, and your dad...looked like he was in the middle of a mental breakdown.

"You can't- I mean-" He laughed, more than a little hysterical, "you're not actually engaged to him, are you?"

Before you could answer, Alastor cut in---a sharp edge coloring his tone.

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Your father's attention switched from you to Alastor, practically seething as he looked at him. You couldn't see Alastor's face from your place beside him, but you could tell that the feeling was mutual by the crackling electricity that crawled across your skin.

"Have you ever fucking met you?" Your father asked incredulously.

"Yes, and I'm very lucky to have her," Alastor responded, punctuating his statement with a gentle kiss on your cheek---a kiss obviously done just to piss your father off, since you knew Alastor wasn't exactly fond of public affection.

The tension was thick in the air as the two just stood there, glaring at each other.

Then finally, your father laughed.

"Alright then..."

Jazzy, upbeat, music suddenly came out of nowhere, and—before you had any time to process what was happening—you were drawn into your father’s song and dance number, the world around you shifting to follow his words.

“Looks like you could use some help, from the big boss of Hell himself! Obviously, since I don’t know how you could’ve felt that this–”

One voice, “Bastard!”

Two, “Jackass!”

Three, “Arrogant piece of shit!”

Back to your father, “–would ever make a suitable husband! Especially for you, did you forget?”

He twirled you around until you were in an elegant dress and crown, falling backwards onto a throne.

“You’re a princess of Hell, so better yet! Rather than an old outdated crook—who’s probably just using you for your station, at least from the looks—why not let your dad give you pick of the lot?” He snapped his fingers, new people appearing with every beat, “men, women, or those in between; outgoing royalty or someone serene, anything but this walking tomato lookin’ prick—you could have anyone, so just take your pick!”

A streak of shadow suddenly shoved your father to the side, Alastor appearing in his place with a charming grin—his shadow twirling around you like it was trying to hold you.

“My dear it’s true that you’re one of a kind—everything anyone could ask for, a very rare find,” he knelt before you and kissed your hand, “I’m a very lucky sinner to call you my own, to stand by your side as you sit on your throne.”

He then moved to sit on the arm of your throne, pulling you into his side, “however I have to agree that someone around here is a crook, but it’s certainly not me, so let’s take a look!”

The first person he picked out of the crowd was Charlie, his shadow minions bringing her forward dressed in her own royal attire, “your darling sister, who’s been by your side—supporting you through your troubles, high or low tide!”

Next came the other residents, dressed in their own fancy clothing, although less detailed than yours and your sister’s, “your close hotel friends, do you dare suspect them? Even though they’ve proven they’d follow you to the end?”

Finally he knelt in front of you again, dressed in his own royal attire and placing a golden ring on your left ring finger, “or do you truly think it could be me, your doting husband-to-be? Could I be the traitor despite the love, trust, and devotion I’ve given to you, or everything I’ve done to prove that my affection is true?”

“Of course not! You know that, so why don’t you see?” Suddenly your father was shoved forward like a criminal, the shadows dressing him in peasant style clothing, “the only traitor around here is this snake, does he take you for Eve?”

“Excuse me?” Your father asked incredulously, pushing back the shadows and reappearing in his usual clothing.

“Trying to lead you to darkness with his tricks and lies, wanting you to be miserable and lonely instead of by my side.”

“Hold on now–” “All this unsupportive jargon, telling you how you should live your life,” Alastor practically snarled, looking your father dead in the eye, “no wonder that this bastard was left by his wife.”

Your head was left spinning as things quickly switched between your father playing a golden fiddle, to your fiance interrupting him on a vintage piano—the two practically seething at each other before turning their attention back to you.

First Alastor, “my dear, why don’t you pick your own path, instead of listening to this stick in the mud?”

Then your father, “why choose a shitty partner over your own blood?”

And that is how it went.

“And pick a deadbeat father, nothing more than a dud? Wouldn’t you rather find happiness with the family you choose?”

Over.

“Yeah, sure, pick a bunch of losers–”

And over.

“Can you butt out of my song?”

And over.

“Your song? I started this!”

Until finally– “I’m singing it, I’ll finish it!”

You had had enough.

“Oh you tacky piece of sh–”

"JUST STOP!" You shouted, bringing their argument to a screeching halt and drawing a deadly silence into the room, "for fuck's sake---how can the two of you not see your own hypocrisy?! Even when it's sitting right in front of you!"

The two of them stared at you, wide eyed, but you kept going before they could respond.

"You're arguing over what's best for me, while not even fucking asking me what I want! This isn't even about me, this is about the two of you hating each other," you took a breath, desperately blinking back tears, "well you know what? BOTH of you are hurting me! BOTH of you are ignoring my wishes! BOTH of you are treating me like shit! And I don't want to fucking be around EITHER OF YOU!"

And without another word you turned on your heel and left the hotel.

----------

The moment you heard footsteps coming near you, you flipped around and snarled---prepared to snap at your father or Alastor, whichever one decided to come kiss your ass to one-up the other. But, instead, you only found Charlie standing behind you, a concerned look on her face.

You immediately turned away from her and wiped your eyes, not wanting your little sister to see you like this, but she didn’t seem to mind—just sitting beside you and resting her head on your shoulder as you sniffled.

After a moment, you broke the silence.

“I just…I don’t understand,” you said, voice shaking, “they’ve known each other for five fucking minutes and already hate each other. Why can’t they just get along for me? Do I seriously matter that little to them?”

Charlie was quiet for a moment, mind churning.

“I don’t necessarily think that’s it,” her voice was quiet as she spoke, as if she was thinking through each word, “I think that, for the first time ever, both of them are dealing with the fact that they might not be the most important man in your life and…I guess this is just their way of reacting to that.”

You turned to her, eyebrows raising, and she continued to explain.

“Family is important to you, Alastor knows that, but he hasn’t had to…complete, I guess, with anyone for his place by your side before—so, when dad showed up and openly disapproved of him, I think he just got scared that you’d leave him because of what dad thinks,” she took a breath, still thinking through her words, “dad, on the other hand, has always been the one who you’d run to for everything—if you were scared, sad, happy, or needed help, he was the one you’d go to. Now you have Alastor and that’s who you go to for everything, so I think dad just got scared that you wouldn’t need him anymore now that you’re getting married.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” she added wryly, squeezing your arm with a smile.

You gave her a small smile back, “how’d you ever get to be so smart?”

“I learned from the best.”

You sighed, “I just wish they’d get over themselves, I can—in fact—have more than one important man in my life, there’s not a fucking limit.”

“Yeah well…men can be stupid, I guess.”

You snorted and pulled her close, gently ruffling her hair, “you’ve got that right…between you and me, though, I like you better than both of them.”

Charlie giggled and hugged you, the two of you inseparable, just like when you were kids. You took a little longer to just breathe and enjoy the sweet moment with your sister, before finally releasing her.

She then got up and dusted off her suit, bright smile now firmly back in place, “now, let’s head back! I’m pretty sure Vaggie’s already got them working on their apologies, and I already have so many ideas for a new lesson plan on: selflessness and communication!”

You shook your head, but didn’t manage to quite hide your smile. Whatever happened, at least you would always have Charlie by your side…and Alastor and your father, if the two could manage not to kill each other.

“Those apologies better not be in fucking song format.”

“…I’ll text Angel.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #devotion's posts: requests🪻#devotion’s posts: fic stuff 🪻

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nocturnesmoon · 6 months

Text

Safety Nets

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader Wordcount: 6k Tags: Polyamory, established relationship, Hurt/comfort, a LOT of comfort, the guys take care of you, that's the fic CW/TW: Military inaccuracies? canon typical violence, insecurities, heavy self doubt and self blame, minor character death, A/N: This is probably inaccurate mission and military wise but idc i wanted to write something like this for so long- though i am open to constructive criticism if you got some notes. (Read on Ao3)

-You come back from a mission that shook you to your core, the boys help you back on your feet as they always do-

The wind raged like a storm in your ears, despite the heavy earmuffs which sat too tight on your head, you could hear it clearly. When you closed your eyes, you could imagine it being a hurricane, a wind so strong it would scoop you up and carry you to who knows where. One that would tear you apart and leave no remnants of who you were.

The thought seemed nice, to be taken away and to never return. To be freed from not having to face your own failures in the disappointed stares, that awaited down on the rapidly approaching platform. Your body rocked with every little swerve of the helicopter, no longer having the strength to go against the motion.

"Lieutenant?" Your head snapped up to the soldier in front of you. You ignored the crack in your neck and the ache that pooled into your muscles. He'd been calling on you a few times now, his concerned eyes searching your face for an answer. "We're about to land sir," the soldier let you know, you couldn't muster up a verbal response, only a nod to acknowledge you'd heard.

Ever since they had picked you up on the site, they had that look of pity. It made you squirm, feeling all too self-aware of the way your clothes were caked in mud and blood. Your bones hurt, and your joints felt like snapping in half. You had spent the majority of the mission running, believing that you wouldn't make it out. You had fled, and you had left them behind.

The size of the heli was too big for just you, the soldier, and the pilot in the front. The space felt like caging you in, reminding you of your failure, of who you had lost. Your eyes threatened to shut, the exhaustion whispering in your ear that it would all feel a little better if you let yourself drift away into sleep.

Except every time your eyes slipped closed it wasn't darkness you saw, it was their screams, their blood, and their gore. The cracks you heard when one of the bullets pierced someone's skull echoed in your ears, as if you were still down there on the battlefield.

You were pulled back into your own head, your mind running laps to go through the mission once more. Every single second accounted for so you could dissect your failure. How each one of them had fallen, one by one they dropped like they were nothing. How you had ran with what was left of your team, until one got caught in a bear trap and pulled under falling debris, and the other was shot in the stomach.

You had hoped your head would fill with fog, that it would help you forget and suppress the last few moments of that soldier’s life. His name had been Jacob, his callsign Wisp, he had been difficult to deal with but his progress under your guidance had been noticeable. You hated how it was only now you could remember every little thing about him. Before you didn't care, you did your job in training him, guiding him, but you never made an effort to know him. You wished your brain would stop remembering every little thing now, making you feel all the more guilty.

You wished your brain would do that thing it's supposed to do, block out the traumatic memories so you didn't have to deal with them. Yet they were there still so fresh in your mind, like an open wound, his last words repeated over and over in your mind. You'd think someone's last words would be scared, or sentimental or a sweet last wish. Not his, no he decided his last wish was to let you know just how much you had failed them all.

Over and over again you replayed that memory, how his blood had mixed with the dirt and gravel under you both. You remember how his hand had clutched onto your arm, digging his nails through your sleeve and into your skin. He had pulled you down with him in his final moments, uttered those words into your ear with so much disdain the tone would have rocked your core on its own.

"This is your fault, you led us here."

There was more to his words, you were sure there was but maybe your brain was doing part of its job now. You could only cling to every part of the memory you could before it slipped away into the fog. It was only when someone gently nudged you that you snapped out of your own mind once more. "Sir?" your body went rigid at the touch and the voice, and you fought the distinct urge to disarm the person that was in front of you.

It was the same soldier that had been with you ever since they found you. He had been careful around you ever since he saw the casualties, walking on eggshells around you as if you were a loose cannon, maybe you were. "Sir?" he repeated, being a little more patient now that he had your attention, "We're here."

You felt your stomach drop, nodding slowly and glancing towards the opening doors, the platform outside. You could already glimpse at the two people that were waiting for you, they had probably been on edge for days. It only made you more guilty how you must have worried them, ever since your call for immediate evac. You weren't even sure you could reassure them once you got down there, you weren't sure you wouldn't just collapse to your knees the moment you were within their vicinity.

"Do you need help Lieutenant?" the soldier in front of you hadn't moved, it surprised you slightly, having been sure he would be just as eager to get off and way from your stench of death. For a moment you want to say yes, tell them to get someone to carry you, because your knees would give out the moment you went to stand, but how would that look for you. A new promising Lieutenant, the first op you led after you got your new rank and it turned out like this.

You didn't dare look up at the soldier, too afraid that your own eyes would give you away. You considered for a moment, to tell the soldier to go get the only two people who would know what to do. The only two people you would trust enough to become vulnerable with. "No..." your voice barely comes through, but he seems to register it, his legs moving quickly to get down on the platform. It was time to face them.

It had been a long few days ever since you said goodbye to the two of them. 72 hours since you had left on the plane with the promise of being back sometime the next day. 24 since Johnny had started complaining about your absence. 6 since Simon had been alerted of the fact you had called for immediate evac, that the supposedly simple mission had gone wrong in every way possible.

He hadn't relayed all the grueling details to Johnny, just that the op had gone wrong and that you might come back a little rattled. Simon wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong either, he just knew there was casualties, and the team wasn't coming back in one piece. The scot next to him was restless, practically jumping in place from anxiety, watching intently as the heli descended and the doors opened.

Simon kept one step in front of him, knowing the man all too well, and even though his eagerness is shared within Simon's own veins, he knows that you might not be in a state that could positively receive that. He knew the both of you inside and out, the years he had spent with both you and Johnny allowed him to know you in ways he didn't think possible.

He was quick to find out exactly what made you both tick, what set you off, what made you happy and what would comfort you. He didn't like the uncertainty; it was a rocky start when he was still mapping out your emotions. By now you all knew each other well, like three puzzle pieces that fit together, you had found each other and filled out the holes in each other’s lives. Certainty was assured when he was with either of you because you both knew he needed it.

This was new, this was an uncertainty he didn't like. He had no idea what you would be like when you came down to the platform, down into their arms once again. Not to mention the fact you and nobody else had come out yet only churned that unsettling anxiety in his stomach further.

"L.T?" the sound of Johnny's accent filled his ears, his shoulders managing to relax just a little. He wasn't alone in this, he reminded himself, Johnny would be here to figure out how to help you as well. Johnny's pinky curled around Simon's, his urge to pull them both away from the public area would have overpowered if it wasn't for the fact, they were waiting for you.

The pilot had gotten out almost as soon as they landed, but you were still nowhere. He could just peak inside, trying to look for you or anyone else he would recognize. He only caught a glimpse of your form, hidden behind another soldier who was speaking to you. "What's taking 'em so long," Simon mumbled quietly, his mask obscuring his already quiet speech.

Johnny let out a heavy sigh, the hold his pinky finger had was surprisingly strong. They shared the anxiousness, the uncomfortable knowledge that you weren't okay. "Ah dinnae ken" he answered, trying to angle himself so he could get a better look at you. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot he could see at the distance.

They waited, as patiently as they could, the inconspicuous grip they had on each other also served to hold themselves back. Their resolve was wearing thin, and they both knew it, that soldier was talking to you about something, something they didn't know about, and they didn't like it. Simon almost completely lost it when he saw the soldier emerge without you, but his attention was quickly turned when you appeared not long after.

Your walk was slow, in no hurry to get back to them, it should've been the first sign. You looked around as if you were confused, as if you hadn't walked down this path a hundred times before. Johnny wasted no time bolting forward, closing in on you with the clear goal that you were his target. It startled you and Simon almost wanted to berate Johnny in that moment for being so quick with his movements.

Though what Simon saw almost made him want to have a little more time to prepare. The look in your eye rattled something foreign in his bones. It was something familiar, something he had seen in himself once upon a time. Something terrifying he'd never have wished upon you, how it felt when his bare soul had been chipped away at. He looked behind you, expecting some other members of your team to perhaps clue them in on the horror that had occurred.

The hit felt even harder when he realized, you were the only one.

By the time they had gotten you inside and settled in the tub you were a little more present. Your awareness a little higher from when they were on the platform. You had barely spoken a word to them, so vary of threats on every corner that you didn't even let your guard down for them as you usually did.

Only when they had managed to drag you inside, convinced you that your report could wait for later, and gotten you safely inside the space of your own quarters, did you settle. Johnny had carefully helped you out of your clothes, taking the task of cleaning you up and settling you into the safe atmosphere that was them.

He had whispered soft praise in your ears as he removed layer after layer, meanwhile suppressing the want to berate you for each little wound he found on your body. He knew you didn't need the extra scolding, the pure shock from the mission would be enough for you. However, he still felt that sting of hurt in his heart, knowing that neither he nor Simon was there to look after you, to take care of you.

He was well aware that you were capable on your own, you wouldn't have made it this far if you weren't good at what you did. If your rank wasn't enough to go from, then your other various accomplishments on your resume was. But when he saw you like this, with the silent knowledge that you could've been wiped out along with the rest, it put a dark cloud over his mind.

He helped you slowly lower yourself into the bath Simon had previously prepared. You winced in pain when the warm water touched your wounds. None of them were severe enough to cause major worry, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt just as much. Your movements were sloggy, relying on Johnny to not lose yourself completely.

"There ye are," Johnny mumbled quietly, forcing a soft smile on his lips in hopes you soothing you. You let out a shuddering sigh, doing your best to relax into the warm water. You pulled your legs close to your chest, resting your tin atop your bruised knees. "Oh leannan," he gently presses his lips to your temple, cradling your head in an attempt for comfort.

It feels like you're not fully present, watching the world from a third person view that doesn’t exist. You have half of your comfort with you, his hands grabbing the washcloth and slowly moving it over your skin. You look around the small bathroom, trying to locate the other half of your comfort, the missing equation.

"Si..." You're taken aback on your own voice, the croak and soreness of it all leaving you wondering whether you had yelled or screamed more than you thought. You tried to think back on it, settling your mind into the mission again but it made a headache form.

Johnny's motion came to a slow stop, his eyes catching your pleading ones. He knew what you wanted, but he wasn't the one that could give it to you. "He's comin' soon," he does his best at keeping your calm, "S'ok jus' relax." His free hand finds your cheek, making you focus your vision on him.

You lean into it, your body trembling slightly beneath his touch. It was warm and safe, two things you hadn't felt ever since you left. He moved the washcloth over your face, rubbing at the dirt that had infested itself on your skin. His eyes never left your face, his attention and devotion completely yours. His eyes fell on your trembling lips, before quickly flickering upwards to see the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"S'ok love, yer okay" He lets the washcloth rest on the edge of the tub so he could take your face in both hands. His forehead leans against yours, bringing you close and gently coaxing you into more contact. "Just breathe with me aye, he'll be back in no time" your eyes fluttered closed, listening to his instructions, glad that you were able to let go of the part of your brain that needed to make decisions.

Fortunately, he was right, as he often is.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and then the creak of the door, it made you snap your eyes open, their searching beginning once more. They landed on the tall brute, Simon's eyes fixated on you since the moment he made his way into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards the tub, planting himself on the toilet seat right next to it.

He was still wearing his mask, tired eyes searching your body and gliding over the wounds in your traumatized state. He lets out a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to his mask and slowly sliding it off. You had seen his face so many times, by now it shouldn't affect you anymore, yet still you can't help that feeling you get when you see him shed the mask in front of you and Johnny. The trust he has in the two of you makes your heart flutter.

The look he's giving you almost makes you feel ashamed, even though you know that he's just concerned. He's always been, that's why he's so harsh on you, on Johnny, even on occasion Garrick. You're pretty sure the only reason he isn't like that on Price as well is because of his higher rank and better experience. He's trained you hard so you could overcome anything, but no amount of training could prepare you for this kind of thing.

Johnny leans back, allowing Simon more space to move closer. You move before he does, leaning your body slightly to the side. The sound of splashing water went deaf on your ears, even as Johnny yelped from some of the water going overboard. Your chin ended up nestled atop Simon's thigh, his eyes never leaving you as you moved. His hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

"How we doin' pet?" his voice of gravel is like a blanket for your soul, the years of smoking giving him a voice that makes you shiver. In truth you don't feel like speaking, you don't feel like answering at all. You know you have to; you can't hide forever but you still hope they won't inquire about the mission just yet.

You let out a huff, almost hoping that the answer would suffice for Simon, but he keeps looking at you with those expectant eyes. "I don't know," you whisper quietly, letting your eyes fall, your body going slack against the side of the tub.

Simon nods in response, a hum of understanding going out to you. "S'fine, you don't have to know right now," he tells you, giving you the peace of mind to just have a non-conditional existence between them.

Johnny picks up the washcloth again, guiding your arms in his direction so he could continue his work of getting you clean. They're both quick and efficient with cleaning you up, Simon's rough voice filling the room as he updates you on things that's happened since you were gone. It's not much, mostly trivial things you don't care about and will likely forget, but it keeps your calm, giving you something else to focus on.

"Ye should've seen Cap he was livid," Johnny's laughs and you muster a smile, hearing about his latest misadventures, and the dumb thing's he'd rode Gaz into. His hands run over your scalp, working in the shampoo and grimacing when he takes out a small clump of dirt. "Aye darling, how the hell did ye get so caked in mud anyway," he sighs, parting your strands to get to the nape of your neck.

You bend your head down to allow him to work through your hair without straining his arms. "I..." you do your best to think back, but the number of times you fell down and scraped against things were a blur. "I think i tripped a lot...it was a muddy area," You held back a pleasured groan, as Johnny worked his fingers over your scalp, small goosebumps going down your back and arms.

"I don't really remember," you admit and let out an exasperated sigh. Johnny finishes up your hair, going for a little longer than necessary in hopes of keeping your enjoyment going awhile longer. When he pulls back to reach for the shower head, he boops your nose, leaving some soap on your face. His mischievous grin is infectious, and it manages to tug the corners of your lips upwards. The way his eyes light up when he sees your half smile makes your heart hurt, you've worried them so much, you're still worrying them.

As soon as they got you out of the water you were clinging to them like a leech. Refusing to let go of the precious contact you've already established with them. They move you around between them, molding you to them as they do the teamwork of getting you dry. Simon peppers soft kisses to your lips and cheeks while Johnny moves the towel over your back.

Even after they're done getting you as dry as they can, they keep you there. Sandwiched between them they hold you tight, and in tune each other. Johnny's head nestled in the crook of your neck and Simon's chin resting on top of your head. It's a stance that squeezes you tight, your own head getting light from the amount of love they try to squeeze into your bones.

