#excuse the hastened writing

[st6rly]

❛ love me like how only you do. ❜

synopsis : 　 through every universe, every cycle of rebirth, he will always find you. in which kazuha loves all versions of you; in every timeline, every universe, every breath or non-breath he takes. 　 ╱ 　 word count : 　 1.7k

characters : 　 kazuha x gn!reader

categories : 　 fluff. mild angst. yearning. royalty au. country x city trope. hospital au. modern au. apocalypse & post-apocalypse aus. idol au. inanimate object / nature au?? lot's of aus. 8 + 1 fic.

warnings : 　rusty writing (it's been a hot minute my bad-). brief major character deaths. mention of blood / injury / violence / drowning. illness in characters + family members. fire. zombies. mentions / vague descriptions of death in general.

dedicated to : 　 @yuomizuu, from your stellaronhvnter secret santa :3c when i saw kazuha on your list, i jumped for joy; he’s one of my top genshin characters & im so happy to have an excuse to write for him! // playlist i was listening to while writing // art by @.mayu_mey on twt

In one universe, Kazuha bumps into you on the street. 

Bundles of scrolls and parchment spill from your arms, delicate writing muddied with dirt as the commotion on the street barely comes to a halt. Onlookers scowl and grumble, moving past without a second thought as you scramble to collect your things from the footpath, movements hastened by the spear-tips aiming your way. 

Cape a deep crimson with delicate fur trim, the Kaedehara family crest is embroidered on the back in gold thread. Kazuha always thought it was unnecessary to flaunt his status, preferring respect of the family name over awe of his wealth. But being a gift from a dear friend, he wears it more often than not. In cases like these, he wishes he hadn’t. Your eyes catch the glint of his garments, and you freeze, petrified.  

Lowering to a crouch, Kazuha waves away his guards with dimmissive hand, gloved hands working to collect fallen sheets. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice kind and with a smile. He holds out a scroll for you to take back. Your fingers brush his. 

“Yes…” you mutter back, somewhat sheepish. You quickly rise to your feet and offer him a bow. “My apologies, Your Highness.” 

“No need for it.” 

He offers to walk you to your destination. You decline. He insists. The two of you both make it to the library in quick succession, the others on the road making way the minute the red of his cape is seen. 

“This is quite unnecessary, Your Highness.” Kazuha looks over at you. You smile when he meets your eyes. “It was I who bumped into you. There was no need to escort me back.”

“Ah, but I wanted to.” 

It’s when you’re inside, the door closed behind you, that Kazuha stops to stare at where you’d once stood. His cheeks are rosy with warmth.  

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” one of the guards prods, hesitant. “You seem a bit… flushed.” 

“I’m more than alright.” 

The kingdom falls before he can see you again. 

Flames engulf houses and shops; fire starved and ravenous, it becomes a glutton as it licks up the side of the library. His horse whinnies and backs away when the heat gets to be too much, but Kazuha can’t seem to pull himself away from the sight. He needs to leave. He needs to leave. Run. Run. Run. Run—

Some part of him hopes you made it out unscathed, heart heavy as the shouts of enemy troops chase after him. You would’ve liked the palace archives, he thinks, salt trailing down ash-stained cheeks as the ruins disappear in the distance. 

—

In one universe, you’ve just moved from the city to the countryside. 

As your new neighbour, Kazuha took it upon himself to welcome you. The rest of the area had heard about your reasonings: a relative of yours who owned the house you’d be staying in has fallen ill. You’re here to keep things in order while they receive treatment. 

Basket full of fresh fruit from his own farm, he stands outside your door with a nervous frown. His heart beats erratically in his chest, pulse ricocheting off the bones of his ribs. It’s never like him to be so jittery when greeting others. Readjusting his grip, Kazuha sucks in a breath and knocks. 

You shout back, “Just a sec!” 

There’s a brief moment where Kazuha debates leaving, dropping the basket and running. He digs his heels into the ground. The door opens with a click. You smile and— 

Oh. 

He’s been here before, hasn't he? 

Cheeks turning a soft pink, he grins back, holding out the basket. 

“A little welcome gift,” he says, “from your new neighbour.” 

You take the basket from him; your fingers don’t touch his. Is it weird that he wishes they did? Kazuha comes back the next day, handing you a bunch of mail and a package. You invite him to stay this time. 

Kazuha swears he’s seen you before, that you moving wasn’t a coincidence judging by the butterflies that eat at his stomach lining. Whatever it is, you don’t remember him like how he thinks of you. 

You return to the city months later, leaving the confession on the tip of his tongue. 

—

In one universe, you are the wind that greets him every morning. 

The hospital room is stuffy, void of colour except for the stack of “Get well soon!” cards and deflating balloons shoved by his bedside. He misses the farm, he decides, the vast openness of the trees and fields. The smell of medicine had stung his nose at first; now it’s barely there. Kazuha stares out at the sunrise, smiling to himself when a familiar breeze slips through the crack of his window. Bathed in gold with the sun speckled in his hair, he strains an arm and grasps onto a well-loved notepad and pen. 

“One day,” he murmurs, voice airy as he jots down the date, “I’ll be out there too.” 

—

In one universe, you’re a birdhouse and he’s the bird. 

The seeds are kept well stocked; the shelter you provide is always dry. You both get swept away in a windstorm. 

—

In one universe, he is a star. 

Rubble and debris from what were once towering builds block any type of path you may have been able to venture. Despite the lack of them, the stench of walking death still permeates the air.  

“Shouldn’t have taken that shortcut,” you mumble, grunting when your foot catches on another root. 

The trees grow thicker and you swear you’ve passed this part of the woods already. You grumble a string of profanities, plopping down to the forest floor and leaning against the bark. You look up. 

“You’re here at least.” The words are soft, much too gentle for the atmosphere. Kazuha doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. “You’d scold me for scavenging this late. I know it.” 

The star grows brighter, as if laughing. 

— 

In one universe, Kazuha’s flesh can be tasted on your tongue. 

Tied up in the corner, your arms pinned behind your back, he sits about two metres away in front of you on a broken crate. The gun lays loaded in his lap. Eyes closed with his head down, fingers resting on the cool metal, Kazuha’s lips stretch into a thin line. 

“It’s not right,” he mutters, mainly to himself as you thrash in the corner, desperate to reach him. “It’s not my right to rob you of life.” 

You snarl in response. Eyes bloodshot and crazed, he wonders if you can still understand him. Would you plead for him to shoot you? Would you beg to be spared? Could he bear to do either? He’s going to be sick. 

“It’s not right,” he repeats, shaky hands curling in his lap. “It’s you and me. We haven’t come all this way just to end.” 

The world has taken enough from him. Kazuha refuses to let it take you too; not without him.  

He stands in front of you. The gun lays off to the side. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screams at him not to fold. They wouldn’t want this, it wails, clawing at the walls of his skull. Another tells him, Do it. And so Kazuha undoes your binds, kisses you, smiles tearfully when your nails claw into his skin. Blood runs down his back, stains his tattered clothing. He hugs you. Your jaws clamp down on the junction of his neck and shoulder. His nose brushes against your jaw. 

“It’s ok,” he whispers to ears that cannot hear reason, hold tightening, “we’ll be ok.” 

—

In one universe, you two never meet. Not face-to-face at least. 

Kazuha smiles at the camera, holding up a peace-sign, before the view switches to another member on stage. The clip goes viral very shortly after its creation. You come across it one day. 

“An idol, huh…” you mutter. 

 You scroll away. 

— 

In one universe, he’s stuck behind a screen, a watcher to your world as you go through the motions of life. 

Fate isn’t his, but he can’t seem to mind. When his splash art first coloured your screen, when he first witnessed that giddy look in your eyes, Kazuha knew he was smitten. 

Even if you ult at the wrong times, run out of stamina in the middle of climbing, skip dialogue, Kazuha is there beside you. For every beginning, end, every plotline in between, he’s a staple of your team. 

One day, you stop logging in. It was gradual at first; daily tasks, some resin here and there, you’d skip a day then come back the next. A day turned into two. Then three. A week. A month. Kazuha still waits. It’s funny how his world comes to a standstill when you do. He hopes you’re doing well. 

—

In one universe, he is a leaf and you are a river cutting through the forest. 

He drowns in your embrace, waterlogged and swept away as you carry him down stream. If he had a conscience, Kazuha would do it again. 

—

In this universe, it’s finally Kazuha and you. (There is no need to say he loves you when his name is already beside yours.)

Kazuha watches as you pack up your things. He stands from his spot next to you, bag slung over his shoulder as he waits. Other students are already leaving the lecture hall, milling about as he admires you from this short distance. 

In this universe, it’s been Kazuha and you since birth. Friends since forever, it surprised no one when both of you confessed. It would be nice if every universe were like this. 

“You’re staring.” 

He blinks, hand finding yours automatically. You squeeze back. 

“It’s hard not to when you look like that,” he teases back. 

“C’mon, the winter festival is starting soon.” You roll your eyes. 

Foot catching on the chair, Kazuha steadies you before your books can fall out of your hands, giggling when you’re quick to apologize. 

“I had a weird dream last night,” he blurts out once you’re back to standing. 

“About me falling?” 

“More than that.” He traces your skin with his thumb, lost in thought before speaking again. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm. Drop off your stuff and all.” 

“Nah, I can just meet up with you.” 

Would it be nice if every universe were like this? That’s silly, he thinks with a smile. No world could make me love you less. 

“I insist.” 

notes : 　inspired by multiverse concepts, including “everything, everywhere, all at once,” arcane, the "do you think we're together in every universe?" trend, and this one poem i read that i can’t remember. this ended up being shorter than i thought it would be, but there are a lot of parallels between scenes and such so i hope those were caught! apologies if the prose doesn't flow too well TwT

[madl-y]

✧. ┊— you're the one that I like (I can't deny)

3 times Orter Mádl denied his affection for someone, and the one time he was too tired to defend himself.

sypnosis – the other divine visionaries are sick of seeing orter lovesick (despite being amused themselves) so they try to push him to confess. (they, mainly being kaldo and ryoh. lance was there unwillingly)

> no tw! fluff! hopefully not ooc..? beware of grammar and spelling mistakes (sorry..)

> set in post innocent zero! so mild manga spoilers :"DD

> its also been a while since i've started writing fics again! this was kind of an impulse decision ahahaha...!

> i also didn't expect this to be long! sorry :"D

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

1 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

Orter Mádl never thought he'd see you again.

This is the third time in a row that he, alongside with another person, finished the assigned mission in each class that gives silver coins. Orter glances at the side, where another student slowly walks to the front as the teacher sang praises about them. Of course never forgetting the 'lectures' on how everyone should take inspiration from the two of them. (Frankly, it was getting quite sickening to hear.)

He kept his gaze at the front, while his awareness and attention is still directed at you. You, who always managed to keep up with him in tasks and classes. You, who despite having a weak personal magic, had always excelled at other spells. It was to the point where higher level year spells and advance magic was so easy for you.

You, who Orter thought that the first piece of the silver coin you got was a fluke.

Evidently enough, it wasn't.

Finally, after a lot of unnecessary speeches and praises, Orter and you are able to go back with the rest of the class. It seems most students were willing to run away the moment the teacher announced class was over.

Orter pushed his glasses and sighed. He finally felt the weight of his pocket from the gold coins he acquired recently.

Just from looking at you, Orter knew you felt the weight too.

Its nothing new. Clearly, Easton has a lot of students that were born talented. Easton in itself is a privilege. The best and the talented are here. Orter knew he'll have to face a lot of strong magic users just to carve his path towards becoming a Divine Visionary.

He must become one. Someone needs to maintain order. He needs to punish all those who dare and try go against society. He needs to fulfill his wish—

"Orter, aren't you going?" He blinked. Surprisingly, (or not really) Orter found himself still rooted on the grass. His previous place just a few steps behind him.

Ah, right. Someone called out to him.

That someone gazed up to him. Orter got used to people having to slightly tilt their head up from how tall he is. Though, he never noticed that your height reached his shoulders.

"Orter?" You called out again.

Orter shook his head, trying to keep his mind from wandering elsewhere.

Somehow, this always happens. Its always whenever the two of your interact with each other. Orter gets distracted and gods knows why!

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

It somewhat became a routine from how it always happens when Orter and you interact.

Its always you who's initiating. A simple greeting in the hallway. A simple show of respect to Orter's achievements. A simple saying of "congratulations" whenever Orter finishes first in class quizzes.

And it always follows up with an act of concern to when Orter spaces out.

Because somehow, he always ends up thinking of you. How did you keep up? What did you do? What magic spells were you able to wield so easily, yet you're own personal magic was so weak? Why were you talking to him? Did you want to become a Divine Visionary? Should he expect you as a future enemy? Why do your eyes always look like they're shining under the bright warm sun? Why—

"If you excuse me, I need to go." Orter bowed before walking away. He hasten his pace at the mere sound of your voice that stopped midway to ask something of him.

Why is it that its always you he exerts his effort to think about?

Its irrational. Its... nonsense.

Yet somehow, he couldn't help but think how prettier you are up close.

And its ridiculous to think about.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

2 - 3 : BUREAU OF MAGIC

When Orter thought that you might be working alongside with him, he didn't mean with you as just an assistant.

"You really saved me time, thanks!"

"These notes are so well organized... I should learn from you."

"I'm starting to see why the Divine Visionaries respect you alot."

"Heh..? Not bad from an assistant."

"Be nice, Renatus."

"Shut up, you stuck up hag." Sophina Biblia glared at the foul word.

"You–!"

"Would you like some honey sashimi with me?"

"With all due respect, Kaldo." You blankly stared at the Flame Cane and his abomination of a... food choice. "You're tastes in food and honey combinations are the worst thing ever." Kaldo felt an arrow struck through him. The palm of your hand raised up in front of him indicated that you were rejecting his food taste (like everyone else) and flopped to the floor in pain.

The other two visionaries sighed.

"Orter, here is your schedule for today and tomorrow. One of the chiefs in the Police force would like to schedule a meeting with you. Nerey's still clarifying who's attending though." You handed a folder to Orter while ignoring the bickering behind the two of you.

Orter nodded. "I'll take note of that. Although," He took a quick glance at the cup of coffee on your other hand. "I thought you don't drink coffee anymore?"

"Oh, this is for you."

Orter blinked, before pushing up his glasses. "I don't recall ordering one."

"What? Don't tell me you suddenly dislike coffee?" You leaned in with a teasing grin. Any outsider would think that the Sand Cane looks unamused, but working with Orter for a long time means you've known every expression of his, no matter how stoic.

"I didn't say I dislike coffee." Orter sighed.

"Yeah? Then, here you go." You lightly shoved the cup of coffee towards Orter. It looks so casual, as if its something you've done for a long time.

And it is something you've done for a long time.

Orter accepts the coffee. Gingerly taking care of the cup in his hands. His fingers subtly touch against yours.

Its always the same, and yet Orter still feels that small budding affection in him. (Not that he would show it, of course.)

A coworker calls your name. You immediately follow him down the hallway while giving a quick smile to Orter. He nods briefly as he watches your back retreating further.

Actually, Orter already drank a cup of coffee a while ago. He usually doesn't order a second one. He dislikes the feeling him palpitating in the middle of work. It only happened twice, but he refuses to feel it again.

Still, every cup you give him unknowingly, he takes it.

He licks his lips as the warm liquid travels down his throat. Its sweet.

Its sweeter than he's used to. He prefers it with less sugar, and absolutely refuses to let Kaldo brew his cup of coffee.

He takes one more sip.

Orter doesn't mind as he walks back to his office with the cup of coffee and folder in hand.

