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#three whole hours of sleep less than usual

shegetsburned · 1 day

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❝ somethin’ stupid like i love you ❞ w. shiu kong ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .

.nsfw.

• — content. shiu realizes he’s slowly falling for you and absolutely hates it. • — author’s note. coming back of hiatus with this! part of my fwb shiu content. feel free to send suggestions for this trope btw <3

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who genuinely thinks this whole thing is suspicious. it has never happened before. there’s no way he’s thinking about you this much. you must be playing a game he isn’t aware of.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who after a few months, made many more calls and asked for you more often than the usual one day a week. it has come to three to four days and even when you were busy he found ways to clear your schedule and have you all to himself.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who has gotten rougher and less patient when he fucks you. as soon as he steps through the door his hands are all over you and his warm breath covers your neck like he had been waiting all day to finally get a sample of your addicting scent.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who has a habit of “forgetting” his jacket or his pack of cigarettes at your place just to call you a few hours later to pass by and get his items back. little did you know it was just to see you some more.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who stays longer and doesn’t leave you as soon as he’s done. to your surprise, he stays until you fall asleep or sometimes when you’re lucky, shares a bath or a shower with you. nothing sexual, he just prefers to stay clean and helps you in the process.

you two have easy conversations about anything and everything without being scared of the other’s judgment. shiu likes to talk about anything as long as it doesn’t involve work and you love it when his deep chuckle resonates in your ears.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who has asked himself several times why he always needed to come back to you. he never realized how much he looked forward to these intimate moments which contradicted the whole accord you guys had made. this was supposed to be temporary and, now, he couldn’t go two days without the touch of your skin against his.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who begins to open up more about his work and clients. how uninteresting and full of cash they are, how good the pay is and how easy it is to fool scared millionaires. more importantly, he had told you in total confidence that he thought about quitting his job. it may have been easy money but it wasn’t the most morally fulfilling job.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who, for the first time, has stayed the night, sleeping in with you. you thought you’d awoke to an empty side of the bed, like always, but here he was, peacefully sleeping. needless to say, you had never seen him reveal this side of himself. he looked so comfortable, you were the one to leave first that morning.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who cursed himself for falling asleep in your bed, but it felt so good and he was so tired that his body had just given out. he made sure to gather everything before leaving in a hurry. no jacket or packs forgotten, only leaving his fresh and rich smell of smoke all over your apartment.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who was distracted at work. his thoughts diverged to his hands trailing your curves and your perfect lips he wanted to taste so badly. the feeling pierced his heart. did he actually miss you?

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who tried to dismiss his feelings by taking a small break from you and hooking up with different girls. despite his best efforts, nothing felt right when he was fucking them. he was quick and uninterested. it was so boring without you.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who, determined to not fall into your meaningless trap, has finally decided to give you one final call. he’d explain everything to you in person.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who got lost in time and ended up pussy drunk, between your legs, once again squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. after all these sessions, he came to be the best at eating you out and knowing precisely how you wanted to be touched and handled.

“god- i fucking love you, [y/n].” he murmurs against your sloppy entrance, heavy breath itching at your skin and you can’t quite discern his sentence before panic finally sets in.

it comes out so easily out of his mouth, between two pants, like praise he had said over and over again. he doesn’t even notice, but you do. oh, yes you do.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who continues to place wet kisses on your inner thighs but you had stopped clenching the sheets to stare at him, eyes wide open. shiu was so strict about following the rules he had personally set, to maintain this kind of relationship and here he was saying that he loved you. what a fool.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who’s so mesmerized by your euphoric scent that he hasn’t yet become aware of the fact that he accidentally confessed to you. you can feel your heartbeat fasten and your pulse through your ears when he pronounces the words. your pink-tinted cheeks betray how flustered you are.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who brings you back to reality with a guttural groan as he dives back against your dripping folds, his nose pressing against your clit. his hands open up your legs more as you give out the meaningless fight and fall deeper into his delicious embrace.

“f-fuck.. wait- aaah- shiu..”

your mind’s hazy from the pleasure but you’re still thinking about his words. you wonder if it was only in the heat of the moment or a true confession he couldn’t have hidden much longer.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who had promised to never kiss you in fear of his emotions getting the best of him, but this night was different. your puffy pink lips were looking particularly pretty and captivating. he wasn’t one to break promises but his self-control was hanging on by a thread when he was so drunk over you. he moved upward, parting with your needy cunt to place a trail of light kisses along your chest, from your belly all the way to your neck.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who doesn’t hesitate further. his whole body’s covering yours when he leans into your neck, nibbling at the skin before capturing your lips in a hot and steamy kiss. he’s breathing the amount of air you have left, causing you to stop him abruptly, your fingers pushing his lips away. he’s taken aback, his eyes questioning yours with your skin still blocking his lips.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who looks perplex, like he missed an episode. what were you so tense all of a sudden? wasn’t he doing enough? you always loved the way he ate you out, so what’s changed? of course, he had forgotten about the kissing rule, but the flustered gaze you were wearing told him something else bothered you the most.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu whose gaze goes from your wet lips to your eyes. he knows what he did wrong but the memory of his confession is still blurry. delicately enough, he wraps his hand around your wrist to free his mouth. you whisper his name, panting, but he cuts you off almost immediately.

“don’t read too much into what i say when we’re fuckin’, angel.”

he’s trying to defend himself. truth is he was almost ashamed of slipping out to you like that. exposing his buried feelings to you made him want to disappear, especially considering the face you were wearing right now.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who’s reluctant to talk about it, he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings, he just wants to fuck you. had he forgotten why he came here in the first place? he had never gone this far with any of the girls he was fucking before and here he was, almost completely naked and so drunk over you that your pussy wasn’t enough for a taste. wasn’t he supposed to talk to you about terminating this affair?

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who was embarrassed to be so vulnerable when it came to you. he quickly regains his senses, moving away to give you enough space to sit up and wrap your sweating figure with the sheets.

“why are you so ashamed of it, shiu?”

he shakes his head frenetically. god. you didn’t understand anything did you? being obsessed with you wasn’t in any of his plans. he needed to get out of this situation quickly, otherwise he’d simply betray himself further.

“we can’t do this anymore. I’m ending our deal.” he says, skillfully putting his belt back with his clenched back muscles exposed to your sight.

his words were frustrating. was it your fault? was it you that he was so ashamed to love? “you were the one to break the rules, shiu.”

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who brushes it off, buttoning his white shirt back on. his hands travel inside his pockets, desperately searching for a cigarette. it was so annoying. it was so annoying that you could see right through him and that he had no power over it. he had no power over his feelings for you and it was infuriating.

˗ˏˋʚ fwb!shiu who refuses to explain any further. the last thing he said before leaving your place was that you didn’t have to expect anymore calls or texts from him.

what he didn’t say was that he wanted to stay so badly. he wanted, without shame, to tell you how you made him feel but his pride inevitably got the best of him and he left without another word, leaving you naked in your bed, wondering how the hell you were so hang up on such a confused man.

#shiu smut #jjk smut #shiu kong smut #shiu kong #jjk shiu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #shiu x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #shiu x y/n

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thef1diary · 3 months

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Little Big Fan | Three

— Little Big Race

Series Masterlist

wc: 2.4k

Usually, you had a hard time waking your daughter up, and unfortunately she got that habit from you. It was something your mother laughed at a lot whenever you told her about it. She would always say, "you were a troublesome child so now you have a troublesome child but she's cuter."

Today was a different story, Isabella was the one waking you up. "Mama, mama, mama, wake up, we have to see Maxy race today!" She jumped up and down on the bed even though you've tried to tell her not to.

Groaning, you peeked out the blanket to see the biggest toothy smile on your daughter's face and it should've been enough to wake you up. You looked over and saw the time, it was way too early for her to be this energetic. You still have no idea how she musters up so much energy in her little body.

"Bella, qualifying is seven hours away, let's sleep a little longer?" You asked and easily wrapped your arms around your little one. Covering her in the blanket, you hoped to at least get another hour of sleep.

It took her less than two minutes to fall back asleep in her mother's arms. That habit, was from her father who never had an issue of being unable to sleep quickly.

The hour passed by rather quickly, and this time Isabella woke up as soon as she felt you getting off the bed. The giddy excitement was still there and rightfully so but it was a little calmer than an hour ago.

Since you only had to order room service instead of cooking breakfast, the morning was a lot less stressful for you. As soon as Isabella was finished eating breakfast, she ran to her little suitcase and took out her outfit for the day.

Once you helped her change, your little girl was decked in a blue dress with red glittery clips in her hair according to her wishes, her reason being, "Maxy always wears red and blue."

Soon enough, you two were enroute towards the track. You had gotten your passes when you first checked in at the hotel because Max had dropped them off before you arrived.

It was simple enough finding your way towards the entrance, but it was a whole different story after. There were so many people, albeit less than outside, and they all looked like they knew where they were going.

Holding Isabella's hand tightly, you continued walking in hopes to figure out where you're supposed to go. "Where's Max, mama?" Your daughter asked but you didn't have an exact answer.

"Hopefully somewhere around here, angel." You contemplated calling him, unsure whether or not he'd be busy. But then again, if he is then he won't pickup so there was no harm in trying.

Keeping your gaze on Isabella, you called him. After two rings, he picked up, "Hi, I was just about to call you, are you here?" You could hear him panting on the other end as if he ran to pick up your call, but you decided not to comment on it.

"Yeah, I don't know exactly where we are though," He laughed on the other end, "it's okay, just describe the area and I'll come find you."

You did as he instructed and Max was walking towards you within three minutes. However, he was not alone, there was another man in different coloured teamwear walking next to him.

Isabella's smile grew when she spotted Max but since you were holding her hand, she couldn't run towards him. Max crouched down and held his hand up so Isabella could give him a high-five.

The man standing next to him the same, and Isabella was mesmerized, gasping, "Daniel Ricciardo." She probably butchered the pronunciation of his surname but he didn't seem to mind.

Max shook his head, "no, Isabella, he's Daniel Avocado." The comment made Daniel burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but join in.

The sound of your laugh directed Max's gaze towards you and once it was on you, it was stuck there. Even when Daniel nudged him and asked, "introductions?"

A few seconds passed by without Max saying anything so to save him from further embarrassment, Daniel decided to take the liberty of introductions. Once you introduced yourself to him, Daniel had a knowing smile on his face.

"So you're the one who's daughter ran away because of Max," he chuckled while your cheeks grew red in embarrassment, "unfortunately yes, how did you hear about that?" You asked, having an idea that Max probably told him.

But the answer Daniel gave you was surprising, "I've heard the story around ten times so far since someone keeps bringing you up in conversations."

Max's eyes widened but you laughed, "is that so? Well Isabella hasn't stopped talking about Max either."

You and Daniel collectively looked at Isabella who was still starstruck by not one but two drivers, the shock of being in the paddock finally catching up to her. Then the two of you looked at Max, who was also unusually quiet according to Daniel, and burst out laughing once again.

"Looks like both of them had too much to say and now it's not enough," Daniel commented and you agreed with a nod. "Your daughter is adorable by the way," he added to fill the silence and nudged Max harshly when you looked at her.

"How about I show you around?" Max finally found his words, and you looked at him skeptically, "I don't want to take up your time if you have something else to do."

"I've got some time, plus it would be very unfair if you came all the way here and I didn't spend time with you and Isabella." Max didn't wait for a response from you, instead turning his gaze towards your little one, "right?"

Isabella gave him a sharp nod, and you couldn't help but smile as you saw the two interact. "Alright then, lead the way."

It took him thirty minutes to show you around the paddock, but he mainly focused on the RedBull Energy Center, as that was where all the driver's guests could relax and enjoy some team catered meals.

Isabella asked him all sorts of questions, and Max even stopped for an extra minute to grab some noise cancelling earmuffs for her little ears.

Your eyes widened when he placed them on her head, mentally cursing at the fact that out of all the things you could've forgotten, it was the headphones. Once again, before you could hide your expression, Max noticed it and muttered, "it's okay, that's why we have them here."

He explained that since it was his home grand prix—something you didn't know until he mentioned it—most of the fans were rooting for him.