It makes your heart burn, and your eyes sting with tears. Your breathing coming out in small gasps, as you end up choking back on a sob. Every single little thing coming crashing down on you now that you know you're safe in their arms. They've always got you, ready to catch you in case you fall. That hasn't changed, and being so subtly reminded by them brings it all out.

"Breathe," you aren't sure who says it, the disorienting feeling not alleviating even as they accommodate you. "Good Good," you recognize Simon's praising voice when you manage to take a few deep breaths. The tears never manage to fall but you don't doubt that they both know just by looking at your pathetic state.

"Love, we need to treat your wounds," he starts off quietly, not having any haste to move you, "Johnny'll go get you some food, and then we can get you settled into bed, okay?" He's making it sound more like a question, but you know it's just to make you aware of their next movements.

Even so you can't help but cling to Johnny's presence as he starts to unattach himself from the cuddle. You look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would stay if you just used puppy eyes enough. You almost think he'll budge as he moves closer to you again, his lips descending onto yours for a chaste kiss. Reluctantly he pulls away again, "Be back soon, ah promise ye."

Before you can protest and force him to stay, Simon scoops you up and places you on the bathroom counter. Distracting you from Johnny's quest of finding food that will be easily digested. He holds your face in his hand to keep your eyes on him, while the other one rummage through a cabinet.

You had gotten extremely lucky all things considered, the worst of your injuries the long scrapes on your back from sliding down a hill with sharp rocks. The rest included rough bruises, sore joints, and jumbled mind. Your other teammates had been much less fortunate, led right into their death by your own incompetence.

You're softly called back to reality, Simon gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek and calling your name. You don't know how long you were zoned out, but it was long enough to give him that worried glint in his eye. "Sorry..." you croak, swallowing thickly to hold it all back but this time it's not as easy.

The tears come slow and quiet, the shake in your body forcing them out of your waterline and down your cheekbones. He gently wipes them away, pulling you in closer to his body again and cradling you against his chest. "You survived," he reminds you, "You're still here."

You want to nod along with him and take in his words to keep close. But you don't know if you agree with him, you survived but should you have? Why did you survive and not Jacob, not any of the other soldiers who trusted you to see it through.

Simon placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then leaned over you to get a look at your back. He gave no reaction to whatever he saw as to not make you panic, though from the bleeding warmth in your back told you it probably wasn't looking the best.

"Lean back for me pet," he instructs you, slowly plucking you from his chest. With a reluctant sigh you lean back and look down at yourself. Your eyes trailing over every little bruise that littered your body. Simon was silent as he took care of you, giving you gentle squeezes over small kisses after every little wince you made.

When he was done treating the visible wounds, you could hear Johnny rustling around outside the bathroom. The only thing left was your back, the one you dreaded the most out of all your wounds. Simon leaned back just as Johnny came back into the room, a set of your clothes hanging over his arm. He places it on the counter and picks through it, handing you a fresh set of underwear, sweats, and t-shirt.

"Wait with the shirt, need to check over your back," Simon reaches over for the underwear and sweats, helping you into it and lowering you back to the floor. You stretch out your limbs, groaning as you feel the exhaustion in your body, your joints popping when you stretch your arms above your head.

Johnny takes your hand in his own, smiling at you and leading you into the bedroom. "Ah found ye some soup, there wasn't a lot to choose from at this hour," he told you as you crawl onto the bed. You glance at the nightstand, the soup bowl steaming and looking good enough to make your mouth water. The little chocolate bar next to it makes you smile, just until Simon guides you to lay on your stomach.

The real pain is about to start, you think. His hands smoothe over your back, avoiding the ridges of your wounds and grabbing the salve. "It'll be quick, am sure" Johnny lowers himself onto the bed next to you, mimicking your way of laying. His head right next to yours, his loving eyes staring into your own and the giddy smile he wore made you huff out the air in your lungs.

"Hi"

His hand reaches out and caresses your cheek, gently running his fingers over your scalp. He does his best at distracting you from the pain in your back. "How ye feelin'?" he asks quietly, his thumb running over your cheek and fixating on your lip.

"Like shit," you scoff and turn your face into the mattress. You feel Simon's hand run over your back, the aching pain making you whine into the sheets. His hands hesitate, smoothing over unscarred skin as an apology before going back to his work.

The work on your wounds is tedious, and when he finally pulls away your eyelashes are wet. The clutch you have on the sheets beneath you is starting to hurt your knuckles. Simon's touch leaves you, but you don't take any action to turn or move. Someone else guides you to move, the difference in touch leading you to believe it's Johnny.

He moves you closer to him, slowly turning you up so you're sitting and leaning against him. He gently helps you into a t-shirt before moving you around like a ragdoll once more. You're settled between his legs, your back to his front and his big forearms wrapped around your waist. He buries his head in your neck, squeezing you and inhaling your scent as if it's the only thing he ever needs.

"C'mon, you need'ta eat," the bed dips as Simon gets back on it, this time having the bowl of soup in hand. He settles in front of you both, reaching forward and gently rubbing your calf. "And we need to talk," he knows you don't want to, that you'd rather bury it deep. Unfortunately for you, he also knows where that will lead you, and the sooner you put it into words for them the easier you'll be able to process it.

You take the bowl from him, agreeing to at least eat something. You couldn't remember when you last had gotten something nutritional, your stomach felt like a gaping hole that was trying to eat itself. You brought the spoon to your lips and savored the taste. Despite the limited options Johnny had still managed to get the things you liked.

"Don't wanna talk," you mumble between your bites, trying to ignore the look Simon is giving you by staring into your swirling soup. "There's nothin' to talk about," You swallow thickly, ever since you had been back you had been fighting the thoughts that urged to trap you. They were just waiting for you to trip in your careful state, they would pull you under the bridge, drown you into the water until you couldn't breathe through your panic.

Simon didn't let go of your leg, rubbing slow soothing circles into your calf. His full attention was on you, and there was nowhere to hide from the man in front of you and the man behind you. Johnny placed a soft kiss to your neck, and mumbled into your skin, "We know ye don' wanna, Leannan, but when ye came back ye were like a Ghost."

When you didn't answer they elected to let you eat in silence for a while longer, unaware to the emotional storm inside your body. You knew that you would have to make that report eventually, that they would hear about the details eventually. But actually, being met with the demand was something else entirely.

You didn't know if you could bear their reactions, the thought of them being disappointed in you made the anxiety roar. You didn't want them to realize that all the time they had spent being proud of you for your achievement had been wasted. That you were nothing of what you promised to be.

You only realized how shaky your hands had become again when you raised the spoon to take another bite. Simon let out a soft sigh, before taking the spoon and bowl from you so you didn't spill on yourself or Johnny. "Darling?" the question was laid bare for you, he gave you the opening to start talking, to confide in them like you always did.

Your hands fall to your lap, right along with your sight. You try to calm your own nerves, trying to rationalize the stirring thoughts in your head. After an elaborate breath, that is more like an exhausted sigh, you find your words. "It was supposed to be a simple op, and it was in the start, find the target and neutralize him," you start quietly, grasping your own hands together.

"But once we were there and set up, nothing went as planned," you lightly shake your head along to your words, "They knew we were coming and hunted us like dogs." You swallow thickly, noting how the shakiness had nestled into your voice. "I tried to reroute our objective; we tried getting out of there, but this was unlike anything I had ever been up against."

Johnny's hand came to encapsulate your own, stilling your shakiness and you freeze up. Feeling all to self-aware all of a sudden, how the attention was on you, as they listened like you were the most important thing in the world. It was both a warm and agonizing feeling, their protectiveness was nice, but it was also scary.

"We were so close to getting out but...they were faster and I...I couldn't..." you choked back on your own voice, feeling the hotness burn on the back of your eyes. "They were better..." you admitted in a whisper, "If I had taken a different route maybe we could have avoided the trap, maybe we could have gotten the drop on them before they got to my team but...."

The feeling of Simon's hand cupping your cheek made you halt, teary eyes meeting his in temporary shock. "It wasn't your fault love," the sincerity in his voice rocks something deep in you, "There was no way anyone could've known." You tilt your head to the side slightly, you wanted to argue, to tell him you could've done a thousand things better.

"Aye, ye acted just how ye were supposed to, ye kept a level head and guided the rest to the best of yer ability," Johnny briefly took over. His voice was hot on your ear, his quiet whispers just as reassuring as the hand on your cheek, "Ye did everything ye could, and ye survived because of it."

"But they didn't..." You sank further into Johnny, sniffling as you held his thumb inside the little cocoon, he made of both of your hands. "They died because of me," you try to argue, despite being grateful that they didn't seem mad you almost wanted them to lash out, to give you right, to let you feel like a monster.

"They didn't die because of you, they died in action, trying to complete the mission they were given," Simon's voice turned a tad harsh, the determination to get through to you all the more prominent. "They knew this was a possibility when they signed up, you did everything you could for them, and the way you make it up to them is to keep going," he told you sternly.

"I know what it's like, to have people fall under your command," he sighs, "S'never not tough, and it's all too easy to fall into the spiral of whose fault it was." You paid close attention to him as he spoke, he always had a captivating way of speaking, just like when he dished out orders, he commanded authority in his mere presence. "It's somethin’ that happens love, it's important to mourn and assess," he looks you directly in the eye, "But it's also important that you know, it makes you neither monster nor failure."

You never knew whether to love or hate the way he could read your brain like had he telepathy, or personal access to your every little fear and sorrow. "It doesn’t make it feel any better," you said quietly, tilting your head into his palm, nuzzling against his skin.

"I know" he puts the half-finished bowl on the nightstand, "Gonna hurt for a while, but we'll be here with you through it." He gave you a half smile, moving closer so he could place a kiss to your forehead. "We're not going anywhere, ain't that right Johnny?" he glances to the man behind you.

"Aye," Johnny's chest rumbles with a hum, his lips placing a trail of loving kisses over your neck. "Not gonna let those nasty thoughts get to ye," he whispers and slowly moves you as Simon directs. Johnny gets you on your side in the bed, your back pressed even further into his chest. Simon gets out of the bed but only for a brief moment. The lights turn off above you, and soon after the bed dips.

You sigh when you feel Simon's skin on your own, his lips find your cheek as he settles in with you and Johnny. His arm supporting both you and Johnny's heads, his other hand coming over you to hold onto the man behind you after moving your hair out of your face. Compressed between them like this always felt like heaven, the pressure they put on your body was grounding and reminded you that you weren't alone.

"Sleep now," Simon's voice rumbled, "We'll be here when you wake up, and we can try again."

They were always here for you, even when you didn't know you needed the extra support. They had worked with you for so long, you had changed a lot with them and for the better. You felt safe with them, no matter how many times you would fall, they would always be there to catch you and get you back on your feet.

Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated<3

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap #simon riley x you #ghoap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #gender neutral reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #john soap mctavish x you #simon ghost riley x you #john soap mctavish x gn!reader #NoctMoon Fics #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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marwolaeth-76 · 6 months

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Veneer x Famale Reader. First experience of smoking weed

TW drug use

!!all characters are adults!!

tags: fluff and nothing more

“Are you sure Velvet won’t find us here?” - Veneer asks with a slight nervous laugh, his eyes running along the corridor while you lead him by the hand to the door to the entrance to the dressing room. You have recently become the twins' new assistant after Crimp was ordered to find a replacement for herself. Anyway, this washcloth did the job. Having not tiny sizes, and the same appearance as the singers themselves, you were able to find a common language with the two of them. In any case, for the most part, to Veneer. Velvet's arrogant tone and permissive nature still sends slight shivers down your spine. Be that as it may, now you are taking one of your “bosses” to the dressing room, all in order to smoke one joint for two. Who would have thought that Veneer could suddenly become interested in the fact that sometimes you relax after work in the company of well-rolled paper, marijuana. The singer, of course, is nervous, this is his first time in such matters, he certainly cannot say that Velvet did not do this, but he definitely did not.

"Um haha, you know we could find a better place than the dressing room..." -The pop diva says a little incredulously, he cracks a wry smile when you turn around to look him in the face.

"Don't worry, it's evening, Vel has no reason to appear here at such a late time, she's probably busy with her routine affairs, and besides, for some reason you decided to put windows in the dressing room..so we found a use for it."

Your voice sounds cheerful and relaxed, finally you both enter the room, locking it with a key from the inside.

"You know, I'm still not completely su.." - Before he can finish him sentence, you roll your eyes, take out of your pocket an iron box with neatly folded joints, and taking one out, set it on fire.

"After you, princess" -You answer with a slight teasing note in your voice, handing Venir the already lit joint.

the guy just rolls his eyes at your stupid impudence, a slight, slightly stupid grin plays on his lips, as if he has finally adopted your relaxed mood. Bringing the roll of marijuana to his lips, he takes a puff for no more than 2 seconds, leaving a green lipstick mark on the paper. Immediately after inhaling, Veneer coughs a little, putting his hand to his throat and making a face in disgust.

“S-smoke, it went straight into my throat, it’s just disgusting, and it hurts too!”

Veneer looks unhappy, he frowns and feels a lot of saliva accumulating in his mouth. Looking at this, you can't help but laugh at him, although you try.

“Well, of course you didn’t like it, actually, you don’t have to cough when smoking,” you say ironically, shaking your head and taking the joint from his hands. Taking a puff of 5 seconds, which seemed like an eternity for the guy, you hold the smoke in your lungs, and then release it back.

"See? There's nothing complicated"

Veneer looks surprised, to be honest he has never seen you smoke before, you pass the joint into his hands again for a second try. This time, taking a puff in less than 2 seconds, the green-haired handsome man was able to hold out without coughing, exhaling smoke, reproachfully saying, “Still, this is disgusting.”

After about half an hour of such shenanigans, you and your trusty drinking buddy were well stoned, a stupid stoned expression on both of your faces. “okay, I take my words back, this...isn’t as bad as I said the first time, lol, but still, you won’t lure me here again without weed” - There was clearly something...sarcasm in Veneer’s words? Yes, most likely. Sitting on a chair side by side, your shoulders touching his, you had already finished smoking an unfortunate joint 10 minutes ago, not even noticing that all this time you had been sitting in silence, breathing the smoke you made, intertwining your hands together, lying on his hip, in in a gentle manner.

The cheek on which you were lying, leaning on his bony shoulder, was already well numb, but either from the high you don’t care about it, or maybe you don’t want to waste this moment? Lazily turning his gaze to the pop star’s face before saying anything, he notices this and abruptly leaves a light kiss on your forehead, leaving a barely noticeable trace of the almost erased green lipstick.

"Still, I think you can lure me here again, even without the weed.."

___________________________________

this is my first post of this kind, and I hope you like it. I'm not a native eng speaker, so I apologize in advance if any mistakes were made😞

#trolls veneer #veneer x reader #velvet trolls #trolls 3 #velvet and veneer #character x reader #trolls band together #veneer trolls #fanfic #trolls 1 #trolls 2

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dottores · 5 months

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okay well, i logged back in, obviously, because there are clearly some things that need to be addressed and have been taken out of context. just because i’m leaving doesn’t mean i should sit here and let my name be smeared.

to preface this, anantaru and i had a discussion where we came to a congenial understanding of what happened, there's been an acknowledgment on both sides of misunderstanding and believing distorted rumors and people that we probably should not have, but i’m still going to give a full explanation as to the background of everything so you all can understand and come to your own opinions. plus, if there's going to be a call-out post directed majorly at me made, i want an official address of it.

please do NOT send any hate their way, we have ended this discussion on good terms and have worked out what exactly was stirring this discourse between us. (spoiler alert: there was a third-party shit-stirrer that we both considered a decent friend at the time!)

i don’t really need a reason to block someone, and i shouldn’t have to explain it, but i did and i will again but more explicitly this time: @/anantaru made a post that i did not like. it’s as simple as that. it was a post about genshin characters and sex icks and one of the lines were “venti: too drunk.” i’m not anti-dc, but there are topics that i am sensitive about because i was sa’d in my freshman year of college—that is something i have talked about on this blog before, many of you who've been around since my tr era are aware of it. i acknowledged, and tee acknowledged, that this was probably a joke and was not meant to be taken the way i took it, but the aloof/casual way it was mentioned without any TW of implied dubcon, and without acknowledging that it was at least dubcon and could border on noncon in certain interpretations made me uncomfortable. i don’t mind seeing it as long as i’m warned. if it was tagged properly, i would have moved on without much care, but it wasn’t, so i was scrolling through the post snorting and was hit with that and i was made uncomfortable because i didn't like how it was just being passed off as an ick, and i blocked. there was no reason for it to go beyond what it did, yet we are here. anantaru mentioned that if you frequent their blog, you would know that they often write about venti and reader being drunk—i don’t frequent their blog, in fact this was my first encounter with them being reblogged onto my dash by shared mutuals, so it rubbed me wrong. thats the end of it.

i’m not sure the exact timing, but i believe it was two(?) weeks after this, when i reblogged an unpopular opinion’s post with an opinion that i thought was fairly harmless. sure, looking back on it i could have phrased it better, i’m not going to deny that, but pinpointing my one opinion out of the hundreds of others that were objectively far more controversial than mine and crucifying me for it is uncalled for. you guys know very well that i do not have the time or energy to sift through random people’s blogs to look for minors. every once in a while i glance at the notes of shit posts that happen to be on my dash and i’d be a bit startled at finding a minor in them because i still do think you should at least try to catch minors who interact with shit posts because that’s the easiest way to find them. but i was working at a medium sized firm for a year and a half at the time of the post and i am currently in law school, i do not have the time to be psychotic about people’s likes and interaction, and even if i did have the time?? i’ve always gotten incredible interaction from y’all lmfao, imposing the idea that i’m jealous is entirely inane. i do still stand by the fact that my words were twisted, i was made out, more than once and by more than one person after the next bullet point's events, to have been some psycho that stalks peoples’ posts for excuses as to why they get interaction when that is simply not the case.

regardless, after this incident, anantaru made a vague post that was almost directly quoting my tags from the reblog and was thus sent to me because many shared mutuals put together that it was about my tags. this was upsetting for multiple reasons 1) i had blocked anantaru by this point so i felt a bit violated that i was being vagued for something by someone that i blocked. 2) i started getting hate anons en masse after it, some of which were very unnecessarily explicit. needless to say, i was very upset and made a subpost on my main account after noticing i’ve been blocked on ao3 because 1) i was already upset and i didn’t even know why anantaru seemed to have it out for me much less go to the point of blocking on ao3 which leads into my next point and 2) i thought it was a bit ridiculous because the only thing blocking on ao3 stops is people from commenting on posts and i clearly was not going to comment on a post of someone who i was not on good terms with. reasoning aside, anantaru can block who they want and i was out of line for making comments about that in particular. i’ll admit that, and apologize for it.

a screenshot was taken from my personal—not a good moment for me, obviously, but anantaru claimed in their post that it was about them with no evidence. i dmed them about this in particular because i was genuinely confused, we spoke about it, i offered them proof that it was not them because i had a discussion about this post with a close friend at the time of posting it and they believed me. i will attach screenshots below (cropped because there's no reason to attach the whole conversation) because i feel as if this accusation was rather extreme and i wish it would’ve been removed because it was obviously not my best moment. an explanation for the post itself, i was upset over plagiarism accusations regarding something i put my heart and soul into and then seeing the same person that made them consistently on my dash just straight up triggered me, for lack of a better word lol, so i made a vent on my personal. how it got misconstrued as to be anything about anantaru is baffling to me but i suppose that's a question for the subject of our next bullet point. i don’t want to go into detail about the accusations in themselves because i don’t want people to send the actual person who it’s about hate. regardless, that post was not about anantaru, i have never called them a cunt nor have i ever called them a gatekeepy cunt, though i’m beginning to think i should probably remove the word from my vocabulary atp, i use it far too flippantly. anyway, i do not know them well enough to formulate any sort of opinion like that. aside from that, in our discussion we came to an understanding over it and i wish that would have been cleared on their blog as wel. so i'll attach here (i crossed some out because i don't want to breach any boundaries regarding what anantaru might be comfortable sharing but i do think it's fair for me to want this particular point fully cleared as it was a bold accusation remaining up):

5. in our discussion, we came to realize that we have/had a shared mutual who was fostering discourse between the two of us. many of you will recognize her as audri aka alucrds, who has supposedly left tumblr by this point—i suspected this and anantaru has confirmed it while we were talking. audri was sending anantaru my posts claiming that they were about anantaru, but i will stress that the only actual discussions i ever had with anyone about anantaru was with tee and eris about that initial joke because it had upset me at the time, it never extended beyond that and it certainly was never with audri. my only conversation with audri that mentioned anantaru at all was probably around a week or so after i made the post in point 3, when audri asked me about ao3 blocking in casual conversation and i offhandedly mentioned that anantaru had blocked me on there—audri was a close friend at that point and iirc, she had actually told me right after that that anantaru had her blocked on tumblr, i had no idea that they'd been mutuals at all but either way, it was an offhanded comment that led to nowhere (or so i thought LOL). looking back on it, it was clearly her baiting me into giving her information about the post i made a week or so prior because after talking with anantaru, they explained that they got an anonymous message claiming that i was shit talking them for blocking them on ao3 and the only person that could have put together that the vent post from point 3 was about anantaru was audri herself. audri continued to evidently cherry-pick random vent posts of mine to show anantaru and claim that they were about them. why? i wish i could tell you. i considered audri a decent enough friend, and though she had her fair share of issues with mutuals and other friends of mine, i never really thought she’d stoop to this with me. but i guess there’s really no explaining people who thrive in discourse.

6. my comment in my most recent post about being harassed on ao3 and in comments and in asks was not about them at all. i thought it was very clearly about heliotropes (my dottore series) and pressure to update from certain readers, but i'm clarifying that now.

