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whumptober · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022

Welcome to Whumptober 2022, in its fifth year of running!

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone new, WELCOME!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

With that being said, we’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators, see what juicy whump they’ve created too! We wish you all the fun!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2022 Prompt List

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

No. 2 NOWHERE TO RUN

Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH

Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

No. 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

No. 5 EVERY WHUMPEE’S NEEDS

Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE

Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER

Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

No. 8 EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING

Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead

No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning | Caught in a Storm

No. 10 POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

No. 11 “911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?”

Sloppy Bandages | Self-Done First Aid | Makeshift Splint

No. 12 WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

“Mayday, mayday!” | Cave In | Rusty Nail

No. 13 CAN’T MAKE AN OMELETTE WITHOUT BREAKING A FEW LEGS

Fracture | Dislocation | “Are you here to break me out?”

No. 14 DIE A HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A VILLAIN

Desperate Measures | Failed escape | “I’ll be right behind you.”

No. 15 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE

Lies | New Scars | Breathing through the Pain

No. 16 NO WAY OUT

Mind Control | Paralytic Drugs | “No one’s coming.”

No. 17 HANGING BY A THREAT

Breaking Point | Stress Positions | Reluctant Caretaker

No. 18 LET’S BREAK THE ICE

"Just get it over with." | Treading Water | "Take my Coat"

No. 19 ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Knees Buckling | Repeatedly Passing Out | Head Lolling

No. 20 IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

No. 21 FAMOUS LAST WORDS

Coughing up Blood | “You’re safe now.” | “Take me instead.”

No. 22 PICK YOUR POISON

Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

No. 23 AT THE END OF THEIR ROPE

Forced to Kneel | Tied to a Table | “Hold them down.”

No. 24 FIGHT, FLIGHT OR FREEZE

Blood Covered Hands | Catatonic | “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

No. 25 SILENCE IS GOLDEN

Lost Voice | Duct Tape | “You better start talking.”

No. 26 NO ONE LEFT BEHIND

Separated | Rope Burns | “Why did you save me?”

No. 27 PUSHED TO THE LIMIT

Muffled Screams | Stumbling | Magical Exhaustion

No. 28 IT'S JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG

Anger Born of Worry | Punching the Wall | Headache

No. 29 WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME…

Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | “Better me than you.”

No. 30 NOTE TO SELF: DON'T GET KIDNAPPED

Manhandled | Hair Grabbing | “Please don’t touch me.”

Alternative Prompts List

No. 31 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now.”

Ringing Ears

Whimpering

Dazed and Confused

Touch Starved

Ambushed

Sensory Overload

Protective

Made to Watch

Quicksand

Adrenaline Crash

Stabbed

Carried to Safety

Crutches

Emergency Blanket

Tears

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask - A link can be found at the end of this post. ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “bee”, you can create something about bees, about yellow and black striped baseball bats or bees on bandaids. It’s up to you.

Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2022 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us, if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.14, #underpressure). If you post works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :) Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters using one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like to whump.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start writing early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

Just tag the word, ex. emeto

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

If you want your work archived on the blog, then yes. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2022 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box :)

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2022 #promptlist2022 #event info 2022 #event info #whumptober

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maraschinomerry · 1 year

Note

Hi! Could you please write a Lockwood x reader fic involving the prompt: You aren't well, but you don't want to skip training and make them worry, so you continue on as usual, thinking it's not that serious. But that's proven wrong when you faint right in front of them mid-fight. Mixed with the dialogue: "You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?" Thank you in advance! 💙

Pretty Boy

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

Content: mild swearing, whump (fainting as in the prompt), mentions of not eating or sleeping, cute flirty ending

A/N: thank you for such a great request!! I've actually also just got over being not well while I was writing this (I'm fine now and wasn't this bad!) so it was weirdly cathartic 😅

Word count: 2.3k

The blissful quiet of the kitchen at 35 Portland Row was shattered by an incredibly loud, almost violent sneeze. You threw your arm across your face just in time to catch it. That was weird. You never sneezed.

"Bless you," Lockwood frowned over the top of his magazine.

That was day 1.

On day 2, you were all out on a case, in a dilapidated Victorian house. In a divide-and-conquer strategy for such a big place, Lockwood and George had headed upstairs while you and Lucy stayed on the ground floor. Fumbling around in the dim light of the dining room, Lucy threw open the curtains to let in what was left of the evening sun, accidentally unleashing a cloud of dust which shimmered in the beam of your torch. You both coughed a little in surprise.

Your coughing didn't stop for the rest of the night.

Day 3 was spent relaxing, recovering from getting home in the early hours of the morning after a gruelling fight with a pair of Type Twos. Or rather, everyone else was relaxing. You were in your room, fluctuating between wrapping your shivering form in your duvet and throwing it off so you wouldn't melt into a puddle. The bowl of soup you'd made yourself for lunch grew cold where it sat untouched on your bedside table.

A sleepless night heralded the arrival of day 4. Your symptoms had mostly abated by the evening, and you desperately hoped to claw back a few hours of rest. By dinner time, bleary-eyed, you forced yourself downstairs to try and get at least one meal of the day. Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, so at least you didn't have to explain your recent lack of presence to anyone. Unfortunately, none of the contents of the fridge were even remotely appealing right now. You settled for a slice of toast which you took back upstairs. Two bites in, you felt your stomach flip. Great. The rest went straight in the bin.

A gentle knock sounded on your door the morning of day 5, after another night of tossing and turning without ever drifting off.

"Yeah?" you called wearily.

Lockwood poked his head in, dressed in a loose Henley T-shirt and sweatpants. "Morning. Just thought I'd check you were alright, you didn't come down for training." Oh shit. You and Lockwood had been doing weekly training together for months - it started not long after you joined the agency, when he'd come down to the basement for practice and found you already there, and you'd ended up sparring. It had happened a few more times, and eventually you fell into the habit of both going down on Friday mornings so much it became an unofficial appointment.

"Oh, sorry," you swallowed a yawn. "I lost track of what day it was. Give me five minutes."

"I sort of assumed you weren't coming down dressed Iike that." He nodded to your fuzzy pyjamas with a smirk, and you tugged shyly at the hem of the top. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. Lockwood studied you for a moment, and you wondered if he could see right through you, but then he nodded to himself.

"Alright, see you downstairs." He began to leave, but popped back at the last second. "I'm not saying the pyjamas are a bad look, by the way, they're cute, just maybe a bit warm for fighting in." He grinned again, and disappeared. What was that supposed to mean?

—

Five minutes later, as promised, you traipsed down the basement steps in runner shorts and a tank top. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now, but you loved getting one-on-one time with Lockwood and knew how much it would hurt him to break the tradition and how concerned he'd be about you if he found out you'd been ill.

Lockwood gave you another puzzled look. "Are you sure you're okay?" He'd seen you this low energy before, but normally only the day after a case.

You gave the most convincing smile you could muster. "Fine. What's the plan?"

He furrowed his brows once more, before apparently deciding against whatever he was thinking. "Okay, there was a new move I figured out on the last case. I thought I could teach you and see if you think it's any good?" That last part sounded so open and vulnerable. You could imagine what he was thinking - was it a fluke? Was it him overselling his talents? Did it look ridiculous? He got like that sometimes, needed snapping out of it. Reassuring. Your smile was more genuine this time.

"Sounds good, it certainly seemed effective."

You tried your best to concentrate while Lockwood demonstrated the move, really you did, but you were running on empty and the basement was so delightfully cool. Maybe if you just lay down on the floor for a bit, you'd sort yourself out.

"Did you get that?" Lockwood's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you dragged your eyes up to meet his, which were nodding to your hands. You hadn't the slightest idea what it was he expected you to have got.

"Uhh…"

To your relief, he mistook your distraction for confusion and stepped closer to help, carefully off to one side to avoid the blade as his hands rested over yours.

"You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?"

You barely registered the alarm in his voice, or the uncontrollable tremor that was indeed present and spreading up your arms. Nothing in your body seemed to be responding properly any more. Did you still have hold of the rapier? Why was your chest so tight, not allowing any air in? An invisible wad had trapped in your throat, and you desperately sucked in a breath through your nose. Gosh, Lockwood smelled good. Lavender and bergamot. And he was pretty, too. So pretty. Those deep dark eyes, gazing at you with so much longing. No, not longing. He didn't do that, did he? Plus, he was frowning too much for longing. Concern? You didn't like it when he frowned. You tried to pout, but your lips didn't move. That was annoying. So were the lights. Had they always been this bright? It hurt. Everything hurt. You needed to leave. Now.

Panic took hold of the last working corner of your brain and sent a jolt of electricity down to your legs which finally reacted, carrying you shakily towards the stairs. You muttered something incoherent, mouth not quite as functional. The effort drained the last dregs of energy, and your legs stopped working again.

"Whoa, whoa-" a voice behind you gasped, hasty footsteps echoing. Who was that? There was someone else down here, wasn't there? You couldn't remember. Wait. There was a pretty boy, right? He seemed nice. You tried to tell him you were okay, you wanted to. As you pitched backwards, the silhouette of the pretty boy swam into view, blocking out the harsh lights above. That was better.

Everything went black.

—

You were laying somewhere warm and soft. That was odd. And it was less bright behind your eyelids. Where were you? Hadn't you been down in the basement? With the cold floor and the cold lights… and the pretty boy? Was he still here?

You tried to call out for him, succeeding only in a groan. The surface beneath you shifted by your feet in response, and your eyelids fluttered open a fraction. There he was. Framed by the golden rays filtering through the window behind him and dappling across his dark hair.

"Hey, pretty boy," you murmured. Proper words; that was more like it. Next step: opening your eyes fully.

Ah.

The pretty boy was Lockwood, brows knitted upwards as he shuffled further up what you gradually realised was your bed.

"Hey." His voice was thick, with the hint of a shake. "How are you feeling?"

You groaned again, moving to sit up. Lockwood instantly reached out, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting the pillows to prop up behind you. "Been better."

Under any other circumstances, you think he'd probably have laughed. As it was, he huffed out a breath and you spotted a brief tic in his jaw. "That's a mild way of putting it. You collapsed in the middle of training. I had no idea what happened, I thought…" His gaze dropped to his lap as he trailed off. The silence clenched tightly around your heart. Eventually, he spoke again, still not looking at you, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. "I was so worried about you."

The tension in your chest pressed down further, and you thought you actually heard your heart shatter.

"Hey, Lockwood, look at me." You raised a hand, still trembling but for an entirely new reason, up to cup his cheek. At last, he looked. Those beautiful dark eyes were watery, and his nose ruffled as he tried to hold back the tears. "I'm okay, see? I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm so sorry for making you worry."

A warmth spread over the back of your hand as he brought his up to meet it. His fingers curled over yours, thumb rubbing calmingly across your knuckles. Whether the calming was for you or him, you couldn't say. "But are you sure you're okay? People don't just collapse like that, and you've been out all day." Your eyes widened a little as you glanced at your alarm clock. Almost 6. Wow.

"Honestly, it's nothing serious. Kind of stupid, actually; the irony is it all happened because I didn't want you to worry." That made him chuckle. That was promising. You continued. "I was ill - I don't know if it was a cold or flu or what - but that wasn't great to begin with, and then with it ruining my ability to eat and sleep I just… didn't have anything left to give."

You don't know what reaction you expected from Lockwood: frustration, confusion, disappointment perhaps. You certainly weren't expecting him to look quite so… guilty? "Why didn't you say something when I came to find you? We could have cancelled training." It came out sharper than you were expecting. Oh. There was where the guilt came in.

"I didn't want to break the tradition."

"To hell with the tradition if this is what it does to you!"

You faltered. Was it just your current condition, or had your mouth gone very dry? "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" You took a steadying breath. "It's not just that. I don't mean it like it's some obligation. I love our sessions! Getting to have that time just for us, having it be our thing, it's the highlight of my week. And it's been a pretty shitty week so I wanted this one thing to be nice."

The fire in Lockwood's words died out, and he almost visibly deflated. His free hand reached up unexpectedly to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Well, I'm glad it means that much to you, but next time will you please tell me when something's wrong? I can survive missing our date more than I can survive missing you."

Hold on.

You were definitely still ill. Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was pounding against your ribcage. That was the only possible explanation. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that the boy you'd been in love with for months had just called your training sessions a date. Oh god, you'd infected him too, his face was flushed. "Date?" you breathed.

"Only if you want it to be, of course, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Although you did call me 'pretty boy' barely five minutes ago, so I'm sure even George would agree with the legitimacy of my hypothesis." Oh, how you'd missed seeing that smirk he'd grown all of a sudden.

"I'm not entirely sure you can take the high ground on this one, love, when you said even more recently how you couldn't survive without me."

"I think so long as I'm right I can. Especially since, if we're going off who said something last, you couldn't even argue without calling me love."

