#she's such a different character than i usually write
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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 four years ago, 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. Charles 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 head 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 four years ago.”
“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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My two cents on Shogun finale with spoilers:
I think the way this finale was handled can be used as a fine example of how to subvert expectations in the *right* manner. This is not the kind of ending that would make us go WTF after momentary shock value only to disappoint us terribly but an ending which might not be what I - as a show only fan had predicted - but one which makes sense in the longer run like all the pieces of a puzzle falling into place to make a beautiful picture.
The actual event of the battle matters not as much as the actions of the people involved who contributed to its occurrence and affected its results. The wheels of fate are already in motion. We know that, come what may, Toranaga shall prevail. But that is a tale for another day. The one which we have been following until now was about Toranaga fighting against all odds and carefully setting the stage in order to achieve his dream, about Blackthorne who started his journey as an outsider in a foreign and hostile land with less than noble intentions finding a home in that place and about Mariko who patiently strived to fulfill her destined purpose and add meaning to her existence. And so she did. For even after her death, her presence was imbued in almost every scene leaving an everlasting impact on them.
The misleading opening of the episode with an aged Blackthorne who seemed to be back in England reminiscing about his days at Osaka clinging onto Mariko's crucifix was done in a clever manner. I was momentarily led to believe that Blackthorne might get to sail home afterall and I failed to understand why they would do that. But the lines between what was a fleeting dream and reality became abundantly clear when I witnessed Blackthorne letting go of Mariko's crucifix into the oceans. Mariko had become one with her homeland and by living there forever, Blackthorne had become one with her.
The writing of Shogun also shows us how one can make significant changes to certain characters and their relationships that differ from the source material and handle them wisely while adapting a story which is linked to the actions of its key players. Mariko's friendship with Ochiba and Ochiba's regard for her paid off because her death led Ochiba to withdraw her support for Ishido, even if she wasn't going to ally with Toranaga. This particular change from the books affected the plot and in a meaningful way. It's an achievement which certain other adaptations that introduce drastic changes without any regard for the overarching plot cannot boast of.
As a MariThorne shipper, I was left satisfied albeit in a bittersweet sense because while John had lost Mariko, his love for her still persisted. It was heartbreaking but this is a tragedy well done. One that I would remember forever. The last scene was oddly satisfying because, even if he doesn't know it yet, Blackthorne is exactly where he belongs now.
The acting was stellar as usual. Cosmo Jarvis and Tadanobu Asano deserve a special mention for this episode while Hiroyuki Sanada never disappoints. I'm grateful to the entire team of Shogun for delivering a show that I enjoyed wholeheartedly until the very end. And off I go to read the book next.
#shogun fx#shogun#yoshii toranaga#toda mariko#john blackthorne#anna sawai#hiroyuki sanada#cosmo jarvis#shogun ep 10
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Killing Games | Vox x Alastor’s Child Reader— OATSH
If you like what I’m doing consider tipping me for priority requests & access to characters I don’t usually write for such as Charlie, Valentino, Carmilla, and more.
Vox gets drunk and asks some questions, gets some answers and more questions.
Sometimes, Vox let his mind wander. That was more prevalent when he was drunk. Which is precisely why it was a bad idea for him to drink when he was in public, much less at an overlord party with his wife and Alastor, both notorious for being able to hold their liquor.
He was leaned slightly so his arm was around your shoulder but with that came most of his body weight. His free hand was trailing your blackened nails. Absolutely fascinated with the soft gradient and how the silver of your ring contrasted it.
He loved your sharp claws. He adored them and the softness with which they touched him with. Leaving nothing but small tingles along his skin. While also being capable of tearing through the flesh of others. He’d seen them dripping with blood many times and it was so beautiful.
“Have you ever thought,” he began idly, unknowingly cutting a conversation between you and Alastor short, “of killing me?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
You and Alastor both answered at the same time.
Vox whipped his head up immediately. He’d expected the answer from Alastor, but you? The two of you were married. He slept by you at night and you’d thought of killing him?
“You’ve wanted to kill me?” Vox asked you.
“Yes, often,” Alastor answered instead.
You amended Vox’s question, “No, I’ve thought of killing you, darling. I don’t plan on actually doing it. It wouldn’t be worth the hassle or the clean up. I’d also miss you too much for it to be a worthwhile effort.”
“But you’ve thought of it?”
“Don’t think you’re special,” you told him. “I’ve thought of killing most everyone I’ve ever met. It’s a passing thought.”
“Really? I commonly dwell on the idea,” Alastor said.
“Well, you’re not the one who married him so that’s not a true concern for you, is it?”
“It’s a concern for me,” Vox said.
“Yes, well, we have a deal,” you told Vox. “Should the time ever come where you do something irredeemable, it’ll be a team effort to kill your so really, you don’t.”
“You’ve discussed killing me?”
“I’ve wanted to kill you since the moment we’ve met,” Alastor said. “Luckily for you, I hold my child’s opinion in high regard and haven’t.”
“How lucky for us,” you said a bit sarcastically.
Vox’s hand holding yours tightened. “I feel like I’m in danger right now.”
You patted his hand. “You’re completely safe, I assure you.”
“Yeah, completely safe with two murderers.”
“What a fascinating thing,” Alastor said as he leaned on his hand, closer to Vox. “You were completely comfortable with the idea until the moment it was confirmed we’d thought of killing you.”
“Yeah, because there’s a difference between knowing you’d both killed people for breaking moral codes versus knowing you’ve both thought of killing me when I haven’t broken it,” Vox said.
“Debatable,” Alastor said.
You didn’t hesitate ripping the microphone Alastor had been letting bounce from hand to hand from him. You then proceeded to hit him with it. Alastor’s ears flicked back and he scowled at you, baring his teeth and gums. The microphone dissipated from your hands and into shadow.
“Again, I’ve thought of killing most people I’ve met,” you told Vox, like it was supposed to be reassuring.
“Starlight?”
“Yes.”
“She’s one of your favorite people,” Vox said.
“And it would be an awful tragedy to lose her,” you told him and it would, on more grounds than just the fact that she was your assistant.
“Rosie?”
“It’s a bit of a game between the three of us to try to kill one another actually,” you said.
“Ah, yes, you did get very close last time. Rosie’s got absolutely delectable calves. You did a very wondrous job with that meal preparation,” Alastor said.
“Thanks, daddy,” you said with what looked like genuine appreciation for the compliment.
“That’s why Rosie was in a wheelchair for a month?!” Vox asked, yelled really causing multiple heads (including Rosie’s own) to turn to your table.
“Do be aware of your volume,” Alastor said, “but yes. I don’t say it often but I was very proud.”
“Wait, the three of you,” Vox said gesturing between the two of you with his hand that was hanging off your shoulder. “The three of you have made it a game to kill each other.”
“That was established,” Alastor said.
“So you’ve thought of killing each other?”
“And attempted it as a passing game,” you said. “Every time we eat something the other makes there’s a chance it’ll be poisoned. Those times I’ve gotten sick after seeing daddy, those were all because he’d poisoned the food.”
“You’ve poisoned your child?!”
“Volume,” you said before you reached for the dial at the side of his face and turned it down several notches. “But don’t worry, I was the one who poisoned him first.”
“And what an excellent job at that you did!” Alastor praised. “I was incapacitated for two and a half days. A true feat!”
Vox’s face briefly glitched out before coming back on. “Normal people don’t think about much less try to lull people they like much less their family.”
“Really?” You looked over at Alastor and then back at Vox. “So, the depictions in media of children hating their parents is over exaggerated?”
“Yes!”
“Huh,” Alastor said, “fascinating. I thought it was far more common but I suppose I only had your experience and my own to compare. How interesting.”
“What family did I marry into?” Vox asked as he downed your glass in one go.
“You should have known better,” you told him with a soft smile.
Later that night, the two of you were in bed. You were on Vox’s chest. Your claws drawing up and down his exposed chest.
“How would you kill me?” Vox asked.
You laughed softly, breath brushing against his skin. “Still on this?”
“Humor me.”
You were silent for a moment, just listening to his heartbeat.
“The thought of living without you hurts too much for me to entertain the idea for long,” you said. “The idea normally comes to me quick and sudden and leaves just as fast. Sometimes I’ll be making dinner and think of slipping something in your drink. Other times it’s the knife. How easy it would be to turn around and drag it from your belly button to your collarbone—“ your claw moved down the path— “Right now it’d be so easy to choke—“ your hand went up to his neck and squeezed— “you to sleep.”
Your grip loosened and you placed your head back on his chest.
“But I can’t,” you said. “I can think about it but I can’t do it. I’d miss you too much.”
When you were asleep, Vox stayed awake. His hands ran through the fur of your tail and scratched at the base of it.
He had a lot to think about. The game of death. The fact that you’d thought of killing him. That the main think that stopped you was your affection for you.
Why was he so horny?
If you like what I’m doing consider commissioning me for canon/canon stories AND personalized canon/reader stories.
#vox x reader#hazbin vox x reader#one author two show hosts#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x reader
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literally the best part of this whole stupid book iwlove weird obsessed horndogs thee villain archetype of all time. he’s so silly. “we could’ve had a life together”, he says to his lesbian ex-neighbour who he’s just shot with a crossbow bolt meanwhile her girlfriend who he’s also just shot is half dead across the room. god i love it here he said me and the bad bitch im going to fumble
#WHAT A FUCKING FREAK IJBOL!!!!!!#MORE PSYCHOSEXUALLY OBSESSED WEIRDO VILLAINS PIXELBERRY I KNOW YOU HAVE IT IN U.#their villains are usually so cringe and one note at least this one is memorable#mind you this could have used more buildup. up until like chapter 19 he still had the benefit of the doubt#his ass was NOT beating the twist villain allegations but the fucking freak allegations were a whole separate beast#and he could be presumed innocent in those. like sure i guess these are just average fanatic werewolf hunter antics.#like EYE had my suspicions. him sending that frat bro to sexually harass mc was a fucking freak move#but like in general he was coming off as someone who was just a normal amount of concerned about a friend of theirs falling in w a cult#like girl why am i following my cringe fwb into the pool house to be all ‘babe this isnt u :(’#i dont CARE i wanna go engage with the twist antagonist who at this point my mc still thinks is kind of normal/their friend!!!#but alas that’s just pb for you. we WILL NOT stick a landing ever. they make all the new writers swear to never write a villain that makes#sense or is well foreshadowed. ONLY side characters who you would never suspect bc they have like 5 lines in the whole book.#like you’ll never be duffy veilofsecrets you’ll never recapture that magic.#anyway. markus choicesalpha the fucking weirdo cringefail stalker incel loser you could have been…kermit looking out rainy window dot png#maeve speaks#playchoices#choices#pixelberry#choices alpha#channing lowe#markus barnes#side note this whole thing probably has a Much different vibe with a male mc#but as it is it’s like ijbol. channing is cringe and emotionally unavailable but how could you POSSIBLY compare to a buff werewolf bitch#he is so completely not a contender that its comedic to me. you think WE could have had a LIFE TOGETHER?#even if my mc had never ever met channing SHE IS A LESBIAN!!!! SHES GAY DUDE STOP IT LOL#and with a female mc and male channing its like yeah whatever average incel number 10 billion. wow youre going to kill me bc some other guy#is hotter than you? eyeroll. at least channing canonically gives great head.