7. i never intended on directly addressing this, which is why i did not directly name anantaru in my post, if i’d known at the time that tee was going to end up addressing all of this, i would’ve just been straight up with all of it.

anyway, i think that’s all, hopefully this will be the last post for real as i am tired mentally and now i am also physically sleep deprived. i've been up since three so forgive me for typos and grammar errors. this all has gone on for over a year. sorry for all the discourse on y'all's dash, wish i could have left with a bit more grace than this. rumors have been blown out of proportions and blindly believed, things have been taken out of context, such is life. i made my fair share of mistakes on my personal blog with my vents, others have admitted and owned up to their own mistakes, some will never admit to their mistakes. such is life. it moves on, always does. i know all of y'all are smart enough to come to your own opinions.

over and out, sorry again, and logged out (hopefully for real this time),

cat

#tw discourse

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writingforstraykids · 3 months

Text

Addicted to you Chp.19

Pairing: Minchan (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 7864

Summary: Minho enjoys his time back with the boys and teasing Chan on set for Red Lights before returning home. He joins his friends for the upcoming week abroad, knowing there'll be some interviews coming up. On their flight, Chan and Minho settle some ground rules for the near time.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, crack, teasing, angst, fear of flying, anxious!min, soft!chan

Chp.18| Chp. 20

And everybody needs somebody To be right by their side Wouldn't it be amazing to find someone you're safe with? So do you wanna be my somebody? My Somebody ~ James TW

A little later, they all took their seats on the sofa in front of the TV with their food. Minho collected their first round of trash and walked over to the bin to throw it all away. On his way back, he grabbed his phone from the table and absentmindedly ran into a chair in the process. A sharp pain shot through his knee and took over his body, making him retch softly at the instant dizzy feeling. Minho gripped the table tightly and squeezed his eyes shut, cursing loudly to find some outlet for his pain. Felix and Chan jumped up and rushed to his side, bracing him. "Deep breaths," Chan said gently as Felix rubbed his lower back soothingly.

"Fuck, have I always been that clumsy?" he groaned softly and buried his face in his arm on the table. The pain was pulsing through his whole body. He was fighting the nausea from the initial impact desperately.

"You have," Seungmin answered his question with a compassionate smile.

"Do you need some ice?" Jeongin asked, already on the way to get some as Chan nodded.

"Fuck, I'm dizzy," he said quietly as he tightly held onto Chan while squeezing his eyes shut. He shivered as he felt a hard chill run through his body and bit back a pained moan.

"Sit down for a moment," Chan said, trying not to sound too worried. He guided him onto a chair carefully. He and Felix stayed by Minho’s side until Minho could see clearly and was in minimal pain.

Once he gave them the okay, they got him back to the sofa. Hyunjin and Changbin already made room for him on the longest part of the sofa. Jisung held the pillows in place until he sat down. Minho giggled at them softly. "I'm not dying, you know."

"Just a little bit," Seungmin chuckled teasingly and handed him some water. Jeongin handed Chan the icepack, and Changbin came back with a wet cloth, gently wiping Minho's face and neck to cool him down.

Chan sat down next to him and carefully pulled up his pants to check the damage. He sent Jisung to get some tape and carefully applied some when he returned. Minho looked at their shocked faces, seeing how bruised and swollen his knee was. "I told you it's fucked up," he sighed.

"No wonder you're in constant pain," Jeongin said worriedly.

"It'll get better. I just have to be careful. And stop bumping into stuff," he laughed. "Stop looking so worried! It'll be okay." They all guiltily smiled, knowing this wouldn't help Minho deal with it either. "Thank you, love," he said once Chan was done and placed the icepack on top of his knee after pulling his pants back down.

Chan sat down behind him, letting him rest against his chest, and wrapped his arms around his stomach. The rest settled down as well and Felix started the movie. Minho started eating and fed Chan, giving him half of his food. He ate slowly to pace himself, but nevertheless, he soon started feeling too full. Chan noticed and gently rubbed his stomach, not commenting on it. Minho relaxed into his touch and continued feeding him for now.

Once they were done eating, Felix curled up on Changbin's lap, holding hands with Hyunjin, who had Jisung cuddling to his side. Jeongin had Seungmin on his lap and mindlessly ghosted his fingers over his thighs.

Chan glanced around the room and raised his eyebrow in curiosity. "Is this new, or have I been blind?" Chan asked Minho in his ear, only for him to hear.

Minho glanced at their friends before smirking. "You've been blind as fuck, apparently."

"Probably because I only have eyes for you," he whispered, and Minho blushed.

"That's a lie. You didn't even notice when I was avoiding you," he told him.

"Well, who do you think I was thinking about, huh?" he giggled quietly and took Minho's hand.

"Dumbass," he said fondly and looked down as Chan subconsciously started fondling the ring on his finger. The bracelet was shimmering around his wrist as well. He smiled softly and brought their hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "I love you, Channie."

"I love you too, kitten," he said absentmindedly. Minho turned a little, meeting his eyes. There was a low cloud of lust in his eyes. "What?" he asked, smiling at his loving gaze.

"Nothing," he smiled before shifting sideways. Chan leaned down, getting the message, and their lips met for a sweet kiss. Minho's hand rested on Chan's cheek as he kissed him sweetly.

"Guys seriously, get a room!" Hyunjin snapped, and Minho pulled away from Chan, only to realize he didn't even mean them. He was talking to Felix, who was smiling blissfully as Changbin kissed his neck, one of his hands creeping beneath his shirt. He was also talking to Seungmin, who was now straddling Jeongin's lap and kissing the younger male passionately.

Chan raised his eyebrows as he noticed what Hyunjin meant. Seungmin suddenly moaned as Jeongin made him grind down on his lap. "Chan!" Hyunjin protested.

"What?! I didn't do anything?" he laughed.

"I think that's the point, darling," Minho chuckled. "Seungmin, Jeongin, off you go. Not on my sofa!" he told them. Their maknae rolled his eyes at him but quickly got up, Seungmin following closely behind. He glanced over at Changbin and Felix and raised his eyebrows at them. "You two as well, go get a room. Everyone knowing about each other’s relationships doesn't mean we'll start having sex parties in our living room. I paid for half of the furniture in here so if someone ruins it, it will be me."

Chan's eyes widened. "Minho," he chuckled. Felix pouted at them.

"I mean it. Watch the movie or do whatever or whoever you want behind closed doors," Minho shook his head and waved them off, focusing back on the tv.

Suddenly, only half of them were left. Minho comfortably leaned back against Chan once more.

"I missed you, Minho hyung," Jisung laughed. "Not on my sofa!"

Minho threw a pillow at him. "Just because you can't tell them to fuck off," he giggled and rolled his eyes as he heard two doors upstairs fell closed. "Great, they found it," he said before turning up the volume, making Hyunjin and Jisung laugh.

Chan snorted softly. "Gosh, I love you."

"I know you do," he smirked, focusing on the movie again. He smiled softly as Chan intertwined their fingers and cuddled into him once again. After a while, Minho turned to look at him. "How do cuddles and kisses sound once we're done here?" he asked quietly, watching Chan's face break into a beautiful smile.

"That sounds perfect," he whispered back almost immediately. Minho was once more reminded of how cuddly his boyfriend was.

"You're so cute," he whispered lovingly and poked the sweet dimples appearing as Chan's smile widened shyly.

"Stop it, or Hyunjin will ban us to our room for being too loving," he giggled quietly.

"He won't do shit. This is still my sofa," he joked back, and Chan laughed out loud.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes at him as Chan contorted his face apologetically. "Honestly, we're the only ones watching this movie," he said to Jisung, but didn’t get an answer back. He looked down curiously, realizing he had fallen asleep in his arms. He groaned softly, not wanting to wake him. "Seriously?"

Chan and Minho’s laughter sounded in the air, the two unable to hold themselves back anymore. "I'm sorry," Chan pressed out between laughter, and Minho smacked his chest.

Hyunjin looked over at them before laughing as well, realizing the evening had been a ridiculous joke. "I'll bring him to bed. You two have fun," he chuckled and gently scooped him up.

Minho waved him goodbye before turning back to the tv and yawning softly. "What the hell are we watching anyways?" he asked once Hyunjin and Jisung were upstairs.

"I have no idea. I didn't get the plot," Chan admitted.

"Seriously, what is this?" Minho laughed and took a look at the time. "They want to make sense of that in ten minutes? I don't think so." They glanced at each other before watching the rest in silence. Once the movie ended, Minho shook his head. "Told you."

"It kinda makes sense, though," Chan said.

"How does that make any sense? Stop making shit up," he giggled, and Chan laughed, defeated.

"Fine, I didn't get it either," he admitted.

"Such a waste of my time," he rolled his eyes and turned off the TV. "Who picked that one?"

"No idea…But it probably wasn't about the movie for most of them," he pointed out.

"That's some move. Turn on a shitty movie so your lover/boyfriend will start entertaining you instead," Minho said. There was a silly sinister undertone in his words, and it did not go unnoticed by his lover.

"Why do you sound so proud?" he laughed.

"I raised them too well sometimes," he smirked. He suddenly squirmed as Chan tickled his sides. "Channie, don't," he giggled.

"Let's go and cuddle?" he asked sweetly, and Minho nodded. Chan got up, and Minho made grabby hands toward him, giggling as Chan lifted him up instead. They began their journey upstairs. "How's your knee?" he asked gently as he walked upstairs.

"Feels a lot better now than when I ran into that stupid chair," he told him.

"That's good," he said, relieved. "You should probably let one of the doctors look at it again before you return home."

"Yeah, probably," Minho agreed and reached down to open the door as Chan struggled to do so, still carrying him. They got changed, and Minho stole some clothes from Chan. He got comfortable in bed and turned onto his side, Chan doing the same, facing him. They gazed at each other, entangled their legs, and scooted closer. "Thank you." Minho spoke softly.

"For what?" Chan asked, a little confused.

"For being there for me today. For taking care of me. For openly showing you love me in front of our friends," he told him, his soft expression making him look very vulnerable. "For being my home and safe place."

"Minho," he said softly and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. "That's what I should've been doing from the start. I should be the one thanking you for giving me another chance to love you again."

"It's my honor," he joked lightheartedly and winked at him.

Chan giggled and brought their hands up to his face, kissing his knuckles. "I never thanked you."

"For what?" he asked, rubbing mindless patterns on the back of his hand with his thumb.

"For saving my life," Chan answered, growing serious. "I don't know if I can ever thank you for that."

"Channie," Minho shook his head. "You still being here today is all I could ask for...I don't know what I would've done if…"

"You're strong, Minho. You would've pulled through," he said.

"I don't want to be strong, Chan. I want to be happy and whole with you by my side," he said, searching his eyes. "You get that?"

Chan nodded bravely and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, I was stupid."

"Don't you dare ever try to leave me behind again," he said, soft but firmly. Chan's eyes filled with tears as he firmly shook his head.

"I won't, I promise," he pressed out, and big tears trailed their way down his cheeks. He tried to swallow down his tears, but Minho's gentle expression made him hesitate.

"Let it out for once, you big idiot," he said fondly, pulling him against his chest. Chan hid his face in his chest as a sob shook his body. Minho's comforting and firm hold on him tightened at that broken sound. "I got you, Channie love," he promised and kissed his hair repeatedly. "I got you."

"Sometimes I still feel like I'll just fall apart again," he whimpered into his chest. "What if you're not there to stop me then?"

Minho's heart sank, and a wave of panic crept inside him, making him suck in a sharp breath. "Chan," he said shakily and hugged him tight. "I love you. So much. But that's a responsibility I can't take."

"I know," he sniffled.

"Baby, you need help. I can hold your hand along the way. But I can't be the one pushing you over every hurdle," Minho told him. "I can't, especially not right now."

Chan remained silent for a little too long before speaking up again. "When you saw your therapist yesterday morning, I made an appointment with someone not far from here. I know I need to work through this, and I can't dump it all on you."

"You did?" he asked, surprised and feeling a large weight leave his shoulders. "Channie, I'm so proud of you," he said softly, kissing his head.

"I won't lose you again, Minho, I'll fight for us…and I won't put you at risk of losing me for good," Chan told him and curled up against him.

"We'll get through our shit together," Minho told him, and Chan squeezed him agreeingly. "Sounds like a plan."

Chan spoke up after a while again. "Did I ever tell you how happy I am that we got you back?"

"Only a thousand times," Minho joked lovingly.

"I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else by my side," he told him.

"Of course not, I'm amazing," he joked. Chan groaned softly.

"Fuck you," he giggled and buried his nose in his neck. "But you're right. You are amazing."

"Not really, but thanks," Minho said and ran his hand through his curls. "You're my favorite Stay, always hyping me up," he giggled.

"You're an idiot," he said fondly and pulled back. "But you're my idiot." He kissed him lovingly. They got lost in kisses for the next few minutes.

Minho was starting to get tired and pulled back after a while. "Are you tired yet, Channie love?"

"Thought you'd never ask," he giggled. Minho rolled his eyes softly. They pulled each other close beneath the blanket and soon fell asleep.

The next morning, Minho was up before everyone else, a few sun rays caressing his skin. He yawned as his eyes opened and looked at his sleeping lover. After marveling at how beautiful Chan was in his sleep for another half an hour, he decided to get up. Downstairs, he started preparing breakfast for everyone, knowing they'd appear from their rooms as soon as the smell traveled through the house. Minho smiled softly as someone wrapped their arms around him from behind, planting a soft, tiny kiss on the back of his neck.

"Missed you," Chan mumbled and tiredly buried his face in his neck.

"I was gone for twenty minutes, love," he giggled.

"Got cold," he complained.

"What did you do without me, huh?" he teased him and reached back, ruffling through his hair.

"Shivered all alone in my bed. That's why I never sleep," Chan gave back, tired enough to tease him back with even bigger bullshit. Minho laughed out loud, and Chan covered his mouth. "Shh, the kids are still sleeping."

Minho kissed the palm of his hand, and Chan pulled it back, giggling. He turned in his arms and wrapped his arms around his neck, brushing their noses together. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, baby," he smiled sweetly and kissed his nose. "So so much."

"God, you're disgusting," Seungmin groaned and sat down at the table.

"You're one to talk after last night. On the sofa," Chan fired back with a playful glare.

"Disgustingly cute, fine," he rolled his eyes.

"Shall I remind you of what happened on that table over there?" Minho asked him quietly and smirked, amused as Chan blushed heavily.

"Stop being such a tease!" Seungmin protested loudly. They glanced over to see Jeongin hugging him from behind, one hand disappearing beneath the table.

"Huh, yesterday you didn't mind," he shrugged.

"Give him a break," Felix said as he strolled in, Changbin right behind him.

"I bet you had your fun last night. Now behave at least for breakfast," Hyunjin groaned softly, appearing from the living room.

The kitchen was more alive than ever in a span of seconds. But…someone was missing. "Where's Hannie?" Minho stopped them all from bickering.

"Doesn't feel like company," Hyunjin shrugged.

Minho frowned softly and grabbed a plate, filling it with some food. "You all start without us, alright?"

"There he goes, our ever-caring mum," Changbin grinned.

Minho rolled his eyes at him and giggled as Chan punched Changbin’s arm. "Behave." Making his way upstairs with food in hand, he gently knocked on Jisung's bedroom door before stepping inside. "Hungry?" he asked and held up the plate.

Jisung smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah."

Minho gently closed the door behind himself and sat down at the edge of the bed, handing him his plate. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just in a bad mood," he told him and sighed softly. "I don't even know why."

"That happens," he nodded and gently rubbed his back. "You're sure you don't want to join us downstairs? Chan said something about ordering cheesecake."

Jisung glanced at him. "No, he didn't. You'll just tell him to do so when we're downstairs," he giggled.

Minho playfully rolled his eyes. "Fine, you caught me. I'll order it myself this time."

He chuckled softly and chewed on his lower lip. "I'll just spoil the mood, won't I?"

"Oh, please, it can't be as bad as Chan and I the last couple of weeks," he laughed, and Jisung grinned. "You'd be missed down there, you know?"

Jisung nodded gently. "Okay…and you'll actually get cheesecake?"

"Absolutely," he winked at him and ruffled his hair as Jisung hugged him tightly. "Now, come on, Jisungie."

Once they made it downstairs, Minho sat down beside Chan with Jisung on his other side and smiled softly, seeing that Chan had already filled his plate. "Thanks, love."

"Of course. You know how they are," Chan laughed before leaning forward and looking at Jisung. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just in a bad mood for no reason," he nodded.

"Happens to the best of us. Cheesecake?" Chan offered. Jisung started laughing, to Chan’s surprise.

"I swear you two are sharing a brain sometimes," he told him.

"You had the same idea?" Chan asked, giggling, and Minho nodded.

"Ji, you want to help me bake some later?" Felix asked. Jisung smiled at him gently and nodded. Everyone took a moment to eat and enjoy each other’s company.

"When do we have to leave again?" Hyunjin asked.

"At 9, so in an hour," Chan told him for the tenth time this week. "Still feeling up for this?" he asked Minho gently.

"Sure, that's what I came for in the first place," he chuckled. Chan wrapped his arm around him, kissing his temple gently.

Minho was very excited to be back on set again without having to exert himself for the sake of the group. He watched their stylists get Chan and Hyunjin dressed, and couldn’t help but secretly drool about the outfits they had planned for his love. They showed him the choreography they had worked out with Felix, and Minho made some adjustments. Nothing amused him as much as showing Hyunjin how to grab Chan’s neck and feeling him gulp against his hand, subconsciously leaning into his grip a little. Minho decided to make a mental note of that for later and assisted them throughout the day.

Everyone seemed glad to have him there. There was a moment Hyunjin seemed a little nervous until Minho told him to calm down, assuring him that it was completely fine touching Chan like that. He got them dinner later, teasing them the entire journey back home. Only an hour later, their staff sent them the video. Of course everyone wanted to see it. Chan and Hyunjin sank deeper into the pillows with every teasing comment or proud smirk of their partners.

Needless to say, Minho got a lot of kisses later once Chan finally had enough of all the teasing.

Minho giggled softly as Chan’s lips traveled down his neck, hands gripping his hips. He buried his hand in his hair and sighed softly, leaning against the kitchen counter, completely forgetting about their lunch in preparation. “Channie, come on. They’ll be back home soon,” he chuckled, and the front door opened.

“Chan hyung, stop distracting him. We’d actually like to eat, please!” Jeongin whined protestingly.

Chan smirked, turning around with Minho in his hold to face their friends. “Shut up, the grown-ups are talking,” he told him, planting another kiss on the back of his neck.

“Doesn’t look like talking to me,” Hyunjin commented dryly and made his way to the fridge. “Need any help, Minho?”

“With escaping my boyfriend?” he asked, laughing, and Chan made a protesting sound. “You guys could set the table. I’ll be done in a minute,” he said before turning and kissing Chan very softly on the lips. “I love you, now move.”

“Idiots,” Changbin muttered under his breath as he entered the kitchen. He lifted the lid of the pot, but cursed loudly as he burned himself.

“Who’s the idiot now?” Seungmin laughed.

“Are you okay, babe?” Felix asked worriedly as Changbin continued cursing.

Minho rolled his eyes and gently pushed him to the sink. “Pour some cold water over it. I told you a million times not to do that.”

“Yeah, why won’t you listen to Mum?” Jeongin asked, grinning.

Minho turned around slowly and blinked at him. “If you don’t stop that, I will pluck you. I’m starting to think you have a kink,” he warned him.

“Maybe I do?” he teased back.

“Ey!” Chan protested loudly. “Just because you guys share each other, doesn’t mean I’ll share Minho with you.”

“You already did, with Felix,” Hyunjin pointed out.

“Oh my god, can we eat?!” Jisung chimed in, banging his head on the table.

Minho gently patted his shoulder and watched them all bicker, very amused. No matter how insane they were, this was his family. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

A few days later, Minho pulled his suitcase after him and readjusted his mask before entering the airport. Spending time at home had lightened his mood, but now he suddenly felt sick. He didn't know if it was the flight he'd have to take in a bit or the fact that he’d be back in public again. What seemed like a fun idea only a week ago now felt like their worst possible situation. He’d have to open up for their first scheduled interview. He could only pray that there’d be no more questions about him and Chan. He subtly shoved his hand into his jacket, pressing it against his stomach and taking a deep breath as he spotted the others.

There stood Felix and Seungmin, Jisung in their middle who, to his trained eyes, seemed to be shaking already from the amount of people around them. Jeongin and Hyunjin stood behind them, looking at something on one of their phones. Changbin waved to a fan nearby whilst Chan was doing a headcount. Of course. Minho made his way through the cameras and crowd around them, keeping his head low, hoping not to get recognized quickly. Shortly before he reached them, someone suddenly took a picture of him, and the bright light in front of his face made him go blind for a moment. He looked up and realized he was already cut off from the rest. "Excuse me," he said repeatedly as he tried to make his way through the crowd.

Suddenly, Chan was next to him and handed his suitcase to Felix before pulling him closer to the rest. "Welcome back," he said.

"I miss home already," Minho answered, and they both laughed.

"Welcome to your crazy home, in that case," he grinned before the others all welcomed Minho with hugs. Minho smiled softly. Welcome to your crazy home, indeed. The group made their way through the halls, making small talk.

But Minho couldn’t shake this feeling looming over him. It was like the closer they got to their plane, the more nervous he became. His passport and ticket almost slipped from his hands as he lined up with the rest, and he took deep breaths to calm himself. Once he was through passport control, nausea was creeping up his chest and throat. He looked around, searching for someone to stick to in case his fear got the better of him. Everyone seemed to be talking to someone, and even Jisung looked a lot calmer now that they were practically alone again. Before he realized it, he was next to Chan, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. "Hyung?" he asked quietly.

