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#i need to be better yesterday. last year. two‚ three years ago

atlabeth · 7 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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sunsetreid · 7 months

Text

birthday twin [ s. reid ]

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!reader

summary / prompt : Spencer and (Y/N) share the same birthday, but (Y/N) has never been fond of her birthday. this year might be a little different though

requested : no

genre : fluff

warnings : not canon compliant, 12 year age gap

AUTHOR’S NOTE - i wrote this in the middle of the night last night bc i wanted to do something for spencer’s birthday yesterday (october 12th). sorry for any typos :)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If (Y/N) could sleep through her birthday, she would in a heartbeat. Especially this year because she is turning 30. She’s never looked forward to her birthday.

Especially her 30th birthday.

She’s getting older and time is running out. She hasn’t started a family like she has wanted to since settling down with her boyfriend of three years.

(Y/N) gets why Spencer is so hesitant to propose and start a family. Working for the FBI isn’t exactly the safest job and he is very aware of the fact that his family could be in danger because of his job. He’s made (Y/N) aware of these risks, and she agreed that one day they’ll start a family. She’ll wait until Spencer is ready.

That conversation was nearly two years ago. Nothing has happened since.

When Spencer’s alarm wakes her up and there’s some movement beside her, she keeps her eyes closed. If she opens them then the day will be real. She isn’t sure if she’s ready.

Spencer wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her limp body against his. He begins to press soft kisses to her cheek and jaw. A smile breaks out on (Y/N)’s lips as he begins to hum “Happy Birthday” in her ear.

She can’t help but feel a little happy to be celebrating her birthday with her boyfriend, who just happens to also be her birthday twin.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Spencer mumbles against the swell of her ear. “I know that you aren’t fond of birthdays but I promise this will be the best birthday you have ever had.”

(Y/N) finally opens her eyes and rolls onto her back to look at Spencer. “You say that every year, Spence,” she points out.

“You cannot tell me that the past few birthdays you’ve had haven’t been some of the best birthdays,” he says.

They have been. There is no doubt about that. Being able to celebrate a birthday with the love of your life always makes for a good birthday. (Y/N)’s birthdays have definitely been so much better since Spencer stumbled his way into her life.

“You’re right,” she replies as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Happy birthday to you too, by the way. Sorry you have to go to work today.”

Spencer leans down and pecks her lips. “I told Hotch I needed to leave early so we can get to the restaurant on time for our reservations,” he tells her before he kisses her one more time. “He said it was no problem so I’ll be picking you up from here at six.”

(Y/N) smiles and pushes Spencer’s hair out of his face. “Remind me to thank him for letting you go early,” she teases. “At least I get to have dinner with my boyfriend on our birthday this year.”

Last year, Spencer was in Colorado for a case and it was a week later when he finally got back and they got to have their birthday dinner.

“Hotch said that if we get called out for a case that he would be okay if I left tomorrow to meet them,” he tells her. “I wanted to be here for our birthday. I wanted to be here for you.”

An involuntary smile forms on her lips. “You’d really stay here until tomorrow if your team got called away for a case?” she questions like she doesn’t believe him.

He nods and presses a longer kiss to her lips. “Hotch’s exact words to me were ‘I was young and in love once’ so I guess he understands,” Spencer replies. “What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles?” Her ears practically perk up at the mention of waffles. “Waffles it is then. Go take a shower and breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

After one more kiss, Spencer rolls out of bed. (Y/N) sits up and watches his cute butt gets dressed after their night together. She can’t help but gnaw on her bottom lip as she watches him get dressed into his outfit for the day.

It’s days like these where she thinks Spencer is glad he wears suits to work. He doesn’t need to come back and change after work, depending on what he does at work.

Spencer turns and catches (Y/N) watching him. “You just watched me get dressed, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Guilty,” she laughs. (Y/N) grabs Spencer’s Caltech shirt from the floor and pulls it over her head before she gets up. “You have a very cute butt and I couldn’t resist.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Spencer replies after (Y/N) presses a chaste kiss to her lips. “Go shower. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

She nods and walks toward the bathroom that is connected to their shared bedroom. She pulls off the t-shirt before she turns on the shower and gets the water to a lukewarm temperature.

Her body is still sore from last night’s activities. The warm water helps her muscles relax. She lets out a soft sigh when the water touches her tense muscles.

She lets the water run over her body before she begins her routine.

The shower goes by quicker than she would like, but she does a full shower. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, shave, and exfoliation. Not in that order but she makes it a point to shave and exfoliate her skin.

She wants to look and feel good when she goes out tonight.

After her shower, she dries her body and towel dries her hair since she’ll mess with it later when she gets ready for dinner. In the bedroom, she pulls on one of Spencer’s button-up’s that have grown too small on him and a pair of boxers he’s given her before she peddles her way to the kitchen.

The sound of beeping greets her when she walks into the kitchen. Spencer is pulling a freshly cooked waffle out of the iron. It smells so sweet in the room.

(Y/N) comes up behind Spencer and wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s waist. “Good shower?” he asks as he pours another round of batter into the iron.

“Would’ve been better if you were in there with me,” she admits. “You know how much I like it when you wash my hair. Feels so good.”

Spencer laughs as he prepares (Y/N)’s plate. He pours syrup over the waffles before he sprays some whipped cream on the top waffle. He turns around and offers her the plate. “I just have one more waffle to finish up then I’ll join you at the table,” he tells her.

She nods and accepts the plate. After thanking him, she makes her way out to the dining room table. She gets settled in her normal seat.

A beep goes off and not two minutes later, Spencer is sitting across the table from her. They both begin to eat breakfast.

The waffles are light and fluffy. The syrup adds to the sweetness already in the waffles and the whipped cream adds a creamy texture to them. (Y/N) can’t help the groan that passes her lips as she chews the first bite.

“If your career at the FBI doesn’t work out, you should become a chef, Spence,” she compliments. “These are amazing.”

A smiling Spencer says, “I just know how you like your waffles. That’s it.”

She returns the smile as she takes another bite.

This morning has been amazing. Waking up to kisses and Spencer humming in her ear. A nice shower and delicious pancakes.

But something has been lurking in the back of her mind. Something she’s been wanting to know for over a year.

“Um, Spencer?” she asks to get his attention. “I’ve been thinking about something recently and I wanted to know if your feelings have changed on it.”

He raises his eyebrows and looks at her. “What have you been thinking about?”

“A family,” she hesitantly tells him. “With you. I know you said you weren’t ready to start one almost two years ago and I wanted to see where you stood on this since it’s been a while she’s either of us has brought it up.”

Spencer finishes chewing before he replies. “My job hasn’t changed, (Y/N),” he tells her. “It’s still incredibly dangerous and I don’t want to put you or any kids we have at risk.”

Her heart sinks at Spencer’s words.

“I turned 30 today,” she tells him after his words have sunk in. “I don’t have a lot of time left to have a baby.”

Spencer takes another bite of his waffles while (Y/N)’s sit forgotten. “Women can have babies well into their forties and even fifties,” he comments. “You have time to have a baby.”

“I don’t want to be 40 when I have my first baby!” she blurts out. “I know your job is dangerous but I want a family, Spencer. I don’t want to be in my sixties when our child graduates high school and college. I want to be alive to see my grandchildren. You’re twelve years older than me so you’d be in your seventies when our children graduate if I wait until I turn 40 to start a family. Do you really want that?”

At that moment, Spencer’s phone begins to ring. It’s buzzing cuts through the tense silence that has formed between them. She stares at Spencer as he answers the call. “Yeah, I’ll be in soon,” is all he says before he hangs up the phone. “Um, Hotch wants me in early. There’s a case but it’s local so I’ll be able to pick you up at six, okay?”

Tears form in her eyes as Spencer gets up and runs away from the conversation. He kisses her forehead before he mumbles an “I love you” and walks out the door.

(Y/N) watches as Spencer leaves their apartment.

That’s not the answer she hoped he would have. She was hoping that he’d say that he’d love to start their family. She was hoping that he’d say that he’s ready.

Clearly he’s not, and she has some things to think through.

So much for this birthday being the best birthday she has ever had.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Despite being upset, (Y/N) does begin to get ready at five for Spencer to pick her up for dinner. She has been answering calls and texts all day, including some from Spencer’s team. Penelope actually called her while she was waiting on something to come in about the case to wish her a happy birthday.

She wasn’t feeling very happy when she answered the phone.

The restaurant they’re going to is fancy so (Y/N) grabs a short, slim fitting red dress. The collar is drapped and the sleeves are really chains that crisscross on her exposed back. She pairs the dress with a matching pair of heels. She curls her hair and lets it fall down her back. She does a red and black smokey eye look with dark red lipstick.

Well, at least she looks good. She doesn’t feel good at the moment.

She doesn’t even want to go to dinner at this point. She’d rather stay home and read a book with a glass of wine in her hand than possibly have a second tense conversation like the one she and Spencer had this morning.

At six on the dot, (Y/N) grabs her clutch, keys, and phone before going downstairs to meet Spencer so they can get to the restaurant for their 6:30 reservation.

Five minutes later, Spencer is pulling up in his car. “Hi, beautiful,” he says as he gets out of the car. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.”

With a quiet shrug, (Y/N) gets into the passenger seat of the car with her boyfriend’s help. She looks out the window at the setting sun while Spencer gets in and begins to head toward their destination for the night.

“JJ and Emily pitched in and got me a small cake,” he tells a silent (Y/N). “Derek badly sang ‘Happy Birthday’ while I blew out the candle. Rossi took some pictures so you’ll have to ask him for those. Then Hotch told us about the case. I’ll spare you those details because it’s really gruesome and not what you want to hear at the moment.”

Spencer seems really happy with how his day has gone while (Y/N) cried as soon as he walked out the door this morning.

She truly understands why Spencer isn’t ready to have kids and start a family. He told her all about what happened to Hotch’s ex-wife and son. He told her all about the threats that his mother has gotten over the years and the threats his team’s families have gotten.

It’s a terrifying thought to bring a child into danger, but they aren’t in danger. In the three years they have been together, (Y/N) hasn’t been harmed or had her life threatened. That should be some reassurance to Spencer, right?

Right?

“Have you really not changed your feelings on having kids with me?” she asks all of a sudden when Spencer comes to a stop at a red light. “You don’t have a biological clock when it comes to having kids. You can get someone pregnant when you’re 80 if you wanted to. I can’t. That’s why I’m bringing this up again. I have a good 10 or 15 years left in me, but I don’t want to wait that long.”

Spencer looks over at her. “I understand, (Y/N),” he says. “I see it from your perspective. See it from mine.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I have!” she exclaims. “I saw it when you explained to me a few years ago why you weren’t ready. You’re 42 now, Spencer. I’m 30. We’re not getting any younger. I understand you have a risky job, but that shouldn’t hold you back from starting a family. If it’s me, then just tell me.”

He pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant and parks the car. He turns to (Y/N) and says, “It’s not you, baby. I promise it’s not you. I’m just scared to bring kids into my life with a risk of losing them, or them losing their mother because of my job. It’s not you. It’s literally me as much as I hate to say that because it’s so cliché. We will start a family one day. I’ve promised you that. You will have kids by the time you’re 40.”

(Y/N) nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tells her. “I understand your frustration. I hear you. Don’t worry. We will have a family one day.”

She nods again in reply before they get out and walk into the restaurant. Spencer laces their fingers together as they walk through the door. She smiles to herself and looks down at her feet as she walks.

“Hi, reservation for two under the name Reid,” Spencer says when they walk up to the hostess stand.

She nods and grabs two menus for them. “Come with me, Mr. Reid,” she replies. When she walks into the dining room, Spencer and (Y/N) follow her. She sits them down at a table for two. “Your server will be right with you.”

They both thank her and begin to look over the menus in front of them.

The pasta dishes sound the most appetizing to her at the moment. She might get some kind of pasta dish. Maybe pair it with a glass a wine if she decides to get a drink with her dinner.

Their waitress comes and gets their drink and meal orders. Spencer gets a steak dish while (Y/N) ends up getting the pasta dish she wanted. Neither of them get alcohol to drink.

She plays with her thumbs and Spencer asks, “What did you do today? Did your parents call you?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I wasn’t really in the best mood to talk to them though since you decided to leave and not talk to me.”

Spencer frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I didn’t leave you with much of an answer because I had to go to work.” He reaches across the table and rests his hands on hers. “I promise tonight will be better. Okay?”

“You also promised that today would be a good day,” she replies. “It hasn’t, Spencer.”

Their drinks come and (Y/N) pulls her hands apart.

Silence fills the air between them. The soft chatter of people around them keeps it from being dead quiet between them.

(Y/N) goes back to playing with her thumbs and sips her glass of water.

“I was going to wait to do this until we left and I brought you to the spot we met but I can’t keep telling you that I don’t want something when I do,” Spencer suddenly says. She raises her eyebrows. “I do want to start a family with you, (Y/N) baby. I love you and I’d do anything to start a family with you because you’d be such an amazing mother. I want you in my life for the rest of it. I want to navigate the risks and dangers with you. With this, I promise to take care of you and keep you safe. I promise to make every birthday the best one because I know how much you hate today.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widen when Spencer slides out of his chair and down to one knee beside her. He pulls a box out of the pocket of his suit. “Spencer,” she gasps. “I-”

The box is pulled open and inside is a diamond ring. The tears that form in her eyes make the sparkling ring a little blurry. “(Y/N) (L/N), my love,” Spencer finishes. “Will you marry me and start a family with me?”

She doesn’t know what to say. She’s still so upset, but now she knows why he kept telling her today that he wasn’t ready.

He was going to surprise her with a proposal.

“You’re not just asking me because I’m upset about our conversations, are you?” she asks. “Because I am going to actually kill you if you are.”

Spencer laughs and shakes his head. “This was the plan all along,” he tells her. “I’m asking you because I love you and want to marry you.”

The smile that she was trying to suppress finally breaks out on her lips before she nods. “Then yes,” she says. “I will marry you, Spencer Reid.”

Everyone around them begins to cheer as Spencer pulls the ring out of the box and slides it onto her left ring finger. She pulls him into a soft kiss while he’s still down on his knees next to her.

Their dinner comes and a free dessert right after. (Y/N)’s mood is completely different when they walk out of the restaurant to go back to their apartment.

She’s engaged now. The family she has always wanted is finally coming together.

Maybe birthdays aren't the worst thing in the world anymore.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #fluff fic #angst fic #smut fic #fluff #angst #smut #birthday fic

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 month

Text

"so you're telling me that you helped them find all the eggs on the bus?" steve asked, arms folded across his chest.

"yes! they couldn't even reach a few of them. you hid them too high," eddie unwrapped another chocolate egg and shoved it in his mouth.