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i started reading this fucking out of character thick of it fanfic like a week ago bc even tho i could tell from first glance it was going to be ooc i was just curious and it sounded kind of funny slash tragic. (how are you tagging grief child death domestic violence attempted suicide on a ttoi fic hello?) and i dooo like complaining And for the most part if it weren't supposed to be about those guys it would just be pretty good so im not Regretting it? but i didn't realise how many stories were in the series and im probably 150k words in. and not much more than halfway through
#and it doesnt even have sex scenes. fml#me.txt#iam also so fed up with writing that seems to romanticise women prioritising men andtheir emotions over their own personal safety/ wellbeing#like im not saying you cant Depict that but maybe lets unpack that. and not treat it as if it's just that woman's inherent personality#rather than a something shes been Taught to do#though while we're on the subject actually i dont think the way nicola is written is in character either#like i focus on malcolm bc its more egregious but nicola is not.. shes not putting her kids before herself like that.#i know losing one of them might make a difference but its not even presented like it's bc of that. its just oh im writing a woman well her#priority must be her kids! well no she is a bad mum and doesnt really like her kids so#but that didnt stand out to me so much until i started rewatching s3.#i was more like ah yes. famously anti-racist feminist ally malcom tucker who easily goes not just hours but months at a time without saying#anything homophobic and uses the occasional ableist turn of phrase in his mind but usually keeps it to himself.#i mean i can definitely understand not wanting to comr up with and write realistic malcolm tucker dialogue. i wouldnt want to.#but well the whole thing is a bit he wouldnt fucking say or do any of that#but again. i could see that clearly from the description and walked in eyes open#its good tho its given me a lot to think about at work.
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favorite thing ever is to go on goodreads and search up the names of books i hate to see if Everyone Else has the same opinion on it
#they usually do#this is about a lesson in vengeance which i read on the way back from my writing program and hated with a passion#today on i hate pretentious mcs who have literally every privilege and treat poc/enby ppl to further their own growth#also ik this is dark academia but literally why the fuck do they drink hard alcohol so much#when its not alcohol its black coffee like ok. what the fuck#i love complex characters but they were both pretentious -> traumatized -> manipulative -> hatred just switching up the order#then theres . 'my dormmate wants to be skinny soooo bad she does everything to be skinny well IM skinnier than her and she wants to be me'#'my doormmate is black and has been ostracized from her sorority cult for having a personality :((( well IM white and i was ostracized for#KILLING MY GIRLFRIEND'#like there is a clear difference. plus that character was only ever there to further the mcs understanding of race which . bffr#this couldve been fine if it wasnt for the mc who is The pretentious dark academic white girl trying to pretend shes not like the other#pretentious dark academic white girls#'and then theres me. who like REAL literature and wears tweed blazers' like youre aware this is literally the starter pack for every 13 y.o#person who thinks this will make them Cool right . like you do know that .#wow. anyways#the overdue asteroid strikes again#i am in fact a hater
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The mainline pokemon games' poor writing is very frustrating 75% of the time because it's either close to being good or just a complete waste of potential. However the other 25% of the time I fucking love that nothing is fleshed out because then I can hit it with Autism Blast and do whatever the fuck I want
#I'm thinking about volo as per the usual. my version of him is so far from canon he's not even the same character#not that he even Has a lot of depth. his motive is even less fleshed out than cyrus' already weak reasoning#in canon it's just kinda. 'oh no I have been sad :( time to subjugate god and remake the world in its entirety'#I grabbed him like a squeaky toy and turned it into#'everything I knew and loved was wiped off the face of the earth I will always outlive everyone who means something to me#the one person who won't Fucking Despises Me because she knows I'm becoming what I hate. also not dying sucks when you hate your body#and don't know yet that being trans is an option'#mans just wants to start over and have his home back and live the normal life he lost#rambles#GOD DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT VOLO I WILL NEVER SHUT UP IM SO EMO ABT THIS MAN#come to think of it I've done the same thing to cyrus but like. that's bc I write him in a completely different context#from the one that motivates him in canon#so he has a completely different motovation when I write him#GOD I LOVE VILLAINS W FRIENDSHIP EVO POKEMON!!!!
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Changed my pfp to the lovely Miss Daaé (one of, if not my most beloved gothic heroine 💕) as played by the super talented Amy Manford in the Greek production, since I'm in a Phantom mood these days (I'm even re-reading one of my fav phics and editing my....... *cringes* old Canon Divergent fic that I wrote when I was 19/20 because oh my god, it sure af needed some heavy adjustments brrrrr 🤦🏻🤦🏻)
#like. that fic is SO bad on many levels and my writing improved soooo much over the years it's not even funny#but i'm extremely fond of it since it was my first completed long fic#and i loved writing about erik (poor little meow meow Most Beloved etc. etc.) and his relationship with the main female protagonist#who is... technically not an oc but let's be honest. she's such a small character in canon#that the heavily detailed personality/backstory i gave her makes her almost an oc#and one of my blueprints/fav archetypes for female characters in general#it's not an e/c story (tho i do like e/c and the fic i'm currently rereading is a GREAT eristine au)#but i also tried to make *their* relationship (as told through the abovementioned not quite oc main pov) as nuanced#and tragically fascinating as i think it is in canon 🙏#most of all it was a challenge. i remember my main goal was to write a relationship between erik and a young woman#with a VERY different personality than christine's. not bcs i dislike c. (quite the opposite as you can see from my pfp!)#but almost as a writing experiment. which most of my works usually end up being btw#so their relationship and eventually romance is some kind of a foil/distorted mirror of canon e/c. there's the (anti)villain/heroine +#older mentor/younger pupil + batb/death&the maiden themes etc.#BUT! the girl has a very different temperament than erik's main object of affection and desire#(wilder; darker; closer to his own actually *and* in itself a foil for christine's softer but not less strong nature)#and it's also true enemies to friends to lovers. and by far the most tragic thing i've ever written#like. i remember crying my heart out while writing erik's death scene... in the same chapter i made him and my girl fuck#and find some kind of romantic blessing after all the shit i put them through. unbelievable skskks#tho mind you it's NOT good. like AT ALL#actually i'm extremely embarrassed about it. how the fuck did i even think this was readable#let alone publishable on a fanfic site? OH MY FUCKING GOD. the shame the cringiness of it all......#but as i already said i'm still very fond of and nostalgic about it. it's also a very personal work#i was going through some rough time and put a lot of myself my fears and mental struggle in it#yes the projection was... quite obvious in hindsight#still. it's in URGENT need of editing#also @ italian mutuals if you're into phantom please DON'T go seeking and read it. just..... don't 😬😬😬😂😂#i promise my writing is much better now! not *that* good mind you lol. but at least it's vaguely decent (?)#val speaks#txt
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could i request spencer x bombshell!reader where maybe spencer and the team meet reader’s ex boyfriend / a guy she used to be interested in and he’s sooo different from spencer so he assumes her flirting is a joke but really she never had a type until she met spencer n now she’s only into nerdy, sweater-vest wearing sweethearts <3
love ur work sm i only read spencer fics but i read all your characters bc the writing is so intoxicating !!
thank you for your request angel! <3 1k, fem
Spencer looks adorable today. You’re not sure if he knows, but that can be easily rectified.
“Spencer Reid,” you say sternly.
He’s immediately wide-eyed and sorry. “What?” he asks, pouting.
“You have some explaining to do.” You glare, taking your compact from your pocket. You open it, check your appearance, fighting a huge smile as you flick the mirror on him accusingly. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I don’t get it.” His eyes jump between the mirror and you. “Sorry?”
“You should be sorry. Do you see how nice you look today?” He rolls his eyes. “Hey, don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.”
You and Spencer have known each other for years now, and you love him. You’d die for him easily in the field, and out of it too, but you’re not together and he’s bad at accepting compliments, so he shrugs you off like you’re only teasing him.
“My handsome partner,” you say. Even if he isn’t your boyfriend, that’s your loophole. You and Spencer get paired for everything these days, because you’re best friends and Hotch has given up on separating you (though professionally there’s no need). “I could eat you.”
“Still mildly threatening, then,” a voice says.
You spin in your chair, shocked and a little horrified to find the last person you wanted to see here in Connecticut. “Cory!” you say, knowing he’ll believe you’re enthusiasm if nobody else.
“Hi, beautiful. You weren’t gonna call me?”
Your lips pop as you reply, “I was definitely going to, just as soon as we weren’t on the clock. How are you?” you ask, standing to receive the hug you know he’s going to give.
Cory is… well, he’s gorgeous, though that hadn’t been why you had fun with him when you were here last. He’d seemed nice enough and plainly interested in you at the time, and you’d been sort of lonely, so really he was a necessity of the soul rather than a want. Plus, he was very rich.
Gorgeous he may be, but Spencer Reid he is not. You don’t deny it to yourself —the genius behind you has completely changed your type, the kind of man you vy after, and if you’re honest, he’s the one for you. So hugging Cory and pretending you’re going to call him for drinks after the case is over isn’t easy. You lie rather than reject him.
“He seemed nice,” Spencer says in the awkward silence Cory leaves behind.
“Sure!” you say, blowing out a hot breath. “Was I embarrassing myself? I didn’t expect to see him.”
“You were the same as usual.”
You tilt your head back as the door opens again, worried it’ll be Cory back for a last word. Emily smiles at you knowingly, a bag of takeout in hand. “God, did you see that?” she asks, eyebrows rising. “He was perfect.”
“If you like the Greek god motif,” you joke.
Spencer’s frowning at his files when you turn back to him. “Spence, what’s wrong?” you ask.
“Mm? Nothing.”
“You sure?” you ask.
He maintains that he’s okay as the rest of the team flood in for lunch. You pretend to believe him, not sure what you’ve done to upset him but willing to figure it out. You unwrap his food for him and place his plastic cutlery on a napkin as you know he prefers, sorting through the cup drinks to find his diet lemonade. “Here, handsome,” you say, touching his shoulder gently as you sit down next to him.
He bristles.
“Spencer?” you ask.
He looks around the table. Hotch and Rossi are talking about something with shared smiles, while JJ and Morgan debate the case. Emily’s on her phone with a straw between her lips. They aren’t listening, and so he says, “It’s not a fitting nickname.”
“What, handsome? That’s not a nickname, it’s a pet name, and it’s true. You’re one of the most handsome guys I’ve ever seen,” —you laugh and grab his elbow when he shakes his head— “are you kidding? Spencer, you could be a model. I’ve told you this a hundred times. You have amazing cheekbones, just dreamy, and your lips–”
“Oh, god, please don’t start,” he says, covering his face with both hands. He sounds like he’s smiling. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Hotch shoots you a don’t tease look. You send him a vehement I’m not back, waiting for him to look away before you prod Spencer again. “You’re so cute, Spencer, you don’t get it.”
“I don’t wanna be cute, cute isn’t your type–”
Your eyes flare. “What would you know about my type, Spencer? Is this– is this about Cory?”
“Of course it is,” he says, face pink as he drops his hands.
“Spencer, he is not my type.”
“But you dated.”
“One date. And that was before I realised I liked dorks in sweater vests,” you say. You’re both acting like this is half a joke, a skit, in case you’re overheard, but you’re also both well aware that it’s serious and vulnerable and flustering to confess certain things right here and now. Too bad it has to be done. “I miss your glasses, babe, they really added to your charm.”
Spencer shakes his head, picking up his styrofoam boxed lunch to ignore you.
You sidle close to him, your pinky finger rubbing the slightest hint of his bare wrist. “Wanna get drinks with me tonight? I need a cover story in case Grecian Cory tracks me down. And, you know you get that really cute blush when you drink. What do you say?”
“No,” he says with a smile, which means yes in this instance.