Chan frowned softly when someone tugged at his jacket and turned around slightly, meeting Minho's wide, dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, not quite picking up on it yet. He shook his head and exhaled shakily, gripping onto Chan's arm. Chan gently pulled off Minho's mask and immediately noticed his trembling lower lip and how pale he was. "Hand?" he asked, finally realizing what was going on, and Minho nodded. Chan gently grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. "Deep breaths. I’m right there with you the whole time, okay?" Minho nodded again and subconsciously stepped even closer to him. Chan soothingly rubbed his thumb over the palm of his hand. "Tell me about home, how are your cats doing?"

Minho's eyes lit up a little as he started talking about his three babies. "They really loved that ball you bought for them, by the way," he told him.

"Oh really?" Chan giggled and pulled Minho with him towards the entrance to their plane. "I hope you took a video. We forgot to show them when I was there."

"Of course I did," he assured him and didn't fully notice Chan leading him into the plane until he saw the crew waiting for them. "Chan?" he asked timidly.

"I'm here," he promised, leading him to his seat. He made sure Minho sat down and fastened the seatbelt for him before stepping away from him toward his own seat at the other side's window.

Minho once again grabbed his sleeve and held him back. "Channie?"

Chan stopped at the soft-spoken nickname and sat down in the seat next to him. He looked at him questioningly as Minho's ears burned up in embarrassment as he searched for words. "Do you want me to ask Felix to swap places?"

Minho nodded timidly. "I'm not…I don't want to worry him. You've seen how intense my fear of heights can get-."

"I'll tell him," he nodded calmingly and got up, walking into the front to Felix, who was still talking to Hyunjin. Only a little later, he was next to Minho and held his hand like he did before. He tried to ignore the curious looks of their friends and focus on Minho, who seemed to be trying to do the same. Once the pilot announced their takeoff, Minho turned awfully pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. Chan pushed up the armrest between their seats and wrapped his right arm around Minho, who sank into his hold.

Minho reached for his unoccupied hand and held on tight, squeezing his eyes shut as the plane started moving. "How was everything while I was gone?" he asked to distract himself.

"We missed you," Chan told him, not knowing how warm he made the younger one feel with his use of 'we'. "I especially missed you during dance practice," he admitted, laughing.

"What happened?" he chuckled. When he left, he thought they were all doing great.

"Apparently, they're still confused when their main dancer is missing. They can fill in each other's spots effortlessly but not yours," he explained and bit back a giggle as the plane took off and Minho's grip on him got tighter. He soothingly rubbed his back and rested his head against his. "It was very chaotic, and I gave up after a while."

"Our leader gave up? No wonder it was chaotic," Minho said, pressing his lips together tightly as the plane went higher and higher. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on Chan only: how his natural scent surrounded him, how his body felt against his, how his calm voice lulled him in.

"I may be our leader, but there's a reason you're the main dancer. Luckily, you're not only the second oldest but also very talented. Which means they respect your opinion," Chan went on, knowing Minho needed to be kept busy during the takeoff. "We both know how quickly they adapt to what you tell them during practice."

"Okay, I may see the issue here," he agreed, chuckling. "What exactly is our schedule for next week?"

"Tomorrow we have several interviews. Tuesday we'll be on a radio show. Wednesday a group interview and some games on a TV show. Thursday is our day off. Friday we have a small performance on TV, I think…and the weekend is free again," Chan told him. "We'll see how you're feeling by Friday and decide on a dance you'll manage."

"It'll be fine no matter what we do. I can rest all week, i'm sure it won't take that long for me to recover," he said hopefully. The plane slowly stabilized, and Minho pulled back, exhaling softly. "I still don't know what's worse, going up higher and higher or the landing where I feel like we're about to crash."

Chan pulled his arm back and laughed gently. "Both sound awful when you put it like that."

"Welcome to my world," he laughed and nervously fidgeted with his trousers. He didn't think twice when Chan offered him his hand again and took it, automatically intertwining their fingers. "Thanks," he said softly and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Of course," he nodded and shifted a little in his seat to face him. Minho frowned but did the same to see what he was up to now. "Can I tell you everything that's been on my mind since what happened before we left your parents’ place?"

His eyes widened at his words. "Chan," Minho sighed. "This really isn't the time or place."

"You don't have to say anything, just listen. I had time to think this through while you were gone, and I realized how much I fucked up. I want to make this right, and I need you to know that," Chan told him.

"I told you, it’s fine. I don’t know why I panicked like that, but I’m sorry," he tried, but Chan seemed to be convinced this was the perfect moment to be vulnerable. "There's staff around."

"I don't care," he shrugged, ignoring Minho's scolding look.

"We'll just worry everyone if we keep whispering like this," he tried weakly. But Chan shrugged his shoulders again.

"We already did, they’ll manage," he said stubbornly and took hold of Minho's second hand as well. "Just give me a minute."

"Oh, for fucks sake. You'll do it anyway, so get on with it," he gave in and braced himself for whatever he was about to hear.

“I know it was my idea to go to that hotel room, and we should’ve probably stayed for the night instead of leaving after a few hours,” he told him. Minho nodded agreeingly. “And I didn’t care so much what they were writing about me because I know none of that is true.”

“Uhuh,” Minho tilted his head at him, growing a little confused.

“I know you’re having trouble trusting yourself right now,” he said, and Minho straightened up a little. “So when some of those articles popped up, I got scared you’d make that your new reality.”

“Come on, I might be anxious, but I’m not delusional,” he sighed.

“You tend to believe shit when you’re anxious, and the fact that you started to panic after reading the headlines tells me everything I need to know,” Chan pointed out gently, and Minho nodded slowly.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed softly. “But Chan, I’m trying not to care about it anymore. I might differ from you on that point, but if someone asks me if I have a boyfriend, I'd say yes without hesitation. No matter where you go, there's always someone who won't approve of it. And I stopped caring about it. I’m not ashamed. Our friends would deny themselves if they wouldn’t support us publicly, and I know I’m ready if we slip up."

"That might've worked in high school, but we're idols now. They'll destroy everything we’ve worked for," he reasoned.

"Let them," Minho spat out and let go of Chan's hands. "I want to be happy and proud of who I am, and of who I’m dating. If my job restricts me from being happy, I don't want it."

"You can't possibly mean that," Chan said quietly and felt the eyes of the others resting on them with every passing minute.

Minho leaned towards him and tapped his forehead at him. "This industry fucks people up, one after another, for reasons like this. Hannie suffers from panic attacks weekly because he gets forced into crowds. Felix gets hate for being too bubbly and happy. Changbin's too loud. Seungmin's too sassy. And Jeongin can't find the balance between being the baby everyone wants to see and finally growing up. We almost lost Hyunjin before. I literally destroyed my body and mental health to not disappoint on stage, and don't get me started on you because that night a few months ago should answer that."

"So you want us to quit, is that it?" Chan asked, irritated. His stubbornness made him miss the point completely.

"Listen to me, smartass. You've been in this industry the longest, you know how it is. I'm not saying we should quit because as long as we have each other's back, we're stronger than all this shit. But I need you to have my back too in order for this to work," he told him firmly. “You keep on telling me not to listen to what the public says about me. Over and over again. You became my safe place a long time ago, Channie hyung. Let me be yours for once, and trust me with this.”

"I want nothing else more than that," he whispered honestly, suddenly remembering where they were. "But I'm scared we'll destroy everything, Minnie. I don't know if it would be wise to rush things like this now. We just figured it out for ourselves. I don’t think I’m ready to announce we’re boyfriends yet."

Minho shook his head and gently caressed his cheeks. "No rush. We'll take things one step at a time," he promised and searched his eyes. "Give me a chance to make you happy and be honest if someone finds out. That's all I want."

Chan didn't answer but leaned forward, burying his face in his chest, and tightly wrapped his arms around him. "Promise?" he asked softly.

"I promise," Minho answered just as softly and lovingly caressed his hair. He buried his face in Chan’s soft curls and closed his eyes.

They stayed like that for a long while, enjoying each other’s embrace. Finally, looking up, they noticed their friends staring at them more or less subtly. "Fucks sake," Chan laughed.

"Let them be," Minho laughed and exhaled deeply. He met Felix's questioning eyes and flashed him a reassuring smile. Only seconds later, they all joined them in the back.

"Are you two okay?" Hyunjin spoke up after a moment. Minho glanced at Chan, who was holding his hand again.

"We're working on it because there are still things we don’t know how to handle in public," Chan answered, and he simply nodded agreeingly.

"Oh, thank God. I thought we had to deal with Chan being a pain in our ass again," Changbin sighed and ignored the glare he got from their leader.

Jisung hummed, agreeing. "We had to do all the work because he couldn't focus."

"Will you two shut up now?" Chan protested as the rest started laughing at him.

"You should've seen him," Felix winked at Minho.

"How cute," Minho chuckled and teasingly pinched his side. "I was gone for a few days. I really thought you could cope without me." Chan rolled his eyes at him before placing two fingers beneath his chin and making him look at him again. The mischievous look in his eyes made Minho's stomach flutter. "Channie, no-" he started to protest but got cut off by Chan's lips meeting his.

Chan kissed him sweetly, knowing how to distract his lover with ease. He pulled back and raised his eyebrows at him. "You were saying?"

Minho cleared his throat and blushed deeply, but couldn't wipe off that stupid smile from his lips. "I think I forgot."

"You're disgustingly cute," Changbin said, smacking Hyunjin's arm, who rolled his eyes.

"A little risky but cute," Felix agreed, anxiously glancing back at their staff.

"Relax, they're all sleeping," Seungmin shrugged.

“How will you deal with all the rumors?” Jeongin asked curiously. “I mean, Minho hyung will get loads of questions about that break anyway, but…”

"As soon as we show our fans that new performance, there'll be enough rumors about us all that’ll spark just by looking at each other," Chan shrugged. It was Minho’s turn to smack his arm, thinking of the reactions to come.

"That's what you get for letting Danceracha come up with new dances," Jisung grinned.

"Lots of rumors," Changbin nodded.

"Lots of edits," Chan added.

"Lots of attention, which is what we all want for the group. So shut up," Felix laughed. Minho winked at him thankfully.

Chan opened the door to their hotel room and held it open for Minho as well. They took off their jackets and shoes before walking into the main room. Minho turned on the lights and glanced around the room. There was a table at the window, which would soon be transformed into Chan's working space, a huge bed, and a TV. Minho sighed softly and sat on the floor with his suitcase, starting to unpack his stuff. Chan mumbled about going to take a shower.

Once he had stored everything away, he changed into more comfortable clothes and sat down at the edge of the bed. He carefully pulled up his sweatpants to check on his knee and contorted his face at the sight of it. The bruise was slowly fading away, but it was still swollen. "Fuck," he breathed out and gently eased the fabric of his sweatpants back down. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking of their schedule. Five days until he'd have to dance again. Maybe only three to rest his knee, depending on the games they'd have to play. He still needed to walk everyday. That didn't sound all too good, in his opinion. Maybe he’d have to talk to Chan about that.

"You’re okay?" Chan asked, chuckling to himself as he stepped out of the bathroom and spotted him staring at nothing.

Minho pushed himself up on his elbows and started to answer his question, but completely lost his train of thought seeing him. Chan was only wearing a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair wet and slightly curling from the heat in the bathroom. "Yeah, I'm okay," he finally answered, trying his hardest not to stare at his hyung's trained body.

"How's your knee?" he asked as he walked to his suitcase and pulled out some pants and a shirt.

His toned back teasing Minho as he watched him, trying to find words. "Much better," he lied and mentally slapped himself for it.

"Oh yeah? That's good to hear," Chan smiled before turning around and taking a closer look at his face. He bit back a smile as he spoke. "You're lying, aren't you? Your ears are getting all red, and you always try to sweet talk me when you are."

Minho rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the mattress, knowing he was caught. "Fine, it got a little better…the bruise is fading, at least." He looked up as the mattress next to him dipped beneath Chan's weight.

"It's still swollen?" he asked, and Minho simply nodded. "Does it still hurt?"

"Walking is alright. Stairs are a bitch, but when aren't they? I don't think dancing will be much better. I haven't done it since I started my break," he spoke truthfully.

"Shit, do you think it'll get better before we go on tour in a month?" he asked worriedly.

"I don't know, Chan. I guess that depends on how much I have to do before then. Maybe it's my turn to sit in a chair and sing my parts, and hope to keep myself entertained," he sighed and tried really hard to look into Chan's eyes and nothing below. "Are you gonna walk around like that the whole week?" he suddenly asked.

Chan glanced down at himself before raising an eyebrow at him. "Would that be a problem?"

"It's a bit distracting, to be honest," Minho admitted and tilted his head at him.

"Really? You never seemed to mind before," Chan teased and leaned above him a little, his hair falling into his face in the process.

"Well, usually it doesn’t just stop there. So, of course I didn't," he snorted, sinking into Chan's sweet eyes.

"That's what's bothering you? The towel?" he asked giggling.

"Now you're just being a tease," he rolled his eyes and hooked his finger underneath the towel bunched up at his waist, pulling him towards himself. "Or maybe that's what you wanted all along, walking around like that."

Chan climbed onto his lap and braced himself next to his head. "Would that be an issue?" he asked teasingly.

Minho smirked, knowing he had him where he wanted him. He teasingly brushed his hand down Chan's bare back and connected their lips. Their kiss turned passionate, and Minho grabbed Chan's bum, making him grind against his thigh. Chan moaned softly into the kiss and tangled his hand in his hair. He let him repeat the movement a few times, loving how worked up he suddenly sounded. Minho smirked and pulled back, gently shoving him off. "I think I could use a shower," he announced, hopping off the bed.

Chan stared at him in shock before realizing he had only received his teasing right back. "Unbelievable," he groaned.

"Now get dressed, you tease. I thought you didn't want to rush things?" he asked, grinning, and closed the door to the bathroom.

“I wasn’t talking about - Minho!” Chan protested, but couldn’t help the chuckle that left his chest.

He met his own reflection in the mirror, and for the first time in a while, his smile seemed genuine. The fact that Chan couldn’t seem to stay away from him since they talked it out definitely helped restore his anxious heart and thoughts.

Chan rubbed his face and shook his head at himself before chuckling. Of course, Minho wouldn't let him get away with being a tease like that.

Shortly after, they both got ready for their dinner in town with the others. Minho was about to leave their room when Chan pulled him back. "Can I kiss you?" he asked softly.

"What?" he giggled softly and searched his eyes, wondering if he was joking.

"I won't be able to all evening," Chan explained, gently cupping his face. "And you look too handsome not to."

Minho blushed before grabbing his neck and pulling him in. Their lips met in a deep, but gentle kiss, and Minho sighed sweetly at the feeling. He had missed their little moments like these. "Better?" he asked, chuckling as he pulled back.

"Almost," Chan smiled before kissing him again.

"Cheesy," he whispered, brushing his thumb over his neck. Minho rested his forehead against Chan's as he grabbed his waist. "We're gonna be late, come on, love."

Chan wrapped his arms around him from the back and rested his head on his shoulder, still smiling as they were already out in the hallway. "I missed that, you know."

Minho snorted softly and gently put his hands onto Chan's, intertwining their fingers smoothly. "I missed you too, my touchy baby." Chan pressed a kiss on the back of his neck and smiled as Minho melted back into him. "Some things never change."

"It's been a few days, Channie," he groaned. He flinched hard as Changbin suddenly shouted their names. Even Chan let go of him and turned around to find the source.

"I knew you two would be an issue," he groaned. "Asking us to be discreet," he rolled his eyes.

Felix giggled, delighted by the scene unfolding in front of his eyes. He gently patted Changbin's arm. "Let them live a little, Changbinnie."

He glanced at Felix a little doubtfully but relaxed, looking into his kind, bright eyes. "Fine, if you say so."

"You handle him well these days," Minho winked at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Changbin asked.

“How did I never notice them being a couple?” Chan asked, watching them with squinted eyes.

"Discretion, my love," Minho smiled knowingly.

"I told him the day we got together," Felix admitted.

"Wait, what?" Changbin asked, surprised.

"I got scared of the possible consequences. Minho seemed like the right person to talk to," he told them, giggling at their confused expressions. "That's also how we came up with that dance once you and Min were a thing."

"Oh, you're such a tease," Changbin laughed.

"Sounds familiar?" Minho smirked at Chan, who was still looking at them suspiciously.

"I can't believe you two have been gossiping behind our backs. Felix, out of everyone," Chan said playfully, hurt.

"Don't think we didn't talk about what you two did back at his parents’ home," Felix grinned and took hold of Minho's arm. "Let's go and grab dinner."

Minho giggled and followed along as Chan and Changbin exchanged a shocked look. "I'm surprised you two haven't been talking about it. You spend all that time together."

"Yeah sure, and traumatize Hannie with our love lives," Changbin said.

"Excuse me, what?" Jisung asked, who just happened to step out of his room.

"Oh fuck me," Chan groaned, switching to English.

"Not now, love," Minho said cheerfully, making Felix laugh.

"Hey, what did I miss now?" Jisung spoke up with wide eyes. His friends filled him in, and he simply rolled his eyes. "You're not that subtle, you know. Why do you think Jeongin asked you about Minho hyung? You and Felix weren’t a surprise either…idiots," he shook his head before joining Minho and Felix, who couldn't stop laughing.

Chan exchanged a horrified look with Changbin as they followed their lovers and close friends. "We should definitely start talking about this stuff. It’s embarrassing how we didn’t pick up on this until it was too late" Changbin confessed.

Chp.18| Chp. 20

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what-the--curtains · 1 year

Text

Fire & Ice

Chapter 3 - Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon

(Robb Stark x f!Targaryen!Reader)

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Summary: A strategy meeting cements your worth to the Northmen, but a secret plot results in a trial that tests a truth you had been told your entire life.

Authors note: As usual thanks to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs you are all amazing and wonderful and I love u! If anyone wants a tag let me know!

TW: Major character death, burning alive, swearing, derogatory comments, audio/visual hallucinations

Taglist: @kittykylax @winxschester @mihrimahsultan03 @stargaryenx @the-desilittle-bird @roselibrary

Word count: 4.1k

Playlist

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You wake alone, thanking the gods that Robb had enough sense not to return during the night. The sun was rising, light seeping slowly through the deep indigo twilight that laid across the land. You shiver as you push the warmth of the furs away, clutching one around your body as you shuffle towards the hearth, dressing it the early morning hours. No handmaidens had been provided to you, not worth the expense you supposed. The hearth crackles, the heat inviting you, daring you to reach out. You knew the tales, you heard them spoken by Visery each time his rage surfaced.

Fire can not kill a dragon.

Some nights you plotted to test your theory. At first you dreamt of setting fire to Visery’s bed as he slept, but the consequences of his survival were too dire. Another test, however, was perhaps possible. You reach your hand out, quick at first but the coals stay it. Heat warming your palm, you inhale preparing to reach out when someone enters the tent. You step back, clasping your hands together. Robb’s eyes study you for a moment but his contempt saves you the embarrassment of explaining what you had been doing.

“I hope you enjoyed your night as much as I did,” he states, smug and spite forged together to form the sentence.

“I did, thank you, Your Grace. I have found nights alone are often the most pleasurable, as you are assured capable hands, and not the clumsy fumblings of unskilled fingers,” you return, now fully awake.

“For reasons beyond my comprehension, it is my mothers wish that you join this morning's strategy meeting,” He replies, not granting you the war of words you had hoped for.

“I wasn’t aware northerners allowed women in war rooms,” you mumble.

“We do not, but my mother has a proclivity for decision making and she has requested your presence so I am trapped, once again, by you both,” he relay’s listlessly.

“And you’re here to…what? Escort me?” you mock.

“It would seem improper if…” he begins, but a high pitched laugh interrupts him.

“It was improper that you refused to kiss me during our wedding. It was improper that you arrive here after sunrise, clearly having laid with another. Do not try now to lecture me on what is and is not proper,” you relay condescendingly. Robb rolls his eyes, pressing his tongue back behind his teeth “I have two feet, I have a half a brain, I will meet you in the tent,” you cut. He bows sarcastically before leaving you. The wind was colder today and it burned your face when you finally exited the tent. You look down as you start towards the war room, but a whisper on the wind turns your head towards the forest. Children's laughter echoing. You squint at the tree line trying to see if perhaps a family had wandered too close to the war's edge.

Catelynn sees you there, standing perfectly still save for the bottom of your cloak that billows in the early morning wind. “Lady Rhaeanya?” she calls stepping towards you “Lady Rhaeanya,” she beckons, louder this time.

You startle when her hand touches your back, and you turn to face her. “My Lady, shall we?” Catelynn asks, extending her arm to you.

“Apologies, I thought…” you hold your tongue as you look back over your shoulder. Madness clung to your family's lineage, rumours of your mental instability would only further Robbs' cause to be rid of you “... it seems my lack of sleep is leaving my head in the clouds,'' you reply, taking her arm.

“That is very typical after most wedding nights, it will get easier with time,” she replies.

You take note of the room's configuration as you enter, Robb’s council was smaller than you expected. A slender man with a flat face sat in the far corner, crows prepared to deliver any urgent messages. The rest of the men, burly and bearded, stood around the engraved table. You recognized the sigils; houses Umber, Bolton and Karstark. Visery stands on the other side, attempting to look deep in thought while Jorah keeps a watchful eye over him. You watch as Catelynn takes her place beside Robb at the head of the table, despite his anger at the arrangement their bond was the strongest here. You would place money that she was the only one he truly trusted. The man, around the same age as Robb, steps aside allowing you to take your place to his left. You feel the tension and annoyance seeping out of Robb at the prospect of you lurking over his shoulder.

You stare down at the table, skilled hands had taken care to recreate the topography of Westeros. Every hill and mountain expertly carved, each tree detailed and purposeful. Wood figurines are scattered across it, allies and enemies of the North. You ponder whether the dragon figure had been lost to the world or simply destroyed. You study the table, linking its form to the books you had read on your journey over, searching for an angle. You always had a proclivity for memorization, it was time to put it to use. Recent arrival of news had shifted the Lannisters further down a shallow valley, one easy enough to cross by foot. So why hadn’t they?