"I wish we were still holding rapiers, I've got a chance of beating you at that."

Lockwood laughed, all earlier emotions replaced with nothing but tender affection. "Get some sleep, and then we can test that theory." He made to leave, but where your hands were still entwined you tightened your grip a little.

"Will you stay? Please? In case I didn't make it clear enough with fainting, I haven't been doing so great at the whole sleep thing."

When he nodded, you wriggled over to one side of the bed, allowing him to slip under the covers behind you. Everything about him felt cosy, and you snuggled towards that feeling. It took him aback for a moment until he draped an arm over your stomach, gently tugging you closer so the two of you slotted together like you'd been designed to fit one another from the start. His breath tickled your ear, but its constant rhythm slowed yours in turn. Your eyelids grew heavy.

"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "you could take me on a proper date. Only if you want to, of course, wouldn't want to jump to conclusions."

He squeezed you playfully. "I think I've got enough evidence to consider it. Lunch tomorrow if you feel up to it?" You hummed a contented agreement. As your eyes drifted shut, a feather-light kiss pressed against your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night, pretty boy."

#lockwood & co fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #gn!reader #lockwood & co

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emberfrostlovesloki · 4 months

Text

Now You're Everything [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@unheartbreakable) Center (@milla984) Right (@poseidonsarmoury)

Prompt: It’s been a long time coming and after an emotion-heavy year, Aaron finally shows the BAU-reader how much he wants them.

Pairing: Aaron x fem!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns.

Category: fluff/comfort/minor whump.

Word Count: 9.9K

Content Warnings: Light swearing and drinking, mention of kidnapping and torture [Hotch], Hospitals and IVs, Minor unwanted advances [reader]. If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: Hi, loves! Happy New Year's Eve! This is for my love @silk-spun. It is the second fic I’ve written based on my December Prompt List (linked) Dialog prompt #6: “Let’s skip the office party and go out on the town instead!” I changed the wording a bit, but this is basically all the times Aaron and the reader don’t have the right words to confess, and the one time they don’t need them to get their message across. There is one short mention of Aaron being tortured on a case, and I plan on turning that into a full fic soon. So look forward to that (?). I hope you have a great evening and stay safe. If you like this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List wil all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_y/l/n_ = your last name

_y/f/c_ = your favorite color

_y/f/c/b_ = your favorite caffeinated beverage (i.e. coffee/tea/energy drinks)

_y/l/f/d_ = your least favorite designer

_y/f/d_ = your favorite drink

Aaron looked around the room which was shockingly full for it being 9:30 p.m. He scanned the groups of people clustered around tables and sitting in chairs talking. Some had plates of food, others glasses of alcohol or sparkling soda. The person whom the supervisory special agent was looking for wasn’t there. He wondered if she was using the lady's room. The last time he’d seen _y/n_ she was being cornered by Freddy from finance. Aaron hadn’t attempted to listen in on the conversation because it was mostly Fred talking to _y/n_. It seemed the pox-faced man wasn’t letting _y/n_ get a word in edge-wise. That sounded like a personal hell that he would avoid at all costs. He had to do enough wine-ing and small talk at the annual Winter Holiday party as it was. He’d talked to Strauss, the Director of the Pentagon, and all the other heads of teams that had made it to Quantico for the party. He’d heard about so many cases that they started to blend together, but for Aaron, nothing would top his team or the crimes they solved. Hotch listened to Bernard Shaw, head agent for the Tax Fraud department, as the white-haired man droned on about a new loophole for the Cayman Islands and how much of a pain it had been that year. Aaron looked over his team with a soft appreciation for how hard they all worked, how they had gelled to feel more like a family than just profilers doing a difficult, dangerous job. There was Derek, who could always be called on to help with anything. The built agent was talking to Spencer. The genius had been so young when he joined the team. Aaron had taken on a fatherly role with Spencer without even thinking about it. Before Jack had ever been born. Rossi had just taken Aaron’s place with Strauss, and they were talking about some half-shared hobby or new bureau policy. Both of those conversations looked the same. Hotch caught Dave’s eye and the older man gave a small shrug, indicating, “This is what the holiday party is for. Making nice one last time before we get a break.” Aaron gave a small nod of agreement before turning his attention back to Shaw. The man hadn’t noticed as Aaron’s attention had waned and then returned to him. Hotch cleared his throat and said, “I’m going to refresh my drink, but it was good to catch up, Bernard, and good luck in dealing with the fallout of S.B. 103b.” Bernard nodded, and the two men shook hands before Aaron walked back to the table with the alcohol on offer. As Hotch poured himself a glass of white. He guessed at how much the liquor alone for this party cost. His guess was around 2,000 dollars. The FBI didn’t ever recommend frivolous spending, but even they realized that sticking a hundred agents and department heads together required the good stuff.

As Aaron sipped on the cool chablis, he swirled the liquid in his glass slightly. The rare sound of mirth at this dull and quiet frankly depressing party was coming from his team. It was Emily, JJ, Garcia, and _y/n_.” As he looked at _y/n_ in her semi-formal _y/f/c_ dress that was just long enough to be appropriate, Hotch assumed it was some cocktail dress _y/n_ had pulled from the back of a closet behind all of _y/n_ business formal and work attire. The black tights made the outfit work in a fashion way that Aaron didn’t have the right words for. He had to tear his eyes away because if he kept looking at _y/l/n_ much longer, the butterflies in his stomach would soon unfurl their wings and move into his ribcage in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Aaron moved to Rossi, who was free now for support. Dave grounded him, which he needed right now. His feelings for _y/n_ had been coming to a head for months now and somehow, Aaron didn’t feel the bureau holiday party was the place for a confession. Even if _y/n_ was receptive to his advances, he worried. His role as her superior and the age gap had him wondering if they had enough in common to sustain a relationship. They’d grown up in different decades, and y/n_ seemed to have the youth and energy he lacked as he neared late middle age. The part of Aaron that longed for _y/n_ in unexplored ways knew that Hotch’s concerns were self-imposed. That _y/n_ had been sending him small signs of affection and care that didn’t even think he deserved. But Aaron’s fear was real and steeped in policy and power dynamics that would come with having a committed relationship with _y/n_. Hotch moved next to Rossi and asked his friend about his New Year's plan. If he was currently seeing anyone. The basic life and catching up questions that they rarely had time for during work. As Dave answered, Hotch’s eye kept flicking back to _y/n_, as she laughed at some comment of Penelope’s. Rossi noticed and stopped talking about himself. Instead, he said, “She’s not going to wait forever you know, Aaron. _y/n_’s a patient person, but I think she deserves to know how you feel about her.” This comment had Hotch flush and take a breath in. Aaron had tried very hard to keep any of his feelings for _y/n_ hidden beneath a cloak of professionalism and feigned disinterest in the team's personal life as a whole. After all, he was their boss foremost, but it was hard to tune out when the team spoke of their weekends. It was doubly so when it was _y/n_. He’d overhear her complaints about bad dates and rent, and how her dryer was broken in her unit. Hotch had wanted to offer to fix it himself but stopped himself before the words could slip from his mouth. He’d also heard her when she talked about the good things like a new cafe she had found, or getting tickets for a band she adored. If _y/n_ was talking and Aaron was around, he listened but tried to look very hard to not look like he was listening. He wondered if he had played into that a little too hard. Hotch looked at Rossi and asked, “Is it that obvious? And what if _y/n_ doesn’t feel the same way? Her feelings could just be due to proximity, or that I’m her boss or something.” Rossi scoffed and said, “You’re deflecting, Aaron. This isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey. A young woman is allowed to have feelings for a guy, who in my opinion is a pretty good catch.” Dave’s complement had Aaron scoff, but that didn’t stop Rossi from continuing. “Listen, Hotch. I knew you liked her and that she liked you ever since you were in the hospital after the case in Indianapolis. I think what happened in that hospital room told me that there was more than just a feeling of friendship between you and _y/n_. As for whether her feelings are the same way for you and you do for her, I can’t tell you. I’m no love expert. But you’re never going to know how she feels about you unless you ask. And I think you both deserve to know the answer, Hotch.”

With those words of advice, Dave gave Aaron a pat on the arm and excused himself for the night. The older profiler had done the rounds with the higher-ups and was excited to head home, nurse a whiskey, and watch an episode of The Suprano’s. Aaron on the other hand still had about five people to speak to before he could excuse himself. The added discussion about _y/n_ wasn’t going to make small talk any easier. So, with wine still in hand, he steeled himself for another hour of conversation. Hotch had almost made it through the last of his people. He needed to “catch up with.” The room had cleared significantly since his talk with Rossi. Derek, Spencer, and Em had all left, waving or saying a quick goodbye to him as they exited. Garcia was talking to a tech friend of hers from the third floor, and JJ was speaking in hushed tones to Will. But _y/n_ was nowhere to be found. Hotch watched as Arnold, the last person he should talk to approached him. Aaron didn’t think he could take any more small talk, and because Arnold was in Legal, he always asked Aaron loads of questions. Although Hotch didn’t mind flexing his JD now and again, he preferred to do it in a courtroom, not at parties, and not with Arnold Shortes nearly taking notes over their conversation. Aaron turned on his heel and walked quickly to the elevator before Arnold could catch him. Even after a few minutes _y/n_ still hadn’t come back into the second-floor conference room which had been cleared and rearranged for the party. He considered that _y/n_ might have dipped out with Emily, but he was sure she would have told him goodbye before she had left. She always told him goodbye unless he was in a meeting or seemed overly absorbed in his paperwork. _y/n_ introducing her comings and goings had become so routine that he used it as an informal clock now. _y/n_ would always enter the bullpen at 7:45 a.m. sharp unless there was something amiss. And then in the evenings at 5:10 p.m., she’d knock on his office door and wave before skipping down the stairs and to a life that Aaron assumed was filled with much more interesting things than his own. In fact, Hotch had become so accustomed to using _y/n_’s timeliness that he had almost missed a meeting with Strauss because of it.

Hotch had been sitting in his office looking over a case report, waiting to hear _y/n_’s chipper, “Hey guys,” down in the bullpen. He knew once he heard that he’d have just enough time to grab a coffee, wave to the team, and then make it to Strauss’s office. But it seemed to be taking longer than usual. Concerned, Aaron looked at his watch and was startled when he realized it was already 7:55 a.m. Aaron had to run to the elevator and just barely made it to the meeting on time. After the hour with Strauss, he had found JJ and asked, “Where’s _y/l/n_?” A tinge of concern laced his voice. The media liaison had replied, “She caught a bad cold last night. She just called Emily to let her know that she’s taking the day off with PTO.” Aaron nodded, absorbing the information. He was glad to know that _y/n_ wasn’t in any trouble, or stuck in traffic, but being sick didn’t sound great either. Aaron had spent the rest of that day fiddling around anxiously. Hotch knew it was because of _y/n_ but refused to admit it. Finally, when 5:10 came around, he pulled out his cell and called _y/n_. She’d picked up on the third ring and sounded terrible as she said, “Hey, Hotch. What is it?” Aaron let out a breath and said, “Sorry to disturb you, _y/n_. I just wanted to see how you were doing?” There was a muffled cough on the line, and Aaron cringed as _y/n_ hoarsely replied, “I’m still feeling pretty bad, but the fever is down at least. Hopefully, I’ll be back in a day or two.” Hotch nodded and replied a little too quickly, “Take all the time you need, _y/n_. When you feel better, come back.” There was an awkward pause because Aaron didn’t know what else to say, and _y/n_ hadn’t expected to hear such genuine concern coming from her normally very composed superior. At least not over a little cold. Eventually, _y/n_ who was feeling sleepy again said, “Thanks for checking on me, Hotch. I’ll be alright, just need some sleep.” Again, Aaron nodded. He replied, “Okay. Rest well, _y/n_. See you in a few days.” After that, he hung up and put his head in his hands in desperation. He knew he shouldn’t be having the feelings he was for _y/n_ It was inappropriate. His inner voice reminded him, “She’s sick goddamn it. She probably doesn’t want you around right now.” Aaron did justify his line of thinking slightly because he was just picturing making her some tea to smooth her throat and tucking the blankets around her more tightly. It’s not like he was having sex with her… though he’d had those thoughts before too. In his waking mind, he could stop those images with ease, but in his dreams when he made love to her, it was always overpowering. A time or two, he’d even waken mid-dream to find his body aroused and tense. On these occasions, he’d had to go to the bathroom and find release below a steaming shower. The guilt of doing this weighed on him heavily. One of the times he had done this was during a case, and he hadn’t been able to look at _y/n_ most of the day without flushing and internally reprimanding his body and mind like a teenager. But a majority of Aaron’s thoughts about _y/n_ centered around mundane things like waking up beside her, or cooking dinner together. Aaron knew he was boring, and led a boring life, but if it was possible, he’d like to lead it with _y/n_ beside him. Aaron sighed as the elevator reached his team’s floor. He wished he didn’t sound so melancholic, so lovesick. It wasn’t like him. But _y/n_ pulled the emotions from him like the moon pulled the tides. If nothing else, Aaron had learned something valuable tonight; as Rossi had said, _y/n_ wouldn’t wait for him forever, and they both deserved to know how the other felt about the other.

