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darkomoth · 10 months

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Insomniacs

Chapter 1: Violets

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: You and Hotch are both workaholics, but when you start showing up earlier and staying later, he starts getting concerned. A case will give you something to preoccupy yourself with, but something goes severely wrong.

Cause when doesn't it?

Notes: I recommend getting the InteractiveFics extension for chrome! It's really good and will replace the y/n and l/n with your name :)

Also uploaded on Ao3 under the same title

Word count: 9.7K

Ch. 2 Ch.3

It was another night of not being able to sleep at all. Not that you hadn’t tried. After the plane touched back down in Quantico, you should’ve felt relief at the thought of home and a comfortable bed to lie your head, but you felt nothing other than anxiety at the thought of nothing to do.

You got to your apartment, dumped your used go-bag clothes into the washing machine, showered, cleaned up the dishes that cluttered in your kitchen, even vacuumed up a bit in the living room. You looked over at the clock on the end table by your couch, it read 3:33 am. With a sigh, you decided to give rest a shot.

Your bed was made perfectly already, not wanting to mess it up, you decided the couch was good. You grabbed a blanket and pillow and turned on the TV, volume all the way down. The time passed achingly slowly. Seconds crawled by and the silence was unbelievably deafening. You looked at the clock once again, 3:39 am. Another attempt to close your eyes and you were met with 20 minutes of tossing and turning.

“That’s enough.” You mumbled to yourself before throwing the warm blanket off your body and getting up. You made a pot of coffee, moved your clothes to the dryer, and packed a new go-bag. 4:05 am. It was agonizing, every second you waited for your phone to ring. You watched it, the dark screen with no new notifications taunting you. You sat on your couch, watching the characters on your screen move and laugh silently, your eyes drifted closed once or twice, but never long enough for it to be called sleep.

You sipped your coffee, hot and caffeinated and perfect. 4:17 am. When the drink went cold you decided it would be a good time to get ready for the day. You got dressed, black slacks and a dark blue long-sleeved button-down. You brushed your hair and did your makeup. 4:29 am. You considered whether to just go straight to the office, ultimately deciding it best to grab some food first.

You arrived at the building at 5:02 am. It wasn’t too early, you decided. After all, there have been nights that you’ve seen your boss not leave until past 5:00 in the morning. Hotch’s car wasn’t in the parking lot this morning, however. That was good, it meant he was getting sleep and time with his son.

The bullpen was dark, you decided to only turn on one light, enough for you to see. The case report on your desk was already finished since you worked on it during your team's flight back home, but there would be no harm in going over it. You wouldn’t classify yourself as a perfectionist or even a workaholic, though you presented that way to others. You just didn’t enjoy doing nothing like other people.

Footsteps coming from your left made you pause what you were doing and look up.

“Good morning.” You said as Hotch came walking into the bullpen with that perfectly pressed suit of his. The time on your watch read 5:30 am, he was very punctual.

“Good morning.” He said, with that usual furrow of his brow and the tight-lipped look that meant a question was coming. “You’re here early.”

Okay, not really a question.

“So are you.” You say, too tired to engage in your typical banter.

Hotch only nodded once in response, then took a few steps towards his office before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. “Did you actually go home last night?”

“Yes.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers beneath your desk. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm.” He hummed in response. “Don’t burn yourself out, we need you alert.”

“Do we have a case?” You asked, maybe a little too quickly.

“Not until the rest of the team gets here... but yes.”

You nodded and any trace of tiredness from the night dissipated. Blood pumped in your veins and your anxiety disappeared, anticipation for the new work ahead of you completely replacing it.

“Okay, would you mind if I got the case file now? I have nothing else to do.” You asked.

Hotch studied you for a moment with that serious frown of his, “I’ll make copies now.”

“Thank you.”

Sometimes you felt like Hotch was the only one that understood you. Maybe it was because he was the resident workaholic in the department before you showed up, and he still is, but it feels deeper than that. Most days you come in at the same time, leave at the same time... honestly the only time you don’t see your Unit Chief is when you’re home. You hated being home.

In the very late hours when the whole building was quiet and not a soul lingered, you would see that one light from Hotch’s office and feel comfort. His blinds would be open, and you could see him reading and writing, looking like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Since the death of his ex-wife, Haley, he’s stayed later and later, coming in earlier, only departing when he knows Jack needs him. It’s a heartbreaking thing to watch.

But often you would be sitting at your desk, getting lost in the paperwork as your eyes strained to read every bit of information in the dim lighting, when a warm hand would land on your shoulder. Hotch’s soft, tired voice telling you to take a break, rest your eyes. It made your chest warm, and body relax if only for a few minutes. He knew better than to try to get you to go home, it never works out. Unless of course, he leaves at the same time. It was a very rare occurrence, to say the least.

Right now, Hotch is in his office making enough copies of the case files to be passed around to the team when they get in. You tap impatiently on your desk, drumming your fingers along to a song that only exists in your head. When you can’t stand it anymore, you get up and make your way over to him.

You knock once on the open door, “What is it?”

Hotch turns to you with a serious look. “You’re very impatient this morning.”

“I know. So?”

With a sigh, he hands over a manila folder with the FBI logo.

“Three women in three weeks, all were strangled and beaten to death, abducted from their homes. Last victim was found 4 days ago.”

“That’s a strict timeline... and they’re just calling us in now?” You ask.

“Local sheriff thinks it could be even more and I’m inclined to agree. So far, this presents as organized. No one starts out like this, there are no hesitation marks on the bodies and no DNA was left behind on the scenes.”

You nodded along as he spoke, already going over the possibilities of this unsub in your mind. Organized means older, that rules out teenagers and younger. No hesitation could mean psychopathy, lack of remorse, etc. Most likely white given the victims were, possibly sexually frustrated.

“Any sign of sexual assault?”

“We’ll go over everything when the team arrives.” Hotch states firmly.

“When were they called in?” You asked.

“If you check your voice mail, you’ll see.” He says with a small smile. “Look, go to the conference room and read over the files some more, I’ll make some more coffee.”

You want to argue, but you know he’s right. You were definitely getting ahead of yourself here. With a grateful nod, you head to the conference room.

The pictures were gruesome, but when aren’t they? The girls were pretty when they were alive, their faces were mutilated during the attacks. Could have something to do with the unsub’s view of women. You turned over theory after theory in your head and before you knew it, Hotch was back and sliding over a mug filled to the brim with coffee, just the way you like it.

“Thank you, Hotch.” You say, taking a sip. He nods and sips his own cup.

“How long were you here before I came in?” He asks you, glancing up from the file in his hands.

You shrug and say, “Not long... half an hour?”

“You need to rest.” He says, in his usual commanding tone. It makes you smile a bit, though you try to suppress it.

“I know, and I will.” You look him in the eyes to try and convince him, but he looks doubtful. “Promise.”

Hotch nods, seemingly satisfied for the time being. You knew he was just checking in on you out of concern for a team member, but you hoped it was just a little more than that. Anytime he looked at you, it made your heart rate pick up a little. You weren’t as sure of yourself as usual when you were around him.

Five minutes later the team starts filtering in, first is JJ, then Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid. Then it’s Garcia, who did not seem very happy to be awake at 6:30 am, followed by Rossi. When everyone finally gathered into the conference room, you could feel your body relax. Your work could finally start for real.

After the initial ‘good mornings’ and bantering, Hotch started to present the case to everyone. You suggested the same preliminary profile traits from earlier and most everyone agreed.

“Well, if this unsub has killed before, it will most likely not be in the exact same spot.” Reid says. “We should widen the range to a fifty-mile radius to see if there were any similar murders in the past couple years or so.”

“I’m so on it.” Penelope says.

“What else did the unsub do?” Prentiss asks, looking at the photos of the victims’ neck wounds.

“A call was placed to each of the victim’s significant others, a voice modifier was used but the message remained the same. ‘Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.’” Hotch says. “He keeps them for at least a day, given the various stages of healing with the victims bruises.”

“Well, that’s definitely sadistic, torturing not only the victims but those close to them as well.” You add.

“Was the call placed before or after their deaths?” Rossi asks.

Hotch’s eyebrows knit further together, “Before, according to the coroner's report.”

“Which gives the victim’s family hope only for that to be snuffed out almost immediately.” Reid says.

“If this guy’s seasoned in his kills, why risk dumping the bodies in such a public way?” Morgan asks. “All of the victims, Susanne Yearly, Brenda James and Larissa Buckly were all found in public parks, somewhere he could’ve easily been seen even at night while disposing of them.”

“Maybe there’s a part of him that wants to get caught? Wants people to know that this was his work.” You say.

“If that’s the case, we’re dealing with a narcissist.” Rossi adds.

Prentiss jumps in again, “Yeah, but this level of body mutilation feels personal. Their faces were left nearly unrecognizable, I’m willing to bet his stressor involves a woman that has similar features.”

“The families are distraught.” JJ says. “They confirmed in the police reports that all the girls lived alone, having just moved into new places weeks or even days before their abductions took place.”

“Well, that’s certainly a connection.” Hotch states. “Chicago PD will be expecting us when we arrive, wheels up in 30.”

Arriving less than three hours later, Hotch orders you and Reid to establish a timeline in the precinct while Morgan and Rossi take the newest crime scene where Larissa’s body was found. Hotch has JJ speaking to family members and Prentiss goes with him to the morgue.

Garcia’s on the speaker with Reid, “I did what you asked and widened the range for possible attacks fitting this creeps M.O., however absolutely nothing came up. Soooo, I changed the parameters. Hotch and L/N mentioned that most likely this guy wouldn’t have been as confident as he is now, meaning the kills may not have been as brutal. I included any and all deaths as a result of suffocation from the last ten years surrounding the Chicago area and wouldn’t-ya-know-it I got a hit. Well, hits.”

Garcia explains that there were at least 5 possible victims, all of them died of various forms of suffocation. You and Reid went through the past reports of the deceased women and ruled out two of them since they both drowned, which didn’t fit this unsub’s specific fantasy. That left you with three girls, one found in an alley behind her work with a bag around her head, no other injuries except a hit on the head with a blunt object. The other two were covered in bruises and strangled with rope. Since then, the unsub’s gotten smarter, switched from rope to wire making it less bulky and conspicuous. He’s also leveled up his damage to their face and body, becoming more intense with each kill.

You and Reid explain your findings to Hotch and Prentiss when they return from the morgue. They corroborate the theory with their own findings, since each body was more disfigured than the last. The thin lines on the necks of the victims were so deep, you wondered if that’s what the unsub focused on the most.

“There was no sexual assault present on the bodies.” Prentiss states. “But there were marks on their wrists and ankles, they were most likely tied to something while the unsub beat them.”

“Which means the act of killing is more than enough for him,” Hotch adds. “He derives all of his pleasure from brutalizing the women, then watching them die in front of him.”

“The bag around the head on the very first victim, Miranda Jall, along with the hit on her head suggests a sort of de-personalization.” Reid says. “He didn’t make a call to her fiancé and there was no abduction. He hit her over the head as she walked out of her workplace, and the bag obscured his view of her face, he couldn’t have gotten off on it.” He says.

“It was practice. He was figuring out how he was going to incapacitate his victims.” You say. “He probably felt a rush after the initial hit, and realized he wanted more of that aspect.”

“So, he amps up the beatings.” Hotch adds. “He isn’t satisfied with just the kill, he wants more time.”

“And then he switches to rope so he can see their faces.” Prentiss says.

“The two victims that were strangled with rope still have yet to be identified. He started out by blitz-attacking his victims in isolated areas, where-as now he targets newly independent women inside their homes.” Reid says.

JJ walks up with a look on her face that you all know means bad news, “The victims' families have no idea who the caller could be, all the young women appeared to be well-liked, in stable relationships. They can’t think of a single person that would want to do this to their daughters.”

Just then, a call comes through to Hotch’s phone. “Hotchner.” He listens for a moment and then nods, “Okay.” He hangs up. “Morgan and Rossi found violets at the crime scene.”

“The flower?” Prentiss asks.

“Yes.”

“Was that present at the other dump sites?” You ask.

“If it was, it wasn’t mentioned in the files.” Hotch answers.

“If he’s leaving flowers for his victims, it could potentially be a sign of remorse.” Reid says.

“This guy isn’t capable, he’s narcissistic and psychopathic, the flowers have to mean something else.” You say, frustrated now.

So far all you’ve really gotten is the confirmation that this guy has killed at least six women, and not a whole lot else. You decide to call Garcia.

“Speak and be heard by residing genius PG.”

“Hey Garcia, can you get me everything on the early victims? I think the unsub knew one of them personally.” You say.

“What makes you think that?” Prentiss asks.

“Well, if the first kill was a trial, maybe he was practicing for a specific target. He could have already gotten who he wanted and now he’s chasing the same high.” You reply. “While you’re at it Garcia, see if you can find any mention of violets being present at the crime scenes.”

Everyone had converged back to the precinct nearly an hour ago. The last victim, Larissa Buckly, was found 4 days ago. If the unsub is continuing at a consistent rate with no sign of slowing down, the police will be finding a new body in 3 days.

You all knew this, the stakes were high and given the profile of the unsub, he wasn’t someone that was going to stop unless he was behind bars. Still, the team needed sleep.

“Alright, we’ve done all that we can for the night. The profile is out there, the press conference warned women of Chicago to remain vigilant, you all can head to the hotel.” Hotch says.

Hotch could tell that the team wasn’t in high spirits and exhaustion wasn’t going to make it any better. It’s usually a good idea to take a step back, take a break, and come back with fresh eyes. And yet, as the profilers filed out of the precinct, still talking back and forth about victimology and M.O., he noticed not all of them were leaving.

Y/N stayed planted where she was at the round table, eyebrows knit together in frustration or confusion. She tapped her fingers the way that she does when she's nervous or focused, or both. Hotch takes a step towards her, his arms crossed, and a frown set on his face.

“I said you all can head to the hotel.” He says pointedly.

“Yes, I heard you. I’m not tired.” Y/N says, still not meeting his eyes.

Hotch’s jaw tenses a bit. She can be incredibly stubborn and, in some cases, it was an asset. Not right now, though.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, L/N. Go get some sleep, come back tomorrow morning with everyone else.”

“Are you going to sleep?” She asks, finally snapping her head up and meeting his stoic gaze with her own.

“Yes. I have to do a few more things here, and then I will be heading back to the hotel.”

“I’ll leave when you do.” She says. It was a challenge, he knew. He was used to it. It was also extremely frustrating.

Hotch swipes a hand across his face tiredly, “Y/N. You haven't slept since our last case. It’s been over 48 hours, and our judgement is severely impaired after 24 hours without sleep. You can become drowsy and irritable, your memory is affected, your coordination will be off-”

“You think my judgement is impaired?” She asks, sounding offended. That would be the part that she focuses on, Hotch thinks. “Hotch, I have been trying to put all of these puzzle pieces together for over 12 hours now and nothing is going to get done if I’m knocked out.”

Hotch understands where she’s coming from, truly, but right now, he doesn’t care. “L/N I am giving you a direct order, leave the precinct. Go to the hotel. Do not come back until at least 6:00.”

She huffs out a frustrated breath, and it’s hard to not find that a little bit cute. The thought makes Hotch feel guilty, that’s definitely not what he should be thinking about right now. Before he can dwell on it though, Y/N is gathering up all of the papers that were scattered around the table.

“No- leave it.” Hotch commands with his hand coming down on top of the file so she can’t take it, brushing her hand in the process. It spreads a warmth through him, but he thinks he does a good job at not showing it. “I know you won’t sleep if you take these with you.”

Y/N’s angry, he knows by the way she doesn’t even respond, just shoots him a look and grabs her bag to leave. It’s fine though, if that’s what it takes to get her to finally rest. Hotch lets out a long sigh once she’s out of sight, taking a seat at the table and finishing collecting all of the papers on the table. That’s when he notices an image of one of the Jane Doe victims, she’s wearing a necklace, gold and dainty around her slim, pale neck. It was blurry, hard to make out, but certainly a cursive “V” pendant hung in the middle.

“Violet?”

Hotch ordered you to leave the precinct, so you did. But he didn’t say you couldn’t make a detour on your way to the hotel. A yawn overcame you as you drove towards Grant Park, where Larissa’s body was found. You knew that if Hotch found out about this you would be in a lot of trouble, but the thought didn’t really faze you when faced with the alternative. How could you sleep when there was a serial killer out there hunting for his newest victim? A young woman was going to be dead in less than 72 hours, who were you to sleep at a time like this?

At the same time, you can’t condemn your friends for needing that sleep. You wished you functioned like they did. You wished you could take a step back and rest and come back refreshed with a whole new outlook. But the truth was that you just couldn’t handle the nightmares.

They started not long after joining the BAU. It was only natural; you were assured by Morgan as he noticed how off you’d been after a few months with the team. He also suffered from nightmares. They were fewer and further between now, which was good. You weren’t so lucky. For some reason they came in waves. Each case you worked on added to your memory storage of gruesome death and horrific imagery that was reflected back at you anytime you closed your eyes.

It’s true that you hated the nothingness of your home life, the boredom of being alone with nothing but your thoughts, but that was only part of it. You figured, the longer you could stay awake, the less you’d have to worry about the nightmares bleeding into your reality.

When you arrived at the spot where Larissa was found, you saw yellow crime scene tape wrapped around trees and some blood on the floor where the body had laid in the center of it. She was positioned laying face up, arms at her sides, clothes intact. No overtly sexual displays, no attempt to cover her up, just a corpse.

Without the files to work off of, you only had your memory of the crime scene photos. You closed your eyes and imagined you were the one dumping Larissa’s body.

“I would scope out the area first, without the body.” You say to yourself. “Take note of how many people were here during the day, how many at night... but I’d have to seem inconspicuous. Can’t be in a black hoodie standing still and staring at people. Someone would notice.”

“So, I don’t cover my face... people saw me, interacted even. I’m not standing out, I’m moving. Maybe running?” You sigh and open your eyes. All that means is that this guy will be harder to catch than most. “What was with the violets...” You walk in circles around the scene, looking from every angle possible. You take note of the shrubbery, all green grass and occasional daffodils, nothing even resembling violets in the area, so the unsub definitely brought it with him.

Before you had a chance to continue, you heard some movement from behind you. You quickly spun around but saw no one.

You moved carefully from where you stood, a hand resting on your hip where your gun was. Taking careful steps towards the parking lot, you glance at your watch. 1:34 am. Anyone out here at this time is either a stoner or a serial killer, you found yourself almost hoping for the latter.

Once you reached your car, you still saw nothing. “FBI, if someone is there come out now and show me your hands.” You said as loud and clear as possible.

Nothing, only crickets sounded in the night. With a sigh, you thought maybe Hotch was right, your judgement was seriously impaired, and you needed some sleep.

As you reached for the handle of the driver's side door, you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head, and everything went black.

Hotch felt confident in his theory that the third victim, Jane Doe #2, was the unsub’s intended target from the beginning. The first kill was fast and sloppy, he didn’t move the body and her face was practically untouched. The second, Jane Doe #1, was also blitz-attacked, but it was in a grocery store parking lot at night, somewhere higher-risk where he could have been caught. So he was getting bolder, he hit her more, but still didn’t take her anywhere new. Just left her body where she was strangled. The third though, that’s when things shifted.

Jane Doe #2 who wore the ‘V’ necklace, was found in a public park, but that isn’t where she died. Hotch has been referring to her as violet for the time-being, since he didn’t know her actual name. No “Violet” was ever reported missing in the area, which means it could most likely be a nickname. Her real name would potentially still start with a V, he thought.

On the phone with Garcia, he relayed all of this information and was waiting for something to turn up on her end. “I did what L/N asked and tried to find everything I could on the first three victims. Miranda Jall, like you said, was a victim of opportunity and a trial-run. Jane Doe #1 though, while similar to the first, was beaten more and found more quickly. Jane Doe #2 was unrecognizable, I mean like, her face was so swollen from being beaten it’s surprising she was found in one piece.” Her voice was tight and rushed, like the words in her mouth made her feel physically sick.

“I know,” Hotch says. “Which is why I need everything you can find on her, search for missing persons from the past few years again, but narrow it down to only women whose first name started with a V. She would’ve been in a relationship, either long-term boyfriend, fiancé, or new husband.”

“Okay, stay on the line aaaandd.... there are four women, Venessa Traer, Veronica May, Victoria Jennings, and Valerie Hill. None of them look like the other victims.” Garcia says, clearly frustrated. “Traer was an elementary school teacher in her late forties, May had gone missing during a boating trip out-of-state and presumed dead, Jennings was reported missing but turned up a few weeks later, apparently on a spontaneous vacation with her friends, and Hill was an elderly woman who was suspected to have left her care-facility of her own free will.”