“When was this table made?” you question, causing the murmuring men to look at you.

“Long ago My Lady, it belonged to Robbs' great, great, grandfather,” the man with the braided beard replies sympathetically, counteracting Visery’s violent gaze burning the back of your neck.

“Excuse her, Your Grace she often speaks out of turn I will…” Visery charms, taking a step forward but Robb stops him with a raise of his hand.

“No,” he states looking at you “let her embarrass herself if she wishes,” you here the tallest of the men snicker, as Catelynn sighs “you evidently have something to say, so tell me what would your keen mind have me do,” he taunts, the room falling tense, pity or ridicule dancing across their features. Your eyes meet Jorahs, and he nods encouragingly.

“During the first Blackfyre rebellion, the Lannisters gained an upper hand along this valley, moving in very similar fashion as they do today, did you know that?” you challenge, hand tracing along the table and Robb nods “Then you know there was only one factor that allowed for their victory, ” you question, turning the table back onto him as you come to stand across from him

“The upper ground,” Robb replies, smiling as if he outsmarted you

“An upper ground they currently lack,” you explain, your hands now placed firmly on the table, as you watch his smile fade. “While beautiful, and a mark of fine craftsmanship this map is dated, and it fails to account for a changing landscape. 100 years ago, there was a landslide after a great rainfall that tore the earth down from the twins.”

“That is true, my father told me of it,” Catelynn offers.

“It levelled the valley into a swamp, unsurpassable mud, at least most of it. A rockfall some fifty years prior now enables passage across the mud, if one knows where to look,” You explain placing the wooden piece down 150 miles from where the Lannister forces were last reported. You glance up to see Robb settle back into his seat, listening, watching your movements.

“What would you have me do next” Robb questions, whether he was intrigued or trying to trip you up you were unsure, but you would not falter here.

“A fake out,” you reply and the men mumble “they have realised that you will soon know crossing this valley is only possible from one vantage point unless you pass through the twins themselves”

“Why would they not simply cross at the twins?” The man bearing the Umber sigil booms.

“The Lannisters have looked down upon the Frey’s for years, Walder would not allow it, he is too spiteful and proud,” Catelynn relays.

“Which is why they move further west instead of crossing,” Robb murmurs

“They will continue until they find the one spot not filled with impassable mud, and you will be waiting for them. Send down a small troop, a hundred or so men, draw out the Lannister forces, make them show their hand. They will be there in large quantities, and from what I understand, you have yet to lose. They are looking for an easy win.” Robb sits forward as you shift the lion piece across the board “while they are busy, you pull the exact same manoeuvre. Only their legion of 400 men will be trapped,”

“And those in the initial attack?” Robb asks

“There is no victory without sacrifice… or so I’ve read. And if you are half the leader I have heard you are then you should have no issue rallying the numbers needed. If you’ll excuse me I'll leave the cunning minds of men to work out the finer details or a more apt plan but you asked what I would do. That is what I would do.” You finish, bowing your head and leaving the tent.

Robb watches you leave through his lashes, before turning his gaze to Visery, anger seeping out of his pores his eyes seemed black, almost inhumane despite his apparent calmness. Unsettled, Robb turns to the rest of the room who all stare down at the table, looking for fault. His mother had been right, you did know how to command a room. More importantly you had proven yourself to the camp's most important players. Perhaps getting rid of you would not be such an easy feat. If what you said last night was true, that you had no issue with him continuing his love affair, perhaps you could be useful to his cause, difficult as you may be.

“She’s right,” Theon murmurs.

“I know she’s right,” Robb mutters, eyes trailing over the map where your mind had so easily seen a plot, a plot his hired strategists had missed, that he had missed.

“You seem upset, your Grace,” Rickard Karstark states.

“Only that I didn’t think of it first, ready the troops, I will address them shortly,'' He pushes back from the table as the rest leave. He would have to craft a speech to rally hundreds of men to their death, to sacrifice their bodies for a war they would not reap the fruits of. A hard enough job, made even worse when his stride is interrupted by Visery.

“Your Grace, my sincerest apologies on behalf of my sister's outlandish behaviour, she will not speak out of turn again. I will see to it myself that she learns her lesson,” he states, hand placed unnerving on Robb’s shoulder.

“Discipline is usually the place of the husband,” Catelynn begins.

“I wouldn’t wish it on you, Your Grace, you are busy enough with the ways of war. I beg you, let me deal with her,”

“Her contribution was valuable,” Catelynn insists.

“But her manner was inexcusable,” Visery corrects, had it not been for the deaths of his men plaguing his mind perhaps Robb would have paid closer attention to the words spoken, or noticed how Viserys refused to address Catelynn directly. Perhaps he would have taken more care in his response. Exasperated and tired, Robb simply nods, and Visery strides off.

“You are too harsh on her,” Catelynn states once Visery has left.

“You sought to find me the perfect wife, by most definitions she should be subordinate,” Robb replies, his eyes still on the wolf figure sitting helplessly at the crossroads.

Catelynn stands placing her hand on his shoulder, “You were never raised to think that way, nor have you ever believed that. You have always sought a partner that challenged you.”

“She is a challenge, which is why her brother will deal with her for me, I am sure he will be better suited to conversing civilly with her than I,” Robb relays.

“I doubt that. I do not trust that man,”

“Nor do I,” Robb admits.

“Yet you send him off with your wife, whatever happens to her, know you could have prevented it,” only then does Robb look up from the table.

“I did not ask either of them to be in my life, I did not wish for this marriage, anything that happens to her, is your fault, you brought her here,” he states, shifting out from her touch

‘And you think she asked for this? You think as a little girl she dreamt of this life?’ Catelynn argues.

For lack of a better rebuttal Robb simple mutters “You wouldn’t understand”

“Of course I do. Better than any, your father did not wish to marry me,” she reveals Robbs eyes looking at her “at least not at first, but he knew what was expected of him. And never, did he take that out on me.”

“I am forced to send 100 men off to die deaths I could have prevented, I do not have time to play the role of perfect husband,”

“I am not asking you to love her, I am simply asking you to show her care.” Catelynn remarks leaving the tent in hopes of finding you before Visery. Raised voices stay her stride, and she catches the scene through a veiled gap in the fabric of Visery’s tent.

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“After all I have done for you, for this family you dare make us out to be savages with no respect for customs,” he shouts

“I offered a strategy that will work, that will push forward towards our goal Visery, that was my only intention,” you relay, attempting to placate him.

“Was it? I am the true crown prince, you should have allowed me to put a strategy forward. I am to rule not you,” he snarls.

“You never would have thought of it, you’ve never had proclivity for anything but violence,” the slap rings out louder than the voices, you immediately look back at him, annoyance not fear, evident on your face. The look of someone accustomed to the abuse.

“Speak to me in such a manner again,”

“And what Visery? You’ll have me killed? You would be sent back to Essos without a single soldier to your name,”

“Your husband cannot stand you he would throw me a feast if I finished the job,”

“Then do it,” you remark, grabbing a knife and pushing it towards him, daring him to take it, but he doesn't. “That's what I thought” you spit, pushing past him. She watches as he grabs the back of your neck pulling down to the floor, she dare not stay to hear the endtail of insults he had already begun. With the wind on her back she walks steadily towards her destination, plan forming with each step.

She finds Ser Rodrik with the crows, scribing a message to Winterfell for Bran and Rickon. “My Lady…” he startles.

“I want him dead by the morning,” she whispers stoically “I do not care how it is done, but it shall come to pass, am I clear in my intentions?”

“Leave it with me, My Lady,” he replies, an uneasiness apparent in his tone.

“As always your discretion is greatly appreciated, Ser Rodrik, and it will not be forgotten,” she watches as he swallows, perhaps she had made a mistake, perhaps he could not be trusted with this.

“My Lady, you know I serve house Stark, but I must speak. Is this wise, we need a Targaryen with a claim to the throne, is that not why you brought them here,”

“We already have a Targaryen,” she states evenly.

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You place a cold rag on your face, the swelling already lowering by the time Jorah enters.

“Khaleesi,” he worries, a few steps taken in haste to get to you.

“I am fine Jorah, ice is slippery. Embarrassed as I am, I am thankful for the tree that caught me. Even if it did nearly scrape my eye out,” you smile, but he doesn't seem convinced “ You must not allow anyone to hear you call me such things, otherwise my past may be revealed,”

“Of course Your Grace,”

“Or that, especially if Visery is in earshot, he becomes more paranoid with each passing hour. Jorah may I ask you a question,” you drop the rag from your face, fiddling with it between your hands.

“You need not ask my permission,” he offers, watching as you nervously run the fabric between your fingers.

“Well good news indeed considering I have two,” you chuckle, “My speaking today in the room, was it adequate was I clear,”

“Yes My Lady, clear as day, the men were captivated, they listened to you and I believe they now see you more clearly,”

“And who were the men present, what need I know of them,”

“Theon Greyjoy, the man whose place you took, hee was the ward of Lord Stark, he may back Robb now, but a prisoner is a prisoner and he may turn at any point. Lord Umber, towers over most men, strong headed and always looking for a fight. From what I understand, if you have enough courage to put him in his place, his respect will be yours. Lord Bolton, the man sat in the corner, smaller house but he has powerful and deadly armies. Anyone who uses a flayed man is one that does not stand above torture. Their most powerful ally is Rickard Karstark, they are bound by blood descendants of the first men, Stark and Karstark go hand in hand.”

“And who was the man with the braided beard? I did not recognize his sigil,”

“Ser Rodrik Cassel he is a loyal guard to the Stark children since their birth, and in all likelihood until his or their, deaths”

“So Greyjoy is the only concern thus far,” you reply, slinging the cloth over the water basin.

“Keep an eye on Karstark, his influence will be powerful, same with Rodrik, you want them on your side. Though Rickard Karstark will not have forgotten your fathers doings,”

“I do believe it is time someone must showed the Targaryens good side, and Visery seems to clear a mile wide radius when he walks through the camp,”

“ We have seen how others have accepted him in the past, he will not be able to rule, you must know that,” Jorah offers hesitantly.

“I hoped the cold would have killed him, but perhaps he's not as feeble as he seems and great leaders can be carved from inadequate stock if given the right guidance. My second question pertains to my father, you knew him,”

“I knew of him,”

“Was it true, what they said” you ask, back turned to Jorah not wanting your eyes to reveal what they had seen in the woods.

“Of what truth do you seek to know My Lady,”

“Was he mad?”

“He claimed to hear voices, but that truth is unknown to any except by him.”

“So he was either mad or cruel, and if Visery is cruel then well…” you mutter

“Pardon My Lady,” Jorah asks.

“Nothing,” you turn back to face him, offering the concealing smile ever evident on your face. “Thank you Ser Jorah for keeping me company these past few days,”

“I always revel in your company,” you smile, but it fades as faint shouts sound out from outside.

“Can you hear that?” you question and Jorah nods, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword “then perhaps I am not mad yet,” you murmur. Your exit is interrupted by a mass of men swarming forward, pushing you back into Jorah.

“Stay close My Lady,” Jorah whispers, and you begin to move with the crowd. The mass becomes increasingly dense and Jorah loses you. You push through gaps and between men until you happen upon a clearing, looking across you see a sea of men, 20,000 never seemed so large a number before. You follow their gaze to the right, the moonlight illuminating the scene, the beams radiating of Visery’s white hair, as he’s forced to his knees by Theon Greyjoy and John Umber, you push through the last of the crowd out into view, coming to stand across from Robb and Catelyn. Their gaze looks to you, and Visery’s head turns back.

“Stop them” Visery commands as you emerge, tears running down the bridge of his nose, intermingling with the snot, he lunges forward like a wild animal, but he's pulled back by the chains binding his hands.

“What is the meaning of this?” you ask, words clear even in your panic, you look towards Catelynn then to Robb when her eyes reveal no answers, but he stares down at Visery with a disgust even you had not seen. Jorah appears at the crowd's edge prepared for the worst. If Visery was to be accused of something, were you to be implemented as well? He seeks a route of escape, but none are clear.

“Your brother should be more careful with whom he converses in the dark hours of the night,” Robb replies, throwing down a note, carefully crafted and strategically placed so as to be intercepted by the men guarding the rookeries. Shot down by Theon at the command of Catelynn herself.

“Do you know what the punishment for treason is?” Robb asks, Jorah tenses as you move closer to the centre, towards the note laying cream against the bright white snow, ink of the letter glinting beneath the waning moon.

“I have committed no such act Your Grace”, he pleads, desperation evident across his face, but his remorse turns to violence when he sees you leaning towards the note. “I..tell him tell him what will happen if he angers me,” he shouts, spittle hitting your face as you retreat, leaving the note discarded on the ground. For the first time, Robb sees you afraid, he hardly thought anything capable of shaking you.

“You dare threaten me again,” Robb booms, the mutterings of the crowd silenced.

“Your Grace,” you stutter, grabbing his arm, breaking his gaze. His eyes meet yours that glistening when you shake your head, but your tears do not resonate any emotion in him.

“Do you know what he writes? He writes that once King's Landing is taken he will slay me, then you, and reclaim the North for himself, to ensure his singular rule of all seven kingdoms,” he says, your heads turning in time to meet Visery’s glare, black as the night sky, surely he could not be that dense, you look to Catelynn but she stares ahead.

“Tell him you stupid little whore, or I will..” he scorns, venom dripping off every word.

“Shut your mouth,” Robb shouts, putting himself between you and Visery. “Treason demands retribution to the old gods, through fire,'' Robb commands, to the cheers of his men.

“No,” you whisper frantically, pulling Robbs gaze back to you, shaking your head “You cannot kill him with fire” you try to explain.

“It is what the law dictates, and you will not interfere,” he replies coldly.

“That’s not what I meant,” you state, fear shining through, nearly enough to stop him.

“Pile the wood high,” he orders.

You do not move from where you stand as the men work to create a pyre. Your eyes remain locked with Visery’s that look up through straggled white hair. He seethes, but there are no words left to share. If he was the true dragon as he claimed, he should have nothing to fear. You watch as he’s removed from the stake holding his chains, and brought towards the pyre. Robb comes to stand beside you, for what reason you do not know, perhaps to revel in your misery. The world goes blurry, and sounds muffle as you watch Visery get tied to a stake, his eyes staring at you screaming vile threats until they gag him.

Your eyes do not break from Visery’s, not when the pyres base is lit, not when flames begin to rise, not when the smell of flesh begins to fill the surrounding air. Robb stands beside you throughout it. Leaving your side would be considered too big a slight by his mother, by his men, by Talisa even. You don’t flinch as the flames burn into the fabric of Visery. There are no tears, no turning into Robb’s arms, no fainting or throwing up as he expected. No, the only emotion on your face as Visery’s screams faded into the night was confusion.

“but…” you whisper, forehead scrunched. Robb finds himself leaning in, hoping for the rest of the words to follow, but they never do, your lips closed as quickly as they had opened.

Viserys' words ringing in your head.

Fire can not kill a dragon.

“I wish to be alone tonight, go to her, you are not needed nor will you be missed,” you state flatly, walking forward towards the pyre, the men of the camp watching intently as you go, Robb only parting when he sees Jorah stood firmly at your side.

#robb x reader #robb stark au #robb stark x reader #robb stark fanfiction #robb stark x oc #robb stark fanfic #robb stark fic #robb stark #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x you #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fic

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inlocusmads · 1 year

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vigilance and other nice qualities ~ trystan x nora (crimes of passion)

Wc: 2.9k, tw for violence and strong language, teen and up audiences

Summary: Nora gets help from one of her old contacts to learn more about her royalty of a client and is faced with some surprising observations.

A/n: tagging @choicesbookclub | Banner cred: Saint Cathrine Bartholomoe by Vento (1520)

At the centre of every social circle that the city was built on, Bull was in at least twenty eight of them. He took boxing lessons from a Hollywood stunt director who flew in and out of LA and sold tabloid photographs from gathering more tabloid photographs - a middle man situation. When Nora first met him, they decided not to fight. He wanted a private eye’s influence and knew that she’d need him more than he’d ever need her. But years passed. He evolved from a part-time hairdresser with a terrible boss in 1992 to an information emperor. Nora would be doing him a disservice if she were to compare him with her aunts back at home. At least her aunts didn’t engage in physical violence.

Bull threw her a wad of cotton to stop her bleeding nose. He grabbed an old handkerchief hanging on some metal pole and tied it around his freshly formed wound.

“You fight well, Nora.”

“Yeah, it has been that long, huh?” Nora sniffed, the pain coursing through her nostrils.

“You grew your hair. You were not recognizable at first. Forgive me for instigating action.”

“No -- forgive me.” Nora insisted. “It’s weird that it has happened twice. It’s all on me.”

“Well, I’m glad you are taking blame because this wound is going to need some stitches.”

Nora sighed. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a roll of loose cash, tossing it at him while managing the pain of a nose half-broken, likely.

“You come prepared too!” Bull expressed joy, counting the bills. “Do you want something to drink while we are talking?”

“I’ll get out of your hair in a few. Don’t need all that trouble.”

“Nonsense. You can’t leave without having a drink, at least for old times’ sake.”

“Just one. It’s a work day.”

Bull had found a stable job, Nora was surprised. He’d switched careers so often, she’d once found him married to an up-and-coming designer, dressed in silver fleece back in 2017 and in the same year, he’d gotten divorced and started a taxi business. Clearly he was so well-to-do, he didn’t need a new job as an undercover mechanic. Although the warehouse he worked at was pretty neat and nice; the floors were tiled, a taken-apart car sat on a towing crane and a supposed Go-Kart project he was working on, was at the front - a toolbox sprawled open, with a welding kit connected to a transformer. And they weren’t the stuff you’d find in a parts shop. No, it was all new - prim and polished, with professional gloves.

The drink was nicer too. Single-malt Irish. The glasses weren’t plastic - they were more verdant than the stuff Uncle Tommy kept around. Nora took a sip from her glass, setting it down instantly.

“So- what’s up? What are you doing these days?” Bull asked.

“Oh you know --” Nora shrugged. “Desk job.”

“Not too different from police work, now is it?”

“Sometimes I get to --” she gestured at the air, “-run?”

Bull poured some more whiskey into her glass. “Run around for what, exactly? I mean, I don’t know about the business, but PIs somehow have it worse. Runt of the litter and everything, y’know? Joseph from the 47th Precinct started one and guess what? Shut it down the very next week. Now I think he’s teaching middle school baseball.”

“I can teach middle school baseball.” Nora said, missing the point.

“You’d be a shit coach.”

“Never said I’d be a coach. Just that I’d teach baseball.”

“All right. What you’re here for?”

“You’re familiar with uh— small potatoes royalty?”

“Would never call anyone small potatoes. First mistake anyone makes is undermining them. Why? Finally running around with the big leagues, aren’t you, Nora?”

“The electricity bills aren’t getting any cheaper.” she shrugged. “You know Trystan Thorne?”

Bull paused. “I think so.”

“What’s his uh - deal?”

“Seriously?”

“What? I’m sorry my questions aren’t too specific.”

“No, it isn’t that. I can’t exactly give you a Cliff’s Notes version of everything.”

“Fair point. You do run a business.” Nora wiped the rest of the blood off her nose, grabbing a bandage and plastering it on. It was painful without something to clean with and the constant stench of iron only made her impatient and hasty with dressing it. Oh well, it’s a short walk home. Wasn’t like she had a life to get to, anyway. No rush. She finished her glass of whiskey, a smidge drunk to help with the pain.

“Is he your client?”

Nora nodded.

“Holy shit.”

“Supposed to be good or bad?”

“He’s quite a hit with the paps. He makes you think he’s an open book, y’know, with everything just out in the open.”

“I just want to be able to trust his words, considering he might be a — person of interest. I don’t care for him other than that.”

“Then I’ll be helping you do your job and you know my requirements.”

“Come on, Bull. What’s his character like? Is he after a — specific thing?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Because I’m not trying to date him to have deep conversations.”

“Not everything’s a simple yes/no answer.” Bull shrugged. “I mean, he is charismatic. He presents a very trustworthy front and it’s good for his image, since he comes from a family of liars and swindlers. And he’s gotten smart, because the paparazzi bothers him less and less when he plays into the ‘black sheep of the family’ persona. They’d have nothing else but to print the same thing over and over again. Oh look, he’s spotted getting a herb tea! How different can he get?. Wears the same thing outside - classic trick to make photographs unusable.”

“So he’s smart.”

“Very smart.” Bull said. “He doesn’t have a press team or anything. It’s just him and his — psh- sister, I think. She runs a luxury business here. Not to mention he’s got some wild contacts. I mean, traditionally, where do you usually find celebrities?”

“I dunno— sex parties?”

“No, you idiot. With whom?”

“I guess other popular people.”

“Trystan here is friends with practically anyone he meets. Comic book authors, critically acclaimed authors, amateur filmmakers, film students, nail artists, pharmaceutical execs, street dealers, Hollywood stars — the list goes on. He puts himself out there, deliberately.”

“Artists.” Nora supplied, making cotton balls out of the bloodied wads.

“All kinds of artists.” Bull tossed the cotton out of her hands. “And he’s quite an academic. Not in your Oxfordian-pretentious-asshole way, but in an actual smart, resourceful way. He probably knows way more about you than you about him.”

“He thought I was a stripper in a detective costume initially.”

“You’re going to let that fool you?”

Nora gave him a nonchalant shrug. “He did hire the Agency after the first two hours of working with me. When I barely knew him. Reckon he’s done some Googling?”