You kiss his cheek, giggling at the lipgloss left behind. “You’re my type, handsome.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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The world is full of so many beautiful things both natural and manmade and I just want to contribute to them SO MYCH graaagagGHHHHHH
#i wanna do visual art#but im jyst so fuckign self destructively self conscious#i cant do anything visible when ppl are around or might soon be#i just want to live alone and do dumb stuff and try and then give up hobbies#until I find some kind of visual art that lets me make the things I think I can#I need a tablet :( but they expensive and itll take so long to learn#and i dont even use my laptop at a table#graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh#maybe I should write a childrens book#ive been thinking of that since working at the library#i prefer shorter works of fiction#and trying out different styles#but the best picture books are so creative with the medium#also my mum is. insanely good at making up rhymes and songs and stuff#she had to write a kids book for GISHWHES a few years back#and it was sooooo much betterthan what I could do#but ofc she just waved it off humbly#idk. is there something im uniquely good at doing?#other than (insert specific character i dont wanna name here) fanfics#usually that feels important enough to tide me over lmao#but today I saw too many other artists lol#and i wanna make something more people can see and enjoy i guess#sigh
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Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life
Inspired by this ask
So, do Black people blush?
We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾
Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.
One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!
Colorism
Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!
However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!
My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.
Blushes and Undertones
Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones
Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.
"It looks like they're ashy!"
What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:
This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.
In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.
I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!
Put in the work to create the brown you need!
While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.
-8:05 for the list of paints
-8:05-17:29 for the process
She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)
I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!
Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)
A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)
I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.
Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!
Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.
You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.
Resources
Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.
ami0amii
Likelihood Art
Tiara Anderson
Proko
Sinix
Ross Draws
In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!
#creatingblackcharacters#character design#black characters#black art#black artists#black character design
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ANONYMOUS REQUESTED:
"Okay, okay! Hear me out on this: An MC who gifts every boy and the staff (minus Crowley) a specially made gift (alongside chocolate ofc) for Valentine's Day. For example, Riddle gets a bouquet of roses alongside heart-shaped chocolate, Ace getting a chocolate cherry pie and a watch, and Cater gets a skateboard and spicy chocolate.
I can just imagine the chaos that will ensue.
"Hey! Your chocolate is bigger than mine!"
"No fair! I wanted that too!"
Thank you and have a great day!"
AN UNTYPICAL VALENTINE’S
“Congratulations, MC. You have now become the Santa of Valentine’s Day!”
SUMMARY: It's Valentine's Day in Twisted Wonderland, and you already know what that means: a mix of chocolates and petty discussions~! (Everyone x Fem!Reader)
WARNINGS: None... Other than MC’s empty wallet.
CONTENT: Ortho doesn’t have a section, but his reaction is described in the introduction. Me trying to understand these boys and their past, so they might seem a little ooc. Also Lilia’s part may have end up a little too philosophical.
A/N: Okay okay. I know Valentine’s was five months ago, and that I was in an unexpected hiatus for more than six months, but I just really wanted to post this because this draft was eating me alive. Also, I don’t know why, but Pomefiore’s part was so difficult to write, and thus, I ended up giving up temporarily.
Annnd, I know that the request asked for the staff as well, but I didn’t want to make this longer than it already is, so I decided I will post it separately. Eventually.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! :)
WORDS: 10K+
Ah, Valentine’s Day. A lively festivity that encompasses love and friendship, usually celebrated by those who want to demonstrate affection to the people they care about the most, being in a platonic or a romantic way.
Yet, that’s talking outside of Night Raven College, an academy that’s full of eccentric students, and so, on behalf of that eccentricity, things are a little bit different.
And it all starts with your protective and small companion, Grim.
You finished checking your bag for the last time before leaving, assuring that all the chocolates and gifts you packed were inside, afraid of forgetting any of them in the dorm.
“Sevens, how am I going to carry this...?” You murmured while staring at the huge sack that contained all of your presents, thinking that it resembled the bag that a certain character would only use every Christmas.
All you did was sigh, mentally preparing yourself to carry that seemingly heavy Santa bag.
Or at least that’s what you were going to do, until a sleepy voice stopped you from doing so, effectively getting your attention.
“Where are you going, henchman...?” Grim groggily asked, yawning as he rubbed his eyes. “And why do you have that bag...?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at Grim’s drowsy expression as you approached him, scratching his head lightly. “You see, since today is Valentine’s, I wanted to make something special for our friends, so—” And before you could finish your sentence, an excited scream echoed from the old dorm, startling you both.
"Did someone say Valentine's?!" Conrad yelled, cheerfully floating around.
"This brings back so many great memories! I still remember all the chocolates I've received when I was alive. Such great days~" Brawley said, his mind consumed by memories from his past, all while wearing a nostalgic smile.
"Oh, what do we have here~?" Arthur asked, curiosity getting the best out of him as he picked some of the presents that were at the top. "Some gifts for your friends, perhaps~?" He teased, wiggling his eyebrows in a funny manner.
Letting out a soft chuckle while trying to calm Grim down—who was certainly not happy after the abrupt appearance—, you answered. “Indeed, it’s Valentine’s after all. Do they meet your expectations?” You jokingly asked, prompting a playful laughter from the trio of ghosts.
“I absolutely approve them, but I don’t know if those students will.”
“It's obvious they will! She even has personalized chocolates for all of them!”
“That’s true... I wonder how long it took you to prepare all of this.”
They commented, starting a light chat about the festivity, all laughing and having fun. However, in between the funny remarks and jokes, Grim had enough, whining in annoyance as his brain tried its best to understand what was happening.
“What are ya’ talking about?” He complained, turning to look at you with an angry expression. “Henchman! Explain this madness!”
“Well, Grim,” you started, trying to find the correct words to clarify the meaning of this holiday to him. “Valentine’s Day is—“ Although it seemed that you didn’t have to in the first place, seeing that you were once again interrupted by your strangely excited fellows.
“Oh!”, Brawley exclaimed. “Can we explain it?”
“Yeah, we’re the best people, er- Ghosts when it comes to Valentine’s,” Arthur enthusiastically stated.
“Can we make the explanation, MC?” Conrad asked, and since you didn’t want to ruin their happiness, you agreed.
“The floor is yours,” and with that cue, they stood in front of a confused Grim, who looked at you with slight fear and overall confusion.
It took you a few moments to realize that they took it quite literally as you listened to their old-styled song about the festivity, which maybe overused the word “love” in a romantic way... Yet, it was a detail that you didn’t pay much attention to, instead deciding to enjoy the show.
But someone that didn’t take this lightly was Grim, being that a certain sentence was starting to repeat in his mind over and over again: “A day when love stories start! Who would be the next one to take this important step~?”
He was so alarmed that he missed the part where they explained that it was also a day to share with friends, so the first thing that passed through his head was: “They’re tryin’ to steal my henchman! I cannot let that happen!”
And so, a genius idea was born.
“I’ll go with you, henchman!” He suddenly exclaimed, taking you by surprise, frowning in response.
“Really?” You inquired, and so did the ghosts, adding themselves to the confusion train while raising an eyebrow.
“What? I’m just sayin’ I’m going with you!” Grim repeated, further confusing you four.
“Yes, I heard that, but why...?”
“Why not?” Your companion said, avoiding answering since he knew you were going to tease him about it, instead choosing to walk towards the front door.
“Why though…?” You questioned for the last time, eyeing him with suspicion as you made your way towards the door, picking the bag—that was, to your surprise, much lighter than you thought—in the process.
“We don’t have time for this! If we hurry, we can come back in time for dinner!”
Now that was the Grim you remembered, and even if you never thought that hearing that sentence would make you relieved your wallet isn’t pleased to hear this though, this time it certainly did.
“Okay, let’s go then,” you said, turning to your translucent companions—who still had their mouths wide open, very much resembling to a cartoon—to wave them goodbye.
“Goodbye, guys! We will see you later! The song was amazing, by the way!” Was the last thing you said before closing the door, snapping the ghosts out of their trance.
“Aw! She loved our song!” Was the first thing Conrad said, happy that you liked their performance, not noticing the strange looks he received from the other two.
“Is he just going to ignore the fact that Grim seemed suspiciously protective over MC?” Arthur asked, and Brawley shook his head, disagreeing with him.
“It’s not weird that Grim is protective over her, that’s like a world-known fact,” he paused for a second, as if trying to think of the results of your sincere actions. “I’m more intrigued by how those boys would react upon receiving such a lovely gift from their oblivious love interest.”
And that, my dear Brawley, is what are we going to witness today.
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, FIRST STOP: HEARTSLABYUL
Heartslabyul was your first dorm of choice, and that was because you knew everyone will be in the same place at the same time. It was supposed to be easy; go in and go out.
Yet, what was the first thing you heard when entering the dorm’s living room? Screams. Certainly one of the most welcoming sounds while stepping into a place that embraces the idea of discipline.
Seeing that the other students (or at least most of them) were minding their own business, you thought it was not that big of a deal. After greeting the ones that weren’t busy, you both walked over to the kitchen, encountering a not so peculiar scene: Riddle arguing with Ace.
"Guys?" You asked, eyebrow raised as you wondered what happened.
"Oh, Prefect!" Cater exclaimed, cheerfully approaching you. "Thanks for appearing! This situation was #stressingmeout," he commented, thankful for your presence.
"Prefect," Riddle said after coughing slightly, attempting to compose himself. "What brings you here?"
“Well, since I assume you already know what day it is, I thought it would be nice to gift you some chocolates,” you voiced, chuckled at the expressions of your friends as you gave them their respective presents, who were pretty much baffled to hear that. “Or maybe you don’t know, and the heart motifs everywhere are misleading.”
The ones that caught up the fastest were Trey and Cater what a surprise, promptly putting two and two together and realising the reason behind your sudden but cute action.
"Sevens, is it Valentine's already?" Trey questioned, placing a hand on his hat to cover his face due to the embarrassment.
"Are these for us~?" Cater excitedly asked, already pulling out his phone to document this moment. "They are totes cute! Thanks, Prefect!" He said, taking dozens of pictures of the little red box.
“Valentine’s...?” Deuce muttered, face turning pale after his brain clicked and realised what that meant. “I’m sorry, MC! I don’t have a present for you!” He quickly apologised, bowing before you.
"You don't have to give me anything, you know?" You assured, trying to ease his concern. "I just wanted to gift you all something as thanks for all your help and support, and for being my friends, of course."
And that is how you make the Heartslabyul (and pretty much anyone in NRC) students blush in mere seconds; if these guys weren’t blushing before, now they undoubtedly are.
"Yeah, yeah, enough of these speeches!" Grim chimed, wanting to move onto the next dorm already. "We don't have all day! Let's go, henchman!"
"Geez, what has got into you today?" You said, turning to the students to wave them goodbye. "I have to go now; I hope you liked the— Agh! Grim, stop pushing me!"
In an instant, the two of you departed, leaving behind five startled students who were speechless by the sudden turn of events.
Riddle’s heart-shaped chocolates match his new bouquet of red roses.
Riddle never had a Valentine’s Day celebration before. Mainly because his mom, being the main factor in his life, used to call the holiday a “disruptive event,” and so, he ended up thinking that Valentine’s was an unnecessary and dumb festivity. You can now assume he doesn't think that anymore. As everyone already guessed, this boy was red; in fact, if you inspected his face closely enough, you would notice that his cheeks were tinted with the same shade the flowers gifted to him had, which he used to cover his face. And don’t get me started when he saw the chocolates; he nearly dropped the box out of embarrassment, not believing that you were bold enough to give him heart-shaped chocolates... But it’s not like he’s complaining so please gift this boy more heart-shaped sweets.
Trey’s hazelnut chocolates match his new set of heart measuring spoons.
Trey doesn’t know how he could’ve possibly forgotten about Valentine’s; his family owns a bakery, by the Sevens! He must’ve had the date imprinted on his mind by now! He's just wondering how he didn't think about it before while looking at the gifts, feeling a bit guilty that he didn't have anything for you. Although... That doesn't mean he wouldn't focus on your kind-hearted present, after all, who could after receiving such a detailed gift of your dear romantic interest friend? Immediately after this, he knows that he has to make something for you as well; something to remind you how special you are. Hence, why his mind is in a whirlwind of ideas, contemplating which chocolate would best match your taste, and what’s better, he can use that cute set of spoons you just gifted him.