"yeah, the goal was to keep some hidden so we wouldn't have them bouncing off the walls while we're stuck on here for another six hours."

eddie stopped chewing his candy, looking over at their two daughters who were currently arguing over who got to keep the $1 bill and who got to keep the four quarters from one of the eggs.

"i thought the goal was to find them all?"

"yeah, eventually. all the obvious ones were for today and then tomorrow one of us would 'find' the last handful of them and give out the candy over the course of the day." steve snapped his fingers at the girls and gave them his 'you better chill out' look. "now they're all in a mood and probably want to run around, but can't."

"oh."

"yeah, oh." steve sighed. he gestured to their son, who was too young to care about money, but definitely not too young to care about candy, shoving a handful of jelly beans in his mouth. "how do you plan on entertaining him?"

"he can play my guitar or something."

"and what do you suggest we do with the girls?"

"pawn them off on jeff and his wife on the next stop? they need practice anyways."

steve snorted. it wasn't a bad idea necessarily. but there was no way they'd be on their best behavior and steve wouldn't put anyone else through that.

"how about we stop for some food to help soak up some of that sugar?" steve suggested, knowing they still had about two hours before they were scheduled for a stop. bribing the driver would be pretty easy, especially if they let him pick where they went. "one of us can hide the rest of the candy while they're off the bus."

"fine, but they'll be mad when they get back."

"and they can stay mad," steve laughed. "but they can stay mad at you for it. i was the bad guy yesterday when i said no to ice cream. it's your turn."

eddie's jaw dropped. "but i'm never the bad guy!"

"yes, my point exactly." steve turned to grab bottles of water for the kids. maybe flushing it all out of their system would help. "i'm taking the title of cool dad for the day."

"robin would be so disappointed in you," eddie grumbled.

"robin's been trying to get me to loosen up for years. she'll be proud of me."

eddie wrapped his arms around steve, ignoring the sudden screech from their oldest daughter for another moment.

"i'm proud of you too. i can be the bad guy more often if you want."

"nah. i kinda like what we have." steve leaned in to kiss him quickly. "but i'm gonna soak it in today. might get a little worked up seeing you be the guy doling out discipline today, though."

"you're ridiculous. i discipline you plenty."

"dad! she took both of the dollars!"

"i found both of them!"

"actually, i found both of them," eddie said as he turned to the girls. "and if there's arguing, i get to keep them both."

the girls looked back at him with wide eyes, chocolate around their mouths, and sticky fingers from whatever taffy they'd gotten into first.

"but you already have all the money! you're an adult!"

steve covered his mouth to hide his laughter, turning to their son, who was a little too quiet for the amount of peeps he'd eaten an hour ago.

he wasn't at the table anymore.

"alright, maybe we'll both have to be the bad guys today," steve sighed. "luke! where'd you go?"

"how does he disappear on a moving bus?" eddie asked as he made his way to the couch to figure out the money situation with the girls.

it was their first, and probably last, easter on the tour bus. they normally spent all holidays at home.

but as steve tugged luke's legs from under steve and eddie's bed, giggling along with his three year old son, he couldn't help smiling at the chaos.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #headcanon #happy easter #we're just in it for the chocolate in this house #and so are the munsons #quite literally wrote this between class assignments so #no i didn't bother with proper grammar and punctuation

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m0nsterqzzz · 3 months

Text

Pretty and Smart

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x gn!reader

summary: Wanda has a fear of the dentist, but what about when she wants to start dating one?

warnings: mentions of drugs (anesthesia), swearing, injurys (tooth injurys), such a shitty ending cuz i'm terrible at writing endings, needles

a/n: completely inspired by the fact that i got three teeth removed yesterday and flirted with my 20 year older nurse lol. literally everything that Wanda says while waking up is from videos my sister took of me.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Wanda's eyes almost start glowing red as Natasha forces her through the medical room door. This part of the medical wing is filled with all types of necessities for a dentist to perform regular check ups, surjurys, or any other type of appointment that an Avenger would need.

Tony hired the best dentist he could find and that worries Wanda a bit as usually that means they’re pretty with no brain. That’s not the only thing that worries her though. Her long lasting fear of being put under anesthesia is coming out quite quickly as the time for her appointment to get two teeth pulled from inside her gums approaches. She locked herself in her room a bit ago, but she should have remembered that her best friend is a retired spy.

“Please just help me out here Wanda! I don’t want to be late to my date with Maria!” Natasha complains, practically shoving her friend through the door. “I thought it was bros before hoes Nat?! What happened to that?!” “We graduated from middle school Wanda! That's what happened!”

You’re filling out some paperwork when Natasha finally gets Wanda into the room, and the way you smile at her doesn’t help with the butterflies in her stomach. “This is my friend Wanda. She’s here for her appointment. Bye.” Natasha says before leaving, and Wanda is about to send a ball of red energy her way before the door closes.

Your eyes widen at her magic and she smiles nervously as it fades. “Sorry.” You chuckle, standing up from the desk and holding a hand out for her to shake. “You’re fine. What’s your name sweetie?” You ask, subtly leading her to sit on the chair. “I’m Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. And your…..you're the dentist Tony hired?” “Well yes. I work at a dentist office in the city and Mr. Stark came in looking for someone. I need the extra work. Sorry….I’m rambling.”

She shakes her head, sitting down in the chair as she smiles at you. “Don’t be sorry. It’s making me feel better.” Her nerves are slowly fading the more you flash your bright smile at her, but their right back when you pick up something from the side tray.

Your smile slightly falters when her fingertips start glowing red, but it stays in order to help comfort her. “You’re alright dear. It's just a pulse oximeter. I’m going to put it on your pointer finger in order to help me keep track of the absorbed oxygen into your red blood cells.” She doesn’t understand what that means, but she begins to slowly relax as you explain every machine you're connecting to her body. A blood pressure cuff, an ankle monitor to track her heart rate, a wrist monitor to do the same, and then you wheel over the IV rod with a type of liquid anesthesia that will go from the rod, through a plastic tube, and into her bloodstream in order to sedate her while you work on her teeth. The moment she sees the needle, her eyes flash red.

You scoot your chair back a little, a nervous smile overtaking you as you remove the needle from her eyesight. “Okay honey, calm down. It’s just a needle. It’s gonna be a gentle little poke and then a very tiny plastic tube is going to go in your arm which will let the liquid anesthesia flow to your blood and sedate you. That way, it only feels like you're asleep for one second and you won’t feel the pain.” She shakes her head, beginning to sit up until you place a gentle hand on her arm. “Miss Maximoff, would you like me to get one of your friends?” She takes a deep breath, forcing the red to fade from her eyes as she lays back down. “I’m a grown woman. I can handle this.”

You sigh, placing the needle down on the tray as you look at her. “It’s okay to be scared Wanda. In fact, I have many patients that come in here and get scared. It’s natural and you’re allowed to feel scared. Even superheroes don't have to be strong all the time.” This brings a small smile to her face, and she nods.

“Hold my hand? I’m kind of nervous.” You ask and she holds your hand that won’t be holding the needle. She knows you're nowhere near scared of piercing her with a needle, but she’s glad you didn’t exactly call her out. You call in a nurse that was around in case you couldn't perform one of your duties to put in the IV so that you can continue to hold her hand as the nurse does so.

Before you instruct the nurse to pick up the needle, you grab a mask that connects to some sort of machine and hold it in front of her face. “This is laughing gas. I’m sorry I forgot about it. It’ll make you less nervous.” This seems to completely relax her, and you place the mask over her nose. She can still talk through her mouth, but you instruct her to close it and take deep breaths through her nose. “It smells like syrup. Maple syrup.” She notes, and you can tell that’s not a bad thing by the way she grins at you. While you wait a few minutes for that to take effect, you talk to her about anything and everything. What you had for breakfast that morning, the weather outside, the way your car broke down on the side of the road on your way here, a book you’ve been reading the past few days, or how cocky Tony is.

“Wow. Pretty and smart.” She mumbles, and you look at her with a confused smile. “Pardon?” “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

Eventually, she looks at the needle and nods. “I’m ready.” You smile, nodding for the nurse to put in the IV as you continue to stroke the back of her hand with your thumb.

A few minutes later, you have the IV in her arm with a very minimal amount of tears. “Very good job sweetie. You did great.” You could have swore a blush coats her face, but that must just be the laughing gas.

It's only a few minutes later that her eyes close and her breathing evens out, and you take a moment to admire her before grabbing the first tool from the tray. When you go to tell the nurse she can leave, she's smirking at you. “What? What's wrong?”

“You think your patient’s cute.” She laughs, and you shake your head quickly. “No. That's unprofessional.” “Okay “sweetie"” She mocks the nickname you just used on the Avenger. “The last time a patient asked to hold your hand, you panicked and forced me to do it.” You glare at her, pointing one hand to the door as you start working on extracting the teeth. “Out Vanessa. I'll call you when I need you.” “Alright Dr. Love.” “That is the stupidest nickname you've ever had for me V. Get out.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

About an hour later, you've finished extracting the teeth and sewed her gums back together. They were all on the left side of her mouth, so she'll be able to eat a lot easier if she just uses the other side.

You clean up as you wait for her to wake up, and you sit back down next to her when she begins stirring. The first thing she does is send you a dopey smile and then hang her head to the side so it's falling off the headrest. “No. Don’t do that sweetie. Don’t wanna hurt your neck.” You reposition her head to gently lay it back down, but she just lets it fall again making you chuckle. “Fine. I’ll be right back.” You leave for a few seconds, coming back with a wheelchair and kneeling at her side. “Okay Wanda. I’m gonna help get you in this wheelchair so when your friend comes she can easily get you back to your room okay?” She nods, but makes no attempt to move as she asks, “Do you have balloons?” You giggle, looking around the room before giving her a sympathetic smile. “No. I’m sorry but we do not have any balloons.” The frown on her face is a little sad and the tears that form make you want to go buy her a balloon from the store.

“How about this….” You grab a glove from the counter, then hold it up to your mouth as you blow as hard as you can into it. It’s not easy and it doesn’t get very big, but the smile on her face is worth it as you tie it up and hand it to her.

While you're grabbing something from the desk, she drops it on the side of her bed, and tears fill her eyes again as she tries to get up- which is more like her flopping her body to the side. You look at her, rushing to her side and gently pushing her to lay back down with a chuckle. “And where do you think you’re going missy?” She groans, pointing to the floor. A tear falls down her face, but they stop the moment you pick it up and hand it back to her.

“Alright honey, let's get you into the wheelchair.” You begin helping her sit up and then stand up fully, but she shoves your arms off and gives you a lazy scoff as she mumbles, “I’m a big girl. I can do it myself.” You giggle, watching for a second as she wobbles and then looks back to you. “Why aren’t you helping me?” “You told me not to!” “You’re a mean doctor!” You laugh even harder, placing one of her arms over your shoulders as you help her sit in the chair.

When you go to put her feet in the stirrups, she mumbles something incoherent before tapping your shoulder. “Why are you taking my legs doctor lady?” You snigger. “I’m not stealing them, I'm putting them in the stirrups so they don’t drag on the floor and hurt you honey.” She doesn’t seem to understand you as she groans once again and taps your shoulder again. “I need those! I’m a superhero! I need those to save the world!” You finish putting her feet up correctly and then nod. “You’re right. My bad sweetie.” She huffs and nods like you finally said something correct and then grins at you. “What are you grinning at?” “You’re pretty. Are you single doctor lady?”

Her words take you by surprise, and you look to the window to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Yes. I am single. Why do you ask honey?” “Because I wanna take you out to dinner obviously!” “Obviously.”

You're cleaning some of the tools when she suddenly says, "I like woman and men. Women are pretty don't you think?" You chuckle. "Yes I think women are pretty."

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, and you're sure it's because she’s fallen back asleep until she speaks with a giggle, “Look!”

You look away from the file you were reading to look at her, and you watch with wide eyes as she sends a ball of red magic crashing through the window. “Wanda!” Her eyes also widen, and tears fill her eyes as she pouts. “I…..I’m sorry sweetie. I didn’t mean to yell okay? But that’s dangerous. Don’t do it again.” The smile is immediately back and she forms another red blast which you quickly place your hands over to stop. “No.” She nods. “No.” She repeats which makes you instantly melt.

A few minutes later, her friend reappears and asks Wanda, “So did you ask?” The younger girl frowns in confusion as do you, and the redhead woman smirks at you. “She told me with her mind while I was on a date that she wanted to ask you out. Did she do it?” You feel a warm blush coating your cheeks as you shake your head. “Kind of. She’s very high. I didn’t think she meant it. And besides, I don’t date patients.”

She nods, taking the handles of the wheelchair and beginning to wheel the young girl out of the office. Before they reach the door, Wanda calls out quite loudly, “Send me your maple syrup recipe, pretty doctor lady!”

They continue walking out of the medical wing, and you're left with a permanent blush on your face as you think about Wanda Maximoff.

That night, you’re laying in bed when you get a text from an unknown number. It’s three videos of Wanda, two of them her rambling about how pretty you are, and one crying because her friend refused to stop at the Mexican restaurant and get her a taco to blend into a shake. You laugh, looking at the last text that reads, “She literally cried in the gas station because she couldn’t find the toilet and didn’t want my help. Next time I’ll leave her with you until the anesthesia wears off - Natasha”

You chuckle, sending back a quick laughing emoji and asking how the young girl is doing. “She’s okay. She refuses to get rid of the balloon you gave her and will not stfu about you.” This brings a smile to your face and you text back and forth with the Avenger for a while before falling asleep with your phone in hand.

A week passes, and you text back and forth with Natasha at least once a day to check on Wanda. You have to admit that you miss the funny girl, but you're standing by the rule you made that you cannot date patients.

You’re leading a ten year old patient to his mothers car after his oral surgery when you see something that makes you smile in confusion. Wanda is standing up against a in the parking lot, seemingly aggressively texting someone. You help the boy into the car and watch the car leave the parking lot before going back inside. If Wanda needs something, she’ll come in and ask for it.

It’s only about three minutes before she does, and the cold air of winter enters the building as she walks through the main door. You’re standing at the front desk looking through a file with one of the nurses when she walks up to the desk with hesitant steps. “Wanda. How are you, dear?” She nods, babbling on for a second before she clears her throat and mutters, “I’m alright.”

You don’t have any more patients for a few minutes, so you walk around the desk so you're standing in front of her. “That’s good. So…..I’m not saying it’s not nice to see you but why are you here? Did something happen with your stitches?” She shakes her head, gently lifting up her lip to show you the still intact stitches that are allowing her gums to heal back together. “I’m here because well…..I chipped my tooth.” She holds a hand behind her back as she opens her mouth to show you that on the other side of her mouth is in fact a chipped tooth. You sigh, thinking over your schedule before you tell her. “Maybe I can give you a filling this afternoon. Come back at 1pm Miss. Maximoff.” She smiles brightly at you and nods, waving you off as she leaves the office. For someone who's afraid of anything to do with the dentist, she seems quite excited to have another procedure.