The bullpen was mostly dark with a few lamps on some desks still on, plus the lamps in Aaron’s office burned down on the rest of the space with their soft halogen glow. Hotch didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he wondered where _y/n_ had wandered off to, or if she had just left without telling him. The latter sounded unlikely. Hotch moved to her desk and noticed that _y/n_’s chair was pulled out with her bulky coat draped over the back, and her sneakers and socks sitting underneath the desk. This indicated to Aaron that _y/n_ was still around. Aaron leaned against the desk, much like Morgan did every day when _y/n_ got into the office. Hotch flushed at the idea of _y/n_ sitting in the empty chair. Being so close and causal like Derek or Garcia were with her. Hotch rarely found himself jealous of Morgan for many reasons, but in this case, he was. He couldn’t afford to be too casual with anyone on the team, especially not with _y/n_. If he was, he knew he’d fall head over heels for her. It was hard enough thinking and dreaming about her. He didn’t need more fuel for that fire. Thinking about this sparked a memory from earlier in the year, and suddenly, Aaron had a sense of where _y/n_ was. It had been after a long day in October. The time change had meant that it was dark outside before anyone left the office. The whole team was still around filling out some reports, except _y/n_ seemed to be missing. Hotch approached Emily and asked, “Where’s _y/n_?” Prenitess chuckled at his question and said, “Licking her wounds up on the roof. Freddy Hareld from Finance just made a big deal about “Just how keen _y/n_ looked. And how she must just be dying to get to know the city better now that she’s part of the BAU, and wouldn’t she let him show her around on Sunday.” Hotch’s eyes grew wide at the story. He was rarely privy to office gossip, even though he knew stuff like this happened around him all the time. However, his co-workers kept him out of the loop, which he didn’t mind until now. Aaron cleared his throat and asked, “Did she seem alright?” He wasn’t one to notice or judge men much, he knew he wasn’t perfect either, but Freddy didn’t seem like _y/n_’s type. Hotch was surprised the man had mustered up the courage to ask. Emily nodded and said, “She just looked annoyed. Apparently, Fred talked, loudly, for about five minutes before she had to shut him down and tell him that she wasn’t interested.” Even though Aaron trusted Prentiss, he wanted to make sure that _y/n_ was okay for himself. Office drama could be uncomfortable. Hotch had spent a good bit of time on the roof himself when he was new to the team. It seemed to be one of the only places in the building where you wouldn’t be disturbed, but now that Aaron had his own office, he didn’t need to find an escape from the team or his own thoughts anymore Much like the first time he had found _y/n_ on the roof seeking an escape, _y/n_ was leaning against the railing, looking out onto the canopy of trees that surrounded the Quantico office and the highway beyond them. Hotch cleared his throat, as he stepped closer to _y/n_. She turned around and felt a blush paint across her face when she saw it was him.

_y/n_ had just been thinking about him, and there he was. _y/n_ had been considering how they had both been dancing around the other's feelings all year. And two things _y/n_ knew for sure, she wasn’t great at dancing, and her feet were fucking tired. _y/n_ had hoped that there would be a way for her to tell him how she felt without it being awkward or jeopardizing her job. She hoped that she’d at least shown Aaron her care with her actions if not her words. Unfortunately, the few times that had seemed perfect had been cut off by Haley and Jack. The first time had happened in June. A terrorist group was planning on poisoning the largest high school in the region. It had all been a test run for a bigger operation that would take place in D.C. The team had caught on the terrorist’s trail first. But not before Hotch had been taken and tortured for information. The few seconds of audio that Aaron’s captors had shared were so sickening to _y/n_ that she crumpled in on herself and almost vomited. She couldn’t hide how much hearing Hotch in pain was hurting her. When the cell had been caught, the other half of the team moved to Aaron’s location. _y/n_ had shot and then subdued three men before she, Rossi, and Spencer found Hotch black and blue and tied to a chair. He was barely conscious with his mouth gagged. The wad of cloth in his mouth was soaked with sweat and blood that had dripped down the side of Aaron’s face from a large gash on his eyebrow. _y/n_ helped free his mouth while Spencer cut off the zip ties around his battered arms and legs. Rossi was on the phone with the paramedics who were already en route. Once Aaron’s limbs had been freed, he slumped heavily into _y/n_, who supported his weight. She and Spencer helped him to the ground, and he groaned in pain at being shifted. _y/n_ quickly took off her outer jacket and covered his waist. His kidnappers had stripped him of everything but his briefs, and _y/n_ was certain he didn’t want to be so exposed. The paramedics came shortly after and took Aaron to the nearest hospital._y/n_ was grateful that she didn’t have much time to see or think about all the cuts and burns littering Hotch’s prone form. Seeing him like this felt so wrong that it twisted her insides.

Later, when the doctor had methodically detailed Aaron’s injuries, _y/n_ burned with a fit of anger even _y/n_ didn’t know that she possessed. When he was cleared for it, the team had all gone and saw Aaron in his room. He was surrounded and attached to multiple medical devices keeping him medicated and stable. Even though everyone appreciated Aaron and what he had gone through, no one particularly wanted to stay with him long after wishing him a good night’s rest. No one except _y/n._. Aaron knew it was his fault. He hated hospitals. He would gripe and groan and generally be in a foul mood until he was released as quickly as possible, so he was surprised in his pain-induced state to see _y/n_ pull up a chair close to his bed and just plant herself there. Aaron shifted on the bed to look at her better. That was a bad idea as a sharp pain moved up his side. Hotch muttered, “Fuck” under his breath. He moved his left hand which was attached to an IV toward his stomach to apply some pressure where the pain was radiating from. _y/n_ watched as Aaron moved around. He was straining the line of his IV, and _y/n_ jumped up softly saying, “Hey, hey. Take it easy there Hotch. Just stay calm if you can.” Aaron grunted, but acquiesced as _y/n_ took his left arm and rested it back by his side. She looked at him, concern etched on her face as she asked, “Where does it hurt, Hotch?” Aaron swallowed and almost said everywhere. But his stomach was especially tender and he said, “My, my stomach, but you don’t have to do anything _y/n_. You don’t need to stay here. I’m a pain in the ass when I’m like this.” _y/n_ nodded in understanding as she gently applied a bit of pressure to where he had been trying to reach earlier. He closed his eyes as _y/n_ gently rubbed circles over the inflamed flesh of his torso. Any words about protocol or regulations left him as soon as _y/n_’s hands met his clothed skin. He let out a breath and _y/n_ asked, “Is this okay? I can get a nurse for you?” Aaron shook his head no. He was sick of being poked at. Having three IVs was already putting him on edge. The possibility of more medical equipment was too much to bear. And whatever _y/n_ was doing was soothing him. Hotch softly said, “No nurse. Please. This is good.” Even saying those words seemed to exhaust him. _y/n_ just nodded and kept gently running her hand over his stomach. She didn’t want to think about how this was probably breaking ten rules, or how Aaron’s body looked under the flimsy hospital gown. She just kept moving her hands and watched as Hotch seemed to still and then finally sleep. When his breathing had evened out, _y/n_ pulled the covers over him again and took her seat once more. She didn’t care if he was in a mood or snapped at her. _y/n_ just didn’t think he should be alone right now. So she was going to sit with him until either he told her to leave or someone in the hospital kicked her out. It was at that moment that all of her disparate feelings for him coalesced into one of love. Not a fling or a passing fancy, but the kind of love that lasts through illness and grief and every other part of life. _y/n_ sighed and thought, “What a time to have a revelation like this,” as she kept watch over her boss, unable to leave his side.

Aaron had shown interest in her too. _y/n_ felt a bit better that she wasn’t the only one falling in love. He was more subtle about it, or at least he was trying to be. But that hadn’t stopped her from noticing how he looked at her, how his gaze lingered just a second too long in meetings. He’d pull his eyes away quickly as if he’d been caught doing something improper. Then there was the time he’d called her when she was sick and how he’d seemed a little too excited to have her back after a short four days of illness. And he looked out for her on cases. Not that Aaron didn’t look out for everyone, but he seemed to take her comfort more seriously than he needed to. He held the door for her and let her sit in the passenger seat so they could throw ideas back and forth. At first _y/n_ had thought it was just because she was the newest member of the team. But the behavior from Hotch continued, and just one time on a case, he’d pulled her out of a line of fire and rolled on top of her even though he probably didn’t need to go that far. As Aaron let out a breath of excitement over the case and the woman below him, _y/n_ caught the tells of desire on his face. It didn’t help that they were in what could be an intimate position. His pupils were wide and his breath came in little gasps. _y/n_ didn’t need to see his groin to know that he was excited down there too. After a second, Hotch quickly got up and helped _y/n_ stand too. Aaron nervously straightened his shirt and tie and after quickly asking _y/n_ if she was okay, and her response of “yes,” he moved away from her to gather some semblance of composure. The fact that Aaron was flushed and couldn’t look at her for the rest of the day told _y/n_ all she needed to know about Hotch’s thoughts about her. Or at least the uncontrollable whims of his strong body. _y/n_ didn’t let herself get carried away. Aaron was still her boss, and she was his agent. And because of this neither had said anything or acted like they were falling in love with the other because it didn’t feel like it could happen. Not to them. But now as _y/n_ sat by his hospital bed, she wondered what it would be like with Aaron. To peek behind his well-kept facade and just be close to him. _y/n_ assumed this was the nearest she’d ever come to that, so she settled in for a long night and decided if this was all she was getting, then she would accept it. Fate had never been so kind to give her something as lovely as Aaron, Hotchner, and she accepted it.

It was a long night. Hotch woke almost every hour in pain or needing to adjust for his comfort. _y/n_ moved his pillows and blankets for him, helped him drink a glass of water, and called a nurse when he needed to relieve himself. The next morning she was tired, but when Aaron woke, he seemed much improved. He softly said, “_y/n_, thanks for last night. For being here. You made being here, comfortable for me.” _y/n_ took his hand softly and rubbed over his knuckles with her thumb. Gently she said, “It was nothing, Aaron. I’m just glad you’re okay.” _y/n_ was so tired that she was about to speak transparently and say, “I’d do this all the time if you needed me to. I don’t mind staying up all night with you whether you’re sick or not.” That was the closest thing to a confession that _y/n_ could think of. But she had been interrupted when a nurse knocked on the door and said, “Mr. Hotchner, your son, and Ms. Brooks are here to see you. Should I let them in?” Hearing this, _y/n_ dropped his hand and her head a tiny bit. She stood and said, “I’ll give ya’ll some space, Hotch.” Aaron nodded yes to the nurse, and watched as _y/n_ left the room. He felt like he’d just missed something big, but didn’t know what. _y/n_ passed Haley and Jack in the hall. _y/n_ gave the pair a small smile and nod, and she made her way to the hospital lounge to get some much-needed coffee. The Hotchner-Brooks divorce was still very new, and _y/n_ wondered where things had fallen apart between the two of them. She also wondered if there was any chance at all for her and Aaro. It didn’t feel like it at the moment.

_y/n_ snapped back to the present when Aaron said her name more loudly. He was holding out his suit jacket for her and saying, “You look a little cold.” Hotch was right, she was cold. _y/n_ had wished she’d brought her coat up to the roof almost as soon as she had stepped outside. However, she was too lazy to want to go back in. She’d escaped Freddy’s boring conversation and looked at Aaron right before she moved to the roof for some fresh air. _y/n_ was pondering if she should just give up her dreams about Hotch. Neither of them seemed to be making any moves out of fear that they might say no to the other or that they might ruin the strong friendship they had now. _y/n_ was getting tired of it though. But then there was Aaron as always being a gentleman and looking out for her. _y/n_ nodded and Aaron slipped behind her, placing the jacket over her shoulders. His hands brushed over her exposed skin, and _y/n_ felt that familiar spark burn through her anytime she felt Aaron’s hands on her. Those times were few and far between. She looked over at Aaron and decided that tonight she was going to give him a line and see if he took it. If she didn’t seem interested, she’d let her infatuation go and move on. She could be happy not loving Aaron. At least she hoped she could. Hotch moved to her side next to the railing and he asked, “Was Fred trying to ask you out again?” _y/n_ flushed because it was so rare for him to ask her about her personal life. She remembered the first time it had happened she’d nearly dropped her _y/f/c/b_. That first time had been Freddy-related too. That time they both seemed embarrassed to be talking about it. Now _y/n_ was much more comfortable being open with Aaron. She looked at him and replied, “No. Not this time thankfully. I think the third time actually did it. No today he was just asking about the cases the team has been on recently, and then, inexplicably, he started talking about his pet lizard.” Hearing this, Aaron couldn’t help but cringe. _y/n_ chuckled and said, “You know he’s not a bad guy, just not the guy for me. But bless him, he needs to learn to read a room.” Aaron hummed and said, “Well I’m glad he’s ended his crusade.” _y/n_ laughed at his commentary and replied, “You know he’s right about one thing. I still don’t know this city at all. The cases keep me tired enough to not want to explore on my days off. What do you say we skip the party and you show me something worth seeing?” And here was _y/n_’s line. All Aaron had to do was give it a tug. Hotch looked at her with some surprise, like he had when he was half-dazed in the hospital bed. He cleared his throat and said, “Are you sure it’s me you want? Garcia, or even JJ could show you a better time. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind…” _y/n_ could sense that he was deflecting, and said, “No. I want you. You’ve lived here longer and you’ve gotta know the places that aren’t tourist traps. Plus, Garcia is flirting up a storm with that tech down there and JJ only has eyes for Will. I wouldn’t dare break up either of those conversations right now.” After a pause, _y/n_ added, “Come on Hotch. You looked miserable in there. You’re honestly telling me that you want to go back?”