“Googling?” Bull took second-hand offense. “He probably knows your coffee order by now. The place where he’s from - Drakovia, doesn’t skimp on funding intelligence. He’s earned military training in the past. He knows how to — uh — talk, if you get it. Almost a borderline psychic gift. I don’t know how he does it, but you have to play your game just right, like extremely carefully. When you’re talking, count your words. Take note of things he says in throwaway lines, when he’s at the peak of his comfort.”

“Do I tell him anything?”

“Nothing that isn’t relevant to whatever — jewel thief he’s hired you to find out.”

Nora was reluctant on sharing about the case. It’d hit the news stands in about two or three days anyway, Bull would find out eventually.

“Quick n’ easy. You do your job. Get out. Don’t fuck with smart people. You and I - we aren’t that smart, I think you agree.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good talk, Bull. I’ve got to get to work.”

“Stop dicking around, all right, Nora?” Bull gathered up the mess of bloodied tissues and cotton wads.

“What’s he after?”

“Who? Trystan?”

“There’s got to be something these guys want. Like how actors want big breaks and writers want big breaks and uh - you know, something I can —” Nora gestured, “I can really sink my teeth into and use it as a killswitch.”

“Gain his trust. He’ll tell you on his own.”

“How do you know that?”

“I happen to know he enjoys belladi from just being his waiter at a fundraiser once. All I did was ensure his flute of champagne remained full and listened. Really listened. That man has got centuries worth of stories to tell and nobody to listen to. That’s what you do. Listen without making preasumptive opinions.”

“Yeah, okay, don’t fuck with smart people, got that. Ciao.” Nora gave him a quick salute with her fingers, turning on her heel towards the doors.

“I’m afraid you didn’t got it- Nora- argh—”

Nora found him on the sidewalk, patiently waiting. Trystan leaned against his sports car, watching and smiling at the pedestrians who didn’t smile back.

“Oh good, you are here.” Trystan beamed at her. “Your uncle said you had stepped out— what happened to your nose?”

“Kitchen accident.”

“Right.” he narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe her. Or maybe he was trying to study her - deduce something out of her microexpressions and body language. Nora suddenly grew aware of Bull’s advice and the hot blood coursing through her veins in panic. She noticed he had his hands tied to his back, as if he were hiding something. It was a brown paper bag.

“It was a kitchen accident.” she insisted. “What do you have there?”

“Oh, just something I picked up.” he handed it over. A brown paper bag with a croissant in it, with some raspberry filling and a paper cup of coffee with the order written on the side. She took a closer look at what the barista had scribbled in blue ink: dark roast coffee, two pumps of cream, one sugar. Bull was not joking. Her hands grew stiff, as she continued reading the list of ingredients, before Trystan interrupted.

“I figured we would not have time for breakfast.”

Nora’s first thought went to poison. She dealt with the idea for two seconds before rejecting it, considering Trystan needed her more than she needed him. He was going to have to keep her alive. Unless there was some sort of truth serum that made her run loose with her words, there was no reason to suspect anything could be spiked. Could just be a peace offering. A thank-you of some kind, grateful she accepted Sonja’s case when none of the cops were willing to take it forward and no other agency barely credible or within a half hour’s drive from Trystan’s penthouse. Still, it wasn’t like someone could Google Nora’s coffee order.

It tasted good per usual. She saved the croissant for later in her left jacket pocket using her left hand, just to throw Trystan off, in case he had some ideas of gifting her a can opener next time meant for right-handers. Considering the kitchen accident was the only excuse she had for suspicious injuries, it wouldn’t be too thickheaded to assume he’d give her a can opener sometime later.

“Are you going to say goodbye to your uncle?” Trystan asked, as he got into the driver’s seat in his car. Nora strapped in her seatbelt with her left hand, adjusting it to make sure the croissant in her pocket didn’t disintegrate.

“I’ll call him. We’re on a time crunch here. Ruby’s got a copy of the toxicology report. It should help us analyse some injury patterns and compare it what we know about the kind of weaponry or poison we can track down. To put it simplistically.”

“Right.”

Liar. Nora thought to herself. He’d have pored over Forensic Science For Dummies last night. Heck, he would have even arranged an intimate dinner with one of the leading forensic scientists in the country, discussing precisely this. He was pretending to be this unassuming ‘foreign diplomat’ or whatever he called himself, and very good at it too.

Trystan drove down the street, meeting a chunk of 10AM traffic in the middle of the high road.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. You must be devastated after yesterday.”

“I actually got a good night of sleep.”

“That’s — good.” Is that good? Good for Trystan? Someone who definitely sleeps with one eye open at all times?

“Yes, I am very reassured that we will find Sonja’s murderer and bring him to justice however means necessary. A lot more hopeful than I usually allow myself to, but I have got a very good feeling about this, actually. Today, I woke up with this — interesting — can I say lust? Lust for hope and it is an interesting feeling. Perhaps we might obtain a —break through, so to speak in the evidence present.”

“Of course, of course, hope is just — y’know how I’m all about the hope.” Nora attempted to make conversation. “Did you get a good look at Sonja’s other paintings?”

“Nothing different apart from the eldritch horror-looking work.” he chuckled dryly.

So he did look at her paintings later. Nora realised Bull wasn’t just right. He was prophetic. Was that good? She’d seen her fair share of amateur detectives who’d seen an episode of Elementary or CSI and assumed they could do the same, but Trystan didn’t seem like those pop culture fanatics. He was invested in the case, and not just acting out of emotion due to the grief his friend’s passing had caused. He was actively taking charge and Nora wasn’t sure if this was the right idea. Bull did tell her to keep him talking, to underline his throwaway lines and go from there, but how? When he seldom talked in full sentences and only used his extensive vocabulary to flirt with people? Or maybe that’s another guerilla tactic too. This was difficult. She couldn’t be vigilant all the damn time.

“You must know a lot about art history, then.”

“Not entirely.”

The car stopped at a stoplight junction.

“I absolutely loathe the traffic sometimes. It just forces these unnaturally long mundane conversations, do you think? Which is why I always carry some downloaded music with me-” he punched some keys on the GPS screen that doubled down as an entertainment system. “- do you happen to enjoy some classic pop?” - he set the volume to three, probably to not let the music overpower the constant horn sounds, playing ABBA’s I Still Have Faith In You. “- Queen, John Lennon, King Crimson, Bowie- they were some of my first Western artists I listened to when I came to America. Queen has a special place in my heart. It was a gateway to learning more- collloquial English, if I can say that. Diplomatic-speak can get very boring and sometimes off-putting. You would not want your date complimenting your good handshake and your choice in dress suits and ties. Who does that? Anyway, I have grown a lot. Companionship was so much easier back at home. People had so much trust to spare. Or at least, I had so much of that to pass around.”

“Well, your faith is in the right place.”

“You think so?”

“I’m fairly good at my job. I don’t think you would have anything to worry about.”

“I am not worrying about anything. Rather I am more than happy to know I have placed my faith well.”

“Strong sense of judgement, yes.”

“That I am still yet to learn how to do that.” he grinned. “So what are we now? Partners? Considering we are working this together?”

“That’s uh — fast— but sure. Partners work.”

“Wonderful! I can finally place the order for the matching shirts.”

“You got us matching shirts?”

“Yes, the ones with ‘I am his’ and ‘I am hers’ but with partners in brackets. I am sorry, but it is a Drakovian tradition for good luck and I have some requirements as a client and a partner. Maybe I should have run it by your boss first-”

Nora stared at him, eyes widened. Trystan hid back a smile for approximately a second before erupting into laughter. “You would really believe me, just like that? It is such fun messing with you!”

“No I don’t, but I do have some complicated feelings about merchandizing.” Nora’s cheeks flushed red.

“Ooh complicated feelings. I love some complicated feelings. Tell me some more.”

“For starters, I don’t like texts on shirts. It makes it hard to read.”

“So you just —stare at people’s chests? My, my Detective, how juvenile of you, tch tch-”

Nora sighed. “There is no winning with you, is it?”

“Nope. There is no losing either, because it is time well spent, right?”

The car rolled into the parking lot of Astoria Forensics, Ruby’s place of work. Nora didn’t even have to supply him an address.

“Let us get this case a-rolling, shall we?” Trystan pressed a button to open the door for her.

_______

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed reading this! The one pet peeve I had with the book is that we never got to see the initial scepticism besides it being fodder for the banter. I really wish we could've experienced the doubt and the stress MC was going through, while trying to learn to trust Trystan and his story.

Tagging:

If you'd like to be tagged for my works, please drop a comment down below or reblog. Thank you.

Perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @trappedinfanfiction @writing-not @peonierose

Crimes only: @ofmischiefandmedicine @aallotarenunelma @ao719 @lilyoffandoms @cassie-thorne @twinkleallnight @jerzwriter

#crimes of passion fanfic #choices book club #trystan x nora #w:inlocusmads

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kotarchipelago · 2 months

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fringed irises and shadows 🪻

kanamafu fic — hurt/comfort, heavy emphasis on comfort. has been on ao3 for a bit of time but i feel comfortable posting it here now. no tws/cws(?), please do read tags. credits to @cafekitsune for dividers.

full fic also below cut

tonight was little different from any other night of recent. boxes and papers littered kanade’s floor, disturbed only by the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan. as per usual, the lighting was dim — the monitor on her desk sat currently unused, perpetually displaying the n25 group’s general chat. normally, kanade would be partial to turning all lights off, leaving only herself and the darkness. it felt nicer that way, easier to relax, to lose what it meant to be a corporeal being with a body that required maintenance. not like she took care of herself, anyway, or didnt lose herself in daydreams and the vast collection of musical scriptures — and of course there were still sensations like hunger and exhaustion and aches and cold — but it was easier to ignore the burden of existing when you couldnt see any part of yourself in the first place. out of sight out of mind, perhaps.

what made tonight different, however, was that there were lights left on. even the lightly tattered blackout curtains she’d splurged years prior on were opened just an inch to allow some outdoor light in, even if at this time of night the only light was from the streetlights lining the sidewalks of her neighborhood. and besides the monitor, there was a clearly aged nightlight illuminating a small space on the wall in one of the only available outlets in the room, obscured slightly by one of the very many aforementioned boxes.

and aside from one particular corner of the room, occupied in part by plush stuffed animals and heavy pillows and heavier blankets, it was frigid. and comfortable.

“kanade,” mafuyu murmured, voice barely audible above the low hum of the fan, “your hands are freezing.”

well- perhaps only truly comfortable to one of them.

at present, the two of them were amongst the vast sea of bedsheets, arms and legs enveloped in the comfort of cottons and silks and worn quilts, broken up only occasionally by the occasional strewn about pillow. in the middle of it all, they held each other, kanade laying her head into mafuyu’s chest, legs entwined.

the problem lay in kanade’s hand position, nestled between mafuyu’s shirt and skin, gently placed along the middle of her back. she wasn’t even aware her hands were cold- honestly, she felt as she always did. “ah-“ she blinked, voice groggy, broken out of a state of half-consciousness. “sorry, was i preventing you from getting sleep?”

mafuyu nodded so slightly that if it werent for kanade’s position, being able to feel or hear every movement and rustle of mafuyu’s body, she would barely have registered it.

but, of course, she still would have.

after all, over the duration of time she had known mafuyu, kanade would like to think she’d become fully attuned to her body language — the way mafuyu fidgeted with her thumbs when she was most conflicted, the bow of her head that allowed for her deep mauve hair to cascade over her shoulders and a soft pink blush to spread across her cheeks when she was especially bashful. and, most importantly, the smaller gestures: the genuine soft smiles, the way her fingers brushed ever-so-softly against kanade’s when she wanted to hold the composer’s own but couldn’t put it into words, the subtle twitch of the corners of her mouth in place of laughter. eventually, hopefully, the latter would become a giggle, or even just a soft exhale with a note of genuine joy.

and even if it didn’t, kanade would keep noticing anyway, and she had no doubt in her mind that the butterflies that swelled in her stomach on those rare occasions would never go away.

she moved her hands, featherlight, gently smoothing out mafuyu’s shirt as she lay her hands over it, in the same position as before. after a few moments, she spoke softly- an inquiry. “how do you feel?”

she had become accustomed to asking this in increasing frequency since mafuyu moved in with her. it was barely a conscious question anymore, but it held indescribable amounts of meaning. every morning, after every meal, before and after every nightcord meeting, before bed and sometimes — as was the case tonight — when neither of them could succumb to sleep. it was an ‘i love you’ in place of true ‘i love you’s. and mafuyu’s answer was always the same:

“i’m not sure.”

kanade used to interpret this response humorously as an automatic response, one a computer would spit out in automated lines of code, as if the words ‘not sure’ overrode any other genuine response that may have taken place in that sentence instead. but over time it became a ridiculously offensive idea to suggest, even internally, that mafuyu was just code, moulded to be a certain way instead of consciously becoming the person she was today.

but that didn’t mean it didn’t ever hurt. every day they shared words that held so much meaning that kanade used to be convinced were only spoken in fictional stories of soulmates, but when it came down to the most earnest question of all, ‘i love you,’ ‘i love you,’ ‘i love you,’ mafuyu always, always gazed at her with soft eyes and a softer expression, a world of vulnerability sealed away deep in her chest, and spoke only,

“i’m not sure.”

there was no other word for what they had besides love. neither of them were ever even sure of the technicalities — romantic, platonic, ‘a secret third thing’ like mizuki sometimes suggested while thorizing passively with ena or rui. it had become sort of an unspoken rule that neither would ever question it. if kanade’s cheeks flushed when rereading what mafuyu wrote earnestly in her birthday card, about how ‘whenever im with you, my heart becomes restless,’ if mafuyu stared up at the ceiling for hours remembering over and over what it felt like to be found, to hold kanade’s hand for the first time at phoenix wonderland in an effort to hold onto the warmth blooming in her chest for just a few moments longer- well, neither of them were in any place to question it. much less confront it.

so for now, “i’m not sure” was enough. and as birds began chirping outside their window, precursory to the sunrise, both of them laid at ease. and if soft purr-like snoring resounded from mafuyu’s chest, kanade would never tell.

tomorrow, kanade would ask, “how are you feeling?”

and tomorrow, mafuyu would answer, “i’m not sure.”

and tomorrow, kanade would gaze a second longer at mafuyu’s expression, her lips, her hands.

and tomorrow, mafuyu would stare a second longer at the ceiling, wondering what could save her, wondering what lyrics she should write, wondering if kanade ever thought about phoenix wonderland or her birthday card.

and tomorrow, kanade would make sure her hands were warm before placing them, featherlight, on mafuyu’s skin.

and tomorrow, mafuyu would say, in lyrics and in the subtle twitches of the corners of her mouth, “i love you.”

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clementine-thedestroyer · 2 months

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Every time I see the word “petite” used in anything x reader or just anything in general, it sparks a rage (or pain, depending on my mood) inside of me.

It feels like, especially in the cod fandoms, petite is the beauty standard. If I’m not 4’11 then I don’t exist, apparently.

Sure, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but I hate when the word petite is used because an author assumes that because whatever character is over 6 foot that everyone will seem “petite” in comparison.

Tw for my dumb ass ranting beyond the cut ig

Maybe I should specify that I see petite more as a term to describe hight than weight. You could be any size and imo, the word petite can still apply if you’re short.

It’s especially bad with König. Like, I get it- we all love imagining him as some 6’10 giant, but just because he’s tall doesn’t mean you should put describe a reader insert as short in comparison unless you’ve warned that your reader is short coded.

It’s like going into a fic and seeing “his hand wraps easily around your forearm” because the writer forgot that not everyone is skinny.

And I completely understand, writers write for themselves, I write for myself- but if you’re posting it somewhere public and other people are reading it, you need to warn them if it’s anything but height/size/gender neutral.

These are wonderful things! Fem!reader is an amazing tag! It helps people find what they want to read and avoid what they don’t, I wish it was more normal to put things like “short-coded!reader”

Because like, Bestie, that’s all we need. If you tell me that whatever reader insert you have is probably coded to be short, then I can just write off all mentions of the word “petite” and ignore them.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame any writer for not. I’m not saying every needs to start tagging their fics like that or anything, it’s just wishful thinking and a rant/vent born from my own insecurities regarding my height.

But when it’s treated like normal to be small, it can hurt, because it feels like the standard. Like I should be smaller than these men.

And fuck, I’m not even that tall. I’m 5’8 and a half, that’s really not that tall- and one of my best friends is like 6ft. I hate how, as someone who is, again, not even that tall, I feel like this. Because how do the rest of y’all feel? I know there are girls shorter than me that probably feel too tall too, and I sincerely hope that girls taller than me don’t feel worse than I do, because no, they’re fucking beautiful.

My 6ft friend? She’s fucking gorgeous (she’s not on tumblr so I can say that safely). Tall women in general are fucking gorgeous, and of course I don’t blame short girls for writing fan fiction that appeals to them. They’re writing it, of course it’s going to appeal to them. If you’re not writing for yourself, who’re you writing for?? If anything, I blame the world for making it the standard that the girl is smaller than the boy.

Short men exist, tall women exist. And I know that short men will be insecure about their hight, so clearly this isn’t just me being (completely) psycho. Somewhere, it was instilled in us that a man should be taller.

And while on some level, I fully admit that I am yes, very jealous of short girls. I fully acknowledge this. I also find short girls hot (tall girls too, let me be clear. As I mentioned, 6ft friend is fucking gorgeous).

Ah fuck women are hot. Shit, this turned me to a “women being hot” rant again. This always happens, what the hell.

#I wrote the first half of this post crying #the second half of it I wrote thinking about how hot women are #This turned hinged but I genuinely do not care.

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cantsaythetword · 2 years

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TickleTober Day 9: Torture

~A/N - Ok so this is my first EVER Originals fic that I'm writing so I really hope it turns out the way I want it to. It's a reader fic with Elijah and Klaus and some spooky witchy magic which gets you in an interesting situation...

This might be a long one sooooo buckle the fuckle up. Also might have some slightly more intense tickle scenes, so a slight TW for that (tied up, tickle interrogation, not exactly soft and fluffy but not terrifying either lol)

Hope you guys like it!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List:

Masterpost Link || TickleTober 2022 Masterpost Link

"Hello there."

You blinked drowsily, the clinking of chains above you waking you violently from your half-conscious state. Where were you? Why were your hands tied? Who was talki-

Oh no.

"I hear you have some information about the whereabouts of a certain vampire I've been looking for."

You locked eyes with none other than Klaus Mikaelson, fear instantly rippling down your spine.

"Words seem to have escaped you..." He said, face tilting in mock concern. "Allow me to help with that."

You gasped, internally cursing yourself for reacting.

"Oh there's no need to be afraid. I won't need to cause too much damage." He grinned, walking around your suspended body. "See, I have a friend of mine who is very handy with spells."

Where was he going with this? Was there some horrific psychological torture you were about to endure? Just how long would you hold out? How long could you hold out?

"And one of my absolute favourites is a little nerve-amplifying spell."

So that was his plan? Set your senses on fire and just wait?

"This little masterpiece allows even the smallest blow to be absolute-" He paused, pinching your bicep.

You screamed, pain shooting past your shoulders and slowly dissipating along your chest.

"-agony."

It was more than anything you had experienced before.

"Are you ready?" Klaus

You tensed, awaiting what you could only imagine would be horrific anguish.

"Niklaus, wait."

The well-dressed immortal in the doorway had his hand held up, halting his brother from beginning what could soon be the worst moments of your life.

"Ah brother, come to see the show?" Klaus opened his arms like a circus ringmaster, welcoming Elijah to his little makeshift torture chamber (which was really just chains hanging from the roof keeping your arms up and ropes keeping your ankles together).

"Unfortunately not."

Klaus sighed. "I suppose you've got some self-righteous monologue coming my way?"

Letting out a chuckle, Elijah stepped towards you, effortlessly keeping your attention with his intimidating presence.

"I have entered into an agreement that no harm shall come to Y/N under any circumstances." The older brother said.

"We barely have to touch them to cause unimaginable pa-."

"Irrelevant." Elijah interrupted. "I gave my word, and I shall hold myself to that."

Klaus rolled his eyes. Clearly this wasn't the first time Elijah had ruined his plans.

You certainly weren't complaining though.

The brothers stood for a few moments in silence, looking you up and down. You weren't sure if they were trying to figure out a plan or purely trying to intimidate you.

Whether it was intentional or not, it was working.

Finally, Elijah spoke.

"Y/N." He moved towards you. "You seem like a sensible young person."

You kept your eyes locked to his. It wouldn't surprise you if he could sense your anxiety, but you weren't going to make it any easier for him to see just how shit scared you were right now.

"Surely you know what's at stake-" He began, placing a hand gently on your back.

But you didn't just feel a hand. You felt each fingertip press into your skin, his palm push against your muscles in an unbearably odd manner.

You couldn't help but let out a muffled yelp, arching away from him.

Klaus tittered in amusement, while Elijah simply gave you a puzzled look.

He turned to face Klaus. "Just how bad was that witch's spell? I can barely brush against them without them recoiling in pain."

Proving his own point, he brushed his fingers against your side and you squealed, violently trying to jerk your hands down to protect yourself.

The younger's snickers turned to a few seconds of laughter.

"That's not pain, brother." Klaus chuckled, and for the first time you shot him a look of pure fear. "I think our friend has another little secret they don't want us to know of."

You couldn't quite see Elijah's face, but clearly something had clicked. For when he turned around next his face could only be described as predatorily calm. He took his place behind you, where all you could see was his hands coming closer and closer to your hypersensitive body.

Once Klaus readied himself in front of you was when your calm composure dissolved into nervous giggling.

"Wahahait plehehease!" You begged, jolting the chains your limbs were currently wrapped in.

"Oh you've got no chance." Klaus grinned.

And then it began.

Elijah's fingernails felt like claws scratching every ticklish nerve under your arms. Each point of contact acting as a conductor of ticklish volts rocketing down your nervous system and setting your body alight. Klaus's thumbs seemed to connect with each fibre of your muscle tissue on your lower sides, massaging your obliques with the speed and intensity of a woodpecker's beak.