Then, Max was approached by someone from his team, telling him that he was needed back in the garage. The rest of the day passed by quite fast. You watched qualifying from the hospitality as per Max's suggestions.

As the session continued, you slowly understood some of the terminology, but it would still take a few more races to fully understand what is going on. On the other hand, Isabella clapped happily every time Max's RedBull passed by, and you even joined her after a few times.

—

It is race day. You and Isabella were back in the paddock and this time you had figured out where to go. You were proud of yourself for navigating the area after only being shown around once. You reached later than you hoped due to the traffic, but fortunately, there was still a while before the race began.

Max had told you to meet him near the garages and when you neared them, you could see him speaking expressively to a small group of people. Based on their outfits, you knew they were drivers. The only one you remembered other than Max was Daniel, as you've met him yesterday.

"Mama, walk faster," your daughter urged, her pace fastened as soon as she spotted Max, tugging you along. You were glad that she didn't leave your hand.

"Maxy!" Your daughter cheered as soon as she was in hearing range of the drivers. They all collectively turned towards the noise, Max's face lighting up as soon as his gaze landed on you two.

"Isabella!" Max cheered with the same amount of energy, and you let go of your daughter's hand so she could run up to him.

He greeted you as well, taking a step closer to you and with a sheepish smile on his face he spoke, "I got something for her." Max said quietly enough so Isabella didn't hear him, since he wanted your approval first before he revealed his surprise.

You nodded, encouraging him and with a big smile he placed a cap on Isabella's head, surprising her. She took it off to look at it and when she saw his driver's number on the cap, she gasped.

Then, she placed it back on her head and turned to look at you, "mama, look!" You chuckled, "very nice, what do you say, angel?"

Isabella didn't think twice before hugging him, "thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Max held out another cap for you, and before you could say anything he added, "I need everyone to know who you're cheering for." Deciding to tease him you responded, "what if I want to cheer for Daniel?"

You saw his smile drop, making you break out into a smile to let him know you were just joking. You pointed to the number on the cap, "number 1 driver, yeah,” you stated, the implication of him being the number one driver both literally and figuratively was heard loud and clear.

"Mama," Isabella grabbed your attention, pointing at the driver in a red suit that you've yet to be introduced to. "Lightning McQueen," she added, making the group of drivers around you laugh at her words.

Charles pointed at himself, "me?" he looked at you for an answer and you nodded, "yeah, can you really blame her though, you're all decked out in red."

As if you were lying, he looked down and then shrugged, "fair."

Isabella was content with being the center of attention between the drivers that you now know the names of; Charles, Lando, Alex, and George.

Max pulled you aside. "I wanted to ask you this yesterday but we didn't have time. Do you think Isabella would like it if I let her sit inside my car?"

Your mouth quite literally dropped open, and you had to blink a few times as if it would make you understand his words better. "Huh?" is all that left your mouth.

"My car? Is she going to like it?" He asked again and you nodded, "she would love that, are you even allowed to do that?"

He chuckled at your question, "it's my car, I think I can do anything I want with it."

Before he could turn around to speak to Isabella, you reached for his hand to stop him, "Max, you have no idea how much this would mean to her." He nodded in understanding, "make sure to take lots of pictures."

You heard her squeal in excitement as soon as Max asked the question, watching her eagerly nod. You followed them into the garage, heart warming at how Max held Isabella's hand the entire time.

With the way Isabella hasn't stopped smiling, you would think her smile was permanently stuck on her face. You took loads of pictures, a few even with Max's helmet on her head that was way too big for her.

Even the team principal, Christian Horner, stopped for a moment to look at the joy on both Isabella and Max's face. It would make one think that it was Max’s first time around a F1 car as well.

By the time the race started, Isabella's energy had significantly drained, but she remained awake for the entirety of the race. Watching the race from the garage unlocked a different joy on her face, and she would cheer when Max came into the pits for fresher tyres.

As soon as her eyes drooped, something would occur in the race that would cause her to brighten up again. Max barely had to overtake as he started off in pole position, only needing to pass the other drivers after coming out of the pitlane.

Just like Isabella, your eyes didn't waver away from the race despite how fast your heart was beating due to nervousness about the drivers' speeds.

You knew they were the best of the best, very professional, but ever since you've gotten to know them personally, you couldn't help but worry for them. Especially Max.

Turns out, you didn't have to worry too much as Max crossed the finish line first, winning the race in front of his home crowd.

Everything after that was a blur. You just remember Christian leading you towards the crowd underneath the podium, ensuring that no one had the audacity to push or shove you. Isabella was safely in your arms, watching the celebrations with wide but sleepy eyes.

As soon as she saw the trophy being handed to Max, she rested her head on your shoulder and was out like a light.

Once the champagne was sprayed, you made your way through the crowd, walking towards the exit. Your daughter was sound asleep and you didn't want the noise waking her up and disturbing her much needed rest.

Other than the one extra hour of rest in the morning, she hadn't taken any naps since she was mesmerized by everything around her. Now, since it was all over, all you focused on was getting back to the hotel.

As soon as Isabella was comfortably in bed, you decided to take a shower to wash away all the built up and dried sweat. While you were busy, your phone rang with two calls, both from Max, that were inevitably sent to voicemail.

After your shower, you ordered some food and turned on the tv in the other room. Around fifteen minutes went by before there was a knock on your door. Thinking it was room service with your dinner, you opened it without checking who it really was.

Max was stood on the other side, changed out of his race suit but still in a Redbull polo.

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#little big fan fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #thef1diary fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic

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roosterforme · 2 months

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The Younger Kind Part 55 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't get enough of the adrenaline rush that is accompanying his special mission, but he has reached the point where the excitement doesn't outweigh his desire to return home. Every day feels the same for you, until one of them starts to feel much worse.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pregnancy topics, potential pregnancy complications, swearing, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Every day was the same now. Every morning started out with a hopeful feeling in your chest. Your engagement ring was still noticeable on your finger, although you figured that would fade with time as it became a permanent fixture. At first, you woke up to the delicious feeling of being pregnant and engaged to Bradley, but when you rolled over to reach for him, the rest of the bed was cold. The covers were untouched. His pillow was still in the exact same place you left it when you made the bed yesterday.

Tears stung at your eyes. You knew exactly how many days he had been gone, because the updated number was practically all you could think about. The days had become a week. Then two. And now that hopeful feeling was starting to vanish only to be replaced by dread almost immediately after you cracked your eyes open.

You whispered, "I miss you," and climbed out of bed without even looking at the vacant side now. You started to dress in your scrubs without a smile on your face, and then you went into the bathroom which was completely silent. You thought that if you just had an inkling, the barest idea of when Bradley might be returning, you'd feel much better, but you had no clue.

You and Noah had only had one brief conversation with him over the phone. The connection had been pretty bad, and you knew someone was sitting right there with him monitoring every single word. He'd told you that much before his personal phone had been taken away from him the day he arrived. You had to pause as you put toothpaste on your toothbrush, because the tears were going to start if you didn't get yourself under control.

Bradley had hung up a few post-it notes around the house for you and Noah to find. Most of them were reminders of how much he loved you, but the one on the bathroom mirror took your breath away every time you saw it. It said April 25th with a heart around it. And above that'd, he'd drawn a crown. The fact that you had no idea how much of your pregnancy he was going to miss threw you off every single time. You ran your fingers over the note, but you didn't move it.

"Mommy?" Noah called out, and you heard him jump down from his bed. It was so obvious how much he missed his dad; he was extra clingy with you right now, even shedding a few tears now when you tried to drop him off before you went to work each day.

"I'm in the bathroom," you called out as best you could with your toothbrush still in your mouth. You opened the door so he could come in with you, and he immediately wrapped his arms around your thigh.

"Is it daycare today?"

You spit out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth. "Yes, Sweet Noah. You have daycare today."

"I want to go to the park with you and Daddy."

That sounded so perfect, you wanted to scream. "As soon as Daddy comes home, we can all spend a whole day at the park. But not today." You didn't even want to tell him that you had to work an extra hour and a half and as a result would be picking him up later than usual. You agreed to cover some extra shifts all week long even though you were tired enough that you'd been passing out in bed right after Noah went to sleep each night.

When he sniffed and looked up at you with watery eyes, you could barely handle it. Bradley had been gone for less than three weeks, but you were already getting a little desperate. You knew you would feel like a failure if you reached out for help at this point, even though Natasha and Penny had both been texting with you to check in. Bradley even had Tracy emailing you in case you needed anything, and you couldn't decide whether you had to make more friends to get him off your back or simply be appreciative that he cared enough to set things up.

"I know," you whispered to Noah, running your fingers through his soft curls. "But we can make ants on logs later. And we can take Skittles for a nice walk." When you said her name, the pup appeared in the bathroom doorway, her brown eyes also a little sad without her favorite person at home.

"I'm hungry," Noah murmured against your scrub pants. You bent to scoop him up into your arms and carried him to the kitchen where you got breakfast ready for everyone. It was going to be a long day for you, and you'd been so wrapped up in your feelings, you almost forgot you were going to have to see Casey.

You groaned at the thought of her, and you immediately lost your appetite and scraped your eggs into the dish on the floor for Skittles to enjoy. After you packed yourself a lunch and got Noah ready, you realized you were kind of running late. Everything felt ten times harder when you had to do it all yourself.

"I don't know how Bradley managed," you whispered as you zipped down the block in your car. A soft smile played at your lips as you thought back to how adorably hopeless he had been when you first met him. He hadn't eaten a good meal in probably months before you started babysitting Noah for him. At least he could cook a little bit now, even if he still couldn't figure out how to use his phone.

When you took Noah inside his daycare, Casey's eyes were immediately glued to your ring as it shone in the sunlight. She slid the clipboard to you and watched you sign Noah in while you held his hand. Then you knelt down and kissed his cheek and whispered, "I'll pick you up later. I love you."

He smiled, and then you let Casey walk him inside. You stood there long enough to make sure he started to hang up his bag like you always did, and when she walked back out into the lobby, she was smirking. "Did Bradley leave you? He hasn't been here in weeks."

You rolled your eyes as you said, "He's deployed. We've been over this before."

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying, it kind of looks like he left you and Noah in the dust."

"In what world would that man leave Noah?" you practically shouted.

"That's true," she replied with a smile. "Bradley would never leave his adorable son, but I could see him ditching you and your make believe baby."

You rubbed your temples and took your phone out of your pocket to check the time. You'd barely make it to work before the first patient if you didn't leave right now, but you couldn't help yourself. "I'm done, Casey. I've had enough. Which of the owners is here today? Because I'm not going to listen to you talk to me like this for one more minute."

Her face went ghostly white and she muttered something that you couldn't quite make out. "Speak up," you snapped. "Or apologize to me and don't bother talking to me again unless it's completely necessary."

"Sorry."

"Great," you told her loudly. "Have a great day, and when I pick Noah up later, just keep your mouth shut."

You took in the stupid looking expression on her face before you turned to leave, storming out the door and across the parking lot to your car.

---------------------------

It didn't take Bradley long to get used to the sleek controls and seductive design of the sixth-generation fighter jet that everyone appropriately referred to as Shadowhawk. By the second morning on base in Yokosuka, Admiral Palmer was singing Bradley's praises. He showed up early and did as he was told, hoping to spend as much time in the air as he could each day.

It was an adrenaline rush every single time. He was going substantially faster than he ever did in a Super Hornet, and all of his readouts were being recorded. He had to pass a quick physical and stress test every morning before he was allowed to fly, and then he was hooked up to monitoring equipment and let loose. He and Shadowhawk were flying the same loop far out over the pacific ocean at insanely high altitudes, and each time he fell a little bit more in love with being in the air. He could maneuver through rolls and dive into an attack formation faster than he could even imagine.

When he was flying, it was easy enough to focus on the task at hand. He knew if he wasn't one hundred percent focused, it would be dangerous. He might not snuff out the launched missile in time with his flares or his guns. He might lose sight of his targets. But as soon as he had any sort of mental reprieve, he was thinking about you and Noah and Skittles and his bungalow tucked away on a side street in Coronado.