Hotch sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, until a thought struck him. “What about middle-names that start with V?” It was a long shot, he knew it, but he would try anything at this point.

A few seconds passed as he heard Garcia’s furious typing on the other end, “Aha! Sir, you are in fact a genius. Samantha Vivienne Garner, reported missing only eight weeks ago. She’s a spitting image of the other women, her name shows up on a lease for a newly remodeled home with one Riley Perkins, her soon-to-be husband.”

“Garcia, I’ll need an address for Perkins.”

“Already being sent.”

“Oh...” She said, sadly.

Hotch’s frown deepened, “What is it?”

“Perkins had posted an image of Samantha saying yes to his proposal, it was in the middle of Millenium Park.”

“Where Jane Doe #2’s body was found.” Hotch said, now 100% convinced that his theory was correct.

Hotch knew that he would be at the precinct all night, the irony of his situation with Y/N not lost on him. She was dedicated, maybe too dedicated, but the same could be said of him.

“Good work, Garcia. We’ll call you when there’s another update.”

“Oh, just one more thing, sir.”

“What is it?”

“L/N had asked me to look into whether there were violets at the other crime scenes and the answer is yes and no. It wasn’t reported or even see as a connection because the first Jane Doe had bought a bouquet of violets from the grocery store, which seems like a coincidence, but Susanne, Brenda, and Larissa all had violets show up on their doorsteps after they were found dead. They were presumed to be condolence gifts from friends, but now...”

“Alright, we’ll look into this further, thank you.”

Hotch ended the call and checked the time. 3:00 am. Three more hours before the rest of the team would show up. He was already setting up in his mind where everyone would be assigned once they got here. Hotch wanted JJ to get in contact with Samantha Garner’s parents, Morgan and Reid would pull the missing person's report and find out the details of that. He would keep Rossi and Prentiss in the precinct to dig into Garner and Perkin’s lives with Garcia. He wanted L/N with him to interview Perkins himself, if he had gotten the very first phone call from the unsub about Samantha, why didn’t he identify her?

5:58 am, Hotch read his watch as everyone started walking in. They were tired, but still looking better than they did the previous night. There were only two days before the next body would be found, and if he’s keeping them for one day, he may have already taken someone.

Hotch was half-expecting (half-hoping) that Y/N would show up early. She usually did, even when it was against orders. Still, he was glad that this meant she may have actually gotten a few hours of rest. 6:00 am and no Y/N, Hotch shrugged off the pit-like feeling in his stomach.

“Good morning.” He says to the other members, who’ve taken their spots at the table. Hotch speed-dials Garcia and puts her on speaker so that the two of them can go over what they discovered last night.

“Well, then if this Samantha girl was the real target and he’s still going, there’s no telling when or if he’ll stop.” Rossi says once they’re finished.

“Exactly,” Hotch replies. He assigns them to their designated tasks and just before he can dismiss everyone, Prentiss speaks up.

“Has anyone seen L/N?” She asks.

“I called her when we got here but didn’t get an answer.” JJ says.

The group of FBI agents share some looks but no one says anything. That feeling in Hotch’s stomach has doubled.

“She wasn’t at the hotel this morning?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow together and jaw tenses when no one answers immediately.

“I didn’t see her.” Morgan speaks up.

“Me neither.” Reid says.

Everyone else only shakes their head in agreement.

“I sent her back with all of you, she tried to stay late but I wouldn’t let her.” Hotch says, fists clenched in the position at his sides. “She didn’t take the files with her so she wouldn’t have had anything to work on.”

“Well...” JJ starts.

“What?” Hotch asks.

“If she couldn’t be at the precinct and she didn’t want to sleep, she could’ve gone to one of the dump sites.” She replies.

Hotch’s chest feels tight, his breathing is shallow and can’t think straight at the moment. If that is what she did, it was very, very stupid. They had profiled this unsub as a psychotic narcissist with sadistic tendencies, there’s a good chance he would visit the crime scenes afterwards. Of course she would go straight there, he thought, what else would she do?

“Alright, the plan hasn’t changed. All of you know your assignments, go.” Hotch says, before he turns to stride away.

“Wait a second, if Y/N’s in danger, we need to find her.” Prentiss says, clearly upset and standing up from her chair.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing.” Hotch shoots back, unable to keep the anger and worry from showing in his voice.

He didn’t give anyone else a chance to argue as he stormed out of the precinct, heading towards the car. One of the cars was gone, which means Y/N definitely left here last night, it was just a matter of which scene she ended up at.

With Garcia still on the phone, Hotch has a thought, “Garcia, send me the last location registered on the GPS of the rental car that Y/N used last night.”

“Y-yes sir.” Penelope typed quickly and Hotch’s anxieties grew with each passing second. “Uh, the-the last pinned location was Grant Park, which was where-”

“The last victim was found. Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch hung up the phone and pulled quickly out of the parking lot, heart beating out of his chest.

You were pretty sure you could feel your heart beating in your head. The back of your skull hurt very badly, but when you tried to feel for an injury you found that you couldn’t. Both your wrists and ankles were tied to a chair, which was bolted to the floor.

Your mouth felt dry, all you could think about was water. That was, before someone came walking towards you from the corner of the room.

“How are you feeling?” The man’s rough voice was too close to your ear, making you jerk back. The sudden movement didn’t help your head injury at all. “Ah ah ah...” He said, gripping your face with one large hand. “Stay still.”

He was ugly. That was honestly your first thought while looking at him. Maybe he hated women cause he couldn’t get a date.

His face was scruffy with a patchy beard, his brunette wavy hair receded away from his face revealing forehead wrinkles. He must’ve only been in his late 30’s early 40’s, but his strung-out appearance aged him.

“Where am I?” You ask as levelly as you could in your state. Looking around, the only thing you noticed was a concrete floor and barren white walls, which hung some wire. A house? Maybe a basement, given the musty smell of the air in the cramped space. It was dark, the only light source coming from a small lamp to your right.

“I thought you were the profiler.”

So, this guy knows exactly who he took. You weren’t just a victim of opportunity, but a target. “You’re right, I am. Which is why I know that you are an extremely...” You take a steadying breath in preparation, “weak individual with no genuine real-world skills who overcompensates for his lack of personality with a massive ego.” You say, staring him in the eyes. “Am I getting warm?”

The unsub pulls his fist back before it lands across your left cheek. You knew this would be the response, though. It’s why you did it. The punch snapped your head all the way to the right, where you spit out the small amount of blood that formed in your mouth. You can’t pretend it didn’t hurt; your eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Challenging a narcissist usually incurs some type of violence or retribution, but that makes them emotional which can make them sloppy and prone to mistakes. Maybe those mistakes would reveal to you where you were, or even lead your team right to you. You hoped you were right.

The stranger in front of you takes in a rattling breath and exhales in your face, making you recoil. He grips you by the chin once more, putting some extra pressure on the bruise that was sure to form soon. “You are going to die here. But first, I have to make a call.”

The man reaches into your front pocket, digging around until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out. Your phone isn’t locked, it never is since you never leave it behind, ever. That of course means the unsub has full access to each number in your contact list. Your heart rate picks up at the thought of who he was about to call.

You didn’t have a significant other, maybe that meant he wouldn’t call anyone? No such luck, though. The man scrolled through your most recent calls and only one name showed up the most consistently.

SSA Aaron Hotchner.

His name made your head light and your stomach churn. This really was a waking nightmare. You pulled yourself roughly against your restraints, feeling the thick rope cut deep into your bare skin. It burned and you kept going until you received a punch to the stomach for your efforts.

“Shut the fuck up.” The ugly man said. Then with a finger raised to his lips as if to demonstrate to you that you need to keep quiet, he presses the call button and raises the phone to his ear. You scream at him and that irritates him enough to punch you once more in the face, harder than the last time.

You groan at the sensation, the pain from your skull and your cheek and your stomach combining to make you feel ill.

“Y/N?” You could hear Hotch’s voice faintly from your phone that the unsub still had in his hand.

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.” Is all that the unsub said, before ending the call and tossing the phone away. It lands several feet behind him on the floor, and you know there’s no chance of you getting it. Not when you’re still bound to the chair.

Your eyes remain fixed on the unsub, watching as he stares you down. He was predictably irrational, moving around you like a wild animal, as if trying to decide what to do with you first.

You may not know where you are exactly, but you know that this unsub likes to keep his victims alive for at least 24 hours after kidnapping them. If he does stick to that pattern, that leaves you with about 20ish hours for your team to come find you. And while you did have complete faith in them, it didn’t stop your heart from pounding faster the closer he came.

Hotch saw the call with your caller ID, and he felt like he could breathe again. He had just stopped in the lot of Grant Park and was walking towards the yellow taped scene when he paused and answered.

“Y/N?” He asked as soon as he hit accept.

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.”

Hotch felt ice in his veins as the line went dead immediately after. The worst thing that could have happened, did. And Hotch felt helpless. His jaw was tense, and his hand curled into a white-knuckled fist around the cell phone. He dropped it to his side, not able to think for a moment.

Then he took a deep breath and dialed Garcia.

“Sir?”

“Can you track L/N’s phone right now?” Hotch asks, feeling the weight of what was happening in his throat as it closed around his words.

“Um, yeah, yes if it’s turned on and if it’s near cell phone towers I should-I should be able to triangulate its location...” While she spoke, she typed. Another few seconds passed without words.

“Garcia?” Hotch said as firmly as he could.

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t- if the phone was turned off or destroyed, I won’t be able to get even an approximation, nothing is coming up at all-”

“Get into contact with the rest of the team, tell them Y/N’s been taken by the unsub.”

“Oh, God. Oh my God, okay.”

Hotch hung up and pocketed his phone. He wipes his hands down his face, frustrated and so fucking angry. With himself, with this case... he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get you back. Now was the worst time to dwell on it, though. You needed the team's help, and he was going to find you.

Looking around at the scene, he noticed that the rental car wasn’t here either. That means the unsub took it with you inside. He must’ve disabled the GPS, either broke it or threw it away before leaving. Hotch immediately contacted the local Police Department’s office to put out an APB on the black SUV.

Think, think... “Okay, he had a personal connection to Samantha. Not only knew her, he loved her or thought he did. He was angry that she was getting married.”

Hotch drives as fast as he can back to the precinct where he finds everyone else, back from their assignments and looking at him for answers.

“When was she taken?” Prentiss asks first.

“And from where?” Reid adds.

“Between 1:00 and 4:00 am, from the park where Larissa’s body was found.” Hotch says, trying to remain in his usual stoic façade. “He wouldn’t have risked taking her while it was light out. This unsub is bold but he’s still a coward like the rest of them.”

“Did you find anything at the scene?” Morgan asks.

“The car was missing, the unsub had to have taken L/N in it.” Hotch took a deep breath. “He called me from her phone.”

That made everyone stiffen.

Rossi speaks now, “Same message?”

Hotch nods once, which is all he can manage. The team speaks in hushed tones as anxiety takes over. “Right now, we have to assume that she’s alive. This unsub keeps his victims so that he can... torture them so let’s get to work.”

“Yeah, but Hotch... if he knows that L/N’s an FBI agent, there’s no telling if he’ll remain on schedule.” Morgan says, obviously troubled by the thought himself if his face is any indication.

Hotch had considered it, of course. But he refused to accept it. Until there was a body, Y/N was not dead. She couldn’t be.

“What did you find out about Samantha Garner from the missing person's report?” Hotch asks, ignoring the implication of Morgan’s words.

“It was called in by her Fiancé, Riley Perkins.” He replies. “He called the police once he noticed she didn’t come home from work.”

Hotch nods, thinking that the unsub wouldn’t be stupid enough to call in the missing person’s report himself. As much of a narcissist as he is, he wanted to keep pursuing his fantasies.

“And JJ, what’d you get from her parents?” Hotch asks, fingers curled into fists as his arms cross in front of his chest.

“It’s the same story as the other parents, everybody loved her, there was no one who held any grudges.” JJ says. “Her mother did mention an admirer, though.”

“An admirer?” Prentiss repeats.

“Yeah, I guess Sam was getting love letters. Innocuous enough to not raise alarm, but still out of the ordinary.”

“Did she say who they were from?” Hotch says hurriedly.

JJ shakes her head, “No, she had no idea.”

“Prentiss and I got Garcia to dig into Sam and Riley’s relationship,” Rossi says. “They were together only one year before deciding to tie the knot.”

“They seemed to love each other.” Prentiss adds.

“Well looks can be deceiving.” Hotch says. “Garcia got his address, Morgan and Prentiss, with me. The rest of you stay and find out absolutely everything you can about this secret admirer, he’s our unsub.”

When Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss arrived at the suburban home at the end of a cul-de-sac, all three stepped out and quickly made their way to the front door.

Three loud knocks on the front door from Morgan and a few seconds later Riley came out.

“Yes?”

“Are you Riley Perkins?” Hotch asked, though he knew the answer.

“Yes, I am. What is this about?”

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, these are special agents Morgan and Prentiss, may we come in?” He didn’t leave room for Perkins to answer, as he was already stepping inside.

“Um, what-what is this about?” He asks again nervously, stepping aside to let the three of them into his living room.

The house was a mess, laundry and trash littered most of the surfaces. The man himself didn’t look too good, like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“We’re here about your fiancé, Samantha Garner.” Morgan says.

Perkins shifts his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably, not making eye contact. “Did you, um, did you find her?”

“Yes, sir we did.” Morgan responds.

The man's nodding, fidgeting where he stands. “And?”

“Sir, I’m afraid she’s dead.” Morgan explains as calmly as he can.

Hotch notices the way Perkins handles the news, the tenseness of his shoulders dissipating. Not necessarily relieved by the news but accepting. Like he already knew that she was dead.

“Oh my God...” He lifts a palm up to his face and sobs for a moment.

“Mr. Perkins, I’m going to ask you once and if you’re not honest with me, trust that I will know.” Hotch states after he finally stops. The man looks him up and down and nods. “Did you receive a phone call the day your fiancé went missing?”

“I uh- I don’t remember...” Perkins says, again breaking eye contact.

“Yes, you do.” Hotch says, now invading his personal space. “It was the day your fiancé went missing, you knew something was wrong when she didn’t come home from work, you called the police. And then someone called you, didn’t they?”

“I- I mean no I don’t...” Perkins finally looks up and then sighs. “I don’t know who it was, I really, really don’t.”

“What did he say, exactly.” Prentiss asks.

Perkins looks at her and shakes his head a little, “He said... that I shouldn’t look for her, that I- I'll never see her again.” He starts crying again after that.

“Anything else at all? Was he calm, erratic?” Morgan asks.

“He was like, mumbling, I don’t know.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us, if you’re withholding essential information to interfere with a federal investigation, I will see to it that you are charged with obstruction of justice.” Hotch says, angrier by the second.

Perkins looks like he’s going to throw up and his legs give out. He slumps down onto the couch before he can speak. “He said... he said that he would kill me too if I spoke to the police again.” His head is in his hands as he talks. “I knew, I knew the second the news said they discovered a body in Millenium Park.” He was almost incomprehensible through his sobs. “They couldn’t identify her, but I knew.”

“Mr. Perkins... Riley.” Prentiss takes a seat next to him and speaks softly, trying to establish trust. “This man has killed at least five other women.” His cries stopped for a moment when he turned to look at her, a shocked expression on his face. “We need your help in order to stop him.”

“I told you, I swear, I don’t know who it is.”

“We think that you do, you just don’t know it.” Morgan says.

Hotch jumps in, “Samantha was his target from the beginning, he knew her. He may have even known you. Think, was there anyone new in your lives? Someone who seemed a little too friendly too quickly? He would have made you uncomfortable, he was domineering and egotistical.”

“Well, um I didn’t know him, I mean, I never met him,” Perkins says, “but there was a guy. Sam would complain about how annoying he was at work, a new hire. She said he talked her ear off about his life, asked too many personal questions...” He trails off for a minute looking between the three agents. “Do you think this man killed my fiancé?”

“Possibly.” Hotch replies. “I have one more question and then we’ll leave.” Perkins nods, tight-lipped. “Did she mention that this man called her by a different name, maybe her middle name?”

His face changed completely, mouth dropping open and blinking, “Yes! Yeah, she mentioned that he would call her ‘my Violet’ like every day, it bugged her.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Hours had gone by while you stayed strapped to this god damned chair. The torture felt never-ending. The unsub landed blow after blow to your face and stomach, only offering a reprieve when you had temporarily passed out from the pain. You couldn’t see very well out of your left eye and your fingers were involuntarily twitching. The blood in your mouth was metallic and awful, adding to your nausea.

“You know,” The man said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I appreciate the way you’re hanging on. It will make the ending a lot more fun.”

If you had the energy, you would recoil from his closeness to your face. His breath repulsed you, but you stayed completely still, barely blinking, shallow breaths lifting and lowering your chest.

“Mm, you really need to wake up.” He pushes your head back so that you’re forced to look at him. With his grip in your hair, he strikes you in the face with the back of his hand. “Nothin.”

You couldn’t say with any real accuracy how much time had actually gone by since you were first taken, but you had a feeling that your time was running out. Your thoughts wandered to your team.

You missed talking and joking with Prentiss and JJ, you missed Garcia’s cheery voice over the speaker phone. You wanted to hear Morgan’s stories about picking up women and Rossi’s input that made everyone laugh. You wanted to hear Reid ramble about nothing and everything. Mostly, you find yourself thinking about Hotch.

You missed walking into the BAU and knowing you would find him in his office. You thought about his stern face and wanted to know what it would be like to reach your hands out and touch him, wipe away his anger and guilt. You wanted another silent morning where the two of you would sit in the conference room and drink your coffees, enjoying the comfortable silence of the early hours.

You wanted to see his rare, but beautiful smile. The kind of thing that had to be earned; it was the best. As you thought more about him, the sadder you got. You should’ve told him, even just once, how much you liked his company... how much you liked him.

When Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss get back to the precinct, Reid’s discovered something. He and the rest of the team have been working the secret admirer angle, which they now knew was a coworker at Samantha’s law office.

“All of the bouquets of violets left at the victim’s families homes came with a note, they all said the same thing. ‘My condolences, -K.M.’” Reid explains quickly.

Hotch knows they’re running out of time, it was already past noon, and the team was restless, but this gave him a spur of hope that they were getting close. He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia’s number.

“Ready and waiting.” She said.

“Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was stern if not a little shaky with anxiety, “was there anyone in Samantha Garner’s workplace with the initials K.M.?”

“Uhhhh, nine.”

“Cross-check those names with anyone arrested for minor charges, assault or something similar, he would be in his 30’s or 40’s now, white.”

“Only one, a Kyle Mazdin, arrested four years ago for breaking into an ex-girlfriend's home and burglarizing it, then arrested again for a bar fight where he nearly killed a man.”

“We’ll need his address immediately.”

“You’ve got it.”

20 minutes later Rossi and JJ were at Mazdin’s office, and the rest of the team was at Mazdin’s home.

Hotch screeched to a stop in the front of the seemingly normal house, “Prentiss with me, Morgan, take the back of the house, Reid through the garage.”

All of them nodded in silent acknowledgment. Morgan and Reid broke off, headed to the side gate, while Hotch and Prentiss entered through the front.

“FBI! Kyle Mazdin, open up!” Hotch yelled. They only waited a few seconds before bursting inside.

The door was unlocked, and they quickly moved from room to room on the first floor with their guns out and ready, yelling “Clear!” before heading upstairs. There was nothing on the second floor either, making Hotch exhale a frustrated breath.

“Hold on.” Prentiss said, stopping Hotch. “You hear that?”

Hotch furrowed his brows and listened. “No, I don’t-”

Just then, a creaking noise from below. Like light footsteps, moving carefully.

Prentiss and Hotch shared a look before running back down the stairs, but there was still nothing. Morgan and Reid were inside, also trying to find the source of the noise.

“The rental car is in the garage.” Reid said quickly and quietly.

“Anything out back?” Prentiss asked Morgan, who shook his head.

Another noise came from behind the team as they stood in the living space, next to the staircase. Hotch moves silently over to the cabinet door that’s connected to the wall under the stairs. It swings open and his gun and flashlight point at nothing. It’s empty save for a few coats hanging on a rack. But looking down, he sees a square-shaped covering with a latch.

Hotch motions for Morgan, who stands ready to open it. As soon as he does, Hotch points his flashlight and gun down, where he sees another set of stairs leading to a hidden basement. Hotch’s jaw tenses and his grip of the glock tightens as he makes his way down, hearing the footsteps of his team behind him.

As he gets halfway down, he sees a lamp illuminating your figure which is tied to a chair in the center of the room. Mazdin is behind you, the metal wire already wrapped around your neck, not tight enough to kill you, but forceful enough to threaten.

“Let her go now.” Hotch’s voice is strained, his anger making it hard to remain still. He can hear the rest of the team coming down the stairs and stopping by his side, also training their guns on the man. “You have nowhere to go, it ends here.”