The tickling was so much you couldn't react for a few moments, stuck in the stasis of shock while your vocal chords caught up with your physical senses.

You squealed, bursting into manic unstoppable laughter. It felt like your mouth wasn't your own, cackles interrupting every breath you took as they poured out from between your lips.

"Now this seems to be an effective extraction method." Elijah teased right next to your ear.

Klaus's hands wandered slightly lower, squeezing against your hipbones. Each pinch like his hands were scraping against you, making your skeleton vibrate with ticklish sensations.

"NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" You pleaded, though no comprehendible sound came out. Being so caught up in the absolute agony of feelings you were experiencing, it took you a second before you realised the unholy screeching sound was coming from you. Your hips were just too much to bear, and your waist danced from side to side in an attempt to briefly escape the horrific fate you were being subjected to.

"This seems to be the killer Y/N!" Klaus simpered. "Wouldn't you agree?"

It was too much. You were about to snap. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't think. You didn't know if you'd ever feel again. No human has ever experienced this much pure sensation before, and there was nothing you could do but scream. Your eyes and ears were barely giving you any information about the world around you, every sense had shut down in the hopes to preserve what little sanity you had left.

This was it. The breaking point. You were on the edge of just letting go...

"If you boys are done playing, I've managed to figure it out without torturing poor Y/N."

Rebekah! Your knight in shining armour. The only way those torturous hands were anywhere near likely to retract.

"Excellent." Elijah grinned. "I suppose we're done here."

"Aw, but we were just getting started!" Klaus groaned, giving you a menacing wink.

"I'll sort it out, you two fix this mess." Rebekah said, but not before flashing you an amused smirk.

You watched your saviour exit the room, before letting your head hang limp towards the floor.

"Now, how to ensure you don't speak a word of this to anyone..." Klaus said, tapping a finger against his chin.

"Oh with the redness on their cheeks, I highly doubt they'd be sharing this little adventure with anyone." Elijah smirked, eliciting a blush from your traitorous cheeks. "Plus, this spell of yours should take a few days to wear off. If they go blabbing their mouth, who knows who may take advantage of this sensitive situation."

"In that case," Klaus took a step towards you, wriggling his fingers. "shall we continue?"

Elijah smirked. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

#fic #mine #tickletober2022 #tickletober day 9 #the originals #elijah #klaus #i hope this was ok and not too OOC im only on like season 1 but im obsessed with elijah #he gives off such ler energy and i cant stop thinking about it #im not usually a vampire guy #but damn id let him have a lil nibble of my neck #tw intense tickles (fiction)#FUCK THIS IS LONG IM SORRY #and late too #hopefully worth it ???

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ambroise-framboise · 2 years

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Spooky bdubs fic !

TW ; death, some slight gore, uhh general spooky possession stuff ? mention of insects (but nothing graphic)

(Also the second part is a lot lighter, if you want max horror, only read until the OoOoO line lmao)

It all started in a forest. The day was bright, the sunbeams gently falling on the figure lying in the middle of the clearing. A gentle and warm wind was gently playing with his short and messy brown hair, and curious bees were coming closer to the bright red headband, to see if it might not be a flower.

He was curled a bit on his side, eyes closed, resting on a large patch of moss that looked quite fluffy and comfortable, littered here and there by tiny flowers. One of his hands was resting on his chest, holding a communicator.

You could hear the sound of leaves rustling, the birds' songs, the buzzing of the bees.

Not the man's breath or heartbeats.

A growing halo of red slowly colored the plants surrounding his head, and beneath his stomach where a gaping wound was slashed open, intestines peeking out and almost spilling. If you looked around, you could clearly see the path he had taken. The trail of crimson and the occasional bloody handprint on a tree he had used to stay upright a little longer. Already curious scavengers were coming closer, attracted by the smell of death.

But they knew better than to step into the clearing.

The multiple small skeletons half buried into the moss were the proof that this was not a place you left once you’d stepped in.

The moss just didn’t have to kill its prey this time, it had done a good job perishing on its own. The human had only needed the smallest suggestion to go that way, when he had fled the ones seeking his demise.

And now, it had a new thing ! How exciting ! The moss hadn’t seen a human in so long… In fact, it would be a shame to waste the opportunity and let rot a perfectly functional vessel. Animals were too small or unwieldy, and they didn’t have a soul to absorb. The moss had no way to know how to act even if it wanted to inhabit them. It had been staying rooted here for such a long time, gorging itself on the death of everything passing by, attracting them with lush vegetation and the slightest touch of compulsion magic (not that it knew what it was called then).

The human brain, and body though, was quite fascinating. And how convenient ! The moss had direct access to it, no need to go through the skin, there were already openings it could get into.

And it… woke up. Stil moss (magical maybe but just a plant in the end), but also More. It opened its eyes wide, wide, to take in every single visual input. It was not used to sight, and while a little overwhelming (especially combined with the rest of its new senses) it was just delightful. Using a combination of the knowledge gained when the moss ate the soul and muscle memory, it stretched its mouth in a big toothy smile.

This was how you expressed happiness, wasn’t it ?

The… man ? Human ? Mossman ? What should it use to refer to itself ? Looked at the device in its hand and powered it up with some of its energy. (The communicator, who had died with its owner, glitched once, twice, before lighting up.)

(Above the thing that was once a plant and once a man, now both, flickered a name tag. It had disappeared with the man's last breath. Now it was back, just… slightly different.)

The newly named BdoubleO100, no longer the same person, got up and took one, two unsteady steps, almost falling back down before managing to walk out of its place of birth.

It had some exploring to do.

(Never once thinking about who the dead might have left behind. About the friends, the family, the pointless conflict that had led him to his end.

What it did think about later, was his dreams. To fight just for fun, to build a pretty house, to be able to rest in a comfortable bed during the night. That seemed fun, interesting ! It had no concept of honoring dead wishes, but when years down the line he’d reflect back on it after having learned to live amongst players, he would come to the conclusion that this ghost would be able to rest easily.)

OoOoO

It took him some time, but Bdubs (as it liked to be called) had learned how to integrate into player society. While he had been able to access the previous host of the body’s memories, and seen it theoretically, it was an entirely another thing to actually experience living amongst others.

It had left its birth server pretty quickly, wanting to see more. The first few interactions with people had been… quite something for sure. Made him almost ashamed of how he acted in retrospect. But he was far from the only weird being running around so ultimately it hadn’t really been a problem.

(Unconsciously, the thing called Bdubs had become more and more player-like ; it started experiencing emotions, making friends, finding hobbies and interests, and chose his own pronouns after some time thinking about it.

It started creating, inventing and not just copying.

It was a slow and gradual process, and when after years of it happening, Bdubs finally realised how much he had changed, he was glad to have evolved so much.)

Hermitcraft (though it did take him some decades of roaming around and trying different servers before he got invited) was probably the best thing that happened to him other than finding a body.

There he could be himself ; a player, but still pretty weird.

The nice thing was that he was far from the only strange one. The sheer variety of origins, the general over the top scale of buildings and events, the relatively small number of people, everything was perfect.

He could be loud, brash, violent even if he wanted, and as long as it was not malicious, in the long run things between them all would always be fine.

It loved his fellow Hermits so much he would sometimes sprout flowers unconsciously when hanging out with them and having fun.

Now, this was all well and good, but Bdubs still had a tiiiiny little problem with its own state of being.

His body was dead. Which meant no actual healing, he had to correct things with his moss on the inside when he was wounded, and respawning was only mildly effective.

So his body… ended up falling apart after a while.

Meaning, he regularly needed a new one.

It was not the most socially acceptable process ? Unlike Cleo, who did need to replace her body parts on a regular basis, he couldn’t just cut off an Hermit or a zombie’s limb, sew it on himself and call it a day. He had tried, but these parts would just keep rotting faster than the rest of the base body. They smelled too, and his moss had more trouble integrating them to the system ; they felt foreign, like a prosthesis.

No, he had to, err, steal a new entire one.

He was lucky ; Hermitcraft’s gentle respawn system meant that wear and tear took a while and a lot of death before he needed to hunt for that new one.

Well, as long as the season didn’t drag on for ages. Season 6 was. Something. It had been able to pass the continuous re solidification of his body as “being taken by the jungle”. He didn’t think it was very hard to see there was something more to it, but well, Hermitcraft was a strange place in general and story magic was a thing that happened and changed people temporarily for the sake of the narration so maybe not.

As getting a new fresh body implied finding someone that would be perma-dead, well. Asking the Hermits to lend him one would just not work, unfortunately. He’s sure they would do it in a heartbeat otherwise (just like when it came to Cleo’s needs).

It did mean that he had to be careful not to die too much, respawn, and damage and strain his body (already kinda bursting at the seams because of all the moss inside).

And the moment the seasons ended, in the gentle lull between that final leave and the new beginning, he was roaming servers far away to get a proper fresh start.

(No Hermit ever asked why Bdubs’s body changed every so often. Why he was blond sometimes and had brown hair another season. His face was always the same old Bdubs after all. Big eyes and big toothy smile. Who cared if the rest was clearly different.)

The main problem he had these days were the life games. As funny and entertaining as they were, the respawn mechanic was rough. And he was grateful the total number of lives was small and limited, and that the games never lasted too long, because they made him go through a body each time. It was a bit of a pain, but they were too interesting to stop.

(Impulse, even after sharing his bed with him, never asked why his body temperature was never right, and why he tended to sprout vegetation on various parts of his limbs.)

The Hermits knew better than to ask. They didn’t mind Otherness, he was far from the only weird one on the server.

But.

Did Bdubs really have to remove the heads of all of his previous bodies, to sell them ? They smelled, and were full of insects…

#bdubs #bdubs fanart #my art #my fics #My writing #hermitcraft #mcyt #mcytblr #injuries #death #moss #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fanart #this is not as bad as the jimmy fic #imo #the second part is almost silly #well to me #i'll reblog with an ao3 link #when i finish posting it

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chocodollxren · 2 years

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Would it be all right to request soft hcs for the third years or first years? Like the ones youve done for the second years?

thank you for the order! here’s the gyokuro tea. the final of the trilogy… or so you think? we still haven’t done soft paternal gyokuro with the staff or ghosts!! that’s completely outrageous, so part four of this order will come soon. i don’t know why but the ramshackle ghosts are s tier.. like in terms of friends the adeuce are top for all the things they do, but the ghosts are just.. family who will never let you down. find part one. two.

𓄹 ❥ 𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘵❦ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 ,,

-> teahouse ,, menu ! order up ” guestlist ! ꒱·˚ ,, #O5.12.22🍵 ˖˚˳⊹ 'ּ໋݊◵

summary: soft headcanons with third years! the third out of the four parts. these are just fluffy headcanons with you and your upperclassman. no tws, first year gn!reader like in the game.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ TREY CLOVER. ❞

trey is an older brother by heart and will always watch over you in his own way. his little siblings are quite a handful and the way he shows affection to you reflects that of a worried older brother. he asks you if you’ve been doing well, want dessert, makes sure you brush your teeth real well afterwards, and will be available to help you with what he can do.

he’s not as smart as riddle or the others you could go to for help, but he’d definitely make sure to takes things slow and tries to see things from your perspective. he knows not everyone is a genius at studying. he’ll try to take things slow and teach you different ways of memorizing that helped Cater when they were still first years.

absolutely loves watching you eat his cake. actually, he enjoys watching you eat any of his sweets for that matter. he shares a few recipes, not all, family secrets, and likes when you try it out and show him the results! some of his magicam photos are of his desserts and in the smallest corner you can be seen stuffing your face.

he gets annoyed whenever someone takes his hat but when you do it he’s a little more okay with it. you’re like a little sibling, so once you calm down from your energy high he’s able to take his hat back and give your head a tiny flick.

he’s also given you his jacket on numerous occasions. he swears he has given you like five but he’s never seen them, like whenever you’re cold and jacketless he gives you his but the next day you’re still without a jacket? and he’s missing half of his? he’s seen your closet briefly when you asked him to get something and they’re just gone? he doesn’t know you’re just collecting jackets and never returning them.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ CATER DIAMOND. ❞

you will never have a zero social media presence with Cater and Vil. Cater is constantly tagging you, even if you are not relevant with what he uploaded. he loves showing you off to his followers, constantly bragging about you and him, making fun hashtags with the two of you. you’re pretty sure a fourth of your followers came from him.

he can occasionally be a free meal ticket. when there’s a new cafe trending Cay-Cay must be there. he needs his followers to see him eating that totally delicious new ice-cream, but he doesn’t like sweets! no need to worry, his favorite junior, yes ace and deuce know you’re clearly the favorite after beansfest, is readily available to eat the dessert for him! he buys one for both of you to seem cute then just gives it to you.

he’s convinced you to visit paintings with him and talk to them because they might be able to tell you what’s on the test, and that’s much easier than studying or asking riddle for any sort of help at any time. he doesn’t want to be brain dead and he tells you this is the easy way.

your favorite cay-cay really enjoys playing with your hair. if it’s long, he insists on tying it and posting on social media his great skill. if you don’t, he will happily let you do his and tag on magicam how cute you are doing it for him randomly. aren’t you all jealous you don’t have a cute junior? you should be.

he keeps you up with all the drama in school. when you go to heartslabyul and visit his room he has tea prepared, according to the rules “coffee is forbidden. tea must be served at all occasions except for birthdays.” he is ready to tell you all about what happened in class, what his friends of friends said, and how someone has a crush on someone else. he’s one of the four third years that live for this.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR. ❞

he hates everything and everyone but that’s his way of giving affection, staring at you with a scowl and telling you to get lost. that’s also his way of telling someone he hates them but lucky for you he doesn’t try to punch you or turn you to dust like he does to Malleus in his head.

he gets you to run errands for him occasionally and doesn’t ask, he demands. though if any other Savanaclaw student did something similar he would become quite aggressive towards them. he’s your bully, don’t touch his herbivore.

he lets you touch his tail when he’s trying to sleep. he lets you think he’s sleeping but he’s wide awake and may occasionally smack you in the face, very lightly, with his tail. he prefers when you rub his ears when he’s asleep and inevitably drags you down with him to be a pillow.

forces Cheka on you. after spelldrive and another time his nephew visit, you found yourself taking care of the little lion for the next day as Leona had classes and everything productive in the universe to do other than play with him. he eventually came back after you got Jack and Ruggie on the case but you had to stop him from bullying the child. he was almost a decent uncle until he pinched his cheeks and set him on a high spot.

he cannot help you pass your classes, he will not teach you how to stay fit, and he has and will not offer you anything. but in return, he expects you to be there to put him to sleep. you once fell on him and his upper body fell, squashing you. he woke up eight hours later on your legs which were numb and just like Silver he finds them super comfy.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ VIL SCHOENHEIT. ❞

oh, you are officially his child just like epel. that’s not a good thing, you’re going to have a strict mom chastising you but only because he loves you. he makes sure you have nice and pretty skin at all times, and that you always have makeup. he considers it a capital top-tier ultimate sin if he sees even a speck of dust on your clothes. although he works you to the bone if you don’t get enough sleep he gets really upset and makes you stop overworking yourself, you can’t get eyebags at your age.

he has taken you shopping on numerous occasions with Kalim and Malleus’ money they gave you for the week. he insists you need to look decent in his presence. whenever you’re done shopping he makes you model and uploads on magicam an amazing photo of himself and you slightly in frame talking about what a great job he did. 3/4 of your followers came from Vil.

he lives for gossip. more specifically, he lives for when you go to pomefiore for spa night. he has cucumber on your eyes and his, facial masks, a bunch of lotion, oils, and two wine glasses. you don’t get alcohol, drink your milk. when you’re laying there with him though you two talk about the recent gossip along with magicam drama and people using his name for fame. he tells you all about his latest shoots and rants about Niege LeBlanche, his mortal enemy.

absolutely does not allow Grim on your clothes and whenever he sees the littlest bit of hair on you he freaks out. he has gifted you quite a few lint roller brushes in hopes you understand what it means to go out presentable. meanwhile you’re wondering if he’s never seen a cat before. they own the house and sit anywhere, you cannot control the fur but he takes no excuses.

go to him for help with anything related to poison. he will initially turn you down, call you a few names because you are not following the routine he gave you, then he teaches you a few things. you should be thoroughly honored, you are in the presence of a queen and should technically kneel before him but he’s very nice.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ ROOK HUNT. ❞

you are always being watched over by your friends and upperclassman, almost literally. everyone looks out for you in their own way, and in Rook’s way he can find you at any time with absolute ease. you don’t know how, he just knows when you need him.

Rook is ecstatic to teach you anything about science, art, hunting, poetry, and while he explains to you he goes off in a french-mixed tangent about how blessed he is to be able to teach you: trying to stop him midway won’t work, he calls you humble and praises you.

also living for the gossip. he knows literally everything and hearing you tell him what you’ve heard he can instantly tell whether it’s true. he enjoys discussing with you how something couldn’t happen or why it was true over some tea. occasionally joins you and Vil for spa night and the three of you just gossip together.

you once went to pet Grim with him next to you and he told you all about how you could skin his fur. if you ever want to put Grim in time out you hand him to Rook for a few hours and Grim will return on his very best behavior. you also find Savanaclaw students running the other direction when they see him with you.

Rook really finds himself happy when you make him lunch. (ive done 300+ rook lessons, i know his dialogue.) a huntsman’s weakness is hunger, or an empty stomach. whenever you give him little treats when he pops out of nowhere he really likes it! you just happened to have a lot of excess cookies once and ever since he loves when you give him treats, he goes on a dramatic tangent on how you’re saving this hungry huntsman.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ IDIA SHROUD. ❞

he already has a little brother so he didn’t really need you at first, but then he saw the light in you. you didn’t mock him for playing games, being an otaku, being an introvert, or using a tablet to speak. he was completely petrified of you originally for being a normie with friends but now he tolerates your existence.

he originally wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole and hid behind literally anything whenever you came to his room, but now he talks to you!! with his voice! don’t touch him for more than five minutes or you will have to restart a week’s worth of progress and he hides from you. he’s already talking to you, don’t push it.

he’s managed to rope you and Azul into a d&d campaign where he acts as the dungeon master. Azul has no clue what’s going on at any time or how the ancient lord killed his character due to not having the holy sword but meanwhile you’re succeeding because half this stuff is influenced by the copious amounts of manga and anime he shows you. you and idia could continue for hours and Azul’s just sitting there utterly confused and after two weeks he comes back beating every boss Idia creates because he’s Azul.

he allows you to borrow his games but do not break them! same with his manga and anime dvds. if you do he will actually cry and look at you as though you kicked his cat. he’s trying his best to socialize with you and him offering you manga is a major progress in your relationship.

sometimes ortho wants to go outside with him, so instead he gets (invited) you to join him in vr he creates with ortho because it’s the closest thing to normal friends hanging out at a cafe as you will get with him for a long time. he gets smug and happy when you tell him how cool the program is, or how great and realistic the world looks.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ MALLEUS DRACONIA. ❞

honestly he’s one of the reasons you’re able to live. Kalim, Azul, and Malleus are your financial supporters because you actually cannot afford a cafeteria meal after Crowley has forgotten to give you money. he’s tried to confront crowley for you but you had to beg him not to destroy the headmage’s office.

you can practically see a tail wagging each time you talk. he looks so monotonous all the time you failed to realize it, but Lilia pointed out how happy he is when you talk. he’s always full focus on your face, attention given completely to you, taking in every word you say and giving his own replies.

he really likes his device he has and you’re like they have tamagotchi here? he really likes showing his to you and loves when you give input on how well he takes care of them! he suggests you get one of your own and even asks Lilia if you can get one after you mention he’s raised his to be cute.

as the only member of the gargoyle research club, he doesn’t really get to talk to others like in a normal club. when you visit him he really enjoys explaining everything and anything about gargoyles to you! please show him any gargoyles in ramshackle, he’s ecstatic.

❁ཻུ۪۪ ━ ❝ LILIA VANROUGE. ❞

did you ever want a dad who suspiciously appears in your history books and can’t cook? congrats, you have him. you’re also never getting rid of lilia, he’s now one of your multiple dads and you do not get a say. he’s ready to fall from the sky and hand you the adoption papers.

absolutely enjoys when you visit the light music room club. he’s showed you his singing before and you thought how could such a small and cute face scream his lights out? please compliment his music taste, he will be happy.

absolutely lives to gossip. Cater knows literally everything and tells it to you. afterwards you tell it to the rest of the guys. Malleus has walked in on the two of you gossiping about someone having a crush on someone else and he swore he understood zero percent of the language you spoke and was convinced the two of you were cursed.

he’s tried to cook for you but you’ve been protected. he doesn’t understand why you’re suspiciously missing each time he cooks. he promises to one day cook for you and tries to bring some to Ramshackle but it always goes missing. Malleus, Sebek, and Silver are your guardian angels.

Lilia can and will teach you everything about history!! he really enjoys helping you learn more when you’re genuinely interested. he’s a fae who’s lived forever and let’s you play with his ears or observed them, he finds you so amusing. especially when you’re so weak but he can throttle the savanaclaw kids with one hand for you.

✎ ˎˊ- "chocodollxren" [choco - doll - rhen] ˖˚˳⊹ 'ּ໋݊◵ dn repost. likes/comments/reblogs appreciated; not required. so long as you enjoyed the content.

next up should be filler! an azul, a savanaclaw, a vil + leona, and leech brothers, are being prepared. ((: sorry this is late. i couldn’t fall asleep and then ended up sleeping really late,, i also got completely distracted drawing a certain someone. thank you to everyone for your patience! my event begins on May 24th, I’ll be taking requests until May 23rd. any non-event requests from May 24th to June 7th will not be prioritized until the event ends! hshkjhs unless my event completely flops. im sorry to anyone who doesn’t use automatic read more,, whenever i add the line it cuts my writing and makes the formatting odd??