Cater’s spicy pumpkin chocolates match his new skateboard.
Cater was very aware that today was Valentine's Day. Like, it's Cater we're talking about. He literally spent the entire week thinking of gift ideas for a friend crush in order to find the perfect one for you. He just wasn't expecting for you to pull an uno reverse card on him, or at least not before he gave you your gift. Less to say that he was over the moon with this action; he already had a new wallpaper and ten new posts featuring his new possessions. He was so excited that he forgot he had something for you, and by the time he remembered you were already gone. He figures out he can drop by Ramshackle later, but it didn't take long for him to realise that everyone would have the same idea. Oh well, what a perfect occasion to have a new skateboard~.
Ace’s chocolate-covered cherries match his new frog watch.
Ace has never been a big fan of Valentine's. After breaking up with his first girlfriend, he ended up disliking the romantic idea of the holiday. Though that didn't mean that he didn't like the presents and the chocolates, which he would sometimes receive. He used to feel confident when receiving those, yet he didn't give them too much importance, so he doesn't understand why he was blushing over some chocolate-covered cherries and a stupid frog watch. Like, are you mocking him, MC? Do you really think that he would use such a dumb thing? He definitely doesn't think that this is so cute coming from you, and he definitely is not going to use that watch everyday spoiler alert, he is definitely going to.
Deuce’s cinnamon flavored chocolate eggs match his chicken plushie.
Deuce isn't very versed when it comes to Valentine's. He did celebrate it with his mom, but that was literally it. The only times he received chocolates and other gifts were from anonymous letters, but he thought it was a joke, so he never tried to find the author (which ended up being a girl that had a huge crush on him). Hence why this boy is worried. He definitely appreciates you and your gifts, because it’s not every day that you get a Valentine’s gift from your crush! Like, what is he supposed to give you (even though you said it was fine) after you took the time and effort to elaborate such a wholesome gift? He ends up worrying so much about it that the chocolate has probably melted by now. But don’t worry, his plushie is still safe and sound!
You may be thinking that “they ended up living happy forever after,” right? No. That’s not how Heartslabyul works.
"Hey! Why is your chocolate bigger than mine?!"
"How is that my fault...? Hey! Stop trying to steal my chocolates!"
"There's no need to fight. I'm sure that the Prefect made sure to make everyone's chocolates equally."
"Yeah! You should worry about what to gift her instead~"
“I will take my leave then. You're free to come with me to try to find something that she would like.”
"Why did that sound so condescending...?"
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, SECOND STOP: SAVANACLAW
Savanaclaw’s was the second dorm you entered, and even if you loved the dorm, you weren’t sure how your chocolates were going to handle its weather because, surprise surprise: heat and chocolates do not go well together. Unless they like melted chocolate.
The situation didn’t seem to go any better, as you didn’t know where could the Savanaclaw students be. Well, all of them except for Leona, who was comfortably sleeping on the living room’s couch.
“Maybe we should find the others first. I don’t want to wake—” You commented, being abruptly interrupted by Grim and his yells, sighing upon the situation. “—Him up.”
"Hey, sleeping beauty! Wake up!" Your companion shouted, about to jump on his stomach before you grabbed him, keeping Grim from doing anything he might regret.
“Why are you being so goddamn loud...?” Leona grumbled, groggily standing up with a scowl on his face due to the sudden awakening. Looking at Grim, fully aware that he was the nuisance that interrupted his sleep, he sent him a threatening stare.
Before Grim could reply (or try to, at the very least), you stopped him from doing so, further explaining why you were in the dorm to begin with.
"I'm sorry, Leona. I'm sure it wasn't Grim's intention to wake you up in such a rude way," you stated, briefly glaring at the pouting creature.
"That's not true! And don't think that you've scared the great Grim! I—" Deciding that it was enough, you started to scratch behind his ear, sending an apologetic smile to the dorm leader in front of you, who seemed to be a little annoyed jealous of this action.
"I brought Valentine's presents for all of you," you answered, momentarily shocking the lion for a few seconds before his lips erupted into a smirk.
"Valentine's, huh?" He remarked, stepping closer towards you. "Then I guess today's the perfect day to—"
And just like we saw before (and will continue to see), Leona was interrupted, because students at this college apparently don’t like when people are about to finish their sentences.
Ruggie and Jack weren't far away from where you three were. In fact, both of them were preparing their meals before they heard your voice coming from the living room.
And when they decided to check, what's the first thing they see upon exiting the kitchen? His dorm leader shamelessly flirting with you at a really close distance while you carried a sleepy Grim.
"What do we have here~?" Ruggie chimed, walking towards your side so he could be near you. "What can we do for you, Prefect~?" He asked, ignoring Leona's death stare.
"And why did you bring such a large bag?" Jack questioned, making the two beastmen suddenly notice the heavy bag you were carrying on your shoulders.
"Glad you asked, Jack," you replied, looking through your bag’s different contents until you finally reached the ones that were labelled after them. "Happy Valentine's Day!"
Immediately following your statement, you presented them with their respective gifts, easily recognizable by the distinct yellow hue of the packaging.
The beastmen’s cheeks were slowly turning into a bright red after receiving the present, treating the little package like the most precious thing on earth, which was true, at least in their eyes.
"Are these… For us…?" Ruggie hesitated, unsure of how he should react.
"Duh! Didn't you just hear her?!" Grim said, annoyance showing in his voice.
"You're just jealous you didn't get anything," Leona guessed, smirking upon seeing how irked he got by that teasing comment.
"I'm sorry, MC, but I don't have anything for you," Jack apologised, and before he could even think of bowing before you, you stopped him.
"You don't have to give me anything. As long as you like the present, I have nothing to worry about," you explained with a small smile, starting to walk towards the exit. "Unfortunately, I can't stay for much longer. So, I guess I will see you later!"
And with that, you managed to leave just before your fluffy companion started to complain.
Leona’s smoked dark chocolates match his new lion pendant.
Leona isn’t that used to celebrating holidays, and Valentine’s wasn’t the exception. He would sometimes receive large amounts of gifts, ranging from expensive jewelry to different sets of clothing; things that he would just leave unused and forgotten. But your gift is a different story. You can be sure this man is going to use that necklace until he dies. He’s not going to entertain the possibility of it going missing in the depths of his bedroom, already frowning at the imaginary scenario of looking at your sad face while you ask where his gift was. He even clicks his tongue in annoyance, putting on the pendant to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere. Let’s see how fast you catch on this one, herbivore.
Ruggie’s mini donuts covered in chocolate match his new handmade bracelet.
Ruggie hasn't received, nor gifted a Valentine's gift ever. Holiday presents were (and still are) something that he deems as important and special. The only times when he did gift something to someone were during birthdays and as thanks, and vice versa. He’s not used to receiving presents outside those situations, and what’s even more surprising to him is that you were the one that brought the gift. Actually, no; what’s more surprising than that is that you don’t want anything in return, something that really caught him off guard. Less to say that he is going to be over-protecting those presents; this was something that you made for him and him only, and so it shall continue that way except the donuts, he can’t let them rot, can he?
Jack’s pear cider chocolates match his new snowboarding gloves.
Jack has actually received quite a few Valentine’s gifts, but the thing is, just like Deuce, he still doesn’t know who the person behind those presents was. He never paid a lot of attention to it at the time, and so he continued with his life. Now he’s aware that he had to paid attention before. The one day that he doesn’t check the calendar ends up being Valentine’s Day; I can completely assure you that he’s setting up an alarm for the next one, also adding to the reminder some present ideas that say: “you’re my crush,” but don’t scream it. When you leave, he stands so still you can mistake him for a statue; if statues could wag their tail, of course.
Savanaclaw is savage what a shock, right? These boys would not even let the other one stand next to their present. Sevens, they wouldn’t even let them breathe next to their present.
"I feel sorry for you. That's really all the Herbivore got you?"
"At least I will make sure to use it. I wonder how long it will take before that pendant disappears."
"What did you say?"
"I guess I will see you later. I don't want to be a part of this."
"Hey, come back!"
"We haven't even started on your present!"
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, THIRD STOP: OCTAVINELLE
Octavinelle, as your following choice, felt like a secure place. You were almost sure you were going to find your friends in the blink of an eye, give them their gifts and head to the next dorm. Yet the variable you didn’t have into account was considering how empty and eerie the dorm appeared at first glance.
"Henchman?" Grim started.
"Yeah?" You answered, slowly walking towards the Mostro Lounge.
"Don't ya’ think there's something fishy going on today?"
"What do you mean?"
"Floyd and Jade aren't here."
And upon that remark, you stopped. Looking around to try to spot your usually welcome committee, you noted that Grim was correct. Jade and Floyd were nowhere to be found, slightly confusing you.
"Well, today must be a busy day at the Mostro Lounge. They are most likely working," you said, resuming your walk.
Although Grim didn’t seem to want to continue the walk, scared to be a victim of whatever evil scheme the eels were plotting.
You assured that you wouldn’t let anything happen to him on your guard, to which he responded by saying he didn’t need your protection, rambling about how you dared to think he wasn't strong enough to protect you— Ahem, to protect himself and you, until he suddenly stopped.
"Henchman," he started again.
"Yeah?" you answered a second time.
"I think there's someone behind us—"
Noticing two large shadows that covered yours, you both slowly turned around, encountering two identical faces that looked down on you with a sly smile, vocalizing:
"Shrimpy~!"
"What a pleasant surprise to see you here, Prefect."
Grim let out a high-pitched scream, hiding behind your legs due to the shock, unaware of the death stare that Floyd directed at him.
"Ah, Jade, Floyd. We were just talking about you," you said, sighing in relief upon listening to their characteristic voices.
"Wah~! Did you hear that, Jade? Shrimpy was looking for me~" Floyd exclaimed, to which his twin only chuckled.
"I heard that she was looking for both of us, in fact," and before his brother could whine in response, Jade added. "Why would that be, Prefect?"
"Before I answer to that, do you know where Azul is?" you asked, looking behind them in hopes that the octomerman would appear.
"Azul? Oh, that's right," Jade let out a small smile. "He must be looking for us."
"Eh~? But I don't want to go back!" Floyd whined, thinking about what he could do to avoid going to work again. "Oh!" He exclaimed, an imaginary light bulb appearing over his head. "I can hide behind you, right, Shrimpy~?"
"You can try, but I don't think it would do much," you responded, and just when he was about to do it, you heard a yell coming from the end of the hallway.
"Jade! Floyd!" Azul screamed, walking over to where you were. "Do I need to remind you that you are still working? If you continue—"
"Hello, Azul," you greeted, seeing how the businessman yelped due to the surprise, unaware that you were behind Jade. "Great timing, I was about to look after you."
"Prefect!" He exclaimed, unconsciously tidying himself up, trying to distract you from his earlier action. "And why did you want to see me?" He stuttered, cheeks tinted of a light pink.
"I'm sure you already know what day is today, so I'm just going to give you these," you briefly explained, handing all of them their respective gifts and chocolates. "Happy Valentine's Day!"
"Valentine's...?" Floyd muttered, face brightening up due to the excitement. "Does this mean Shrimpy loves me~?" He boldly asked, trying to get a shy reaction out of you, all while Azul covered his face in embarrassment, making this scenario all the much more entertaining to Jade, who was lightly chucking.
Yet when all of this unfolded, you talked, saying something that took all three of them by surprise. “Of course, I love you all after all,” you replied with a bright and contagious smile; it was at that moment that Grim realised that if he didn't do anything about this soon, they wouldn't let you go, and he can't let that happen.
"Henchman! We have to get going! Is gonna take us forever to finish if we stay here!"
You sighed at Grim’s impatient behavior, not really understanding where it was coming from. But he was right; your chocolates weren’t going to last a whole day outside, they just weren’t made for that kind of purpose.