Aaron let out a warm laugh and said, “Alright, I wasn’t particularly enjoying myself. Too much small talk makes me feel like a dog that’s been bred for show. And I never understood why they held this thing after Christmas and between New Year's. That time feels sacred in some unspeakable way.” _y/n_ was grinning and said, “Totally. I know the director said there was some sort of conflict, but that just read like bad code for, ‘Let me take my ski vacation with my family first.’ And don’t mention the playlist in there. Nobody was enjoying that, I swear to god.” Hotch had to stifle a harsh laugh to not sound unbecoming. That was another thing about _y/n_, they synced with each other’s humor. Sometimes he had to look away from her in meetings to avoid bursting out laughing. The fact was a joy and a pain in equal measure. Aaron looked over to her again, and he realized that she was still waiting for an answer. He took a breath to steel himself. Aaron left like it was now or never, and he didn’t want to let _y/n_ go. Not after all they’d been through this year. He did, however, need a moment to think about where exactly to take _y/n_. He hadn’t exactly been on the town himself since the divorce. Hotch slowly said, “I’d be happy to show you around, _y/n_, but would you give me a minute to think about where exactly to take you? I’m, um, particular about places.” _y/n_ nodded and relaxed into the railing. Aaron looked her over again. She looked ravishing in that dress, and it didn’t hurt that she had his jacket on too. He rested his hands on the cool metal and looked out onto the highway. Gently he asked, “What do you think about when you come up here? I used to spend a good deal of time up here too. When I was new to the BAU at least.” _y/n_ looked over him. Pondering the question. Trying to picture him as a green agent under Gideon. Trying to imagine him in his early thirties instead of his late forties. That all felt like a different time. She hadn’t been there then. _y/n_ moved her gaze to the highway and said, “Well most of my time up here is spent far less productively than yours was. I’m sure. In fact, three of the seven times on this roof have been an escape from Freddy. The other four times, I’m sure I was just annoyed, at myself or someone else. It’s a good place to cool off. Shake the cares of the day away.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. Most of his time up here had been spent sitting against the wall and questioning his life choices, but he didn’t verbalize that thought. He didn’t need to as _y/n_ continued, “But sometimes I like to close my eyes and pretend I can see D.C. from the rooftop. The capital or Washinton Mall. I know it’s silly, and I’ve explored that city even less than this one, but that’s why we’re here, aren’t we? To keep people safe. To keep the dream alive for everyone who doesn’t have to see the dark underbelly of this country. It gives me comfort.” Hearing this, Hotch stepped forward and placed a hand on _y/n_’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure why. He replied, “I don’t think that’s silly at all, _y/n_.” Something _y/l/n_ had said had sparked an idea in Hotch. There was a place on the border between D.C. and Virginia that he’d liked a long time ago. Politicians from either side of the aisle would meet there to make deals and broker favors. As a younger man, he had thought it was cool. Aaron looked at _y/n_ and said, “How do you feel about jazz?” _y/n_ nodded yes and said, “I don’t mind it. Improvisation is good for the soul. Gets you out there. Is there dancing?” Aaron tried to remember the intimate club and eventually nodded yes, saying, “I think so. But I wouldn’t trust me with that. I’ve got two left feet.” _y/n_’s laughter cut through the cold night and she said, “It’s alright. Me too most of the time.” Aaron shifted his hand to her lower back as he asked, “This place is too far to walk. Did you drive here?” _y/n_ replied, “No. Em took me. I was planning on taking an Uber back when I was done with my private roof party.” Aaron noticed her eyes slowly blowing out and her breath coming in faster in her chest. Aaron nodded and said, “Okay. Well, we’ll take my car if you're comfortable with it. I can drop you off at your place after?” _y/n_ agreed and said, “Sounds like a plan.”

The pair made a quick stop by Aaron’s office and _y/n_’s desk to grab their things before heading out. Neither made any formal goodbye at the party. Hotch felt oddly free as he stepped out of the field office with _y/n_ by his side. On the drive to the jazz club, he pointed out different areas of the town to _y/n_. He knew he sounded like a dad, but _y/n_ seemed interested in learning more about the area and asked follow-up questions as they cruised down the dark streets. There was no parking in front of the club, so Aaron found some down the road. The club was unassumingly nestled into the facade of a street full of high-end stores. Now it was _y/n_’s turn to point out interesting trends in the window and designers she despised. Aaron got a small tirade about _y/l/f/d_ when they passed that storefront. _y/n_ was sure Hotch had lost interest at that point, but when she looked at him, he seemed engrossed. He looked over at her and said, “Well, I’d have never known that unless you’d told me. Now I’ll have something smart to say when there’s more small talk to be made at parties.” _y/n_ smiled at Aaron. She knew she had her eccentricities, but he took them with such grace and she wondered what she’d done to earn even an hour of this man's time. _y/n_ spared him any other commentary. When they stepped into the small, dark space of the club, Aaron told the matre de that it was just two, and the man led the two toward the back of the space. The head waiter graciously motioned to a small couch near the live band playing soft jazz in the back corner of the room. Aaron let _y/n_ take a seat first, and he followed after her. Shortly after being seated a waiter came and took their orders. Aaron got an old-fashioned, and _y/n_ ordered _y/f/d_. As they waited for their drinks to arrive, _y/n_ asked Aaron, “So, how did you find this place?” Hotch did his best to summarize his first year in the BAU. How unsure he was about the shift in jobs. How Haley had been the one to get him out of the house and office. As Aaron recounted his story, _y/n_ didn’t pull away or, cringe at the mention of the former Mrs. Hotcher. _y/n_ realized as much as anyone how important Haley was to Aaron. He’d loved her for a long time before things had fallen apart. And she’d loved him too. _y/n_ was far less insecure about this fact now. She was ashamed about how she’d felt about Haley at the hospital that one time. Not only was Haley important, but _y/n_ realized that Jack was the zenith of Aaron’s life. And she respected that. Fatherhood seemed far from easy, and add being head of the BAU on top of that? Hell, Aaron made it look easy. So she listened to him open up in a way that he never had in front of her before, and _y/n_ got her small peak behind his work facade. She realized that he was just a man doing his best. Trying to juggle all of the plates at his feet, and somehow that was the most attractive thing possible about Aaron Hotchner that she hadn’t ever noticed before that instant.

Hotch looked at _y/n_ after his long-winded story and expected to see boredom there. Or disappointment at how often he’d brought up Haley or Jack. But he didn’t find it. Only a look of admiration that he couldn’t quite place. And suddenly Hotch wanted to say everything that he’d bottled up over the year and wanted to lean down and kiss _y/n_ on the lips like he had in his dreams. And _y/n_ watched as Aaron shifted in his demeanor. How his eyes were wide again and he seemed to be building to something new. Something yet said or explored between them. The sudden and insistent beeping of Hotch’s phone cut off that moment in an instant. Aaron pulled back from _y/n_ a bit and murmured, “Sorry,” as he accepted the call. After a second, Hotch’s mood changed again, as he replied to the other end of the line. “Is he alright? What’s the matter?” _y/n_ pulled back a bit more, realizing this was a private conversation and she was a bit too close to Aaron for it to be happening like one. His frown and worry lines increased, as he listened to the dialog she couldn’t hear. After a minute he replied, “Yes, I’ll head over right away. You said the doctor was on his way too?... Yeah, yeah. I’ll just be twenty minutes or so… Okay. Tell Jack I’m on my way… Yeah. Bye.” Aaron dropped his hand with this cell in it and looked at _y/n_ with sad eyes. She looked back and him and said, “Is it Jack?” Aaron nodded and replied, “Haley said he has a bad fever, and it’s getting worse. She called a doctor and she thinks I should come over. _y/n_, I’m sorry.” _y/n_ gave him a pat on the arm and said, “Go be with your son, Aaron. There are more important things than me in the world. At least in your world.” Hotch nodded with the same sad eyes. He realized how much of a sacrifice _y/n_ was making for him, how life in the BAU was a whole big load of sacrifice. Aaron stood, and just to show a fraction of how grateful he was for _y/n_’s presence in his life, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. It was chaste, and he pulled away before he could get ahead of himself.

Aaron was gone before _y/n_ could even fully register what had happened. The bell at the door told of Hotch’s departure, and _y/n_ could have screamed out of desire or despair at how the night had come to a quick conclusion. But she didn’t. _y/n_ knew how important Jack was to Hotch. Everything else but his son was at the periphery of Aaron’s life, and Jack was at the center. As _y/n_ settled back into the loveseat, now alone, she contemplated how yet again any plans or revelations of their feelings had been dashed. But _y/n wasn’t mad about it. _y/n_ had to remind herself that for the half hour, they had been together that night, Aaron had allowed her to see more of himself. And he was, as _y/n_ expected, as good a man as they came. _y/n_ thought, “How often does a girl really get to see a good man?” It was a pleasure, even if it was for just an evening.

The final few days of December passed in a wave of the hand. _y/n_ had asked Aaron if Jack was alright the morning after their night on the town, and he’d said that the fever had broken in the night and that his son was on the mend. Aaron had asked _y/n_ in the same text exchange if she’d gotten home okay after his sudden departure. She had told him that she’d called a Lyft soon after he’d left to get home. And then, before _y/n_ knew it, she was packing her bags for a long weekend at one of Derek’s properties on a lake outside the city limits. She was carpooling with Emily and Garcia. _y/n_ had heard that Morgan’s New Year’s Eve parties were times to remember and she was finally going to experience one for herself. _y/n_ was already excited to be spending time with her friends, but when Emily said, “You know Aaron’s coming too? He apparently called Morgan last minute and asked if there was still an empty bed, _y/n_’s jaw dropped. _y/n_ quickly composed herself and said, “Well the more the merrier.” Em rolled her eyes and said, “The more the merrier my ass, _y/n_. You know he’s just going there for you. When are you going to catch on that he’s in love with you?” Penelope agreed from the backstreet and said, “Honestly. _y/n_. He’s been making googly eyes at you all year. And what was that with him taking you out after the Holiday Party? Do you see Hotchy doing that with anyone else?” _y/n_ sighed exasperated with her friend's encouragement. She half-heartedly said, “Well, he could have been.” this had Garcia and Prentiss cackling and Penelope said, “This is the time, _y/n_. I swear. If it’s not, I’ll pull Hotch aside myself and give him a piece of my mind.” Despite _y/n_’s friends banter, _y/n_ felt reluctant. None of the other times seemed to work out, and she didn’t see how this was going to be any different.

As Morgan’s lake house came into view, _y/n_ tried to let everything go. Whatever happened would happen, and she planned on having fun no matter how the next day and a half went. The trio of women were the second to last to arrive. Spencer joined them a half-hour later. Derek quickly showed everyone to their rooms. It felt like an adult sleepover and an energy charged the air. For the first hour or so the team just relaxed and unpacked. Derek, Rossi, Spencer, and Aaron sat on the leather couches and talked about the year. Their highs and lows. They also debated which case was the most interesting from the year. As the men talked, Emily, _y/n_, JJ, and Garcia all tried on the dresses they had brought for the end of the night. As they were helping with the zippers and hemlines, _y/n_ said, “I’m sorry Will couldn’t come tonight, J.” JJ smiled and said, “Yeah. But I think it’s fine. We’ll be married soon enough and we’ll have the rest of our lives to be together. Tonight feels like the gang is back together in a nostalgic sort of way. You know what I mean?” The other nodded alone and Emily said, “I feel ‘ya JJ. What a year it’s been. But we’re all happy for you know. I think you got the last good guy on the market with Will.” JJ grinned and helped _y/n_ slip into her ‘dress.” The media liaison seemed to glow with a pre-marriage, I’ve-found-the-love-of-my-life aura even four months before her wedding day. And suddenly all the women were dressed, and they all looked at each other and complimented each other. Emily was in a sleek purple pants suit. JJ was in a fitted black dress. Garcia, as always, was wearing a bright orange tulle skirt with a pink top, plus white fingerless gloves. The tech noted, “And I’ve got about ten million little things to put in my hair too!” Lastly, _y/n_ was wearing something far slinkier than her friends. It essentially amounted to a lot of large, shimmery _y/f/v_ sequins held together with tiny metal rings. _y/n_ hadn’t worn it since before turning twenty and she couldn’t remember why she’d bought it. “Maybe for a rave?” She thought. Because the garment was so sheer, she was wearing sensible black underwear and a matching bra underneath, but _y/n_ flushed at the one time she’d gone clubbing without the undergarments beneath. That had been a fun evening.