The next day, you find a freshly brewed cup of tea on your desk.

You tilt your head questioningly. This is a first that's happened ever.

You look around to see if there were someone nearby. Most of them were walking past and chatting with one another.

It tasted good at least. (After confirming that it wasn't poisoned. You wouldn't know what to feel if there was someone who wants you dead.)

Weeks pass by, and there's been at least two times that it has happened. It happens at random times so you weren't sure what the pattern was.

But clearly, the Divine Visionaries know something. Every time you ask, however, they just smile or sigh while giving you a cryptic answer.

Orter just shrugs and walks away.

"Hey-! I wasn't done talking to you!"

"Well, I am." Is what he always replies.

Soon after, Ryoh slings his arms around Orter and gives him a grin. "So... you like her?"

Orter pauses in his steps, before blankly staring at the smug Light Cane. "Her?"

Kaldo emerged from the sides. "Oh? Never thought you were the type to play dumb." His smile grows at the bristled look Orter directed at him.

"I'm not playing dumb."

"Sure."

"Its just that, she's the one you only prepare tea just right before she arrives at work. You don't do that to anyone else." Orter stares at Ryoh, who just smiles knowingly. Nothing escapes the Light Cane afterall.

"My, my, who thought that I have a rival in finding ways to charm a girl? Me, the greatest creation–" Orter shrugs off the narcissist before he can start his self narration.

Kaldo walks beside Orter, "So, you truly like her?"

Orter sighed, pushing his glasses in habit. "I don't."

Kaldo hummed in thought, "I'm not convinced." The Flame Cane frowned. "You two seem to get along well. No plans of confessing?" He tries to push further for answers, which makes Orter irritated.

"If you're not convinced, that's not my problem." Gold eyes glared sharply. "Again, I don't like her. I'm just giving back favors. I don't know about you, but I don't think gossiping is how a visionary should spend their day."

With that, Orter walks away ignoring the stares from the two.

It's natural to repay favors. You don't need to know Orter was the one brewing the tea on your desk after every coffee you give him.

Kaldo and Ryoh stared before smiling at each other.

"He likes her." Ryoh grinned.

Kaldo nodded in agreement.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

3 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

The bell rang indicating that class is finally over. Which also means that you have successfully made it through the whole day while teaching.... enthusiastic students. (The amount of headaches you've received from teaching students the most basic spells. Offense spells, especially.)

You greeted one last goodbye to the class before heading out towards the faculty.

While your main job is a secretary position in the Bureau, you were also recruited to teach at Easton for once a week. Mostly classes that are supplementary for those with borderline failing grades.

"Ah, who is more suitable than the student who excels in different spells regardless of difficulty? Am I right?" Walhberg's voice resonated in your mind.

It's been a year since you've started teaching. Right after the whole Innocent Zero world abomination happened. Can't say that you're surprised that Finn is one of your students, but he's currently doing better than you expected.

"I have to thank you for being patient with me, Sensei!" You recall Finn beaming with joy as he finally got one of the hardest offense spells to master. Safe to stay you were delighted that you had an impact to students.

Right after this class, you usually head straight towards the Bureau to take over the night shift-

A tap in your shoulder made you halt in the middle of the hallway, "Done with class?"

You come face to face with... huh.

"I didn't know you had a meeting here in Easton?" You should know, because you were in charge of handling the Visionaries' schedules. So you should know that Orter has no business here in Easton.

He shrugs, "I don't."

"Well, yeah, you don't. I should know that— I'm your goddamn secretary— but I'm assuming its an emergency?" You tilt your head in confusion. Gold eyes meet yours, his stare seemingly calculating and... hesitant?

"No." Orter replies.

Silence assumes between the two of you. You raised a questioning brow at Orter who just stares blankly at you.

"Then..? Care to elaborate oh divine one?" You add a hint of sarcasm which Orter slightly bristled at. He sends a sharper glance at you while you smile innocently.

Its not as if the two of you haven't acted that way before. Working together somehow brought the two of you closer and your relationship is somewhat casual.

Other words, you can be as annoying as you want and Orter won't shove sand down your throat.

"I don't know, you're the secretary." He raised a challenging brow back. You scoff in lighthearted annoyance while Orter seemed unfazed. That is, if it weren't for the ghost of a smile you managed to capture.

If you can be annoying as you want without consequence, then Orter will do the same.

"Okay but really, why are you here?" You question seriously while inviting Orter to walk beside you towards the faculty. He follows while keeping his gaze ahead.

"Hmm... You're headed towards the Bureau after this?"

"Oh? How did you know?" You ask with slight surprise. Nobody ever bothered to know your schedule, except for the ones that are quite obvious.

Orter sighed and sent you a dry look. "We've worked together for a long time."

A laugh escapes your throat, "Yeah, well, I've only started teaching a year ago. Until now, some forget I have to teach weekly then head towards the Bureau. I swear, its laughable at the same time such a headache. They keep on scheduling things when they shouldn't be." You sighed roughly, wondering if you should start scolding your coworkers more.

"They're idiots." Another laugh escapes your throat at Orter's words. "I'm guessing they're the same ones that accidentally added in my schedule that I'm supposed to be here at Easton." You see the way Orter's usual calm expression turns slightly irritated. Not evident that anyone from outside could see, but enough for someone like you who've known Orter since studying at Easton.

"Oh I see, that's how it is." You stifle another laugh, not wanting to irritate Orter further, but can't help the urge to tease him.

"You say its a headache when they do this, yet you're laughing? How annoying." Orter let out a huff while you grin.

"Maybe its laughable when I see others suffer." You teasingly smirk.

Orter rolled his eyes, yet he can't help but feel a minute affection at the casual interaction between you.

"You haven't answered my question, Orter."

Ah right. He hasn't.

Orter paused in his steps. Causing you two pause beside him too before facing him with a questioning smile.

Again, its the same. As if they're back studying at Easton where Orter always sees that smile of yours. Its always the same, so how come he always felt the same emotions where his stomach and chest swirl at the sight of it. At the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, "I did. I told you they sent me on accident. Messing up my schedule."

"That's true, but you could've gone back immediately." You turn your gaze towards the group of students on the field where they were practicing spells or playing around.

"You caused quite a commotion you know? It was hard to settle down my last class because apparently, a Divine Visionary is on Easton grounds." You cross your arms while a playful pout forms on your lips. "They were more focused on the fact that the Sand Cane was here. That was an hour ago, so care to explain?" You sigh in exhaustion. However, your pout was replaced by a smile the moment you see Orter's subtle shift in his eyes while he looked dejected at being caught. Again, only you could see those minute expressions behind his stoic attitude.

Orter pursed his lips, he didn't expect that his presence would be that of a commotion. To think he was confident in concealing his presence right before your class.

Huh, nothing really escapes you.

"That's.." Orter glanced away while pushing his glasses up. "Its not like it wouldn't hurt to—"

"Sensei."

"—visit you.."

Orter went silent before sending a glance to the person who had the guts to interrupt to people talking-!

His mouth opens in slight surprise at the look of one of the students he was mentoring.

Additionally, Lance looked equally as surprise to see Orter right behind you. He blinked, wondering if he interrupted something. He was pretty sure he heard another voice overlapping with his once he called for you.

"Sensei, Orter-san." Lance bows politely then turns back to you.

He sees in the corner of his eye how Orter pushed his glasses up (a tiny bit harsher) and looked away. Lance didn't have time to think about it as you call for his name.

"Yes, Lance?" You smile at the younger Divine Visionary.

"Ah, Finn wanted me to tell you that he can't go to the faculty after class to bring you his assignment. His other teacher told him to stay after class." Lance handed you a sheet of paper.

"He asked me to deliver it to you instead."

"Oh, thank you Lance! Its nice to see you taking care of Finn. Please tell him he did a great job and not to worry." You smile brightly as you felt another wave of pride for Finn. Sure he was called as the "weakest" in your supplementary class, but he's improving. A lot. Especially under your guidance.

One glance at Finn's paper, and you already knew he's going to have another high score soon enough.

"Also, Professor Claude told me to look for you. Apparently there's an emergency meeting with the faculty."

At the mention of Claude, you couldn't help but grimace. Lance didn't seem fazed at your expression, yet he also can't help sending a pitying glance at you.

Orter just raised his brow.

"And he couldn't tell me himself...?" You mumbled questioningly.

"He said he was busy." Lance replied dryly.

"Sure, he always says that." You muttered once again, not bothering to hide your disdain at your fellow professor.

You perked at the sound of someone clearing his throat. You turn to Orter apologetically. "Sorry, Orter. I forgot you were there."

While Orter didn't seem fazed on the outside, Lance could see the slight twitch on his forehead.

"I think Lance may have accidentally cut you off." You smiled sheepishly.

Lance thought so too.

"What was it you were going to say?"

Orter remained quiet for a moment before sighing. "Its nothing. I was about to head back to the Bureau."

While you nodded understandingly, Orter took the chance to sharply glare at Lance in displeasure. Maybe he should teach this kid a thing or two on how to not interrupt two adults when they're having a conversation.

Lance stared back unfazed.

"Well then, I have to go! Can you do me a favor and tell anyone who asks for me that I have an emergency meeting at the faculty?"

The Sand Cane let out a sigh, displeasure thinly veiled in his expression. Orter, however, nodded while his stoic look returns. "Sure."

"Thank you!" You bowed and smiled gratefully before quickly walking away. "See you around as well, Lance!"

The blue haired nodded as he and Orter stood still while watching your retreating back.

Once its just the two of them, it seems tension has risen again between them. Despite the fact Orter is training Lance, and frequently sees him around from the fact Lance is the newest Visionary.

Still, Orter can't help but stare at Lance who, of course is one of the known people to be stubborn as hell, stares back as well.

Orter is starting to think he should say something to rid of this awkward silence.

"Are you—"

"Did I—"

Both visionaries closed their mouths.

A sense of Déjà vu passes through them.

Orter tries once more.

"Did—"

"Is—"

....If he wasn't annoyed, he'd be very astonished right now.

Lance quickly spoke before Orter could, "Did I interrupt something?"

Orter just sighed heavily, "Sort of." His shoulders dropping as he recalls that very scenario just a moment ago.

"Sorry, I actually didn't see you there." Lance said politely as he could. Rubbing the back of his neck in slight awkwardness.

"Its fine. It wasn't important."

"It looked like it was though." The younger visionary rolled his shoulders as he looks away in thought. Orter raises his brow at the comment while Lance looked as if he remembered something.

"Ah, so she's the one Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san were saying that you liked?" With the way Lance said it with such a straight face, Orter had to process the words that was casually spoken.

"...What?" Orter's face crumbled in irritation.

Lance continued to look to the side in thought, oblivious to the way Orter was seething. "So that's why your schedule changed all of a sudden. I thought there's someone who was going to attack Easton so I was on guard the whole time."

Lance glanced back to Orter. "But Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san told me not to worry about it. It was quite a headache since a lot of our classmates heard news of you in the school grounds. Although, I never thought you were the type to agree to change your schedule for someone you like—" Lance felt a magical aura out of nowhere and began to get his guard up. Ever since Innocent Zero, its like an instinct at this point.

However, he paused as he noticed Orter who looked the same as usual. Straight-faced and stoic, yet Lance could see how tense he was.

"...I see." Orter said lowly.

He began to stare ahead in thought, before bringing out his wand and turn around without glancing at Lance. "Thank you for providing information. However, I would like to clarify everything was false."

One look at Orter, and you'd think he was just as calm and composed. Lance's glance at the hand gripping his wand tightly made him think otherwise.

The other knew to not say anything further, lest he drowns with sand flowing down his throat and out his ass.

"Everything?" But of course, Lance had a stubborn streak. Maybe Mash and Dot were rubbing off him too much.

Orter replied without looking back, "Everything."

"Even the part where they said you like her?" Lance pushed. Call it curiosity, or maybe the fact that someone like Orter indeed has feelings for someone, which makes it so intriguing for Lance to find out more and risk getting buried in sand.

Orter let out a deep exhale, which got Lance tense for a moment, before the Sand Cane started walking again.

"...Yes."

The Adler student watched as his mentor rounded around a corner. He was soon left alone in the hallways.

Lance couldn't help but feel like he caused a murder that's going to happen in the Bureau of Magic.

What's more intriguing, however, was that Lance immediately knew the real answer from the quick moment of silence before Orter replied.

Lance harumphed and went back to his dorms. "...The fact he had to lie even though it was already obvious."

That day, Ryoh and Kaldo struggled to give a lot of excuses to avoid Orter before they were caught.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

FINAL : LIBRARY IN THE BUREAU OF MAGIC

Orter was getting sick of this.

Its been weeks since that awful interaction with Lance and you, yet Orter keeps finding himself victim of Ryoh and Kaldo's infuriating schemes.

What's worse, is that the other visionaries go on about their day. As if there's nothing going on.

Here, Orter is glaring at Ryoh who keeps on convincing him that Orter should get over it and just confess.

Orter would be drowning Ryoh in tons of sands if it weren't for Kaldo backing him up. "I'm getting sick of this." Orter snapped.

"Well, sucks to be you. We're getting sick of it too!" Ryoh grinned while Kaldo laughs as if Orter wasn't getting bombarded with ideas on how to flirt with someone you've like for a long time!

"It was amusing at first, seeing how you'd suddenly act so soft and caring towards her. Yet it began to look painful at how both of you were acting so oblivious." Kaldo sighed as if it was his personal problem, and the fact that Orter can't even hurt them in retaliation, because damn them and they're actually useful for protecting the citizens.

"I don't-!"

"Quit the act! You like her, she likes you back. Now confess!" Ryoh cuts him off while pushing Orter forward to god knows where.

He's actually going to kill these bastards, visionaries or not.

Of course Orter is true to his words, so he brings out his wand and glares at the two. Ryoh just smiled (even though there's a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead at the sight of Orter's wand so close to him) and Kaldo doesn't seem fazed and watches from the side.

"Oi Kaldo! A little help?"

The Flame Cane hummed playfully, "Why, you're the strongest aren't you?"

"But we're in this together!"

"If you two don't stop this, I swear.." Orter gritted his teeth. He has a meeting for goodness sake. He's busy. He's also getting tired of this bullshit of a—

"Oh? What are you three...?" You had to double take the sight in front of you. Ryoh, who's grin faltered at your voice, still has his arms wrapped around Orter's shoulder while leaning his whole body to push Orter forward. Kaldo, who's playful smile drop and is replaced with a look of surprise as he stands from the sides.

Orter on the other hand, blinks and remains still while his expression remains his usual.

That is, if it weren't for the fact that his wand was gripped tightly in his hand and pointed at Ryoh with tiny bits of sand circling around it.

You raise your brow questioningly. "I think sparring between Visionaries is better suited outside and not in the library, no?"

The three blink once before glancing up at the sign above, which shows that indeed, they're in the library.

Just like what Kaldo and Ryoh planned.

Before Orter could protest, he was roughly shoved inside the library. He managed to stop himself from colliding with you.

Curse Ryoh Grantz and his narcissistic attitude because in the end he's still a strong visionary, and Orter prays that all mirrors nearby shall break once he merely appear in front of it.

Kaldo isn't forgotten in Orter's prayers, as he wishes all stocks of honey shall obliterate.

"Well!" Ryoh claps his hands gleefully, unfazed at the menacing glare Orter is sending his way. "Orter's schedule is cleared for the day-"

"It's not-"

"It is?"

"-And he has something he wants to tell you!"

"I don't."

"You do?" You tilt your head at Orter, who inhales deeply. He can feel his patience thinning.

"I don't-"

"He does." Kaldo interjects, and Orter was one step away into murdering the two before the library doors shut.