"As you see, me and my new guardian have to get going, so I will see you later," you joked, being weakly dragged by your companion, biding them farewell (hoping that Floyd wasn’t going to carry you like a sack of potatoes, again).
Azul’s blueberry flavoured chocolate coins match his new octopus coin.
Azul didn't really care about Valentine's (and no, it’s not because he was made fun of constantly during this day, why would you think that? It was, please give this boy lots of hugs and support); the only reason keeps track of it is that he knows it's a very profitable holiday. And I said "didn't" because that was before he realised that he had a crush on you... Okay, maybe Jade made him aware, but he still realised it. He spent the last couple of months planning the perfect plan to confess to you or at least try to, but this wasn't on his schedule. He marked this situation as "very improbable," hence why he looks like he has a fever. Furthermore, he tries to dissimulate it since he doesn't want the twins to make fun of him (again), but it's too late. A flustered Azul is always going to be interesting to witness.
Jade’s chocolate shaped mushrooms (like the Meiji Kinoko Chocolate), match his new decorations for his terrariums.
Jade is sort of neutral about Valentine's. He's not one that usually gives gifts (he definitely gave Floyd some mushrooms as a Valentine’s gift, and you can tell he was not happy about it), but he has definitely received a couple of presents, which he usually doesn’t keep unless they're interesting enough. But, if he's being honest, he wouldn't throw away anything that you gift to him; most people would call it "simping", he calls it "courtesy." His first reaction is to smile upon receiving it, yet unlike most of his mannerisms (which he keeps very controlled), this was something that to the untrained eye would go unnoticed, yet his twin and his boss childhood friend know that there's a hint of genuine happiness in it.
Floyd’s sea salt caramel lego-shaped chocolates match his new eel bracelet with his name on it.
Unlike his brother, Floyd thinks Valentine's is a very interesting holiday. He considers it the “funniest” day just because he finds the rejected Valentine’s faces so amusing. One thing he has in common with Jade though, is that he doesn't keep most of the presents given to him, especially if he can't see the reaction of the person. So, to meet his expectations you have to: one, give it to him directly, and two, wait for the best. Fortunately, we're talking about you, so that’s good news for you. Although the bad news is that you only have two options now that you’ve given him something: run or face his clinginess.
If you didn’t know who these students were, you wouldn’t be amused, but if you do, well, it certainly was strange seeing all three (especially Floyd) staying idle in the middle of the hallway just... Existing.
"Why are you standing there? Go back to work."
"Aren't you going with us, boss?"
"Yeah! That's really unfair!"
"I have some important things that I have to take care of."
"Really? How strange, I remember you said that you had some paperwork to do."
"Oh~ Jade caught you lying, Azul~"
"Just go back to work, and don't even think about following me."
"Do you want to follow him, Jade~?"
"Of course, Floyd."
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, FOURTH STOP: SCARABIA
Since Scarabia was your next stop, you were a bit worried. Mainly because Scarabia’s weather, just like Savanaclaw, wasn’t the ideal for your chocolates to be in. Yet, something that kept your hopes high was your positivism, assuring yourself (in order to not panic) that you were going to find your friends rapidly.
"Henchman, don't ya' think we should hurry? I don't think those chocolates can stand this heat."
"I know, it’s starting to worry me," you responded, face changing from concern to determination. "But I think I know where they could be."
Grim tilted his head, as if asking: "What do you mean?"
"I called Kalim earlier to ask him about his and Jamil's plans. They don't stay in one place for long, so it was only to be sure."
"And where are they then?"
"Right here," you stated, standing in front of a big door: the one that contained all of Kalim's treasures.
You grabbed the handle, ready to open it when suddenly, the door pulled towards you. It collided with your forehead, making you lose your balance slightly, trying to not fall since it could make it worse.
"Prefect!" The Scarabia students exclaimed, worried and confused about what just happened. "Are you okay?!"
"It's okay, I'm okay," you reassured them, holding your head as a reflexive reaction.
"Henchman! Can you hear me?!" Grim yelled, making you wince slightly due to the headache. "How dare ya', pesky humans! She could have died!"
"I'm so sorry, Prefect! Do you need to go to the infirmary? Jamil and I can bring you there!" Kalim exclaimed; eyes full of concern out of fear of something severe happening to you.
"Don't worry, Kalim. I know it was an accident," you said, feeling much better now that they were starting to quiet down. “I’m sure it’s not going to leave a scar or something.”
"Prefect, are you completely sure? We don't have any problem accompanying you to the nurse," Jamil suggested, but you refused.
"Guys, seriously, I'm fine," you said, crouching down, so you could look for their gifts. "Now onto the thing I wanted to talk about..." You handed them the presents and chocolates. "Happy Valentine's."
"Valentine's...?" Kalim asked, thinking about something for a moment before an imaginary light bulb appeared over his head. "Oh, that's right! We also have a present for you as well! Right, Jamil?"
Jamil didn't answer, seemingly lost for a few seconds until he snapped out of his trance. "Yeah, that's right," he answered, murmuring a little "thanks," loud enough for you to hear.
"It's nothing. I hope you like it, I tried to make them the best I could."
Before they could show you your gift, Grim had enough of this and decided that it was time to move on, practically dragging you outside Scarabia.
"Goodbye guys, maybe we can see each other later— Grim! Stop pulling me! I only have this pair of pants!"
Kalim and Jamil may be very different, but if they had one thing in common as of right now is that they were completely happy to receive such a heartfelt gift.
Kalim’s coconut chocolates match his new friendship bracelet.
Kalim has definitely received plenty of Valentine's chocolates and gifts in equal amounts, even if most of them came from his parents and his thirty siblings. All of this made Kalim believe that celebrating Valentine’s like that was very normal to be honest, it’s more of a lovely Halloween than most things, but that’s fine, it’s Kalim; at least, the platonic side of it. This could explain why it felt kind of odd when he received your gift, but don’t worry! It’s a good type of odd. He knows that he has a crush on you Jamil’s courtesy, so this gave him the slight hope that you might see him more than a friend one day. And even if not, he’s totally okay with it, since he will still be able of being your friend.
Jamil’s chili pepper chocolates match his new talking parrot plushie.
Jamil isn’t very fond of Valentine’s. It is not a surprise that he didn’t receive as many gifts as Kalim, but he never showed his discomfort to not anger his family; after all, he already knew that he just wasn’t made to give and receive something like that, or at least, that was his mentality until you and your adorable present came into the picture. He just thinks you’re a box full of surprises He had absolutely no idea that he was going to fall for you, but just like he never expected to like you, you surprised him with a gift. You gifted him something. MC, let me tell you that if he wasn’t head over heels for you, he now is.
Scarabia is by far the most normal one out the seven dorms. They’re happy, and that’s all. The difference is that one of them shows it and the other doesn’t.
“Did you see that, Jamil?! She said she made them herself!”
“Yes, Kalim, I heard it. You don’t have to yell”
“Oh, right, sorry!”
“...”
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, FIFTH STOP: POMEFIORE
Pomefiore, being the next one on your list, gave you hope. Hope that maybe your original plan will work, and that you would be able to leave quickly enough to continue the rest of your long journey.
But, as you already may have guessed, things can’t be that simple.
“How strange...” You muttered, walking away from the common room after finding it empty. “Where could they be?”
“Nyah! It’s gonna take us forever to find them!” Grim whined, already tired from all the searching. “Can’t we just leave the gifts at their doors?”
“I’m not going to do that, Grim,” you stated, intently searching for your friends. “The whole point of this was to hand them the presents personally, even if it takes me the whole day.” Believe me, MC. It is going to take you the whole day.
“But we can’t just expect them to appear out of nowhere!” He claimed, unaware of the towering figures that stood right behind him after voicing those words.
“Yes, that seems certainly impossible,” Vil said, scaring Grim to the point where he climbed to your arms, hissing at the student. “Oh, did I scare you?” He teased, a bit more playful than usual.
“For your information, ya’ didn’t scare me!” Your companion quickly retorted, and although he tried to come up with an excuse to fight back, you stepped in to prevent a petty argument—certainly a wise decision—.
“So, before Grim can start a discussion here, in the middle of the hallway. Again,” you called out, eyeing him, trying to make him understand the hint. “I would like to give you these.”
“Are these... Gifts?” Epel asked, unsure of why the sudden display of affection. “Why are ya’ giving us this...?”
“Epel, don’t be disrespectful,” Vil corrected, sighing upon seeing that his little apprentice apparently didn’t know what day it was.
“You see, Monsieur Crabapple. Today is the magnifique holiday called Valentine’s Day!” Rook briefly clarified, proceeding to deliver a monologue embellished with fancy words, listing all the wonderful things that Valentine’s entailed. “How wonderful out of you, dear Trickster, to grace us with these detailed presents!”
The hunter approached you, taking your hands in his as he gazed into your eyes, seemingly aware of the looks he was receiving from his housewarden and dorm fellow.
It wasn’t until Vil coughed that Rook stopped, only chuckling slightly while leaving your hand, not wanting to infuriate his beautiful friend.
“They do seem very elaborate. So, I’m grateful for this present, dear potato,” he thanked, looking at Epel to remind him that he hadn’t thanked you yet.
“Oh! Thank you for these gifts, MC. I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to give you in return...” The boy apologized, making you sigh once again.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” You commented, amused at your friend’s sincere words. “I’m not doing this in exchange for gifts. This is a gift to thank you all for being amazing friends.”
Ouch. Collective friend-zoning. That must’ve hurt.
“Yet, we do have presents for you, ma chérie,” Rook voiced, not wanting you to go before you received their display of affection.
“Indeed. We don’t have them here, but—”
“No!” Grim interrupted, having enough of the whole conversation. “Henchman, it’s getting late and, we still have lots of gifts to deliver!” He said, trying to convince you to get out of Pomefiore before Vil and Rook’s charms trapped you there.
You turned to the students, doing an apologetic bow before explaining. “I’m sorry, he’s right. I can’t stay for much longer. But I appreciate the intention, and I hope to see you later— Grim! Why are you so impatient?!”
“We have to keep moving! So say goodbye to them already!” The little creature demanded, threatening to rip the hem on your pants.
“Okay, okay! Goodbye, guys! Maybe we can meet later!” Was the last thing they heard you say before disappearing behind a corner with your protective monster-cat.
And so, surprised and with rosy cheeks that weren’t part of their makeup, they headed towards the— Oh, it seems like they don’t remember anymore... You’re giving people amnesia, MC.
Vil's chocolate-covered berries match his new bouquet of violets.
Vil has a long history with Valentine’s Day; specifically the gift part of Valentine’s. This man right here has received countless gifts and cards from fans and people around him confessing their love in extravagant—and sometimes expensive—ways. He’s used to this by this point, but his balance point was broken the moment you decided to hand him that present. Dear potato, have you ever thought about being the partner of a renowned celebrity? No...? Well, would you like to? Because Vil takes this detail as your way of expressing your fondness for him. Sure, you said it was because he’s an ‘amazing friend’ (which he obviously is), but that doesn’t mean you can’t see him as more than a friend. After all, Vil’s patience is truly one of his virtues just don’t tell him you have a gift for Neige. You know, only if you want him to live a bit longer.
Rook’s mint chocolates match his new poetry book.
Oh dear, when I say no one at Night Raven College loves Valentine’s as much as Rook does, I’m being completely serious. We’re talking about a holiday that’s all about expressing love, and taking into account that Rook calls himself “le chasseur d’amore...” There’s not much left to piece together, is it. He is mesmerized by this gift; it doesn’t matter if you said it was to appreciate his friendship, he’s focusing on the fact that you, kind and wholehearted you, seemed to put so much effort to make this present that was for him and him only. Oh, beautiful Trickster; I hope you are prepared, for this dedicated hunter is going to be next at your feet expressing his admiration and appreciation for you in a very... ‘Rook manner,’ for the next couple of days... Or weeks. Maybe months, but it’s not like he didn’t do that from before, so that’s fine.