The compliments made the rounds, and Garcia told _y/n_, “You look drop-dead good in that, _y/n_. The boys won’t know what hit them.” At the mention of “the boys,” _y/n_ looked at the ground and said, “You know I would have picked a different outfit if I’d known Hotch was coming.” The others snickered, and _y/n_ laughed too, saying, “I’m being serious. I’m not trying to look like a slut in front of him. The brief said ‘Fun New Year's attire and this is the funniest, New Years-ist dress I’ve got.” Emily moved forward and gave _y/n_’s shoulder a pat saying, “You’ll be fine, _y/n_. You look glorious. Plus you’re the youngest one here. That means you can get away with wearing something more risque. I’m just shocked you can wear something from that long ago. I’m lucky if I could pull off something from two years ago and it look good, I can’t even think about five or ten.” Prentiss shuddered at the thought, and that got a good laugh out of all of them.

A knock at the closed door, had them all look away from each other. It was Derek saying that he, Aaron, and Rossi were going to take a walk along the path that went around the lake nearby. And if any of them wanted to join them? _y/n_and Em jumped at the chance. The pair quickly changed back into their casual clothes and headed out with the guys. The walk was pleasant and they all just took in the fresh air and saw the trees surrounding the water. Aaron was walking a few steps behind _y/n_ and he contemplated his feelings about her once more. Even he was getting annoyed with himself. He blamed it on being indecisive in the worst possible area of his life, partnership. But he’d decided today was going to be the day. He was going to bite the bullet and ask _y/n_ how he felt about her. Even though he couldn’t picture the words leaving his mouth, he swore to himself that it was going to happen. The walk concluded, and then everyone got some drinks which Aaron happily and skillfully mixed. Then Derek and Rossi made dinner and everyone ate outside around the fire. And by that time it was already ten and the first fireworks were dotting the sky. Aaron and _y/n_ were sitting next to each other. Close enough that he could move his arm just an inch and he would be touching hers. Hotch’s eyes stayed on the sky as he asked, “Do you have any plans for the New Year?” It was too cliched to ask about resolutions, but he did wonder what someone like _y/n_ thought about the future. _y/n_ turned her gaze to him, and replied, “I don’t know. I want my apartment to feel more homey. It’s still giving college vibes if I’m being honest. I’d like to buy some better furniture, like the opposite of the stuff from IKEA. And then there’s helping JJ with the wedding, and then just going out more. Seeing the city like we did after the party.” _y/n_ felt like saying, “I’d like doing that with you,” and also, “Does this make me sound boring?” But _y/n_ couldn’t vocalize either of those thoughts as Gacia stepped out onto the patio and proclaimed, “It’s dress-up time, baby girl!” _y/n_ shook her head and chuckled. Aaron gave her a hand up and watched as she disappeared into the house. _y/n_’s list sounded just up his alley, and he wondered why he’d been putting off his feelings for so long. Why he couldn’t just man up and tell her he loved her? That he was mad about _y/n_. Aaron sighed and walked inside after _y/n_.

It was 11:15 when the girls were all dolled up with their outfits, heels, and makeup. Derek had the TV playing with the countdown to the ball drop on as ambient noise. The champagne was ready to be popped, and the new year was rung in with friends and laughter. Garcia and Derek were both oddly big about watching the ball drop. _y/n_ had interrogated Penelope about this on the way up to Morgan’s house. Garcia had just said, “It’s tradition, and you don’t mess with tradition.” Just as the group of women stepped into the light to be seen for the first time, the power went out. There was a moment of silence and then Derek said, “Really house. You do this to me now?’ That got everyone laughing, and Aaron asked, “Where’s the breaker Morgan? I’ll give it a look.” Derek told him and Hotch stood outside for a second. While Aaron was gone, Penelope and Morgan talked about what they would do about a countdown. Nobody wanted to just look at the clock. That, Morgan had said, “Wasn’t festive at all.” Aaron came back and said, “It’s not good news, the main fuse is fried.” That had Derek thinking and he announced, “Alright, change of plans. There’s a dive bar down the road. If we book it, we can make it there before midnight.” There was little complaint from the group as Morgan and Penelope hustled everyone into two cars and down the street. There was so much excitement that nobody got to see the women’s outfits until they were standing outside the bar. The space was a dive and it was packed with partiers. The walkway up wasn’t paved, so Aaron took _y/n_’s hand with his left, and even though he didn’t need to, he placed his right on her lower back. Again he felt that spark shoot through him. The cool sequins juxtaposed to _y/n_’s warm skin were doing things to him that he didn’t want to think about right now. Or maybe it was the dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Either of those was a good option. Inside, the team found a spot to stand and watch as the time ticked down from 11:55 to midnight. Derek joked and said, “Alright, who’s kissing who when it’s time?” Emily raised a hand and teasingly said, “I volunteer for you, Morgan.” The team laughed and then started counting down. Everyone except Hotch, who was standing a bit farther back. _y/n_ sighed, knowing he was never a big fan of crowds. She stepped close to him. Even as Aaron sought a moment of reprieve, both _y/n_ still had to stand almost body to body to avoid bumping into anyone. As “THREE, TWO, ONE” were unanimously chanted in the tight space, _y/n_ was going to try and pick up where their conversation had stopped earlier in the night. To see if Aaron had any plans going into the New Year. But she didn’t get the chance to as the call of “Happy New Year!” Hotch bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

Aaron had meant for it to be a little peck. Just something to ring in the new year with. But _y/n_ only stood in shock for a moment before she realized what was happening, and she’d waited so god damn long for this very moment that she quickly leaned into it, pressing her body to Aaron’s as her arms wrapped around him. Aaron reciprocated in kind and placed one of his hands on her hip and the other on the crown of _y/n_’s head. Holding them together like he might fall apart if he let her go. Aaron's lips were slightly chapped and his cologne, which _y/n_ knew well, crept over her like a sunray. As soon, as they’d started, they didn’t want to stop. Then it dawned on both of them, like they hadn’t been yearning for the other for over a year, that they didn’t have to stop. So they didn’t. Not until they had to pull away panting for air. And once they’d gotten breath back in them, they came together again. This time it was more cautious. More subdued as Aaron began to memorize the shape of _y/n_’s soft mouth pressed against his own, _y/n_ made a small contented sound that only he could hear and smiled as she placed her hands on his chest. _y/n_ his body in a way that indicated an intimacy that had always been there between them. The rest of the team watched them with Garcia saying, “About time. My god, I thought I was going to have to lock them in a closet together later tonight.” Rossi joked and said, “Well, there’s still time to do that later,” as he came back with a handful of champagne flutes. Dave handed one to each member of the team and then walked a pace over to _y/n_ and Aaron. Hotch was looking into _y/n_’s eyes but stopped when he noticed his friend. Rossi smiled and said, “Alright you kids. How about you take a moment and join us for a toast?” _y/n_ flushed, but nodded taking a glass from Rossi. Aaron chuckled and got a glass himself. He never let his hand lose contact with _y/n_’s side as all three walked back to the table. Rossi gave Aaron a strong pat on the shoulder as they moved to the group and winked at _y/n_, which only made her flush further. Hotch didn’t even care as the whole team's little “oohs and ahhs” sounded at their return. Aaron realized that scrutiny or affection didn’t feel so bad with _y/n_’s hand in his. He realized with full clarity that she’d been there all along, and he’d just not moved his hand to meet hers. He’d tell her he was sorry for that later. For stringing her on so long. He’d tell her he loved her more times than he could count too. But for now, as everyone lifted their glasses saying “Happy New Year!” The future never looked brighter.

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evil-xisapril · 1 year

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Transcript below

Welcome to Evil Xisapril! (Evil Xisuma April) Greetings Evil Xisuma enjoyers! With HC Season 8 ending over a year ago and the tragic lack of Evil Xisuma appearances since, there seems to have been a devastating decline in the EX economy! As a long-time avid evilxisumer myself, I can say, professionally, this sucks bad man. And thus, my devious scheme and comic sans free canva graphic, made in a despicable attempt to cure this draught! It is time for: One whole month of Evil Xisuma! Rules? Very few of them! There is one prompt for each day of april, and these prompts are intended to be used however your heart tells you. Make art, fic, memes, essays, music, lore analysis, or literally anything else Fluff, silly, angst, whump, ship* [all with green check mark ✅ emojis] *all shipping will be tagged with #hermitshipping on this blog, if you would rather avoid it. Make something beautiful and true. Make something hideous and decietful. Who care. You do not need to fill every prompt. Skip prompts, fill prompts late, fill prompts after the month has ended! It's all good! If you make something for Evil Xisapril: @ this blog (@evil-xisapril) & tag your works as #evil xisapril so I can reblog it! (Please don't tag this blog in any NSFW posts) Image descriptions on posts are not required, but greatly appreciated. I will myself add descriptions to as many undescribed evil xisapril image posts as I can, but I'd love to not need to do all of them !! Got questions? Ask them! Major contributors to the prompts list are the members of the evil x fanclub discord (looking at you especially, @lindentree 💕) Who's running this thing?? Moony @autistic-evil-xisuma. Credentials: Evil. Prompt List 1. Birthday • 2. [tbh/autism creature] • 3.Sidekick 4. Lightning • 5. Golf • 6. April Showers 7. TNT • 8. Gender • 9. Derp 10. Swindling • 11. Music • 12. Evil School 13. Minions • 14. Pink • 15. DOOM 16. Diamonds • 17. Mistake • 18. Striders & Axoltols 19. Prison • 20. Flowers • 21. Stay Awake! 22. Nightmare • 23. Dream • 24. Quiet 25. Knitting • 26. Hermitcraft Recap • 27. Prank 28. Mirror • 29. Void • 30. Don't Give Up! *If you hate these prompts, please feel free to send me hate mail about it, as I am fully open to peer review! For organization's sake, do direct all contemptuous feedback to this blog, not my personal ones.

#credit for the faceplanting ex & xisuma head pngs goes to the lovely gubbymcyt <3 ty gubby #evil xisuma #evil x #xisuma #hermitcraft #hermitblr #evil xisapril #evil xisuma april #the graphic looks like crap bc its what ex would have wanted

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demondamage · 11 months

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MediwhumpMay 10 - Short of breath

CW: Mentioned of forced surgery, Organs (in specimen jar!)

(writing is only tangentially related to the prompt, feel free to skip if you just want hard whumpy stuff.)

"You ripped out his lungs?" Alejo asked, an eyebrow raised slightly. "That's a little more brutal than I'd expect from you."

"No, I surgically removed one lung as a preventative measure." Kotarou sighed and sat at the table across from the other angel. "And I don't take that from you, I've seen you rip a demon's arms out of their sockets with your bare hands."

"Oh no for me that would be mild." Alejo chuckled, sipping the tea his former apprentice had served them. "But for you... well I remember when you refused to even touch a holy whip, calling it needlessly sadistic."

"I still don't like them." Kotarou shook his head. "But I do understand the necessity."

"But removing vital organs without anesthesia? That's all good for you?"

"It proved necessary didn't it? I'd be a lot more worried about a demon loose in my lab if he was in good condition."

"About that..."

"Haziel's on guard." Kotarou sipped on the hot tea. "And I will take this as a nice moment of rest before that shit storm."

"Ah." Alejo's eyebrows crinkled. "You trust Haziel alone?"

"I trust him to stand at that door and not let anyone in or out." Kotarou sighed. "And I trust him not to lose to a demon who can barely breath."

"And not go in and antagonize Aziphem?" Alejo mused, folding his hands.

"... no, fuck you're right I should go deal with this." Kotarou rubbed his eyes. "Alejo... I need another favor."

"It always seems like you do." The older man chuckled. "What do you need this time?"

"I need you to look into who he was before he was brought to me."

"You should have been given Aziphem's file when you took him as your ward, that should have everything-"

"I meant Haziel."

Alejo paused, rubbing the small floral designs inlayed on Kotarou's teacup.