“Yes, it does.” Mazdin says, pulling the wire tighter against your throat, making you jerk back a little in your chair.

Hotch dared to look at your face, bloody and bruised, and it made his stomach churn. You were conscious, making eye contact with him and taking shallow breaths. Hotch’s heart was beating out of his chest, unable to stop when he took a step closer to you.

“Another step and she’s dead.” The man said, keeping his grip on the wire.

Hotch’s gun was burning in his hand as it was aimed at the unsub’s head, finger twitching on the trigger. “Drop your weapon and no one else dies today.” Mazdin was taking deep, shaking breaths, debating his next move. Hotch knew the man didn’t want to die, but he most certainly didn’t want to go to jail either. “Everyone will know what you did, and why. How the love of your life betrayed you, how you got your payback... even how you managed to abduct a Federal Agent. But only if you let her go.”

Hotch could tell the words were at least getting through to him. His grip slackened, his back straightening a bit. Morgan and Prentiss took the opportunity and rushed him, immediately tacking Mazdin to the floor. He struggled and yelled, but Morgan kept him still enough for Prentiss to cuff him. At the same time, Hotch rushed to Y/N, holstering his gun.

“Get him out of here.” Hotch told Morgan, who roughly dragged Mazdin up to his feet and forced him up the staircase and out of the house where the local police had finally shown up. Reid and Prentiss followed, holstering their guns as well, only after Hotch informed them to grab paramedics for you.

“It’s okay.” Hotch was saying as he knelt down to your level, all anger dissipating and worry replacing it. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He holds Y/N’s head in his hands gently, trying to gauge the damage to her face and body. The blood coming from her nose was extensive, and the blood on his hand indicated a serious head injury. He couldn’t tell if anything was broken just yet.

“Okay, I’m going to get these off of you, alright?” Hotch asks you while tugging on the ropes, but your eyes were drifting closed. “No, Y/N, no you have to stay awake for me, you may have a concussion, the paramedics are on their way, okay?” She met his eyes finally and then smiled a little bit. It made his chest tighten in response.

“Okay.” Her voice was uneven, probably because of lack of hydration and near strangulation. It made his frown deepen, but he made sure to work quickly at untying the restraints. “Aaron.”

He stopped at the sound of his first name on your lips. It was very rare that you called him Aaron, it made his breath catch for a moment as he removed the last bit of rope from her ankles and looked up at her. Y/N was staring at him with an indescribable look on her face, exhaustion and relief but also pain. “Thank you for finding me... I knew that you would.”

Hotch didn’t know what to say. He had sent her away- their last interaction wasn’t a very good one, but she was here, alive and thanking him. It made that warmth from the other night in the precinct return. “Let's get you out of here.” Hotch gently slipped his arms up underneath Y/N so that he could lift her to her feet as the paramedics came down. Her groan of pain made his jaw tense, but he didn’t stop.

The EMT’s asked if she could walk and Y/N nodded, though she leaned most of her weight onto Hotch. He didn’t mind, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist and helping her up the stairs, into the living room. Once the two of you had made it outside, Hotch allowed the EMT’s to take her. She lay on the cot in the ambulance, and Hotch kept his hand in hers the whole ride to the hospital.

He watched as you drifted off, thinking just how much trouble they had gone through just to get you to sleep.

#aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #reader insert #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch fic #angst #hurt comfort #kidnapping #mutual pining #insomnia #protective hotch #concerned hotch #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

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missmaywemeetagain · 7 months

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Paisley Dreams (Part 2) 🏵💛🔥

Pretty sure there's only a small handful of you still reading my nonsense, but to those who are, thank you for your patience. Also, special thanks to those who kept me going after various blocks and meltdowns over finishing this (among other things). Would've thrown in the towel completely if it weren't for y'all. You know who you are and I love you. 💗💗💗 Anyway, sorry, this is probably a bit of a mess, but so am I... 😬

If you need a refresher, here's Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵

TW: SEXXX, a little macho-possessive!elvis, the usual era appropriate female frustrations.

August 1970

If Pepper didn’t know any better, she would think she dreamt up the surreal encounter with Elvis that happened a few days ago. The only thing tethering the experience to reality is the yellow shirt he left her with, the one she’s a bit ashamed to say she’s been wearing to bed the past three nights, just so she can languish in his scent a little longer.

Of course, she hasn’t heard from him. It would be absurd if she had, or at least she keeps reminding herself of that when she finds herself spacing out during the slow moments at the diner or when taking off her stage makeup after the show. Elvis Presley is a busy man, and it’s likely he hadn’t given her a single thought since he left her pining and wanting in her drab little apartment.

Sure, he’d been good in the moment in making her feel special, and she can’t help thinking about all the little vulnerable snippets of him he showed her, all the strange things they seem to have in common…

Stop it. This is stupid. I’m never gonna see the man again.

It’s been a mantra in her head for days now, but unfortunately her touch-starved body hasn’t gotten the memo. If she had any sense, she’d drop her delusional fantasies and move on with her monotonous life.

“Hey, Pepper! Some guy is here to see you. Says it’s urgent,” Paul, the show’s stage manager, tells her briskly as she put the final touches on her face.

With no clue who it might be, a tightening in her belly warns it could be another overzealous “fan” like the one who caught her out the other night. But Paul is skilled at getting rid of the creeps, so it leaves her wondering as she makes her way backstage to the green room.

“Oh, thank God,” the short man sighs with palpable relief when she walks through the doorway. He looks incredibly familiar.

“Who…wait. Charlie?” she gasps in surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

The man looks so glad to see her it takes her aback. “You are a hard woman to track down. Aren’t you ever home?”

“I…uh, I work two jobs, so not really,” she finds herself explaining. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

“Well, the boss wants to see ya tonight, needs ya to come to his show,” he says, pushing a large white box into her arms.

“The boss?” she asks, confused. He can’t possibly mean who she thinks he does.

“Elvis. Elvis wants you at his show tonight, so here I am to get you there. And that’s for you, to wear,” Charlie says with a knowing smile.

Pepper thinks that maybe exhaustion has caught up with her because there is no way this is real. She laughs a little, a giddy feeling pulsing through her veins, until the cold wash of reality douses her.

“That’s nice, but I have a show of my own to do, Charlie,” she says, sweeping a hand over her revealing costume. Her heart sinks and she’s a little angry Elvis presumed she could drop everything to be at his beck and call. “Thank Elvis for the invitation but remind him I really can’t afford to lose this job.” She hands the white box back to Charlie, unopened.

He sputters a little with panic. It makes sense—most women probably bend over backwards to accommodate a man like Elvis, but she has other things to worry about. And Elvis knows this, which makes her even more irritated.

“But…but he really wants you there, Pepper,” Charlie says in a futile attempt to persuade her. “He’ll be mighty disappointed if you don’t come.”

Her heart kerthunks at the suggestion Elvis has been thinking about her at all, much less for him to be disappointed by her absence, but it doesn’t quell the anger starting to build in her chest.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, but it’s too short of notice and I have a show to do. Tell your boss it would be good for him not to make assumptions.”

Charlie looks like she’s slapped him. She almost feels bad for him because she gets the impression, as wonderful as Elvis was with her the other night, he is not a man who likes to be told “no.”

“I need to be on stage soon. Bye, Charlie,” she says, fighting the urge to cry both with irritation and disappointment. She can’t afford to ruin her makeup this close to showtime and walks out before she can change her mind.

The smile she plasters across her face during the dinner show covers her aching discontent. She’s almost glad for the distraction—it takes her mind off the fact she’ll likely never hear from Elvis again. There is certainly no reason for a man like him to chase a woman like her, especially when she’s rejected him.

Lost in her dismal thoughts, she doesn’t hear Paul when he comes up behind her after the show. She jumps out of her skin when he touches her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Pepper, but you’ve got someone important on the phone for you,” Paul says, looking at her a little incredulously with a quirked brow, “and that little guy is back.”

What?

She makes her way back to the green room for the second time tonight, a racehorse running laps in her heart as she huffs down the hallway in her heels.

Charlie’s eyes brighten when they see her and he says nothing; he just holds out the phone receiver towards her. Trepidation makes her shake when she grabs it because as much as she wants to deny it, there’s no doubt who it could be.

“Hello?” she squeaks out, then races to clear her throat and relax her voice. “Who is this?”

“Peppercorn, you best be gettin’ that cute lil’ butt of yours down here, ‘fore I gotta come getchu myself,” Elvis familiar drawl growls commandingly in her ear.

It’s unfair the way it makes her toes curl and her thighs tighten, especially when a certain sense of fury at his orders slices through her arousal. If any other man talked like this to her, she’d hang up on him, but Elvis Presley is not just any other man.

“Well, hello to you, too, Elvis,” she says with ire. “I told you, I have my own shows and I can’t just up and leave on a whim.”

“Don’tchu worry about none of that, darlin’. I’ll take care of everything,” he says so smoothly it almost covers the impatience in his tone.

“What does that even mean?”

He sighs on the other end. “Honey, money ain’t an issue. I’ll give you more money than they’d pay you tonight to come to my show.”

The force of his words hits her square in the chest, her hand tightening around the phone. “And what about when they fire me for leaving without notice, hmm? You just gonna pay for my bills from now on? I’m not a whore, Elvis Presley. And I don’t want your damn money.”

That stubborn streak her mama always took her to task for has her seeing red, but somehow she has enough sense not to hang up on him directly. Instead, she just thrusts the phone into Charlie’s hand and storms off, not listening to the crackling voice yelling through the receiver.

Oooh, the nerve of that man, she thinks, her blood boiling at his insinuations. He’d been so nice and thoughtful the other night, not this demanding cad offering to pay her like some hooker off the street. For a man like that, offering what he did, it is blaringly obvious that there would be strings attached to such an arrangement, and she isn’t going to be some kept woman.

The audacity of his actions and words has her raging the more she thinks about him. The late show barely takes her mind off it, the entire exchange sending waves of adrenaline through her blood every time it pops back into her mind. By the time she is back home, she’s exhausted but wired, upset that her daydreams about this man were just that—fantasies.

Pepper convinced herself he wasn’t like any other man—that he was sweet and kind and didn’t just want her for her body. What a joke.He may be rich and powerful, but he certainly made his intentions clear with his demands.

Once in bed, she doesn’t bother to stop the tears leaking from her eyes and dripping into the mattress. A sick feeling of regret churns in her stomach as her rage cools and she begins second guessing all her choices. How she managed to ruin her chances with Elvis.

Buck up, kiddo, he’s just a guy. A famous, talented, and ridiculously handsome one, maybe, but still just a man in the end. He doesn’t matter. Your family does. She may not have much, but at least she has her dignity.

Or so she hopes, a certain yellow paisley shirt clinging to her body when sleep finally takes her.

An incessant pounding rouses Pepper from a fitful slumber. At first, she thinks it might be a whopper of a headache she’d felt coming on after last night’s events, but as she forces her gritty eyes open, she realizes it’s not that at all.

Someone is pounding on her front door.

Adrenaline kickstarts her body, despite the sleep that tries to reclaim her, and a quick look at the alarm clock on her nightstand shows it’s not quite four in the morning. She is cautious and more than a little scared as she slips her too flimsy robe on over her nightgown, pattering through the apartment with bare feet. Approaching the door with an element of stealth, which seems awfully stupid when she thinks about it, she peeks through the peephole, praying it’s not some drugged out creep looking for a good time or a maniac she needs to call the cops on.

But there is no mistaking the shock of black hair and the purple tinted sunglasses of the man causing such a racket on the other side of the wood. Her stomach drops and her heart flips.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She takes a shaky breath and opens the door before he can continue his barrage.

Elvis starts a bit when the door opens suddenly, his shoulders squaring and spine straightening. For a second, he almost looks self-conscious about his behavior, but it is gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed glare before she can dwell on it.

“You gonna let me in, sweetheart, or are we gonna do this out in the open for everyone to see?” he drawls, but it has a cutting edge to it she doesn’t recognize from their first meeting.

Now that he’s here in front of her, her earlier stubbornness is hard to locate behind the butterflies in her stomach and the sudden apprehension she feels about him being here again. He sucks all the air out of the room after she wordlessly opens the door further to let him stride through.

Pepper pulls her robe tight across her body, trying to cover herself as though he hadn’t already seen her bare, as if he hadn’t knelt in front of her to dress her in that dark alley. The thought, along with the waft of his cologne as he passes by her, makes her knees weak.

“Wha—what’re you doing here, Elvis?” she asks, the words sticking in her mouth with sleep and confusion as she flips on the lamp near the couch.

She realizes the mistake the moment it happens. Now she can truly see him in all his glory—his post-show glow giving him an other-worldly quality she didn’t know was possible. His tan skin and lustrous dark hair are indulgent to her senses and it’s almost painful how endless his sapphire eyes are when he takes off his tinted glasses and rakes those eyes over her body.

It sends a shiver right down to her toes.

“Peppercorn, you’re one helluva stubborn little girl,” he says huskily, pointing a long finger at her, “makin’ me come all the way down ‘ere to talk some damn sense into ya.”

It’s piercing and heated the way he says it and she feels somewhere between a scolded child and a wounded lover, neither of which fits the strange (non-)relationship she has with him, but she feels it all the same. Logic tells her he has no right to come in here like this, but the fact that he’s here at all, looking ethereal like some sort of angry god, has all logic flying out the window.

Digging her toes into the wood floor to keep herself grounded, she finally finds her voice again, “Excuse me?”

“And all this nonsense ‘bout ya being some kinda ‘whore’,” he barrels on, “and I ain’t never said no such thing, would never say such a thing aboutcha.” The vehemence with which he says it makes it sound likeshe was the one who offended him and not the other way around.

Pepper is confused for a second because of this, as her first instinct is to apologize to make him feel better, but then she remembers why she was mad in the first place.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t offer to pay me to spend time with you and be there to satisfy your every whim, I wouldn’t think that’s what you meant,” she says quietly, her voice shaking only slightly, as she throws it back at him.

His eyes flash and narrow while his cheeks redden underneath his tan. The divot in his jaw ticks with tension, and for a split second she regrets her words.

She can’t for the life of her understand why he cares and has gone to all this trouble and seems so upset. She’s nobody of consequence, and God knows any number of women are lined up at the ready for him if he wants company. And yet he’s here.

This doesn’t help the way her heart knocks against her ribcage, though, and she squeezes her hands tight to try and control her rapid breathing.

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth, lil girl,” he growls, stepping towards her, backing her into the wall. Only the tiniest part of her is frightened despite his size and anger because his proximity and intensity ignite something molten in her veins. Her mouth parts but the quippy reply dies on her lips.

“Why don’tcha wanna come to my show?” There’s an element of hurt in his voice that surprises her, and it tugs at her heartstrings. He looks down at her and it nearly causes her knees to buckle. “I-I-I jus’ thought—”

“I would love to come. It breaks my heart that I can’t,” she whispers mournfully, the words popping out before you can think better of them.

An impish little smile plays at his lips. “It does, does it?”

Pepper can’t help but roll her eyes, tilting her chin to the side, mostly to avoid being swallowed up by those churning eyes of his. “Of course.”

“Then why you gotta be so stubborn, baby?” he replies, gently scolding her. His slender pointer finger grazes her jaw, then turns her chin back towards him.

She hopes he doesn’t feel the way she shudders from the contact. It’s embarrassing enough that she can’t seem to hold her ground with him in front of her like this. That she’s melting at his slightest touch. She struggles to get the words out, feeling heady with the heat of him so close.

“I don’t…it’s important for me to be able to take care of myself. I’ve had to for a long time. And you don’t need to give me anything for me to want to come see or spend time with you—you shouldn’t have to. Besides,” she adds quietly, looking down, “I’m not really the kind of girl who…um…takes advantage of things like that. So, as much as I want to, I can’t—"

The rest is swallowed before it can come out by the sweet softness of his plush lips pressing against her own. She gasps in surprise, but that, too, is consumed by his mouth. His hands cup her face, tilting it up towards his and Pepper flails for a moment in confusion until the gentle insistence of his kiss subdues her completely.

Warmth spreads through her limbs, followed by electric tingles which bounce around her stomach and suck the breath out of her lungs. Her hands land on his chest, feeling heat and dampness from sweat, his heart thrumming underneath her palm. It’s faster than she expects and in disbelief, she wonders if it’s because of her.

When he pulls away, lashes fluttering up to meet her gaze, it’s as if a rocket implodes inside her chest. She’s a goner—if she’s honest with herself, she has been since the moment he defended her in the alley—and she knows it’s a bad place to be with a man like Elvis. She struggles valiantly against her baser instincts.

“Wh-why did you do that?” she chokes out, still confused about the fact that Elvis Presley just kissed her.

His eyes go dark. “Did ya not like it?” he asks, concerned.

“N-No, no, it isn’t…it was lovely, I just—I mean, why me?” She looks up at him with earnest eyes.

Relief spreads across his face and he runs his knuckles over her cheek. “Honey, you are the realest person I’ve met in this godforsaken town—hell, anywhere, as a matter of fact—a-an’ the only one who ain’t asked o-o-or expected a damn thing from me in a long time. You jus’…understand.”

Surprisingly, she does.

“Now, with that said, I like ta—" His head comes down, pressing the sweaty warmth of his forehead against hers. “—give gifts and help those I care about.” He nuzzles his nose into hers. “You gonna let me help you, Peppercorn?” he whispers against her cheek.

Her mouth parts by its own accord as her insides go gooey, and those soft lips devour hers again before she can reply. Fisting the lapels of his jacket in her hands, she barely recognizes the moan that escapes her as being her own.

He pulls away slightly, pressing kisses into her jaw and down her neck. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“Elvis…” is all she’s able to groan out. He’s an assault to her senses in the best way, causing every nerve ending to go into overdrive, logic and caution be dammed.

“Gonna be good f’me?” he rasps, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers down over her breast. She gasps and her nipple pebbles hard in response under the silky friction of the fabric of his yellow shirt. Back arching, her body seeks more of him.

He hums, pulling her up into a blistering kiss that sets her on fire. Mind wiped clean, she leans into his touch when he palms the underside of her breast.

“Thought you was mad at me and here ya are wearin’ my shirt to bed,” he drawls with a knowing smirk, his finger toying with the top button. “Now why would ya do a thing like that, huh, darlin’?”

“I…” she says breathlessly but stops when she has no defense. Her cheeks turn fire-engine red, both from being caught out and from the fact he is much too deftly popping the first button, which due to the size of the shirt lies squarely between her cleavage, open. The fullness and heaving of her breasts push the fabric further apart.

“Hmm, I see,” he tuts. His finger traces its way down to work the second button. “Were ya dreamin’ about me, honey?”

Pepper whimpers and her thighs clutch together involuntarily at his whispered words, and he doesn’t miss this little tell, not by the little smirk on his face. The second button pops and the shirt falls open more.

He swoops her up against him for another kiss, his tongue swiping through her lips and rolling against hers. The rapidly-firming outline of his cock pressed against her belly is not lost on her, either.

“My lil’ Peppercorn, thinkin’ she’s gotta be all rough and tough all by her lonesome,” he murmurs as he makes quick work of the other buttons, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her abdomen. She trembles at his touch. “Don’t gotta worry no more, baby, I gotcha,” he purrs. In any other situation, she might find it condescending, this way he’s taking her to task for being cautious and independent, but she can’t quite bring herself to care so much anymore.

Elvis steps back a little, those shining blue eyes flaring a bit when he gets a look at her in her simple white cotton panties. He looks almost gleeful which banishes her self-consciousness at not wearing something sexier to bed. God knows the last thing she expected last night after she showered was Elvis Presley admiring her choice of underwear.

“Lemme take care of ya?” he asks dreamily, and the words go straight to her core, tingling her swelling lower lips in anticipation of what she hopes he is going to do to her.

All she can manage is a low whine of consent, nodding her head furiously just in case it isn’t clear how badly she needs him to touch her.

Elvis smiles and flits his fingers over the cotton covering her mound. The slightest brush of his finger against her clit sends her spasming like a live wire. It’s embarrassing, yet by the boyish dimple in his cheek, she reckons he’s pleased as punch.

“You been touched like this before, baby?” he asks quietly, circling over her so lightly she feels she might explode from want.

Blinking rapidly, she tries to focus enough to reply. “N-not in a long w-while,” she admits, relishing the sensation of him brushing over the soaked center of her underwear. She can’t help the roll of her hips towards his hand, desperate for more.

“Mmm,” he tuts, nodding to himself. Thankfully, he obliges her by pressing slightly upwards, pushing his panty covered finger up into her hole just a little, the palm of his hand putting pressure on her sensitive clit.