"Fuck," he muttered as he unloaded from Shadowhawk one day just as the sun was setting. He was drenched in sweat and exhausted, and all he could think about was taking a shower with you before dragging himself off to his king size bed that always smelled like wildflowers and falling asleep in your arms. He let the peripheral staff detach all of the cables and heart monitor from his flight suit before he found an officer who spoke English. "Is there time for me to make a phone call tonight?" he asked.

It was about three o'clock in the morning in California, and he knew he wouldn't be able to talk to Noah, but he was dying to hear your voice. He knew he'd wake you up, but the ache was so strong, he absolutely needed to if he could. He'd been allowed to make exactly one call so far, and that was already more than two weeks ago.

All he got in response to his question was a quick shake of his head. "Tomorrow," she responded. That's what they told him every day. The lack of communication felt like a prison sentence at times, but there wasn't much he could do but accept it. All of the data they were collecting as well as Shadowhawk itself were considered proprietary and top secret. He practically had to sign his life away every day before he was allowed to touch the thing.

"Tomorrow," he repeated. "But will it actually be tomorrow? Or does that mean a week from now?"

"Tomorrow," she said more firmly, and he thanked her quietly before heading up to the tower to debrief with the admirals. There wasn't much else he could do.

The next day was a lot more of the same, and the routine was starting to grate on his nerves now. The aircraft still felt incredible, beyond his wildest dreams. He was still happy to be here, but at the same time, he was ready to go home now. They weren't giving him any updates on the progress of this assignment or when it might end, so he just decided to approach Admiral Palmer directly.

"Sir, I'd really appreciate a ten minute phone call, if that can be arranged." Once again, it was the middle of the night for you, but Bradley needed it.

The older man eyed him closely and cleared his throat. "It's a liability, Lieutenant. I'm sure you can understand that."

Bradley felt his fingers flex into fists at his sides. "Sir, someone would be monitoring me the entire time. And I'm just asking to talk to my fiancée and my son. That's it. Any time of any day."

The answer of, "There's no guarantee," did not sit well with Bradley. He had to bite his lip until he was tasting blood to keep himself from talking out of order, but he was sure the other man could read the frustration on his face and in his posture. "Maybe a very brief call, but we could be wrapping up our preliminary testing on Shadowhawk any day now. Either way, I'm sure you'll be able to finish out this temporary assignment like a professional."

Bradley swallowed down every retort that came to his mind, saluted Admiral Palmer, and left for his tiny room in the barracks. But another week passed, and Bradley knew there was no end in sight. And perhaps no phone call either.

-------------------------

"Is this normal though?" you asked Natasha over the phone one night after Noah was in bed. You'd thought about taking a long bath, but you were so tired from working late almost every day, you could barely hold yourself up. You were already in bed at 8:45 with your phone pressed to your ear. "I haven't heard from Bradley in almost a month."

The words made a lump form in your throat. It was actually twenty-two and a half days since he'd called. You needed to hear his voice. Noah was asking for him nonstop, and he had missed your most recent checkup with your obstetrician. The whole thing had been such a blur during your lunch break without him there, and you wanted to show him the new ultrasounds.

"Well, I don't think this assignment is exactly normal, you know?" she replied. "On a regular deployment, you'd be able to talk to him almost weekly. But this is something else altogether."

You made a soft sound. There had to be a way to make the time pass faster. If you didn't have to get Noah by six o'clock every day, you would try to pick up more hours at work. Maybe this weekend you could start cleaning up the extra bedroom that you and Bradley decided would become the nursery. You already promised Noah that you'd take him shopping for a Halloween costume, so at least that would entertain him for a little while.

"Thanks, Natasha," you murmured to Bradley's best friend.

"Hey, if you need a little break this weekend, I'd be more than happy to come over and play with Noah on Saturday or Sunday," she said, and you sighed in relief.

"That actually sounds fantastic. I'll call you."

You ended the call a minute later, curling up in a ball of exhaustion as you tried to imagine where Bradley was and what he was doing. You were tired now as you tried to do the math to determine what time it was in Japan. Was he sixteen hours ahead of you? Something like that? You yawned and fell asleep with your phone on the pillow next to your head.

Then you heard your ringtone blaring in your ear, and you almost fell out of the bed as you realized your phone was so close to you. RESTRICTED CALLER. "Oh my god," you gasped, trying to answer the call while you saw that your battery was down to four percent because you never plugged it in. "Bradley?!"

"Princess."

"Bradley!" You climbed out of bed, your body immediately shivering as you were exposed to the cool air. Your nerves were frayed as you plugged your phone in and asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Baby. I'm so sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay!" you said, your voice sounding more like a sob as you sat on the floor. "I've been so worried about you."

His voice was a deep, familiar rumble as he said, "I've got five minutes. Tell me everything."

"We miss you, Daddy," you said, rubbing your hand low on your belly which was starting to feel a little tender as you got closer to thirteen weeks along. "Noah asks for you all the time. The baby looked good at the last appointment. But your best friend, Skittles, is barely holding it together."

"I missed your appointment," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "I should have been there."

"It's okay," you whispered. "We're doing okay." But you weren't. You and Noah thrived when you had his attention. You felt loved when he was home to hold you and whisper plans about the future until you fell asleep each night. "I just thought you'd be able to call more often."

"Me too," he said in a tone that sounded both annoyed and resigned.

"Do you know when you'll be home?" you asked in as hopeful a voice as you could manage.

"Soon, Princess. Soon. Now tell me everything about your appointment."

You gave him more details as you shifted around on the floor, and you told him that Noah painted a picture for him. Then you heard someone on his end of the call telling him that it was time to go, and you wanted to scream that it wasn't enough. But instead you let the tears fall down your cheeks, thankful that you at least knew he was safe.

"I love you, Bradley."

"I love you too, Princess. I'll be home before you know it."

You dried your tears and climbed back into bed, and even though you weren't able to fall asleep again, you felt so much better. Your imagination drifted to thoughts of the baby in the nursery, all of you curled up on the floor for story time together. You would start getting the room ready this weekend.

On Saturday, you took Noah to the Halloween warehouse store that seemed to pop up overnight. "You have to hold my hand," you reminded him as he reached for every single display in the crowded store. There were so many aisles, this would probably take up your entire morning with him. He was keeping a running list of options that he liked for trick-or-treating, and you had to keep reminding yourself not to check the price tags. You'd put whatever he wanted on your princess credit card and call it a day.

"Mommy, let's all be dinosaurs," he said, pointing to a costume in his size.

You glanced around the area and said, "They don't have any in my size. Can we pick something else?"

"I want you and Daddy to dress up, too," he whined, and you didn't want to have to tell him that you weren't sure if Bradley would be home in the next week and a half to accommodate that wish.

"Well, I will definitely dress up with you, okay? Let's pick something out where you and I can match."

But he wasn't going to be deterred. He was demanding that all three of you match along with Skittles. You walked around the entire store twice before you found an option that he agreed upon, and you were smiling as you gathered the costumes in all of the necessary sizes. "This is perfect, Sweet Noah," you said as you looked at the costume for Bradley and laughed. You just hoped he would be back in time to wear it. If not, maybe you could ask Maverick.

The sky was starting to look overcast, so you took Noah home for lunch and didn't feel too bad about keeping him inside for the afternoon, especially when it started raining. You set him up with his array of coloring books at the kitchen table and then went to investigate the extra bedroom. Nobody ever slept in there, so it was a bit dusty. There was basically no furniture besides the bed and an old desk, but it was cozy and perfect for what you had planned.

Your muscles were sore from standing at work, and you were so tired, but you started moving the bed anyway. You'd have to tell Dr. Kelly and the others that you were pregnant soon. It was time now, but you kept putting it off, enjoying the secret that only you and Bradley really knew about. Plus it still got under your skin a little bit when you considered that other people would have a knee jerk reaction to the timeframe of when you got engaged compared to when you got pregnant.

"It's none of their business," you whispered to yourself as you walked to the kitchen to check on Noah every few minutes. Then you went back to the bedroom and cleaned, moved things around and took measurements. "How big are cribs, anyway?" you mused before looking up some dimensions online. "Pretty big."

It took some creativity, but you thought you'd finally sorted out where everything should go. Then you moved Bradley's random junk from the closet to the attic, wiping the sweat from your face with each trip. You kicked your way through the boxes where you'd found the USB drive with the video he made with Meredith. At first you grimaced and thought you might cry, but then you remembered the way he had smashed the stupid thing to bits in the backyard. You wanted him to come home. You needed him to.

"Mommy?" Noah called out, luring you back into the kitchen. You were a mess, and when you noticed how much he was yawning, you silently rejoiced.

"It looks like you could use a nap," you said as you kissed the curls on top of his head. He scrambled up into your arms and hugged you, such a tiny reminder of his dad, and you carried him off to his room. After a few stories, he was asleep as the rain picked up a little bit, and you knew this would be the perfect time to take a shower.

You moved Skittles' bed into Noah's room temporarily, and coaxed her in with a treat. "Keep him company in case he wakes up," you whispered, and she walked around in a circle on the plush cushion before settling in. Her crooked, purple bow made you smile. Everything in this house made you smile and think about Bradley. You knew he'd have even more ideas about a theme for the nursery, but you started to scroll through some inspiration online as the shower warmed up for you.

The water ended up feeling better than you anticipated. Your shoulders were sore. Your hips were sore. Every part of your body was aching. It seemed it didn't matter how much you were sleeping, you were still exhausted all day long. Maybe Dr. Kelly would reduce your hours and give you a break. You thought about sneaking home one afternoon a week to take a long nap before going back out to pick Noah up. Then you thought about how Casey hadn't said a single word to you since you told her you were going to her boss. Then you smiled.

You were squeaky clean when you got dressed again in some old sweats and headed to the kitchen. Your stomach was growling, and you desperately wanted some coffee. "One cup is okay," you whispered, turning on Bradley's fancy machine while you made yourself a snack. You'd been meticulous about how much caffeine you were drinking, and Bradley helped by bringing home only decaf from the coffee shop. You downed the cup, and it was hot and delicious, and almost immediately you had to pee again.

Your doctor told you that was normal as the baby grew and started to stretch things out. You passed Noah's bedroom door where both he and Skittles were still sound asleep as the rain splattered against his window, and then you went to the bathroom. When you wiped, the toilet paper caught your eye, and your hand started to shake. Pink. Blood. Just a little bit, but there was blood.

"Oh no," you gasped, a dizzy spell overtaking your body. You'd read about this in your textbooks, and you knew it could happen, but you'd blocked it out of your mind when it came to yourself right now. You didn't want to be an example. You had to grip the toilet seat with one hand to keep steady as you wiped yourself again. There was more blood, a little bit less pink and more red this time.

Your own breathing was too loud. It was echoing through your mind and through the bathroom, and you wanted to throw up. You eased yourself onto the floor and started to panic. The baby. What if something was happening to the baby? "No," you whispered, trying to ground yourself. Using the edge of the tub, you pulled yourself slowly to your feet, your head spinning more with every inch you moved. "No," you said louder.

When you were standing on your own, you had yourself almost convinced you'd imagined it. You didn't feel bad. You were just a little sore. There couldn't be anything wrong. You reached for another piece of toilet paper and wiped, but the result was the same.

Where was your phone? Who were you supposed to call? You walked around in circles around the house while your heart thudded a sickening rhythm in your chest. You paused, unable to locate your phone and convinced you were going to throw up. After you backtracked to the extra bedroom, you found it and unlocked it.

Natasha's name was right there in your recent calls, and you tapped on it before you could even fathom what you were going to tell her.

"Hi," she said brightly when she eventually answered. "Want me to come over and play with Noah so you can take a break for a little bit?"

"Please," you gasped. "Please come over. Right now."

She must have sensed something in your voice, because hers turned serious as she assured you she was on her way. While you waited for her, you wiped yourself again and again before you made yourself wait in the living room instead of the bathroom. When she walked inside with dripping wet hair and concern on her face, you said, "Noah is still napping. I need to take myself to the emergency room."