Wanda goes back to the compound to wait the next few hours, and when her best friend comes in to ask why she went to the doctors she casually states, “Because I chipped my tooth.” “What? No you didn’t. You would have told me and then I would have had to force you to go to the dentist.” Natasha laughs as she eats from her bowl of ice cream. When Wanda doesn’t respond, she laughs even harder and questions, “Wanda Maximoff, tell me you did not purposely chip your tooth so you can have more time with that doctor.” The witch groans, turning around to face her friend. “I used magic to do it so i didn’t really hurt!” She says it as if that's any better. “Wanda! You used your magic to give that poor doctor even more work to do?! Why can’t you just grow some balls and ask them out?” “Okay first of all, “grow some balls”? What are we, in middle school? And second of all, I will. Once I get my chipped tooth fixed.” “The one you chipped on purpose!”

Later that day, you finish filling Wanda's chipped tooth and then tell her, “The numbing gel will take a bit to wear off and then you may feel a bit of pain but not as much as you feel on your stitches okay?” She nods, sitting up in the chair and sending you an awkward smile. You lead her to the front desk, and leave for a few moments before coming back with a blown up glove. The child-like grin that shows up on her face is priceless. “Thank you!” “Anytime Miss Maximoff. Now, I hope you have a great day and watch that tooth!”

Now, when you said “anytime”, you didn’t mean anytime. Apparently, Wanda didn’t get this memo as she was back three weeks later. “Wanda! What a surprise! What brings you to my office today?” She smiles nervously, opening her mouth to show you the chipped tooth on the top row of her teeth this time. You sigh, already looking in the computer to schedule her an appointment for the next day. “That's two chipped teeth in one month. What happened honey?” She shrugs, thinking for a few seconds before she tells you, “I was eating a bagel this morning and it just suddenly broke!” “Right. Well, you can come back at 11am tomorrow and I’ll fill it. But you have to be more careful alright sweetie?” She nods, smiling at you before practically running out the door.

Over the next few months, you had Wanda Maximoff in your office a total of 13 times. You literally started keeping track. Whether it was toothaches, her habit of grinding her teeth, a chipped tooth, or to bring you lunch at one point, you talked to the Avenger at least every two weeks.

Today, it’s been about a week since you saw Wanda when she came in complaining about a pain in her jaw. You begin to wonder how she pays for this many dentist appointments, but that thought is quickly resolved when she wrote you a check with a whole lot of 0’s without hesitation a few months ago.

Today, you’re eating lunch in the break room after giving a screaming 12 year old oral surgery and Vanessa comes in with a smirk. “Your girlfriends here.” “My girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend V.” She shrugs, pointing to the hallway which leads to the front as she teases, “The woman that comes in with a different tooth problem every few weeks- which is much more than anyone should have to go to the dentist by the way- isn’t your girlfriend?” You roll your eyes and stand up, but you can’t help the blush that grows on your face as you think about the Maximoff girl. “Shut up V.”

You walk to the front of the office building with your salad in hand, smiling brightly as the back of the redhead who's sitting in a chair reading a magazine. “Hey witchy. What brings you here today?” She stumbles off the chair and grins at you. “Hi! I’m here because……because…..because my friend chipped a tooth!” A man with blond hair and big strong arms looks up from his book and gives the girl a confused look. “No I didn’t-” He cuts himself off with a loud groan and brings a hand up to hold his cheek. “What the hell Wanda?” You stare at the pair for a few seconds before he suddenly narrows his eyes as Wanda and states. “No way. I’m not letting you do this anymore.”

Her eyes widen, but it’s too late to do anything as he tells you, quite loudly might I add, “Wanda has a crush on you but has been too baby to say anything so she's been using her magic to fake tooth injuries!” You're silent for a few minutes, and Wanda seems to be getting more nervous by the seconds as she won't make eye contact with you.

Suddenly, you begin to giggle, which turns into a chuckle which turns into a full on laugh. There's only one patient other than them here and he looks up at you weirdly as you practically stop breathing with laughter. Wanda begins to nervously chuckle, still not making eye contact with you as she asks, “Wha- um…what's funny?”

You stop laughing, taking a bite of your salad as you tell her, “Well Wanda Maximoff, I’ve been flirted with a lot of times by patients, but never once has a patient faked an injury and actually gotten away with it. Props to you honey.” You hold your hand up for a high five, and she awkwardly high fives you. “Along with that, never once has it worked. Their flirting I mean.” “And mine didn’t either?” You sigh, looking to the front desk where all the nurses and doctors are watching you. “Go back to work!” you mouth (not that any of them listen though). “Wanda….sweetie…..I don’t date patients.” She sighs, nodding her head as her friend rubs her back reassuringly. A pen is thrown at your head from one of the other doctors making you silently groan and rub your head. “But….”

Her head snaps up and a hopeful grin takes over her face. “But?” “But if you wait 6 months for our doctor patient relationship to be terminated, I’ll let you take me out on a date.” If possible, her smile gets bigger and she nods, sticking out her hand for you to shake. “Deal?” “Deal.” You shake her hand, but you're quickly pulled into a bone crushing hug.

Wanda Maximoff is an interesting girl. You knew that when she came in for her first appointment a blew a hole through the office window, or when she kept breaking tooth after tooth. There's nothing wrong with being interesting though, as it just gives you a million other things to learn about the girl. Which you did over time when her patient doctor relationship with you finally terminated and she took you on a total of six dates in one month. You learned she's a romance girl, which only continued the longer you guys dated. You learned she cries over dog movies even if they have a happy ending, you learned about her brother Pietro and that every year on the night before their birthday, she sits outside with two plates of cake- one for her, and one for him- as the clock strikes twelve. You learned she loves cooking and baking, and that she can’t paint to save her life. She has flaws, and she's not afraid to admit them as long as you're not afraid to admit yours. And that's only a few reasons why you love her.

#marvel x reader #marvel x you #fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #the scarlet witch #the scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff oneshot #wanda maximoff x you

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nr1chaedickrider · 3 months

Text

Love's gonna get you killed - we could've had it all.

Grief is the response to the loss of something deemed important, particularly to the loss of someone that has died, to which a bond or affection was formed. Although conventionally focused on the emotional response to loss, grief also has physical, cognitive, behavioral and social dimensions.

The sun shines through the large window in your room, and you rub your eyes with your hands as you slowly wake up and stretch. After getting dressed, you make your way to the dining hall where Dahyun and Tzuyu are having breakfast together.

"Good morning," Tzuyu says as you sit down next to her, leaning your walking stick against the table as a cook brings you food and you mumble a "thank you".

"How's your leg?" asks Tzuyu.

Her question gives you a twinge in your head, an uncomfortable feeling, and it's as if the event that actually happened months ago is happening right now.

You clench your teeth as Momo kisses your cheek and pulls the sword out of your thigh as you fall to the ground.

All you see is her looking down at you, tears in her eyes, and whispering an "I'm sorry", her only reply, an apology, a goodbye.

She disappears between the bushes, the last time you saw her.

"Y/n?" Tzuyu asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My leg... it's better now, but it still hurts sometimes, but I'll start training again soon," you answer, a small smile on your lips.

"By the way, you two were a bit loud yesterday..." you add and hear Dahyun almost choke on her food, Tzuyu laughs a little.

"Sorry," she replies.

It is quiet while the three of you eat, Tzuyu interrupts the silence,

"Various people are coming to visit us tonight, we wanted to have a big party, are you coming too?" she asks, you look at her and think about it.

But just like before, you lose yourself in your thoughts and Momo is standing right in front of you.

"Come on," she says as she stands in the water, you get in, your suit wet and you can feel the goose bumps on your body from the cold.

You both look at each other, the only sound in the background is the water.

"Y/n?" says Tzuyu, "What's wrong? Are you okay?" she asks, pulling you out of your thoughts again.

"What, ah, yes. I'm coming..." you stand up, "I think Im gonna visit Jihyo..." you say, she nods and lets you go.

"How are you?" asks Jihyo as you sit down next to her.

"Normal, I guess," you answer and she looks at you thoughtfully.

"Jeongyeon can officially start training again, she's doing much better," Jihyo says, breaking the silence.

Jeongyeon...

Momo, who attacked Jeongyeon to get your attention.

"Good" you just say, but Jihyo knows exactly how you feel for a reason.

"You don't care about Jeongyeon as much as you do for Momo, do you?"

You look at her, somehow trying to find an explanation that makes sense, an explanation that shows that you're not thinking about Momo, that she's not that important.

"Sana is back in the kingdom," she says to change the subject, and you suddenly feel uncomfortable.

Memories of the past come flooding back, things that happened years ago.

It's like the first time you saw her, her smile that made your cheeks glow. Her hands that touched you in such a way that you completly melted in her arms, her lips that were so soft that you felt like you were kissing the softest pillow in the world.

Her way of talking that made you cry when she left.

"Why?" you ask Jihyo and she can tell immediately that you're lost in your thoughts.

"Because of Tzuyu's party, she came all the way from Japan, as queen she has to make official visits," she answers.

"Official visits..." you mutter.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"My people need me."

"I can't be seen with you."

I can't be seen with you.

"I know you're probably not ready to see her, and maybe you never will be, but at least try," Jihyo says and you nod, looking down onto your slightly trembling hands.

"I'm glad you all came tonight," Tzuyu says in front of all the guests at the party, a glass of champagne in her hand and in the hands of everyone else.

"I hope you enjoy tonight!" she finishes her sentence and the people applaud as a small orchestra starts playing music, people start talking to each other while some of them start dancing.

Unfortunately, the music sounds far too familiar.

"Will you dance with me?" Momo asked when you were at Dahyun's ball, just as this song started to play.

You take a deep breath and look around, then walk out of the palace and onto the terrace.

Why was every palace built by the water?

The stony shore only reminds you more of the night, even more of the evening when you felt too comfortable with Momo.

The night when Momo kissed you on the cheek.

You take a sip of your champagne, it's quite cold, you can feel it running down your throat, leaving a slight burning sensation.

But you are not alone for long, you hear the door open, you turn around and Sana is standing right in front of you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, because somehow a small - or rather larger - part of your body was hoping that Momo would be standing in front of you, that she would be here again for some reason,

A part of your body hoped that she was looking for you.

"Y/n?" says Sana.

"Sana?" you answer, a soft whisper, as if you were afraid someone might hear you, as if you weren't allowed to speak to a queen.

"Long time no see..." she says, walking to you and leaning against the stone wall, her voice so soft again that you want to cry, to take her in your arms and tell her how much you actually missed her.

But instead of saying anything, you lean against the stone wall next to her, both of you looking at the water in the distance as the sun sets.

"I heard about what happened," she says, and you don't know what exactly she's talking about.

The situation with Momo?

The attack on you that left you still unable to train properly?

The days you spent crying for Sana? Your despair?

Too many events come to mind as Sana continues,

"That thing with your leg, that knight, what was her name again-

"Momo," you answer, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Exactly, she hurt you in the fight. I hope your leg is better," a small smile appears on her lips as she finishes her sentence.

"It's gotten a lot better," you answer, drinking the last drops of your champagne. The burning sensation is back in your throat, but somehow you start liking it, a kind of burning that is somehow pleasant.

It's quiet, uncomfortable, but comfortable at the same time. Like a paradox - it's as if she has always been here, as if she never went to Japan.

"I missed you."

Sana says after a while, and it scares you somehow - you don't answer.

But Sana doesn't mind, not at all - she found your quiet way somehow relaxing. She always liked the way you listened to her without answering, because deep in her heart she knew that you somehow remembered everything, that you thought of every single detail even when she was gone.

"Whether you want to believe me or not is your decision, but I can only say that to this day I regret leaving," she says as you look at her, her eyes are slightly watery - another one of her special qualities - she gets emotional easily when she talks about her feelings.

You put your hand on hers, your thumb gently stroking her palm, a small but somehow meaningful sign for Sana. A kind of comfort.

How ironic, really, that you are comforting her.

You look back at the water, Sana does the same.

"I'll stay here longer, y/n," she adds.

Part of your body rejoices, maybe you shouldn't, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't think about her almost every day.

Thinking about Sana has distracted you from many things -

especially at this moment.

You don't notice Momo opening the door and watching you and Sana.

You don't notice the way her grip on the glass is getting tighter and tighter.

Despair? Anger?

Fear?

And when you hear the sound of glass falling to the floor and shattering into little pieces -

Momo was already gone.

Your head hurts when you wake up, maybe it was stupid to play drinking games with Tzuyu, Dahyun and Sana.

Actually, you wanted to stay civil, but... it didn't work out so well.

You decide to take a walk through the forest to get some fresh air.

After a few minutes you find yourself in this place.

Behind bushes and trees -

The place where you saw Momo for the first time.

The place where she gave you the scar on your face - which is almost gone now,

The place where you and Momo fought in the rain.

The place where you kissed before you never saw her again.

But this time it's different, this time there's no Momo here to attack you, this time you're all alone, without any armor or weapon.

You sit down on the grass and lean against a bigger stone.

And it's so different from the other times, it's just quiet, pleasant.

And maybe it would have stayed that quiet and pleasant if you hadn't suddenly heard footsteps coming closer and closer,

and before you can even react,

Momo is standing right in front of you.

She looks down at you, her expression is hard to read, it's hard for you to tell what she's feeling.

The only thing you notice is that she has no weapon or armor.

She's not here as a knight from the other Kingdom, but simply as Momo.

Just Hirai Momo.

None of you dare to say anything, maybe that's what makes you different from Sana -

You're more afraid.

Because what you did with Momo was always whispering, talking at night, hiding.

She doesn't say anything, she just sits down next to you.

And you don't complain, no, of course not.

Because somehow this is something you've wanted for months.

You don't complain when Momo puts her head on your shoulder, but you put your head on hers.

You both look at the ground in front of you, the only sounds are your breathing, the chirping of birds and a light breeze that comes now and then.

And Momo's hand plays with the grass under her fingers, perhaps a sign of nervousness?

And when she starts humming softly, you don't mind, no, you just try to listen to her even more.

Even though the melody is unfamiliar to you, it is somehow so relaxing, unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time.

And what's going on in your head that you're doing this, that you're daring to take her hand.

She doesn't pull her hand away, but intertwines your fingers.

And her cold hand is somehow so pleasant that you warm it with your warm hand and she cools you down with hers.

And this moment is more pleasant than you thought, if you only knew who exactly was watching.

Because the person is not happy, they don't know why they feel this way, but it hurts their heart.