He only gives her a second of this, just long enough for her to gasp out, before he’s moving along. Her knees threaten to buckle and she whines. Then his mouth his on hers again, inhaling her exhale as he kisses her into complete submission.

Pepper loses track of how long they kiss, only that her lips are swollen and that she aches for him with every fiber of her being. The rhythm of his mouth is hypnotic and when he slides his hand down the front of her, into her damp curls, and finally gives attention to the place she wants him most, she cries out in pleasure.

Her legs falling open, he takes the cue and teases the hood of her sex. Nothing has prepared her for this—not her imagination nor her few previous experiences with men could ever match up to the blinding arousal she’s feeling right now.

Surprising her, he bends down, continuing his kisses down her chest, over the rise of her breasts and down her stomach. When he kneels in front of her, a waft of déjà vu comes over her, except this time he is undressing her instead, making the entire scene so erotic with his kiss-swollen lips and bedroom eyes and his hair falling in his face that she feels a needy, throbbing desire between her legs.

His tongue traces her belly button, distracting her from the fact he’s pulling her ruined underwear down her legs to puddle at her feet. It’s not until his lips are pressing into her mound that she realizes his intentions.

“Oh!” Her eyes flying open, she squirms a little in panic—she’s never had a man kiss her down there, and sure as hell didn’t consider that Elvis would want to do such a thing, but there he his, looking up at her, one eyebrow cocked. His eyes don’t leave hers as he swirls that tongue of his around her bud.

“Oh—omigod,” she cries, breath hitching. Her body goes into overdrive at all the new sensations, and he just smiles against her, snacking and lapping away at her, as happy as can be. The surreal nature of it all has her questioning her sanity, but the fleeting thought is quickly overwhelmed by the coil rapidly tightening in her belly. She hurtles towards an orgasm she’s not entirely ready for because she desperately doesn’t want this pleasure to end. Mewling and begging, it only takes one slender finger sliding up into her snatch coupled with the delicious, tongued assault on her clit to send her catapulting over the edge.

Her body tenses, then shudders violently against him as a silent scream catches in her throat. The heat rushing over her has nothing on any climax she’s ever had before which becomes evident in the way her legs shake and threaten to give way completely. Thankfully, Elvis holds her steady by the backs of her thighs, not letting her slump down to the floor like a sack of potatoes as her body relaxes. She can barely breathe for the way he licks her through the end of it, his enjoyment of her arousal obviously not just for her benefit.

Pepper vaguely registers her soft moans and her shivering limbs as she comes back into herself. Her head clonks back into the wall while she tries to get ahold of senses. She can’t seem to come down, though, not with this gorgeous man prostrated at her feet, enjoying her as though she were water in the desert.

Everything goes blank, everything but him.

Then he’s upright again, pressing his body into her, into the wall, his head nuzzling the soft spot under her ear. “Ya like that, honey? That okay?”

If she were more cognizant, she might think more on how he seems almost unsure of his abilities, but as it is, she barely manages a nod.

“S’wonderful,” she slurs, though she’s completely sober.

He smiles against her neck, chin sticky with her arousal. She doesn’t care. At this moment, all she wants is to be consumed by him, crushed by him, taken care of by him. All earlier arguments are forgotten, especially when he ruts against her bare leg, his erection hard and seeking.

“Can I, darlin’?” he whispers imploringly with a punctuated roll of his hips. “Hims need her bad.”

She wants to giggle at the cuteness of his baby talk and at the gallantry of his asking rather than taking—as if she would deny him—so instead she just nods yet again, pulling at the confines of his suit jacket.

In a near-frantic battle with his elaborate outfit, his belt finally clanks to the floor along with his pants and discarded jacket. When his cock springs free, unencumbered due to the lack of underwear, she is almost shocked, but is too distracted by what seems to be a wholly perfect representation of the male form.

It makes her look him up and down with an awed and heated gaze, somewhat disbelieving this otherworldly man wants her. By its own accord, her hand palms the heavy heat of him, sending a thrill though her when he groans out her name.

Needy and already dripping from the slit in his angry pink tip, he thrusts his cock into her hand. “Please, baby,” he breathes and all at once she realizes he is as desperate to have her as she is to have him.

She’s never fucked standing before and if she were in her right mind might be a little concerned about the mechanics of such a thing, but nature has a way of prevailing and without much to-do, Elvis lifts her long legs around his waist and braces her against the wall.

They both groan as he enters her. She’s more than wet, but his size and her lack of recent experience creates a stretching burn, nevertheless. It makes her hiss and bite down on her lip and being the observant lover he has turned out to be, he freezes partway in.

“You okay?” he asks, worried, and she nods emphatically because no, she doesn’t want him to stop but yes, it has been awhile since a man traversed this part of her. The bite of her nails on his shoulders is enough to remind him to go slow, despite the desire to fuck each other into oblivion.

With the utmost patience he works his way in with shallow, gentle thrusts as she coats him with her slick and relaxes enough to let him burrow deeper. The tight fit is delicious on his cock, which he makes note of in a string of murmured baby talk praises in her ear of what a good girlshe is and how tight she feels and how he’d just make a home in her pretty lil’ beaver forever if he could.

All this has her tingling and radiating warmth from the inside out and she begins to roll her hips to let him know she’s ready. It’s not long then before he’s nestled deep inside, his sweaty forehead pressed to hers before kissing her deeply. She tastes the tang of herself on his tongue, something that shouldn’t make her moan into his mouth, but she does, clinging to his shoulders as he finally begins to move in earnest.

And consumed by him she is—by his smell, his taste, the hard and soft planes of his body sliding against her own so deftly, thoroughly slotted as if made for each other. His rings cut into the bottom of her thigh as he grips her there in such a way that suggests he thinks she might float away and disappear without him there to anchor her.

He might very well be right.

Boldly, she meets his increasingly deep and pointed thrusts with the snap of her hips, as best she can at least, considering her lack of leverage. She chases him and he her, like some sort of erotic ouroboros eating its own tail. There is nothing but him and her and the joined chorus of breath in their near-frantic lovemaking.

Pepper has never come twice in a row with a man, not ever, yet as he plunders her just the right way in all the right spots, the telltale signs of that tension in her core spring to life again. He’s skilled in making her body sing, considering he barely knows her—or perhaps he knows her better than anyone else in his gilded town. Regardless, he coaxes her back to the edge with him with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his teeth and the caress of his fingers and hands in her most intimate places.

Skilled but sweet. Confident but desperate. The dichotomy of this man confounds her. Her back scrapes against the wall in time with the piston of his perfect hips, and the music of his soft moans has her near orgasm once again.

The build is slower this time and she relishes in every sensation, trying to commit them to memory. When she finally shatters around him at the crest of it all, Elvis shudders with a low groan and thrusts impossibly deep before pulsing hard, filling her with cum.

They collapse in on each other then, a panting silence filling the space around them. His breath is wet and heavy in the crook of her neck. She mindlessly runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, which is damp with sweat.

Oh, she’s in deep trouble with this one and she knows it. Part of her wants nothing more to stay like this forever, back scraping against the plaster, collapsed in a satisfied heap in Elvis’ arms.

A pleased hum comes from him, vibrating her sensitive skin, as he nestles deeper into her, despite the softening of his penis. It is needy and cuddly and unexpected based on the way he barged in earlier. But he continues to hold her tight, and she is powerless to deny him such a comfort.

She doesn’t want to.

“Come back with me, honey,” he whispers into the shell of her ear, causing her skin to pebble. “Please.”

Pepper wants to cry at the vulnerable way he says it and how it leaves her feeling so special because it seems to prove this was not just an angry, possessive fuck from a man who always gets what he wants. No, it feels charmingly sweet and melts her heart and body in all the right ways. It would be so easy to go, so tempting to fall into his arms again and again.

But things have never been easy for her and her damn pragmatic mind won’t let it rest why he showed up here in the first place.

“I—I can’t leave my jobs,” she whispers, her fingers carting through his dark hair by their own accord as his lips tackle her pulse point. She feels him smile against her skin, an action which shoots straight into her core, as if he hadn’t left her sated twice already.

“Well, I thought ya might say that, but it jus’ so happens the Hilton has a book-keeping openin’, if ya want it,” he says dreamily.

It takes a moment for her post-coital brain to make sense of what he’s saying. She pulls back.

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replies, forcing his pleased grin into a serious scowl.

Her heart pounds even more than it did when his lips were on her. She knows jobs like this are hard for people like her to come by. Most casinos don’t want to take a chance on a showgirl doing their books.

This could change everything for her.

“I…but I don’t have much experience and they’ll never—” she babbles, sending herself into a panic.

“Baby,” he shushes, finally removing himself from her and setting her down gently, “you’ve already got the job.” He smooths her hair, lulling her into relaxing.

She shakes her head in disbelief. Part of her wants to balk against the kindness, telling her she didn’t earn it for herself. Elvis gleans this, however.

“Let me help you, darlin’,” he coos at her, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please. Let someone else take care of ya for once.”

Tears spring to her eyes. She can’t help it. The rollercoaster of the last few days has left her raw.

“You didn’t have to—it’s too much,” she sniffles, blinking back the tears.

“Wasn’t nothin’, baby. And you’ll be great, workin’ with all those numbers,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “And, it ain’t entirely selfless,” he muses, “considerin’ you’ll be workin’ in the same place as me and they don’t need you to start for a couple weeks. Those hours give you plenty of time to come see me. To be with me.”

She can’t help but chuckle at that. “But I have to—”

“Good thing about that signing bonus, too. Means ya won’t have to worry ‘bout leavin’ those other jobs of yours,” he says nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Nope, no siree.” His eyes twinkle at her.

Her guarded incredulousness disintegrates when she realizes he listened to her. Despite the misguided way he went about it, he figured out her need to be self-sufficient, solved the problem holding her back from him, and managed to get her a job she could barely dream of a few days ago.

It’s infuriating to her head-strong nature that he’s so deftly wheedled around all the obstacles and that she wants nothing more than to be in his arms and hear his vulnerability and go to his damn shows.

“Whadya say, Peppercorn? Will ya come be with me?” He says it with only the slightest tremor of doubt, those soulful eyes of his searching hers, dredging up feelings she knows will likely bite her in the ass later.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine,” she tries to say with a hint of frustration, but she’s unable to keep her hopeful smile from raising the corners of her mouth.

The dimple carved out beneath his apple cheeks makes it all worth it and sends a shower of tingles through her body. He swoops her up in his arms, kissing her deeply and hugging her so tight she can barely draw breath.

Suffocated by Elvis Presley’s kisses wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, she thinks humorously as he takes her breath away.

“I should go clean up and pack some things,” she pants when they finally tear themselves away from each other.

He nods, looking mussed and blissful, his bedroom eyes heavy as though the night’s events have finally all caught up to him. Holding her hand until the last possible second, she’s near convinced that he’s about ready to fall asleep standing up.

She’s halfway down the hall when he calls out to her, voice husky. “Hey, honey.”

Pepper turns back to look at him.

“Bring the shirt,” Elvis says, his dark brow quirking suggestively, “I like it on ya.”

He gives her an idea, a bold one she acts on before she can think too much on it. “Bet you’d like it off me even more,” she says, sliding the already open shirt off her shoulders. It falls in a soft heap around her feet.

His eyes go wide and take in her bare form from head to toe. “Damn, woman, I think ya might be right.”

And with a growl, he charges her, sending her into shrieking giggles as she flees into her room. Tapping some hidden reserve of energy, he lifts her and throws her on her unmade bed, and then climbs in on top of her, showering her with kisses everywhere.

Loving the way his long body presses her into the sheets, she feels utterly content for once in her life to let loose a little and live in the present without a care in the world.

“Gonna take care of ya,” he whispers, running his hand reverently over her naked curves.

And she knows he will.

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon) 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#paisley dreams #paisley dreams part 2 #elvis smut #elvis presley #elvis #elvis x oc #elvis x peppercorn #elvis presley fanfic #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis imagine #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fic #elvis 1970 #las vegas #showgirl

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lizthewriter · 4 months

Text

making me want you / ted logan

PAIRING ted logan x shy!nervous!reader

SUMMARY ted logan asked you out on a date and you both proceed to freak out. (fluffy blurb).

TAGS ted logan x shy!nervous!reader, fluff, blurb, cute, first date, this is so cute 😭😭😭, anon i hope you like this i tried my best, i procrastinated my stats homework for this

QUOTE "you take my hand and drag me head first, fearless, / and i don't know why but with you, i'd dance, / in a storm in my best dress, fearless," - fearless by taylor swift

WRITTEN 1.14.2024

WORD COUNT 900

"she's going to think i'm totally weird, dude! why did i think i could do this? why did she even agree to go out with me, man, i'm a nobody! i'm -"

"hey!" bill exclaimed, gripping onto both of ted's shoulders. ted had polished himself up for his first date with you, but his hair was already a bird's nest after anxiously messing with it so much. "dude, your self-esteem is most egregious! you have to believe in yourself. you're my best friend ted! you totally got this!"

"okay," ted responded, nodding rather quickly. "you're totally right. i can do this." he didn't sound so confident in himself.

"just remember what i told you about babes and you'll be fine!" bill exclaimed, patting ted on the back.

"oh god, i'm going to totally blow this date!" you quickly added some last finishing touches to your makeup.

"just don't blow him." you grabbed one of the eyeliner pencils and chucked it at your best friend, who had thought that now was a good time to make a comment like that. "hey, i'm being serious!"

"so am i!" you responded with a pout. "i'm not trying to get in his pants and he's not trying to get in mine!" you sighed as you spun around in the chair that had faced your dresser. your best friend didn't seem too happy at the idea of you going out with ted logan. "he asked me out on a serious date!"

"to the mall?" they asked with an arched brow.

you snatched your bag from your bed and stood up. "please, can you just be supportive, okay? i know you're not his biggest fan of ted but he's a really nice guy, okay?"

your best friend sighed and stood up with crossed arms. "all right. don't be nervous and if you are, don't start rambling on about something because you talk too fast when you get excited and no one can understand you. don't order food that you could accidentally spill or make a mess with, like pasta. most importantly, don't pretend to be who you think ted's dream girl is - be who you are. if he doesn't like that, then he doesn't deserve you. got it?"

you attempted to smile and wrapped your arms around their neck. "thanks. i'll see you tommorow."

you waited patiently in front of the music store at the front of the mall (ted had told you to meet him there in a few minutes). you were so nervous you were scared that your pants were stained with the sweat you had wiped off your hands. this was a nightmare! you were going to totally embarrass yourself in front of him and he'd never want to talk to you again! god, why couldn't you stop sweating?

"babe!"

your head snapped in the direction of his voice and found ted jogging towards you from the parking lot. you felt a little more relaxed now, thoughts of him ghosting you dissipating from your mind. he bore one of his usual sloppy grins and waved at you. as he crossed the street, he narrowly avoiding being hit by a car (tripping over his own feet but inevitably standing straight once more).

"hi," you said with a breathy laugh, anxiously shifting your weight between your two feet.

"wow!" he exclaimed loudly, looking you up and down. "you're totally pretty!"

you blushed furiously and stared at the ground. "thanks, you look pretty too. or handsome! if you prefer that. since some guys . . . not to say you're not pretty - if you don't mind me saying that, i mean." you internally cringed at yourself. you just needed to shut up and get on with it!

"oh, thanks," ted responded in a small voice, suddenly feeling shy. it was awkward now, the two of you just standing there in silence, rocking back and forth on your feet. you felt incredibly stupid, not knowing what to say. how were you supposed to behave on a first date anyways? should you take the lead? you didn't want to order him around or anything.

"so, should we, uh . . . " ted furrowed his brows in concentration and stared up at the ceiling. he didn't seem to know what to do either. "uh . . . " he started to become more jittery, his mind drawing at a blank. his shoulders slumped and he looked back at you. "i'm sorry, babe, i swear i had a whole plan and everything but . . . uh, well, you see . . . i've never taken out a babe before. so i'm totally drawing a blank dude! dudette? . . . babe. babe?"

"well, i've never been taken out by a guy before, so . . . you're not the only one," you responded with a nervous chuckle.

"no way!" he exclaimed in blatant disbelief. "but, you - you're fantastic!"

you stared at him with wide eyes. "you really think so?"

"of course! you're really pretty and smart and funny! just ask bill, i talk to you about him all the time!" he then seemed to realize that perhaps he shouldn't have said that. "wait, i'm not supposed to say that. one sec . . ." he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket filled with notes about how to behave on a first date that bill had copied for him from one of missy's magazines. "uh . . . okay, uh-huh . . . right!" he crumpled up the paper and pocketed it again. "confidence! babe, would you like to go eat in the food court?"

you stared at the hand he held out to you and suddenly, you didn't feel as nervous anymore, knowing what you did now. "yeah, let's go!"

#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]#ted logan x reader #ted logan x you #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic

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hannahssimblr · 6 months

Text

Chapter Three

A wall of heat hits our faces as Marnie and I shuffle into a cocktail bar that evening. It’s a hopping, trendy place right in the centre of town, and even though it’s Tuesday night it’s full. It’s one of those places that will set you back nearly fifteen euro for some obscure, designer cocktail called Foxy Kitten Vodka Tonic, and other such names that are so humiliating to say out loud that you end up getting flustered and ordering rum and coke instead.

We leave our jackets in the cloak room, and I strip down to my skimpy dress, worn with no tights in icy cold weather like true red blooded Irish girls do. Marnie didn’t dress up though, she’s too cool. She’s wearing the same mesh top and black runners she was in earlier, but I could never go to a bar casually. It’s just not what small town girls do, and Claire would have never allowed me to leave our apartment in any other state. My feet already hurt in my five inch heels after walking the ten minutes from the bus stop, but I don’t dare complain. I just slide into a booth and start looking at the drinks menu, slipping out of them and uncurling my cramped feet on the cool tile floor underneath the table while trying not to outwardly shudder with relief.

“Wine as usual, is it, Evie, or will we try to seize the spirit of the night and be adventurous?” Marnie’s got her nose in the menu, and I can barely hear what she’s saying over the thumping remix of some Katy Perry song.

“I think it will have to be the wine.” I reply, my head spinning at the prices. You know you’re in the wrong bar when a cocktail costs half of your weekly food budget.

“Oh boring. Have a Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against a Wall or something. Come on, you and I are out on the pull, let’s get ourselves loosened up a bit.”

“I’m not ordering a cocktail called that.”

“I’ll order it for you if you don’t want to say it.” She points out the ingredients to me. “It looks so yum.” She flips through the menu with a concentrated face. “What do you reckon has the most possible alcohol in it? I feel like I need to get absolutely plastered so I can get through an evening in this bar. The vibes are absolutely rancid.”

“We can go if you want.” I say hopefully, picturing an evening curled up in my bed with a hot water bottle.

“Stop. We’re not leaving. Now which cocktail will it be?”

I’m still insisting on the Pinot Grigio when a group of NCAD students join us and start sliding into our booth with us. Marnie wanted us to have a group night, because apparently just having two of us alone would have been sad, and because she’s an extrovert she’s not very good at coping unless she’s surrounded by as many different people as possible.

“Oh, sorry.” One girl says as she clambers over me, her elbow colliding with my forehead, and I smile and pretend that it’s fine. They’re all talking now, the cacophonous sound of at least twelve art students with interesting haircuts filling up my stratosphere. I reach underneath the table to put my shoes back on again, and when I glance down at my little satin dress and strappy heels, I’m struck by how completely out of place I look among everyone else. Apparently I should have worn jeans, flat shoes, edgier makeup, but this is just another case of me missing out on the memo. No matter what I do, no matter where I am I can never seem to get things right. At school I was never dressed up enough, my attempts were always misguided and awkward, and now that I’ve figured that out, I’ve found dresses that hug my body in the right places, shoes that make my legs look impossibly long, the rules have changed again. I excuse myself and wriggle out of the booth. I don’t need to use the bathroom but I want to go and stare at myself agitatedly in the mirror. Maybe I can run a little more kohl around my eyes, smudge it out, muss up my hair a bit so that I look a little more Alexa Chung.

I shove through the doors and plant myself in front of the sinks, then pull my blunt eyeliner pencil from my little handbag and start raking it along my waterline. With my little finger I rub it in, making sure to get it onto the bottom lids so that it looks like I literally woke up like this. I was partying so hard, I just passed out somewhere and now I’m here again, in another bar. I’m just beginning to back comb the sleek, straightness out of my hair with my fingers when someone comes out of one of the cubicles. I don’t pay her any attention until she’s washing her hands next to me, and that’s when I recognise her. Kind of. From somewhere, only I can’t place her small, delicate features. She sniffs gently and rubs her hand under her nose, and then briefly meets my eyes in the mirror. She doesn’t recognise me either, her gaze just slides away.

I’m just about to let it go when someone speaks from behind me.

“Evie?”