----------------------------

Get to the hospital, Princess. This kind of scenario is very real and has happened to me. I will tread as carefully as I can. Please don't scream at me. We will hear from a doctor in the next chapter. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 56

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dcxdpdabbles · 9 months

Text

Passion for Fashion Part 2

Danny glances around the room, initially supposed to be the living room, but Dan had quickly turned it into a studio. He had fabrics stacked everywhere, random clothes designs pinned to the walls, and various-sized mannequins scattered about with half-finished projects.

"It looks like Joann Craft's store exploded in here" he grumbles side-stepping into a half-finished gown dress and ducking under rows of fabric swatches that Dan just has to hang across the whole house by color because they help him visualize.

Or some nonsense like that.

Frankly, Danny was starting to suspect Dan had developed a new ghost Obsession now that grief no longer blinded him, and he knew Clockwork made it deliberately fashion design.

He is a bit unsettled that Dan's tunnel vision mirrors his parent's obsession with ghost hunting. Is it a ghost Obsession thing or a Fenton thing? Even Jazz can't get sucked into her physiology studies, so he had to remind her to sleep and eat. Eventually, Danny will find his own tunnel vision obsession. He just knows it.

Ducking two more times to avoid the shades of blue and green, Danny follows the barely visible pathway to where Dan is likely working on the first suit for the competition's first catwalk.

The first round of the competition was a mere selection round, where contestants were all brought into a large room and given a sketchbook, pencils, colors pencils, and reference books. After the surprise judge gave them the theme of household pets, they were to design two male and female outfits within an hour. Dan had entered the testing room like a man sent to the front lines.

Danny hadn't been needed for that round, so he explored Gotham, stopping to eat the famous Batburger. The food was far tastier than Nasty Burger, and he felt like he was betraying his city by how much he savored the Joker fries.

He did notice the way everyone was staring at him, much to his shame, just as he was licking his fingers clean. He scrambled to leave as a few teens whispered, gesturing to him.

He had been in Casper High to know that usually meant insults, so when a pretty blond girl stood up and started for him, he made haste to get out of there as quickly as possible.

He met up with Dan- with a carryout bag because he wasn't a monster- and found the other had blown the competition out of the water. His designs were first in the selection round, and Dan's head got three sizes bigger that day.

It's strange how used to living here he's gotten. It's been a month and a half, and yes, people still stare at him a lot, but it's not like Danny isn't used to being called a freak, so he ignores them all. Dan tried to stay inside the house as much as possible, rarely leaving his fabrics, but Danny felt restless being indoors all the time.

Amity Park is a small city, with most of it being open space and grass he felt strange being surrounded by a loud, crowded city like Gotham. He often wandered about trying to find something new and fun, though that was hard to do once the sun started setting.

He found being outside at night was a terrible idea the first time a trio of men attempted to shove him into a van.

Thankfully, Danny had been bored enough he recreated some of his parents' gadgets, and the three men had been stunned by his Fenton Tazzer wristband before they had opened the van door. Then there was that time a group of toddlers tried to mug him. He had been trying to find a park or something when seven kids- couldn't be older than twelve- all creeped out of the shadows holding knives and bats and demanded he gave them his wallet.

Danny hadn't meant to, but it was so bizarre he had bursted out laughing. He was so used to ghosts that the sight of little kids trying to be threatening was so historical that he couldn't stop laughing. He also forgot to breathe for a second since coming to this world. His body needed less sleep, less food, and got less tired, which was a plus on their wallets.

Danny laughed so hard he fell to his knees, shaking with jest.

The kids scattered at once, a few shouting, "Joker venom!" he was left chuckling to himself. After that, he got up and went home, the occasional snicker slipping from his lips.

Dan had thought it was hilarious, too.

Despite the time they have been here and Danny's many outings, they haven't really interacted with anyone else. Danny had never been one to have positive memories with socializing, and Dan frankly disliked humans too much to want to be around them.

With nothing to do but wander during the day and practice his model walk, Danny quickly got into the habit of tinkering with various machinery. At first, he needed to rebuild his parent's weapons and ghost gear- something he had been able to do since he was seven- then he shifted to building whatever popped into his head.

From robotic prosthetics to a TV projector, Danny filled the hours with some eclectic in his hands. Otherwise, he looked around Gotham and took pictures of the architect because it was Sam's entire aesthetic. How could he not try to capture this place for her?

Dan had been researching through the house internet- thank the ancients the house came with the service- and found various styles he liked experimenting with. Due to his ghost abilities, he worked faster than the sewing machines and was dishing out whole outfits in matters of days instead of the months they usually take.

He has even been walking around in whatever Dan chose to make for him since he thought it would get him used to being seen in something not his usual style. He can't afford to lose the fashion show simply because he got awkward. That would ruin his plans to help Batman and get home.

His wardrobe now varied from what Dan called "eboy", "skater" "K-pop" "casual chic" "haute" and "streetwear". Personally, Danny preferred the streetwear since it was more often than not baggy.

He had a lot of people staring at him when he walked around in Dan's clothes. Danny hopes he doesn't look as dumb as he feels.

"Danny, come try this on!" Dan shouts, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. He gestured to a black and navy blue three-piece suit that took Danny's breath away.

"Wow, Dan, it's gorgeous."

"Duh, I made it brat." He gestures to the vest, which Danny can see painfully embroidered swirls of black, purple, and a few white strips. It did not take him long to recognize the Magellanic cloud resting on the right side while the left is a mirror design in black, carefully blending into the blue. The pants, jacket, and shoes were a nearly jet-black cloth that somehow looked like a liquid even when standing still, but what tied it all together was the black cape draping over the right shoulder. It was pinned in place by a metal piece shaped like a Sirius Star. "The first round is space theme, and lucky for us, I was obsessed with NASA as a kid."

"No, but honestly, can I keep this afterward?" Danny asks, reaching out to rub his hands on the fabric. "Wow this is soft"

"It's satin, of course; it's soft," Dan snorts. "And sure, if we win, it's yours. I don't care what happens to the clothes after I make them."

"How long did this take you to make?" Danny asks, turning it around and sporting more accurately placed constellations of the satellite galaxy. It was like a picture made of fabric, curling from the right to the back of the vest. He'll have to take the jacket off at some point to show that part off.

"Three days. Without sleep."

"That's insane Dan"

"No, you know what's insane? This place has different beauty standards. It's all about the goth and emo kids here. A few Victorian lads, too. Or frankly, a straight-up twink is hot."

"What?" Danny's brain buffers "That can't be right. I was bullied and so were my friends for looking like that."

"Trust me, the ideal body kept coming up as I researched fashion trends and ideas. Nerds are in here. "

"W-what do I do with knowledge?"

Dan's eyes flashed a dangerous green. "You put it to use on the walkway. This suit is designed to show you off, and the best part? It's your natural body; no need to highlight beefed-up muscles or a wide chest like Dash."

"Oh my ancients....Am I hotter than Dash? Then the top A-lister?"

Dan grins. "We got this competition in the bag."

Across Gotham, Tim is scrolling through GothamLive- the favorite plate form of all Gotham, beating even Twitter- and he's surprised to see it covered by the target of their latest mission. He's back at the cave running coms since he got dosed in fear toxin on the last big fight. It was not too bad but Bruce didn't want him doing anything too adrenaline-inducing for a least a month.

He would argue, but even he knew his hands still sometimes shook when he trained. So he was on comm duty listening in to all his family as they moved about Gotham.

It was a quiet night with only three muggings and one car thief so far, but Bruce wanted everyone connected just in case.

Tim figured he could check in on the meta twins and found Danny everywhere on Gotham's online platform.

People have been spotting him strut around Gotham looking drop-dead gorgeous, and everyone near their age group who was attracted to men was losing their minds over Danny Fenton.

Tim found a few of him in skater clothes and felt his face get slightly warmer. Okay, they are right. Danny certainly paints a pretty picture, but that's worrying.

A pretty meta? He could be snatched up by the worst of Gotham soon.

Tim will have to get close to keep an eye on him. You know, for the target's safety.

Dan is his identical twin, which means there are two beautiful boys out there. Tim thinks, checking over the twin's house location. It's thankfully on the outskirts of Gotham, where it's not exactly safe, but it sure as hell isn't Crime Alley. They should be okay as long as no one finds their home.

He choked on his coffee when a picture of Danny dressed like a K-pop star casually lodging on a chair drinking a coffee appears on his dash. Yeah, he can see how the guy ended up in modeling if he could make poses like that naturally.

"Red Robbin to everyone, we may want to keep an eye on the Fenton's. Don't want them taken by traffickers."

"Danny Fenton already fought off a kidnapping:" Jason responds in seconds with a slight sneer. His elder brother has always hated traffickers and rapists the most. " Some idiots tried to escape me by going into the Outskirts and saw Danny. They took their chance only to be taken out by the guy's tazer disguised as a bracelet."

He sends the family a photo of the incident, and Danny's unimpressed look at the three screaming men makes Tim's lips twitch. Maybe Gotham wasn't so different from Santa Prisca. Only someone used to danger so often found would be kidnapers annoying, and that island wasn't exactly the safest place to be.

Their mother died to get them out, after all.

"That's not all. He's also fought off three different gangs, none of the big players but enough to raise some brows," Babs adds, displaying a gang of Crime Alley kids running from a laughing Danny, a group of men and women wearing the red scorpion marks running from a laughing Danny and a second group of kids- slightly older but not older than Danny- all backing away from the ice Danny had encased himself in. "The first two he tricked into thinking Joker was about, and the last one he just froze himself until they got tired of shooting and went away."

"What about the other one?" Bruce asks.

"He doesn't leave the house, but he's been very active online. Mostly, he's looking up fashion articles or trends. Recently, his search is nothing but "What are twinks, and why are they hot?". I can't tell if that's a culture difference or if Dan is just weird."

"They are not trained," Damian says, an undertone of curiosity in his voice. "But they can defend themselves well and truly know their craft. Dan's designs for my animal theme challenge were exquisite. I will be commissioning the black German Shepherd suit he made. Ace and I will look divine at the next gala."

"I kind of want the bird dress," Steph cuts in with a chirp. "I know it's not purple, but it looked cool in concept. What bird breed did he pick for it?"

"It was the Lovebird," Damian answers. "Somehow his design was both elegant and accurate without seemingly childish as the bird it was based on."

Tim wonders if Damian may start to develop an interest in fashion or if he just appreciates drawings as an artist. "So should we be worried?"

"No. Fenton has unwillingly gathered too much attention online. People will notice if he disappears. Traffickers don't go for people that are easy to recognize." Jason sighs. "For now, they're safe, but not if Danny keeps wandering around like an easy target in those tailor outfits. He looks rich, even if it's only lower first class. That will attract a lot more muggings."

"Someone will have to get close to them-"

"I can do it!" Tim shouts, cutting off Bruce, then shrinks into his chair in mortification as the family chat dies. Trying to sound less eager, he hastily adds, "You know, since I'm benched. Light work to befriend the Fentons."

"Smooth Tim." Cass laughs over the coms with his other siblings snickering in the background, and sinks into his chair.

After a moment, Bruce sighs, "Alright, Tim, you can befriend one of them, but not until your turn to judge goes by. I don't want people claiming a conflict of interest there."

Hell yeah! Tim got the job!

"Of course, Bruce."

"And no flirting."

"Spoilsport"

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Passion for Fashion #Part 2 #Different world means different beauty standards #Think the early 2000s vs the 2020s beauty standards #Also Danny doesn't realize he's the ideal #He's just walking around in his own little world #Dan just wants to be a clothing making dragon hording fabrics alone #Damian does love the designs as a artist and as his personal taste #Dead tired

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atlabeth · 19 days

Text

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.1k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake.

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point.

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel.

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there.

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always.

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.”

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?”

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.”

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.”

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says.

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes.

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says.

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.”

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.”

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.”

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file.

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene.

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house.

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt.

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control.

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics.

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it.

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything.

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect.

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.”

“What has he been charged for?”

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail last year, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs.

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind.

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive.

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh.

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising.

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock.

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford.

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.”

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?”

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?”