"Also! Miss secretary, your schedule is also cleared for the day! So spend more time together in the library. I heard you like to read from Kaldo." You can hear the joy in Ryoh's voice despite it being muffled. Which makes you even more confused as you alternatively stare at Orter and back at the doors.

"There are new selections in the library! Especially that one series about the legends of magical creatures." It was Kaldo's voice this time.

"Really?" Orter looked at you in slight disbelief. From how efficient and quick you are to adapt, you sure are easily distracted at what's really happening.

So of course, Orter will use it as an opportunity to—

"Ah, but first listen to what Orter will say." You don't have to see Kaldo to know that he's smiling.

...Orter hopes Kaldo will enjoy having sand in his honey as soon as he dealt with what he's gotten himself too (unwillingly).

It was silent for a moment. This time its a truly awkward one as you and Orter stood still side by side while staring at the entrance of the library.

You blink before giving Orter an embarrassed smile, "So.. I'm guessing you were dragged here against your will?"

Orter sighed tiredly, "Yes."

"I see, but I am curious as to why they had to force you to come here. Apparently, you want to say something?" You questioned, curiosity and slight worry evident in your voice.

Did something happen? Were they hiding something? Or was it just something silly that the visionaries (Ryoh and Kaldo you're guessing) planned and somehow, Orter was on the receiving end.

You watched with slight worry as Orter continued to send daggers towards the entrance of the library. Taking a small step beside him as you examine his expression. Not knowing if he was deliberately choosing to ignore you or not.

"Orter?"

Orter's head jerk up slightly at your voice. Indeed he wasn't choosing to ignore you, but was lost in thought on how to punish his fellow visionaries (mainly the two who shall not be named).

He turned his head towards you, sensing the worry in your tone. An apology for the current situation at hand and reassurance are at the tip of his tongue, ready to reply and.. oh.

For someone with great intuition and reflexes, Orter who prides himself in having great situational awareness— its something he thinks visionaries should have— he wasn't aware you two were this close to each other.

Orter finds himself stunned. A thought he's oh so familiar with immediately floats in his brain every time he coincidentally gets a chance to be close with you.

Again, and again, and again, and again.

Its always the same.

His mind always thinks that you're prettier up close. Not that you weren't pretty if you were far away.

Orter watches your eyes slightly widen at the close proximity you two are in, despite the library being so big. Its as if a spell was cast between you two. Designated to stare at the windows of each other's soul, not wanting to look away.

You think Orter's eyes are pretty. Like sand sparkling with hints of powdered gold that's blending well.

Orter thinks your eyes are glowing. Not physically, but with emotions he himself cannot express. He always finds himself melting at your eyes.

Maybe that's what's getting him soft when he interacts with you. Maybe Ryoh is just mistaken and that anyone you interact with also unwillingly goes soft at the sight you.

Orter blinks once, as he regains his composure. He sighs before looking to the side at the moment before looking back at you.

"Uhm, well, you really don't have to say anything if... you're not ready." You let out a chuckle. "Even though I don't know anything about what you uhh, want to talk about.." A light flush blooming at the tip of your ears and across your cheeks. A rare sight even for the Orter Madl himself.

Orter looks at you closely one last time, as he felt that exact swirling emotion in his chest as he takes in your abashed expression.

He scoffs to himself, earning a confused look from you. Before sighing tiredly. He resigned to his fate that Ryoh and Kaldo put him in.

And maybe, Orter has finally come to terms that he's indeed a liar.

"...Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter walks ahead of you swiftly taking the books in your hands as he looked at them interestingly.

Your mouth gapes in both confusion and surprise. Orter turned back to you and raised a brow while holding the books. "Well? I'd rather do something productive even if two... nosy idiots decided to clear my schedule."

Orter had the satisfaction to hear your laugh. "Careful, I might get too used to hearing your composure break. Who knew the all powerful Sand Cane had a foul mouth."

The visionary tilts his head, "Hm? I wasn't the one who turned to a blushing mess at a mere eye contact." He quickly turned away but you managed to catch a small smirk on his lips.

The unexpected teasing made you scoff, this time another light blush spread your cheeks in embarrassment. "I—! That was...!"

Orter feigned ignorance as he levitated a few books to organize them to their correct spot. Still, a light smug expression grew as he watched you from his peripheral vision try to defend yourself.

He took a quick step to the side to avoid the incoming jab to his arm. You glared at him unamused before waving your wand and levitating more books, grinning in triumph as one of them managed to hit him in the head lightly.

Orter stumbled slightly as he grunted at the thud of a book against the back of his head. He glared unamusingly, "That's no way to treat a Visionary."

You shrug, "Yeah well, maybe you should be quicker on your feet."

"I am though."

"Didn't seem like it."

Its been a while since you've engaged in friendly banter with Orter. It reminded you when you two would take quick jabs at each other back in Easton.

Orter stared at you, thinking deeply whether or not if he should go along with what his mind thought of.

"Well? Did that book hit you too hard or what?"

You started to shift in place at Orter's gaze. Not knowing if you should be worried or not if you actually hurt him.

Always one to act without thinking, you lift your hand up towards his head. Hesitating slightly at the way Orter's expression slightly shifted in surprise, before resolving yourself lightly touch his brown locks while feeling around the back of his head where the book hit him.

"Did.. did that actually hurt?"

Orter who finally processed everything, let out an amused hum. He grasps your wrist gently before lowering it back to your side. His eyes, once again, examining your worried gaze.

He really can't believe it.

You thought you managed to hurt him?

Orter let out a light huff.

How cute.

"For someone who's duty is to organize schedules and meet with different kinds of people," Orter finds himself facing his body to you. He grabbed a book on a nearby shelf and raised it in the air, gently hitting your head with the spine of the book. "You still have that quick temper and sharp tongue of yours from way back." He says, and he can't help but let out a more softer tone as he meets your eyes.

Orter sighs (for what it seemed the hundredth time) and places the book back in its proper place. Satisfied at the offended reaction he managed to get from you.

"You-! I was worried and-!"

He watched as you go on and on rambling about how you were genuinely worried. About how he was an annoyance from back then until now.

He sighed, how troublesome.

Orter pushed his glasses up as he faced you. "Really, how irritating." He sighs, "Out of everyone, I had to fall for you."

You paused. Your pointer finger that was in the air that was near jabbing his chest faltered.

Once again, Orter had the satisfaction to see you caught off guard.

"What?" Your heartbeat felt like it was pounding out of your ribcage. If you could hear it, what are the chances Orter couldn't.

Both of you stared at each other, heartbeats beating as one. While silence filled the room, the minds of the two were filled with different thoughts and the sounds of their heartbeats.

Finally, Orter spoke.

"I said," he leaned in closer, bending slightly forwards so his face meets yours directly upfront.

You could see the hint of amusement and affection in his eyes.

"Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter questioned.

He smiled in satisfaction at the frozen state you are in before heading off to walk with books in hand.

If Orter had to endure weeks of stress because he was forced to confess, well, you can't blame him for wanting you to experience the same.

He did confess after all. So sue him if Orter wanted a bit of fun messing with you.

He dodges another book thrown at him, a ghost of a smile hidden from the back of his head. Yet, if only you weren't so distracted that you could see the red tints on his ears.

Don't worry though, Orter will do this seriously. He doesn't intend to mess with you for that long.

Not until Ryoh and Kaldo get what they deserve.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

well... I didn't expect this to be THIS long.. why is this so long oml im so sorry aksdlajfklashglshdf hope you enjoyed though :"D this is not proofread

[confused-pyramid]

Tell Me Some Things Last | s3

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 23.1k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20

a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell

series masterlist

"Excuse me?"

Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."

"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."

She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."

You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.

"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."

She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.

You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.

He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.

The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.

The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.

You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"

Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."

A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"

He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."

"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."

Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."

After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.

You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.

When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.

"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.

"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.

You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."

"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.

Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."

"The first two victims were the same."

A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"

Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."

You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.

"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.

She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."

She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.

"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."

You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.

If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.

***

The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.

"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.

"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."

"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."

That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."

"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.

"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."

"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.

"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."

"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.

JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."

"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."

The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."

"There's been another murder."

***

The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.

You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.

He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

"Two weeks."

You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."

"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.

"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"

He blinks. "Can you say that again?"

You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."

He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.

"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."

His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."

"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.

"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."

You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.

He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.

"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.

"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."

"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"

He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."

***

You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?

You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.

You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.

Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.

You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.

When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."

"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."

You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."

"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."

"Need any help?"

She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."

"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."

"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."

When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.

You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.

You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.

You miss them all.

***

The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.

Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.

Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.

Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.

You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."

"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."

"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."

"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."

He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.

"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."

"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.

You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."

"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."

When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"

"You miss work, don't you."

He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.

You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.

"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.

The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.

"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."

To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.

You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.

"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."

"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.

"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."

She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."

His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."

"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."

They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."

He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.

You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.

This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.

You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.

                                                 Jeff Adler

                               Beloved Son, Husband, Brother

                                        Until we meet again

The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.

He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.

He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.

You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.

You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.

"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."

You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."

***

He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.

When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.

"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"

He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."

"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."

She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."

That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?

"Sorry to interrupt."

Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."

"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.

"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."

"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."

That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."

"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."

She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."

"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.

"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand for one case, so be it."

Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.

"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."

She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."

***

Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.

"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.

"He didn't tell you?"

You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."

But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.

"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."

"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."

You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.

"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."

Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.

He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"

A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"

JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."

Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.

Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.

You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"

"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."

You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."

She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."

You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.

"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.

***

When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."

"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.

He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.

He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.

An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.

"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-

He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."

"Would you have to travel?"

"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."

She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."

***

You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.

"Hello?" It's Haley.

You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.

You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.

"Hey."

He sounds guilty. You can imagine.

"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."

That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."

There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."

Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.

"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.

"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.

"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."

He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."

"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.

"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"

"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.

"All right. Keep me posted."

***

Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.

A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.

"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.

"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.

Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"

Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."

She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."

With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.

You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."

He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.

The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.

After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."

"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."

"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.

She nods. "All the better."

Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering with a federal investigation."

"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."

He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.

Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"

You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.

"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.

Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."

She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."

"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"

You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.

Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.

"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."

***

When he gets home, the lights are off.

"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.

"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."

He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.

***

Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.

He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.

You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.

Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.

Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.

You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."

"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."

You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.

"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."

You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."

***

"You must be the BAU."

A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."

He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."

"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed. 

"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"

You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.

"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.

Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."

"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.

"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.

"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.

The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.

"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.

Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."

"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."

"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"

They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.

"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."

Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.

Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"

***

When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.

When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.

"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.

"The trail's 40 miles long."

You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."

"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."

He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.

"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."

"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."

You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."

"Guy had a busy year."

You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."

You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."

"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."

He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."

When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.

"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.

He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."

You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."

You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.

"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.

"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."

***

He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.

They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.

He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.

When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.

When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.

He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.

Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.

He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.

When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."

He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."

He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"

"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."

He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"

You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"

He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."

"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.

"You don't seem closed off to me."

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."

He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.

"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"

"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.

"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.

"Haley left."

Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."

***

You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.

You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.

When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.

That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.

You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.

He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.

"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.

"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."

He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.

You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.

You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.

"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."

"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."

"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."

"Which do you prefer?"

You grin. "Home, of course."

"Of course."

You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.

The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.

It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.

After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.

"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.

"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."

You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"

Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."

"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."

"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?

You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."

"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."

Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."

"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."

You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."

You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.

You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.

"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."

"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."

"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."

"A few shots?" you laugh.

She nods. "Each."

~

You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.

Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.

You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.

Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.

He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.

He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.

Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.

He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?

"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"

"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."

"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."

He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.

~

When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.

You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."

He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"

He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."

You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.

You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.

"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."

"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."

Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."

"No, it's not."

He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.

"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."

You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"

"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."

You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.

"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"

"Aaron."

You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.

"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."

"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."

You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.

***

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."

Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.

"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.

"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.

"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."

Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."

Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."

You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"

"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."

You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.

JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.

"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."

He nods. "Right, sorry."

Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."

This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.

"Let's start the briefing."

***

The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.

You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"

Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."

"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."

"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.

"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."

"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."

You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.

"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."

"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."

Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.

"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."

"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."

He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"

You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.

"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."

He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"

You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."

Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."

You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."

"How is your father doing, by the way?"

You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."

"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.

You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."

"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"

You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."

"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."

He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.

"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."

"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."

You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."

He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."

You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.

You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.

***

He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.

He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.

He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.

Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.

A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"

"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"

He nods. "That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

He nods again, not liking where this may be going.

Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."

He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"

"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."

He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"

"I guess you're just not used to sharing."

He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"

"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.

"I won't say anything."

"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"

It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."

"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."

Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.

***

"Hey, Dad."

You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."

"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"

"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."

"Unsub?"

"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."

"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"

"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."

"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."

You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.

You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.

"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."

Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.

***

"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.

"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"

"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."

"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."

"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.

"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.

She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."

"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."

***

The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.

The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.

"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"

You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."

"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."

"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."

Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.

"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.

The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.

"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."

"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."

"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."

His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"

"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.

"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."

"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."

Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."

***

The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.

When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.

You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"

"Y/N...it's Garcia."

You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know."

"I'm on my way."

You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.

"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.

"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."

"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.

"He's not answering his cell."

Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."

He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.

You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?

"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.

He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."

"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.

"I was in church. My phone was off."

"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.

The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.

"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."

When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."

***

Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.

"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.

"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.

"James Colby Baylor."

She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.

"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.

"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."

"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."

"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."

She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."

JJ blinks. "Anything."

"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."

***

The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.

Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.

"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.

You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."

"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.

You snort. "Sleep's overrated."

You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.

Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."

His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."

He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.

"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."

"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."

"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."

He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."

"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."

He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."

"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.

"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."

You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.

"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."

An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."

***

You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.

After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.

"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"

"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."

You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."

"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."

"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."

"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."

"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.

"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"

"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."

You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."

Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."

Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.

"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.

"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."

***

The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.

He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"

"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."

"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.

"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."

He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."

You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."

"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.

All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.

"She said you've been ignoring her calls."

He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.

He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."

"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."

"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."

"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."

You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."

He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"

He nods again. "See you tomorrow."

When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.

When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.

His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.

He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.

***

"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.

"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."

Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.

"Did he eat lunch?"

"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."

"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."

"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."

The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.

You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."

"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.

"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"

Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.

"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."

When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.

The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."

"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."

He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."

"You sure?"

He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.

"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."

He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.

You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."

"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."

You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."

"See you soon."

The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.

A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.

"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.

He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."

"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.

"He doesn't even know me."

You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."

"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.

You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?

"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."

He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."

You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"

"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."

"You never told her what happened?"

He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."

"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."

The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."

"Remember what?"

He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."

***

"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.

"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.

Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."

He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."

"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."

"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."

You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"

"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.

You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."

"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.

"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."

Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."

Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"

"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.

***

You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.

"Yeah, that's him."

JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."

Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."

When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.

"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.

"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.

"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."

She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.

"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."

She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."

You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."

She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.

Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.

***

Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.

Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.

How can you drink this stuff?

It makes me feel sophisticated.

Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.

The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.

You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.

"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"

You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."

He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."

Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.

"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."

That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."

You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"

He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"

"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"

He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"

"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"

You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."

He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"

"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."

"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."

He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.

As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.

"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.

"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.

"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."

You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."

"Either way."

You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.

"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."

You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.

"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"

The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.

His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.

Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.

***

"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."

You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.

"...by always taking the long shot."

Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.

"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."

"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."

"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."

"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."

"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."

And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.

Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."

He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."

His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.

You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.

***

"Five shootings in two weeks."

"It's about time we got the call."

The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."

You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.

"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.

Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.

JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.

***

"Kate."

A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"

He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.

"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.

After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.