I whirl around, and it’s Jen. I look at her, then look at the other girl, flooded with recognition. I do know her from somewhere. Michelle. The famous Michelle who I agonised over for weeks, zooming in on photographs of her pretty face, letting her tear down and completely destroy all semblances of my self-esteem without needing to ever say a word to each other. How could I forget?

“Oh my God. Hi Jen.” I say with surprise. She looks different now. Gone is the bright red cropped hair that she had before, now it’s chin length and straight, jet black with her roots and ends dyed bright, lurid magenta. She comes up to me for a hug, and I notice that she looks a little ashen faced, hands trembling slightly, but her hug is warm and familiar and somehow manages to transport me to a different time and place for a fleeting moment.

“You got extremely hot.” She comments and she stands back. “Wow, look at you.”

“Oh, stop.” I say shyly. “I feel so overdone.”

“That’s just what first years do.” She reassures me. “Spend enough nights out on the streets at two in the morning trying to flag down a taxi, and you’ll change your tune pretty quickly.” She peers down at my shoes. “I personally wouldn’t have fun trying to hike home in those.”

“They’re painful.” I admit, and I lean back against the sink unit to take the weight off them.

“So what’s your story now? It’s been absolute ages since I’ve seen you. Where are you living?”

“Fitzwilliam Square.” I say, and then cringe in anticipation of her reaction. She boggles her eyes and makes an astonished face, just like everybody else who hears.

“That’s so fancy, oh my god. What’s the rent on that?”

“Three hundred.” I say, hoping the conversation will move on quickly so I don’t have to get into the whole thing about it. It’s Claire’s dad’s property, and it’s not the whole building, it’s just the top two floors. There was a couple living there before we moved in, and when he evicted them for vague reasons both he and Claire acted like that was a totally normal thing to do, so I went along with it. I usually like to leave all that out now that I’ve learned that unlawful eviction is not okay, actually, and that for most people in this city, the term “Landlord” is synonymous with the words “Filthy, Diseased Bin Rat.” Happily though, Jen just muses about how cheap that sounds, and then moves on.

“And did you get into art college in the end?”

“I did! I’m in NCAD.”

“Oh, sick. Same as Michelle.”

I turn to the other girl, who’s waiting patiently for Jen to wrap up, smiling blandly at me while she dries her hands with toilet roll, since none of the hand dryers are ever working in these places.

“Shell.” Jen prompts. “Do you remember Evie?”

“I don’t.” She says in her soft, feminine voice. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“Kind of.” I shrug, wishing to avoid getting into the where and whens of our last encounter. “It was ages ago though, don’t worry.”

“She was at Jude’s going away party.” Jen informs her, and I have to turn away from her, his name like a blade in my gut. I have to resist the urge to wince. I start messing with my hair in the mirror again.

“That was literal years ago.” I say tightly. “No worries if you can’t remember me. I can’t really remember you either.”

“I’m sorry, I actually don’t.” Michelle says. “That’s probably really bad, but thinking back, like, there were loads of people there, and like you said it was ages ago.”

“No worries.” I repeat.

“So you’re a friend of his?”

“Not really.”

“You were.” Jen says defensively, then to Michelle: “She was. They were close that summer.”

“I knew him for a few months, and now I don’t know him anymore.” I say brusquely. For some reason my hands are shaking as I try to stuff my makeup back into my bag, and my spine feels like it’s made from steel cable.

“I didn’t know you fell out.” Jen says with a frown. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened, he just obviously wasn’t bothered about me, so…”

“He never mentioned that to me.��

I sigh loudly. Of course he didn’t. I’m sure he never talked about me at all, not even once. ‘Well,” I say shakily. “It’s better that we don’t talk anymore, I’ve been too busy, and like I said, we hardly knew each other, so actually, it’d be weird if we stayed in touch. We both have other priorities.”

“You know he used to be my boyfriend.” Michelle tells me, I don’t look at her, but I can see her leaning into the sink in my periphery, watching me as I drop my eyeliner pencil and let it roll into the basin. “I know how he is. Or was. He was so immature, and I don’t think he really cared about anybody but himself, so like, if he was a dickhead to you or hurt your feelings-”

“Nah we weren’t that close.” I insist. “We just hung out sometimes and then he moved away, it was nothing.”

“Oh.” She watches me attempt to zip up my bag with increasing frenzy, and I know that she doesn’t believe me.

“Anyway.” I say, flinging it over my shoulder. “So nice to see you both again, but I’m going to go back to my friends.” I flounce out of the bathroom, but instead of turning right and going back to the bar, I swing left and head out to the smoking area, pushing through the doors into the freezing air, which flings shards of ice at my face and my bare arms and legs. I want some air, but actually, the air out there is the furthest thing from fresh. I stand there shivering, looking into the faces of all of the people out there with me, trying to deduct which one has the least threatening aura, and would be most likely to let me bum a cigarette just so I can do something with my trembling hands.

Prev // Next

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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bygiornogiovanna · 2 years

Note

i hope this isn’t too specific but may i have fluff prompts 11, 17, and 22 with Josuke (DiU)? bonus points for platonic and gender neutral reader :o

Comfort

Bestfriend! Josuke x GN! Reader who was a crush on Josuke

#11: "Please, I need to hug you so bad."

#22: "Oh, shut up and come here, dummy"

Summary: Being in love with your best friend is hard and using people to get over it is even harder. What happens when, after another break-up, you ignore him and everybody else for days?

Wordcount: 1.9k

TW: None, just fluff

Omg yes I love this request!! Josuke is one of my favorite Jojos, I love him so much <33 I hope you liked this one, feel free to leave more! I couldn't exactly insert the 17th prompt in this one, but I hope it's fine! Bye bye <3

They say that liking your best friend isn't the best idea, don't they? Maybe they are right, but the idea of loving someone even with you knowing all of their flaws has little butterflies flowing around in your stomach. Even if you didn't like the idea of being rejected, you still couldn't help but love Josuke.

Maybe it was wrong, not wanting anyone to have eyes for him except you, wanting him to be only with you, but you can't control your heart, can you?

It's not like, if he got in a relationship with somebody who wasn't you, you would do something about it. No, you weren't crazy. It would just break your heart, but it's not like Josuke is yours. You have no power over him. You would be happy for him since his happiness was yours.

It's been around three years since you realized your feelings for him. You tried replacing him with other people, you had numerous relationships with others, but nobody could stop him from entering your heart. It was something about how he looked, and how he acted that made you fall in love with your best friend even more.

You always thought that you didn't have a chance with him since you never exactly saw yourself on the pretty side. Yes, you were attractive, there wasn't room for discussing that, but you didn't see yourself as someone people could love. Only someone who people used to get over somebody else or when they were bored.

It was cruel to think about yourself like that and maybe that's why all of your relationships didn't last longer than two or three months.

That's what you were thinking about while looking in the mirror. You were staring at your ruined make-up, your puffy eyes, and your three days-old, unwashed clothes. You tried doing your makeup to cheer yourself up, but it didn't work. All of this was caused by another failed attempt of getting over Josuke and another part of your heart broke. You were going to destroy yourself if you kept this shit up, but you didn't care. Distractions like these, even if they destroyed you little by little, with every breakup, were always welcomed.

"Why am I crying? He wasn't even good-looking." You muttered to yourself, your voice raspy from all of the crying and the ice cream you ate. Suddenly, your phone rang, your best friend's name showing proudly on the screen. 'Josuke <3'. Why was he calling you again?

Oh right, you didn't show any signs of being alive in the past few days. He was probably getting worried. The truth is, you sought his comfort, his embrace, and his sweet vanilla scent, but you didn't want to hear him scolding you. Josuke was very protective over you, he didn't always agree with the guys or girls you wanted to get with. And your previous 'lover' was exactly one of those cases.

Sighing, you decided to answer the phone. In these past three days, you had over 70 unread messages and 20 calls. He messaged you on every single social media app you owned. He even went as far as emailing you. The man would probably go nuts if you kept ignoring him and his calls and, knowing how he was, he will soon break into your house.

"Hello?" You said, not sure if he heard you, even if you cleared your throat before speaking.

"Fucking finally! I thought you were dead! Why didn't you answer any of my phone calls?! I texted you everywhere, I even called your parents! Are you crazy? What happened?! Are you okay, is everything fine?! Are you safe, did you get kidnapped?" Josuke yelled from the other line and the worry was audible in his voice.

"Chill, I am fine." You said, your voice still hoarse. You tried your best to make it seem like you weren't crying, but it didn't seem to be working since he stopped his rambling.

"Y/N, why are you crying? What's wrong? What happened?" He lowered his voice, his tone being a normal one now, but the worry in it never faltered.

"It's...nothing, really. Why did you call me?" You asked trying to change the subject.

"Why did I call you?" Josuke yelled. Here we go again... "Because you disappeared for three days, didn't answer any of my calls, any of my texts, and not even your parents knew anything about you. Tell me what's wrong or I'm coming over."

"I...uh...(ex's name) broke up with me and I didn't have any energy...I'm sorry I made you worry, Josuke." You stated, and your voice started to shake again. You were on the verge of tears again.

"Oh, that bastard. I'm going to kill him. Who does he think he is?!" Josuke said, worry being replaced by anger.

"N-No, don't...It's fine, really. Don't do anything stupid." You said and he immediately calmed down, listening to you. It broke his heart to hear you like this.

"Do you need anything? I'm coming over in a few minutes."

"No,I-I just...Please, I need to hug you so bad." You knew you probably sounded annoyingly desperate, but you didn't care. You were on the verge of breaking down again and you needed him.

As soon as he heard your words, Josuke closed the call, took his keys and wallet, and sprinted to your house. You sounded like you really needed his presence like you were in unimaginable pain and he wasn't going to let you down. The trip to your house lasted around ten minutes, but he somehow managed to get there in half the time. He knocked on your door and, when you opened it, he pulled you into a big, warm hug.

Feeling his embrace, you melted in it as tears started to roll down your cheeks. He held you, letting you cry on his chest while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

"Sh, sh, I'm here now. Let it all out, darling." The boy said, hugging you tighter, kissing the top of your head. He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, closing the door with his foot. Carrying you to the living room, he softly put you down, getting on his knees. He caressed your hair as your crying slowly turned into sobs, that turned into soft snores. He watched you sleep for a few minutes, his hand never leaving your hair, relieved that you calmed down.

Josuke let you sleep while he cleaned your house. He knew that so many heartbreaks caused you to finally break down and he hated it. He hated to see you with all of those people that didn't love you as much as he did. Why couldn't you see how much he loved you? Or maybe you saw but you didn't like him back. It was fine, he was going to wait for you his whole life. He was always going to be there, right by your side, supporting you whenever you needed it.

The indigo-haired man sighed at the thought, changing your bedsheets to newer ones. He finished cleaning your room and bathroom, taking all of the dirty clothes, blankets, and pillowcases, separating them, and throwing them into the washing machine. He then moved to the kitchen to do all of the dishes that were previously laid around your room.

After he finished cleaning up most of the dirty places in your house, since not all of it was, only the places you usually stayed, he got some micellar water and cotton balls to clean the make-up off your face. Careful to not wake you up, he kneeled beside the couch again, putting some of the micellar water on one of the cotton balls, wiping it softly over your face.

"I guess my job here is done." The boy placed a small kiss on your cheek, sighing. When he turned to leave, he heard you whining.

"Don't leave, Josuke, please." You mumbled sleepily, raising your hands as a signal you wanted him to come next to you. "Want you here.."

"Hm? What was that?" He teased, turning his head and raising a brow. He didn't want you to see how flustered he got hearing what you said so he decided to cover it up with teasing. "Come on, don't be shy."

"Shut up and come here dummy." You said annoyed, clicking your tongue. You were 100% positive that he heard you, why did you need to repeat yourself?

"Not until you say it again," Josuke said, turning his full body towards you, your eyes locking with his. You felt a blush creeping on your cheeks and flipped him off.

"Fuck off, you heard me." You mumbled, hiding your face on the couch. Josuke came behind you and pulled you up, into his arms. "Hey! Put me down, asshole, I was comfortable."

"Do I look like I care?" He asked, turning you to face him. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his torso again, holding onto his shoulders. "You said you wanted me here, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't. I think you are starting to hear things." You said boldly, feeling the air getting stuck in your throat. His face was close to yours, too close for two best friends.

"Mmm, I'm pretty sure I don't have hearing problems." The boy said, closing the space between you even more. Your lips were a few inches away and you could feel his breathing on yours. Unwillingly, your eyes went down to his lips and you blushed harder. "I might regret this, but fuck it. I can't wait anymore." He mumbled and pressed your lips together.

It was ironic, really. An hour ago he said he would wait for you his entire life and now, here he was, pressing your lips together into a soft kiss. But he couldn't help it, you were too irresistible. Hearing you say you wanted him here, next to you, stirred something inside him.

You yelped surprised but didn't push him off. Instead, you leaned into the kiss, savoring his strawberry-scented lip balm. He turned around with you in his arms, letting himself plop onto the couch while you deepened the kiss. God, if this was a dream, you didn't want to wake up. You felt heavenly kissing him, feeling his hands on your hips, not touching you too harshly, as if he was afraid to not break you.

"I'm sorry, it's just-...I got caught up in the moment, please don't hate me." Josuke panted after you broke the kiss, his eyes locked on yours, studying your reaction.

"It's fine, I...don't mind." You smiled, your hand massaging his shoulder. "Not at all."

"Ahhh, I'm sorry. I was supposed to comfort you after your breakup, not take advantage of you." He groaned, throwing his head back. He was embarrassed.

"If this is how you comforting me ends up, I will gladly get into more relationships." You smirked, a hint of teasing in your voice, satisfied when you saw a blush on his face.

"Why get into more relationships with random guys that aren't good for you, when you can get into one with me, hm?" He suddenly said, raising one of his eyebrows. This smug bastard.

You felt yourself blushing harder at his words and you hit his chest annoyed. "Shut up." Josuke laughed at you, pulling you into his chest.

Maybe this breakup ended better than expected.

#jjba x reader #jjba x you #jojo x reader #jjba headcanons #josuke headcanons #josuke x reader #josuke higashitaka #josuke x y/n #josuke x you #josuke x gn reader #fluff #breakup #comfort #jjba part 4 #jjba pt 4

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aranciafiamma · 10 months

Text

Boy in the Ice pt. 3

1:26 p.m.

"Hail, fair maidens!"

Ochako stops mid-stride, sharing a look with her friends. They turn in sync to take in the stranger approaching them. He has light brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a black blazer paired with jeans. Overall, he looks average save for the touch of foreign in his features. Except the definition of foreign gets more and more abstract these days, with all kinds of folk immigrating to Japan, and all the ways a quirk can mutate someone's looks. So maybe this guy is Japanese. Ochako can't say for sure. But he definitely feels out of place.

"Is he talking to us?" Ochako murmurs to Jiro. She gets a clueless shrug for an answer. Biting her lip, Ochako feels her stomach squeeze, as if she was attempting to levitate a heavy load.

School let out early today and with the long weekend starting tomorrow, they now have a chance to go shopping. Everyone is missing some kind of necessity - shampoo, soy sauce, socks, etc. And with all the craziness lately, they agreed that something normal and boring would be nice.

The plan was to head downtown, snag a few snacks, check out any new stores, maybe even play a couple rounds of dress up. Even if they never bought a single shirt, they always had a good laugh trying on new outfits. Ochako had been looking forward to that. But one look at this stranger and she knew that things are about to go sideways.

They're halfway across campus when this guy calls out to them. So he got past the gates somehow, and sure, he could have been invited in by someone. Except it's after school on the eve of a long weekend. There aren't even any makeup classes or club meetings because of the holiday coming up. The campus is deserted except for the handful of staff to supervise the dorm students (and their new guests). If Ochako was a gambling kinda girl, she would bet good money that their guests have something to do with this random dude walking around their campus.

"How goes the day?" The stranger asks, and wow. He sure sounds like an extra from those ancient samurai movies. Seriously, no one talks like that.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Good ol' Yaomomo, always on top of things - they would be a wreck and likely dead without her.

"Pardon me, I have been far too forward. I am Basil, at your service."

"Basil who?" Mina pipes up, hands on her hips.

"I am a friend of Lord Sawada. He is currently enjoying your hospitality."

"Sawada?" Ochako echoes, frowning. "So you're friends with Tsuna-san?"

"Aye."

There it is. She totally called it.

"Pray, may I know if you reside on these grounds?"

"Why you asking?" Jiro lifts her chin and pins Basil with a needle-point glare. "And why are you here? Did Tsuna-san call you? Do the teachers know that you're here?"

"Peace. Peace. I mean not to offend." Basil smiles ruefully, holding up his hands. "I am a stranger in your lands, and I call upon your aid to find my way."

"Okay… That didn't really answer Jiro-chan's questions," Tsu-chan points out. "And do you have to talk like that? It's a little hard to take you seriously."

Basil chuckles, eyes pinching in the corners. "Doubt me not, good lady. I only seek to escort Lord Sawada back to his home."

"Boss isn't here."

Ochako flinches. She whips around and finds Chrome standing a few steps away. Her hands clench into fists as she forcefully calms her startled heart. Someone needs to put a bell on Chrome-san before she induces cardiac arrest. Honestly, Ochako is reluctantly impressed. As a hero-in-training, with considerable experience in combat, her senses are keener compared to most of the general public. But somehow, Chrome-san always manages to spook her. This time, Ochako didn't even hear her coming or see her coming - as if Chrome-san appeared out of thin air. Toru-chan could learn a lot from her.

"Lady Chrome! Good fortune blesses me with your presence."

Chrome-san blinks, slow and almost sleepy. She's hard to read as always, as if her mind is out to sea, as if her body is a wisp of smoke. And okay, Ochaka has an invisible girl for a classmate so the absence of facial cues is not new to her. But it's not about what she sees and more about what she believes. The truth is that Chrome-san stands right in front of her and Ochako can't believe that she's there. Something in her brain is telling her that Chrome-san does not exist even with visual and auditory proof. It's tripping her up.

"Boss left."

"Wait, you guys can do that?" Mina cuts in, scratching her head. "Weren't you guys stuck on campus or something?"

Chrome-san shrugs.

"Would you know where he went?" Basil asks, and he sounds earnest. He must have been looking forward to seeing Tsuna-san.

Huh. Well, it has been six months - that's half a year - since Tsuna-san crash landed in their school. If Ochako had disappeared for that long then miraculously returned, her parents would have been a wreck. Nothing would have kept them away from her.

And now that she's thinking about it… Where are Tsuna-san's parents?

A sigh from Basil drags Ochako out of her head. She must have missed Chrome-san's answer or maybe Chrome-san just didn't answer. Either way, Basil looks none too happy, with his head hanging low and his shoulders slumping. An air of absolute exhaustion seems to envelope him. And oof, maybe Ochako's been getting paranoid from all the stuff that happened recently. She had no good reason to be so weird about Basil. Yeah, sure the guy talks funny but apart from the possible trespassing (which okay, that's a pretty big deal actually), Basil seems pretty polite and soft-spoken. He hasn't made threats or demands or anything to show that he's some kind of danger to her or her friends. Ochako should have been more welcoming, especially since he seems to have missed Tsuna-san terribly.

"We can help you find him, if you'd like." Ochako offers a friendly smile. "You don't know the way around, right? And we were just about to go downtown anyway. Maybe you'll find Tsuna-san there."

Basil shakes his head. "I have depended on your patience for long enough. Please excuse me."

"Are you sure?" Tsu-chan chimes in. "Because we really wouldn't mind, kero."

Basil looks them over, pursing his lips. Then his eyes drift up, locking onto Chrome-san behind them. There's a split second of something, Ochako isn't sure what. It's over before she could really think about it, and then Basil is smiling nice and wide with a lot of teeth.

"You have my sincere gratitude, gentle ladies. I am in your care."

"Sheesh," Jiro snorts. "You talk worse than Fumikage. Let's hope you two never meet."

"Chrome-san, would you like to -" Yaomomo's gasp cuts off her question.

Ochako turns and flinches hard. Chrome-san is glaring at them. For once, emotion colors her face, transforming her delicate features into something sharper, more vicious.

"Chrome-san?" Tsu-chan murmurs softly. "Is something wrong?"

Chrome-san squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in deeply. All at once, her expression flattens out, returning to its usual neutral state. She shakes her head once.

"I am not feeling well. I will be heading back to my room." Chrome-san tells them, speaking more words than Ochako has ever heard from her. "Have a good time… Stay safe."

Then she walks away, never looking back. What just happened? Something happened. Ochako considers chasing after Chrome-san, just to make sure that she's really okay. But a hand drops on her shoulder before she could make a move.

"Let's give her some space," Yaomomo whispers, barely loud enough for Ochako to hear. "We can check on her later."