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says.

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…”

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house.

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all.

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub.

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?”

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.”

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.”

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.”

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him.

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things:

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be.

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school.

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts.

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says.

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.”

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.”

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?”

You nod. “He lives with me.”

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too.

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going.

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.”

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.”

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?”

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you.

“Really?”

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him.

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her.

And he didn’t even know when she died.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad.

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went five years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says.

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.”

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.”

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even.

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.”

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.”

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“...No.”

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.”

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.”

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.”

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says.

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.”

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.”

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door.

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again.

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?”

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.”

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret.

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.”

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case—

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him.

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind.

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!”

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.”

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts.

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief.

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused.

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss.

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.”

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.”

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses.

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once.

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck.

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on.

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity.

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs.

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air.

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it.

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing.

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people.

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong.

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you.

Because god— what are the odds?

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother?

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years.

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time.

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you.

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.”

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties.

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?”

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.”

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now.

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face.

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.”

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.”

“And home is?”

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.”

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says.

“Sources can lie.”

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.”

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up.

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had.

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened.

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”

“None of those sound like questions,” you say.

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it.”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.”

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?”

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You didn’t tell him—”

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?”

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse.

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.”

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.”

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.”

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?”

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.”

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply.

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly.

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken.

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.”

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you.

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.”

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.”

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.”

“...I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least.

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.”

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.”

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.”

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You know th—”

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.”

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.”

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking.

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.”

“The profile—”

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.”

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly.

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this.

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right.

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do.

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him.

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie.

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.”

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands.

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor.

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.”

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.”

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him.

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him.

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things.

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.”

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again.

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.”

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.”

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.”

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation.

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.”

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego.

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.”

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside.

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch…

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore.

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you.

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual.

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off.

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation.

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time.

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks.

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says.

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong.

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier.

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once.

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron.

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard.

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you.

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round.

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed.

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?”

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly.

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully.

Your eyes open and you frown.

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate.

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.”

“...Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?”

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.”

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?”

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron.

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction.

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up.

“Go for it,” you finally say.

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?”

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.”

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you.

“Thank you,” he says.

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.”

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything.

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand.

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.”

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third.

No one expected this to happen so soon.

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt.

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work.

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation.

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved.

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it.

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press.

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.”

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.”

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.”

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on.

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.”

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight.

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city.

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information.

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.”

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says.

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.”

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.”

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.”

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.”

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?”

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.”

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully.

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.”

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.

“And?” Hotch asks.

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.”

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.”

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again.

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.”

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.”

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up.

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.”

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.”

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.”

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.”

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.”

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.”

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.”

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.”

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.”

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.”

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says.

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods.

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him.

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says.

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks.

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.”

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him.

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?”

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.”

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?”

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—”

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.”

“What would I do without you?” he asks.

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.”

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up.

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him.

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze.

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind.

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”

And he does.

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear.

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale.

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame.

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner.

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff.

Of course you have to deal with this now.

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down.

“You’re already packed.”

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning.

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask.

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks.

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?”

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.”

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit.

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?”

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head.

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open.

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.”

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail.

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests.

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.”

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops.

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff.

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.”

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.”

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up.

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.”

“...Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.”

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?”

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to.

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.”

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.”

“What have they said about me?” he asks.

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…”

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.”

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.”

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.”

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.”

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home.

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before.

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard.

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at.

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims.

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters.

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that.

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him.

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that.

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?”

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.”

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.”

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching.

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up.

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night.

And now…

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not.

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?”

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it.

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.”

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him.

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.”

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words.

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why.

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes.

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs.

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze.

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.”

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.”

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body.

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life.

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.”

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.”

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?”

“...You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.”

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.”

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.”

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say.

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.”

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises.

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother had divorced him by then, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided.

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?”

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!”

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.”

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.”

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to.

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget.

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out.

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here.

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now.

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.”

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.”

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.”

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.”

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says.

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.”

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.”

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?”

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.”

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you.

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think.

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave.

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?”

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.”

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.”

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.”

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.”

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.”

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you.

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.”

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you.

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you.

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him.

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force.

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead.

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake.

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms.

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment.

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers.

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron.

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!”

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours.

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.”

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name.

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die.

You wake up in the hospital alone.

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you.

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real.

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life.

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day.

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all.

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life.

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind.

He was going to kill you.

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU.

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him.

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you.

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly.

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.”

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask.

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…”

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.”

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?”

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start.

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.”

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.”

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.”

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!”

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—”

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper.

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life.

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues.

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number.

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.”

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner.

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.”

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together.

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.”

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.”

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit.

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.”

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.”

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out.

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.”

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down.

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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izurou · 2 years

Text

if katsuki has told you once, he’s told you a thousand times—don’t wait up for me.

you never did understand what all the fuss was about. sure, the fatigue would catch up to you after a few consecutive days of doing so—but it was never anything a little more sleep in the morning couldn’t solve.

still, after seeing how adamant he was about the whole thing, you dropped the habit altogether—or at least, he thought you did.

it’s almost midnight when katsuki arrives home, easing the front door shut with the utmost care. he doesn’t bat an eye upon noticing the dull amber glow emanating from the kitchen—you always leave the little light above the stove on for him. he does however, feel his heart skip a beat when he rounds the corner and sees a figure clad in black sitting at his kitchen island.

he easily recognizes the figure as you—seemingly lost in your own little world as you rest your chin in your palm and stare down at your phone. you click on a news article that catches your eye—one from just two hours ago. dynamight’s big rescue! on the evening of tuesday september 6th, three villains entered a bank around ni—

“the hell are you doin’?” his voice lingers from the doorway, much softer than usual—because he knows you’re unaware of his presence.

it startles you nonetheless, but it could have been much worse—he probably just saved you from a major heart attack. a true hero, even off duty.

“just some light reading,” you turn your head and give him a sheepish smile, simultaneously giving him a once over for any injuries. fortunately, you find none—not that you can see at least.

“meant what’re you doin’ up,” he replies, crossing his strong arms over his chest as he takes a few steps further into the kitchen.

“waiting for you,” you hum, hopping out of your chair and padding over to him. he watches, from the moment those words leave your mouth to the moment you wrap your arms around his neck—and then he turns his head. “kats, i missed you.”

he knew it was coming, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to hear. lately, with this increase in crime, you’ve been seeing him less and less. he hates it, but he knows you—and how quick you’d drop everything for a little more time together. he’s witnessed it, all those late nights and early mornings, they took a toll on you—and you don’t deserve that. so, he put an end to it, made sure you knew how important your health was, and had you sleeping like a baby by ten o’clock most nights. but, here you are.

“go,” he nods towards the stairs and rests a hand on your lower back, ushering you ever so gently. “‘ll be there in fifteen.”

he’ll inhale his dinner, wash up at the speed of light, and slide into bed next to you—just like the old days, right?

“i haven’t eaten yet,” you mumble.

you feel his hand stiffen up, and he’s no longer steering you towards your bedroom. he peers down, scarlet eyes boring into you from right beneath his furrowed brow—because he knows that you know, he’d never let you go to bed on an empty stomach. touché.

“pain in my ass,” he mutters, dropping his hand and letting you shuffle towards the fridge where you’re harbouring two plates of leftovers. he trails his gaze down to your feet, and you swear you hear a little snort slip out of him.

as if drowning yourself in his hoodie and sweats wasn’t enough, you have his slippers on—and they’re a size, or seven too big for your feet. you don’t have enough fingers to count all the times he’s called you ronald, or said that he didn’t know the fuckin’ circus was back in town. he can make all the clown jokes he wants, you’ll never give up that warmth and comfort—him getting a kick out of the whole thing is a side effect you can handle.

“how was patrol?” you ask, sliding one of the plates into the microwave. you more or less know how it went, but you’ll keep that to yourself.

he mumbles a same old shit before giving you a vague rundown of the bank robbery—well, the attempted bank robbery. he’s cut off by the loud beeps that echo throughout the room. you reach for the button that opens the little door, but he beats you to it, nudging you away with his hip. he removes the plate—and it’s blatantly obvious that it’s his—the portion size being a dead giveaway. still, he holds it out for you to take. “eat.”

the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s quick to follow up. “‘ll finish what you don’t, baby. sit, eat.”

his gaze lingers on you for just a tad longer than usual before he turns around and heads for the second plate. there’s probably half the amount of food on this one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. so you sit, and eat. he’s not far behind, plopping down next to you just a couple minutes later.

“katsuki?” you side eye him, thinking about how cute he looks with his cheeks all full. it’s been a little while since you’ve sat down and had a meal with him—this is perfect, just what you wanted. still, you can’t help but look ahead as you yearn for a little more. “will you wake me up before you leave tomorrow morning?”

“mmm,” he holds his hand in front of his mouth, rapidly chewing the remainder of his bite so he can answer you. “whatever, but if you swing at me once ‘m leavin’ you there.”

as much as katsuki would love to have a testy six am encounter with the little overtired monster that is you—he won’t, because he’s going to let you sleep until your sweet heart’s content.

you won’t be happy, he knows that—hell, maybe you’ll even swing at him tomorrow evening while fully awake. nah, who’s he kidding? you’d never consciously do that. he almost smiles at the thought though, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent it.

right, you won’t be happy, but you’ll get over it. it’s his job to get up early, come home late, and deal with all the bullshit in between.

because, in all aspects of life—from sleep, right down to the level of warmth and comfort you feel on your feet—katsuki believes you deserve just a little more than him.

#izurou #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #mha x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou hcs #bakugo hcs #bakugo headcanons #bnha hcs #tw food

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impishjesters · 7 months

Text

Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies

warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.

Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.

It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.

You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.

Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.

Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.

Not in a traditional sense anyway.

You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.

There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.

It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.

Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.

The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.

The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.

Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.

Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.

When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.

After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.

And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.

It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.

Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.

There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.

He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).

But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.

From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.

Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.

Bonus (fluff)

Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.

I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.

More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)

Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.

But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.

Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.

“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #jax #jax x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader

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steddiealltheway · 11 months

Text

After the bats, Steve gets a bit self conscious about his scars, and starts going on less and less dates because he doesn’t know how to explain them to girls.

He’s hanging out with the fruity four when he starts complaining about it. Eddie snorts and says, “Imagine how I feel.”

Steve cringes and apologizes because everyone knows he got the worst of it.

Robin starts suddenly laughing maniacally, and they all look at her. Nancy asks what she’s laughing about.

Robin jokes, “Well the solution is right in front of you. Just date each other.”

Nancy joins in laughing with her, but Steve and Eddie eye each other. Steve had never thought a gaze could hold more than words until he sees the way Eddie is staring at him.

In all honesty, Steve wasn’t just missing all the physical stuff that comes with a relationship. Well, he was definitely missing it, but more importantly, he was missing the way it felt to have someone that loved him so unconditionally. In reality, he had only had the illusion of that before, but it had been nice. And it was especially nice to care for someone so deeply that it felt like his life had a whole new purpose - to make them happy.

The more he looks at Eddie, the more the laughter from the girls becomes white noise. He thinks that he could treat him that way. Hold him as if he’s doing it for him and not for himself. Call him to wish him a good morning and good night so he could be the first and last thing on his mind every day. Also, to give himself a reason to wake up and a calming voice that can lull him to sleep.

Maybe it would work. Even if Eddie’s not a girl, he thinks he might be able to overlook that. Especially with the beautiful depths of his brown eyes and the big, soft lips of his and that adorable nose even though it’s not a button nose like Steve usually likes. Honestly, Eddie is beautiful in his own way, and Steve knows he isn’t immune to it especially in large doses.

So, he shouldn’t even begin to consider the thought. Fake dating or sort of dating Eddie is completely off the table.

But Eddie’s staring at him, eyes scanning over him and settling on his lips in a way that makes Steve’s heart thud so hard he thinks everyone in the room might be able to hear it.