Anger?

You yawn as you look around and slowly realize the situation you are in,

or rather, were.

You are still sitting on the grass, your back leaning against a stone as you look beside you,

Momo is gone.

Without a word of goodbye.

You get up, pick up your walking stick and walk back to the palace, it's quite late and you wonder how long you've been in the forest.

Before you can enter the palace, you run into Jihyo who quickly pulls you aside.

You give her a confused look before she starts talking,

"Sana's been looking for you all day," she says, and your body starts to hurt.

Why is she looking for you?

Does she know about Momo?

"I don't know what's going on, but she's in your room. Maybe you should go upstairs and talk to her," Jihyo says and you nod, thanking her for the warning.

The walk upstairs felt faster than usual, you take a breath and open the door, Sana is standing in front of the large window as you walk in.

You close the door behind you and walk slowly towards her, leaving a few feet of space.

"You shouldn't stand so long, sit down," she says, but it sounds more like an order.

You nod and sit down, she walks towards you.

"Where have you been?" she asks.

"In the forest."

"Why?"

Her question makes you think. You just wanted to get some fresh air, then you met Momo and just fell asleep.

"Just like that, why do you care?" you ask back and Sana laughs a little.

"You shouldn't spend time with people like that, especially not falling asleep next to them," she says, standing right in front of you.

She knows about it?

She has seen you and Momo?

Why is she telling you all this?

Thousands of questions pop into your head and you can already feel the headache, Sana interrupts your thoughts when she starts talking again,

"I know Momo, and believe me, she's not a good influence for you. She's dangerous, and you're not the first person she's had contact with like this. I only want the best for you," she says.

"What do you mean?" you ask, but she only confuses you more with her words.

She sits down across from you, her legs crossed, her back straight and her posture noble.

"You are not her first victim. No matter what you think is going to happen between you, it won't. She did something to my kingdom years ago that is still unforgivable," she replies.

"Just believe me, please. You know I only want the best for you."

Your hand clenches into a fist, how ironic that Sana out of all people would say such things.

"You only want the best for me? You left me, you said you couldn't be seen with me. You have no idea what's best for me," you reply, perhaps a little too aggressively.

But Sana doesn't seem to be offended, her expression is still neutral, but it looks like she's suppressing a smile when she starts talking again.

"Why is Momo so important to you that you get so defensive?" she asks.

She probably knew exactly what point she had hit.

Sana knows exactly how your emotions tick, she knows every single detail and could make you cry in just a second.

"I..." you start to speak, but nothing comes out.

"She attacked you, she's a knight of the other kingdom, she almost killed Jeongyeon. So I ask again, why is she so important to you?" she says, provoking you even more.

And as you think about it, you realize what a bad person Momo really is.

The many fights, the attack on Jeongyeon, the provocation, her aggression.

The way she made you cry?

Her tender lips on yours before she disappeared for months?

When she listened to you talk about your fears at the ball?

And her alleged attacks were never fatal, you start to notice while thinking about everything.

Jeongyeon - She hit her in a place that heals easily.

You - The scar on your face that didn't even touch your eye or neck.

Her sword that was in your thigh - it healed faster than you thought.

The way she always called for the others after hurting you, so you could get help right away.

Sana stands up, on her way out of your room, but before she can leave, you turn around and say something.

"Maybe Momo is a better person than you."

Sana turns and looks at you, a smile on her lips.

A smile?

"I see" she answers and closes the door behind her.

Why did she say that?

Why did she smile?

What is she up to?

It is dark, the wind is cold and yet so pleasant.

You find yourself in front of a large stone wall, one that protects the palace.

Or rather;

You are standing in front of Dahyun's kingdom.

Even though peace has been restored, you prefer to play it safe and take the more inconspicuous route.

You bite your lower lip as you climb up, your thigh tightening from the pain as you reach the other side.

And as you run up the stairs to Momo's room, you are stopped.

"Who are you?" asks a man, taller than you, a small sword in his hand - probably as a defense.

You remember your dream again, the one in which you also met this man.

You don't answer him, but attack him, the sword flies out of his hands and lands in yours.

And before he can react, you stab him.

And as if nothing had happened, you just keep walking.

Up the stairs, through her door and close it behind you.

You look around her room first, it looks similar to yours, maybe because you're both knights.

You want to turn around, but you bump into something.

Or rather,

against someone.

You gasp as you feel a knife at your neck.

And somehow it's just like in your dream again.

"Momo, it's me," you say as she pulls her knife away from your neck again and puts it away.

"Why are you here?" she asks as she sits down on her bed, leaving space for you as you sit down next to her.

"I honestly don't know..." you start to say,

"I talked to Sana," you can tell from Momo's reaction that something is wrong.

The look on her face confuses you. Why is she reacting like this? What's the story behind the two of them?

"Did she tell you not to talk to me anymore? That I'm a bad influence?" Momo asks, you nod slowly, hoping she'll finally explain why Sana has been acting like this.

"I wasn't always part of Dahyun's kingdom Y/n," she says, and you're only more confused.

"Before Sana was in charge of her kingdom, it was Mina. Younger than Sana and I, but part of the royal family, which is why she came to power when her parents passed away." the more she talks, the more confused you get.

"We were pretty close friends, the three of us, I served Mina's kingdom," Momo stops talking for a moment, taking a breath as she looks down at her hands.

"It got to the point where Mina kissed me, and I kissed her back. We acted like two little teenagers in love, but then..." You see her thinking about how to phrase her next words, she lets out a little laugh.

"Our kingdom was attacked and I defended Mina and Sana. Mina wanted to stay with me the whole time because she was worried about me. When it came to an attack...

she stood in front of me because I didn't see it coming, right infront of me and Sana.

I wanted to help her, but in the end it was too late.

Sana still hasn't forgiven me for it, it seems. She got everyone to turn on me, and I fled because it's supposedly all my fault." Momo says and stops talking, you look at her, and now somehow you understand everything.

"But it's not your fault" you whisper, it shouldn't even come out as a whisper, but somehow it just doesn't come out any louder.

Momo looks at you, a slight smile on her lips - which quickly disappears,

"But maybe you need to listen to Sana, even if I hate to say it.

I don't want anything bad to happen to you," she says.

Couldn't she have just said "Don't listen to Sana"?

"Wouldn't it be funny if this was the last time we talked to eachother in peace?" Momo asks.

You look at her and somehow wish she hadn't said that, because it makes you somehow scared.

But you choose to ignore it.

You choose to focus on the present, on what's happening now and not years later.

You take a deep breath and take her hand in yours.

Her hand is cold, again, - yours is warm.

She looks at you as you answer;

"You're both idiots"

Momo looks at you, confused.

You close the distance between the two of you, her soft lips on yours as she dares not move.

This time it's different.

It's not a stupid dream you're having because you're confused about your feelings for Momo.

It's all more real.

And you want it, so, so much.

But before you can pull away, Momo starts kissing you back.

And her lips feel so soft, it feels like a new sensation that drives you crazy.

As you two continue kissing, Momo pushes her tongue into your mouth and you let out a soft whimper at the feeling of her exploring your mouth.

She pushes you into her matress as she gets on top of you, leaving your lips as she places wet kisses on your jaw, trailing down to your neck and leaving hickeys by biting, sucking and nibbling on your skin.

Your hands grip the bedsheets, head leaning back deeper into the pillow because of the pleasure, toes curling into the bed as Momo parts your legs with her free hand, slowly and lightly rubbing circles over the pants you have on.

"Fuck Momo-" you let out, opening your eyes to make eye contact with her.

Her hands toy with the hem of your shirt, looking at you with a smile that seems more like a nasty smirk.

"Can I take this off?" she asks, and you're close to just rip off your shirt yourself, because Momo knows damn well how much you want this.

"Don't ask stupid questions.." you answer, and your t-shirt is being pulled off faster than you thought.

And Momo's eyes sparkle a little when she sees that you haven't thought about wearing a bra, being topless right infront of her.

She leans down, trailing her kisses down from your collarbone to your chest - kissing inbetween your breasts before taking one of your hardened buds into her mouth, her hand playing with the other one.

You throw your head back again, back arching, wanting to get somehow even closer to her touch.

After licking, biting and lightly sucking, she continues kissing down your body, stopping right infront of your pants.

She thinks quicker than you - catching your hands before you could, somehow, make her touch you where you really need it faster.

She looks up to you, that nasty smirk fully on her lips, and oh god what you would do to wipe it off her face so she stops feeling so confident.

"You're so impatient baby, how long did you wait for this?" she asks teasingly, her voice husky, making that one damp spot on your underwear even wetter.

"Too long-" you whimper, maybe it would be embarrassing to admit this, and it is probably very embarrassing - but in this moment, you couldn't care less.

Your body is hot, sweaty, and your mind clouded by the thought of Momo finally touching you like you desire.

Mind full of wanting to submit to her, your body trusting her completly to being in charge.

She interrupts your thinking when you see her having a piece of black cloth in her hands, her look on her face not that teasing, rather like she is asking you if she can do what she wants to do.

A simple question, no strings attached.

You nod.

She smiles, sitting upright as she takes your arms, placing them behind your back as she ties your wrists together, not too tight, but definetly so tight that you cant simply take them off.

She plays with the strings of your pants, clearly teasing you, again.

"How bad do you want this?" she asks, leaning on top of you as she whispers into your ear, her breath hot and her voice sensual.

You feel shivers running down your spine as she speaks, thinking of an answer that will leave her satisfied enough to touch you.

"So bad that its embarrassing to say, so bad that i would say it infront of the whole kingdom so they can hear it." you answer, and your breath hitches when Momo brushes her finger against the damp spot, pressing right against your heat, telling by her face, she's visibly satisfied by your answer.

"Can't leave you hanging, right?" she says, fingers hooking onto your pants as she pulls them off along with your underwear, throwing it on your shirt.

She lowers herself so her face is right infront of your core, her slow breaths tickling you in a way that makes your hips buck.

She comes closer, leaving kitten licks on your clit as you moan, head leaning back into the pillow as you bite your bottom lip.

Your hands try to move as you realize that they are tied together, wrists rubbing against eachother as your body tries to feel Momo even more.

"Please.. don't tease-" you moan out, earning a chuckle from her.

"Okay okay.." she answers, her tongue suddenly moving faster as she enters your hole, making you let out a louder moan.

You turn your head as you moan into the pillow your head is laying on, back arching even more when she speeds up.

"Momo.." you pant, moans leaving your mouth while you try to speak.

"I'm close-" you say, feeling her smirk as she, somehow, goes even faster, even deeper.

Your thighs close around her head, forcing her to spread them open again with her hands as you cum into her mouth, a loud moan ripping from your mouth as your juices flow out.

Momo pulls back, watching you breathe heavily as you try to come down from your high, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear.

Maybe this is her favorite sight.

Seeing you like this.

Hands tied behind your back, cheeks flushed, neck full of hickeys, back slightly arched, eyes closed and your brows furrowed.

She doesn't get to stare long though - you open your eyes and look at her.

"Admiring me?" you say and laugh a little.

"Maybe" she answers, fingers drawing circles on your thigh.

A silent request, an invitation.

Her motives are clear as a sky without clouds.

And again, you nod, letting her take control over this situation, - letting her take control over you.

She smiles, fingers inching closer to your heat.

And when you feel her fingers brush over your clit, your mouth drops open, hips bucking into her touch, wanting more.

She pulls her fingers away, a string of wetness on them.

Her fingers slide down, through your folds as she slowly puts a finger in, your hands gripping the cloth that is restricting your hands.

You let out a moan and bite down on your lip.

And when Momo slowly starts to move, she realizes the way you're so tight.

"First time?" she asks, and you embarrassingly nod, cheeks turning into a crimson color.

She smiles, hand trailing up your body, leaning forward as she kisses your neck softly.

"I got you" she whispers, kissing along your neck and collarbone, adding another finger into you slowly.

"Fuck Momo-" you moan, your mind going crazy over the new sensation of Momo's long, thick, fingers inside of you, body slightly grinding onto her to feel her even more.

And she starts to thrust into you, some slow, experimental thrusts to see how you would feel.

Your moans get louder, and all your thoughts disappearing as your mind gets clouded by the way you feel Momo everywhere.

Her mouth lands on your breasts, kissing them as she drags a tongue over your nipple, making your back arch off the bed and closer to her.

"Are you close?" she asks, smiling against your chest as she curls her fingers into that spot that makes you moan even louder.

You nod, lip trapped between your teeth, head thrown back.

She grins against your chest, her fingers moving even faster, scissoring and curling into the spots that make you crazy.

"Momo-" you yell out, toes curling into the matress, gripping the cloth that is tied around your wrists, body twitching while cumming.

She slowly stops moving her fingers, helping you ride out your high.

She pulls her fingers out, slowly licking them clean.

You try to calm down, panting with your eyes closed.

Momo pulls off the cloth from your hands, and when you open your eyes you can see the little red marks it left.

She smiles at you, taking your hand in hers.

"How about we take a bath?" she asks with a smirk.

That nasty smirk again, the one that makes you want to wipe it off her face.

The one you slowly start to adore.

"Sounds good" you answer.

War.

War is like a plague, a disease.

Something that can always come back for some reason.

Once you have it, it will never leave you.

Peace, however, is something you can only dream of.

The complete opposite of war.

And while the kingdoms enjoyed the supposed peace, war came right after.

Unprepared, without any signs, without any official announcement.

It was only days after you slept with Momo.

Days after you last spoke to Sana.

Jihyo stands beside you as Tzuyu gives a speech to the residents, your armor donned.

"Are you sure you're really ready to fight yet?" she whispers to you.

You look to her briefly, and nod.

You look next to you and look at Momo.

"We'll do everything we can to keep the peace!" says Tzuyu.

"Our kingdoms will work together for your safety." says Dahyun, standing next to Tzuyu.

Momo has a slight smile on her lips, and it makes you show yours too.

Maybe you really are like childish teenagers who are in love, but in this moment - and in all other moments, really - you don't care.

Because you both have each other, and that's the most important thing.

You can be happy together.

Even with war.

You are split into groups, Jihyo, Jeongyeon, Momo and you, while the other knights are in another small group protecting a different part of the kingdom.

You run through the forest in two lines,

Jihyo and Jeongyeon are behind you,

Momo and you lead the way, all four of you with swords in hand, making sure no one can attack you.

It's darker now, which means you have to concentrate so that you can see everything clearly.

You walk past the part of the forest you've been to too often.

A part where you have probably made the most memories.

And somehow every one of them has something to do with Momo.

Momo notices you looking there and touches you with her arm so that you look at her, she smiles at you.

A simple sign that she knows what you're thinking about.

You hear a strange noise behind you, but before you can turn around you feel a blow to your head and fall to the ground.