Epel’s chocolate-dipped apple rings match his new apple plushie (with an evil smile, may I add)
Epel isn’t really involved in Valentine’s. His experience with it consists of him occasionally receiving some gifts from his family and carving out some apples with Valentine’s elements on them. Being the only young boy in a village full of elderly people, we can assume that he never really got into touch with the romantic part of the holiday; at least, not until now. And I have to congratulate you, MC; you just made Epel’s face resemble an apple, and all because of your thoughtfulness. Now, does he think that having plushies is manly? No. But will he put your gift aside because of this? No. Not only because it will make you sad, but also because he assumes it wouldn’t be so bad to have an evil apple plushie in his room. You know, at least it’s evil, and that makes it a bit more manly. Sevens Epel, a manly apple-?
Pomefiore are just turning on the passive-aggressive mode. Nothing can stop these boys from feeling superior just because they received a personalized gift (which everyone got, but let’s not ruin their fantasy).
“Isn’t our belle Trickster so endearing. To take her precious time by making all of us these detailed gifts; ah, what a beautiful way to celebrate Valentine’s!”
“Although yours doesn’t seem that detailed, Rook. Are ya’ happy with that pocket diary?”
“I could ask the same to you, Epel. Although I may say that plushie compliments you.”
“Quit that, please...”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Monsieur Crabapple! The magnifique shade of this plushie truly enhances your beauty!”
“I’m not going to ask you anything from today onwards...”
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, SIXTH STOP: IGNIHYDE
Ignihyde had to be the easier dorm to “infiltrate” so far. The housewarden was known for being a programming genius, but also, and most important of all, for staying in his room.
It was a fool-proof plan. Entering Ignihyde, encountering Ortho along the way, and finally, greet Idia at his bedroom Nothing could go wrong.
And this may surprise you, but contrary to all the things that happened to you today, nothing went wrong. In fact, the list of events I just spelled did happen in that order.
After entering Ignihyde, you were greeted with the usual sight of an almost empty living room, saluting the few students that weren’t occupied with winning an intense game of Animal Crossing.
Subsequent to the first stage of your plan, you encountered the youngest Shroud brother while walking towards the oldest, seeing his cheerful face approach you with a welcoming voice.
“Hello, MC! What brings you here today?” Ortho said, instantly noting the large bag behind your bag. “And why are you carrying that bag? Are my brother and you going to study today?”
You giggled at his comment, shaking your head in refusal. “Not exactly. I’m here to gift Idia a Valentine’s present.” You explained, followed by asking if he was in his room.
Ortho stayed silent for a couple seconds, quickly searching for the holiday you just mentioned, and when he knew what it was about... Let’s just say that his expectations of you confessing to Idia (because honestly, at this point he knows his brother isn’t going to, for now, at least) were rising like the sky-high.
“Of course! My brother will be very happy to see you and to receive your awesome present, MC!” The little one answered, taking you by your hand to guide you to Idia’s room.
As soon as he arrived, Ortho knocked on the door, patiently waiting for his brother’s response.
“What is it, Ortho?” Idia asked, lazily opening the door, thinking that Ortho had come up with another plan to hang out with you. Jokes on him, no plan was needed, as you were right in front of him, a wide smile plastered over your face. “MC—!” He blurted out, surprised to see you.
“Hello, Idia,” you exclaimed, assuming that it would be best if you explained the meaning behind your visit. “I know you may be busy, and I don’t intend to take much of your time. I just wanted to give you this,” and thus you gifted the blue haired boy a small blue box, alongside a translucent bag of chocolates.
“Huh...? W-why are you giving me this...?” The boy questioned, only to be smacked with a reality check by remembering all the special side quests he completed regarding the love and friendship’s special day. “Oh. OH—”
In the blink of an eye his hair goes from blue to a bright pink, not giving you enough time to comment about it since he shuts the door just as fast, too embarrassed to pronounce a word other than a small: “thank you.”
“Brother! Are you okay? Your heart rate is going extremely fast!” Ortho voiced, not really helping Idia’s situation don’t tell him that, he’ll get sad.
“Don’t worry, Ortho. I’m pretty sure Idia’s okay. He must’ve been taken aback, that’s all.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely fine and we should definitely go to deliver these last presents,” Grim suggested, already making his way back to the mirror chamber.
“Not so fast, Grim. I have yet to give Ortho his gift.” The mentioned raised an eyebrow, certainly not expecting that.
“A gift? For me?” He uttered while moving his head to the side in curiosity.
“Yeah, for you,” you reiterated, handing him a little box—no chocolates this time because, well, he’s a robot—. “I hope you like it. You can place them wherever you want, and they also got little chains in case you want to bring them with you.”
He stares at the keychains, looking at the similar characteristics between him, his brother, Grim and you; and with a bright smiley face, he exclaims: “thank you, MC! I will make sure to take great care of these!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We have to keep going, if you don’t mind.”
“Goodbye, Ortho. And goodbye, Idia! Hope you like your present too!” You voiced, unsure if he heard you or not.
Oh, and indeed he heard you, it’s just that he’s a little too occupied trying to not die from cuteness overload— Never mind, he just short-circuited.
Idia’s peanut butter chocolates match his new videogame.
Taking into account his past, we can safely say that Idia didn’t really have a lot of experience with Valentine’s, aside from the games, that’s for sure. He never gave or received any chocolates nor gifts, and you know what? He was fine with that; just enjoying his games and not worrying about love and romance at least irl, because this man proclaims himself as an expert when it comes to ships in manga and video games. He was fine, and now he isn’t. His mind is flooded with too many questions, like: why on earth would you give him anything? Is it because of social etiquette or because you wanted to? How did you get your hands on this game? Should he take this as a sign to finally confess his undeniable crush on you—? Okay, he may have gone a little too far with that one. But don’t worry! He is going to do it, it’s just that it might take a bit of time. He’s absolutely going to gift you something back, don’t doubt it. But you may want to wait after the short-circuit passes.
VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, SEVENTH AND FINAL STOP: DIASOMNIA
Now, you knew that Diasomnia was going to be a tough one. Firstly, you were sure there was going to be a lot of shouting (Sebek’s courtesy), followed by Lilia, and possibly Malleus’ teasing. Silver was the only one that didn’t really do much apart from being the most normal being out of the four that’s a compliment, Silver. You make MC’s life a bit easier.
“Okay, Grim,” you started, happy upon seeing that this was the last location. “After this, we can go back to Ramshackle and eat the dinner you were so impatient for. Isn’t that exciting?”
No response.
“Well, I know you’re tired, but I have to thank you for accompanying me today. Even if you were a bit rude and odd, it really means a lot that—”
“The Great Grim is going to fight all of you...!” He interrupted, mumbling incoherent things while you looked at his sleeping face, not sure when or how he fell asleep.
“I should have guessed that a whole day of walking may end up in this,” you muttered, carefully lifting him up so he could rest in your shoulders, trying to accommodate him the best you could as you made your way towards the Witch of Thorns’ dorm.
If felt strange having Grim by your side and not hearing him chit-chat with his characteristic tone, after all, it’s not like Grim and silence usually got along unless he was sleeping or reprimanded.
Feeling a bit bored, you started to hum softly, slowly strolling to find the garden, where you thought your friends might be.
It didn’t take long for you to encounter them, and they, likewise, didn’t take long to notice you were there.
Malleus approached you first, a smile spreading across his face upon seeing you. “How delightful it is to see you, Child of Man. What brings you here today?” He asked, unsuspecting of the surprise you’ve prepared for all of them.
“Oh. Don’t tell me the rumors are true,” Lilia voiced, floating behind you to take a peek inside your bag. It seemed like him, unlike the rest of the dorm, was aware of your intentions.
���What rumors...?” You questioned, keeping him from grabbing one of the small boxes sitting at the bottom of the bag.
He blinked in surprise, followed by a giggle after realising that you had no idea what was being said behind your back. “I wouldn’t like to ruin the surprise. It’s something you may want to express yourself, am I right?”
“Master Lilia! What do you mean by that?” Sebek shouted, prompting you to shush him quickly so Grim wouldn’t wake up. “You dare to quiet me down, human—!”
“Sebek,” Silver intervened, noticing the sleeping being on your shoulders, and thus he pointed it for the green haired boy to see.
“I’m sorry for shushing you, Sebek. It’s just that Grim is asleep and I don’t want to wake him up,” you apologized, hoping that your crocodile friend would try to lower his voice at least a little.
“O-okay, human. But—!” He paused briefly, trying to not raise his voice. “I’m not doing it because of your orders.”
You sighed, thankful for his thoughtfulness, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “Thank you, Sebek.”
Malleus coughed as he eyed his guardian’s red face, wanting to continue the original topic. “Say, Child of Man. You were about to tell us the meaning behind your visit.”
“Oh, that’s right,” you replied, cautiously taking the four remaining gifts to give them to the students. “I wanted to give you something as a Valentine’s Day present. So, I hope you like these details,” you stated, sighing after handing out the gifts, glad that this would be the last parade.
“My, my. I didn’t expect to receive a Valentine’s Day gift until a couple more of years,” Lilia muttered, seemingly happy to see his gift.
Silver stood silently for a few seconds, quickly realising that he had to thank you, softly expressing his gratitude over your recent action.
Sebek felt in the obligation to ask the purpose of this unexpected act, but since he wasn’t able didn’t want to express it his usual way, he recurred to mumble a small ‘thank you,’ taking you by surprise.
And the last and most dramatic reaction of all had to be given to Malleus. Just as we’ve seen before, he tends to... Overreact a little when it comes to small details like this one; so, in truly dragon-fae fashion, he kneeled before you, took your hand and prepared to say the words he’s been wanting to say for a long time now.
Lilia, however, had to step in, immediately clarifying how Valentine’s Day is also a day express your love for your friends. Less to say that if Malleus had his dragon ears, they would be flopped down like a puppy.
“Well. It seems that your wonderful visit has brought new moments to reminisce about,” the old fae said, trying his best to ease the situation. “We are very grateful for what you’ve gifted us today.”
“I’m happy to see that you’ve liked them,” you voiced, chuckling a bit after witnessing their reactions. “And, although I can’t really stay for much longer, I enjoyed this moment with you.”
You were about to head out after biding them goodbye, only to be stopped by Malleus, who was still a little gloomy for the news he just received. “Do you really have to go now, Child of Man?”
“Unfortunately, I do. It’s already late and Grim might get mad at me if he finds out that he’s not at Ramshackle when he wakes up,” you calmly explained, softly caressing his cheek as you walked away, promising him that you would have more time to spend together tomorrow.
You better keep that promise, MC. Malleus is already too dejected to suffer another deception.
Malleus’ gelato truffles match his new gargoyle keychain.
Malleus’ knows what Valentine’s is, but his knowledge about it is limited to the romantic part of it. Hence why he is about to pursue you, ready to propose, again, and take you to his castle so that you can live a long and happy life together; until Lilia explained him the other side of the holiday, disappointing the dragon fae. Well, excuse him, Lilia, but how was he supposed to know that humans also celebrate their friendship during Valentine’s. He’s frustrated, but also enchanted in a nutshell, he’s a mess right now. Yes, he’s still quite sad that this wasn’t a confession and that he may have to wait a bit of time before making a move on you, but nonetheless, you just expressed that you care and appreciate him, and that, at least for now, was enough for him.
Lilia’s green tea chocolates match his new bouquet of black and fuchsia roses.