Okay, maybe the dating stuff isn’t completely off the table, but there’s no way he’s bringing it up first. He nods at Eddie once and looks away trying to signal an end to whatever discussion / consideration they just had. But he can still feel Eddie’s eyes linger on him the rest of the night.

-:-:-:-:-:-

A few hours later, three of the four are leaving Steve’s place with Nancy offering Robin a ride and Eddie lingering behind a bit. Steve’s been overly aware of his presence since Robin’s whole dating each other suggestion.

What makes it worse is that Eddie is also aware of what his presence does to Steve and keeps shooting him knowing looks and winks. Until now.

Now, he hovers in Steve’s doorway and watches as Nancy and Robin pile into a car and drive off. Then, he takes a few seconds before turning back to Steve saying, “Tell me I’m not the only one considering Robin’s idea, please.”

Steve thinks about it for a moment before he takes Eddie by the wrist and pulls him back inside, closing the door behind him.

“I’m not saying like… actually dating,” Eddie says, the confidence from earlier all but evaporating into thin air as he fidgets anxiously with his rings. “I mean like… we’re just each other’s rock or something. Hell, if you just let me flirt at you and tell me things are going to be okay, then I’m fine with that. You can look at it as practice while you regain your confidence with the ladies or whatever. Just…” Eddie trails off, and Steve thinks he knows exactly what he means.

He finishes Eddie’s thought out loud, “It’s hard going through everything we did without someone to hold us and tell us it’s okay to feel scared sometimes. I mean… it’s one thing to have friends, best friends even, but… they get girlfriends and while you’re their platonic soulmate, their actual soulmate always comes first a little.” Steve sits back on his couch and runs his hands over his face. He hadn’t meant to project about Robin and her relationship with Nancy because he’s happy for them really. He’s just jealous that he doesn’t have what they have.

And really, he knows that friendships are everything, and Robin is his everything but… he sighs. Sometimes it would be nice to be held and kissed and get lost in someone else so deeply that everything else disappears.

Maybe that’s just Steve though. Always running from relationship to relationship for something he’s never able to find.

The couch shifts next to him, and a hand slowly comes up to Steve’s pulling it away from his face, and intertwining their fingers together. Steve’s heart skips a beat as he turns to stare at his and Eddie’s hands together. Steve talks without really thinking, “I know relationships aren’t everything. Friendships are really what makes a person whole, and you can’t get everything out of a relationship but… I really want to trial run this thing with us. We can call it speed running to more than best friends or something.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “That sounds like friends with benefits.”

Steve rolls the term around a bit in his head and squeezes Eddie’s hand while shrugging. “That works too,” Steve mutters.

Eddie shifts towards him and looks him in the eye. “You’ve gotta clear up what that means, man. Terms and conditions and shit.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips. “I wouldn’t mind kissing you. Going on dates or hanging out or whatever you want to call it. Cuddling - hell, anything touching I’m fine with… with reason,” Steve says although with the way Eddie is staring at this lips and the warmth coursing through his body, he’s not sure he has a limit to the whole touching thing. Shit. He knew he wouldn’t be immune to Eddie.

“I’m good with that. Yeah, just… communication is key here, right?” Eddie asks eyes still dipping down to Steve’s lips and back to his eyes between his words.

“Communication,” Steve echoes, staring at Eddie’s lips before communicating, “I really want to kiss you.”

“Finally,” Eddie says before leaning forward and locking their lips together, his hand squeezing Steve’s but he can hardly register it because of how badly he wants to do nothing but kiss Eddie until he’s forgotten any bad thing to ever happen to him.

Then, Steve feels it. The small (big) part of his heart that’s screaming at him that he needs this to be more than a friends with benefits trial run. He needs Eddie to be his and only his if a simple kiss can ruin him like this.

He pulls away and looks at Eddie, searching his gaze and seeing something there he hadn’t seen before. “Eddie, remember everything I literally just said about the trial run and friends with benefits.”

Eddie nods in response. His hand still in Steve’s squeezes.

“I don’t want that,” Steve says and panics when he sees the broken look cross over Eddie’s face as he pulls his hand away.

“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have-”

Steve cuts him off. “It’s because I want more than that, and you deserve more than that. Screw this trial run and all that shit. I want to date you. Like… actually date you and give this a shot. If you want to that is.”

Eddie’s tongue quickly swipes over his top lip over and over nervously as he stares at Steve. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. God, Eddie, I can’t believe I even suggested friends with benefits like a dick,” Steve says with a groan running a hand through his hair.

“I’m the one who accepted it very willingly I might add,” Eddie says with a big smile that fades to a smaller one. “But I’d love more than anything to make this something more.”

Steve’s stomach flips and he feels absolutely giddy with joy. “Quickest trial run ever, right?”

Eddie laughs. “Thank god.”

Steve leans in and kisses him again before pulling back and saying, “Best communication ever, right? Good thinking on your part.”

“The best thinking,” Eddie says then kisses Steve again.

Steve thinks that maybe he’s finally found what he’s always been searching for (but really doesn’t want to give Robin the credit).

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet #where they actually have good communication #for once!

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melodrangea · 6 months

Note

halloween never really ends for me so could i request maka, soul, and dtk with a vampire s/o? thank you :>

absolutely my dear, all reign halloween!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soul Eater Characters with a Vampire S/O

Soul "Eater" Evans

-would think it's mad cool, only adding to his 'cool persona'

-I mean a cool guy like him should have a cool S/O too

-only thing that would worry him is the whole "drinking blood" thing

-but once you explain that you usually only get blood from vendors (like Sarah in My Babysitter's a Vampire) or from bad people you fight (technically kishin souls still have human blood I think)

-Soul absolutely love your sharper vampire teeth, he has pretty sharp teeth too so he thinks it's fun that you two match

(plus he thinks it's hot to leave bite marks on him and the same for you)

-wouldn't let you drink his blood if you needed too out of fear for his lack blood spreading but he will either find someone else to help you or figure something else out

-do not walk on the ceiling around this man, he will scream and cry

-only thing he isn't a fan of is the whole 'never sleeping' part, like Soul needs sleepy cuddles to function, so you're being dragged whether it's you staring at the ceiling at night or not

-overall 8/10; isn't really bothered but it's not like he absolutely adores for the sake of being a vampire, he just likes you for you

Maka Albarn

-oh ho ho she thinks you're hot

-if you have the stereotypical "vamp goth" fashion style, she will do anything you ever ask of her

-she will be staring at you with red tinted heart glasses

-(and don't even get me started on when you bit her lip with your vamp teeth while making out)

-does find you being a vampire very interesting and will often ask you a lot of questions about what it's like

-it has crossed her mind more than once that you will outlive her by a long while but you always just kiss her until she forgets; deciding to save that issue for a later time

-she doesn't mind a lot of the you being a vampire quirks

-like you'll be climbing the wall and she'll just hand you a duster

"can you get that spot in the corner for me babe?"

-would probably be the only one on the list to let you drink her blood if you needed to

-but would also offer you other options and solutions first(let's be honest she has you on a schedule so you know when you need to feed so situations like that don't happen)

-Maka often stays up fairly late studying so she likes that you don't really sleep so you can keep her company

-overall: 11/10; Maka loves you so much and would do anythgin for you, please just cuddle this poor thing

Death the Kid

-probably the most apprehensive about you being a vampire out of the three

-once you get into a relationship he will actually learn to appreciate it

-I headcannon that as a grim reaper Kid doesn't really sleep much either, maybe a few hours but he doesn't need more than that

-so you both will be able to spend time with each other during the night when most are asleep <3

-will not under any circumstance let you drink his blood, as much as he wants to help you, there is no way to make the bite marks even on both sides of his neck or both wrists etc...

-but he will personally purchase blood from a blood bank or pay someone to regularly donate for you (rich boy privileges)

-another one to have a calendar or schedule to make sure you get the blood you need but will be less obvious about it then Maka though, would probably just make a light handed comment

"it's been a few days do you think you will need blood soon?"

-Kid will also be so happy that you're a vampire for the same reason Maka is worried, you will live a lot longer than a normal human being

-when Kid takes over as Lord death he will be semi immortal so he's so thankful that you will live just about as long as he will

-the rest of you being a vampire...not so much unfortunately

-like you will terrify him to his soul if you walk onn a wall

-and heavens forbid if your fangs aren't symmetrical

-but just love on him until he forgets about whatever he's rambling about and you're fine

-would be another to appreciate goth fashion, he would get you two matching outfits as your styles are similar <3

overall 9/10; I cannot think of a better part for Kid than an immortal being like himself, you guys will get to spend the better part of a thousand years with each other <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

that's all my loves!

hope you enjoyed anon

-Melodrangea <3

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

The infirmary door creaks slightly as Nico pushes it open, wood swollen in the summer heat. He freezes, listening for the sound of angry curfew harpies, but luckily there don’t seem to be any around (they tend to camp around the Hermes cabin, understandably).

The infirmary is much darker than it usually is, letting the three or four people in it overnight rest. Some softer lights are on at the nurse’s station, making the blonde head under them glow. Nico pads forward, steps a practiced silence on the clay tiles. He can’t see if Will has his hearing aids on under his hair; he probably does, because Nico can’t imagine him on duty without them. Either way, he makes sure to approach the medic from in front, tapping the counter when he’s close enough. Will doesn’t startle, only glances up, flashing a smile — he heard.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets.

Nico rolls his eyes, firmly holding back the smile that tries to force its way on his face. “Hey.”

“Nightmares?”

Surprisingly, no, although maybe that’s just because Nico couldn’t fall asleep at all. After the third hour of trying — which was, frankly, remarkable, he should get an award for staying in his bed the entire time like the Mature Person He Is — he gave up, figuring he might as well put all his annoyance to good use. And Will, for some reason, is endlessly amused by Nico’s complaining, so it’s his personal mission to make the stubborn boy crack. One day, gods help him, Nico will turn that usually sunny grin into a scowl, just so he can make an irritating Apollo-related comment about it.

(He’s hoping for the same eye twitch he gets when he attempts any ‘Underworld-y stuff’).

“Something like that.”

Will hums, but doesn’t press. After a minute he gestures to the spinny chair behind the nurse’s station. Nico takes the hint, ducking through the half-door and sitting on the old leather.

He likes the infirmary at night. Maybe it’s a strange place for him to find so much peace — ghosts often linger here, many of them pained, and it always smells of rubbing alcohol and eucalyptus — but he likes it anyway. It’s less visually sterile than a hospital, more akin to an apothecary, and the whole place always feels warm. Will’s off-tune humming echoes quietly as he works, mixing with the soft snores of the few patients and the repetitive grinding sound of whatever poultice he’s currently preparing. If Nico wasn’t so randomly wired, the sounds would lull him to sleep. They have before.

“Prepping for tomorrow,” Will explains when he catches Nico looking. Some of the softness on his face fades as he tightens his jaw. “I’m sure we’ll need it.”

Nico uncurls slightly from the armchair, peering curiously forward. He’s not sure what’s more intriguing — whatever healing magic Will is prepping, or the uncharacteristic bitterness in Will’s voice.

“…Need what?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, well, thank you, that clears things up nicely.”

Will snorts. His grip on the mortar loosens.

“C’mere, then, I’ll show you.”

When Nico is close enough, he sets down the pestle, revealing very fine, almost bleach-white powder.

“Shells,” he reveals, pointing to several still-whole ones. He smiles slightly. “It’s the kids’ job to gather ingredients, and this is probably their favourite. They’ll play with the naiads for hours to get enough, Gracie’s always tuckered right out after.”

Nico matches his small smile. Gracie, Will’s youngest sibling, is a cute kid, obsessed with mermaids. He imagines collecting seashells from the Greek version of mermaids is practically a dream come true.

“What’re the shells for?”

“They’re pure calcium carbonate, basically. Good for dyspepsia, which won’t help for capture the flag, but also good for caustic burns, which will.”

Nico nods. He has, for some reason, spent enough time around the apothecary to pick up more than a few medical terms – largely because Will talks like he swallowed a pre-med textbook, which isn’t that far off from reality.