The last thing you see are people standing in front of you and pulling a cloth bag over everyone's head so that you can't see anything.

The last thing you feel is thick ropes being tied around your arm.

And suddenly, you feel nothing as everything goes black.

As you slowly begin to regain consciousness, you realize that you are still tied up, your vision still blocked by the cloth bag.

You try to hear something and realize that you are in a carriage, or rather a horse-drawn carriage as you can tell by the clattering of hooves.

The cart comes to an abrupt stop as you hear something being opened, probably to get you out, but suddenly, you hear a whisper next to you -

"I'll find you in every universe."

You can tell by the voice that it's Momo, and how much you want to answer, Momo is pulled away and someone grabs you to get you out of the car.

You run to where you are being led and somehow you are scared, of course you should be scared, but that uneasy feeling in your stomach makes it all worse.

You are pushed to the ground, onto your knees.

The cloth bag is pulled off your head, and as you look around, you are shocked.

You see many knights, from their armor you can tell they are not from Tzuyu's or Dahyun's kingdom.

You see Sana.

Sana?

Her clothes dark, her expression cold as she watches all the other knights being forced to their knees just like you.

You look beside you, and a few meters away you see her.

Momo.

She looks you in the eye, her smile no longer on her lips, but, for the first time, her look is different.

She is afraid.

Next to you are Jihyo and Jeongyeon, somewhere further you see knights like Nayeon and Chaeyoung.

You look at Sana again, and as everyone looks at her, she starts talking.

"I'm glad to be here," she says with a wicked grin, one that gives you goosebumps.

She takes the sword from a knight and looks at it, then smiles.

"I don't really like doing the dirty work," she says.

"But as queen, sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands"

She looks around, her eyes landing on you.

"Oh Y/n, long time no see right?" she asks, kneeling down in front of you, sword in her hand.

She reaches behind your head, your hair between her fingers as she pulls your head back.

You grit your teeth.

Momo, further away, tries to get free, somehow, to help you, but it's impossible.

"Oh Y/n.. Our friendship is great, isn't it? Or maybe we have more?" she asks teasingly.

"We don't have anything." you reply, and she laughs.

She laughs and lets go of your hair to stand up.

"Because Momo is better than me, right? Right?" she asks, pacing back and forth a few steps.

You don't answer, but only feel more uncomfortable and wonder what exactly Sana is up to here.

"If you look around you'll see that we're somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A perfect place for corpses" she announces and everyone looks at her in confusion, looks full of fear.

"But don't be afraid... You don't have to do anything except watch..." she says, but suddenly she adds something that makes your blood freeze -

"Unless your name is Hirai Momo, then you're the star of the show!" she finishes, and everyone is even more shocked, Momo's eyes wide open as Sana points her sword at her.

"Sana! You can't do this," you say.

A pathetic attempt to somehow save Momo, to somehow stop Sana from doing what she's about to do.

Sana approaches Momo and stands right in front of her.

"Sana please!" you call out, she looks at you.

"Please..." you feel your eyes getting watery, "it's not Momo's fault that Mina is dead, you know that!"

Sana listens to you, lets you finish, and you feel like she's really letting up.

"You don't have to do this. Please. You're not a better person if you kill Momo. It won't bring Mina back!" you say, tears streaming down your eyes.

Sana nods.

Sana nods?

"I think you're right, Y/n..." she says, lowering the sword.

Only to raise it again.

"I make my own decisions, though." she says.

Momo looks at you,

and suddenly her face is covered in blood.

Sana's sword is suddenly stuck in her head before she pulls it out.

You've seen brutal things, of course, you're a knight -

But seeing Momo,

Momo being killed in front of you.

"Momo!" you scream.

Your eyes are full of tears and you somehow try to untie these filthy ropes.

Because somehow you think you still have a chance to save her.

Momo looks at you.

"Y/n.. I'll... I'll find you..."

She topples over, onto the dirty ground, onto the grass.

"Momo..." you say again, hoping that this isn't real.

It's just a bad dream, isn't it?

Or is it?

Jihyo looks at you, tears in her eyes and in everyone else's, but you're only focused on Momo.

She doesn't move, just lies there.

Not a single breath, no stupid grin, nothing.

"Why not in this one?" you ask.

"Why couldn't you just find me in this universe?" you ask.

And to hear you like that, you'd think you were talking to someone.

But no one is standing in front of you, or next to you.

You are alone.

'Hirai Momo, a fighter, a person full of love' is written on the gravestone.

And it doesn't feel real.

And a part of your body still hopes it's not real.

You kneel down, run your hand slowly over the engraved writing.

"Why?" you ask into the silence.

And inside, you think to yourself that someone is behind you, answering your question.

In your mind, Momo is standing behind you and says that she survived.

"I will never forget you," you say.

A promise.

One that you will never break.

One that you will always remember.

You will remember how beautiful she was, how she made you feel.

You will remember her smile, and you will always love her.

"I'll never love anyone like that again" you say to yourself, maybe you say it to her, in another universe she is listening to you.

In your heart, Momo is not a knight of the other kingdom,

Or a bad person,

But simply Hirai Momo.

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andkisses · 5 months

Text

♡ just about anything | jay ♡

late nights, when really, both of you should have been asleep a long time ago, but who knew this game of monopoly would last so long?

♡ jay x gn!reader | wc. 1.5k ♡ genres/tropes: domestic, competitive couple that won’t quit, staying up way too late ♡ mentions of/warnings: pet names, food, lmk if there’s anything else! <3 ♡ a/n: a repost and revamp of one of my very first writings from YEARS ago </3 (from that blog i accidentally deleted <///333)

♡ masterlist ♡

With the rest of the lights in the apartment off, the lone one above the kitchen table casts a warm glow into the darkness. The light illuminates the board, littered with green houses, red hotels, and Cheez-Its—you ran out of hotels about an hour ago (but who’s to say?) and needed something to represent a double-hotel on the board. There’s a notebook on the table that keeps getting passed back and forth, covered in numbers and tallies in two different handwritings. It’s currently functioning as a paper bank account, since the game has escalated far beyond the cash given in a standard Monopoly box.

Your eyes are tired, nearly burning with ache; it’s been too long, and it’s very much past your bedtime. But the both of you are stubborn, and horrifically competitive–especially when it’s just the two of you. He seems just as drained, eyes dropping and his head propped up on a closed fist. The loose hoodie slides down his arm, pooling around the elbow, and he uses the sleeve of the other to wipe at his eyes. Just seeing him sleepy makes you sleepy, and your head is bobbing up and down. It would be so much better to be curled up in his arms right now. The game is one of chance at this point, all up to the dice roll. The only safe spots on the board are your own; everything else is meaningless to you. You know you want to land on your properties and not his, for those Cheez-Its are threatening and—

“Did you just eat some of the board?” you ask, the dice still caught between your hands.

Jay looks up at you and blinks slowly, still chewing on the stolen Cheez-It. He swallows and takes a sip of his nearly empty glass of water before answering. “No.”

You shake your head, tilting it to one side. “No what?”

“No, I didn’t eat the board. I took it from the bowl, like a civilized person.” He points with his free hand lazily at the blue plastic bowl the Cheez-Its had been poured into when the demand for new hotels had arisen. How long ago had that been? Half an hour? An hour? Hours, plural? You couldn’t tell anymore. This game felt decades long yet you know you started it today. Or, was it really yesterday?

You reach forward and draw the bowl towards you, eliciting a tired pout from your boyfriend. “Well, you shouldn’t eat these either. We may need them.”

“And how could we do that, love?" Jay reaches to pick up the notebook and it flaps under its own weight as he lifts it into the air. “We’d need more money to upgrade any house or non-Cheez-It hotels, and we’ve already borrowed from an imaginary bank three times. Inflation is running rampant throughout this town. We’ve ruined the economy. We’re monsters.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jay shrugs, placing the paper bank back on the table before sniffling and wiping at his eyes again, this time with both hands. The ball cap he wears now sits askew on his head, and you, out of habit, reach forward to fix it, leaning against the table to help span the distance. Your fingers brush against the edge of the board, and the more you lean to reach across the table, the more you end up on top of the board. You’re out of your seat now, feet pressing on toes to get the height and length you need to reach to fix the hat.

And before you know it, you’re face to face and practically on the table. Jay leans forward and bumps his nose against yours while you adjust his hat. “We should stop,” he says plainly.

“Why? So you can win?” you mutter, half grumbling. One hand fixes his hat while the other acts as a brace against the table.

“No, so we can stop,” he says again, one hand reaching to rub simple patterns into the top of your hand. “The Cheez-Its will still be there in the morning. If we need it, Jake can bring his copy so we can have more actual cash to use.”

A quick hah escapes your lips. “You just want to win.”

“No, love, I just want to sleep.”

With his hat now fixed, you carefully lean back, peeling yourself off the table and into your seat. You’re silently thankful for the still intact Cheez-Its. Had they been crushed, you’re sure you’d given up, now feeling more tired than you were before your hat-fixing expedition—and that was already fairly tired. You’re about to refute his case, saying that the two of you should stick it out until the end, that surely it can’t be too much longer, when Jay takes his hat off—the one you so painfully just fixed—to run his hand through his hair before putting it back on, slightly crooked.

“Jay... I just... fixed... that.” You bite your lip, too tired to be angry out right but too tired to realize it also doesn’t matter.

“I know you did,” he replies, yawning into his sleeve. He begs again, a hint of desperation growing into his voice. “Can we please stop?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on the edge of the table and staring up at him from across the board. “Does this mean I win?”

“If you want to, love,” he says, scooting away from the table to stand, silently hoping his movement away from the game will pull you away as well. “If it means we can stop.”

A smile graces your lips as he walks around the table to your side. You take the hand he offers to help you up, holding tight. You pull his arm toward you, hugging it as you both shuffle forward into the darkness, the Monopoly board abandoned. “Thank you,” you say, stretching to place a kiss on his cheek.

“If it makes you happy, love,” Jay begins, his voice soft and tired, “I’d do just about anything.”

“Just about?” you tease, crawling up onto the bed and beneath the covers. “Meaning there’s things you wouldn’t do, hm?”

“Yes, just about,” he replies, mimicking your actions. Even half asleep, he still makes sure you’re tucked safely against his side, with his arm curled around your waist and your head resting on his chest. You hear his heartbeat, smooth and steady. You wrap your arms around his own waist, a soft smile against your lips.

He continues, murmuring sleepily into your hair after a kiss to your temple. “Just about, because if you had asked me to continue playing with you I would have fallen asleep at that table.”

“And what’s so bad about that?” you whisper back, titling your head up to see him. Moonlight streams around the edge of your curtains, providing just enough light to see.

“I really wasn’t looking forward to waking up with Cheez-Its ingrained into my forehead,” he replies with a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t think the look’s for me.”

You laugh, snuggling in closer against his hoodie, and he laughs too. “I think you would have looked great,” you say against his collarbone, eyes finally lulling shut.

“Do you now, love?”

“Yeah, orange is really your color.”

You feel his arm leave your waist and a single finger place itself beneath your chin. You allow Jay to tilt your head up before you open your eyes. He levels you a stare long enough for you to think you’ve done something seriously wrong before a laugh makes its way out, and before you know it, he’s placing happy, smiley kisses across your cheeks, your nose. He stops before your lips. His eyes, even tired, are still starry and glittering. His voice has reverence when he speaks. “You know I love you with every fiber of my being, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Jay bumps into your nose, hand playfully squeezing back at your waist. “That’s where you’re supposed to say I love you, too.”

You shake your head, fake-frowning. “But you haven’t kissed me yet?”

“Is that a suggestion or a demand?” he asks.

You shrug. “You choose.”

He leans forward, giving you the slightest, softest peck before pulling back.

You pout, chin tilting down. “You call that a kiss?”

“No,” he laughs, kissing the side of your cheek right beside your lips. “I just love your pout. I love everything about you.”

As he kisses the other cheek, just as close to your lips, you sigh. “I love you, too, Jay.”

And this time, he really does kiss you, although chaste and sleepy, but an honest kiss regardless. He tucks you back under his chin, wraps his arms around you so he knows you're safe. You’re nearly asleep when he finally replies, his own voice laced with sleep, and it’s enough to make you smile. Enough to know that he really would do just about anything for you. It makes you wrap your around him just a little tighter, make you smile just a little wider.

“I love you too.” That’s what you’d said. He says, in the darkness and honesty of your room, “I know.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jay fluff #jay headcanons #jay scenarios #jay imagines #fluff #scenarios #imagines #all #prose #enhypen

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katsu28 · 6 months

Note

congratulations kait!! this celebration is SO cute! i am gonna request ☕️ + “You look stupid as all hell right now.” + hangman !!! thank you loveyyyy

lola my dear my love thank you!!! love you <3

jake "hangman" seresin x reader, 1.4k, slightly suggestive towards the end, join the celebration!

“Babe, do you know where the box of kitchen plates is?”

It was something straight out of your dreams, finally moving in with the love of your life. You’d been dating Jake Seresin for two years and finally made that leap, the last of your boxes making their way to your new home safely today. There was a lot coming from your apartment and his, but everything would find its place here.

You could’ve had nothing and still be just as happy, because you still had Jake, and that was really all you needed.

Except for he wasn’t answering you right now, and you really wanted to find the plates. So you went looking for him, calling his name every few seconds until you reached your bedroom. You found him alright, you definitely weren’t prepared for the sight you were met with.

He was wearing a sweater of yours, definitely way too small for his broad frame judging from the way it cut off above his belly button. It was tight in the shoulders too, and you’d be a bit more annoyed at him stretching it out if you weren't so in love with him. He was grinning guiltily at you, hands propped up on his hips as he stood in the middle of a pile of your clothes.

“I was gonna put all your stuff in the closet for you so you didn’t have to.” He said sheepishly, gesturing vaguely at the mess around him. “...Surprise?”

You couldn’t help but smile fondly at him, so big your cheeks ached. “You look stupid as all hell right now.”

“I think you mean stupid handsome,” He scoffed, arching a brow at you.

“No, I meant what I said. What made you think you could fit into that, honey?” You chided playfully, crossing the room to get a better look at him. It was an older sweater of yours, a bit frayed at the sleeves from how often you’d worn it over the years you’d had it, but still soft and even cozier now that it had been worn in.

“You were wearin’ this sweater the first time we met, d’you remember?”

Of course you remembered. You remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it had been almost three years ago.

You were grabbing a little pick me up before work at your usual coffee place one morning, and you spotted it on the pickup counter, the same thing you always got. Another hand reached for the plastic cup at the same time, long fingers curling around yours for a moment before jerking back like they’d been burned.