Lilia has witnessed and experienced many Valentine’s days during his life. He probably has enough information to fill an entire encyclopedia about it, maybe including some of his stories as a bonus. Having lived for so long, Lilia finds enjoyment in how humans celebrate their holidays; and Valentine’s wasn’t the exception. He reminisces about his past lovers and confidants, basking in the subtle aroma of his recently acquired bouquet while thinking about all the memories he made along the way. This may sound like something an old man would say, but Lilia truly relishes in the fleeting moments that life graces him with; he most definitely takes delight in spending those moments with you, happy to see that you also enjoy his presence.
Silver’s cashew chocolates match his new deer plushie.
Silver’s pretty much indifferent towards Valentine’s. He doesn’t have time to celebrate these kinds of festivities when he has to make sure his young master isn’t in any danger. But he guesses that once a while won’t hurt... Malleus and Lilia are within his sight, Sebek is right next to him, and he doesn’t have the will to reject your gift. After all, who is he to decline such a selfless act? He gives you a warm smile as his cheeks turn into a slight shade of pink, uttering grateful words until he was too sleepy to continue the conversation. Just as he was slowly falling asleep, he unconsciously hugged his new stuffed plushie, unaware of the future teasing his father would carry out. Well, seeing the bright side of it though: he had an splendid nap and you had another sleeping beauty Silver picture. A win-win situation indeed.
Sebek’s lemon caramel chocolates match his new crocodile and dragon mug.
Sebek wasn’t and still isn’t fond of Valentine’s Day. In fact, he’s not fond of almost any of the holidays that you, mere humans, like to celebrate. However, even if he states that he doesn’t care about your gift and complaints about your display of affection towards his young master, Sebek ends up liking you a little bit more than usual. Don’t be mistaken, human! It’s not because of the cute action you just confer upon him, why would you even think that? He just thinks that a gift like this can be very useful, that’s all! He’s not smitten by your sweet smile, kind and thoughtful self, or the way your eyes shine when you’re happy... Wait, what was he saying? Oh, of course! He’s definitely not smitten by any of those things I just mentioned, so don’t you dare to think that after he gifts you your Valentine’s gift. What? It’s called being polite, you know?
Diasomnia might be the only dorm that doesn’t take down the gifts from the other students. Most likely because they were all a happy and beloved family... And also due to them thinking very highly of their presents. But is something that most people have done at this point, so the first part still stands.
“How come I didn’t know about this...”
“Oh, don’t worry, my prince! For the Prefect most certainly did this with love and effort for all of us!”
“It certainly seems that human put so much care into these...”
“What are you mumbling, Sebek?”
“N-nothing!”
“That’s right. If I gift Child of Man a present deserving of her, I can partake in this celebration with her.”
“What an enlivening idea! This makes the perfect occasion to try out that cookie recipe I got from Jade, kee hee~”
“Father, please don’t.”
INITIAL STOP: RAMSHACKLE
The wood of the door creaking was the only sound that could be heard upon returning to your dorm. Being accustomed to it, you didn’t think of it as you left Grim on the couch, sitting next to him while watching his peaceful face, far away in dreamland.
“Aww, isn’t he the cutest when he isn’t awake?” Brawley commented, appearing out of nowhere as he floated around the little creature.
“So, tell us, MC. How did you Valentine’s journey go?” Conrad asked, anticipating an answer that never came. “MC?”
When the ghosts turned to look at you, all they found was your sleeping form, who couldn’t resist the tiredness after a whole day of walking and searching.
“Poor thing. She must be so exhausted,” Arthur said, dragging a blanket to shield you from the cold weather. “I can’t believe she really took it upon herself to prepare all of those gifts.”
“Right? I haven’t seen anyone so determined to prepare so many boxes and chocolates without expecting something in return,” Brawley added, trying his best to sneak a pillow under your head.
“Well, she may not expect anything in return, but I’m almost completely sure those boys are going to return the favor,” Conrad voiced, placing Grim in a more comfortable spot close to you, careful to not wake him up.
After that, your ghost fellows decided to float around for a bit, talking amongst themselves to guess what the gifts your friends had for you might be, also questioning if they were also thinking of competing not only for your attention, but for your love as well.
THE END~
DON'T REPOST.
EVERY CHARACTER BELONGS TO DISNEY AND YANA TOBOSO, AND I DON'T TAKE CREDIT FOR THEM.
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#mc/yuu#grim twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#trey clover x reader#cater diamond x reader#ace trappola x reader#deuce spade x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#ruggie bucchi x reader#jack howl x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#kalim al asim x reader#jamil viper x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#rook hunt x reader#epel felmier x reader#idia shroud x reader#ortho shroud#malleus draconia x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#silver twisted wonderland x reader#sebek zigvolt x reader#nrc staff
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Point of View: the Biggest Thing You're Missing!
Point of view is one of the most important elements of narrative fiction, especially in our modern writing climate, but you rarely hear it seriously discussed unless you go to school for writing; rarely do help blogs or channels hit on it, and when they do, it's never as in-depth as it should be. This is my intro to POV: what you're probably missing out on right now and why it matters. There are three essential parts of POV that we'll discuss.
Person: This is the easiest part to understand and the part you probably know already. You can write in first person (I/me), second (You), and third person (He/she/they). You might hear people talk about how first person brings the reader closer to the central character, and third person keeps them further away, but this isn't true (and will be talked about in the third part of this post!) You can keep the reader at an intimate or alien distance to a character regardless of which person you write in. The only difference--and this is arguable--is that first person necessitates this intimacy where third person doesn't, but you still can create this intimacy in third person just as easily. In general, third person was the dominant (and really the only) tense until the late 19th century, and first person grew in popularity with the advent of modernism, and nowadays, many children's/YA/NA books are written in first person (though this of course doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't write those genres in the third person). Second person is the bastard child. Don't touch it, even if you think you're clever, for anything the length of a novel. Shorter experimental pieces can use it well, but for anything long, its sounds more like a gimmick than a genuine stylistic choice.
Viewpoint Character: This is a simple idea that's difficult in practice. Ask yourself who is telling your story. This is typically the main character, but it needn't be. Books like The Book Thief, The Great Gatsby, Rebecca, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the Sherlock series are told from the perspective of a side character who isn't of chief importance to the narrative. Your viewpoint character is this side character, the character the reader is seeing the world through, so the main character has to be described through them. This isn't a super popular narrative choice because authors usually like to write from the perspective of their most interesting character, but if you think this choice could fit your story, go for it! You can also swap viewpoint characters throughout a story! A word of warning on that: only change your viewpoint character during a scene/chapter break. Switching mid-scene without alerting the reader (and even when you do alert the reader) will cause confusion. I guarantee it.
Means of Perception; or, the Camera: This part ties the first two together. If you've ever heard people talk about an omniscient, limited, etc. narrator, this is what they mean. This part also includes the level of intimacy the reader has with the viewpoint character: are we in their heads, reading their thoughts, or are we so far away that we can only see their actions? If your story is in a limited means of perception, you only have access to your character's head, eyes, and interpretations, where an omniscient narrator sees through all characters' heads at once. (This doesn't eliminate the viewpoint character--most of your writing will still be in that character's head, but you're allowed to reach into other characters' thoughts when needed. You could also be Virginia Woolf, who does fluidly move through everyone's perspectives without a solid viewpoint character, but I would advise against this unless you really are a master of the craft.) Older novels skew towards third person omniscient narration, where contemporary novels skew towards first person limited. You also have a spectrum of "distant" and "close." If omniscient and limited are a spectrum of where the camera can swivel to, distant and close is a spectrum of how much the camera can zoom in and out. Distant only has access to the physical realities of the world and can come off as cold, and close accesses your character's (or characters', if omniscient) thoughts.
Notice how I said narration. Your means of perception dramatically effects how your story can be told! Here's a scene from one of my stories rewritten in third-person distant omniscient. The scene is a high school football game:
“Sometimes,” he said. “Not much anymore.”
“It’s not better, then?” She shivered; the wind blew in.
“A little.” His tone lifted. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be better, though.”
She placed a hand on his arm, stuttered there, and slipped her arm around his waist. “Did it help to be on your own?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were there.”
“Yes and no.”
“And the guys, the leaders.”
“Come on,” she heckled.
“Okay, okay.” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, it helped. I don’t think—I don’t know—I’d be me if they’d fixed it all.”
She grinned. “And who might you be?”
“Oh, you know. Scared, lonely.” He fired them haphazardly, and a bout of laughter possessed him which Piper mirrored. “Impatient.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“No.” He sat straight. “Gosh, no. But I don’t want to be like him, either.” He pointed to the field; Devon recovered a fumbled ball. “He’s never been hurt in his life.”
She met his eyes, which he pulled away. “You don’t mean that," Piper said.
“Maybe not. He’s too confident, though.”
The cloth of Carmen's uniform caved and expanded under Piper's fingers.
With distant-omniscient, we only get the bare actions of the scene: the wind blows in, Piper shivers, the cloth rises and falls, Carmen points, etc. But you can tell there's some emotional and romantic tension in the scene, so let's highlight that with a first person limited close POV:
“Sometimes,” he said. “Not much anymore.”
“It’s not better, then?” Frost spread up from her legs and filled her as if she were perforated rock, froze and expanded against herself so that any motion would disturb a world far greater than her, would drop needles through the mind’s fabric. A misplaced word would shatter her, shatter him.
“A little.” His tone lifted. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be better, though.”
She placed a hand on his arm, thought better, and slipped her arm around his waist. “Did it help to be on your own?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were there.”
“Yes and no.”
“And the guys, the leaders.”
“Come on,” she heckled.
“Okay, okay.” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, it helped. I don’t think—I don’t know—I’d be me if they’d fixed it all.”
She grinned. “And who might you be?”
“Oh, you know. Scared, lonely.” He fired them haphazardly, and a bout of laughter possessed him which Piper mirrored. “Impatient.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“No.” He sat straight. “Gosh, no. But I don’t want to be like him, either.” He pointed to the field; Devon recovered a fumbled ball. “He’s never been hurt in his life.”
“You don’t mean that.” She spoke like a jaded mother, spoke with some level of implied authority, and reminded herself again to stop.
“Maybe not. He’s too confident, though.”
Piper felt the cloth of his waist cave and expand under her fingers and thought: is this not confidence?
Here, we get into Piper's thoughts and physical sensations: how the frost rises up her, and how this sensation of cold is really her body expressing her nervous fears; how she "thought better" and put her arm around his waist; her thought "is this not confidence?"; and how she reminds herself not to talk like a mother. Since I was writing from the close, limited perspective of a nervous high schooler, I wrote like one. If I was writing from the same perspective but with a child or an older person, I would write like them. If you're writing from those perspectives in distant narration, however, you don't need to write with those tones but with the authorial tone of "the narrator."
This is a lot of info, so let's synthesize this into easy bullet points to remember.
Limited vs. Omniscient. Are you stuck to one character's perspective per scene or many?
Close vs. Distant. Can you read your characters' thoughts or only their external worlds? Remember: if you can read your character's thoughts, you also need to write like you are that character experiencing the story. If child, write like child; if teen, write like teen; etc.
Here's another way to look at it!
This is a confusing and complex topics, so if you have any questions, hit up my ask box, and I'll answer as best I can. The long and short of it is to understand which POV you're writing from and to ruthlessly stick to it. If you're writing in limited close, under no circumstances should you describe how a character other than your viewpoint character is feeling. Maintaining a solid POV is necessary to keeping the dream in the reader's head. Don't make them stumble by tripping up on POV!
#writeblr#writing#writing advice#fanfic#writers on tumblr#writing questions#creative writing#bookblr#writerscommunity#booklr
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Fic ideas? You posted but I was too shy to actually write under the post AHHH
Yandere Milkman Gojo?
Getou Demon x Reader who thought it would be funny to summon something out of a cursed book BUT didn't expect it to actually work
Like Snow-white inspired: Hunter Gojo x "Snow-white" reader
Slasher Getou X Final "Girl" reader
Anyways I couldn't think of more, have fun writing!!