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #paper rings #inspired by #taylor swift

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subpar-ghoulfriend · 3 years

Text

Let’s have a baby

yandere!EraserMicx PREGNANT!Reader

A terrible mix up leading to an accidental pregnancy? Or something more intentional? Either way now you were pregnant with (none other than the beloved power couple heroes) Eraserhead and Present Mic’s child. Time to discuss how co parenting is going to work.

TW: pregnancy, artificial insemination, yandere elements, mentions of stalking, alludes to potential custody battle

You had been avoiding the two men for the past week, which was challenging seeing as they managed to find your phone number, address, and place of work. Any time you blocked their calls they got a new number. Two Pro Heroes versus a twenty something civilian, it was only a matter of time until you were cornered.

Now the couple stood between you and your apartment. You had a long shift at your job as a pet groomer and just wanted to get some rest.

Present Mic was the first to speak. "Hey lil momma, we heard you had work today so we brought you some dinner. We thought we could talk over a nice meal."

You had no response. You were tired, both physically and emotionally. You had been put through the ringer ever since meeting them at your doctors office. It was a total Jane the Virgin situation. You went in for an assessment about some supposed ovarian cysts and unknowing left artificially inseminated. There was a supposed mix up, a digital glitch that somehow merged your chart with the surrogates - apparently your names were super similar. Two weeks later you were called back into the doctor's office and informed of what took place. And now you were in this living nightmare.

And the two heroes had nothing to do with the error. There was totally a surrogate. They hadn't paid off your provider. And why would they? You had never met them - although given their patrols they may have seen you once or twice...

They were tearful when they were informed of the mix up, they had been waiting patiently through the whole process and now everything was thrown in chaos. They offered to compensate you for your service which sent you into a blind rage. They just assumed you would carry a child, a child with half of your DNA, and then give YOUR baby away. Rationally you understood that they had planned to be be the only parents to the child, but that was with a professional surrogate who understood the process, who didn't want the child in their life, just happy to help out a loving couple. But that wasn't you, you grew up wanting to be a mom, and now they would take that from you.

What if they tried to legally take sole custody of the baby? Surely they had some pull in the judicial system. Besides, they were a solid couple with money, while you were alone with no family and working two jobs. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

You were shaking as you tried to push past them. Maybe they would just disappear if you ignored them, a girl could dream. But instead they tagged along inside. Albeit you weren’t fighting them on it, you knew this had to happen eventually.

Aizawa easily found the cluttered dining table in your small apartment. You flinched when the loud one tried to help you shrug off your backpack. Taking a seat on the couch you waited for them to start berating you.

"Come sit at the table, dinner is getting cold," Eraser spoke for the first time.

"I'll eat later, I'm not hungry."

"You may not be, but the baby needs to eat."

You glared, how dare they insinuate you didn't know what your child needed. If your body was hungry, you ate. If you were full the baby was full too.

But, you complied, not wanting to argue, "Fine, but I ate a snack not too long ago."

As you ate, Mic kept you company, picking at some left overs, they clearly ate before their visit. Aizawa was rummaging through your place but you managed to hold your tongue until he began throwing things out of your fridge.

"What are you doing?" You hissed, getting up out of your seat.

"Mic and I will bring you groceries tomorrow. The food you have is barely safe for an adult, let alone a fetus."

"Are you kidding me? It's not like I'm chugging alcohol and living off Twinkies. Hey! I just bought those turkey slices. How is turkey bad?" You whined.

To make sure you wouldn't dig the food out trash he dumped it out of his container.

"Zashi, don't let me forget to empty the trash on our way out. Do you know how much salt is in deli meat? And there's no way you can drink any of this while you're pregnant." He gestures to the cans of soda.

As the frustration built you had to fight back tears. They couldn't come in to your home and start throwing out your things.

"Some of us don't make ridiculous money, I'm buying what I can afford and the doctor never had any problem with my health." You hissed.

Hizashi felt the tension thickening, "Hey hey hey, it's okay. Sho and I will go get you some good stuff. We just gotta watch out for you and baby."

And that was the end of your resolve, you stomped past the Hero and locked yourself in your bedroom. Finally tears began to drip down your cheeks.

Back in your kitchen Mic was chiding his boyfriend for being so tough on you.

"So I should just back down while she stuffs herself with junk food?"

Mic gave him a shrug, showing him a bottle on your counter, "At lest she's taking her prenatal vitamins?"

Grabbing the keys to your apartment Aizawa instructed Mic to wait with you while he got you better groceries. He would make copies of your keys on his was back.

You prayed they would leave soon. You were laying in your bed having cried yourself out. Barely into your second month of pregnancy. You still had to endure this for at least seven more months, but most likely much longer.

Next thing you knew you were opening your eyes and the clock read seven AM. By now your uninvited guests must be gone. Nervously you sat up, praying that you'd skip the morning sickness just once this week. You had always had a weak stomach and even the doctor was surprised you were already experiencing the symptom. Unfortunately the minute your feet touched the floor you knew what was coming. You sprinted to the restroom, not even checking to see if the duo had left.

God this was terrible, you didn't just hate throwing up, you were terrified of it. What if you started and never stopped? But it did come to an end. You wiped the water from your eyes and took a moment before standing from the floor. You screamed when a hand slid under your arm, helping you up. Another set of feet rushed to the bathroom.

" What's wrong?" Hizashi huffed as he skid to a stop.

You pulled arm free from Aizawa's grasp. "What are you two still doing here?"

You turned in the faucet to rinse your mouth. Trying to calm your stress, the nausea was trying to return.

Undeterred the scruff pulled your hair into a bun before rubbing your back. You debated returning to bed but that wouldn't get them out of your apartment. You told them you need to sit down, both of them nodding, still wearing their concerned expressions. They got you a glass of water before joining you on the couch. Stubborn men, you sat at the end of the couch so they couldn't both sit, but Mic decided to perch himself on the armrest.

He started petting your hair, "You feelin better little listener?" You nodded in response.

"I got you more food, let us know if your hungry."

You sighed in defeat, "I'm barely two months pregnant, I can fend for myself. What did you all want to talk about?"

You anxiously placed a hand on your stomach. Both men felt their hearts flutter recognizing your maternal instincts kicking in.

Aizawa let Mic begin, he was the more gentle of the two.

"Well, we figured we got off to a rough start. You got put in a tough situation. We shouldn't have assumed you didn't want a child so we're not mad at how you stormed out. But either way we expect to be in our baby's life. The two of us talked it over and we don't want to fight you if you want to be in their life too. So if you wanna be the mommy we're cool with it."

You could blame your reaction on your hormones for your response but you didn't, "Geez thank you so much for allowing me to be in MY child's life."

Aizawa placed a hand on the back of your neck, giving you a gentle massage. "Okay then, the three of us are gonna have a baby. That means you have to stop ignoring us. We can raise the baby together, without involving anyone else. But if we have to, we can always go the legal route for the baby's best interest."

He knew it was a low blow, but the couple needed you to stop fighting them. Your eyes snapped to his and you shook your head in protest.

"Okay then we're all the same page," Aizawa reassured you.

Mic cheered, "Now we can focus on the fun stuff."

"Hun," Eraserhead caught his attention. "There's still a few more important things to figure out. We don't want you going back to that doctor. They're incompetent. We scheduled you an appointment with another's clinic for next week. Okay?"

You couldn't find your voice after how easily he threatened to take your baby. So you just nodded. Half listening.

"Good. We also went ahead and programmed our numbers into your phone. We need to be able to check in with you."

"Okay, but I can't use my phone at one of my jobs."

"About that lil momma," Mic started. "You work a lot, which is totally bad ass, but we don't think you leave enough time to rest and take care of yourself."

You tried to protest but Aizawa cut you off, "You also shouldn't be working around so many animals. Even though we love animals, they can be unpredictable and one dog can trigger all the rest into a frenzy."

You were dumbfounded, "I've never heard of anything like that happening. One of my coworkers was pregnant last year, she worked until her maternity leave. Plus I need to be able to pay my bills. And don't offer to compensate me again."

"Why do you have to view it as compensation? We just want to take care of the mother of our child. Just think about it. Mic and I have to go take care of some business but we'll be back later this week."

---

Back at their home Hizashi was dramatically splayed on their bed.

"Babe why are you pouting?" Aizawa asked.

"Why can't we just bring her home already?"

Aizawa sympathized with his better half, but they needed to be methodical. He reminded Hizashi that they didn't need to cause her even more stress, especially so early into the pregnancy. If they played their cards right they would have their happy little family soon enough.

If they could ease you in to the relationship everything would be easier in the long run. They had been managing just fine until now, they could wait a few more months.

He joined Hizashi on the couch. Mic was comforting himself the way he usually did when he felt like this. He was scrolling through the countless photos they had collected since their chance encounter with you over a year ago.

#bnha yandere #yandere erasermic #yandere x reader #yandere present mic #yandere aizawa

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

Text

A Pain You'll Soon Regret - Pt. 2

Poly! MC Summary: MC and the demon lords get in a fight resulting in MC leaving. They planned on going to Purgatory Hall until things cool off, but they never quite make it there. Ft. Poly!MC

TW: Heavy Angst, Violence, I don't know what to tag this, but there is a pretty nasty verbal fight, Gore/Injury Vomit Part 1: HERE, Part 3: HERE, Part 4: HERE

Meanwhile at the House of Lamentation

Your leaving hadn't made the situation at the House any better. Asmodeus threw his hands up in the air and glared at the rest. "Great! Just wonderful! Now they've run off. Happy now?" venom filled his words, but he could feel his heart race in fear that he had just lost the one person who loved him for more than his looks. Satan scoffed, though he glanced at the door through the corner of his eyes. "Don't act like you're better than us. I didn't see you standing up for them." Levi growled and went straight to his room as Satan and Asmodeus began to argue. Beel took a step towards to door you had just marched out of and glance between it and his brothers. "Should we go after them? It's dark and they're drunk."

Lucifer lifted his chin as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why should we? It's like they said, they don't want to depend on us anymore, fine. Let them see for themself how far they get without our protection," with those words, Lucifer turned on his heel and stormed to his office.

Beel sighed and looked at Belphie, "What do you think? We can go get them together?" Belphie stared at the door for a minute, a guilty look in his eyes, before he shook his head. "Give them space, Beel. They're probably heading for Purgatory Hall. Simeon and the others can take care of them for tonight. Right now we all just need to calm down before facing each other again," he patted his twin's shoulder before heading to their room; regret swirling in his stomach as he thought of how he betrayed you once more.

Mammon stood frozen staring at the door like he still hadn't made up his mind on what he wanted to do. His instincts screamed at him to get you back in his arms and keep you there. You were his human, reckless or not, and he had a duty to protect you both as your assigned protector and as your boyfriend. But for some reason, he couldn't seem to move his feet. His mind replayed the discussion in his head over and over again. He had once told MC that if they couldn't be saved by him, to make sure that they died. That he was the only one allowed to protect them. Tonight, as everyone was fighting, MC needed him to protect them, but instead, he pushed them towards the wolves. He let his greed get the best of him. "Fuck," Mammon cursed to himself as he shook himself out of his thoughts. He glanced over to see Beel restraining Satan from pouncing onto a sneering Asmodeus. He sighed and shook his head. They hadn't fought like this in a long time. You had always been there to put them into their place. Now look at them. Mammon groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Will you guys cut it out? MC is gone, okay? Ain't nothin' we can do about it now," to his surprise, his younger brothers actually stopped and seemed to be listening to him. Mammon huffed and began walking towards the stairs. "It's like Belphie said. We ain't in no place to make things better right now. Fightin' like this is what got us in this position, so quit it. Get some sleep. We'll figure it all in the mornin'." Beel, Satan and Asmodeus blinked at their older brother as he disappeared upstairs. Seeing Mammon mature and take control of the situation like that, was strange, but not unfamiliar. Asmodeus massaged his temples with one hand and fixed his hair with the other. "Ugh, all this fighting is going to be horrid for my skin," he glanced at the door one more time with a defeated look before heading towards his room. Satan clenched and unclenched his hands a couple of times, taking a few deep breaths, before silently nodding at Beel and walking away. All alone, Beel stepped towards the door. He opened it and looked out at the dark vast of the Devildom before him. With a heavy, guilty heart, he closed the door and pressed his forehead against it. He used one hand to lock the door for the evening, while the other pulled out his D.D.D. The others didn't want him going after you, but a message couldn't hurt, right? He opened your contact and wrote out his text, "Hey MC. I'm sorry for how things happened tonight. Things got out of hand, and I'm sorry for not doing anything to stop that. I know you and the others are upset right now, but I was hoping that tomorrow, once we're all calm, you could come back home and we could talk about it?" Beel sat by the door for half an hour waiting for a response, but none ever came. He frowned and glanced up at the locked door handle before shaking his head. "Maybe they left it on silent for a bit," he mumbled to himself before picking up his phone once more. "Text me when you get to Purgatory Hall. You don't need to say anything else. I just want to know you're safe." With that, Beel headed towards the gym. He wasn't tired. He wasn't hungry. He just wanted you home, but he couldn't have that. So in the meantime, he'd stay awake until he at least knew you were safe.

Only the morning came and went, and there was no word from you. The brothers were starting to get concerned. No matter what was said last night, they still loved you. You all needed to talk, yes, and things needed to be worked out, but that didn't change how they felt for you. They would never want to see you hurt. Lucifer had reached out to Simeon, while Asmodeus contacted Solomon and Beel texted Luke. Only Beel received a response. "Never contact me again. If you come anywhere near Purgatory Hall, I will not hesitate to smite you in an instant, you foul fiend?" Satan read out loud as he passed the phone back to a very confused and worried Beel. "What in the world did you do to him?" "Nothing. At least, I don't think," he thought about for a second. "I've stolen his baked goods on occasion, but besides complaining about as I did it, he never seemed to hold a grudge." Lucifer frowned deeply. "This is clearly about MC. Luke has taken to them as though they're his older sibling."

Levi scowled and pressed a few buttons on his game. "Sure they aren't dating him too?" he yelped as Asmodeus smacked him on the back of the head. "Stop it," Asmodeus growled. "I know you're the Avatar of Envy, Levi, but MC was open and honest with us. They told us that they loved us all and that they wanted a relationship with all of us. We all listened to what they offered and agreed. You agreed to this!"

Levi huffed and put down his game. "Because it was better than not having them at all!" he sighed and put an arm over his face. "I know that they love me, and them being with a-all of us doesn't change that, but it's so hard sometimes. I-I-I just-" "Want 'em to yourself?" Mammon provided. Levi blushed and nodded in response. Mammon shrugged and sat down beside him. "We all understand that Levi. This is somethin' new for all of us. When I see MC bein' sweet with you guys I get this urge to just rip 'em off ya and hold 'em tight in my arms where ya guys can never touch 'em again," he sighed and put a hand on Levi's shoulder, "but then I see MC smile at me the same way they smile at Beel or you or Lucifer. I know that when I'm holdin' them, they're thinkin' of me and they're there with me because they treasure our time together. It's hard sometimes, and it hurts to admit, but you guys make MC happy, and I can't take that away from them." He nudged his younger brother gently, "Neither can you." Everyone sat quietly as they thought of Mammon's words. "They always bring me snacks after my workouts," Beel said with a small smile. "They always seem to know when I'm hungry and would just whip out snacks out of nowhere." Satan leaned onto his knees from where he sat on his chair. "They ordered me their favourite books from the human world on Akuzon. They wanted to do a trade. I'd read their favourites and they'd read mine. That way we could learn a bit about each other just by reading something that the other loved and would understand one another a little better." Belphie tiredly rubbed his eyes and leaned against Beel. "They wake me up after all class and before any meals," he chuckled softly at the memory. "No matter how much I snarled or insulted them, they'd just put their hands on their hips and patiently wait for me to wake up so that I wouldn't miss any of my classes or any meals."

Asmodeus giggled and smiled brightly. "That alone proves how much of an angel they are. Your demon side really shows when you're woken up." The others laughed as Belphegor stuck his tongue out at Asmo. "They would always give me their opinion on my outfits. I know it seems impossible, but even I get torn between which outfit I should bless the public with sometimes. MC would always be the voice of reason to help me choose," his eyes softened, "Though they always said at the end that the most beautiful thing about me was my heart, something no one could see but radiated from the outside-in." Lucifer sighed, closing his eyes as he put aside his pride, and spoke. "They check on me in the middle of the night. I swear they have an alarm. They'll come into my office to see if I'm still awake. If I am, so long as the work isn't truly urgent, they'll poke my cheek and play with my hair until I give in and go to bed."

Everyone turned to Levi. The otaku's face was bright red as he avoided everyone's gaze. "Your turn, Levi," Mammon ordered. "Come on. I know that MC's super gentle with ya. Ya have to have somethin' to add." Leviathan pouted before mumbling. "They'll hold my hand when we're in crowds and in public because they know how anxious it makes me. If I start to freak out, they'll just gently squeeze my hand and pull me along until they can find a quiet space where I can calm down a bit," he groans and glares at Mammon. "What's your point?"

"His point," Satan began calmly, "is that MC loves us all equally. They take special care to do the little things to ensure that we all know that we are loved by them." Mammon nodded and pointed and Satan. "Exactly!" Lucifer hummed in thought. "Though this doesn't fix the problem of MC having no regard for their own safety." Everyone winced. There was no denying that. You admitted it yourself. You were reckless, and in a place like the Devildom, that kind of behaviour would get you killed one day. What would happen if you weren't with them one day? Just like you currently weren't. Memories of your storm out swirled in all of their heads, and concern pooled heavily in their stomachs. "Has anyone heard from them yet?" Belphie asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous. But then again, he was always protective of you as he never wanted you to get hurt again, especially since he had been responsible for so much of your pain in the past. Beel opened his mouth to respond when Asmodeus's D.D.D. went off. Everyone eagerly stood, as Asmo pulled out the device and answered it without checking. "MC? Are you alright?" "Put it on speaker!" Levi snapped, crowding as close to his brother as he could. Asmodeus nodded and quickly did as told. The voice that answered wasn't you, as they had all hoped, but rather Solomon. "I'm afraid they're not," the brother's felt their blood freeze at Solomon's words, as time seemed to stand still around them. Solomon's voice was cold and stern, showing his obvious anger at the demons. "I apologize for not contacting you all sooner, but I was spending every last second of my time and energy on trying to keep MC from dying of blood loss. That, and Luke is quite determined to keep the lot of you as far from MC as possible. If it was up to him I wouldn't even be calling you all right now. I, however, figured that you should at least be made aware of their condition." None of them heard a thing after the words "dying from blood loss" reached their ears. Lucifer took the D.D.D. from Asmo's shaking hands. "What happened? The last we saw them they-" "Presumably walked away from a fight with all of you and was trying to come to us. Yes. I'm aware. I read Beelzebub's texts on MC's phone," everyone glanced at Beel. His brows narrowed as he kept his eyes fixed on the D.D.D. "To answer your question, MC didn't make it to Purgatory Hall last night. They were jumped by a group of three demons who seemed to think that human would make a delectable midnight snack. What do you think, Beelzebub? Is that true? Is the taste of human flesh, really so delicious? I think I've heard you comment as much once or twice before you all began your relationship," Solomon spat the words accusingly. Fury danced on his tongue as though he was Wrath himself. Beel winced back and put a hand on his stomach as flipped inside of him. Belphie growled at the mention in his defence. "Stop dancing around the subject and get to the point. What happened? Are they okay?" The demons were surprised to hear a snarl come from the other end. "I already told you, they aren't. Luke had opened a window to air out some of the kitchens after he failed a new recipe he was trying out when he heard their screams. By the time we got there one of them had eaten half of their right leg, while was one biting along their shoulder, and the other was trying to choke them to death. Simeon and I were able to get the heathens off of them and incinerated them on the spot, but MC was already unconscious. While we were fighting the demons, Luke was just barely able to cast enough healing spells to stop the bleeding and stabilize them. Simeon and I have been working ever since on using every spell, charm, and potion that we know to keep them alive and somehow attempt to heal their injuries." At the mention of MC's leg have been mostly eaten, Beel turned and threw up on the ground. No one moved to comfort him, as they were too distracted by their own states of shock. "A-Are-" Mammon began to choke out before clearing his throat. "Are they

alive? Please tell me they're alive." The answer hung just out of their grasp. Waving dangerously above them like a deadly knife held up by a string. No matter what the response would be, all the brothers felt as though they may faint. "They're alive. Simeon had to use all his power to bring their blood count levels up to a healthy level, and their shoulder was dislocated, they most likely have a concussion going off of their head injury, not to mention their right leg was unsalvagable and had to be amputated, but yes. They are, at the very least, alive." Mammon joined Beel. Satan stood still, though he had changed into his demon form and the aura of pure wrath filled every cranny of the room. Asmodeus held a hand over his mouth as tears streamed steadily down his face. Leviathan had stumbled away from the group and was in the beginning stages of a panic attack. Belphie stared at the phone with a bewildered expression, his eyes pricked with tears, as though he couldn't believe the words coming from Solomon's mouth.

Lucifer was doing everything he could not to hurl the phone across the room.

Solomon continued. "Luke is currently watching them and making sure that they remain stable, while Simeon and I rest. As such, you will have no luck if you try to see them right now. I'll text you when I wake up and then you can come to see them," with that, Solomon hung up. Anxiety, grief, and remorse clung to each of the brothers like a new skin. Earlier they were arguing that all of them had your love, and because of that, all of them had nearly lost you. ***Duh duh duh!!! Part three to come. Part three will probably be the final part, but I don't know. Haven't quite figured out how this is going to end yet. Though a heads up, a may fill out another request before pt. 3 is up just to give me a break from the heavy angst. Thank you all so much for supporting me! And thank you to @millenniumofpain for the request!***

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