Ochako bites her lip, pinching her brow. Yaomomo is right - of course, she's right. Chrome-san didn't seem to want any company, the exact opposite actually. Ochako should leave her alone. But… The hero-in-training couldn't shake the dread curdling in her gut.

"Shall we hasten to the market?" Basil asks them. "Daylight is fading and I would not like to burden you for too long."

Ochako sucks in a deep, steadying breath. Then she nods at Yaomomo. Together, they face Basil with polite grins.

"You aren't a burden, Basil-san."

"Yep, yep. C'mon now, let's head on out!"

The group makes their way off campus, strolling down the side streets, making idle chatter. They learn that Basil taught himself Japanese, studying the language through classic Samurai films. He tells them that his boss helped somewhat, but only encouraged his archaic way of phrasing. At this point, Basil is fully aware that he sounds funny but in truth, he prefers old-fashioned speech. He feels more distinguished and sophisticated - completely unlike how he speaks in his native tongue.

Of course, this confession prompts all the girls to ask for a demonstration. A blushing Basil obliges them with several phrases in Italian. To their clueless ears, Basil sounds polite and soft-spoken, nothing unusual. But he assures them that if he had said this to a fellow Italian, they would be throwing punches before the last word left his lips.

Their chatter is cut short when they reach downtown. A thick layer of tension blankets the main street as agitated shoppers skirt around a massive crater embedded in the road. Police tape already surrounds the affected area with a few officers nearby, taking statements and offering assurances. Making note of all that, the girls tug Basil towards their favorite café where their familiar faces encourage the waitress to share all the shocking details.

A fireball fell from the sky. Everyone ran. But before a hero could arrive at the scene, the fire died out, revealing a boy without any clothes. Wisps of smoke rose from his bare skin as he kneeled in the crater. No one dared approach except for a loud, angry blond. Mean sparks danced between his fingers as he yelled at everyone to stay back and mind their own business. He had jumped down and crouched next to the boy, exchanging a few words, before he hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The two didn't wait for a hero or even police to help, simply walked away and out of sight. A few tried to stop them with well-intentioned queries, but the blond had a glare that could cut through metal. As for everyone else, well… they didn't want to buy trouble, not even in a shopping district. The boys were long gone by the time police showed up.

Ochako squeezes her eyes shut. At her side, Tsu-chan lets out a long, belabored sigh. Yaomomo requests for a table.

Once they were all seated, the girls share a look the way only intimate friends could. Jiro lets out a chuckle. Tsu-chan slips out a giggle. Mina barks out a laugh. When Yaomomo and Ochako join in, they're in full blown hysterics.

Of course! Why wouldn't Bakugou be involved? It just had to be someone from their class. Honestly, 1-B does not find half the bullshit that they seem to crash into on a weekly basis. They're all such problem children, ergo problems keep finding them. If Aizawa-sensei survives this year without losing his sanity, he would accomplish a miraculous feat.

"Um, I beg your pardon." Basil raises his hand, like a student asking a question. "I aim not to shorten your mirth. I simply wish to know about this Bakugou fellow."

"He's a crazy tough guy!" Mina tells him.

"His default volume is loud, and he only gets louder," Jiro adds.

"Bakugou Katsuki is one of our classmates," Yaomomo explains. "He is another hero-in-training and one of the best in our class. He does get angry often but he isn't the dangerous sort. Let's just say that he can be difficult at times."

"Well, he has enough goodwill to aid that other boy," Basil replies. "That is to his credit."

Ochako blinks. "Yeah… What's up with that? I mean, I'm not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid. But I'm also not not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid."

"So then… Bakugou musta known the guy." Jiro drums her fingers on the table. "Right? That's why he went through all that trouble."

"Does Bakugou-chan know anyone with a fireball quirk? I mean, not counting Todoroki-chan, of course," Tsu-chan asks with a tilt of her head.

"Who knows…" Ochako sighs.

"Where would this Bakugou fellow take his friend - if we are to presume that the unknown boy is a friend. It seems hasty of him to leave before peace officers could intervene."

"Yeah… But Bakugou does his own thing, yanno?" Mina replies. "Especially when he thinks that he's right. Which is most of the time, bee-tee-dubs. So… huh. Where would he take the guy?"

"If I was gonna guess," Ochako chimes in. "I'd say that Bakugou would take him back to school. But we didn't see him on the way here, unless he took a different route. Except that wouldn't make much sense, since any other route would just be longer and more inconvenient."

"That is strange…" Basil hums, pursing his lips. "And… I may have the explanation."

"Oh, please share your thoughts." Yaomomo nods at him.

"Kindly note that I only have theories and nothing that can be confirmed without additional evidence. With that said, I believe that your peer came to aid Lord Sawada."

"Tsuna-san?" Ochako frowns, folding her brow. "So, wait… You think that… The guy who fell from the sky - the guy on fire - that was Tsuna-san?"

"That dude's makin' a habit out of falling from the sky." Jiro shakes her head. "This would be what? The second time he's done this?"

"It would be imperative to know Sir Bakugou's location, so that we may confirm if Lord Sawada is in his care."

Ochako studies Basil's heavy frown, the hard-set fold of his brow. She pulls out her phone and starts texting Bakugou.

"Are you messaging him?" Mina asks. "Tell him the teachers are gonna freak when they hear about this."

"Like he'd care," Jiro scoffs.

Ochako doesn't get an immediate reply but that doesn't mean anything. Bakugou isn't very responsive usually, unless he's pissed off then he sends a text every second. If he's not in the mood, he could leave someone on "read" for days. Right now, Ochako can't even tell if Bakugou looked at her message yet. Maybe he's just not on his phone. She'll have to wait a little longer to find out for sure if he's with Tsuna-san.

She tells as much to everyone around her. Mina groans. Jiro rolls her eyes. Tsu-chan shakes her head. Yaomomo orders them a round of drinks.

Basil hums a flat note. "Mayhaps, he has simply gone home."

Ochako perks up. "Oh, you're right! He doesn't live too far from here, just a few train stations away. Back when we weren't living on campus, he and Deku-kun never had so much trouble getting to school."

"He lives up north, right?" Jiro asks, crossing her arms. "He and Midoriya live close to each other. That's how they met, I heard."

"Well, I don't know how close. But they both grew up in the Orudera district and went to the same schools. That's what Deku-kun told me, at least."

"Yanno, rumors say that Bakugou's pretty rich. He's got some fancy, modern-looking house. His dad's a designer or something, right?" Mina adds.

"How do you know that?" Jiro furrows her brow.

"Oh, just gossip. Honestly, you guys should keep your ears more open. We have the biggest busybodies in our class." Mina waves her hand.

"Tooru-chan isn't a busybody!" Tsu-chan protests.

"I was talking about Aoyama," Mina cackles.

"Nevermind that now," Yaomomo speaks up. "We should focus on helping Basil-san."

"But that gives me an idea…" Ochako quickly taps her phone, sending a second message. "Maybe Deku-kun can help."

Mina peers over her shoulder. "Hey, why did you star Midoriya's message thread? Hmm?"

Ochako immediately pulls away from Mina, heat flushing her face. "No, I didn't! Shut up!"

Jiro cackles. "You're so red! You look like a tomato, Ochako-cha~an!"

Ochako balls up her napkin and throws it at Jiro. Her so-called friend dodges, continuing to laugh.

"Do you really like-like Deku-kun?" Tsu-chan asks, tilting her head.

"We will stop if you wish," Yaomomo nods. "Admittedly, teasing you is quite enjoyable. You react so cutely. But we will stop at your request."

Ochako pouts. "No, it's fine. I'm not really bothered. As long as Deku-kun doesn't hear about this, then it's fine. And honestly, I'm not that sure about… you know… feelings. We're good friends, and all that."

"Well, I ship it," Mina says. "You would make a great couple. So when you get your stuff figured out, shoot your shot girl! We're in high school! We're at the height of our hormones! We gotta maximize that teenage experience!"

There's a round of giggling agreement as Yaomomo, Jiro, and Tsu-chan express their support. Basil politely keeps quiet, studying his drink as if cola held the universe's secrets.

Ochako groans, dropping her head on the table. "You guuuuys! Somehow, I'm both incredibly embarrassed and super happy? I can't tell if you're the best or the worst!"

"Why not both?" Ochako can't see Jiro's face but a smug smirk was somehow implied in her words.

"Then what about you, Mina-chan? Do you have any crushes, kero?" Tsu-chan, officially Ochako's best friend, turns everyone's attention on someone else.

Mina clicks her tongue. "I wish! Everyone's my bro. No one has swept me off my feet. But I guess that's too much to ask from a high school boy."

"What about a high school girl?" Jiro asks.

"Same difference."

Ochako lifts her head, just in time to see a devious smile curl Jiro's lips.

"Is that a challenge?"

Inherently incapable of backing down, Mina sits up straight and slams her hands on the table. "What? Are you gonna romance me, bro?"

Jiro leans forward. "What if I did, bro?"

"Just name the time and the place, bro!"

"Tomorrow, 4pm, at that new cafe, bro!"

"Oh it's on, bro!"

"Yeah, bro!"

"Good heavens," Yaomomo murmurs. "Once those two get started, there's no stopping them."

Ochako breathes out a laugh when she hears her phone buzz. She taps the screen and finds Deku-kun's response with Bakugou's address. At her side, she notices Basil shift closer. She turns to look at him but his gaze is firmly on his drink. Again, something twists in her gut.

"-ko-chan!"

Wincing, Ochako whips around to face Tsu-chan. "Whoops, sorry! Did you say my name?"

Tsu-chan nods. "Did you hear back from Deku-kun?"

"Oh, um, yeah! I got the address right here…" The knot in her guts tighten. "But, you know, maybe Bakugou will reply soon. We haven't ordered any food yet. So why don't we eat first and then make our way to his house? I mean, dropping by without letting them know - that's a little rude, right?"

The words rush out of her with all the urgency of a flood. She can't explain the goosebumps dotting her skin, or the way sparks seem to dance down her spine, like she's in combat or taking a practical exam. But she's not. She's sitting at a cafe, surrounded by her friends. They're all her friends, right? Her eyes shift to the left, where Basil sits next to her.

"That… seems like a fine idea," Yaomomo agrees. "It would be unseemly to…"

"Exactly!" Ochako barely restrains herself from yelling. Honestly, Yaomomo is an angel.

"Mmhmm, and that way, we can walk Basil-kun to Bakugou-kun's place," Tsu-chan adds. Bless her. "He's new in town, so he might get lost if we only give him the address."

"I offer gratitude for your generosity." Basil nods with a serene smile, getting to his feet. "Indeed, I wish not to impede our feasting. Please excuse me as I must visit the lavatory. Kindly request delicious fare on my behalf. This will take but a brief moment."

He slides by Ochako and in that second, she notices a hard shape behind his jacket. Nowadays, with quirks so common, hardly anyone carries weaponry of any sort. But as Basil leaves, she could swear on her great-grandmama's grave that he was hiding a gun in his jacket.

But surely not, right? That's ridiculous! Guns are highly regulated in Japan, even if most people don't use firearms anymore. There's no way a visiting foreigner could come into the country with a gun on hand… No legal way at least…

"Ochako?" Mina grabs her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"No… No… I'm just - I was seeing - My eyes were playing tricks on me."

"Wait," Jiro holds up a hand. "Did you actually see a ghost?"

"What? No!" Ochako shakes her head, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine! It's fine! Let's just get our orders going, yeah?"

The girls exchange concerned looks. Ochako ignores them, focusing on the menu. It must have been something else - some other L-shaped thing. She's jumping to drastic conclusions. It could have been a square ruler or some kind of hardware tool or hell, it could have been a boomerang! She doesn't know! She's going crazy!

The waitress stops by. She orders on autopilot - fries or whatever. The girls continue to talk, hushed now, clearly concerned about her. She offers single syllable responses, nodding once in awhile. But everyone can tell that she's not really paying attention, and she should. They're her friends! She wants to have a good time with them! But her eyes spot a wall clock on the cafe wall. And she can't stop watching the minutes tick on by and tick on by.

The food comes. Basil doesn't. They begin to eat. Ochako can see everyone is now equally on edge. They take small bites. They chew slowly with great care. Basil's seat remains empty. Ochako feels the familiar sensation of nausea, as if she tried to lift something far too heavy, far too big, far too much. She stands up.

"I'm gonna ask someone to check on Basil-san. I'll be right back."

She doesn't wait for a response. She runs to the counter, nearly tripping over her feet. She finds someone on the staff and asks if they can check the men's restroom.

"You see - um - that is, I have a friend - he's… you know… new in the country. And I'm worried that he… doesn't know the way… toilets work?" Wow. That sounds beyond stupid but she can't think of anything else to say.

The poor, confused cashier wrinkles her forehead, tilting her head to the side. "Ma'am, our restroom has been out of order since yesterday."

In a single, brutal second, Ochako knows - maybe not fully, maybe not truly - but she knows the same way she knows that gravity pulls everything down and down and down. Something terrible has begun.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #bnha #mha #my hero academia

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blissfulseptember · 4 months

Text

I so needed this place. I never would've guessed that this little tin bait and tackle shop nestled on the outskirts of town would feel so much like home. I remember playing music here with my dad and his good friend when the shop first opened- it was the night of my senior prom- close to ten years ago. My hair and makeup were ready to go and I was playing my baritone with long acrylic nails that drove me crazy. (I was never again seen wearing acrylic nails strictly because of the sheer difficulty I experienced attempting proper chords)

When I moved back home last spring, the locals all told me I needed to sing at Carey's. I didn't know what anyone was talking about until he came into my work on a slower night last summer while I was tending bar. I had a handful of travelers eating at the back of the bar, and about 8 or 9 local regulars all sitting up at the bar together, insisting I sing for them to show Carey what I was made of. My coworker ran and got my uke out of my car for me and I sang my little heart out for them, sitting on the bartop. I would check on customers and pour drinks between songs, and everyone was having a blast. The travelers in the back left a decent tip and noted that watching the old local regulars gathered around me in amazement as though they were watching colored TV for the first time was the highlight of their stop in our little backcountry town. I don't really like to play unless people ask, because I still struggle sometimes with taking up space. But they ate it up. Carey too. His big toothy grin and warm laugh said more than enough, but he let me know that he remembered me, that he was good fishing pals with my dad, and that I was welcome to come sing on his stage anytime I'd like. "You got pipes, girl. Bring em around the shop sometime. Them strings, too. Donation dinners and $3 beers, but you drink for free. Somebody's gotta have live music around here, it may as well be us."

I've played music there a few times now, and each time I feel more and more like I'm where I need to be. Carey goes out of his way to make me feel wanted, included, and really a part of something special each time I'm there. In recent pictures and videos there, I look the happiest and healthiest I've felt since I've moved back. I was worried I wouldn't have a space to nurture my music and have that outlet here, and feared that that part of me was another thing I would be leaving behind in my previous city life. But it fills my cup beyond what I had expected, and my first memory there being with my dad is even more an added bonus.

I have an old gig poster for Carey to put on the wall next time I pop in, and I have plans in motion to host open mic nights. I'm beginning to think I might have to try to record a little live album in there this year. The acoustics in the shop are killer, and the crowd is always small and laid back enough to get hilarious commentary between songs. Another bait shop performer is, in my humble opinion, probably the best blues and bluegrass guitar player in idaho, and he wants to back me up on my upcoming original ep. Good things are happening, right where it all began for me. I am stoked, humbled, greatful, and ready.

#blissfulseptember ramblings #me #selfie #blissfulseptember #music #hannah sings #hell yeah #ramblings #writing #mine #idk

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wonderlandleighleigh · 1 year

Note

Schneiders react to Rory choosing Yale? Or Schneiders react to Rory getting the Obama job? Not having a graduation party??

“Come with me,” Midge says, taking Rory’s hand and leading her up the stairs and into her and Lenny’s bedroom.

It’s a room Rory never spent much time in. It always felt like a very personal place for Lenny and Midge, and while both of their home offices, the guest room, the kitchen, living room and dining room had always been fair game, this is a different beast.

Midge sits at the vanity in the corner and pulls open a bottom drawer, sifting around a little before she pops up with a little silver compact. It has a floral design painted into the white enamel on top.

“Oh. Wow. That’s-”

Midge grins and holds it out to her. “I have a ton of these. I kept a lot of them. You never know when you’re going to need to check your makeup.”

“It’s too nice,” Rory argues. “It’s an antique.”

“And a great conversation starter,” Midge beams. “‘Oh, this? A friend gave it to me. Her name is Midge Maisel.’”

Rory laughs. “That kind of name dropping will give me a very bad reputation very quickly.”

“Oh, fine,” Midge chuckles and hands it to her. She sighs softly and gets to her feet, cupping Rory’s face. “Graduating with honors, hustling and getting a job days later. Quite the head start, Miss Gilmore.”

“Well, between Mom, and you and Sookie, that go-go-go spirit was bound to rub off,” Rory jokes, sniffling a little.

“Hey now,” Midge beams. “No tears. You’re gonna be back eventually. And we can coordinate meeting up when the campaign stops in New York. Hell, I can get a speaker gig for one of those stops, easy.”

Rory laughs. “See? Always with the hustle.”

Midge chuckles and hugs her tightly. “You’re going to do great.”

Once they part, Rory steps out into the hallway, only for Lenny to lean out of his office.

“You. C’mere.”

Rory grins and tucks the compact into her pocket before stepping inside.

Lenny gestures for her to sit down and then pours a splash of whiskey into two classes, handing her one as she settles on the couch.

She grins as she takes it. “A celebratory drink?”

“Yes,” Lenny confirms, lifting his glass. “You done good, kid. I am very proud of you.”

Rory beams as she taps her glass against his. “You helped a lot, you know. You and Midge. Mom and my grandparents and Luke. Everyone.”

“Maybe so,” Lenny concedes. “But you did the work. We helped because you wanted it so much and you were willing to put the hours in to keep moving. Even when things went to shit.”

“Still not proud of that,” Rory admits quietly.

Lenny shrugs. “We all fuck up. We all fall down. We wouldn’t be very human if we didn’t. Now. Let’s talk about this campaign situation.”

Rory grins and leans forward as she sips her drink. “Tell me what to look out for.”

“Do not take weed from any republicans you run into,” he orders. “It’s probably oregano.”

She laughs. “And from a democrat?”

“Likely to be the real deal,” he tells her. “But looks for the assholes who refuse to vote because the democratic candidates aren’t leftwing enough. They’re idiots, but they tend to have access to the good kush.”

“Not that I’ll partake,” Rory tells him.

“One of these days, you and Lane will get so high, and then you’ll call me and tell me how much fun you had,” Lenny wags a finger at her. “Aside from that, pay attention to your drinks at the bar. Be nice to the busdriver, do not attempt to start singalongs on the road, and work on paying your professional dues. You’ll do just fine.”

“I’m nervous,” she admits. “Really nervous. This happened so fast. I feel like there’s not enough prep time. Not enough time to say goodbye to everyone…”

“Eh, it’s not goodbye,” Lenny smiles gently. “It’s just see you later.”

Eventually Rory walks back across the street to her mother’s house, and Midge and Lenny turn in.

Only to be woken in the dead of night by a knock on the door.

Midge frowns, sitting up. “What the fuck.”

“I got it,” Lenny promises, shuffling out of bed, into a bathrobe and down the stairs. When he swings it open on Luke, he lifts an eyebrow. “What the fuck.”

“Do you have a tarp?” Luke asks.

Now both of Lenny’s eyebrows raise. “Why? did you finally kill Christopher and need help hiding the mangled remains?”

“No,” Luke snaps. “Tempting, but no.”

“Shit, that’s disappointing,” Lenny jokes, before stepping aside. ‘Come on in. I’ll find a tarp and you’ll tell me why.”

#fic #rory gilmore #midge x lenny #the schneiders of stars hollow #tmmm #gilmore girls

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 2 years

Text

Romeo And Juliet (Or Some Other Romantic Shit Like That) Ch. 3

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Series Description: The Saturday night slot at The Hideout is open, and Corroded Coffin thought they were a shoo-in. When it goes to a different band, however, Eddie becomes more than a little distracted by their pretty bassist.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Description: Try as you might, you just can't stop thinking about that guitarist with the long hair.

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, language

Word Count: 1514

Notes: I'm not gonna lie I almost forgot to post this lol. I don't love this one but I promise it's gonna pick back up in full force next week so just stay with me I promise you won't regret it

“For what it’s worth,” you said, standing up and walking over to where Eddie stood just outside the door frame. “I’ve heard you play. I don’t think you're a shit musician.”

“You don’t?” Eddie asked in response. He seemed relieved to hear that you were a little less high and mighty than your lead singer was.

“Nah,” you sighed. “I actually think you’re pretty fuckin’ good.”