"You know we aren't supposed to ask those questions."

"Of course I know, why do you think I'm asking you to find out for me? I have enough eyes on me with this project and if I slip up, Haziel will be reassigned."

"And gods help us if they give him to someone like Ivior." Alejo sighed. "Fine, what are you looking for?"

"I want you to see if you can track his movements on the surface world, and specifically cross reference them with where Aziphem was at those times."

"You think they have history."

"It's hard to believe Haziel is just angry, this is something more."

"I doubt that both of them would be able to keep this a secret."

"Aziphem wouldn't tell me what he ate for dinner even if I was the one who served it. I'm lucky if I get an honest yes or no answer to anything." Kotarou sighed. "As for Haziel... he doesn't talk much about his previous life and I'm not supposed to ask. He could have lied."

"I think it's a long shot, but can't hurt to look." Alejo sighed, putting down the now empty cup. "I'll see if my archives entrance is still unsecured tonight and get back to you. Now, go check on those two before they kill each other."

"I owe you."

"That you damn well do, and I will accept payment in pleasant company." Alejo chuckled, leaving the small kitchen nook the two had been enjoying their rest in. "When we both have time of course. Which you should schedule in now by the way, because if my pocket book is correct you owe me quite a lot of pleasant company."

"And you shall continue to get IOUs until such time as I complete my work." Kotarou chuckled, walking his old master out of the small, unassuming countryside home he claimed as his personal residence.

"I'll check back in the next century then." Alejo chuckled. "Good luck with the little shits."

With a slight shimmer of the air, Alejo was gone, leaving Kotarou alone to deal with what he knew would not be a pretty scene at the lab.

@mediwhumpmay

Comics tag list: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii@quietly-by-myself @dontworrycomics

#whump #whump art #whumpy art but the writing is boring sorry >- >#But I wanted to introduce the last angel #mediwhumpmay #demon whumpee #demon whump #I feel like this post is neither medical enough or whump enough for a medical whump challenge #But I am going for completionism and if I do shit daily some will suck

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narcolini · 1 year

Text

ending the night

angel reyes x gn!reader, comfort/fluff, 1982 words

warnings for descriptions of vomiting

for day 12 of whumpril, using the alternate prompt: foodpoisoning

a/n: honestly, this is whump in the same way dessert pizza is pizza... sweet but not really deserving of the name LMAO anyway. when in doubt write angel having a hard time, am i right ?

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas

You’re sitting on the edge of Angel’s tub, finishing up a final text to his brother, from his phone, not yours, while Angel empties his stomach into the toilet again. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s puked now, but it’s enough times to know that your evening is well and truly over. He had barely made it from the taxi to the house when you got here, and has said almost nothing since you’d found him in the bathroom, knees to the linoleum.

Not that you mind. Not that you expect anything from him at all, in this state. If anything, you feel bad for being so helpless. And for not being sick yourself, weirdly, but that’s just how the straws were pulled. Beyond the water you’ve left for him on the counter, and the company, there’s nothing else you can do. You’ve already opened the window behind, invited cool air to draw in and, more importantly, the sharp smell of vomit to draw out. Texting EZ as if you were him, had been your most recent idea; a last ditch attempt to be productive and to improve the already dire circumstances.

‘Well,’ you announce, clicking Angel’s phone shut, ‘EZ says he can swing by the restaurant and get your bike.’ You watch him nod, head bouncing between in the hole of the toilet seat. ‘And I told him it was me that got sick, so he can’t clown you about it later.’

He laughs, all breath, and it echoes around the porcelain. ‘Thanks.’

You smile. He can’t say that you don’t look out for him, even this early into things. Five, six, dates down—formal ones, anyway—and you’ve skipped right to the in sickness part. Which you’re doing pretty well at, all things considered.

‘I can,’ he starts, pausing to swallow in-between, ‘pay you back. For the Uber.’

You shake your head. ‘Forget it. You got the bill.’ And he’s paying twice for that too, with money and stomach lining. ‘You think it was the chicken?’

He sighs, daring to look back at you briefly, forearms on the seat. ‘No idea. Shit tastes like battery acid now.’

You wince. ‘I wish I could make it stop for you.’ You wish you could go back in time and make him choose the beef dish that you had, avoid all of this mess, and finish the drinks you’d had to abandon at the bar. ‘You want me to pass you the water?’

He shakes his head before spitting into the bowl, clearing his mouth of the last bout of sickness. You’re both waiting, really, to see if it will come again. Angel breathing slowly, audibly, catching his breath over the edge of the seat. You, staring at his shoulders like they might give you any warning of it.

The time between is getting longer, you think. A sign that the worst is done with. If he can make it twenty minutes, fifteen even, and keep down the water he drinks, then you can both relax.

‘Fuck,’ he pants, wiping his nose and mouth with the back of his hand. He slumps away from the toilet, to sit on the floor instead with his back to the tub. Arm side by side with your shin. ‘I never looked this good, right?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ you nod, ‘big time. I’m practically tearing my clothes off right now.’

He groans, dropping his head to put it against your knee. ‘Can’t believe you stuck around to watch me hurl, dulce.’

‘I stuck around,’ you emphasise, ‘to help.’ You smile, glad he can’t see from where he is, because he’s too vulnerable right now, and he might think that you’re laughing at him. ‘I’m actively trying not to watch.’

He exhales, pushing it through his lips. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. Was supposed to a good fucking night, y’know, fancy restaurant and shit, drinks.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ You pat his head, smoothing your thumb over the shell of his ear. ‘We should probably tell the restaurant, though, because it’s definitely their fault.’

And we deserve a refund, you think, but you don’t say it, because he’ll take that to mean that you didn’t enjoy yourself at all. Right now, he would probably take you standing up to stretch as a cue that you’re gonna leave, sick of him already.

‘You think you’re done?’ you ask, bending over your lap to find his gaze.

He sits upright to help you, then nods, and his eyes flick to your lips momentarily. It’s rare that you’d be so close to one another, and able to resist a kiss, but right now’s an exception. You smile, knowing that he’s thinking it too, seeing the yeah, I get it, in his returning look.

‘Give me a minute,’ he says. ‘Gotta, y’know, make myself smell less like puke.’

‘Course.’ You opt for a kiss to his damp forehead before standing, as close to his mouth as you’ll chance for now.

You decide to wait for him in his room, legs hanging over the end of his bed as the shower cranks to life. It’s the first time you’ve been in here, which isn’t the introduction you had expected, a temporary waiting room while he washed the sick from his beard, but it’s a welcome expansion to your understanding of his home. You’ve been to his place before, but never made it past the couch. He has a preference for it, you think, at least in his own place. He’s had the pleasure of becoming well acquainted with your bedroom, ending the night there the last few times that you’ve met up.

It’s not awkward, being in here, but it is new. Foreign like a hotel room. Granted, a hotel room that someone’s already living in, from the full laundry basket, the used glasses on the side table. The unmade bed you’re perched on.

It doesn’t seem like he was expecting you to be in here today, either. You should ask him about that. Is your place nicer, or is he just too lazy to clean, and simultaneously too proud to let you see his room as it is? You don’t think you’d mind either answer. It’s nice, really. Clean enough, and comfortable in a way that stops you from feeling shy. If you weren’t waiting for the tell-tale signs of more illness, you’d probably lie back, uninvited, and crawl under the covers like it was your bed already.

After a few minutes, the bathroom door cracks open, steam pouring out of it. He must’ve had the quickest shower he could manage, only long enough to douse the sweat and stench off him, and then out again, dressed in just the jeans from before.

He looks exhausted, so tired and disposed of energy, that you can’t even enjoy the sight of him. His bare chest, the tattoos striking across it. You just about fight the urge to throw your arms out and beckon him forward with grabbing, baby hands, because, oh, he looks so helpless, it hurts.

‘Don’t think I got any shit left in me to throw up,’ he grumbles, dragging himself forward.

‘That’s good.’ You throw him a sympathetic smile. ‘Means you’re over the worst of it.’

He makes a sour face, hand lifting to rub over his stomach. ‘Doesn’t feel like it.’

‘You should probably rest then.’

You didn’t think he could look any more sorry for himself, but that does it, that tugs it out of him. His brows sink even further as he nods, unable to argue that he doesn’t need it, but unable to seem keen on it either.

‘Sorry,’ he says, for the tenth time, ‘I ruined our night.’

You roll your eyes quickly. ‘Who says it’s ruined? We’ve got…’ You find the alarm clock, red numbers glowing in the dim room. ‘At least, what, twelve hours before I gotta leave for work?’

And that’s what the extra sulking was for; he really thought you were gonna dip and leave him here to recover alone. He doesn’t realise that if he wasn’t worth looking after, you would’ve left him at the bar, blowing chunks in the stall.

‘You’re staying?’ he asks

‘You’re sick as a dog, Angel. It’d be actual, like, neglect if I left you right now.’

He sighs, finally letting himself collapse on the bed behind you. When you turn, he’s got his eyes squeezed shut, suffering from the bouncing mattress beneath—a misjudgement on his part. ‘If I wasn’t dying right now,’ he says, ‘I’d kiss you so damn hard.’

You laugh, crawling up the length to be beside him and slouch against the headboard. ‘And give me whatever you have? No thanks.’ You pull the cover free from under you, holding it open as you invite him in. ‘Come on,’ you say, ‘get comfy, chulo.’

He steals a look, opening just one of his eyes to see what you’re offering, before rolling into you, his head on your stomach, his arm threading beneath you and the mattress. You set the quilt down again, pulling it up until it’s covering your legs and his shoulders. Then your hand goes to his hair, natural like you do it nightly, rubbing circles around the crown of his head.

‘Hopefully that’s the last of it,’ you tell him.

He hums, speaking into the cotton of your shirt. ‘If I puke on you right now, I’ll kill myself.’

You laugh, bouncing his head with the force and surprise of it.

‘I’m dead serious, dulce, there’s no coming back from that shit. You’ll dump me before I’m even your boyfriend.’

You scoff, grinning still. ‘Not true,’ you argue. ‘But I would use it against you for the rest of time. Hey Angel,’ you tease, ‘remember when you spewed chicken teriyaki all over me?’

He laughs, but it weans off into a groan, his fingers tightening over your hip. ‘Stop talking,’ he pleads, ‘I can still taste that shit.’

And as funny as it is, you really don’t want to smell, or see, or feel, any more fucking vomit, so you oblige. It falls silent and you let it, fingers twirling in his hair still, disrupting the hold of his gel. He breaths evenly over your stomach, pooling warmth on the parts of your skin that the shirt fails to cover.

After a moment, you remember what he’d said afterwards, about breaking it off with him before you’ve officially gotten together. You smile into the question before you’ve even asked, ‘Do you want to be my boyfriend, Angel?’

He takes a moment to answer, and when he does, he’s mumbling it, talking around the ends of a yawn. 'We really gonna do this now?’

‘Yeah, sorry. Bad timing.’ But you’re smiling still, smirking even. Confident of the answer despite his protest. ‘I wouldn’t mind it, though. Just while we’re on the topic.’

The reply you expect doesn’t come, he doesn’t say anything at all. You try to look at him, but can’t bend far enough, not with his head resting as it is. You can just about see the thick black of his lashes, flicking out from closed eyes.

‘Angel?’

He groans, readjusting until he’s lay on your chest, with his arms wrapped tight around your middle. ‘Your boyfriend is very sleepy,’ he says, waking up just long enough to engage and send your heart-rate soaring. ‘Keep doing that shit with my hair,’ he mutters, adding a, ‘please,’ after a moments reflection.

You laugh, light and soft over the top of his head. ‘Yes, boss.’ You thread your fingers in again, as he asked you to, and trail them across his scalp. ‘I think I like you when you’re sick,’ you muse, basically whispering it now. ‘You’re way cuter.’

‘Mhmm,’ he hums, and that’s the last you get from him. He’s asleep before he can deny it.

#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc fanfic #whumpril2023 #i keep feeling bad that i want to just write angel in various situations but like..#oh well lol #he is possessing my spirit and thats ok

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strokemycoxswain · 10 days

Text

Prompt:

@savvylittlecoxswain hope this scratches your itch! I’m also open to specific prompts if you got them! I just wanted Bobby drowning a lil bit this time lol.

title: problem solver

genre: angst, whump

pairing: gen, don/bobby if you squint

rating: t

warning: EATING DISORDER, bobby is actively starving himself in this fic, broken bones, near drowning

It’s a typical ideal of 1930s culture that one should earn their meals. Bobby Moch is in a paradoxical position where his meal ticket is the very thing that makes him hungry.

Already being a petite man, Bobby has his diminutive height on his side, but he’s had to fight for his manufactured emaciation since the first time he sat in the coxswain’s perch. Purging, fasting, over-working, hours in the steam room. Anything to be less cumbersome for his crew.