𖦁ׅ ࣪ ׂ 𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑲 ៵ 🐇 ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆
✦ summary . . . your husband is acting weird
✦ characters . . . yandere ! doppelganger ! milkman ! gojo x wife ! reader
✦ warnings . . . chubby reader in mind , use of " y/n " , uhh gore , blood , killing , people gossiping , kinda inspired by analog horrors , murder case , inaccurate breaking news script , not proofread
✦ notes . . . this js my first post and this one gets boring at the end cus i was rushing , it didnt turn out as i planned it to be :// this is kinda inspired by this post and i thoughg it would be funny lolol anw enjoy ! ! ! 💕💕
───YOUR HUSBAND is acting weird.
ever since he got hired as delivering milk, he‘s been acting strange, such as — looking at you for a longer time, going home later than usual, and in the morning you would always wake up with him just . . . staring at you.
you‘re not sure what it is about him (other than his behaviors), you‘re not sure if his eyes gets bigger and bigger with the more he stare at you, or when his eyes glows in the dark (you couldn‘t count with how many times you got heart attack when you woke up with him staring at you in the dark at your closet).
or maybe when you saw him glaring into another man who‘s looking at you for too long for his likings . . . but as soon as you looked back at him, his expression changes into his usual smile to you. whenever you bring it up, he always waves it off, “you‘re just imagining it, darling.” is what he would say to you.
and like a good wife, you trust him. of course you would trust him, why wouldn‘t you?
it was around 11:02 pm, you were currently waiting for your husband to arrive soon. usually he would be home at 10:30, but nowadays he arrived at 11:00. the dinner that you made for him was now cold, even though you covered it with the food cover.
after two minutes of ads on your television ended, a news came up on the screen;
“breaking news! a 22 year old harada kyou was found missing. her husband reported that she was gone since morning.” said the man in grey suit, pausing before passing the speech to the said woman’s husband. “i tried contacting her but she didn‘t respond to me. i called her family and friends to know if she’s with them, but unfortunately she’s not with them. she‘s been gone since this morning, when she promised to go home at 5:00 after going to supermarket.” the man continued his story, but you weren‘t paying any attention to that.
instead, you were trying to analyze the woman in the screen. she looks familiar, you thought. but after connecting the dots, you finally recognize her! she was your neighbor. you and her don‘t always talk, but whenever you guys would bump each other, you both would have a small talk before going to your destination.
your thoughts were interrupted when a bell on your door rang and you turned to see him. “hey darling!” he came up to you. you stood up and grabbed his face, planting a gentle and loving kiss on your husband‘s cheek. “welcome home, baby. how was your day?” satoru put his hand on your plushy waist, “it was okay, couldn‘t wait for the curry chicken!” he joked.
“don‘t worry sweetheart, this is a different type of milk! a scarlet milk . . — anyways, i‘m goin’ shower.” he says, but not before kissing your nose and let go of your waist. you stood there, just thinking whether you should trust him or not, especially with him covered in scarlet milk. then, the television spoke again, catching your attention.
you chuckled, but it died down when you noticed the huge red spot on his shirt (that you somehow didn’t notice). you were slightly hoping it wasn‘t something you think it was. “‘toru . . . what’s this red stuff on your uniform?”
“if you see a doppelganger, please immediately contact D.D.D. thank you.” and with that, the news continues with another speech.
your husband is weird, he act like he‘s not worried about the death of your neighbor.
“the neighbor beside us went missing? well that‘s unfortunate.”
“miss tagawa went missing? that‘s sad.”
“the girl who goes to the café all the time was found dead? damn, anyways!”
it‘s like your husband didn‘t care about the people, only caring about you. he laughs it off when you inform him about the concern death of your neighbor, as if it wasn‘t something he needs to worry about.
but still, you love him no matter what. even when he watches you from the dark, growing taller and taller.
“i‘m so sorry! please don‘t kill me—” the woman chokes on the sobs, when the creature grabs her by the hair. the wide blue eyes tells her not to mess with him, let alone his wife. “heard you were talking about my wife, mind to repeat?”
the hand that was pulling her hair is now strangling the woman. “i‘m sorry . . ! i promise not to do it aga—” her throat was slit by the sharp nails. he rapidly stabs the woman until satisfied. her body is then separated and was thrown in a lake, hoping someone to see them.
he then morphed into your husband, with blood on his uniform. he got a text from you, which read;
wife ❤
hi toru ❤ i got a curry chicken tonight
was wondering if you would like some sardine?
sent at 7:28 pm
he chuckled at his wife’s text, before replying
me
of course darling
i‘ll eat any food you cook
sent at 7:28
wife ❤
awww ❤🥺 thats so sweet baby
hope u like the lunch btw <3
sent at 7:29
you reacted their message "❤"
his smile dropped when he heard a footstep, he quickly sprinted and hid behind a tree. it was a policeman, he was patrolling the area that satoru killed the woman previously. he hid behind the tall tree and waited for the perfect moment. without hesitation, he opened his mouth, widely enough to eat the man.
he then walk on the road, looking for victims to kill, specifically, your neighbors. the one who gossiped about you the other day.
as satoru left the elevator, there was five women in a group, the were whispering. he usually ignores them, but then he heard your name in their conversation.
“i heard that gojo‘s wife has no job! how pathetic!” said the woman. “and not only that, but her husband has to work everyday! how sad, i could never.” the old lady said, snickering. “all she does is stay at home cooks for her husband a cold meal! i bet her husband didn‘t care about her.” the two other women nodded, agreeing at the so-called captain.
satoru‘s hand were tight, balled up into a fist. no such person should talk about you like that, never. he ignored the way his palm was bleeding. he ignored the urge to just slit off their throat and started to walk. he could hear them hushing each other when they saw him walking past the group, eyeing the man.
disgusting, he thinks. only y/n belongs to me, he thinks again, heart fluttering at the thought of you.
#💌 : dollvied#💌 : nonnie <3#yandere#yandere jjk#yandere jjk x reader#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere scenarios#yandere x reader#yandere satoru gojo#yandere gojo#yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere milkman#yandere milkman! gojo#yandere doppelganger#yandere x female reader#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere gojo x you#yandere x chubby reader#chubby reader#plus size reader#plus size darling#yandere x plus size darling
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Do you think I can request a seamstress y/n being part of the strawhat crew and how they need to make new outfits for the crew as disguises and when it came to luffys turn, it was kinda difficult for them because they have a huge crush on him and seeing him bare for measurements kills them a little-
Kinda just a sorta oblivious luffy witnessing y/n get flustered a little!
Really curious how you’re going to make it end lol
(Love your writing sm! Thank you for advanced!)
DESCRIPTION: You’re the crew’s seamstress and measuring Luffy leaves you flustered
WARNINGS: none
CHARACTERS: Luffy
WORDS: 934
A/N: Sorry this took so long but I hope it was worth it and that you like how it all turned out
*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*
MASTERLIST
———————
When it came to your passion of designing and making clothes you were unbelievably focussed. It was to the point that if the crew wanted to distract you from something they’d bring up the topic of a new design they had in mind. Some of the crew were more subtle about this tactic than others, for instance when Sanji needed you away from the kitchen for a few hours so he could work on your surprise birthday banquet, Robin expertly brought up a floral skirt and top combination she wanted to wear but couldn’t find the right colour scheme anywhere.
On that occasion you’d gotten so motivated that by the time you were needed for the banquet you had to be physically dragged out of your workshop. Oppositely there was one time Zoro had stolen your dressmaker’s mannequin to test out which angle would be best to attack someone from for his new technique. When you’d found out and went to rescue your possession Zoro had tried the distraction method but merely said ‘buttons’ which only bewildered you for the briefest of moments before you took back what was yours while it was thankfully still in tact. Yes, there was no way your focus could be shaken when it came to your work…well except when it came to your Captain. Your very oblivious Captain.
You kept telling yourself that it was just a crush, that he didn’t feel that way about you and he was just affectionate and energetic by nature and you were good with that, you really were. The last thing you ever wanted to do was jeopardise the amazing friendship you’d made with Luffy. So you kept your crush to yourself and things continued as normal. The only time things threatened to reveal themselves was at moments like these. The ship was heading into dangerous territory governed by another rival pirate which meant keeping as low a profile as possible and that meant they were depending on you for appropriate disguises.
“Luffy please just stand still.” You lightly begged, watching your Captain excitedly move about your workspace, touching the bolts of different fabrics and flicking through your design book with glee like it was his very first time in the room when in reality you’d lost count how often his presence had been in and out. At your plea he stopped running his fingers through the soft patterned material that had caught his attention and turned to face you with his usual carefree grin. You sighed in relief and slowly reached for your measuring tape while trying to keep your expression as relaxed as possible. This was always the hard part so you just tried to go as quickly as possible. “Shirt off.”
You had no problem seeing any of the other guys shirtless, yeah most of them were impressive but the only one to get you to be a shaking, blushing mess was Luffy. When Luffy’s hands moved to his shirt you dropped your gaze away, mostly out of respect but also because you could already hear your heart slamming against your chest and feel your skin begin to heat. When you heard the fabric of his shirt fall on the ground you looked up, trying to keep your gaze focussed on Luffy’s eyes but you couldn’t help but let it drop for the briefest of moments to peek at his impressive physique. Snapping out of it you instructed quickly. “Arms out.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl when Luffy grinned and extended his arms out to you as though inviting you in for a hug as opposed to putting his arms outward so you could accurately measure his frame. You knew it wasn’t his intention to fluster you like this, it was just Luffy being Luffy but it made things so much harder to deal with. Resisting the urge to give in to temptation you took hold of Luffy’s wrist and pulled to manoeuvre him correctly. Quickly you stood behind him and began to lift your tape towards him. With every adventure and fight meant Luffy’s body got only more and more defined and it made measuring him a greater struggle.
It was a relief that you managed to make it through most of the process without making too much of an idiot of yourself but by the end of it all you were beet red and trying to look anywhere but the cause. Through it all Luffy was his happy, oblivious self, talking excitedly about the disguise he wanted but when you stepped away he finally took a proper look at you. “Huh? Are you feeling okay?” He asked, leaning in closer and pressing his hand against your head. However that action meant his still bare chest was against you too which only made your condition worse. “You shouldn’t have been working if you’re sick. I’ll go get Chopper, okay?”
“N-no! I’ll be fine!” Your guilt for making him worry managed to pull you back from your inner spiral. “I’m just…too warm! Something cool to drink and I’ll be back to normal.” You reassured only for Luffy to grin and pull you out of your workshop and straight to the kitchen so you could cool down. Finally feeling more yourself and no longer overheating thanks to Luffy sitting back you could focus on the design. “So you never said what colours you wanted for this disguise, Luffy.”
Luffy blinked at you and gave you a look as though you were the oblivious one. “Well as long as it matches you I’ll be happy.”
#one piece#one piece fic#one piece x reader#one piece x you#one piece imagines#luffy x reader#one piece scenario#one piece fanfiction#monkey d. luffy#luffy#one piece luffy#straw hat luffy#luffy x you#monkey d luffy x you#monkey d luffy x reader
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I love that you portray Ash as like, still a kid who cries. It's easy to forget that when he's running around on adventures. Seems like even Jessie forgets it sometimes.
Thanks! Ash is so tricky for me to write for bc his pre sinnoh and post sinnoh character is like,,, completely different. And then I try making him feel like an actual 10 year old on top of that which is also hard because he’s a 10 year old that’s saved the world MANY times and has gone through experiences that you’d usually associate with an adult character
But Ash actually cries more than people think in the series. He’s a really sensitive kid 🥺
And LMAOOOO yeah Jessie totally forgets. She doesn’t want to come to terms with the fact that she’s had her ass handed to her by a baby on a daily basis
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