You shut the door after you said it, and you were left stranded alone in the green room of The Hideout with nothing but the crusted old couch and scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke to comfort you.

Why wasn’t he as angry as his band mates? (Granted, he did get there eventually; Tonya’s penchant for pissing people off made sure of that.) Why did he look at you like he’d just seen a ghost? And why, why did you have to go and gush to him about how good you thought he was?!

It was the truth; you did think his playing was pretty fuckin’ good. You weren’t necessarily a fan of the genre, but you knew talent when you heard it, and he definitely had some.

It didn’t help that you kept getting distracted by his big, brown, baby cow eyes, though.

You planted yourself back onto the couch and dropped your head into your hands. Was the trembling from Tonya’s outburst, or the fact that you couldn’t get that stupid boy’s stupid face out of your stupid thoughts? You couldn’t tell.

You let out a sigh and continued to gather your gear as you heard the greenroom door open again, this time much slower and less angry. Harriette walked through the doorway with a sympathetic look gracing her striking face.

“She’s calmed down a little,” Harriette said. “Left her out there to finish her cigarette.”

“Cool. Good,” you muttered. You grabbed the pack of makeup wipes and began to remove your eyeliner, though it was putting up quite the fight as you attempted to scrub it off. Harriette let out a small sigh, so quiet you almost hadn’t heard it. You ask in response, “what?”

“You need to stop lettin’ her treat you like that!” Harriette said. “I get that it’s been off between you two since-”

“Yeah. I know.” You cut her off, not wanting to hear the lecture or relive the moment she was referring to.

“You're the queen of pretending to be fine,” Harriette said as she sat down on the couch beside you. “So don’t sue me for trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” you said. You were lying through your teeth, you knew it, but the thought of having to explain yourself made your stomach drop. You didn’t want to seem weaker than your lead singer (even though you absolutely thought that you were), you didn’t want to seem fragile, and you definitely didn’t want anyone to hear the thoughts rolling through your head about Eddie fucking Munson, of all people.

You and the girls had seen Corroded Coffin play a few times before; the music scene in Hawkins was small, and they were one of the few bands that you actually liked watching perform. You’ve never been huge into metal, but they were all fantastic musicians who knew how to throw a damn good show, theatrics and all. They had played at The Hideout’s Halloween Witch’s Brew Bash last year (half off beers if you showed up in costume), and you’ll never forget the Dracula makeup Eddie had sported on stage, complete with white face paint and at least a pint or two of fake blood dousing his clothes. He even had little plastic fangs in that left him with a barely noticeable lisp as he sang, and a rubber Halloween store toy bat that he’d filled with even more fake blood and flung into the crowd at the end of the set (which, for a split second, you did think was an actual dead bat). It was over the top, and a little bit absurd, but it worked for them perfectly. It worked for him perfectly.

As if on queue, as if her jealousy could read your thoughts, Tonya waltzed back through the door. Harriette gave her an expectant look, and they seemed to have their own silent argument of glances above you. Tonya relented in the end.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said to you with a sigh, her eyes boring holes into your own. If it was anyone else, you would have assumed that they were psyching you out, but Tonya’s odd natured staring didn’t seem out of place on her. She continued, though you could sense the half heartedness of her sentiment. “And you’re right. I didn’t need to cross the line like that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tonya,” Jessa said as she walked into the greenroom once more, envelope in hand. “I can’t recall a single time you crossed the line in an argument.”

The four of you laughed at Jessa’s sarcasm, and the levity was a welcome distraction from the tension in the air. You continued to pack all of the various things you had all strewn across the room over the course of the night, and the money was split the four ways.

“How much of an asshole was Marty about it tonight?”

“Eh, I’d say a solid six out of ten,” Jessa said as she tossed the now empty envelope into the trash. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”

If Tonya was the pitbull of Seductress, all teeth and muscle, Jessa was the black cat. Her aggression was much calmer and more pointed, only coming out when she felt it was required. She was level headed and much better at handling situations gone awry than Tonya was. It may look like Tonya was the one you’d want on your side in a fight, but if you had to, you’d choose Jessa for your team any day.

You and Jessa were the founding members of Seductress; you’d grown up together. Harriette joined a year or two after you and Jessa started playing together in her mom’s basement; her family had just moved to town for her mother’s lab tech job, and her fate had been sealed when you met at the record store downtown and both bought copies of Sonic Youth’s Confusion Is Sex (Plus Kill Yr. Idols). Tonya was the last addition to the group, joining up in maybe the most Tonya fashion possible. You, Jessa, and Harriette were being catcalled by a gaggle of football players in the high school lunchroom and, while your initial plan was to just ignore them until the bell rang, Tonya came right up to their table and punched the star quarterback square in the jaw. She was a member of the band from that moment forward.

You and Jessa now shared a dingy little apartment together, just like you’d imagined when you were kids (though your childhood fantasy definitely didn’t include the various pest infestations or constant burst pipes in your very old apartment building).

It was well past three in the morning by the time you and Jessa made your way back home. Jessa dramatically flopped onto the couch as you locked the door and sighed.

“God, I’m exhausted,” she groaned as she toed off her shoes. “Why did we decide this is what we wanted to do again?”

“For all the hot guys and free drinks, obviously.” You dropped your backpack onto the floor, deciding to deal with it tomorrow, and pulled two beers out of the fridge before going and plopping down next to Jessa. You handed her one of the cans.

“Oh, right.” Jessa opened her can with a hiss. “Duh.”

The pair of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, just happy to have a clean carpet under your feet, as opposed to the crunchy one that lined The Hideout’s greenroom. From behind half lidded eyes, Jessa turned to you before getting up to toss the now empty can, shower, and sleep for twelve hours straight.

“I’d say we did pretty good tonight, Red,” she said, using her friendly nickname for you and your artificial red hair. It had initially been the result of an unfortunate at home bleaching accident in ninth grade, but you actually didn’t mind it, so you chose to keep dying it the candy apple red after all these years.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes slipping shut for just a moment before you opened them again and shot a smile at Jessa. “Me, too.”

After you and Jessa had both showered and changed into clean pajamas, it had to have been at least four thirty in the morning. Thank god you had nowhere to be tomorrow. You were out cold pretty much the moment your head hit the pillow, and as you closed your eyes, the image of Eddie, with his fluffy hair and chocolate eyes, flashed into your mind.

You had a sinking feeling Eddie was going to be a bit of a problem for you.

Tiny Little Taglist: @wickedslashdivine @youareadistraction @bubbles-is-my-thing @music-is-my-only-reality

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lumierexfics · 10 months

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Chat Name : I am the pretty thing that lives in the dragonfly trunk.

CW : Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, Power Imbalances, Self-deprecation.

Online Users: The Collector, Victim!Reader

<<AO3 Continue?>>

A/N : Elena & Lucello use ASL and it will be in “italics.” And first time writing for The Collector which will make him ooc!

Days, months, possibly even years… The cramped space of the void caused chewing on your fingernails, he didn’t—he was punishing you. Knees pressed against your chest, while your throbbing fingertips felt the emptiness of the trunk. It was your fault, only your fault that he punished you in the trunk. Away from the golden house that held the sun, your former residence whenever he decided that you were good enough to feel the sun and to be embraced by him. It was open.

The fluorescent lights twinkled through a crack, carefully pushing it open. Seeing a girl holding a scalpel, unharmed and shaken.

You slithered around the dragonfly designed trunk, accidentally revealing parts of skin marred by scars and a perfect attempt of scarification underneath the neatly bandage that was exposed. Hands trembling as you tried to calm down the quarrel of thoughts.

“Who are you?” You stammered out. “How did you get out? Did…did he let you out?”

“I’m Elena, who are you?” She replied. “I let myself out. He didn’t.”

“[Name]..” you added, still cautious of Elena.

Your back ran across the cold wall to touch the bottles of makeup remover to wipe it off, seeing your reflection in the shattered mirror. Your trembling hands held the rag that smelled of makeup remover and wiped away the badly painted mask that he had painted on your face. A replacement, she’s your replacement is what spiraled through your head.

Elena managed to crack through your repeated haze of rubbing off the makeup.

“We need to get out of here.” She added, stepping forward towards you. “Do you know your way around here, [Name]?”

“No.” You whimpered out, frantically trying to shrink into yourself and stepping back into the corner. “We can’t…We can’t just leave this room, Elena.”

Her soft hand held out for you to grab, soft melodic voice reassured the distressed state.

“Come on.” She added, attentively.

Each step outside of your room felt terrifying as it was comfortable to let go of Elena’s hand as you trailed behind her. She somehow managed to ask small questions to ease your overwhelming worries.

“What was your life before this?”

“My life,” You said with a light smile, ”was nothing special. He saved me.”

Wallpaper was in tatters with each step while your answer had started the uncomfortable silence. Elena stepped to grab the rusted door knob but you chimed,” You don’t—You won’t like it in there.“

Your eyes darted to the tripwire that Elena was going to step on, she glanced down to the tripwire then up to the chandelier like a bear trap instead of lights were replaced with machetes that threatened to swing down if Elena decided to open the door.

“Thanks, [Name].”

She pulled back from the door as she continued to guide through the never ending maze. Only a few steps away from the bear trap chandelier. An abnormal feeling pooled in your stomach, were you getting sick or did it feel nice that someone was calling you by your name?

Elena flinched, immediately fumbling to fix her hearing aid to stop the high pitched frequency.

“Is something wrong?” You see Elena stop to fix her hearing aid. “Why did you stop?”

“It’s nothing,” she added. “We can continue walking after this, [Name].”

Silence was penetrating through your fragile mind, the crunching of dust and drywall debris on your shoes stopped. You stared at the back of Elena. She is your replacement. He was getting disinterested in your forced behavior. He needed something new to mold and break because it wouldn’t get it from you since he’d broken you down many times where it became aggravating and predictable.

“[Name],” she whispered, urging you to come forward, “come on. We are almost at the end of the hallway.”

“You’re going to replace me.” You stepped back, legs trembling. “I don’t want to be replaced. He will get rid of me, I don’t want to…”

Elena stepped closer as your shoulder touched the peeling wall. You didn’t want her touch—didn’t want the touch or soothing words of the replacement.

“You weren’t even supposed to get out!” You cried out.

“Shh..” Elena trembled out, pushed her hands to push down to lower your voice. “Be quiet, okay?”

“He’s testing me, again!” You tugged at pieces of clothing or hair. “Get away from me!”

You slapped her while your hands trembling and quiet sobs left your lips, seeing that you caused a cut on her cheek. You were no different than him. She held her bleeding cheek, eyes widening at him. Familiar crunch of drywall underneath his black boots, causing you to slide down and hide away from him within yourself; mirroring a shell. You trembled, remaining in the same spot as he continued down the hallway with ease to chase after Elena. Moments later, he returned; empty handed.

“My dragonfly,” he hummed, kneeling down to your curled up position, “you aren’t behaving like you should. Don’t you want to go back to the golden house, only good bugs get to go there. Remember?”

You nodded while your tearstained face looked up at him. Eyes that were pitch black almost like mirrors, reflecting your misery back to him for him to drink up. He was close while your shoulder could touch his chest. You dusted yourself off to follow him, he stopped letting you pass him while you heard voices talking about Elena.

Unsteady feet while you tried to steady yourself and covering your eyes from the bright light that shined against your face and looking at the two men who were at a distance.

“I know where she is,” you said. “But you’ve got to get me out of here.”

“Elena,” the man in the black long sleeves asked, “Is she alright?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “We got separated by him.”

The man in the black long sleeves begrudgingly gave his name which was Lucello and the man always had a worried expression on his face and wore a dirtied gray tank top also begrudgingly gave his name which was Arkin.

He cautiously allowed you to guide them to where Elena was while the gun that he held was pressed against your back to ensure full loyalty and honesty. You led them to a part of the hotel where it was dark and the only light that guided the path was the moonlight as it shined revealing wires and extension cords forcefully turning a corner.

“That way.” You pointed to the darkly lit hallway.

“Are you sure?” Lucello asked, stepping in front of you and aiming his flashlight to the hallway.

Lucello stepped forward as you and Arkin were about to follow till a scream echoed from the other hallway. Lucello turned around to walk towards the other hallway.

“No. No, no, no,” you pleaded, desperately.

Your pleas went unheard. Arkin’s hand replaced Lucello’s gun, still forcing you forward. Up the stairs as your legs trembled, the screams echoed throughout the abandoned hallway. A seed of doubt seemed to be growing in Lucello’s head.

“It’s not Elena.” Arkin said, softly. “It’s Paz.”

The wallpaper peeled off more with each step, Lucello stopped walking forward and backtracked a few steps down as the doubt carefully etched onto his injured face.

“Where are you going?” Arkin asked, repeatedly.

“It’s a trap,” he explained. “He’s trying to lure us away from Elena.”

“And you’re going to let Paz die?” Arkin asked.

“My only objective here is to save Elena.”

“Stop with the objective,” he stated. “Don’t you hear that?”

Almost on cue the cries of Paz became unbearable, strengthening the words of Arkin. Lucello handed Arkin a switchblade from his pocket.

Lucello guided the passage to the room, decorated with mannequins with hats or wigs and sometimes with blood. The metal door shut, the window fogged up enhancing the rows of cube designs on it. Wind pulsated the foggy tarps as it mirrored a beating heart. The hallway that eerily had no door and where the screams continued.

“Stay with them,” he ordered. “Stay with them.”

Each rumble of drywall underneath Lucello’s boots couldn’t quiet the rising melody in his chest. Each tarp that he pulled back would guide him closer and closer to saving Paz.

You watched Arkin, he noticed the cords attached to the mannequins and how they led to where Lucello was. The screaming of Paz was cut short by Elena’s voice who reassured her. Your hands trembled, tightly holding onto Arkin’s forearm and watching Lucello’s back hit the metal netting, carefully rising and untangling yourself from Arkin.

“That way,” you said.

Arkin took the first steps as Lucello ushered you forward. You heard the desperate pleas of Paz as Elena's voice would try to help and unbind her wrists but it didn’t seem to work. Watching from the shadows, you couldn’t bring yourself to go towards the group. After, what you did to Elena’s face. You saw Elena and Lucello hugged, almost wondering how it felt to be embraced by someone that cares.

“You’re safe, Elena,” he stated. “I’m here. We will get you out of here.”

”But,” she said,”what if—“

”No,” he interrupted. “No, what ifs. You’re going to make it out and you’ll go home to your father, Elena.”

You carefully emerged from behind the door frame to embrace the light, your worried eyes scanned the room seeing how everyone was trapped in their own little bubble. Your eyes accidentally caught Elena’s.

Elena pulled Lucello’s sleeve to get his attention.

“They are a bit irrational, Lucello..”she added. “Just keep a close eye on them.”

”Right.” He looked at you, intently; seeing your clean clothes that were hiding or revealing the punishments that he inflicted.

You noticed the eyes staring at you, which wanted you to cower away from the room.

“I think I know a way out,” Elena chimed out.

Elena guided the way to a different room which caused you to shiver yet surprisingly it wasn’t as worn down like the other rooms. You distanced yourself from them, your back touched an exposed wire that was connected to a camera trapped inside of a stomach of plastic babydoll which caused you to flinch. You covered your ears from the bullets of Lucello’s gun. It was getting more loud and unfamiliar to you. Your stomach turned and twisted, hands trembling.

“I’m going to lock the door,” you admitted, softly. “So he’ll have to find another way in…”

Your veins burned while you clinked the lock close. At this point, there was no point of return, it slipped from your fingers. You wanted to cry out to alert him but for some reason, your voice couldn’t be cracked out. The plastic light bulbs on the chandelier flickered and completely stopped. Your eyes darted to the immediate creaking of the double doors to where he stood. Your hands tightened the grip on your ears while you curled up on the red carpet, hearing the screams and struggling of Elena as she was taken once more by hi—The Collector.

You wept softly, not wanting to stay in the room. Arkin grabbed one of your shoulders since one of his arms was in a cast that was stained with blood.

“I should’ve never left the trunk,” you mumbled to soothe yourself. “It’s my fault, all my fault!”

“Hey,” he carefully shook your shoulder. “Look at me! You’ve got to stay here! You’re in this room, not in a trunk. Now, where are you?”

“In,” you said,”in this room…I’m not in the trunk anymore.”

Arkin slowly nodded, as you repeated his action of slowly nodding. Your watering eyes drifted towards Lucello’s hand that held the trigger to shaking spiked claws. Paz opened the double doors as you stayed with Lucello to try and help him.

“You look familiar,” he stated, nonchalantly. “What’s your name?”

You handed him the severed hand of a near decayed body to use as the replaced weight for his hand.

“It’s [Full Name].” You replied.

Lucello looked puzzled for a bit then a light of recognition washed over his face as he heard your last name.

“[Last name] case?” He asked.

You covered your ears hearing the immediate flesh of Lucello’s hand being ripped as he quickly responded by putting the severed hand on it before the spiked claw dropped down and chomped down on the hardened floor. You ripped strips of your clothing to act as a bandage for Lucello’s wound.

“You have family—“ he said, before you interrupted him.

“No, I don’t.” You tightly wrapped and tied the strip of cloth on his hand. “They died, he killed them. I don’t have anybody.”

You and Lucello walked fast paced in the hallway, reaching the collector’s prized collection of macabre artwork that he painstakingly worked hard on. Some jars held live arachnids, perfectly pinned butterflies hung on the wall. Your hands trembling, rubbing your knuckles; remembering earlier how you refused to enter the dragonfly trunk, The collector had detested this act of disobedience from you. As his response was to repeatedly slam close the trunk till you pulled back your hands. But it was your fault, you knew that his anger was palpable. You should’ve listened to him.

Your eyes darted to the struggle of Arkin and the Collector then your eyes darted to the fresh corpse of Paz lying down while the fresh blood spilled from the fatal wounds on her back. Elena clutched her side while banging on the metal doors. It was clear that Arkin was losing his fight against the Collector. Lucello snapped, seeing Elena holding her bleeding side.

You sneaked behind the macabre artwork, hoping that they would act as an outer shield. Macabre artwork that were perfectly severed limbs stitched together to form insect-like statues; praying mantises, hair that to mirror that of butterfly wings. Help, help him. Your brain gnawed at each slice, each punch that Lucello managed to get on The Collector. But you could notice something beautiful in the struggle of survival that they’re movements almost mimicked a dance. The dance reached its peak as Elena’s screams were the soft instruments of the dance and where the Collector ended the dance on his own accord by repeatedly stabbing the fallen Lucello. The collector wasn’t done, he was far from done, he needed to fix the corrections in his museum.

The flames burned brighter, more invasive. Your hands flinched back, accidentally touching the flames. It was turned for the worse, Arkin was on top of the Collector, repeatedly punching his masked face. He couldn’t die. Arkin purpose pressed on the open wounds that Lucello left.

You crossed the fiery paths, your arm was pulled back into Elena’s grasp. Elena desperately tried to ground you to the present to help her bang on the door to get the attention of the ever so distant firefighters. You turned around to see how the struggle between Arkin and the Collector continued as a hoarse scream left your lips, seeing Arkin push the Collector down the ruined laundry chute before ripping a piece of his dirtied gray tank top, watching him throw the lighted piece down the laundry chute.

You watched as Hotel Argento’s flames were secured and put out. You dried your tears for the collector while the paramedics added stitches to minor injuries that he inflicted. It was comforting feeling the cold breeze on your skin. You watched Arkin walk over to the open three trunks, stained with blood except for your dragonfly trunk.

“Which one was yours?” Arkin asked, trying to somewhat brighten the mood as he lightly kicked the red trunk. “This one was mine.”

“It’s not here,” you responded with a smile plastered on your face. “It has a dragonfly pattern on it. He loves me.”

#the collector x reader #the collector (2009) x reader #the collector (2012) x reader #asa emory x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slasher x reader

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honeysmokedham · 1 year

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TIMING: 5/7/2023 2:39 am PARTIES: Nora @honeysmokedham & Thea @notstinky LOCATION: Thea’s Apartment / Gallow’s Grove SUMMARY: Nora drags Thea into her attempt to understand the world. They come face to face with a ghoul. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

The outside of stinky girl’s apartment was not as stenchy as Nora had led the poor girl to believe online. In fact, if it wasn’t for the sounds of her faintly crying from her upstairs home, Nora was willing to keep the joke going. This is why you should never meet who you troll online. They turn out to be human. Humans turn out to be fragile. She didn’t even feel like scaring the poor girl. Nora was still seething from her online argument with Emilio. Whatever good points he had made, and Nora was logically aware he had made them, she wanted to ignore them. She wanted to keep them in her little boxes of the world where she was the big bad terror around every street and nothing would ever harm her. This would just be further proof of this tonight. At least she’d won the argument, proven by her getting in the last word. Plus she would take this girl with her and maybe the stench of the undead would convince her she wasn’t actually smelly so she could stop crying.