Like anything, it started casual. Now his unanswered appetence buzzes in the back of his skull day in and day out. If I skip this many meals and spit out water for the next two days, I can shed three more pounds and my crew will win gold. And, by God, did his boys look gorgeous in gold.

The crew noticed his odd eating habits, once upon a time. So he stopped eating with them. They didn’t like that, but what are they going to do? Tell him what to do? He’s their coxswain, it’s his job to boss and no one else. What they don’t understand won’t hurt them.

And sure, they boys could handle Bobby’s weight if he was at his healthy one-hundred twenty five pounds. But Bobby’s at his best, his most beneficial, when he’s at one-sixteen. When Bobby’s good, the boys are unstoppable.

So he’s frustrated when he’s got to that one-sixteen goal and the boys’ rowing turns to shit. Don can’t seem to keep up to Bobby’s tempo during practice, Shorty’s been tuckering out too quick, and Roger’s oars have been slapping the water in such a ridiculously clumsy fashion it almost seems intentional.

“Well, boys. Real exciting practice today.” Bobby grins tightly, feeling his eye twitch as they glide slowly back to the dock. Steam comes off of all of the crews’ shoulders and dissipates into the chilled autumn morning - evidence of their effort. His boys try so hard, so what is stopping them from being great? “Y’know, I kinda missed the testicle massages from days of old. I’m so excited we are right back to shaking around like a magnitude seven!”

Not one of them speaks up to defend themselves - even Chuck’s head hangs tucked to his chest. Bobby follows them as they load the shell back into the boathouse. Watching the muscles move under the goosepimpled skin of their backs and calves. They’re perfect. Not without flaw, but they’re perfect to him.

It’s me, he realizes abruptly. I’m keeping the greatness out.

He enters the boathouse to see that they’re all waiting for his closing comments before tucking tail to their dorms. He feels like he’s quaking, thigh muscles tight, as he comes to stand before them. He keeps a stiff upper lip when looking up at their faces. But none of them look too optimistic today. Even Don’s usual attentive gaze is aimed at his shoes.

“This morning wasn’t too hot.” Bobby starts, taking a moment to swallow against the anxious lump and sour hunger stuck in his throat. “Tell me what I can do.”

Eight pairs of widened eyes snap to attention at his request. There’s a current of worry emanating from them. Joe and Don look particularly freaked by the switch in Bobby’s demeanor.

“What can I do to make it work?” Bobby rephrases, singling Don out with his gaze. He knows his first stroke will be honest with him.

But Don stays silent, eyebrows creased and lips set in a severe frown.

“Bob.” Joe speaks up, stepping slightly forward. “We just need to work some stuff out. As a team.”

“Yeah.” Stub agrees quickly. “It’s not on you.”

Bobby nods, trying and failing to be convinced by their objections. He will work it out on his own, then.

“That’s that, then.” Bobby tries to sound enthused, but his stomach is doing flips and he feels like shame is the only thing left inside of him at this point in his twenty-four hour fast. “Teamwork.”

They break and he can hear Don following him close behind. He glances over his shoulder and the stroke’s expression is still shadowy with doubt.

“Can’t visit tonight.” Bobby says without turning to look at Don or even stop walking. “Got lots of homework. Law school. You understand.”

And Don’s footsteps silence but they don’t retreat. Bobby can feel Don’s gaze follow him until he’s no longer visible to him.

Bobby was going to break his fast after practice. A reward for good progress. But he thinks better of it tonight, being that there was no progress at all.

And if he goes back to the steam rooms and marinates for an hour or so, no one has to know.

—

It’s like someone flipped a switch at the next day’s practice. Don and Shorty move like steel machines and Roger is perfectly oiled and in sync with the rest of them.

Bobby’s so relieved that he’s practically singing to them as they drill. Yelling so hard into the megaphone that he’s sure Don’s face is being constantly misted with his spit.

They go and go and go. And go and go and go.

And it’s like they’ve suddenly rowed into an anti-gravity dimension, because Bobby feels like the world is being flipped upside down around him. His heart begins to pound and his eyes can’t focus and his mouth goes chalk dry. And whatever Don is saying to him sounds like gibberish.

Mindless, he wraps his rudder cord around his wrist tightly to try and ground himself. But the boat must be hitting some severe wake because his body is tipping over the side of the boat and hitting the freezing, black water below.

The cord around his wrist catches as his body twists into the river and a sickening, zipping CRACK!emanates from his pinky finger down to his triquetral bone. He opens his mouth to cry out, in confusion more than anything, and gets a lung full of liquid.

He’s barely under the water for thirty seconds, sinking like a rock, but it feels like he’s drowning for a good five minutes by the time he feels big hands grasp him around his chest and pull him back to the surface. His lungs feel like they’re shredding apart and he can’t get a breath in. He grips hard onto whoever has him with his good hand.

“Grab him!” Don’s usually quiet voice booms close to his ear. “Joe, pull him in!”

Another pair of giant paws grasp him under his arms and yank him back into the shell. His broken hand smacks the bow as he’s settled across Don’s seat and the boat begins to jostle as it moves toward the docks. Finally gasping in a hiccuping breath, he doesn’t have the sense to stop the scream from ripping out of his throat.

“What’s going on? Bobby!” Someone, it sounds like Roger, asks as the boat slams against the wooden planks of the dock.

Arms lift him up out of the boat and roll him so that he’s on his side with his good hand tucked under his head and his bad one draped on his side. Someone’s hand, burning blood hot compared to Bobby’s freezing, shriveling skin, begins to rub at his sternum roughly.

“Let it out, Bob.” Joe coaxes from above Bobby, voice urgent and teetering on this side of panicked. “Spit it up.”

And almost like Bobby’s body was waiting for permission, murky river water rushes back up his esophagus and bursts from his mouth.

“Johnny.” Don’s voice is breathy but even as he pulls himself up onto the dock. Staring at Don’s sopping shoes from his lying position, Bobby realizes that his first stroke swam to shore behind them. “Run to the infirmary. Have them bring a backboard or something.”

“Nuh…” Bobby objects sluggishly. His tongue feels leaden and too thick in his mouth and he feels like his chest is full of mud. “I c’n walk.”

Johnny’s retreating steps are a quick, short staccato as he runs off towards the campus infirmary.

“Shut up, Bobby.” Chuck snaps, sounding hysterical.

“Duh fuhh you jus’ say tuh m’?” Bobby tries to sit up but his hand hurts too bad to move and Joe’s hands feel like they weigh a ton each.

“Stay down.” Chuck commands as clarification.

“Calm down.” Joe warns.

Don hunches down over Bobby, water dripping onto Bobby’s numb cheek.

“You think he’s sick?” Joe asks Don as the first runs a careful, reverent finger along Bobby’s quickly swelling wrist.

“I don’t know.” Don murmurs from between his teeth. “His wrist is probably broken.”

“‘m righ’ ‘ere!” Bobby protests them speaking over him like he’s an invalid. Like he’s not completely in control.

Maybe I’ve lost control, he realizes seeringly.

“I got him a blanket!” Shorty’s breathless voice calls out from far away, like he’s also been running around. A blanket is tucked around Bobby’s body a moment later, effectively blocking out the stabbing wind.

“Th’nks.” Bobby’s teeth clatter as he begins to shiver profusely. He sneaks a blurred glance up at Don and can make out the tremble of the younger man’s lower lip too. “Yuh col’, D’n?”

Don shakes his head, sharing a loaded look with Joe. The blond second stroke is contemplative from his position behind Bobby’s shoulder, keeping his coxswain propped on his side.

“Are you sick, Bobby?” Don asks earnestly, his hand coming down to feel Bobby’s cold, flushed cheek. “What happened?”

“‘M jus’ h’ngry.” Bobby admits, his inhibitions having vanished with his body heat.

“Hungry?”

“Yuh. Needa eat.”

“How long has it been since you ate last?”

Bobby feels bone tired and drunk now. His visions swims so that Don’s face just looks like a pale smudge against the grey backdrop of the morning.

“Coupla days…” And Bobby falls off the edge of the dark again.

—

Bobby wakes in the hospital a few hours later. Not the school infirmary, but the hospital.

God, his boys are so damn dramatic.

Don is sitting in the visitors chair with his chin tucked to his slowly rising chest. Bobby knows he’ll wake up with a crick in his neck.

He looks down at his own bed. His right hand is wrapped in a stiff cast and he’s got two layers of blankets tucked tightly around his torso and legs. There’s an IV bag dripping into a tube that’s connected to the crook of his elbow.

He feels like shit.

“Don.” Bobby calls as loud as he can; his throat sounds ripped apart. “Donny, you’re gonna hurt yourself sleeping like that.”

Don picks his head up slowly, blinking hard. His eyes are red and his dark circles look purple under the hospital lighting. He silently stands and walks to the side of Bobby’s bed.

They stare at each other for a moment. They are good at communicating silently - it’s Don’s preferred method, after all.

Bobby’s eyes say Sorry?

Don’s say Don’t scare me like that, idiot!

Don immediately manipulates the hospital bed and Bobby’s weight so that the coxswain is propped up in a sitting position. The younger man then reaches down to a place next to the bed where Bobby can’t see and brings a mug and a package of saltines back up.

“You’re going to drink this. All of it.” Don informs Bobby, holding out the mug.

Bobby takes the lukewarm mug dumbly and looks into it. It looks and smells like chicken broth. He takes a sip and the saltiness is so good his eyes nearly roll back.

“You’re going to finish these.” Don continues, holding up the crackers before sitting the package in Bobby’s lap.

And Bobby isn’t sure what to say. Don’s smart, he’s got Bobby figured out. But the coxswain will probably never find the courage to explain himself. Instead, he takes steady sips from his soup mug in order to smooth the crease between Don’s eyebrows.

Bobby stomach feels heavy and otherwise unexplainable as he opens the package of saltine’s under his first seat’s steady gaze. There’s nowhere for him to go to hide and purge out of sight after this. He will have to sit and digest this in Don’s presence.

Things will inexplicably change. Not just between him and Don. But with the whole team. A knot pulls itself tight in his chest. He realizes that he will mourn his starving like a dead friend.

But as he works through his meager dinner, watching Don watch him as his hands smooth the blankets on Bobby’s legs like he’s petting him, Bobby feels like he can figure a new strategy. He’s a problem solver, after all.

#my fic #don hume #the boys in the boat #tbitb #bobby moch #coxstroke #jack mulhern #don and bobby #joe rantz #callum turner #luke slattery #fic prompt

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sarahsmi13s · 7 months

Text

This Is How It Feels

whumptober day 5: hostage / kidnapping / held at gunpoint

pairing: beau 'cyclone' simpson x daughter!reader

characters: beau simpson, y/n simpson, reagan simpson, ncis: new orleans team, the squad breifly, hayden and frankie, everett north (oc villian), cameron north (deceased)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, kidnapping, torture, guns, blood, waterboarding, loss of will to live, oc character death, revenge killing, if i missed any please tell me!

word count: ~3.2k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

also also, i do want to apologize for getting this up late got distracted while writing it so i finished it later than i had hoped

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: a parent's grief is strong and powerful and it can make you crazy, if the opportunity presents itself to get revenge... you take it

“Simpson!”

You turned at the call of your name, spotting your friends waving to you from the front of a bar. “C’mon! We’re starving!”

Shaking your head, you jogged over. “You two, my goodness,” you laughed before you all walked in. “Are you sure we can even eat here? It’s a bar.” “We’ve eaten at the Hard Deck before,” your friend, Hayden, said as she walked over to a table.

“Okay okay, you have a point there. Just don’t try anything stupid, we’re all repping the school, but I’m also repping the Navy and my dad. So if any of you try to pull-”

“Relax, Simpson, I left my fake ID in California,” Frankie, your best friend said as she nudged you playfully.

“Simpson?”

You looked up to see an older gentleman standing there with an apron around his waist.

“As in Beau Simpson?” He asked, looking over your face quizzically.

You nodded, “Yes sir, he’s my dad.” The man chuckled, “Yeah, I know your dad, grew up down the street from my mama. I’m sure he hasn’t talked about me much, I’m Dwayne Pride – folks around here call me King.”

“Oh! Yeah, Dad did tell me about you,” you said with a smile and stood up to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Dwayne chuckled, “You can call me Dwayne…” He trailed off, brow arched as he silently prompted you to fill in the blank. “Y/N, I’m Y/N.” He smiled and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You sat back down, but looked up at him. “Now, is your mama Reagan Autry?” You nodded, “Sure is!” He chuckles, “I knew they’d last. Anyhow, what can I get y’all to drink?”

Back in North Island, the squad was at Cyclone’s house for a little get together.

“Where’s Y/N?” Mav asked, sipping his drink as Beau sat down. “Oh her culture club is visiting New Orleans for Mardi Gras week,” Reagan said as she sat down on the arm on Beau’s chair.