The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.

"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.

"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.

"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.

"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"

"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."

JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.

The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.

Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.

"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"

Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."

She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."

You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."

She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."

This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."

"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."

"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."

"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."

***

After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.

When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."

JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."

He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."

"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?

You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."

That makes you frown too.

Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"

JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."

Oh my God.

"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."

"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.

You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."

"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.

He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."

"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.

JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"

"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.

She looks down. "I know."

"Because I understand if you need to take some time."

"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."

"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."

You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.

***

You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.

"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.

She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."

She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."

"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.

Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"

"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."

You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."

He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."

"Screw you."

You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.

***

You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.

"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."

"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."

You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."

"There are no sides here."

You nod. "I know."

"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."

That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"

He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."

You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."

"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."

"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"

You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"

You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."

***

"Emily, what happened?"

You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.

"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."

"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"

Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."

Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.

After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.

You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.

You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @sanayikes, @yiiiikesmish, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog (message me to be added!)

[mydearneteyam]

DELICATE ;; NETEYAM

summary ;; three short moments with neteyam.

pairings ;; neteyam x fem!na'vi!reader

warnings/notes ;; mentions of war and wounds ;; very short, honestly. just a few ideas i had for one-shots for neteyam.

word count ;; 0.5k

✦ "I hate war."

Those were the words that left your lips once you finished cleaning the wounds of one of your companions, hearing Neteyam approach from behind you. You felt his chest lean against your back and his warmth was enough to make your lips quiver.

"I know, I hate this too. Not knowing if our brothers will come back… not knowing if Eywa will allow us a day of rest…" he murmured, slipping his arms across your chest and you intertwined your fingers with his.

"Ma Neteyam…" without looking at him, you spoke again, your voice almost cracking. "Promise me you will take care of yourself."

"I promise, Ma Txe'lan" he rested his cheek on your shoulder, sighing.

✦ "Wanna play?"

You laughed as you signaled your ikran companion to hasten flight, hearing Neteyam's laughter behind you and thus the squawks of his ikran, following you.

"Depends!" you indicated at his words, passing under a floating mountain, hiding among some rocks and laughing softly, stroking the head of your ikran, who squawked silently.

"Gotcha!" from the side, Neteyam appeared flying, causing both you and Syo to swoop down, amused. "Oh, please, it's your turn!"

"Prove it!" you looked up at him through your windblown hair, meeting his gaze and determined, he continued the flight after you, grinning.

✦ "Boo!"

Neteyam opened his eyes and trying to keep his balance, he swung his tail and arms forward, but it was inevitable, he fell backwards into the water and you burst out laughing, climbing down from the tree.

Watching him come out, you couldn't help but keep laughing, holding on to the trunk and crouching lower and lower. He gave a hiss, feigning annoyance and you felt your tail being grabbed, cutting off your laughter abruptly as you fell into the water.

"I can't believe it, you're a sore loser!" you laughed, tossing your hair back, catching your breath once you surfaced.

"Me? Excuse me, but I got to the waterfalls first!" he spoke mockingly, sitting down on one of the rocks over there, shaking his head to dump the rest of the water and thus, his braids, knocking you around a bit. "You were the one who decided - as a sore loser - to scare me" he smirked at you, as he gave you a soft smack on the nose, making you frown.

"At least I didn't get scared being a warrior" you rolled your eyes, smiling and felt two of his fingers dig into your sides, making you squirm, in between laughs. You tried to remove his hands, but it was impossible. Between the rocks, your hair was still getting a little wet, but you were too busy laughing and snorting to worry about that.

"Who's the warrior, huh?" he asked, smiling at your giggles and playful desperation, still tickling you, but you threw some water at him with one of your hands, causing him to cover up and stop for a few seconds.

You smiled at him with amusement and hugged him, slipping your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him to you and rolling with him to the right side, re-entering the water, this time together, amidst giggles.

a/n ;; i'll post a request later (priya chen !!!) and then i'll watch the movie again bc i forgot a lot of things, sorry, i have been too focused on my own projects <3 do you like these type of writings? like- shorts?

[hawkins-batman]

Seeing those accounts that did that call out thread for those Byler accounts in the same breathe literally repost Caleb Mclaughin and Sadie Sink’s met gala pictures like you do realize those people literally are still good friends with Noah💀 and what’s funny is that they were so quick to attack Millie for still being friends with him💀

The cognitive dissonance and selectivism in this fandom is honestly exhausting. And it's not even with just stanning a cast member that is literally Noah's friend while trying to blacklist people who defend him or are his fans. That's obviously hypocritical at best and performative at worst (definitely both most of the time).

It's also just how they choose to interact with the series and certain ships. For example, I saw a tweet yesterday that read "If you support Noah Schnapp, unfollow and block me!" This person had a behind-the-scenes picture of Noah as their profile pic and a picture of Noah as Will as their banner. This is shockingly common—not just on Twitter, but on tumblr, as well.

Then there are the people who openly promote the show—which is what you're doing when you post pictures, memes, write fan fiction, repost fan art, make and share fan edits, share trailer dates, etc. Because it's not just your moots that engage with your conent.

How many shows/movies have you watched because you got interested in them due to coming across fan content, discussions, or theories? I can name a few on my end.

So, if you believe, as some of these people do, that Stranger Things is full of genocide-supporters and their friends, then why are you openly promoting the show? Why do you have the person you've "canceled" as your pfp? Why is all of your content revolved around that? How can you (in good conscience) attack people for being a fan of Noah and supporting him, when your actions are also directly supporting him by giving Netflix your views and funneling others to watch the show, as well?

This is why I use the term "performative." A lot of people in this fandom want to pay lip service to get social media cred., when if they were honest about their convictions, they would drop the show and stop posturing and making excuses for themselves.

And what's particularly crazy is that many of them are aware of this. I've seen a number of posts over the past month of people either on here, TikTok, or Twitter talking about "preparing" themselves for when outsiders to the fandom attack the fandom as a whole for watching the show and promoting it.

So, they know that's not just "Noah fans'" perception of their hypocrisy. It's held by quite a lot of people. I expect we'll see more lip service in the future, and more call out threads and such. It makes them look like they're doing something when they're not.

My advice? Ignore them. Block them, mute them, continue to enjoy being Noah's fan, and engage with fan content the way you normally would with mutuals who are not going to stick their nose up at you. At the end of the day, mass silencing and ignoring most of these people is one of the best ways to hasten their irrelevance.

/rant

[orions-choker]

Drink My Cherry Blood (Vampire!Kirk Hammett x Reader NSFW)

Vampire Kirk, Rough sex, Oral Sex, Blood Drinking, Unprotected Sex.

Word Count: 4,557

Reader meets Kirk at a party and gets a lot more than she expected when he follows her home.

(Cross posted to AO3, this is just an excuse to write Vampire Kirk smut sorry <3)

The moon hung high in the midnight sky. Despite the darkness the California night was pleasantly warm against Y/N’s skin. It didn’t stop a shiver from running up her spine. Each step she took against the pavement brought with it the feeling of being followed. Each time she peaked behind her shoulder she was greeted with nothing. 

Her knuckles turned white, her grip on her crossbody purse deathly tight. Her pace hastened slightly. She was almost home, she could see the faint light from her house in the distance, like a beacon of hope in this small corner of suburbia. It took all her will power to avoid breaking into a sprint, not wanting to look like a fool when truly there was nothing following her. 

A sudden crack sounded behind her, a pebble hitting asphalt. It cried out like a strike of lightning on the otherwise silent street. Y/N stopped abruptly, whipping her body around to catch the perpetrator following her. Nothing. Her eyes trailed down the empty sidewalk, landing on the suspect stone that had startled her. Too far behind her to have accidentally been her. 

“Hello?” She called out, voice wavering as she desperately hoped for no reply. She waited a moment, and then a moment more before shaking her head. “I’m going crazy.” She mumbled to herself turning back towards her target, home, she just needed to get home. 

The sound of her worn converse scuffing against the ground suddenly seemed impossibly loud. An irrational part of her brain telling her the noise was bringing too much attention to herself, like prey being stalked through the forest. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat getting stuck like a heavy weight in her chest. 

Home, Home, Home. It was the only thing she chanted. Somewhere in her mind she reprimanded herself for leaving the party so late, by herself. Her only saving grace was her choice to stay sober tonight, knowing she had work tomorrow she decided to be smart for once in her life. 

The party had been a goodbye party for a close friend, despite that Y/N seemingly knew no one there. Not a single mutual friend aside from the host, Y/N had found herself nursing a cola in the corner of the kitchen for most of the night. That was until she had been approached by Kirk. That was the name he had given her anyway. 

He was a cute thing, he had dark curly hair that cascaded down his shoulders, he was lean and lanky, not incredibly tall but towered over Y/N’s short stature nonetheless. He had these big brown eyes that oozed comfort and for that reason she had found herself chatting with him through the night. 

He was pleasant, in conversation and to look at. She was thoroughly endeared by his knowledge of music, games, comics and movies. He was a bit awkward at first, it was endearing the way he stuttered over his words, laughing at his own poorly timed jokes. Despite his charms there was a feeling she couldn’t shake around him, not fear, but anticipation. Something about the way he seemed to loom over her, the way his teeth, a little crooked, seemed impossibly sharp, like razors in his mouth. He felt..off. 

Still Y/N felt sad saying goodbye to him, exchanging numbers with him as she left the party around 11:30. He had offered to walk her home, insisting it wasn’t safe this late for a young woman such as herself. Suddenly she felt inclined to agree. 

Snapped out of her thoughts of the night earlier, Y/N heard it then, footsteps. Unmistakably against the ground behind her, someone was there, and gaining on her fast. Her breath hitched and without a second thought she broke into a panicked sprint. The ground seemed to shake and crumble away from her feet as she heard the person behind her gain speed. 

Then there was a hand on her arm, a grip so tight it felt bruising. She was stopped, yanked back with incredible strength. A scream ripped its way from her throat but died quickly, muffled by a warm hand against her mouth. She thrashed in the hold of her mystery assailant, teeth sinking into the flesh of his hand and nails scraping against his arm. Her efforts earned her nothing more than a pained hiss. 

“Hey shit calm down Y/N.” The voice in her ear, from earlier that night. Kirk? Her eyes rolled back trying to get a better look at the man behind her. She couldn’t see his face from this angle, but the curls falling around his shoulders and the dark fabric of his shirt confirmed it for her. She stopped for a moment, her body going limp as he pulled her down the alleyway. 

She was roughly turned around, body pressed against the brick wall behind her. His hand still covered her mouth as his body caged her in. She looked up at him with wide eyes full of fear. How stupid had she been to talk to this guy, he had seemed harmless enough. Oddly enough his eyes were elsewhere, darting towards the entrance of the alley as he shuffled them further into darkness. His body concealed her from view. 

Tears sprang to her eyes, this was how she died? In a dark alleyway, body disgraced by a man she had just met. She couldn't help the small sobs that came from her muffled mouth. Kirk's eyes widened as he looked down at her. He shook his head quickly. “No shh shh.” He whispered, his hand pressing down harder. “Please be quiet, this isn't what you think, just quiet.” He hissed urgently, eyes darting back towards the open road. 

Y/N was caught off guard by the interaction, stunned into silence again by the gentleness in her voice. They stood there for what seemed like an hour. Y/N pressed against the warmth of Kirk's body as he completely encased her there in the alleyway. She noticed he didn’t breathe a second of the time they spent there. Finally Kirk released a shaky sigh, stepping away from her, hand slowly falling from where it had gagged her. “Please please don't scream, let me explain.” He pleaded, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“What the fuck.” Y/N hissed, still speaking lowly as Kirk did. “What’s your deal dude, are you trying to kidnap me?” She asked, voice raising in fear and anger. Her back was still pressed against the wall trying to keep as much distance between him and her. She noticed in the glint of the moonlight his eyes seemed to almost glow a deep red color, his gaze on her still filled with worry. 

He shook his head frantically, looking like a kicked puppy at the accusation. “No god no!” He defended himself quickly. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Fuck, ahh how do I explain this?” He groaned.

“Explain attacking me in the middle of the night after I talked to you once at a party?” 

He winced at her acid laced words. “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t want to.” His hands came to his face, rubbing at his skin and gently pulling at his lower lash line as he struggled to find the words. “You were being followed, I was worried about you.” Kirk sighed, eyes desperately searching hers in hope she was willing to listen. 

Y/N’s face contorted, lips pulling into a tight line and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Dude you were the one following me?” She slid down the wall slowly, exhausted by this whole interaction she let her body slump forward as she sat on the dirty pavement beneath her. 

Kirk followed her, crouching before her, keeping a good distance to not scare her further. “No, I mean yes, but to protect you.” He stumbled over his words. “You wouldn’t let me take you home, but you were being watched at the party and I couldn’t let you leave alone, you wouldn’t have made it home alive.” He tugged his bottom lip between his sharp canines. 

They seemed inhuman, those teeth. Y/N couldn’t pry her eyes away from them. “And how do you know that?” She asked him, voice softening a bit. There was just something about his demeanor that made her want to believe this stranger. “What was with you dragging me down here and keeping me silent.” 

“The guys that were following you, I know them, I didn’t want to fight them not in front of you.” He explained carefully, there was something else lurking beneath his words. “I just wanted us to keep low until they fucked off” 

His explanation came with more questions than answers. “I didn’t hear anyone out there, how do you know?” Y/N asked, pulling her knees to her chin as she stared at him in wonder. “And what do you mean fight them? It sounds like something you do often.” 

“God why do you have so many questions.” Kirk whined in defeat, his head hanging low. He picked gently at a small piece of gravel on the ground. He was unwilling to make eye contact again with her as he spoke slowly. “You aren't gonna believe what I’m gonna say.”   

“Try me.” 

With a final sigh Kirk dropped from his crouching position, sitting down in front of Y/N in the alleyway. “It’s a long story…I’m well i'm not human.” He began his explanation, taking note of the way Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open to say something but shutting again as he shot her a glare. “The guys following you? Not human either. I’ve had a couple alterations with them before, they like picking fights. I made the mistake of chatting with you and just to piss me off they figure it would be fun to kill you…or worse.” 

As the words tumbled out Y/N shivered. Silence fell over them before she spoke again. “What do you mean, not human?” She asked, rather than disbelief she sounded curious. She leaned forward a little closer, eyes trailing to his teeth once again as they got caught on his lip. “Like…a vampire?” She whispered. 

Kirk hesitated before shrugging. He nodded his head “Something like that, yeah.” He whispered back. His eyes searched her own for any trace of fear, anger, anything really. Suddenly she was on her knees, crawling towards him. The dim light from the street lamp outside the alley illuminated her face, eyes wide and sparkling with interest, lips parted slightly as she studied him like a wild animal. 

“How can I believe you, can you turn into a bat or something?” She asked almost jokingly. She crawled between his legs, hands coming up to pry open his mouth and run her thumb along the sharp canines. Her touch barely ghosted over them yet she could feel the edge like a knife. A little more pressure and she would have nicked herself. 

Despite his surprise at the sudden boldness he allowed her curious hands to wander and study him. He chuckled awkwardly “Well uh no, I said like a vampire, not actually one like from the movies.” He tried to explain. One of his hands came to softly pry away her prodding hands as he smiled his best comforting smile at her. “I'm uh really strong? I guess���I drink blood, don't eat, sleep or breathe.” He hummed for a moment wondering how he could prove himself here. His eyebrows shot up. “Wait here, watch this.” 

Y/N’s eyes trained on him as he raised his own palm to his mouth, quickly he dragged the skin along his flesh, cleanly slicing open the flesh. He held his hand out to Y/N and she watched as the wound gushed blood, dripping onto the ground between them, then quickly..it stopped…and then the skin pinched together. It healed leaving no mark, no sign that the wound had ever been there. 