“Hurry up.” Nora called up from the street. In the dead of the night, Stinky’s neighbors were probably sleeping. Nora hoped the sound of her yell would wake them up. She hoped her bitter mood would infect every single one of them. Nora shoved her hands in her overall pockets, calling over Babadook. She’d brought her dog with her when she didn’t think she’d actually meet Stinky. Now that she had to convince Stinky the supernatural was real, she was glad she had her giant tentacle dog. “We have a long walk. We need to find where the dead hang out.” Nora was shouting all of this from the street. “I’m told they like graveyards, but I’ve never seen one in my graveyard. We’ll have to check others.”

Thea didn’t know why being called stinky got to her; she blamed it on the repeated lack of sleep. Night shifts weren’t a good look on a morning person and Thea was a chronic early riser. It was something about the weight of it all, she guessed. After work, exhausted and demoralized, she slumped into the shower and worked at her skin until it was all red. She needed to get the blood off, the scents, the feelings of the day. She set the faucet to as hot as it went and stood there for hours, robbing herself of the precious sleep she so desperately needed. She did it to be clean. She did it to be good. She was always sure that if she could wake up clean, the day would be kind. In the end though, she was just stinky. Thea tended to believe people when they told her things, it was the obedient child in her; the one her father sheltered from the world with his fear of it. Thea wiped her face, patted down her flushed cheeks with cold water and put on as many layers as she could manage before she was out the door and into the street, walking like an extremely thick penguin.

“Sorry,” Thea sniffled. “I was worried I would be so stinky that I…” Why was she bothering to explain? She shook the jacket she has brought out for the stranger; it was one of her favorites, an old bomber jacket someone who found her in the woods after a transformation gave her. She always thought it smelt permanently like chocolate; the woman who gave it to her was a baker. But mostly, it radiates a kindness that Thea hoped to copy. “I have the jacket,” she said, wiggling it as she couldn’t move her arms. “Oh.” Thea looked finally at the dog. “I like your dog’s cosplay.” And that was what she assumed it was, because what else could it have been? She didn’t know if it was exactly ethical to put all that makeup on a dog though. “I guess if I was undead I would hangout at a graveyard. I mean, it’s kinda cliché but I don’t think I would want to be a subversive zombie. I think there’s one close by.”

Now that Stinky was standing next to her, covered in layer upon layer of clothing, all Nora could smell was an overwhelming cloud of citrus and honey. It was pleasant, actually. Not at all the stench she imagined coming from someone so worried about being stinky. Nora took a second sniff of the air just to make sure. The scent reminded her of lazy spring nights sitting with her fathers, drinking tea in the sitting room while the raido played soft music, the fire place crackled, and the only noise was the clattering of the china and the turning of pages. Nora blinked. What an unexpected memory. She brought her focus back to the conversation. The jacket being proffered was a nice bomber, a lingering scent of choclate radiated from it. Why did Stinky think she was stinky? So far everything smelled good. Nora accepted the jacket with a nod, swishing it on her shoulders.

“That’s not cosplay. That’s just what he looks like.” Babadook let out one of his mornful yowls, the kind that sounded like a child crying. This had to be the first time in real conversation Nora heard someone use the word subversive. She actually stood and stared at Thea for a moment, before pulling out her phone to open google maps. “This one?” Nora asked, pointing at the spot located Gallows Grove. It was close. Stinky had been right. It was close. “Perfect. Lets go.” Nora turned the pointed direction and took off, her combat boots slapping the ground, a beat for her warpath. “Why do you think you’re stinky?” Nora asked as they walked. It was killing her. She had to know.

“But he has tentacles,” Thea said plainly, as though that would explain it. He also sounded horrifying, but if the person had smell-screen technology she was sure there was some voice box she could have for her dog. It was possible. Probably. Hopefully? She waddled behind the stranger and their dog. “Oh,” Thea’s voice cracked. The question was simple and the answer should have been too; she was worried about her scent because she often came home smelling horribly after a shift. Her werewolfism had blessed her with scent astuteness; she didn’t need to do the whole armpit sniff test. But, as Thea thought about it, looking up at the twinkling stars and the inky blackness of the night, she realized the answer was even more simple than that. “I want people to like me,” she confessed in a small voice, her several layers of shirts, sweaters and jackets crinkling as she moved. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone; no one likes an inconvenience. You show up smelling bad once and they think ‘that’s the girl that smells’. And that’s all they think. And I don’t want them to think that.” She waddled some more, staring out at the road. “I think I pride myself on how clean I am, how simple, how–um–unburdensome. If that’s a word. I want people to think of me like that. Like the girl who smelt good because she was.” Thea shook her head. “I bet it’s silly; I’m having a strangely emotional night. Um, thank you for being honest about how much I stink though. It just means I can fix it! A-and then I'll be…” Thea’s voice trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes. “How much further?” She sniffled.

Aw shit. Nora had picked up a sad stray. Worst of all, it was a stray she could relate to. After that argument with Emilio she wasn’t looking for some kind of bonding friendship that left the readers with warm hearts and warm feelings. Nora wanted cold spite. She wanted fear. Now she was watching this girl waddle next to her, -were those tears in her eyes?- tears in her eyes and leaking of emotions. “You don’t stink.” Nora mumbled, a hand reaching out to rub Babadook’s head. “You smell fine. I was just messing with you. It’s the internet and I’m a giant troll. My bad.” God she hated apologizing, but the guilt of watching Stinky traveling through the world like that was heavier then letting go of her dumb joke. Now she was also going to need to stop thinking of Stinky as Stinky. “What’s your name?” Nora asked, directing them around the corner. “I’m Nora.” The girl felt harmless enough. If she was going to believe she was stinky based on some stranger on the internet, then hopefully she didn’t have enough crayons in her box to put together who Nora was.

Nora stopped as the first sight of Gallow’s Grove came upon them. “We’re here.” Babadook started running, eager to explor the grave. Much like how she wasn’t worried bout herself, Nora wasn’t worried about her dog’s exploration. “Do you think non-subversive zombies will be covered in rotting flesh, or perfectly preserved like vampires?” Nora asked, she made sure to step on all the loudest spots she could. Crunching leaves, snapping twigs. If there was something undead haunting this spot, she wanted it to come to them. “Maybe we can dig up a fresh grave for bait.”

“You lied to me?” Thea stopped in her tracks, nearly toppling over from the weight of her ridiculous clothing choice. And it did feel ridiculous now and then some. Stupid. Naïve. How could she just believe that someone on the internet had the technology to smell her through a screen and then from all the way down her street? Her shoulders were fixed in place by the pulling of her multiple shirts so she couldn’t slump as much as her heart desired. She was stupid, she’d always been so stupid. There was no textbook she could study for how to navigate the world, nothing that told her that people would lie just because they could. “I’m Thea,” she swallowed. “I really thought I was…God, I’m so stupid.” She’d cried about this! Granted she cried about most things but this felt personal, somehow. She really has respected Nora for having the gumption to tell her she was stinky. Her head hung low as she continued to waddle. “I wanted to be an astronaut,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. “It sounds stupid now, I bet it sounds extra stupid when you think about this. What kind of astronaut would believe someone could smell them through the internet? I’m so…” Thea sniffled. Her head throbbed and at once, the lack of sleep coiled around her body. She wanted to go home and be haunted by this exchange for the next five years, at least.

Thea didn’t want to be as loud as possible; it was the same thought process behind not wanting to be stinky. Unfortunately, she couldn’t really control how she moved in her stupid, stupid outfit. “Well if they’re undead then probably they have rotting flesh, because dead things usually do. I’m not sure how vampires stay preserved, if they exist. Maybe it’s like a sous vide?” Thea looked up, if there were zombies here, they definitely weren’t the welcoming sort. “Um.” Thea kicked the ground. “And it’s nice to meet you, Nora. I forgot to say that earlier. Um, even if you’re

a liar, I guess.” Thea had meant that last part to come off like a joke but some bitterness lingered around her words.

There were many things Nora was good at. Art. Pranks. Jokes. Surviving in the wilderness for years on end. Making strangers pee themselves with fright. Emotions weren’t one of those things. Emotions were hard things that she liked to ignore. Having emotions might as well be a sin. But over the course of this night, she’d seen emotional outbreaks from three people. Two of them felt like direct consequences of her actions. Who knew knowing people would be so complicated? “You’re not stupid,” Nora mumbled, her monotone voice as serious as ever. “You fell for my joke. I’m an excellent prankster. People believe me all the time.” This girl wore her heart on her multi-layered sleeve. Confessions of not wanting to be a burden, reveal of a childhood dream. Soon Nora would know Thea’s social security number, and at this point, Nora didn’t want it. Nora felt bad for the over-covered girl who had shown her kindness by giving her a jacket on a cold night after Nora had walked there specifically to bully her. Fuck. Nora was a monster. She wasn’t supposed to feel bad about doing monstrous things. “It's not stupid to be an astronaut. You could probably still be one.” At least Nora hoped so. For Thea’s sake.

Yet Thea was still there. Not walking off after Nora's treacherous joke. Still talking about the zombies they were going to find while acting like she didn't believe in the supernatural. 'Um, even if you’re a liar, I guess.' The line stung like a slap to the face. Nora's stony expression didn't portray it thankfully. One of those tiny mental boxes Nora used to shove all her emotions aside and pretend she was an infallible monster of immortality sprung open. Memories of her fathers yelling at her. 'You can't keep pushing everyone out of your life Nora! It's okay to be different. It's not okay to take what you're feeling out on those around you.' Thea. Emilio. The countless others she'd been bullying online. Was this just her form of acting out? No. She didn't want to be this self-aware. Nora shoved the box deep inside her. A sound coming from their left helped. Nora's eyes shot in that direction. A dark figure was there. Something that looked like a gargoyle but less stone. "Hey!" Nora shouted into the space between them. "Are you undead?"

Thea didn’t know Nora very well, but she could tell that an attempt at comforting her was being made. Her stomach twisted with guilt. Stupid, stupid. Why had she opened her dumb mouth? Now she was making this person perform emotional labor for her. Thea opened her mouth to apologize and then shut it. “I really couldn’t,” Thea said. “Be an astronaut. Not anymore.” If she ever could in the first place. She didn’t know much about being a werewolf, but she assumed that flying up in a rocket and looking at the big moon in all its bright and beautiful glory would mean she’d be permanently wolfed out. Not exactly a great thing to be in space. “Thank you, though. I get what you’re trying to do and I appreciate it.” Thea smiled, though she couldn’t be sure how visible it was under the darkness and the high collar of one of her several jackets. “You were really kind to let me come with you and to tell me the truth.” Even though it came after a devastating bullying attempt. Thea preferred the positives, her life was already full of the opposite.

Thea’s attention snapped away with Nora’s. “Hi!” Thea tried to wave, she looked more like a vibrating blob. Thea did, thanks to a certain unnameable incident in the heart of Toronto’s downtown, have enhanced senses. She hadn’t gotten the hang of them; the smelling she understood, that was all sniff-sniff. She’d been sniffing since she was a baby. The hearing was hit or miss; she often forgot she could hear more than the average person and mostly chose to drown out the world with music anyway. The night vision, however, was something she didn’t know had improved at all. She assumed Nora saw it too and Nora didn’t seem so alarmed so Thea wasn’t either. “That’s really good makeup!” She grinned. “You look really scary! How are you perched on the gravestone like that? That looks like it hurts.” The actor, as Thea assumed they were, crawled forward in the dark, muscular limbs with spiky hide stretching out from a gray body that melded with the night.

There was Thea’s heartbeat, rapid in her chest in a constant thump-thump. Then, there was Nora's heartbeat, a more normal rhythm. “Oh.” Thea turned to Nora. “I think this is actually an undead.” Her heart pumped faster. She didn’t have time to process the logic of it. All she knew was that there were two heartbeats and three bodies. Thea might have been stupid, but she could do math.

It was a little ominous. The mention of not being able to be an astronaut, not anymore. What could that possibly mean? Did she wear contacts? Nora thought she remembered something about fast pilots needing 20/20 vision to fly, was it the same for being a silly man in space? There wasn't any time to delve into that. Nora was selfishly thankful for that. She'd been a participant in more than enough emotional conversations for the night. Nora was thankful for the new figure in the night. It was something tangible to focus on that didn't involve those fluttering sensations that lived in your chest.

Nora listened to Thea's make-up praise. Thea was truly set on believing the undead weren't real, wasn't she? Babadook appeared near them, letting out a mournful howl. Probably a warning to them. Nora waved the dog away. This had been what they were looking for. This wasn't the time to turn back. Fear, the taste of citrus, and disappointment drifted off of Thea as she turned to Nora. “I think this is actually an undead.” Nora's mouth opened, and the words stood on the tip of her tongue ready to come out. 'Yeah, I told you we were looking for the undead.' They never got the chance to come out. Instead, Nora felt a hard body slam against them.

The undead, probably not a zombie, had ran head-first into them. Nora stumbled, catching herself and pushing away the creature. "Chill dude, we just want to be your friend," Nora mumbled. "You don't gotta be rude about it." Nora looked at Thea to see how she was handling all of them. To her dismay, Nora was met with the sight of the creature's mouth biting into Thea's arm. “Don’t bite her.” Nora raised a combat boot clad foot and shoved it into the creature. “Be fuckin’ normal.” If that old fucking man turned out to be right, again, Nora was going to be pissed.

The creature (Thea’s ignorance could only go so far) was biting into her arm. Well, her jacket. One of several jackets over several sweaters over several shirts. She was sweating underneath it and shook her arm violently. “I think you’re making it mad!” Thea looked at the creature. “Um. He? She? Sorry, what pronouns do you prefer? I don’t want to be rude.” The creature snarled, muffled by the many layers that adorned Thea. Its sharp, jagged teeth seemed to be stuck between the threads. Thea shook her arm some more. “I think it wants to eat me!” More shaking. It raised its claws and slashed into her layers, ripping them open and sending tufts of fabric into the air. “Help!” She fell over from the force, wiggling on the ground. “Nora! I only have so many shirts!”

Fuck. This was not how this was supposed to go. Nora shold have considered that of course bringing a human with her would distract the undead with thoughts of food instead of friendship. Thea was tumbling in the ground, a mass of layers and slashing. Nora had to do something. Nora wasn’t much of a fighter, you never needed to fight someone if you scared them. Nora took a deep breath, visualizing her bones as being super tough and super strong. If her illusions worked like that, maybe she’d get super strength like that too. Launching forward, Nora wound back her leg and kicked into the creature like a soccer player trying to score the winning goal. The creature unlatched its mouth. Between Thea’s struggling and the creature’s surprise of being kicked, it reared back ready. It looked like it was ready to attack again. Right as Nora tensed, ready to dodge, it stumbled. The damn thing had tripped on a loose stone. It toppled against a broken headstone, brains splattering everywhere. “Sick.” Nora offered a hand to Thea. “That was fuckin’ cool. We should do that again.” Pause. “Do you think its dead? Again?”

Somewhere between the slashing and her own screaming, Thea had slipped out from under a few layers, giving her just enough mobility to scramble to her feet. She stared at the remains of the creature whose pronouns she never knew, because it hadn’t answered her and it definitely couldn’t with its jaw split in three. To say it still had a head would be generous. It had a pile of goop. “Um.” Thea blinked. “Is this murder?” She turned to Nora. Did Nora care? Would she care? Should she care? Thea went through all the question words: why, how, when, where. “Well,” she said, “it’s not moving so…” Thea kicked it, noting that it seemed more goopy than usual, as if it was turning into sludge. Had it always been this way? “I’m…” Thea sniffed the air. “No…” Thea sniffed it more furiously. “I’m stinky!” She pointed at herself. “Like for real this time! I smell like sweat!” Thea slumped into herself, careful to keep her pits down. “I guess…murder was...kinda…cool?”

Adrenaline pumped through Nora. That was the coolest shit she’d done in a while. Plus, Thea looked unharmed. It was a shame about all her clothes. Nora made a mental note to steal some. “Can’t be murder, it was already dead. That’s part of being undead, right?” Nora tossed her phone towards Thea. “Quick take a picture of it with me before it disappears.” Nora crouched down, posing with a peace sign with the corpse quickly becoming goop. Unfortunately, Thea was back on her stinky crusade. “If you’re stinky then I’m wretched.” The last time Nora had taken a shower was a week ago, after the blood. The blood it had been so warm. Her brain froze for just a second before restarting. She needed to get over that. She’d just watched an undead die in front of her. “You’re fine. People are allowed to sweat when they do things.” Nora cracked a smile when Thea said murder was cool. It was just a small one. Just the tiniest break in her generally expressionless face. “That’s the spirit, Thea! We’ll become serial murderers.”

Thea relaxed as Nora said it wasn’t murder: she’d eaten people, killing something that was already dead didn’t seem like it was a lot worse. If the undead were real, which, for this moment, Thea needed it to be for the sake of her sanity. She could not be liable for murders when she wasn’t wolfed out, that was an actual crime. As Nora’s phone flew through the air, Thea caught it with only the smallest of fumbles; she was proud. “Okay! Yeah! Peace sign! You can totally post this on Instagram hashtag goop.” Thea, a generation Z child, was adept at taking photos. She took several, just in case the first one was bad. Some with flash, some without. Nora had asked for a photo, but Thea was treating it like a photoshoot. She liked to think she was getting all the good angles, whatever the good angles were.

“And thanks, I was worried about…” Thea held the phone out for Nora to take back. Then, she sniffed the air. All this time she had been worried about the scents on her that she wasn’t sniffing at the scents that were right in front of her all along. Nora smelled like fresh dirt, the beginnings of a garden; body odor, the natural scent of a body; and like someone tried to cover it all up with…fabric softener? Thea sniffed again. No, Febreeze. And what was the scent trying to claw out from under the sweat? Deodorant? It wasn’t very strong. Thea broke out into a wide grin. “You stink!” She laughed brightly, bursting with a strange sort of happiness. “You stink! You actually stink! Just like me!” Thea jumped in her spot. “Omg, stink buddies.” She paused again. “Well, no, I don’t want to be a murderer…” Technically she already was, and even though she felt like she could tell Nora that, she didn’t want to. “But I will take being a stink buddy! And it is kinda cool how…” Thea turned back to their goop-friend. “How…sludge-y it is? I wonder what the science behind this is. I know bodies get kinda goop’ed when they decompose but..” It was like several stages of decomposition all at once, if she had to guess. Eventually, it’d just be nothing. “Thanks for this, Nora.” She smiled again.

Hashtag goop? Nora was internally groaning. She would never get an Instagram. This was going in her ‘Cool Shit and Fond Memories.’ folder. Nora got to her feet after she felt like enough photos were taken, taking her phone back from Thea. Nora watched as Thea came to the realization that Nora was stinky as well. Nora was actually damned sure she smelled worse. Thea had the advantage of a shower an hour before this encounter. The girl seemed positively filled with joy to know there was someone in this world just as stinky as her. It filled part of the hole in her chest that felt guilt about bullying her online. Now they were stinky buddies, and the fear that had permeated around Thea was completely gone and replaced only by her smile. The warmth in her chest at the moment made this whole night worth it.

“Don’t know anything about the science,” Nora admitted, standing next to Thea as they watched the body go through the rapid stages of decomposition. “I know if you kill a vampire they get dusted.” “Thanks for this, Nora.” Was this friendship? An uncomplicated friendship with someone her age who didn’t want to use her for her wealth and fame? A stinky buddy. “Hey smile.” Nora stepped closer holding up her phone, pointed at the two of them. “Hashtag Stinky Buddies.”

Thea hadn’t been in a photo together with someone since she ate her best friends. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. Did she smile? Did she shoot a peace sign? Did she flip the camera off? No, that one was too mean. Unless Nora was doing it too, then she would also do it. She looked at Nora; Nora was not doing it. Thea turned her gaze back to the phone camera. Once upon a time, she used to be camera shy; she cried before school picture days and demanded her friends crop her out of their photos. The fear still lingered inside of her, as if there was something rancid deep down that the camera would pick up and display for everyone to see. But she knew what to do now. “Hashtag stinky buddies!” She grinned wide and threw her arms around Nora, pulling her into a quick, surprise hug. It would last only as long as it took to snap the photo, which was just seconds, but Thea would remember it for a lot longer than that.

This was the night she’d accepted her stink, debatably killed a creature and made a friend. She wouldn’t forget it; nights like these didn’t happen all the time. And, for once, despite it all, she felt normal again. She could be a girl who took photos, who made friends, and who went out to new places and had wonderful, goopy experiences.

#chatzy #chatzy: thea #stinky buddies #did we write most of this at 5am yesterday?#yeah #did ria make me cry over thea every five minutes?#also yeah #thanks for the tears ria!!

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