The problem was, your gut instinct was to retreat as well, leaving the cup of coffee to tip over on the counter. The lid popped off, and suddenly your sleeve was cold and wet and smelled like…well, coffee.

“Shit!” You hissed, shaking it out as best you could. “What the hell?”

“Oh fuck—” You looked up, and the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on was staring right back at you, blond hair swept up and out of his face, pretty green eyes widened in something akin to horror. “I am so sorry, I thought it was mine, I didn’t—are you alright?”

You should’ve been angry—or annoyed at the very least, because now your favorite sweater was stained and you’d probably never be able to get it out—but you weren’t. All you could think about other than your sopping wet sleeve was that his guy was clearly concerned about you.

Maybe he took your silence as a not-so-great one, because he forced out a chuckle. “On the bright side, at least it was iced coffee.” He was trying to make light of the situation as he grabbed a wad of napkins from the dispenser, thrusting it out towards you clumsily. You thought it was actually kind of cute.

An amused laugh bubbled out of you, and you shrugged, nodding. “There’s the silver lining.”

“I’m Hangman—Jake, I mean. My name’s Jake. Seresin. Hangman’s my callsign, s’force of habit.”

“Callsign? You Air Force or something?”

“Navy, actually, and I’ll try not to be too offended by that.”

“Air Force, Navy—aren’t they pretty much the same?”

“Okay, ouch.” Jake faux winced, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again to see you were just messing with him. Then he smiled, shaking his head. “Maybe I could buy you another coffee, make up for the one that spilled? We could talk. I could tell you the difference between the two.”

“Why not make it up now? We’re both still here.” You were taking a bolder approach than you usually did when it came to people you found attractive, but something had come over you with Jake. Even though he was a complete and total stranger, you felt surprisingly at ease with him.

Jake perked up at that, lips curving into a smile, but then he checked his watch. He grimaced. “I’m actually late for work right now, I’m so—can we raincheck? I promise I’m not tryin’ to get out of anythin’, my captain’ll have my behind if I’m not on the tarmac ready to go in ten.”

“Ten minutes? Well what the hell are you still doing here? Go!”

He grinned at you one more time before moving to hurry out the door, but didn’t get more than a few feet away when he skidded to a stop, turning on his heel to face you again. “Wait, I didn’t get your name!”

“Guess you’ll just have to meet me back here again. Saturday, noon. Don’t be late.” You winked at him and he gave you a mock salute before dashing out the door, leaving you thinking about him the rest of the day, and until you had the privilege of seeing him next.

It took Jake almost a year to ask you out after you met up that Saturday, wallowing in what he thought was the friend zone for the longest time until the two of you managed to get your heads out of your asses and see what you were missing. And it was actually you who told him you liked him first, murmuring it in his ear at a summer bonfire with your friends, but it was him who kissed you first—right after you told him you liked him.

“Yeah, I remember.” You said softly, fingers trailing down the sleeve to the faint brown stain in the soft wool where the coffee had spilled. Jake’s arms slid around you, though a little stiffly given his constraints. “Look at us now.”

“Look at us indeed. Havin’ our own place, putin’ down roots. Seems pretty crazy, doesn’t it?” He murmured, giving your waist a loving squeeze. You did the same around his shoulders, tilting your chin up for a kiss that Jake gladly gave you.

Jake always kissed you like he did everything in life—confidently and well. They still had you reeling in the moments after even now, even though he’d kissed you about a thousand times in the time you’d been together—probably more.

This one was no different, but something about it felt sweeter. Like he was less worried about winning, because he’d already won it all. Because he had you, because you had a home together. Because now you could start the rest of your lives with each other in this home. You could almost hear him saying something about having the best prize of them all.

“Now take off my sweater. Your big man shoulders are stretching it out.” You said, patting him firmly on the chest a few times.

Jake gasped, slapping an appalled hand over his chest. “Is this your way of tryin’ to get me out of my clothes? In the middle of the day? You tease!”

“We’ve still got a whole house to unpack, so no, I’m not trying to get you out of anything. Except my sweater, so if you would be so kind?”

“You could at least pretend to want me once in a while, y’know.” He sighed dramatically, letting his head hang. That was Jake, ever the drama queen out of the two of you.

You lifted his chin with two fingers, fixing him to the spot with a look. “I’m sorry, was this morning not enough for you? What was it—one, two, three—”

“Okay, okay, fine! You were yellin’ somethin’ about kitchen plates earlier? Let’s get the damn thing done so we can have more time for this morning’s activities.”

“I swear, that’s all your dude brain thinks about—take off my sweater, damnit!”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

#kait's 2k!#hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin fluff #jake seresin fluff #hangman seresin fic #jake seresin fic #hangman seresin one shot #hangman seresin imagine

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bensonsbobblehead · 1 year

Text

The Village it Takes

pairings; Spencer Reid x Mom!reader (ft Daughter!oc)

Spencer fakes his death ( basically how Emily did) leaving you and your 11 year old daughter behind.

Content Warnings; angst, sadness, talks of death and grief.

a/n; Hiii, I am working on a taglist and how to make one for the future im so sorry im still fairly new to this.

wc; 1.0k [ first ]

Spencer was always better with her, you were her best friend but Spencer was her diary. He encouraged her to do things he knew he would never be able to do. She was so outgoing, thanks to you, even though he was shy Ronnie brought out another part of him. After he died everything changed for the household. It was harder for Ronnie to adjust specially as she’s approaching womanhood.

The two of you had argued almost everyday just for it to end with her breaking down in the end. You knew this was just her way of dealing with her father being taken from her. That didn’t make it any better for you though. Seeing Cameron like this was the hardest thing ever.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so mean mom.” She spoke after two hours of silently watching tv, “I just miss dad so much I want to scream. Some days it hurts to breathe and it makes me so angry. I miss him” she said randomly as you both watch tv together.

Thirteen was suppose to be a fun age where you begin to learn who you are or could be. Camerons chance was taking from her now she’s consumed with this grief. The same grief you were dealing with in your own way. It hurt you so much he was missing his beautiful creation grow up.

You pushed her glasses up off the bridge of her nose, “I know its so hard, I miss him so much it hurts to breathe but I have you and you have me, this is how we get through it.” Kissing her on the temple.

You pulled you daughter into your side rocking her until she fell asleep. You were both abruptly awoken by the sound of your phone ringing. A call from Aaron Hotchner, which wasnt rare but why was he calling so late? He said in a few words that you needed to head to the BAU.

You gathered your things wondering what in the world this could be about. You held Ronnie’s hand as you headed up to the office. Your heart was ponding reminding you of the last time you were here. You had came to clear out Spencer’s desk and collect his badge. You remembered it like it was yesterday. All the sad eyes watching you attempt to pick up the pieces of what was abruptly left behind.

“Do you think something bad happened again?” She asked squeezing your hand harder.

“I’m not sure Rons” you tried to reassures her also wondering the same thing. You all were led to the bullpen with Cameron opting to sit at her dads old desk. The room was filled with your husband family, Jennifer, Aaron, Emily, Penelope, Rossi, and Luke.

“As you all know Dr.Spencer Reid was pronounced dead three years ago.” Confusion spread across everyone’s face and Aaron continued, “Three years ago I made a decision to keep the identity of Dr. Reid and I take full responsibility.”

“What do you mean keep the identity of him a secret?” You asked still completely confused,

“Mr.Scratchs son was caught and killed by the fbi a few hours ago. Three years ago he couldn’t know Spencer was still alive and neither could any of you. Once again I say I take full responsibility” Your face cringing at the name of the man who caused you and your family so much pain.

Then it hit you Spencer was still alive?

“Aaron what are you fucking saying to me? That my husband is alive?” If this was true all those days spent talking to his grave meant nothing. The picnics or visits to the grave after Ronnies competitions were nothing. Spencer was walking this earth while you were here going through the worse pain in your life. Asking with glassy eyes, you were pulled out of your thoughts by Penelope head snapping toward the door.

“Oh my God” she said with tears falling from her blue eyes.

There he was Spencer Reid, the love of your life, the man that made you a mother, he’s alive after three years. He stood tall and a bit bigger with his long curly hair.

“Y/N I’m sorry, all of you really.” He walked in giving hugs to everyone in the room. You hadn’t even moved, you didn’t know rather to be happy or angry at him. For never saying anything for letting you believe he was gone.

“Y/N, can — can I hug you?” He asked sincerely not wanting to startle you. Before you could even think your hand was moving to slap him across the face, your angry completely took over.

“THREE YEARS SPENCER?!?, you left me and your own DAUGHTER and still slept at night?” You yelled causing the entire room to become silent. Spencer stood there with no response which only made you more upset.

“Say something! Say why you did? Just fucking give me a reason to put us through this” you were hitting him in the chest causing Hotch to grab you.

“YOU don’t fucking touch me!” You snapped toward him, the man that watched you break down silently after putting your daughter to bed every night. Aaron had been there for you and Cameron since he “died”.

Jack and Cameron were always friends before her dad passed and were even closer as time went on. Most of the time having Ron distracted helped you deal with your grief with Aaron by your side, he was one of your husband’s closest friends.

“Daddy?” You heard Ronnie’s voice from the door, you completely forgot you even brought her.

Everyone turned toward the teenage who stood tall just like her father. She was even wear their matching converse they decorated together. Spencer turned taking in his daughter, immediately regretting everything . She grew so tall and looked so mature, he missed it all.

“Cameron I’m so sorry honey, I never meant to hurt you sweetie” he didn’t move allowing her to feel whatever emotion she needed. Her eyes filled with tear with a small weep escaping her lips. Her breathing became uneven, she was gasping for air.

“Dad? You’re alive?” She asked grabbing her stomach looking for some sort of comfort.

“Yes, I’m here sweetie.” Spencer said walking toward Cameron causing her to step back while shaking her head.

“No, No, I—-I, Mama I can’t —-” she said falling to the floor, gasping for air. you pushed pass Spencer immediately hoping into mom mode. Spencer stood still unsure of what to do to help his own daughter. His heart shattering seeing the pain all of this has caused.

“Im right here baby, just keep following my breathing.” You told her as you sat on the floor with her, Emily coming to sit with her too.

“In and out” you guided her as her breathing evened out, “I’m right here with you love” you pulled her into a bear hug while looking back at Spencer.

You all got up from the floor as you headed toward the elevator with your daughter not saying a word to Spencer as he silently followed behind.

#bau x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid dad #spencer reid x single!mom reader #Spencer Reid x daughter #Spencer Reid x daughter!oc #Reid daughter #spencer reid x mom!reader #Spencer Reid x mom #criminal minds angst

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altijdjouwnaantje · 8 months

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So y'all know about the ADHD audicity of "well I've never done this, how hard can it be?" right? Well, my undiagnosed mom just went through another iteration of that one.

My mom is an artisan and an artist who started sewing 44 years ago by refashioning my fathers worn-out trousers into tiny baby overalls for my big brother. By necessity because money was tight at the time.

Her skills have grown and grown with clothes and fancy dress for us four kids. By the time I was in elementary school she designed and produced many costumes for a local production of Hendrik Ibsen's Peer Gynt.

So when Raf started talking about his wish to make giants in the Flemish tradition, of course my mom found herself recruited to take on the project.

Last year, she made the stunning costume and bosoms for giantess farmer Anna Serafina De Groote ("Fientje"). The first head that was commisioned for this giantess did not turn out like the beautiful young farmer on the brief, but more like an elderly stroke victim... (Not pictured)

My mom stated she thought she'd be able to do a better job, so naturally she got recruited to do just that.

Over the course of the past year my mom made three giant shoulder pieces, two giant heads, two pairs of giant hands, one giant bonnet and the entire costume for her second giant, Emiel Antoon De Creeser ("Miele"/"Miel")

Of course, because she's extra, she did soooo many calculations to have pretty accurate anatomical proportions. And since last year, the measurements provided for the carrying structure were off, this year, she lengthened Fientje's sleeves, added lace trim over the seamline and added gorgeous cuffs:

The hands are made from shapewear and batting and they also have thick metal wiring in the fingers, which allow the giants to hold things like this basket:

Yesterday was the parade and the giants danced!

After the parade, Miele donned an extra piece of clothing:

A giant version of the vests for volunteers who help keep the neighbourhood clean by picking up litter.

That lettering? Again, my mum calculated how big the logo would need to be to be proportioned equally with a regular size vest, scaled up each individual letter, and drew them all on with permanent marker.

Ivago is the local waste collection and recycling municipality, and they're the "godparents" for this new giant.

So yeah. From sewing overalls for a baby over carnaval costumes and dressing four kids and costuming theatrical productions to making and dressing a 3.5m giant. That's ADHD audacity.

#actually adhd #sewing #giants #sculpting #painting #congrats mom!

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augustvandyne · 3 months

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hey, I was wondering if you could write this for Lucy Chen? Where reader is doing everything possible to get her back from being kidnapped. Which leases to the reader exposing their relationship to everyone in the station and doesn’t care about what anyone thinks, and only wants to get their girl back. Thanks for your time.

it’s kinda short but i love miss lucy and love writing for her!! i hope she gets treated better in the new season!

lucy and angela are my current obsession so please ask about them 🙏🏼 i also am loving the andy asks right now too!!

our girl

You were the one that figured it out.

Lucy had had a particularly hard role in the case that had taken place yesterday, and you knew she needed something to take her mind off of it.

When the group of you—Jackson, Lucy, John, Armstrong, and you had went out a day or two prior, Lucy had been approached by an old friend, and the two had hit it off after so many years.

You pushed her to go out with him last night, but she never came home to yours, Jackson’s, and hers shared home.

Lucy and you had been dating for a short while, but in secret.

It’s not that you didn’t want anyone to know or that you didn’t want to fill out paper work, but the two of you enjoyed just being you. You were afraid that if you let anyone in on your little secret, it would ruin the two of you.

But you had gotten over that fear a while ago, and now you really didn’t care if anyone found out. Even though you still hadn’t told them.

“Have you seen Lucy?” You and Jackson were frantic to find Lucy. You were both praying on the inside that she’d just went straight to work instead of coming home first.

That hope was crushed when John replied with, “Uh, no, not yet.”

“She didn’t come home last night,” Jackson gave an anxious look towards you.

“She’s a grown woman. Why? Are you worried?” John led the two of you into the main part of the station before roll call.

“No—“

“Yes,” You said fast, earning stares from both men. “She— she always comes home. She never misses our shows.”

“She was supposed to come home and watch our show,” Jackson agreed.

John had led the two of you towards Harper to ask the same questions, although, she hadn’t seen Lucy either.

Nyla takes the three freaking out officers towards Grey and Tim, who try to think better of things, only for their suggestions to be shot down by the three.