With a gasp Y/N leaned back, grabbing Kirk’s hand in her own as she examined it, looking for the secret to his trick. “No fucking way.” She mumbled, yanking his hand in every which way. It earned her a soft giggle from him. She looked up at him from where she was still sitting between his legs. “So like, are you immortal? How old are you?” 

Kirk’s smile widened a bit, a sense of relief flooding through him that she hadn’t run away screaming. “I think I am, I haven't really been around long enough to find out, this happened to me a couple years ago now, my twenty fourth birthday.” He chuckled “I'm twenty six now so not the best gauge on my immortality.” He slowly slid his fingers between her own, holding her hand gently. “You actually believe this?”

She gripped his hand a little tighter, her fingertips pressed against the back of his palm. She thought for a moment, pursing her lips. “Kinda hard to say no when I just watched your skin meld back together.” her body lurched forward suddenly, Kirk using his grip on her to bring her crashing forward into him. Her face pressed against his chest as his arm snaked its way around her waist. “Oh, hello.” She mumbled against him, craning her neck to look at him. 

Looking down, Kirk’s eyes locked onto her own, a flash of something predatory passing through them.. “And you aren't scared?” He punctuated his question with his grip tightening around her hand and waist, squeezing hard enough to earn a gasp from Y/N.

With a gulp Y/N shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so now, I was a bit before.” Her gaze settled on his lips. “Honestly, the whole thing is kind of hot.” She admitted, a deep red rising to her face. “Always had a thing for vampires.” 

“I wasn’t hot before?” He asked flirtatiously, his free hand came up to grip her chin, keeping her gaze steady. “Can I kiss you?” His tongue swiped along the points of his teeth, Y/N’s eyes following its movement. Silently she nodded, the look on her face desperate. Suddenly she was knocked off balance, Kirk’s leg hooking under her own and effortlessly flipping the two of them. 

She was left with her back pressed against the rough gravel. His arms caged either side of her head, knee pressed between her open thighs. Kirk’s hair tickled her face lightly as he swooped down. He kissed her feverishly, like he was devouring his last meal. It left her completely breathless, hands coming up to clutch at the back of his shirt. She gripped onto the fabric desperately as she was sucked in. 

Y/N’s back arched as she surged forward, chasing his touch. Her mouth parted open eagerly to feel the warmth of his tongue against hers. He swallowed each needy whine that left her. Kirk pulled away to allow her to breathe, nipping at her bottom lip and drawing blood as he did so. She hissed at the sudden sting of pain, fingernails digging into him. 

“Holy fuck.” She panted, lungs heaving as she searched for the air he had stolen from her. Her pupils were blown, leaving a sliver of color left on her irises as she looked up at him in wonder and adoration. “Do you want to fuck me?” She asked unabashedly, too high on the feeling of him surrounding her to bother being embarrassed. 

A laugh ripped its way from Kirk’s throat, it was a sweet noise that seemed to contrast the intensity between them. It brought a smile to Y/N’s lips. “Right here in the alley? I think you deserve better than that.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he tucked a wild strand of her hair behind her ear. 

She leaned into his soft touches, eyes fluttering closed in content. “My house is just down the road.” Y/N sighed. “I was almost home before I was so rudely kidnapped.” She joked. Her hand fell from his back, trailing to his chest and then neck. The chain hung there dangled between them and she gave it a teasing tug. “But with how bad I want this, the alley is fine too.” 

Suddenly she was tugged to her feet. It happened faster than her eyes could comprehend. One moment Kirk had been pressing her into the ground and the next she was standing, his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his chin resting against her shoulder. “Take me home then beautiful.” He whispered into her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe. A shiver rippled down her spine as she silently nodded. 

His arms left her waist to allow her movement. She reached behind her, gripping his hand and dragging him behind her. The two emerged back onto the empty street. Y/N’s legs wobbled as she led them down the block towards her house, her salvation. As the pair stumbled into the empty house, Y/N quickly tugged her shoes off before leading Kirk upstairs. 

Her room was pitch black as they entered but that didn’t seem to affect Kirk as he effortlessly moved them to the bed in the corner of the room. “Night Vision.” She asked him jokingly. He pushed her down against the mattress, his hands tugging on the bottom hem of her shirt. She lifted up allowing him to pull it over her head. She was left in her jeans and bra. 

Kirk stood between her legs, drinking in the sight of her sprawled beneath her. Skin glistening under the soft rays of moonlight that streamed in from her windows. “You know it baby.” He grinned crookedly at her. With a sudden urgency he tugged his own clothes off, stripping down to just his underwear. Y/N followed him, quickly unbuttoning her own jeans and shimming them down her legs. An appreciative sigh escaped his lips, the bed dipping under his weight as he crawled on top  of her. 

“Fuck you’re pretty.” He breathed out heavily. His fingertips gently ghosted down her skin from her jaw, down her neck, coming to rest at the swell of her breast. “Mind if this comes off baby?” He asked out of courtesy, his hands already going to work behind her back to unclip the fabric. 

At a loss for words, Y/N nodded. There was a sudden chill against her skin as Kirk tugged her bra away. Her nipples hardened as she shivered lightly. Kirk groaned at the sight, his head dipping down to her chest and sucking one of the hardened nubs into his mouth. Y/N gasped, hands coming to clutch at his shoulders. 

“Ahh fuck.” Her voice was whiny and pitchy as Kirk's thumb pressed into her other nipple. Even the slightest of his touches seemed intense to her. With a pop Kirk pulled back, looking up to lock eyes with her once again as his lips left soft wet marks against her skin down to the waistband of her panties. Y/N couldn’t look away, watching with wide eyes as he pressed his tongue flat against her through the fabric of her underwear. 

Her hands tangled into his dark curls with a moan, fingernails digging into his scalp. “Oh my god, Kirk.” She whined. Her thighs pressed against the sides of his head as he lapped at her core. His fingers curled around the edge of her underwear tugging them down slowly. Obediently Y/N lifted her hips off the bed to let him slide them down, coming to hang around her ankle as moved back in. 

The raw feeling of his tongue against her folds had Y/N’s head tossing back against the mattress. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She chanted breathlessly as his long fingers pressed against her entrance. The combination of Kirk’s tongue against her clit and his fingers pressing inside her had her thighs trembling around him. She could feel the sheets beneath her growing damp from his spit and her own arousal. 

“Please please, don’t wanna come without you inside of me.” She groaned, hands tugging at his hair in a desperate attempt to pull him back. “Please m’gonna.” Her words slurred together as he curled his fingers expertly, rubbing against her walls. 

Kirk pulled back only for a moment, a grin plastered against his shiny lips. He looked at home between her legs.”C’mon baby you can finish more than once, wanna taste you.” He denied her request and moved back in with more fervor than before. He sucked her in, teeth gently grazing her skin. His fingers moved so fast, Y/N belatedly thought it was a wonder his hand hadn’t cramped. 

“Fuck Kirk, I’m-” Her voice raised, being cut off by her own moan as she clenched around his fingers, body shaking as her release gushed across his tongue. The warmth and stickiness between her legs grew as she moved her hips against him, riding out her climax. Kirk let out his own muffled groan between her legs, eyes fluttering shut. Slowly her body came down from the high, going limp against the mattress, her hands falling from his hair. 

The feeling of cool air against her core as Kirk pulled away left her body twitching. He wiped his lips off on the back of his hand before moving up her body again, pressing a sweet kiss against her lips. “You okay for more?” He asked her kindly, pressing a few comforting kisses to her cheek. His hands rubbed up and down her sides soothingly. 

Y/N nodded, her hands weakly reaching for his underwear in a sad attempt to pull them down. “Really want you in me now.” She smiled as he quickly shed his last piece of clothing separating them. Her eyes trailed down, widening a bit in surprise as she saw the length of his cock, resting against her stomach. 

The head was a pretty deep red, glistening and dripping precum just beneath her bellybutton. He was thick too. “Fuck thats gonna’ hurt.” She whispered nervously. Looking back up to Kirk’s face, worry etched onto her pretty features. 

“You’ll be okay, don't worry baby.” He smiled at her, leaning down to capture her lips in distraction. She held onto his arms as he reached down. He grabbed the base, aligning it with her dripping warmth. He earned a surprised squeak as he pressed the head in, teasing her with just the tip. Pulling back just enough to have her suck him in again. “Deep breath baby.” He warned her as he began to fully sink into her. He leaned forward, breathing heavily into her ear as he bottomed out inside her. 

It was a near painful stretch, soothed only slightly by the work of his fingers earlier. Y/N hissed as her body adjusted to his large size. Her nails dug into his skin. “Kirk, ow, fuck, so full.” She moaned. It felt heavy against her walls as he finally reached the base, his hips fully pressed against her ass. “Can’t believe it fits.” 

Kirk let out a shaky laugh mixed with a moan. “Fuckin’ fits perfect, like you were made for me Y/N.” His words left Y/N’s skin feeling tingly. “Want to fucking destroy you, please can I move?” He begged impatiently. His hips bucked forward against her trying to bury himself deeper. 

“Yeah, yeah you can move now.” Y/N groaned, rolling her hips against him. At the confirmation Kirk’s hips pulled back and snapped forward violently. It shifted Y/N’s whole body up the bed, her tits bouncing obscenely with each thrust. All words escaped her, the only thing leaving her lips an endless string of moans. 

Kirk was incredibly vocal, whining into Y/N’s ear as he hammered his cock into her with reckless abandon, like an untamed animal. Predator finally devouring its elusive prey. He fully consumed her with each movement. He had gripped her hands in his own, pinning them down above her head. She thrashed helplessly against his grip as held her in place, using her body like a toy. 

Amongst her most incoherent ramblings Y/N begged him. “Kirk, please, fuck, bite me, want you to bite me.” Her head lolled to the side, exposing the smooth expanse of her neck. And who was Kirk to look a gift in the face and deny it? His lips pressed against the skin between her neck and her shoulder. He started slowly, sucking the skin into his mouth, leaving a pretty bruise in his wake. 

Her voice raised in pitch, her body pressing back down to meet each of his thrusts. Kirk could feel himself hitting so deep inside her, the head of his cock brushing against the wall of her cervix. He winced at the thought of the pain that must cause her but Y/N seemed unbothered. He opened his mouth, allowing his teeth to graze the skin of her neck before he sunk down. His canines effortlessly punctured the soft skin. 

Y/N screamed, tightening around him and he could feel the warmth of her second climax of the night around his cock, making his movements wetter and sloppier. The taste of iron against his tongue sent his hips stuttering, losing his pace as warm blood filled his mouth. She was sweet, sweeter than anyone he had drank from before. It dribbled past his lips, down her neck and collarbone. Small trails of blood mixed with saliva pooled around her chest. 

Kirk’s hand left her own, going down to grip onto her hips for better leverage. His thrusts grew sloppy as he chased his release. He sucked around the wound he created, moaning as he swallowed the sweet liquid. “Ah, hurts, too much Kirk.” Y/N gasped beneath him. 

He stopped mid thrust, pulling away from her neck to meet her gaze. A sheepish smile on his lips, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Shit sorry.” He mumbled, dipping back down to lick apologetically at the mark. Y/N giggled lightly, her hand coming to rest on his hair and tugging gently, giving him the go ahead to keep going. 

Kirk's thrusts were gentler now, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her hips as he rocked into her, he moved up to kiss her sweetly. Skin to skin, hearts beating in time. They moved together like a well oiled machine, made to work in time with each other. With a final thrust Kirk stilled inside her. He groaned into her mouth, cock pulsing as he coated her insides with his release. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” He sighed, his body weight resting on top of hers. A sheen of sweat and fluid coating their skin and making them stick together. Slowly he pulled out, Y/N shuddering at the feeling. Kirk rolled to the side, arms wrapped around her and pulling her in tight. “Thank you.” 

Y/N smiled, reaching up to push his curls away from his face. Her pale skin was tinted red, the wound on her neck already beginning to bruise, blood dried around the puncture wounds. Her words were barely above a whisper “Let's do that again sometime.” 

[inkedmoth]

Smoke in the Wind

Boromir's POV of Chapter 37. Aka Rhosynel and Boromir's first kiss during the aftermath of Helm's Deep. Contains spoilers for On Swift Wings!

FINALLY after nine+ months, I’ve gotten off my ass and written Boromir’s POV of Chapter 37!! Hilariously it’s ended up almost 2k words longer than the original chapter, apparently Boromir does a lot of introspection 😂

If you guys have any other scenes you'd like to see from Boromr's (or anyone else) perspective, feel free to suggest! Although bear in mind it'll probably take me another nine months to write it 😂😂

The Hornburg was brimming with soldiers and civilians, injured and hale, a sea of faces both familiar and strange. The scent of blood hung heavy on the air, voices were raised, calling out to one another, seeking aid and offering it freely. A melee and commotion that made it hard to think, and far harder to find someone.

And Boromir was searching.

Théoden had required his advice, something trivial, something Boromir had answered as swiftly and efficiently as possible, before making his excuse to leave. But the distraction had drawn him away from the courtyard, away from the flash of golden-brown hair, away from Rhosynel. 

She was alive.

He’d seen how she’d not even hesitated to rush to Haldir's aid –of course she hadn’t– bolting from one side of the courtyard, darting and weaving through horses and soldiers alike. As swift as Ilmara, she’d reached the injured elf’s side almost before he’d finished staggering.

One look at his wound, and she was barking orders at Marchwarden, elven Prince, and Ranger.

It would have been amusing, seeing how easily Rhosynel took to commanding the men without hesitation, directing them up the steps, leading the way to the infirmary, ordering them to follow and quickly.

It was amusing, but Boromir didn’t laugh.

Not when he’d seen how pale her face had been, not when he’d seen her eyes frantically searching across the returning riders, skipping from man to man, searching, seeking, finding the Fellowship, desperate to know they were safe, and then—

Rhosynel’s eyes had met his own.

Sheer relief had flooded her face, her entire body, a sentiment he’d shared. She’d sagged, shoulders dropping, stumbling a half step, hand flattening against the rain and blood-soaked wall as though it could support her. Eyes locked on him, utterly overwhelmed with relief.

At which point Haldir slid from his horse and she rushed to help.

Boromir wasn’t surprised, not really, of course she’d hasten to help, that was what she did. But now it had been at least half an hour, and Boromir couldn’t find her.

Concern and worry roiled in his chest, like a brewing storm, threatening to overwhelm, to take over, to consume him in panic and fear. It was an effort to keep his steps steady, moving down corridor after corridor, eyes scanning across the myriad of blonde heads, unable to find her honey-coloured hair amidst the chaos.

Reaching the makeshift infirmary, he hesitated at the door.

It was grim, the stench of blood and worse filling the room, echoing with pained yells and screams, sobs and cries. Boromir’s fingers dug into the edge of the doorframe, wood starting to splinter beneath his nails.

She wasn’t here, but someone else was.

“Aragorn!”

The Ranger looked up at his call, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before he returned to binding the soldiers arm. It was an effort to remain still, to wait for him to finish seeing to the wound. But eventually, after far too long, Aragorn straightened up and started to head his way.

“Boromir,” he greeted, “are you wel—”

“Have you seen Rhosynel?”

There was a pause, Aragorn’s head tilting to one side at the interruption, but then he clearly brushed it off, looking about the large room. “She was assisting, Haldir’s been patched up and sent to the kitchen, perhaps she’s there?”

“My thanks.”

Boromir was moving before he’d finished speaking, the Heir’s concern sliding off his armour without finding purchase. It didn’t matter, he was fine, doing far better than any of the injured within that grim room, at least.