“Now y’all are from NOLA, right?” Jake asked, relaxing back on the couch. They nodded, “Sure are. High school sweethearts at that.” He nodded, “That’s impressive.” “It is, because of all the hours and missed dates over the years because he’s such a hard worker,” she said, kissing the side of Beau’s head.

“I made up for it though,” he chuckled and squeezed her hip. “Yeah, you d-”

Reagan’s statement was cut off by Beau’s phone ringing.

He furrowed his brow and picked it up, checking the caller ID to see that it was Frankie.

“I better take this, excuse me,” he sat his drink down and stood before going out on the back patio.

He closed the door as he answered, “Frankie? What’s-”

“Y/N’s been taken!”

Beau froze, the breath being pulled from his lungs. “W-what?” Frankie was hyperventilating on the other end, “W-we were get-getting something fr-from the vending machine and-and-and some guy c-came up and t-took her. I tried to he-help b-but she-she told me to run.”

Frankie sobbed, even though he couldn’t see her he knew she was pacing the hotel room

“I-I’m sorry…”

He had to remain calm, knowing that she would freak out if he did. “Frankie, Frankie, you need to breathe sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but I need you to listen to me. There’s a bar, it’s called the Tri-Tone, you need to go there and find Dwayne Pride.”

She sniffed, “W-Why Dwayne Pride?” “He’s an NCIS Agent, he’s the team leader down there and he can help.” She coughed a little, “O-okay…” He took a breath and glanced back inside, seeing his wife leaning on the wall and watching him carefully. “Frankie, I’ll try to be down there soon. Stay safe and be on alert.” “Y-yes sir.”

He hung up and ran a hand over his face before turning to go back inside.

His eyes stayed on the floor as he closed the door behind him and leaned on it. “Beau… Honey, is everything okay? Is Y/N okay?”

The concern in Reagan’s voice grabbed the squad’s attention and they looked over concerned.

“Uh.. She.. She was taken… Y/N and Frankie were getting something from the vending machine.. and–and some guy took her…” Beau looked up and met her eyes, tears filling his, “Someone took her…”

Reagan collapsed, Beau catching her just before she could hit the floor. “No! No! Not her, not our baby girl! Please,” she sobbed, her manicured nails biting at his shoulder as she clung to his shirt.

Beau couldn’t say anything as he held up his wife, trying to be strong for her and not break down in front of the squad.

But it was hard.

I mean of course it was.

You, his baby girl, in the hands of some stranger. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

Cold. Damp. Dark.

Those were the words you would have used to describe the room you were in. The only light on in the room was a yellow bulb swinging in its cage above your head. The chill nipped at your exposed skin, having been stripped of the clothes you were in when you were taken. The room smelled of mildew, and you knew that any water ride you ever went on would remind you of this room.

Your arms were tied above your head, spread in a ‘Y’ to keep you from attempting to free yourself despite being in chains. Your bare feet scraped the rough concrete, your toenail polish being scraped off and leaving red, pink, and white streaks on the floor.

If you had to guess, you’d been there about 12 hours, if not a whole day.

The man that took you had only been in the room one other time and it was to tighten the gag in your mouth. It was a relief that was all, but you had a sinking gut feeling that he had something in store for you.

Your view of the room was awful, you could only see the staircase in front of you, the small window at the top of the wall letting in the moonlight and illuminating the assortment of instruments on the workbench underneath it. If there were worse things behind you, you couldn’t see it. But if what you could see was any indication, there was a reason you were here.

All you could do was pray that Frankie got help and that someone was on their way to save you.

“What do we know?” Dwayne asked as he came in, Beau and Reagan following behind him. “Any updates?”

Chris and Tammy turned, heads tilted in confusion as to why they were there. But they continued when Pride nodded.

“We were just sent this photo anonymously, Patton’s tracing it now.” Sebastian put the photo on the plasma.

The photo was a newspaper being held by cracked manicured nails but the face in the background was too covered to be enhanced effectively.

“However, there’s no way to determine-”

“That’s her,” Reagan spoke up, tears gathering in her eyes. “That’s my baby girl…”

Dwayne looked from her and up to Beau, “Are you sure?” She nodded and held up her own hand, “We got a matching manicure before she left…” Reagan turned and sobbed into Beau’s shoulder.

“She was playing with her brothers when she was young and scraped her left hand on the brick wall, the scar never went away,” Beau added for more confirmation that the hand in the photo did belong to you.

Dwayne nodded, “Then there’s hope, it’s a proof of life photo.”

All the Admiral could do was nod before holding his wife close and silently cry with her.

It had been 5 days since you had been abducted.

5 agonizing days.

Beau was a wreck, he was falling apart with worry. With fear. Anything awful that came to Beau’s mind, it’s what they were doing to you. And it wasn’t getting better.

Because they hadn’t heard anything else from your abductor. Patton’s trace led them to a library computer, where they were able to obtain security footage but no one in the film looked suspicious. All the team could do was tell the library staff to keep a lookout for anything or anyone sketchy.

But other than that, they had nothing.

And they were running out of time.

“Please, stop!” You sobbed as the hot knife ran across your skin.

The past four days have been non-stop pain. Even when you were given a break so your capture could do whatever, you were in pain.

You felt like you had zero hope of getting out, of ever seeing your family again. You could only think of your dad, how he must feel. That he may never see you again, his only daughter, taken from him.

“No! He has to know the pain! The suffering I went through because of him!”

Him.

That was all he ever referred to this mystery man as. Never said a name or anything other than ‘him’ or ‘he’.

“Who?! Who are you talking about?” You screamed before a fist collided with your stomach, the slick slap of his fist on your wet, bloody skin making you sick to your stomach.

Your skin was littered with cuts, all ranging in depths and lengths but none deep enough to be immediately fatal.

No.

It had to be slow.

Whomever this ‘he’ was had to experience the same pain your capture felt.

The man hit you again, smearing your own blood across your face and bruising your swollen skin.

You cried out, begging for him to stop and to let you go as he walked away. Your voice was raw and broken, cracking as you desperately pleaded.

“Let me go! Please! I just wanna go home…”

“My daughter never came home, why should I let his?”

You blinked, not sure what he meant by that.

“I’m sorry about your daughter… I am… but why inflict this on someone else? Why take someone else’s daughter away?”

He didn’t answer you and released the tension on your chains, sending you to your knees harshly and reopening the wounds on your knees.

Grunting, he took long strides back over to you.

You knew what he was after and you tried to crawl away, scraping your palms on the concrete. But you could only crawl so far and so fast.

Your entire body throbbed and your blood made the floor slick. Your capture was faster than you were in your weak state. He grabbed your hair, yanked you back and grabbed you by the throat. Your yelp was cut short as he applied pressure, cutting off your air flow.

Weakly, you tried to claw at him, get him to let go, but he wouldn’t. He squeezed until your eyes rolled back and you passed out.

Beau paced the living room of his childhood home, waiting on Pride to arrive.

Dwayne had called, telling him they needed his help identifying a man and that they had a lead, a promising one.

He wasn’t given any other details, but even that was enough to give him some hope. It had been over a week, so this was gold to them.

The normally calm and collected admiral nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at the door. He raced over and pulled it open, revealing the two agents behind it.

“King, Agent Gregorio,” he greeted, stepping to the side to let them both in. They nodded their thanks to him before they went to the kitchen.

“We’re gonna get right into this, Admiral, you and your wife have waited over a week for something like this,” Tammy said, with sympathy in her voice as she held the evidence bag and a printed photo up.

Dwayne took the evidence bag, “This was in a book returned to the library early this morning.” He turned it to show the folded up notebook paper, the words, “FROM ONE FATHER TO ANOTHER THIS IS HOW IT FEELS” scrawled sloppily across the page in red ink and what looked to be blood droplets and a bloody fingerprint on the paper.

“The blood is fresh, as old as this mornin’...” Beau didn’t have to ask, there was no other person whose blood it could be. But he needed the confirmation, no matter how sick it made him feel. “Is-Is it…” Both agents nodded, Tammy speaking, “Sebastian ran the print… it’s Y/N’s. The blood is her’s as well…”

Beau gripped the back of the chair to keep him from falling, Dwayne coming to his side to help him sit down.

“Do-do you know who sent it?”

Tammy sat the photo down, “We were hoping you might.” He picked up the print and looked at it, recognizing the face instantly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s Everett North… His daughter, Cameron, was under my command a few years ago. She died on a mission.”

They nodded looking at each other, Tammy stepping out to call Chris and tell him to look up Cameron’s name.

Beau runs a hand down his face, “He blames me for Forest’s death and is taking it out on my daughter…”

Everett sat in a chair, fiddling with a hose waiting for you to wake up.

You were laying on the freezing floor, the only warmth being the pool of blood you were laying in. You weren’t sleeping so much as laying unconscious, passing out from the previous day's torment. You knew what today held, the same as yesterday.

That’s what it was, a routine. Torture of all kinds day in and day out. Pain and suffering, that’s all it ever was.

You didn’t want to open your eyes, wake up to another day of this. You were sick, coughing and shivering as the cold basement plus your wet skin plagued you. Your wounds were infected. Your throat was raw from screaming, but Everett managed to pull them from you still.

And you knew what was in store for you today… but keeping your eyes closed would only delay the inevitable.

You cracked your swollen eyes open, weakly trying to push yourself up.

“They’re she is,” he gruffed out before getting up and turning the hose on. He puts his thumb over the opening on the hose, spraying you in the face with the freezing water.

You could only weakly yelp before he was coming over and pulling you to your feet and dragging you to the table on the back wall.

“No, no, no, please, please don’t…” You protest weakly, still trying to fight him.

“Stop fightin’, you know it's no use,” he said coldly before putting you on the table and strapping you down before running the cold water over your cuts and burns.

You whimpered, squirming to get away despite it being futile.

He just laughed before covering your face with a towel and soaking it with the hose.

“Everett North, his daughter was Cameron North. Cameron was killed after her plane crashed and she was taken by the enemy. She was held and tortured for two weeks before her body was dumped back at the wreckage for search and rescue to find,” Gregorio started.

Chris was next, “After seeing her at the Tri-Tone and following her to her hotel, North abducted Y/N. She has been with him for a little over a week. But she isn’t trained like military personnel is, she’s only 18 and what Lieutenant North went through was intense and extensive. We don’t know if Y/N can handle it.”

“Okay, do we know where he lives?”

“Sebastian is–”

“I found it! I’ve got his address!” Sebastian shouted as he stood up.

With that the team jumped up and got their gear.

The moment the towel was yanked off your face you started coughing up the water you inhaled, lifting your head so you don’t choke on it again.

Everett started and ended with the same method. That's how you knew your day was over.

He unstrapped you from the table and watched you weakly roll until you fell onto the ground limply.

“Please… just kill me…”

Your plea was weak as you continued to cough up water. You hated that you had gotten to that point so soon. That you could pull through for just a little longer. But you were in agony, body broken and bloody. You didn’t want your parents to see you like this.

“Oh no no no, your dad has to feel the same pain I felt.”

You look over your shoulder, “M-My dad? What did my dad do to you?” Everett reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling you up to your knees.

“He killed my daughter, I’m only returning the favor,” he hissed, yanking down to put you on your back.

You yelped, your head making contact with the ground. “My dad would never do that!” He kicked you across the face, “Shut up! You don’t know!”

You went to retort but you could hear movement upstairs.

And that’s when you felt your will to live enter your body again.

“Help! I’m down here, help me!”

You could hear the flurry of footsteps to the basement door and Everett pulled you to your feet.

He held most of your weight and pointed a gun at your neck as the door flew open and agents ran down the stairs.

“Everett North! NCIS put your weapon down!”

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!”

Everything suddenly became blurry, the voices around you muddling together. You didn’t know exactly what was happening but you could only assume it was shock or your body finally letting go and relaxing because you had a chance of living.

But before you learned the answer, everything went black as a gunshot rang out.

The first thing you noticed as you woke up was the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. Next was the fact that the lights were off. Then it was the weight of a large, calloused hand in yours.

“D-Daddy?” You rasped out, attempting to squeeze his hand.

Beau’s head whipped up, “Oh, baby…” “Daddy, I-I’m so sorry,” you nearly sobbed out. “Shhh shh baby girl, no, it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.”

All you could do was nod before you started coughing.

He was quick to react, getting you a cup of water and offering it for you to take, afraid that if he tried to help he’d send you into a panic.

You take it and sip it carefully before giving it back to him. He grabbed your hand, “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart. I’m so sorry this happened.” You shake your head, “Not your fault… he-he blamed you… but it’s not your fault.”

He smiled gently at you before pushing hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead and you sent him an identical smile. “What matters is that I’m okay… well that I will be okay.” He nodded and kissed your hand, “Yeah, you’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

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