“Everybody listen up,” Grey announces after giving everyone but you a job. “Officer Lucy Chen has not been seen for approximately 13 hours. Given the circumstance, we cannot rule out abduction. So stop whatever you’re doing. I want everyone on this until she’s located.”

Your throat tightens in your chest and you feel like you can’t breathe. It only gets worse when Nyla and John come back over to you and Grey to tell you that her phone hadn’t been pinged since last night, around when they were set to meet.

“We believe Caleb is Rosalind’s protégé,” Grey says to the group.

You clench your jaw, your nerves only getting worse. Your breathing becomes slightly shallow and your hands shaky.

“.. and he took Officer Chen.”

Your gaze goes to the floor as you begin to have a panic attack. Lucy was the only one who knew about your anxiety and the attacks you got. She was also the only one who knew how to help you through them.

“I know how upsetting this is, but we have to remain focused,” Grey says, him and Armstrong sharing a look at your shaking body. “She’s counting on us. Any questions? Officer L/n?”

“No,” You take in a deep breath. “I don’t accept this.”

“Officer L/n..” Grey approaches you and puts his hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

“No!” You cry. “I cannot lose her, do you understand? I will not lose her because some sick psychopath doesn’t want to give up what makes her feel good and because she won’t stop killing from behind bars. She’s my— she’s the love of my life and I can’t lose her. I love her, and I haven’t even gotten to tell her that yet,” You scoff. “So we have to find her. Do you understand me?”

A few people whispered behind you, and a look of surprise flashes through Grey’s eyes, before they turn back to sympathetic.

“We will find her,” Grey promises. “We will get our girl back.”

You collapse into Grey’s arms, wanting nothing more than to just be embraced even if it isn’t by Lucy.

“Come on, Y/n,” John pulls you from the Sergeants arms. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll find her. Even if I have to kill Rosalind myself.”

“I call dibs,” You say.

Rosalind’s clues lead you out to a house in the middle of nowhere.

Caleb had found Armstrong along the way, and while Nyla and John took care of him and Caleb, the rest of the team had the job of searching the thousands of miles of dirt for a single clue as to where your girl was.

You searched for what felt like ever in the scorching hot heat.

A light catches your eye and you realize it’s the ring you’d given Lucy a few weeks ago. She must’ve thrown the ring on the ground before she was forced into the barrel.

You gasped as you slid onto the ground, immediately picking the ring up.

You stumble with putting the ring into your pocket, grateful she’s below you, but also terrified of what you’ll find when you dig the barrel up.

“Over here!” Your voice breaks as you begin to dig the dirt up. “Over here! Hurry!”

You hear hurried footsteps as Angela, Jackson, Tim, and the whole crew come running towards you to help dig the barrel up.

A few officer have shovels which makes the eternity go by faster.

When you hit the top of the barrel, you pull on the lid with all your strength and try to pull her out of the barrel on your own, but you fail.

“Help me, come on! Help me get her out.”

You lay her on the dirt, her feet still slightly dangling into the barrel.

She isn’t breathing, and you perform CPR to revive her. The second she starts breathing again you have her in your arms, rocking her back and forth.

“Baby,” You cry into her hair.

“Y/n/n,” Lucy looks at you and begins crying, her head finding your chest so no one could see her face.

“Oh, Lucy,” You hold her right, never letting go. “I love you.”

#the rookie #the rookie x reader #send asks #wlw post #lucy chen #lucy chen x reader #tim bradford #wade grey #john nolan #jackson west

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thedeathlysallows · 4 months

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Is It Over Now? (5)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon; Aegon Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon

Summary: I slept all alone but you still wouldn't go

Warnings: canon typical Targaryen incest. Mentions of sexual acts but no actual smut in this one. Drunk Aegon. Obsessive Aemond is plotting murder.

Sorry this wasn't up yesterday like I originally planned, but this is by far the longest piece I've written for this series. We're getting closer and closer to the drabble that started this whole thing. I hope y'all enjoy what an absolutely obsessed and unreliable narrator Aemond is!

Dinner, you decide early into the evening, is a fucking disaster. The only reason you stay through each course is because you love your grandsire and your mother. If it weren’t for them you would’ve gone back to your chambers long ago (or better still, not come at all). Better to be alone than under the watchful eyes of your uncles.

Aegon specifically is more than eager to stare at you the whole night from his seat across the table. Aemond isn’t as obvious, but you can still feel the intensity of his gaze when he does look your way.

“A toast,” your mother stands and raises her cup in her father’s direction, “to our king and to the future of our house. We’ve three betrothals to celebrate tonight. Jacaerys will wed Baela and Lucerys will wed Rhaena.”

Two matches you’ve seen coming for years, whether your mother had married Daemon or not. Once upon a time you believed your future to be just as straightforward as your brothers’, but that all ended the night you failed to save Aemond. Your once secure future went up in flames when he lost his eye at Luke’s hand.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Aemond turns to you. He wears a thoughtful expression on his face, gentle flames from the fireplace casting shadows here and there on his skin. He’s grown tall and handsome since the last time you saw him. A pity his mother hasn’t found him a match yet.

“And the third?” King Viserys looks between you and your mother expectantly. “Who have you found that could possibly be good enough for our dear Aemma?”

“Robert Tyrell,” your mother announces.

You’ve met Robert exactly three times and each time he’s been an all around pleasant, gentle, and handsome man. It could be worse. He could be worse.

But it would still be a lie to say you’re excited about the match.

You are your mother’s daughter after all, and you love your freedom.

The scrape of Aegon’s chair against the stone floor pulls you back to the present. His cheeks are red from either wine or anger or both, and his fists are balled at his side as he stands.

“Robert Tyrell?” Aegon spits the name between gritted teeth. “You’d marry Aemma to that fool?”

You stand almost immediately, not understanding why you feel the need to defend Robert, but doing so anyway. “Robert is a good man. He’s loyal. And sober.”

You look pointedly at Aegon’s cup. You’ve watched as servants refilled it four times through the last hour. He knocks it to the ground, stalking around the table so the two of you are chest to chest. You can feel the heat of him through your clothes and it feels like your skin is set aflame when he grabs your wrist.

“He’s an arrogant prick who could never keep you satisfied.”

Jace wedges himself between you and Aegon, prying your uncle’s hand from your skin. “Never touch my sister like that again.”

“And what will you do about it,” Aegon goads.

Surprisingly, it’s the King who demands Aegon to go back to his seat. “Enough! All of you be seated! Now!”

You bow your head and do as instructed. Aegon hesitates, but ultimately goes back to his side of the table. Jace follows suit.

Through this whole interaction, Aemond has been watching you closely. He watches the way your lips quiver at Aegon’s outburst. He watches the way your expression darkens when your marriage is mentioned.

You don’t want it.

The marriage.

Of course you don’t want it. Why would you? You’re meant for Aemond to claim and no one else. Aegon can say whatever he likes, but Aemond knows the undeniable truth. The two of you are meant to be. He’ll kill the Tyrell boy if he has to. Make it so his body is never found. He will do whatever he must to make sure you end up in his arms.

Aemond forces himself to look away from where you sit, joking with your brothers (another inconvenience he’ll need to do away with) and tunes back into the conversation Rhaneyra is having with their father.

“He arrives in King’s Landing tonight. I would like the marriage to take place within the week.”

Viserys nods wearily, pain clouding his eyes. “That will be arranged. With this I will take my leave.”

Everyone stands as the King leaves, but it isn’t long before chaos descends again.

“Does no one question how quickly our dear half sister wants this marriage performed?” Aegon, deep into his sixth glass of wine, folds his arms over his chest. “Is it because you’ve heard the servants whispering? Have you heard them discussing how the drunkard prince defiled your precious daughter? So you marry her off to the first name on your list.”

“Aegon,” Alicent hisses.

“No, Mother, I’m right. By all accounts Aemma is mine and I will have her!” He smirks, looking over at you with a glint of madness in his eyes. “I’ve already had her. Why not save our dear princess any shame and let me take her as a second wife?”

Daemon tilts his head, appraising Aegon. “I’d feed her to a dragon first.”

You can feel the tears prickling at your eyes, but you refuse to cry over Aegon. “You’ve never cared for me, uncle. Not truly. Not the way I cared for you. I’ll admit to my mistakes, but I’ll be damned if I ever repeat it. You’re nothing to me.”

Aegon swallows thickly. “Aemma-“

“Don’t.” You push away from the table, away from your family, and leave.

There are sounds of dissent when Aemond follows you, but he doesn’t listen. You’re hurting and that’s all he can focus on. You need him.

“Aemma,” he calls out. “Wait.”

You turn and Aemond is struck by your beauty once again. He wonders briefly if he'll ever tire of it. Of you and the way the moon casts a glow over you, making the tears trailing down your cheeks shimmer. Your lips are swollen, begging to be kissed, but he knows now isn’t the time. He’ll only take you once he’s tied up all the loose ends.

But that doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around you when you fling yourself into his chest and sob.

“I’ve ruined everything!” You cling to Aemond, needing some kind (any kind) of comfort. “Two bastard sons and a whore daughter. I’m supposed to be the one who never steps wrong, so my brothers can never be questioned. I threw all of it away for a moment with Aegon of all fucking people.”

Aemond isn't all that surprised you're going along with Aegon's lie. You've always done your best to protect the wastrel. He loves that about you as much as he hates it. You're dedicated to those you love, and he's certain you'll be absolutely devoted to him. You've always been devoted to him. It's your one weakness.

"There's no need to worry, sweetling." Aemond rubs your back as he speaks, loving the feeling of your soft skin under his calloused hand. "None of the lies matter."

You blink up at him, confusion clouding your teary eyes. "Lies? Aemond, I haven't lied. Aegon and I... we..."

Aemond shushes you once more. "You're protecting him like you always do. Like both of us are forced to do. It's admirable, but you don't need to think much on it. I'll take care of everything. Trust me."

He misses the suspicious look you give him, too focused on memorizing the shape of your lips and how you'd never willingly give them to anyone but him.

Because you're his.

You're his, you're his, you're his, you're-

"I think I would like to sleep now," you tell him as you disentangle yourself from his embrace.

"I'll escort you to your chambers."

"That's really not necessa-" You crane your neck to look up at him. "You remember the way? It's been years."

Aemond nods. "I remember everything."

He doesn't say the obvious: I remember everything about you. He doesn't think he needs to. The understanding is there in your eyes.

"Take me to bed, uncle." You slip your arm through his, forcing the two of you into motion.

Aemond says nothing as the two of you walk down the stone corridor, portraits of ancestors watching carefully. No, he's too busy playing your words over and over in his head. You're toying with him. You have to be. You have to have known how your words could be taken, and you have to have wanted him to take them that way.

What a naughty, lovely little dragon you are.

"I told you I remember," Aemond finally says, breaking the silence when the two of you arrive at your chamber door.

You hum thoughtfully. "So you did. Goodnight, uncle."

Aemond doesn't want to let go of your hand. He wants to keep hold of it and drag you the other way to his room where no one would think to look for you. He wouldn't fuck you yet- he's not the animal that Aegon is. He can wait until the two of you are married. You would be completely safe with him. Completely hidden.

But Aemond isn't the animal Aegon is.

So he lets go and says, "goodnight, niece."

He steps back and watches you disappear behind the heavy oak doors, the scent of your perfume lingering in the air. Oranges and cinnamon. The same as it was when you were children-

"Aemma!" Aegon's voice cuts through the quiet evening air and Aemond curses beneath his breath. Of course Aegon came to cause more trouble. "Aemma!"

"It's been less than twenty minutes, brother. How have you gotten more drunk since then?"

Aegon waves a dismissive hand at Aemond and balls his other into a fist, ready to bang on the door of Aemma's chamber.

"Don't," Aemond says, grabbing Aegon's wrist. "You'll disturb her."

Aegon's eyes are unfocused as he looks at his brother. "Who are you to stop me? If I want to go in there and bend her over a table right now, she won't stop me. Maybe if you ask nicely I'll let you get a taste-"

Aemond grips the front of his brother's tunic. "We've been over this. You need to leave her alone."

"So do you," Aegon bites out. "She'll never belong to either of us. We're too evil. Too depraved."

"Go to bed, Aegon." Aemond loosens his grip and shoves Aegon away from the door.

The brothers stare at one another for a heartbeat, each of them daring the other to move, but no one does. Aegon eventually relents and slinks off to his own room, leaving Aemond standing guard at Aemma's door.

Clearly you need protection.

Clearly you need need Aemond.

So he settles against the wall across from your door and keeps watch for the night. His mind reels with ways to dispose to Robert Tyrell and ways you'll thank him for it. Maybe a kiss, maybe your hand in marriage, maybe you'll even get on your knees and suck his cock with that pretty mouth of yours.

It's that image that sears itself in Aemond's mind, and that image that spurs him on to find Robert Tyrell just as the sun breaks over the horizon.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you

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angryschnauzer · 27 days

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Update 3th April 2024

How are we into the 4th month of the year already? This year is slipping away so quickly. Anyway, my husband finished Radiotherapy mid Feb, had a few weeks off treatment, and is now on 6 cycles of strong chemotherapy. He has 5 days on tablet dose, then 23 days off, so its a 4 week cycle. We had an update meeting with his Neurologist. The tumour hasn't started to grow back, but we've got to add a 'yet' to that. The type of brain tumour (Glioblastoma) is an incredibly agressive form of brain cancer, spreading tendrils out into the crevices of the brain that there is never any way of scooping the whole thing out and getting every last bit with surgery. Thus the Radiotherapy and chemotherapy to try and blast - i cant think of a better word - as much remaining cancer as it can. He'll have regular MRI's to monitor any regrowth etc, and as he's mid 40's if he's strong enough he can have surgery again.

So now we're at the start of April and to be honest the last three months have been horrible. At the start of the year i caught a cough that developed into Bronchitis, and then by mid March i was so ill it was Pneumonia. When Hubby was on his 'rest' weeks post radiotherapy he was unable to rest as he had to help me care for our son. Sidenote; our Son's type 1 diabetes has been somewhat out of control during this time too. Two weeks ago i was admitted to the emergency dept at Hospital with chest pains. Hardly surprising with the amount of stress i'm under, but it turned out to be caused by bruising my internal chest muscles from coughing so much due to the pneumonia. Doctors told me i must rest. Well, the universe decided it didn't like that option and the day after Hubby went down with a cold/flu like virus, and because of his cancer treatment all but destroying his immune system, it's knocked him sideways. We're now 10 days later and its still in full force. I had to take him to the cancer hospital yesterday to have blood tests to ensure it hadn't turned bacterial (it hasn't) but we've been having awful nights sleep for the both of us which means neither of us are recovering at a rate we need.

So that's were we're at. Its just a massive cycle of illness followed by illness and it feels like we can't get out of it.