The common room wasn’t much better. A scan of the figures there revealed plenty of familiar faces, but still no sign of Rhosynel. The concern in his chest increased, straying dangerously close to panic.

Gritting his teeth, Boromir turned about, abandoning that line of searching. Pacing through the halls, his boots were heavy, loud, increasing in tempo until he was striding. Faces flashed past, concerned voices called out, but not one of them was who he sought.

Maybe Rhosynel was in the stables, that would make sense, she’d wish to check on Tallagor. He hoped, he prayed, that was where she'd headed.

Breaking free of one stifling corridor, he’d thundered halfway across the courtyard, when a shimmer of grey elven fabric caught his eye. He stopped so sharply his feet almost tangled, a staggering step, his head whipping about, and—

Boromir froze.

A figure, wearing a familiar storm grey cloak of feathers, was on the other side of the courtyard.

Rhosynel.

Relief swept through him, so strongly that Boromir raised a shaking hand, passing it across his face as though he could physically wipe away the fear. He’d started towards her automatically, only for his rush to slow, taking in the scene, realising what was happening.

She was crumpled, doubled over, arms wrapped about her stomach, head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Relief morphed to fear.

It was an effort not to sprint to Rhosynel’s side, not to seize her shoulders, not to spin her about to face him to check she was alright to see that she was alive. But Boromir managed, keeping his stride steady, doing nothing to lighten his steps, letting her know that he was approaching.

Her head didn’t even twitch his way.

That alone sent a bolt of fear lancing through his heart. She was observant, aware of the world around her, constant watching folks move about, easily clocking when he'd entered a room, recognising when he'd approached. But not to so much as a lift of her head, to glance his way? Something was wrong. 

Gingerly drawing alongside, Boromir stiffly sank into a crouch, reaching out cautiously to rest his hand against her back. His touch drew no reaction, it always had before, but now… 

Nothing, not even so much as a twitch.

Something was wrong and Boromir didn’t know what.

It took him a moment to realise there was a splattering of vomit, not far from where Rhosynel had crumpled.

Ah, the effects of war, catching up.

“Who?”

His question was quiet, reluctant, but needing to know who she’d lost, at least that way he could offer comfort or reassurances. But Boromir hadn’t taken into consideration that he might have known them.

“Héomod.”

Boromir inhaled so sharply he half expected his throat to be cut.

Héomod? The lad? Shit, shit. He was Rhosynel’s cousin, scarcely into his twenty’s, young and inexperienced. But still experienced enough to die.

“Fuck. I… I’m so sorry, Rhosynel,” he breathed, hand tightening on her shoulder without meaning to, as though his strength could bolster her. “He was a good lad. Bright and smart. I’m so sorry.”

“He wasn’t even dead yet, I just couldn’t do anything,” she said, voice strained, cracking with the weight of her grief. “Stabbed in the chest. I could hear the blood in his lungs. I can’t save him from that, and Haehild had sought me out. They had hoped, but I couldn’t—”

A sharp sob left her, and Boromir’s heart broke.

Even as she pressed a hand to her mouth, Boromir found himself… frozen.

He was used to deaths, used to soldiers dying, used to commiserating with his men and celebrating the lives of those who’d passed, telling stories and sharing anecdotes. But for this? For her cousin? He’d scarcely known the lad, not long enough to have any words of comfort at least.

Not when Rhosynel was crying, not when her body was shaking with grief.

A moment of indecision, but then Boromir made up his mind. His grip on her shoulder tightened, a light pull. There was no hesitation from her, turning blindly towards him, head thudding against his breastplate, the harsh metal doing little to deter her as she wept.

“I’m sorry.”

Meaningless murmurs, reassurances she’d not hear, condolences that didn’t matter. Even as Boromir’s arms wrapped about her shoulders, even as he pulled her closer, pressing his face into her hair. There was nothing he could do.

She’d lost someone she loved, and now… What was it she’d said?

‘I couldn’t save him.’

Valar, she was always trying to help, to save people, and then failed in saving her own cousin.

Boromir couldn’t help, he wasn’t a healer, didn’t have the knowledge. Hells, he could bind his own injuries, but that wouldn’t prevent infection. Rhosynel, with her deft hands and confident touch, knew how to wash, how to clean, how to prevent infection from taking hold. But even she couldn’t save Héomod.

Boromir’s grip on her tightened, the cut to his arm twinging in protes—

In his arms, Rhosynel choked out a sob, crumpling heavily against his chest, and entirely on impulse, Boromir gave a faux grunt of pain.

Instantly Rhosynel pulled back, eyes flying open and snapping to his face, just as he smoothed sign of discomfort from his expression. It didn’t hurt, not really, the arrow wounds to his shoulder and flank were worse than the measly cut to his arm, he’d suffered worse grazes in the past, this was nothing.

But to Rhosynel it was something.

“Boromir?” her voice croaked, one hand dashing through the tear marks on her cheeks as she fought to get control of herself, “y-you’re injured?”

He smiled, it felt far too lopsided to be real, but he tried to brush off her concern. Like usual. Like she'd expect him to.

“Have been for a while now.”

Her brow furrowed, and it took far too much discipline not to reach out, to smooth the crease and her worries away.

“Your shoulder?”

Rhosynel was already reaching out to touch his arm, gingerly, almost as though she feared hurting him further. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. But the blood that had soaked the sleeve of his tunic drew alarm, eyes widening, banishing the last of her grief, at least for the time being.

He remained still, letting her fuss.

“Amongst others, yes,” Boromir admitted quietly, watching her closely, brows still furrowed with worry.

For a moment, she froze, hands hovering over his arm, eyes flicking up to search his face. The furrow of her brow deepened, searching his expression for… something. Whatever it was she sought, she found it, eyes widening slightly, brow relaxing, a dawning realisation and then—

“Alright,” she said, rapidly and easily taking charge. “L-let’s get you patched up.”

He didn’t miss Rhosynel’s own wince as she climbed to her feet, but Boromir allowed her to fuss, to give him a hand, as though her slender frame would be able to actually pull him up. No, she was strong enough in temperament, even if she wasn’t in body. Although the grip on his hand as she started towing him in her wake, was fierce.

Did she expect him to vanish, if she let go?

Did he expect her to vanish?

Boromir didn’t release her hand, even as he followed obediently. She was scanning the corridors, entering the keep once more, even if his own eyes didn’t leave her. At the door to the infirmary, Rhosynel drew up short, shifting onto her back foot, face paling further at the prospect of entering. She wanted to see to his wounds, and Boromir wanted to let her, but this wasn’t the right place.

A squeeze to his hand, and she flitted through the room, moving so quickly he had trouble keeping his eyes on her. Before a minute had passed, she was back, supplies in arm, and already reaching for him again. All too willing, Boromir wrapped his fingers about her slender hand, waiting for her to take the lead.

She didn't.

Instead, Rhosynel froze. She didn’t know where to go, he could see it in the darting of her eyes, in the anxious swallow, in the hovering, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

That was fine, he could help.

“This way.”

Thank the Valar she didn’t protest, didn’t hesitate to follow, allowing him to lead her through the crowds. Up ahead was Éomer, the horse lord catching his eye and perking up, already starting towards him.

A sharp shake of his head, and Éomer froze, head cocking as he eyed Boromir, looking past him, noticing Rhosynel. For a brief moment he looked amused, only for that to slide from his expression, no doubt realising just how pale she was.

The prince shifted aside, with a subtle gesture upwards. A nod of thanks and Boromir moved past him, heading to what he hoped would be the one room of the keep not filled with injured soldiers.

It was a relief to enter the empty and quiet war room. No signs of battle marred its walls, no signs of orcs, and other than the faint smell of copper and the distant echo of cries, it was blessedly quiet. Apparently plans to return to Edoras had not yet begun, good, it would give them time to breathe.

Apparently that quietness was enough for Rhosynel to find her voice, as once more she took charge.

“Sit,” she instructed, gesturing to a chair.

Boromir did not.

She was already starting to arrange the medical supplies on the table. Setting out a few rolls of bandages, a little clay jar, a couple of the layered fabric pads.

Entirely oblivious to how he watched her.

How… How had she survived? Boromir was confident enough in his own prowess not to fear battle. But Rhosynel, she may have been with the Rangers, may have fought amongst the trees and forests of Ithilien, but that was far from the walls and corridors of a keep. How had she survived?

The last time Boromir had seen her was within the common room, clinging fiercely to his arms, her head shaking between his hands. She was pleading with him, all but begging him not to go, not to leave, not to leave—

She’d not been able to finish her sentence, and Boromir couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Let’s get this armour off yo—”

Rhosynel didn’t get chance to finish, as Boromir stepped forwards, into her space. One moment he’d been watching her in contemplative silence, the next, he’d seized her arms, dragging her to him, wrapped his own arms about her slender frame. The desperation of his grip came as a surprise, the sheer relief, the fear, the worry, the fretting, all bubbling up until Boromir barely felt in control of his own body.

What mattered, was that Rhosynel was alive.

A startled noise had left her throat, but there was no hesitation to wrap her own arms about his shoulders. He could feel her own fear and desperation in her grip, clinging on, her face tucking in against his neck.

His own was already buried in the curls and waves of Rhosynel’s hair, pressing against her neck, eyes falling shut as he breathed in deeply. Breathed her in. Blood and sweat yes, but beneath that… lavender?

She did like that soap, maybe he should find some for her to carry.

There was a slight wobble, like her legs had tried to give out. Instantly Boromir’s grip tightened, pulling her closer –blasted armour making even that difficult– almost lifting, trying to support her, trying to give her the strength to remain standing even as his own wavered.

She was alive.

She was alive.

Boromir inhaled, and sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re alive,” he replied, eyes screwed shut, with his face pressed against her neck it was safe to let his own fears and feelings bubble up, even if it laced his words, his voice, with relief. “You survived.”

Rhosynel’s hands were toying with his hair, carding her fingers through its length, a comforting gesture, for her as well as him, it seemed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and alarm flicked through Boromir’s chest, wondering why she felt the need to say that, even if her next words explained further. “For worrying you. But I know, if, if… I had been in the caves. I, it… I couldn—”

Her voice cut off, a quiet choke.

“It’s alright.”

Boromir meant it, even if the idea of her being in the midst of battle sent fear roiling and sparking through his chest. One hand slid up to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the soft waves of her hair, head turning towards her. He could feel her pulse, could practically hear the drumming of her heart.

The urge to kiss her neck flickered through him, but was hastily batted away. Now was not the time.

“We –I– shouldn’t have suggested it,” he forced himself to say, fulling lifting his head, but not far, only enough to brush his brow against hers, “not after how you were in Moria… That was unfair of me to demand, I’m sorry. I was just worried, and afraid.”

“I’ll let you off as long as you never ask me to enter a cav—”

“Deal.”

He’d never ask such a thing of her, not now, not ever, not after seeing how panicked and afraid she’d been. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the idea of asking her to do something that terrified her, couldn’t stand the idea of being the cause of her fear.

But to Boromir’s surprise, Rhosynel laughed.

Only a soft quiet thing, as though afraid to break the post-battle silence, her head shook, a grin flickering at the edges of her lips.

He’d missed her smile, missed her laugh.

Boromir finally, finally, relaxed. Even if his grip on her didn’t. Against her waist, his hands tightened, unwilling to release her, unwilling to let go, no matter how her grief seemed to have eased, he didn’t want to let go.

But Rhosynel was starting to straighten up, and far to reluctantly, Boromir dragged his fingers free of her hips.

Already her attention had slid away from his face, settling on his armour, starting to do battle with the buckles that were coated in blood and mud and worse. Her hands may have been nimble, may have been familiar with scribbling missives or tracing across maps or binding injuries, but she had no experience with armour.

Biting back a laugh of his own, Boromir let her figure out his pauldron, his own fingers making short work of the buckles on his other side.

It was oddly… intimate.

A job usually done by a squire, but now Rhosynel was stubbornly battling his armour, doing her best to strip it from his heavy limbs, her brow furrowed in concentration, lips pursed in annoyance. But eventually, Boromir was free.

He tried not to feel too disappointed when she turned to the supplies on the table, rather than help with the rest of his clothes. Then again, that would have been far too intimate, even for him.

Moving stiffly, he shucked off the surcoat, tossing the long leather garment onto another chair. His tunic was in poor condition, far too much sweat, blood, and mud. He’d see about burning it, maybe Éomer would have one he could borrow for a while, or at least until Boromir could return to Minas Tirith and his own wardrobe.

A splash of water had Boromir’s head lifting, finding that Rhosynel had pilfered a ewer, rinsing her hands thoroughly, even if she had no soap to truly clean them. Why… Why did healers do that? It must be important, even if he didn’t understand it.

But then Rhosynel was turning back to him, only to freeze.

For several long heartbeats, she stared at Boromir, eyes mostly fixed on his face, only the briefest dips lower suggesting at why she’d frozen.

Far to abruptly, Boromir realised he’d never taken his tunic off in front of her. Not at Edoras, where he’d slept in his undershirt, nor at Amon Hen, where she’d all but sliced through his tunic, nor before that. He didn’t have a spare shirt, not since he’d lent it to her on Caradhras, and especially not since apparently Rhosynel liked to sleep in it. His own face started to warm.

With a slight jolt, Rhosynel started moving again, a pink tint to her previously pale face.

Well, that was one way to get the blood back into her.

But Rhosynel was approaching, eyes now roving across his bare chest with far more professionalism than curiosity, scanning the dirtied bandages, flickering to the new cuts, eyes narrowing as she took in their condition. 

She took a hold of Boromir’s arm, and he inhaled unsteadily at the feeling of her bare hands on his bare skin. She might have been inspecting his torn flesh with a professional eye, but it felt… intimate. Her fingers were cool, light on his bare skin, moving his arm so gently it was as though she expected him to disintegrate.

Rhosynel trailed her fingers along the edge of the cut, and Boromir swallowed thickly, trying not to shiver.

All too quickly, her inspection was done, withdrawing a tiny knife from the pouch on her hip, she made short work of cutting through the bandages that bound his shoulder. The fabric pad, however, was firmly stuck.

An apologetic grimace flashed across Rhosynel’s features, gingerly starting to peal the pad free. Boromir gritted his teeth, breathing steadily, ignoring the discomfort ignoring the pai—

Rhosynel’s hand pressed to his chest, and Boromir went rigid.

Any self-discipline went out the window at that, the feeling of her fingers splaying across his bare skin earnt a ragged inhale. Hands flexing and curling in a bid to resist reaching out to her, a low noise left his throat, something close to a groan.

Her murmured apologies suggested she though he was in pain, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

All too quickly the pad came free, and Rhosynel’s hand left his chest.

He was breathing heavily, hands pressed to the seat of his chair, feeling oddly off balance, leaning forwards slightly. Already she was starting to test at the skin around the arrow wound, brows furrowed in consideration.

“They’re healing up well,” she murmured, even if the worry didn’t leave her eyes.

Looking away from the arrow wound, she reached out abruptly, pressing a hand to his brow, and entirely without meaning to, Boromir’s eyes fell half shut leaning into her touch. She was cool, soothing against his overheated skin.

“Are you okay?”

Alarm laced her voice, jolting Boromir. With a lurch, he sat upright, physically pulling himself away from her touch. “I—Yes. Just… tired.”

That earnt a sympathetic smile, telling him she’d accepted the lie.

“There’s no sign of the poison around them,” Rhosynel was explaining, “with any luck we’ll not need to reapply Kingsfoil again.”

“Good, it burns like hell.”

“Then you’ll love this salve.”