“Why use shells, though?” He gestures to the powder Will is still crushing, even though Nico can’t imagine it getting any finer. “Why not just have Chiron order the stuff? It’d probably be easier.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t work as well.” Apparently finally satisfied with the crushed shells, Will tips the powder out into a much bigger bowl, then sets it aside. He carefully selects six of the whole shells and begins to crush them – Nico winces, because the first few cracks are much louder than he was expected in such a quiet room. “Whatever Chiron ordered would be crushed by machines, in a factory, probably made from chalk or limestone. It would still function as an antacid, sure, but –” Will pauses for a minute, facing Nico fully. His voice is softer, and he has to lean in to catch it. “Seashells held living beings. For years, they were homes. Maybe for an entire lifetime. And they were gifted, willingly, by spirits of the sea, and then crushed by human hands. At least three exchanges. There’s magic in that, and that makes them more powerful.”

As Will crushes the new shells, Nico steps up beside him, reaching into the larger bowl and digging into the powdered carbonate. The granules are finer than sand, fine as sugar – he buries his hands in them and concentrates, and in seconds he can feel the tiny remnants of spirits in them. Not souls – there is no human death lingering here – but thousands and thousands of fractured pieces of something that was once living. His arms tingle, goosebumps raising all over his flesh.

“Huh.”

Will grins. “Yep.”

Nico watches him out of the corner of his eye as he works. He is totally focused on his work, face slacking again as he sinks into the motions of it: twist, twist, scrape, check grain size; over and over, again and again. His arms must ache. It’s something like three in the morning, he’s been on duty since ten. Nico knows him too well to assume he’s been sitting idly for any of that time.

“Why don’t you ever play capture the flag?” he asks, surprising himself. He’s not usually one to break silences. Will tenses slightly beside him, and the rest of the words come tumbling out of his mouth, although he was unaware he’d been holding them in so tightly. “I mean, you’re always on shift. I know you’re in here a lot, but you like training, usually. Especially stuff where you get to run around. I would’ve guessed that –”

“I know that capture the flag is important,” Will interrupts. His hands have gone still. Nico snaps his mouth shut immediately. “Obviously. Everyone needs to keep their skills sharp.” His presses his lips together. A particularly loud snore from one of the patients makes them both look over, and it’s a long time before he speaks again.

“But I don’t like when we play war against each other,” he says. He turns to Nico and smiles humourlessly. “I know it’s dumb. But it just feels…I dunno. I’ve treated the injuries after the fact for years – too many of them aren’t accidents. Besides, I’m more help here, anyway. Chiron’s a field medic, anything more serious will need the infirmary.”

He abruptly turns back to crushing the shells, clearly ending the conversation. He has also begun humming again – aggressively and upbeat. The tension is gone from his shoulders, but his knuckles are white against the grip of the pestle.

He is not telling the full truth, Nico thinks. Will is a bad liar. All Apollo kids are, but Will especially – he squirms.

But Will is his friend. And Nico can take a hint – or maybe a silent begging to drop it.

“What time does your shift end?” Nico asks. “Six?”

Will slumps in relief, shooting him a genuine smile. “Yeah. Austin’s taking over for the morning while I sleep, then I’m back again at 2, just before the game starts.”

“I’ll stay up with you, then.”

“Absolutely not, doctor’s orders, Nico, you need to sleep –”

Nico places his hands over Will’s shaking ones, fleeting. His stomach erupts in a way he’s learned to ignore. The tremor in the medic’s hands finally stills, grip loosening.

“I’ll stay up with you.”

“Yeah,” Will says finally, starting the pestle up again. “I guess that’s fine.”

———

part two

#i have lore again #i love lore #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #will/nico #nico/will #solangelo #deaf will #pining nico #pre relationship #ctf au #fic #my writing #longpost

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sebsbarnes · 4 months

Note

Heyyyy I luv your works. i wanted to ask if you could do tan x reader where her tan and lemon are on a train back home from a mission and reader just falls asleep on tan and lemon is just laughing and tan doesnt relly know what to do. hope that makes sense

thank u sm it means a lot! and this is a precious idea

headrest

tangerine x reader

warnings: none just cutesy<3

word count: 700+

masterlist

the three of you were riddled with exhaustion. the mission took hours and you arrived at the train station extremely late. there were very few people wandering about, those mainly dressed like they were leaving clubs which was a stark contrast from your frizzy hair, bruised face, and tattered clothes.

the lights inside the train seemed brighter than usual which made you squint, "i cannot wait to sleep," you muttered.

lemon dropped his head back against the seat, "we got about an hour to go."

all you could do was grumble in response wishing the ride was shorter. you hugged yourself tighter as the cool air nipped at your skin before closing your eyes to shield them from the bright lights.

the three of you opted to sit in silence deciding that the mission debrief could wait till tomorrow when your eyes no longer burned and your sides ached less. tangerine was past the point of exhaustion though. his eyes were closed but his mind wouldn't shut off. his thoughts raced from the mission, to the food he wanted to eat, to the shirt had been eyeing in the store, and to the new show he wanted to watch. tangerine's train of thought was broken when he felt a weight on his left shoulder. he opened his eyes to see lemon sitting across from him holding back a laugh, his shoulders shaking harshly and a hand cupping his mouth.

tangerine looked down his nose at your head resting on his shoulder. your lips were slightly parted, your features finally relaxed, and your hair draped over your face. tangerine couldn't help but smile softly at you. he thought you looked adorable and he knew you would be mortified if you could see yourself now.

lemon was still laughing at the sight and tangerine narrowed his eyes at his brother, "shut it," he hissed. lemon waved him off and did in fact stop laughing and returned his attention back to his phone.

tangerine looked down at you again and placed his discarded jacket over your lap and gently tucked it into the space where yours and his thigh met. carefully, he hooked his finger around the hair covering your face and slid it behind your ear. you stirred slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder closer. tangerine felt his cheeks flush and his fingers twitched to place his hand on yours but he decided against it. instead, he sat there unmoving and allowed himself to be your pillow.

nearly 40 minutes later the train was finally pulling into the station where the three of you needed to disembark. you were still tucked into tangerine's side and it pained him to have to wake you from your slumber, and though he will never admit it out loud, it pained him to lose the feeling of you against him. he brought his hand to your shoulder gently shaking you awake. you took long hard blinks before coming to your senses.

"are we here?' you asked in a small voice, rubbing at your eyes.

"yeah, darling, it's our stop," tangerine whispered to you and it was then you realized you were resting against him.

you flinched away in embarrassment, "was i asleep on you the whole time?"

tangerine smiled at you and offered you a hand to help stand up. he saw the way your cheeks went red and decided to save you from any embarrassment, "oh no, no. things got a little bumpy about ten minutes ago and i didn't want you hurting your neck so i put your head on my shoulder."

your cheeks were still a slight red, now no longer embarrassed but appreciative of tangerine's actions, "oh... thank you tan."

the three of you headed off the train and into the station before you started the short walk to your shared apartment. you were walking in front trying to speed your way home to the comfort of your bed with tangerine and lemon trailing close behind. tangerine felt a tap on his shoulder and was greeted by the bright screen of lemon's phone. staring back was a picture of you and him, your head resting against his shoulder and tangerine looking down at your sleeping figure.

tangerine scowled at lemon but his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, "send that to me."

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chrissturnsgirlll222 · 3 months

Text

second, never first

part three | part one | part two | part four

chris x fem!reader

summary - you grew up hating one guy all of high school but suddenly become close friends, but as time goes one feelings develop, only its one sided.

warnings - mentions of underage drinking, swearing, use of y/n, BOYS (no smut… for now lol)

word count - 1k

the weekend went by slowly and all i could do was count down the hour, minutes and seconds it would take for me to see chris again. of course we text back and forth here and there but usually seeing eachother in person was i enjoyed the most of course.

i hadnt talked to anna in person since the party either. it was obviously expected that she would leave me to be chris and matts job to take care of so i wasnt shocked when she didnt call or text to check on me either only to ask if the guys snap she got was hot.

the following day was finally a monday. finally out of my house and finally get to see chris.

i was eager to see both him and anna but mostly just nervous to see how chris would be around me now that hes seen me naked.

“what are you starring at?” anna says

“nothing im just tired” i say.

“i cant believe you got so fucked up this weekend” anna says

i internally cringe at remembering my sloppy state, “i know i can never do that shit again i was violently hungover.”

“good thing i was there to take care of ya” chris says patting my shoulder and shaking me gently.

“you took care of her?” anna says confused.

“yeah she just stayed at my house, i obviously couldnt let her go home like that. she couldnt even drink water by herself” chris says

“thank god you did i was a mess.” i say

“what did you have to pour it down her throat” anna says laughing.

“yes and i had to get her changed and brush her hair and give her advil and carry her up the stairs an-“ i cut him off

“ok ok we get it i was a sloppy drunk mess” i say

brush my hair what the fuck is he talking about.

“where the fuck did you sleep i know his mom would not be happy if you slept on their couch.”

“we both slept him my bed” he says

i stay silent and just look at chris whos lookinf at anna.

anna didnt speak about the party once after that conversation. i kind of got the vibe that she was mad that chris took care of me, there was nothing to be upset about. he wouldnt have had to take care of me if she would have just beought me to her house.

ding

“ok we need to get to class” i say grabbing my school bags and my drink from lunch

everyone else does the same and we get iut of my car.

were all walking into school and anna walks into her english class as me and chris make our way to our history class.

the whole class was kind of awkward.

i just didnt really know how to behave around him. clearly nothing changed between us since this weekend, in his eyes.

for me i couldnt stop thinking about it all.

i totally thought he would tease me about that night about how sloppy i was for days but other than that conversation we just had with anna he didnt talk about it.

we were just listening to our history lesson and suddenly i get a notification from chris

monday 12:45

chris: im so bored and do not understand shit were learning

i look up at him from where were sitting on opposite sides of the class

me with my friends on one side and chris with his gross jocky friends on the other

y/n: same this class is always boring as hell

chris: i wish we could kill our teacher honestly like look at her

chris: she just needs to get fucked and maybe she would be less miserable

y/n: i bet you think you could change that

chris: oh im sure i could

chris: ask her for an extra help lesson and bend her over that very desk

chris: would solve our problems

i gasp and look at him to find him smiling at his phone.

y/n: chris that woman is 40 years old and probably with a husband

chris: dosent change the fact that she wants this dick

“christopher” our teacher says loudly snapping both of us out of our texting

he doesnt say anything just looks at her smiling

“how many times have i told you to get off that phone” she says sternly

“in the hallway now” she says pointing to the door

he gets up and walks towards the door and looks at me “ohh were going to be alone now” he whispers to me walking past my desk and smirking.

i giggle and watch him walk out our teacher following behind.

chris often got in trouble in school but he never did horrible with his grades. ive been helping him here and there with history as i am a pretty good student.

i just enjoy reading and writing so history and english have always been my strong suit so he often asks for my tutoring or steals my answers i guess i should say.

around 5 minutes later chris walks back into the class grinning ear to ear.

we finish up our class and chris just ignores me on his way out with his friends. this happened everything we werent alone, he always acted like i wasnt there when his other friends were around.

i didnt mind this as i did the same

he always said it had to be this way since me and anna would ‘scare away the pussy’ is what he would say.

the day finishes up and i go home after school and start working on my bio homework i have.

ding

i look at my phone to a notification from chris

monday 4:13

chris: can you come over i need help with history

thank you for reading xx

taglist: @sleepysturnss @blahbel668

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x y/n #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you

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patdkoala · 1 year

Text

Backseat Serenade

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female reader

Warnings: Pet names (baby), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, Dean Winchester being a total slut (yes that's a warning)

Sam had found a case for us all last night. Dean drove us halfway and then pulled into a skeezy motel for the rest of the night.

"Alright so, the lady messed up and gave us two beds," Dean said as he handed Sam and me both keys. "I don't see how that is a problem," I said as I took one of the keys and unlocked the door of the motel.

We stepped inside and it smelled like piss, beer, sweat, and menthol. The carpets reeked of cat piss, the curtains were stained yellow from people smoking inside, and the paint on the walls was patchy as if they'd been repainted multiple times.

And sitting on both sides of the room were two twin beds.