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thebibutterflyao3 · 2 months

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Day Thirteen - Prompt: Necklaces @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 797 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Evan toyed with the layered necklaces that he always wore as he waited for the next customer to sit down. Just like yesterday, the tattoo shop was packed with people taking advantage of holiday time off. There was nothing quite like the high of new ink to brighten their drab lives. Evan knew that better than anyone.

The bell over the door trilled to announce yet another new customer. He leaned up in his seat to see if it was one of his regulars. It would be nice to see a familiar face.

He registered the faded green tips of the bloke’s hair before anything else and immediately ducked back into his cubicle. Evan cursed under his breath as he busied himself with straightening up his supplies. The last thing he needed today was to deal with Barty.

“Frank? You want to see Frank?” Emmeline said, sounding puzzled. “Alright, but you’ll have to wait a bit. He has three people ahead of you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll wait.”

Evan ground his teeth together in annoyance. He should be glad that Barty requested Frank. It saved him the humiliation of refusing to serve the prick. Barty wasn’t known for taking rejection well, as was evidenced by his confrontation with Pandora.

“Do you know what you want?” Emmeline asked.

“Nah, he can pick. You know I don’t care, Em.”

“Yeah. I assumed as much, but I had to ask.”

Emmeline wandered through the cubicles on her way to Frank. She aimed an apologetic smile at him as she passed his stall and mouthed “sorry.” He shrugged and feigned indifference.

As she delivered the message to Frank, Evan’s hands balled into fists in his lap. He needed to pull himself together. This was completely normal for Barty every time he came in. He never asked for anything specific or even bothered looking through the idea books on the counter. It was always, “whatever you want.”

Besides, he was Barty’s flatmate. It made perfect sense for him to request Frank. They were barely friends, from what he’d seen. Definitely no chemistry between the two of them.

I don’t care if they did have chemistry. That’s not my problem anymore.

Except, he did care. Too much, probably.

Emmeline leaned into his stall on the way back. “Are you alright? Do you need to take a break?”

“I’m fine. Just give me something to do, Em.”

“Do you want a big piece? I have a bloke waiting that wants a dragon.”

“Yes, I’ll take it,” he said eagerly.

She nodded curtly and disappeared. “Tonks? Are you ready? Stall two.”

When the man appeared in his doorway, Evan smiled politely and offered his hand. “Evan Rosier. Nice to meet you.”

“Ted.”

“What are we doing today, Ted?” Evan settled onto his stool and gestured at the table. “Emmeline mentioned a dragon.”

Ted nodded as he pulled off his shirt. The outline was already placed and trailed from the top of his spine down to the small of his back. It was a detailed piece and appeared to be custom-made.

“Is that one of ours?”

“No, my daughter drew it,” he answered, grinning as he plopped on the table. Ted turned to let Evan examine the piece. “Pretty good, right? It’s a surprise.”

Evan studied the design carefully. It was intricate, but large enough that he shouldn’t have any trouble with it. The dragon’s scales were hinted at with a few small sections instead of the entire animal, which was doable.

“Colour and shading or line work only?”

“Line work. I figured I’d let her colour it in when it heals and take a picture, so you can see how to finish it later.”

“That works. Is this your first tattoo?” he checked.

“Yes.”

“This will probably take a few multiple hour-long sessions. Is that alright?”

Ted glanced back at him and nodded. “I can handle it. Don’t worry.”

Evan patted his side with a grin. “Just making sure you’re prepared. How’s your pain tolerance?”

“Good. I broke my arm two years ago and didn’t know it.”

“Nice. Go ahead and stretch out on your belly for me. Try to relax and let me know if you need a break,” he advised, turning to gather his supplies. “Music preference?”

“Nah, whatever is fine.”

Evan picked up his phone and opened his favourite playlist. “This one’s a mix of genres, so I’m sure there will be a few you like.”

As the opening notes of Mr. Brightside flowed through the speakers on the counter behind him, Evan bobbed his head. He tucked a clean cloth in the waistband of Ted’s jeans to protect them from the ink and give him a comfortable place to rest his hand.

This is great. I’ll be too busy to even think about him.

Next Part>>>

#barty crouch jr x evan rosier #evan x barty #barty x evan #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty jr #evan rosier #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic

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epicbuddieficrecs · 7 months

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Epic Buddie Fic Rec | October 9th-15th 2023

Hey guys!

I'm trying to get back into the habit of making these recs every week. I've been working on a banner and it's not ready yet, but I didn't want to wait for it to be ready before making fic recs because procrastination = bad!! 😆 I hope you enjoy!

If you don't know me from my other fic rec blogs, I rec pretty much all the fics that I've read and that I've enjoyed in these recaps, but I put an emoji next to the ones that I liked just a liiiiiittle bit more 😉 For Stucky, I used blue hearts (💙), for Steddie I used black hearts (🖤), and for Buddie... well the decision wasn't too hard to make 😜

Complete

take me to the edge (then let me fall) by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP | 1K | Explicit): Or, the one where Eddie edges Buck until he loses his mind all the while calling him a good boy.

🔥 but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

🔥 still by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Post-Season 6 AU, Near Death Experiences | 9K | Teen): “Your guess was correct, Diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “You’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. Don’t shift. When you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it."

to feel the need of your touch by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Light BDSM, Post-Season 6 | 7K | Explicit): When Natalia had casually suggested they stay fuck buddies, at least until he got his shit together about Eddie, Buck had seriously considered it. But it just wasn’t what he wanted. So, he had said no and Natalia had understood, and that was that. And now, Buck was miserable. He was so sensitive. His skin felt like a live wire. Any and all touches he received started to feel like a shock to his system. Or, the one where Buck is touchstarved and desperate for Eddie. They fuck but it's also really sweet.

reassure me with your praise by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Kinktober, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit): Or, the one where Buck is concerned he might be bad in bed and Eddie has a solution.

bet on it by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Kinktober | 4K | Explicit): Or, the one where newly together Buck and Eddie make a bet to see who can last longer without sex. The bet lasts one day.

Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Friends to Lovers, First Time | 8K | Explicit): "Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. - Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together.

hope is a sword by marcato/ @callaplums (Post-Season 6, Near-Death Experiences | 5K | Teen): Holy shit, Eddie loves him so much. He’s been so stupid, telling himself to wait for the right moment. What right fucking moment? It should have been yesterday, three weeks ago– hell, it should have been three years ago when he was telling his best friend about the goddamn will. It doesn’t matter right now, though. The only thing that matters is keeping as much of Buck’s blood inside his body as possible. One can only hope and wish and pray.

🔥 Four Can Keep a Secret by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-Season 6, Secret Relationship | 20K | Teen): When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

early hours of yearning by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (PWP, Kinktober | 4K | Explicit): “You really wanna go again?" “Yes,” he confirms, gently scratching his teeth down the side of his neck, treasuring the deep moan he gets in response. “God, you’re fucking insatiable," he hears Eddie moan as he tilts his head back, giving Buck more space to work. “Doesn’t feel like you’re complaining."

how forever feels by icesculptures/ @ice-sculptures @athenagranted (Post-Season 6, Getting Together | 8K | General): Or: tired of the growing distance between them, Eddie asks Buck to dance at Maddie and Chimney's wedding, healing more than his own heart along the way.

WIP

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Fallout 4 AU, Post-Apocalyptic | 4/14 | 7K | Mature | Warning: Violence): After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

🔥 Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU | 8/9 | 24K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 2/? | 4K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 10/? | 85K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fanfic #911 fanfiction #911 fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic rec #epic buddie fic rec

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lively-potter · 3 months

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— moon struck ; part 5

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers, kinda grumpy x sunshine, fluff, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; LivelyPotter

— word count ; 1.5k

— intro , part one, part two, part three, part four

— taglist ; @ahgasegotarmy116 @jk97bam

river's pov ; two days later ; six am

Sullenly staring at Jungkook's unread text messages on my phone, guilt bubbled within my veins.

Two days ago, when we exchanged numbers, I had only replied once.

And that was all.

I was too nervous to even text him.

And I felt bad for ignoring him when he didn't do anything wrong – and I was sure to get yet another lecture for my behavior once Corey found out.

It was only a matter of time before Jungkook would come and drop off Moon before he went to work...and I didn't know what to do.

Sighing lowly, I hesitantly opened his message – one he had sent yesterday and gulped.

jungkook: how r u?

Something inside me fluttered at his words, but I pushed those feelings to the back of my mind, to a place I would more than likely never visit unless I was in the middle of a midnight mental breakdown.

I didn't like to allow myself to feel much.

Not even back when I was a young teenager.

I had never experienced love...or romantic feelings towards anyone.

Sure, I loved my family and my friends but romantic feelings...yeah no.

I was better off alone, or so I told myself.

My thumbs tapped lightly on the screen of my cell phone as I sat, cross legged, on the floor beside Sang and a couple of seven-year-olds. I sent a smile to the happy kids and handed them the baby dolls they asked for.

me: I'm great. How are you?

I bit down on my lip, debating whether or not my text was too unfeeling. I rolled my eyes at my conscience and typed out another message.

me: also, I'm sorry for the late reply. I was up late last night finishing up another order for later today and my phone died. I hope you and Moon have been well.

There.

Now my stupid guilty conscience can take a rest.

"You okay, Rivvy?"

I snapped out of my of daze and stashed my phone in my pocket.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the familiar matte black Audi R8 park in front of the daycare center and paled.

"Uh, yeah..." I muttered under my breath, feeling the air expelled from my lungs at the sight of Jungkook, dressed in a pair of black pants with red lining down the legs with a matching top.

As always, his hair was effortlessly styled and another pair of black chunky combat boots accentuated his figure and fashion.

I distantly wondered how many pairs of combat boots the man owned and wondered if I could ever pick up the nerve to ask him where he got them so I could get a pair for myself.

I was embarrassed to say that Jungkook and Moon had better style than me.

I preferred to wear clothing that hid my figure...so I wouldn't feel people staring at me all the time.

Before I knew it, I was on my feet and hurrying away when Jungkook opened the back door and disappeared inside the car.

"I'm just... going to...check on the cupcakes! Yeah, that's it!" I snapped my fingers, ignoring Sang's blank stare on my back.

In the background, across the room, Brett's roaring laughter was heard.

"You can only hide for so long, Rivvy!" Brett called after my scampering figure. I waved her off and skidded inside the kitchen. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I quickly shook off the trepidation of opening the text message that came through.

I know, Brett—no need to remind me.

I groaned and tugged the sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt over my hands and ducked down. You freaking coward.

I gnawed nervously on my lip when the door opened and Moon's excited squeals entered the room. The nervous lip-biting washed away at her happy squeals and my heart quickened in happiness.

Awww.

"Hey, sweet little Moon!" I heard Sang coo in the other room, "I've missed seeing your adorable little face."

Moon gurgled happily, another happy screech leaving her little body. "Riv! Riv! Riv!" her cute little voice chirped over and over. I could barely contain the awed noise that left my lips after she called out to me.

All I wanted to do was leave my hiding spot and cuddle the little cute baby.

My lips thinned nervously at Jungkook's rumbling chuckle. "You'll see her soon, baby. Okay?"

"Awwww! Lemme hold you, little Moon!" Brett exclaimed happily, more than likely already trying to hold Moon.

A cute angry cry left Moon.

"No!" Moon's favorite word other than 'Da' left her, "Wan' Riv! Da! Wan' Riv!"

A victorious snicker left my lips at Moon's blatant refusal of Brett holding her echoed throughout the room. I slowly left my hiding spot to quietly sneak my way to the oven, where the cupcakes were inside baking.

The smell of chocolate was in the air, and within a couple more minutes, they would be done.

The conversation happening in the other room left my mind as I put my focus in getting the cupcakes out of the oven, and onto the rack to cool. I'd have to decorate them later since the order was due tomorrow.

Mrs. Goode's daughter Sarah, the girl we had watched over a couple of times, had a birthday party tomorrow at five, and I'd promised Mrs. Goode that I would have them all ready.

I still had a couple more rounds to make, but I'd get it done even if I had to be up the entire night.

Sarah was such a sweet kid, and I put all my time and effort into making sure she had the perfect little cupcakes for her party.

While my back was turned, the kitchen door opened behind me. Obliviously, I slid on one oven mitt and maneuvered the cupcake pan out of the oven.

"Those cupcakes smell good." a husky voice spoke up suddenly from behind me. Being caught off guard, my heart shot out of my butt.

A shriek of pain left my lips the moment I jumped, the cupcake pan falling to the floor, and in my haste to save them, the mitt fell off my tiny hand and I grabbed the searing hot pan with my bare hands.

My hands burned like I was touching an open flame. Quickly I threw the pan on top of the oven and looked at my burning hands.

"Ow!"

"Holy fuck –" I heard Jungkook mutter from behind me. Instantly, his tattooed hands were on either side of my biceps, and twirling me around to face him. My head was turned downward, so I didn't see his face as he took both of my injured hands in his and observed them closely. "I'm so sorry — I–I didn't mean to scare you." his sad apologetic voice tugged at my heartstrings. I bit my lip as he led me over to the sink and held my hands underneath the icy cold water.

His front was firmly, closely pressed against my back, huddled towards me as his thumbs gently ran over my red palms.

I flushed a deep red at being so close to him and allowed him to continue to hold my hands under the steady stream of water. My head fell back, against my wishes, mind you, and rested on his rest.

The top of my head only met his pec.

Unknowingly, I allowed myself to bask in his touch, enjoying the way he was so close to me.

No man had ever been this close to me.

Ever.

And I liked it.

But I didn't want to like it as much as I did.

"I'm sorry, River." his guilty voice snapped me from my thoughts when the burning sensations dulled. "I swear I didn't mean to."

I licked at my dry lips, glad I wasn't facing him so he could see my blushed cheeks. "I-it's okay." I trailed off, "I should have been paying more attention." I added, not understanding why I wanted to reassure him.

"Still," he murmured, thumbs lazily rubbing circles along with my wrist. And I let him. The heat radiating off of him warmed my chilled body and I unconsciously snuggled against him.

Seeing this, Jungkook smiled above me and pressed closer, warming my body with his. "Do you need me to take you to the hospital? I-I don't mind," he suggested kindly.

Words left us. Jungkook and I only stood in front of the sink, water still running over my hands, both unwilling to part from one another.

While my head continued to rest against his pec, I couldn't help but wonder just why I was feeling...whatever this feeling was when I was near him – or even when I thought about him.

I didn't want to feel this...right?

This was something I had been agonizing over for months, and I was no closer to figuring it out than when I first tried to work through it.

Anxiety stole my breath away and I struggled to catch it back.

I wasn't ready for this.

And I wasn't sure I ever would be.

author's note ; ✨

hiiiii ~ ❤️✨

Thanks so much for reading!