His groan was more for dramatic effect, but it still earnt a flicker of a smile.

Despite that, Boromir’s hiss of pain at the first bush of salve was real. It didn’t burn, not like the Kingsfoil did, but it was still unpleasant as Rhosynel carefully smeared it across the torn flesh. Her brow was furrowing, chewing her lip as she worked, eyes fixed on his injuries besides the occasional glance to his face, clearly worrying that she was hurting him.

It didn’t hurt. Not really. Not truly.

Rhosynel had sank into a crouch before him, one arm resting on his thigh holding the little clay jar, while the fingers of her other hand smoothed across his flank. The shuddering exhale was beyond his control, fingers gripping the edge of his seat so strongly that Boromir half feared the wood would crack. He didn’t dare release his grip, especially when Rhosynel’s breath feathered across the skin of his stomach.

It was getting hard to resist, resist the urge to lift his hand, to smooth the furrow of worry from her brow, to catch her chin, to tilt her face up to him, and then he’d lean forwards an—

“Salves done.”

Boromir sucked in a startled lungful of air, fighting to come back to his senses.

“Oh. Thank Oromë.”

She didn’t seem to hear how hoarse his voice was, how it was an effort to speak. No, Rhosynel was already collecting a roll of bandages and a fresh cloth pad, turning back to his shoulder. With deft movements she bound the cut about his arm, a quiet word of thanks when he handed her the cloth pad. Quick motions, practised and steady, looping the bandage about his shoulder. Around, a loop, and back.

With every pass of the bandage about his chest, Rhosynel leant into his space, honey-gold curls brushing his chest, his neck, his chin. Her arms wrapped about his chest, passing the bandages from hand to hand, another lean, another pass, another lean. Every brush of her hair against him, had Boromir’s eyes tacking her movements, head turning to follow her motions. It was hypnotic, watching her work.

Did… did Rhosynel know how quiet she went, when seeing to his injuries? Did she realise how focused she became? Working silently, eyes fixed on her work, hands smoothing across the bandages, across his chest. A slight pull to tighten the bandage and her eyes dropped lower to his stomach as he tensed. Almost without conscious thought, she tightened the bandage again, and Boromir tensed once more.

Rhosynel’s breathing hitched.

Interesting…

But all too soon, she was tying a knot, checking it wasn’t putting pressure on his injuries, hands gliding over the bandage, making such it all lay flat. “There,” she said quietly, voice oddly breathless, “all done.”

She did not stand up, eyes still fixed on her handiwork, refusing to meet his gaze, not looking up, not rising to her feet, not moving away.

The air felt thick, laced with tension, and Boromir couldn’t bring himself to lean back, couldn’t bring himself to give her space. Doing that would mean she’d leave, would mean she’d stop touching him with slender hands and confident gestures.

“Rhosynel…”

Her name slipped from his lips without meaning, light, almost a whisper.

There was a flash of blue-grey flickering his way, only to snap away from meeting his gaze, an unsteady inhale. A flush was creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks to a rosy hue.

“My lady,” he tired again, swallowing thickly, trying to find something to say. “Are you injured?”

“No,” she lied, and Boromir couldn’t help but sigh. But the spell was broken, she pushed back out of his space, away from him. He didn’t want that, didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her to move away. “We should go check on the othe—”

Without conscious decision, his hand closed about hers.

Immediately she froze, breath hitching, eyes staring at nothing. Rising to his feet, Boromir cautiously lifted his hand, fingers grazing her jaw, gently tilting her face towards his, trying to meet her eyes, only to watch as they slid away from his face, dropping to his shoulders, his chest, dipping lower only to immediately snap back up to his shoulder.

The rose hue to her cheeks shifted more towards crimson.

Shit, he was making her uncomfortable.

Changing tack, his hand left her jaw, touching her brow and showing her the tacky blood that coated his fingertips.

“Are you sure you’re not injured,” he asked in amusement.

The grimace she gave was answer enough.

“Honestly Rhosynel,” Boromir chided lightly, hands gently steering her around, a push, and she mutely sat in the seat he’d just vacated. “You’re so insistent on looking after others, but not yourself.”

“I’d see to it.”

“Let me see to it.”

He wasn’t a healer, but he’d watched how she’d cleaned out his own wounds, how she’d applied the salve. Maybe he wasn’t trained, but that didn’t mean he was unable to help.

Fully expecting her to continue protesting, it came as a surprise when Rhosynel huffed, deflating in her seat. One moment she’d been stiff and upright, the next… it was like a great weight had landed on her shoulders. Her back bowed, her shoulders curved inwards, as all the energy seemed to drain from her body.

But at least she wasn’t making excuses and trying to flee.

Reassured, Boromir turned to the ewer, doing his best to scrub his hands free of the worst of the blood, mud, gore, and grime. It was still under his nails, but at least his skin was cleaner.

Tearing a scrap from the end of a bandage, he soaked it in the water, before returning to Rhosynel’s side. Her eyes looked… hollow, but as he knelt before her, they sharpened once more.

Exhausted and drained, but not yet dead to the world. Good, that was good, he’d seen new recruits become immobile after a battle, but Rhosynel was still functioning. Maybe the act of healing, of helping others, helped keep her busy, helped process the trauma of horror she’d witnessed.

But when her eyes dropped to his knees, and then back to meet his own, a flicker of annoyance crossed her expression. What was that for? Why was she annoyed with him—Oh. Oh he was on eyelevel with her while kneeling. That was kind of funny.

Pressing his lips together over a laugh, Boromir reached out, starting to dab at the cut to her brow. It wasn’t easy, her head kept shifting beneath the pressure of his touch, and he quickly found himself cupping her jaw in his free hand.

Only to freeze as her eyelids lowered, head becoming heavier, leaning into his touch.

She looked… vulnerable.

Taking a steadying breath, Boromir kept cleaning the wound, trying to remove the worst of the blood, inspecting the shallow slice. There was grit and dirt about it too, mixed in with the blood.

“It looks like a shard of stone nicked you,” he explained quietly, “lots of blood but it’s not deep, should I apply the salve?”

“Yea…”

By Oromë, she must be exhausted.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, unwilling to disturb the peace and quiet as he reached for the little jar of salve.

“Just… tired.”

That much was obvious, and Boromir breathed a laugh.

“This’ll wake you up.”

He didn’t give her chance to wonder, smoothing a globule of the salve across her brow.

“OW! Son of a Balrog fucker, that hurts!”

The snort that left his throat wasn’t very dignified, but Boromir hadn’t heard that turn of phrase before. He did, however, hastily back up as her hands raised, curling and flexing as though resisting the urge to lash out. She wasn’t going to, he knew she wouldn’t, but it was a way to shake off the pain, if her heavy breathing was anything to go by.

“It’s only a small cut,” he countered, “that ‘graze’ to your arm will hurt more…”

She froze, cheeks turning scarlet once again. “How’d you know?”

“Legolas told me.” Boromir politely pretended not to hear the curses and name calling that Rhosynel muttered under her breath, setting the salve within reach, before turning back to her. “Let me give you a hand with your armour.”

Somehow, it felt worse to be the one undressing her, than it was to be undressed.

Swallowing harshly, Boromir kept his eyes locked on his hands, going through the routine pattern of unbuckling bracers, pauldrons, the tassets about her hips. His fingers stuttered as he reached for the buckles of her breastplate, having to take a steadying breath before he resumed.

At it came loose, a soft sigh of relief left Rhosynel’s lips, as Boromir helped her shrug free of its constraints.

It was an effort to turn away as she started unbuckling her tabard, splashing his hands with ice cold water did a poor job of knocking some sense into him, but at least he wasn’t imposing.

By the time he turned back, she’d pulled her arm free of the tunic, and was inspecting the vicious cut. Shaped like a sickle, it curved across her upper left arm. Part of the skin had been pulled away, making it gape, but even to Boromir’s limited knowledge it wasn’t too major, the muscle not split.

“I may need stitches later,” Rhosynel said, probing it carefully, only to wince. “But a bandage should be fine for now.”

“Good, my needle work is atrocious.”

His poor excuse of a joke made her snort in amusement, but Boromir’s eyes had already strayed.

Rhosynel’s forearm was laced with scars.

Entirely without meaning to, his hands dropped, gently taking her wrist, supporting her elbow, turning her arm back and forth so the light caught the silvery scars riddling her skin. They were old, faded to silvery white, a constellation in a distinctive shape. A shape of large jaws, with large, dagger-like teeth.

Boromir knew those scars, knew what caused them.

“Oh, that’s—”

“A Warg bite,” Boromir finished her sentence, one finger tracing across the scars, the light touch earning a subtle shiver. “You got bitten by putting yourself between it and my brother.”

Rhosynel was staring at him, but Boromir didn’t react. He remembered that day, Faramir had come hurtling into the city, demanding to know if she’d lived, and all he’d been able to do was ask ‘who?’. Naturally that hadn’t helped calm his brother, especially not when father was making his own demands.

“We visited you, in the houses of healing,” he explained quietly, reaching over to collect the jar of salve. “You were still incredibly dazed from the attack, but were already on your feet and pacing about restlessly. Faramir said that Warg got a lock on your arm and shook you like a ragdoll? It’s a miracle your neck didn’t snap.”

“It felt like it did,” she admitted quietly. “My arm was broken in three places, my ribs too, not to mention my dislocated shoulder, the injury to my head, and Béma knows how many bruises and scrapes.”

A pang of fear flickered through Boromir’s chest, pain at the idea of losing Rhosynel before he’d even known her.

“No wonder you didn’t recall our visit. I was with Faramir, he wanted to check in on you the moment he got back but had to report to our father first.” For a moment Boromir fell silent, jaw clenching, remembering how Denethor had laughed at Faramir’s concern. Then again, he’d never approved of the ‘girl’ that Faramir Captained. “I remember standing there, listening to you say you’d be ready to rejoin the Rangers in a couple of weeks, and all I could think was that if even half my soldiers had your determination, the war would have been over by now.”

The snort that left Rhosynel wasn’t very dignified. “Do not exaggerate.”

“I’m not, Rhosynel, you could barely string two sentences together, but you were on your feet and dying to get out of that room after just four days.”

It seemed like his answer stunned her, as Rhosynel fell quiet, eyes dropping to his hands, watching as he gathered the salve on his fingers and began carefully applying it. It must have burned, but Rhosynel remained still, her jaw clenching, her hands flexing, but she gave no protest.

Even if her breathing was quickening and her brow growing damp with sweat.

“That’s done, I can start bandaging,” he said, apologetically, worried as he glanced up to her sweat soaked face. “Unless you want me to stop—”

“No.”

Boromir paused, eyes roaming across her face at the swift answer. It had been hasty, voice rough, straying almost to… desperate? But then she was avoiding his gaze, clearing her throat and shifting slightly in her seat.

Very well. He picked up the bandage, using the distraction to give her chance to breathe. Instead, Boromir tried to recall how she’d bandaged his own arm, partially unwinding it, gently pressing the soft fabric to her arm, before he started binding.

Rhosynel was watching him work, eyes following the path of his hands, throat bobbing as she swallowed heavily. Was she judging how he’d done? What was she thinking? Was he doing a bad job or…?

His fingers grazed her arm as he tied the knot, and her shaky inhale suggested the bandage was the last thing on her mind.

“There,” Boromir said, clearing his throat, “how does that feel?”

She moved and flexed her arm, head tilting in consideration. “It feels fine.”

“Good,” he said quietly, relieved that it wasn’t uncomfortable. “Now how’re your ribs? I saw how you winced earlier, don’t try and deny it.”

Her nose wrinkled as she grumbled, but to give Rhosynel credit, she didn’t lie or try to brush him off. Her movements were stiff, taking the hem of her tunic and pulling it up, high enough to get a look at the bandages wrapped about her middle. They were dirty by now, a mixture of sweat, grime, and orc blood which had seeped through her clothes. There was, however, a patch of fresh red, not huge, more like small blotches which had spread and joined, on her right flank.

That was concerning.

“Should it be bleeding?” he asked, eyeing the blood in alarm.

“Ideally not.”

Before he could reply, before he could offer suggestions, aid, or anything, Rhosynel straightened up, pulling her tunic up and over her head.

Boromir, froze.

The abrupt reveal of bare skin so close to his hands, his face, was a shock. If it wasn’t for the linen bralette she wore, Rhosynel would be half naked and Boromir didn’t know what to think, where to look, or what to do. Still knelt before her, he was close, too close, not close enough.

Already she was unravelling the bandages, the movement of her hands, every shift of her arms, every turn of her body was a distraction, drawing his eyes to more of her exposed skin.

Skin which gleamed with sweat, throwing the curves and softness of her body into sharp relief. Silvery scars, old and new, the soft mounds of her breasts, the shadow of her ribs beneath her skin, the smooth expanse of her stomach as the bandage fell away. The two vicious cuts that had torn through her skin.

Fuck, he was staring.

Swallowing harshly, Boromir dragged his eyes away from her bare skin, staring at the table alongside them instead. No matter how he was breathing heavily, no matter how his grip on the edge of the seat had tightened, not matter how his jaw ached with how fiercely he clenched his teeth.

“Boromir.”

His name being murmured had him jerking, hands spasming with the urge to reach out and touch her, but with a great deal of effort, he forced his gaze to her face.

He’d be fine, provided he didn’t have to look down.

“Does it look infected?” she asked.

Well shit.

Swallowing heavily, Boromir forced his eyes down to her stomach –trying to ignore the expanse of skin on route– and did his best to inspect the twin cuts to her flank. The older cut was a neat slice, cutting smoothly though her skin and already showing signs of starting to heal. But the other one was ragged, little more than a tear, the stitches were still in place, but the skin was looking red, sore. The overwhelming urge to touch her waist ran through him, and he barely managed to prevent his hands from lifting.

“Inflamed, but no discolouration, or smell,” he managed to breathe. “Th-The stitches are holding as far as I can see.”

“Good, good,” Rhosynel said more to herself than him. “Pass me the salv—”

Eager for the excuse to stop his inspection, Boromir had snatched up the little clay jar, pressing it into her hands almost before she’d finished speaking. If she was confused by the haste of his actions, she didn’t say. No, a word of thanks was all he needed.

Although Boromir couldn’t help but watch as she started trying to apply the salve.

Key word, try.

At such an awkward angle, she was struggling, unable to twist her arm, unable to see what she was doing, the salve was occasionally being smeared across the cuts, but not frequently enough. Nor was it smoothly done, leaving heavy globules and clumps, rather than the even coating she’d left on his wounds.

Boromir didn’t wish to overstep the mark, but nor was he going to sit here and watch her struggle. With a tut, he reached out, gently taking the pot from her hands. “You’ll waste the lot at this rate, pass it here.”

That earnt a grumble but no protest otherwise.

With a steadying breath, Boromir rested his arm on her knee and coated his fingers in the salve. As long as he focused on the cuts, it would be fine. As long as he didn’t get distracted, he’d be fine.

A smear of salve and Rhosynel flinched.

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

Instinctively Boromir had steadied her, hand landing at her waist, but he was quick to snap it away from her skin as she inhaled raggedly. Jaw gritted, hands clenched on the seat, her face had flushed. Rhosynel’s chest was heaving for breath in a way that would have been distracting, had Boromir not been so concerned.

“I-I will be,” she managed to hoarsely reply, and with a gesture, indicated he could continue.

Wary of hurting her, Boromir kept his touch light, trying to move efficiently, gently, rubbing the salve across her flank, making sure the cuts were covered. But no matter how gentle he was, Rhosynel still trembled beneath his hands.

The sooner he finished the better.

“Done,” he announced, quick to set the jar aside “are you okay? You look… ill.”