"But there are three of us," I said as Sam set his bags down on one of the beds. "I call dibs on the bed closest to the bathroom," He said as Dean and I glanced at each other back and forth.

"I will sleep in the car, you take the other bed," Dean said as he set my bags down on the other bed (He had carried my bags for me from the car to the motel).

"How is that fair to you? You're the one that drove for 10 hours straight. I can sleep in the car," I said as I went to pick up my bag.

"You're both ridiculous, why don't we just share a bed, Dean. Like we used to when dad would try to get the cheaper room when we were kids," Sam said as his older brother nodded and then we all got ready for bed.

The night went on per usual.

Sam fell asleep first, starfishing in his bed next to Dean, I was sitting up in bed watching a really bad romance movie on the tv, and Dean was sitting in his bed next to his little brother with his arms crossed and he sat there watching the movie with me.

"Do you seriously watch these every night?" Dean asked as I shook my head.

"No, only if the motels have cable but sometimes it cuts out and gets all staticky. Then I get a migraine so I have to turn it off," I said as the tv then turned to static and so I reached for the remote and turned it off.

"Why don't we all just try to get some sleep. We have a long car ride again tomorrow and we have to be well-rested for the hunt," Dean whispered to me as he looked at his sleeping brother.

I got under the covers but I couldn't exactly sleep because I wasn't very tired and I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Dean is sharing a bed with his little brother that is like 5 feet taller than all of us.

I started to laugh quietly in my bed.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked as I sat up and looked at him. He was laying on the very very edge of the bed and the blanket wasn't even covering 25% of his body. Sam Winchester starfishing in bed takes up 85% of the whole dang bed.

"Oh nothing," I laughed as Dean rolled his eyes, and then with one slight move he fell completely out of the bed.

"OH, SON OF A BITCH!" Dean whisper-yelled. "Dean! Shhhhhh!" I whisper-yelled back as I pointed to the sleeping Sam.

"Why don't you just sleep in my bed with me? I take up way less space than him and we both have insomnia so we can just stay up and talk anyway," I said as Dean nodded and then he got into bed with me.

The bed was still pretty small so Dean sat up a little and I rested my back against Dean's chest. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

I was pretty close to both boys so our cuddling up close was not a new thing. I'd been traveling with them both for months now.

We stayed up for a good four hours just talking to each other about the case, about Sam, about Castiel, about our past, and about how not tired we were.

"Wanna go for a drive?" I asked as Dean looked over to Sam who was still snoozing hard. "Sure," He said as he put on a hoodie and we left.

I stole one of Sam's hoodies since I didn't bring a late-night jacket.

We drove to a diner. We ordered pie.

"So, why do you and Sam do this?" "Do what?" He asked with a mouth full of pie.

"Why do you guys take these long drives? You could just as easily take a plane instead. You guys are practically loaded with all this credit card fraud," I said as he smiled and chuckled.

"Well, believe it or not, but Dean Winchester is scared of planes," He said as he spoke in the third person. "No, I believe it," I responded.

"What do you mean? I'm way too badass to be scared of anything," He said as he took another heaping bite of his apple pie.

"But, that's just it. You are way too much of a badass to be scared of anything that normal people are afraid of. Like ghosts, werewolves, witches, and demons. Because we fight things like that every day it would only make sense that our fears would be something dumb like planes, clowns, or heights," I said as he laughed at that last bit.

"So, is that what you're afraid of? Heights?" I nodded and he smiled back.

For a full hour of us sitting in that diner, it seemed almost as if Dean and I were a normal couple on a late-night date. It felt almost real.

"We should head back and see if we can get any sleep before Sam wakes up and decides it's time for his run," Dean said as I nodded.

And liked that the dream was crushed.

We drove back to the motel but we just sat in the parking lot.

"I don't want to go inside. I changed my mind," Dean said as I just sat there. "Okay? What do you want to do instead?" I asked as Dean just looked at me like I was the idiot in the car right now.

"Whatcha looking at me like that for?" I exclaimed as Dean then let out a huff.

"I just thought this whole night was you wanting to make a move on me but I guess I was wrong. I guess I've just been wrong for the past 7 months," He said as I looked at him with doe eyes.

"Oh, Dean. You are such a fool. Of course, I wanted you. I just knew that if we fucked early on in the hunting then I would be putting a target on my back and no one would take me seriously in the community. I'd just be the girl that fucked Dean Winchester and lived to tell the tale," I said as he smirked.

"Oh, don't worry. You'll still be able to tell the tale if you want," Dean said as he reached over to me and pulled me into a deep kiss.

We got out of the Impala and into the backseat. Dean took off his sweatshirt and then pulled off his t-shirt.

I removed Sam's hoodie and then my tank top. Only to reveal that I wasn't wearing a bra. "You spent the whole night with me while braless? You are a fucking minx," He said as he kissed my collarbone and then down my throat.

He held my body down as he moved his against mine with such force. I removed his belt and then slide his jeans and underwear down in one movement.

He pulled down my sweatpants and slid a finger inside of me ever so gently. I moaned out and arched my back. Then he slid in another finger.

Before I knew it, Dean Winchester had three fingers inside of me and I was moaning and falling apart underneath him.

"I know, baby. I feel you coming close." He said as he stopped and then he moved closer and pushed himself into me. I moaned at the sudden contact.

His fingers didn't even compare to the feeling of him inside of me like this.

We both moaned and he moved with such vigor. We took turns crying out each other's names.

The sun was rising behind us. He pulled out and came on the leather backseat. He used his t-shirt to clean it up.

He then fell asleep practically on top of me.

We woke up to knocking on the window. Dean used his hand to wipe the window because we had created so much steam that it fogged up the glass.

"Let me know why you guys are dressed and ready to go," Sam yelled outside the Impala. Dean got off of me and pulled his pants back on. His shirt was unuseful at the moment since it was just used as a cum rag.

I put back on Sam's hoodie and Dean put on his own. We got out of the car and went to change in the motel together.

Sam came back from his run and Dean had packed up the car so we checked out of the motel and all climbed in the Impala.

Dean and I were silent.

"So, are we going to address the elephant in the room or just ignore the fact that you two obviously slept together?" Sam asked as Dean looked in the rearview mirror and just gave me a look.

"Well, if it's so obvious then why does it need to be addressed?" I asked as Dean chuckled.

"I guess you're right then," Sam said before changing the topic and spoke about the case instead.

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester #sam and dean #dean winchester x reader #supernatural smut #please be my boyfriend dean winchester

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gallawitchxx · 16 days

Note

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

#welp - throws whatever this is at you #alskfjalkj #i realized that both of my kisses are at the very end of the ficlet & aren't actually described #lolol #maybe my next attempt should be 1K words of just describing the kiss #no actual context needed #just tongues #anyway THANKS DEANNA I LOVE YOU DEANNA #shameless #shameless fanfiction #prompt fill #ian x mickey

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kkami-writes · 9 months

Text

Devil's Advocate - Chapter Three. cw. none wc. 1.2k + 10 SS

Introductions had been brief and you tried your best to remember them, repeating the names over and over in your head, which was what you were doing now while laid in your new bed. The room was small but rather cozy, just a singular bed and desk, nothing else occupying the space and you briefly wondered who had lived in here before.

Glancing at the clock it read 4am, the last two hours since you had said goodnight had been a blur, much like time usually was for you when you had nothing to do (which was most of the time). While you didn’t need to sleep, you still loved to close your eyes and let the hours pass by - but with your thoughts bouncing around in your head you know you won’t be able to get any rest. So instead, you decide to at least spend some of your time wisely, moving out of your new room to explore the rest of their little apartment.

In order to make less noise you had taken off your heels. If you were honest, you hated them. You were clumsy enough without them, the amount of times you had almost broken an ankle is far too many to count. Walking around, you noticed that their place is rather big, enough to fit all of them comfortably with a nice kitchen area with three fridges. You briefly wonder why they would need three, but with eight boys they probably ate a lot. Still, it made you laugh at the fact they had three whole ass fridges.

The shared living space had a large black leather couch sitting in front of a TV. It wasn’t the cleanest space with scattered boxes around but it wasn’t terrible, and honestly you were surprised it was rather put together for eight boys who looked around college age.

Not feeling like confining yourself up in your new room, it was a little too depressing to be in to be honest, just the bed and desk being your only company. Instead, you decide to just chill on the couch, which was a lot more comfy than you thought. Hours were spent like this, just mindlessly scrolling through your phone and you don’t even notice when the sun slowly starts to come up.

When the first boy wakes up he’s dragging himself out of his room, yawning loudly before he makes eye contact with you. He seems shocked to see you just chilling on the couch in their living room, and perhaps you think he’s forgotten that you were here, hoping that last night had just been a nightmare.

You smile a little awkwardly at him, greeting him a good morning as you check the time. 7:30. Damn, now you feel really bad for partially being the reason they had gotten less sleep than normal. Hopefully they could get some more rest later. Your voice seems to finally stir him out of his sleepy haze as he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Chan. You’re pretty sure that’s what his name was, the redhead.

“Ah, right. Um. Good morning,”

“You’re up early. I’m surprised,”

“Yeah, we have a lot of work to do right now so unfortunately, no sleeping in for us. Sorry- I don’t really have time to talk right now, I need to get the other boys up and ready,” You simply nod your head in understanding, waving him off and telling him you were fine, to not worry about the demon in his living room. Chan laughs a little awkwardly before sliding into another room and you can hear the other person letting out an annoyed groan.

It doesn’t take long for the apartment to become a chaotic mess, boys scrambling in and out of doors, trying to complete their morning routines. They look like a bunch of ants, all scattered around and yelling at each other. It’s entertaining to say the least but you can spot several of them with dark circles, easily seeing how tired they are as they drag themselves across their dorm.

With a sigh, you move to get up, heading towards their kitchen as you search for a coffee machine. You decide to make yourself somewhat useful if they weren’t going to use you for your “intended purpose”. While tempting, you didn’t want to just sit there like an idiot, doing nothing. It was the least you could do for now.

One of them is by the door, putting on his shoes and adjusting the bag he has over his shoulder. He’s just about to leave before you call out to him and he looks up at you with a slightly confused face, even as you push the to-go cup into his hands.

“Um…Hyunjin? Right?” He nods, slightly surprised that you had even remembered his name and honestly, you are too. “It’s just uh, coffee. I just thought maybe you’d guys would like some. Um, you don’t have to take it of course if you don’t want any,” You’re rambling now so you shut yourself up. To be honest you don’t know what you’re doing, this situation is so out of your depth and it was making you act weird. You were good for one thing, and one thing only and it certainly wasn’t making coffee for 8 tired college(?) students.

Before you can take it away, he’s grabbing onto the cup and subsequently your hands.

“Ah no! It’s fine! Thank you, I’ll take it,” Hyunjin is smiling at you and for a second you can’t help but think that his smile is almost prettier than he is. His eyes dart down your figure for a moment before he’s flushing, ears turning pink as he averts his eyes. It’s then you realize that you’re still clad in your normal clothes, which is just the lingerie you had been wearing the night before. Still, you find it rather endearing that he can’t look at you now without staring at your chest, which in his defense is completely on display.

“Um! Thanks again! Ok, I gotta go, bye!” He’s quick to throw himself out the door, a small tittering laugh leaves your lips at his antics. You end up giving each boy a cup of coffee, each of them thanking you in return with little to no eye contact. You briefly wonder if you should change - or keep it on just to tease them.

Chan is the last one out of the door, thanking you for the coffee but politely refused since he didn’t prefer the drink.

“So, uh- I know things haven’t really been explained yet and hopefully we can soon but um. The gist for now is please do not leave the apartment. It would be really bad if people were to see you,” You hadn’t been expecting to be let out of the house of course, but the way he emphasizes this fact makes you curious. You let it go for now, assuming you’d get answers to everything later.

“No problem, you got it boss. Oh, here’s my number by the way. Text or call if you need anything, I can be there in a second,” You hand him a piece of paper with your number as you quickly summon your phone into existence, waving it around. Chan wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to the small magic you could do, much less come to terms with having an actual demon in the dorms.