“I am… exhausted.”

“At least we’re nearly done,” Boromir was quick to reassure, leaning over to collect the remaining bandages, unravelling it partially, mimicking how she’d started with his own wounds. “Hold this end.”

She was quick to press it to her ribs, only to tense as he leaned forwards.

For half a second Boromir was left wondering why, only to pass the bandage from one hand to the other, and realisation dawned.

He was leaning forwards, into Rhosynel’s space, his too-long hair brushed against her chest, or grazed her chin. Fuck, he was leaning so close that the gleam of her skin was right there, right in front of him, all he had to do was lean forwards just a little more, and he’d be able to press his lips to her shoulder.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Boromir forced his focus to stay on the bandage, even going so far as to pause a moment, making sure it lay flat across her ribs. Quick motions, unfamiliar but steady, looping the bandage about her shoulder. Around, a loop, and back.

His arms wrapped about her, passing the bandages from hand to hand, another lean, another pass, another lean. Every brush of hair against her, had Rhosynel’s head turning, tacking his movements, following the motions.

Boromir was painfully aware of how quiet he’d gone. Working silently, eyes fixed on his work, hands smoothing across the bandages. A slight pull to tighten the bandage and Rhosynel tensed, muscles shifting beneath his fingers. Entirely against his will, Boromir’s eyes –the traitors– dropped to her stomach, and without thinking about it, he tightened the bandage again.

Rhosynel’s breathing hitched.

Swallowing thickly, Boromir tied the bandage with unsteady hands, and looked up.

Blue-grey eyes filled his vision, Rhosynel was scarcely inches away from his own, widening in surprise. Her exhale was shaky, feathering across his skin, across his beard, across his lips. Even as he stared up at her, she swallowed heavily, pupils dilatating, banishing the blue, leaving nothing but steel grey.

Boromir’s eyes dropped to her lips as they parted, another shaky breath leaving her.

Had she leant closer? Had he leant forwards? There was scarcely an inch between them and yet Rhosynel hadn’t moved back, hadn’t leant away.

Did she… want this?

Maybe she wanted this as much as he did…

Cautiously, so so cautiously, Boromir closed the gap. Giving her time, giving her chance, giving her the opportunity to move away. Little more than a graze, a feather light brush of lips.

What he didn’t expect, was for Rhosynel to respond.

Her fingers brushed against his beard, running through the short hair with a soft sigh against his lips, leaning closer, her eyes falling half shut as her head tilted. Shocked, Boromir leant back factionally, watching as her eyes fluttered open once more, staring back at him, no matter how they remained heavily lidded. But she didn’t move away, her hand remaining against his jaw, didn’t jolt or curse or back up.

Rhosynel… wanted to kiss him.

With that thought, Boromir’s self-discipline, snapped.

His hand slid up to the back of Rhosynel’s neck, and dragged her to meet him halfway, their lips crashing against one another. He could taste the salt of sweat from her skin, the slight tang of copper, the reek of orc, but under all of that, the ever-present scent of lavender. Her lips were soft, so soft, no matter how barbed her words or sharp her tongue, Rhosynel was soft. Softness against his ruggedness, gentleness against the harsh edge of him, a contrast which was dizzying and left Boromir wanting more.

It seemed he wasn’t alone in that thought, Rhosynel’s own hand had tangled in his hair, the other clinging to his shoulder, fingertips digging into his skin, trying to pull him closer.

Something that Boromir was all too eager to allow, pressing closer, trying to draw her too him. Rhosynel’s knees parted in welcome, and Boromir abruptly found his chest flush to hers, naught but the bandages and bralette between them. With the coolness of Rhosynel’s skin against his heat, the softness of her breasts pressed flush to his chest, Boromir groaned.

Against his lips, Rhosynel’s lips parted with an unsteady inhale, and Boromir was powerless but to take advantage.

Head tilting, pressing close, Boromir swept his tongue across hers, feeling how she shivered in his grasp, fingers curling to a fist in his hair. Another sweep, a tease, coaxing her to join, encouraging her to respond. Rhosynel’s own tongue darted into his mouth, and Boromir briefly forgot how to breathe.

Fuck she was arching into his touch, pressing herself as flush as possible to him, her fingers kneading at the muscles of his back, her breasts far too soft and appealing against his chest, her own head tilting, trying desperately to deepen the kiss even more.

It was getting hard to think, hard to focus, hard to breathe.

Parting for the barest of moments, Boromir sighed against her lips. “Hhh, Rhosynel.”

A shiver swept through her, and Boromir’s hand glided up from her hip, to her waist. Her cool skin met Boromir’s palm, his fingers automatically gripping, clinging on, unwilling to let Rhosynel out of his grasp for even a second.

A barked groan left him as Rhosynel’s leg hooked about his hips, dragging them flush to hers.

Shit. Fuck.

At this rate he was going to get carried away and then where would that leave them. In admonishment, Boromir nipped at her lip, but that only served to draw a soft, needy, whine from Rhosynel’s throat.

What other noises could he draw from the woman in his grasp? As much as he wanted this he didn’t want to dishonour her here in the war room, no matter how the table was in easy reach, he could ju—

The clack of the door latch was far too loud, as was the startled exclamation of whoever had stepped into the room.

With a jolt, Boromir shoved himself back and away from Rhosynel, lurching to his feet and turning to face the intruder. Already he was moving, putting himself between her and whoever the fuck had burst in, hand closing about the empty space his sword would rest. Only to draw up short at a familiar–albeit very alarmed– face greeted him.

“Ah. Gamling.” Boromir choked out, voice rough and harsh. “What is it?”

“Apologies my Lord, I uh, it was, nothi—apologies!”

And with as much haste as he’d arrived, the man left. An outright clatter of armour in his panic to descend the stairs, the door slowly swinging shut behind him.

It was only once the door creaked to a stop, that Boromir exhaled, shoulders dropping and head hanging, one hand dragging his hair back from his face. His skin was burning up, heart pounding, breaths short and sharp. Behind him, he could hear Rhosynel also trying to find enough air for her own lungs.

Turning to her, jokes already rising to his lips, Boromir froze.

Her face was crimson, eyes wide, staring up at him with a hand pressed to her chest, covering herself from his gaze. Even as he watched, she swallowed harshly, eyes flickering down away from his, and back, darting to the door, and back once more.

She looked… shocked.

Shit.

Shit.

He’d overstepped. No, more than that, he’d outright accosted the poor woman when she was feeling vulnerable. Scarcely half an hour after finding her crying in the courtyard, grieving the death of her cousin. And then he’d been pinning her down, pawing at her, and practically assu—

Shit.

“Forgive me, Lady Rhosynel,” he blurted.

“Not a lady.”

Her voice was strained, breathless and quiet.

“Regardless,” Boromir insisted, hastily snatching up his tunic and dragging it on, wincing as the cuts and punctures to his flesh ached at the sharp gestures. “That was inappropriate of me, I shouldn’t have done such a thing. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh.”

Boromir froze, only his head turned fractionally towards Rhosynel, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t.” She all but stumbled over her words, looking everywhere but at him. Her brows had drawn together in consternation, swallowing heavily and avoiding meeting his gaze. “It’s, it’s fine. Really. I get it. I… I understand. It doesn’t mea—”

With a harsh clear of her throat, Rhosynel snatched up her own tunic with a wince.

“Has anyone talked about the plan to leave?” she asked, clearly forcing her voice to lighten.

She was changing the subject.

“Not… that I’m aware,” he replied slowly. It was an effort to drag his eyes away from her, using the excuse of searching for his surcoat instead.  “I imagine it’ll be tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

Rhosynel still didn’t look to him, even as she sought out her own clothing. Boromir didn’t push the matter, painfully aware of how he’d caused her such discomfort, of how pale her face had gone, of how her hands shook and her eyes gleamed.

He’d done that.

He’d accosted her.

He’d rendered the whip sharp and snarky woman to a near shaking mess.

He’d sacred her.

“Rhosynel,” he spoke without conscious choice, needing to apologise, needing to right what he’d wronged, needing to fix what he’d broken. “Forgive me, please.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied sharply. Too quickly. Not meeting his gaze. “Really, its fine. We battled, we survived, it’s a relief. I get it.”

A… Relief? The battle? They’d survive—oh.

A sinking realisation settled in Boromir’s chest. Rhosynel thought he’d acted from adrenaline, that he’d forced himself on her from relief, as an outlet from the tension of battle. That wasn’t it. He’d not kissed her from some misguided sense of relief. He’d wanted to kiss her, and for a brief moment thought she did to.

Something cracked painfully behind Boromir’s ribcage.

It seemed to take a great deal of effort, but Rhosynel lifted her head, a fake smile plastered on her lips. Fake cheer to her words. A lightness that didn’t suit her and felt wrong.

“Should we see how the others fare?”

No. No he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to leave what was left unspoken, he needed to explain, needed to tell her. Needed her.

But the opportunity had slipped through his fingers, like smoke on the wind.

Rhosynel’s forced smile faltered when he didn’t reply.

“I’d rathe—” Boromir cut himself off with a harsh clear of his throat. He’d already made her uncomfortable, he needed to shut up and let her escape his presence, not try and explain himself and make her all the more uncomfortable. “Yes. I think, I think that would be good.”

His answer couldn’t have been further from the truth.

[tytarax]

Also here’s the headcannons I used for my oneshot (and ones I have in general);

TW: forced bonding (all platonic), implied kidnapping, stalking, delusions, forced positions, forced immortality, insanity, mentioned murder

………………

-Zamasu is very much delusional. His ideals of wanting to kill off all mortals interferes with his love and affection to reader, which causes Zamasu to panic. He believes that all mortals are evil, so reader messes up these beliefs, which causes Zamasu to panic. There are many ways that this could end, but my favorite one to write about is Zamasu tricking himself into believing reader isn’t actually a mortal being- or rather a god trapped in a mortal body and life.

-Zamasu stops at nothing to get what he wants. And if reader can’t understand, then he will ‘assist’ with that. He most likely believes reader is the broken and delusional one, their mind shattered by the sins of mortal life they were forced to live with for many years.

-He uses anything to justify his delusions. Reader is introverted or shy? Clearly their mind is trying to reject the ways of humanity and he needs to help them! Reader has a physical disability or gets sick often? Their body is trying to reject its cursed mortality, Zamasu can fix that for them!

-If reader tries to go on a hunger strike, or any similar form of retaliation, Zamasu will shut it down immediately. He isn’t against spoon feeding reader if he needs to. In fact, he’d probably enjoy it because it justifies his delusion that reader needs him.

-If any of reader’s old family happens to be alive still, Zamasu will kill them. He can’t risk those foolish mortals trying to take his child away from him! It is most likely this overprotectiveness that drives him to kill Trunks off rather swiftly before he can time travel.

-He will become more overbearing if reader even shows hints of going against him. Zamasu will lock them in the cabin if he feels like he needs to- which he most likely will- and spend lots of time trying to convince reader that he’s in the right.

-Tricks reader into becoming his student. It ties them to him, plus then he has an excuse to dress them in his style outfits and colors. If reader tries to go against this or reject his offer, he will keep forcing it on them. Hopefully reader will accept Zamasu’s offer before he decides to force them into it anyways.

-Absolutely adores reader and believes that they only fight against him because they were raised by mortals. If he can get reader to understand his ways, then they will stop fighting back surely! He will force reader to bond with him in however he can, whether that be by reading with them or forcing them into hugs.

-stalked reader before he went ahead and kidnapped them. Even if reader was with the resistance, he would find a way to follow them everywhere. He will leave little gifts (namely food and books) for reader to find so they stay alive. He will hasten his plans if he realizes reader is sharing their gifts with others.

-Even unfused Zamasu and Goku Black act very similar to this if they follow this shared delusion, but their personalities differ a bit. Zamasu would spend lots of time trying to ‘get through to reader’ with small tea conversations and parallel bonding, while Black would be way more forceful and would be more likely to lock reader up if they keep fighting back.

-Goku Black would force reader to train with him to make them stronger, but he would never allow them to surpass him or become his equal and would always hold back. Zamasu would try and make reader act more like himself, teaching them the same manners he learned (which only reinforces his delusions).

-All versions of Zamasu fear hurting reader, and this fear and their delusions would drive them to use the dragon to wish for reader’s immortality.

-if Infinite Zamasu from the manga ever came into fruition… then poor reader.

Wow, I mean, like, wow.

These hcs are really good and I love your creativity!

You really put a lot of thought into Zamasu's character and motivations. I love how you've explored his delusions and how he would justify his actions. This sounds intense and captivating!

Keep up the amazing work!

[james-vi-stan-blog]

Hi I was wondering if you could share what you and historians make of Anne’s take on James’ homosexuality and his relationship (romantic, platonic or otherwise) with his queen, at the start of their marriage (i.e the sailing to Denmark and obsession etc) and the end (i.e letting her corpse rot) Thank you!! - thelastplantagenet 💚

Please excuse incoherent and loopiness I'm so sleepy while writing this alkdgf;ldgdk

The impression that I get of James is that he was very proud of his self-image as "a good king", "a good Christian", and "a good husband", based on his ever-so-clever reading of Scripture and philosophy. Picture the most horrible Arrogant Smart Kid Syndrome, formed by being the smartest person in the (very small) room for many years, which was never properly challenged by reality, because he's the king. The True Law of Free Monarchies and Basilokon Doron just drip with this attitude. Therefore, his self-image as magnanimous, benevolent, and faithful to his queen was important to him, even if in reality he was not these things.

cn for miscarriages, cruelty to pets, creepy kinda incestuous vibes, child marriage, etc.

There are two rather different images of the courtship of James and Anna (who was very young, just 14-15 to James's 22-23). On the one hand, James is said to have instantly fallen in love with her portrait almost as soon as marriage negotiations opened, to have written to her ardently, written poetry for her, and then of course have boldly sailed to "rescue" her in 1589. There is a story that when they first met in the flesh, James rushed over and kissed her "in the Scottish style", which repelled her (she thought it was very forward), but they later came to an understanding about this when the cultural difference was explained.

Yet also, James himself wrote of his reasons for sailing to his bride in October 1589:

As to the causes, I doubt not it is manifestly known to all how far I was generally found fault with by all men for the delaying so long of my marriage. The reasons were that I was alone, without father or mother, brother or sister, king of [Scotland] and heir apparent of England. This my nakedness made me to be weak and my enemies stark. One man was as no man, and the want of hope of succession bred disdain. Yea, my long delay bred in the breasts of many a great [suspicion] of my inability, as if I were a barren stock. These reasons and innumerable others, hourly objected, moved me to hasten the treaty of my marriage; for, as to my own nature, God is my witness I could have abstained longer nor the weal of my patrie could have permitted.

Basically, "I could have remained unmarried forever, but I have to get heirs for political stability". He was also noted for being coldly hard-assed in the dowry negotations.

Apparently their very early marriage was warm, but Anna was criticized for not immediately producing a child. When she was pregnant with Henry Frederick, IIRC rumors flew that he was not James's but that of Ludovic Stewart, 2nd Duke of Lennox (Esmé Stewart's son, therefore James's second cousin, who was also rumored to be a favorite of James's. Yes. This family is tangled and fucked up.) James was said to be jealous over this -- but was he jealous, or was he sensitive about the renewed rumors that Anna did not conceive by him because he was busy with his male favorites? (In reality, Anna had conceived immediately after their marriage, but then suffered a miscarriage.)

The marital relationship was then absolutely torpedoed by James's insistence on Henry Frederick being fostered at Stirling Castle by the Earl of Mar (the same Earl of Mar with whom he had huge childhood drama). This was traditional for Scottish heirs, and it was also sensible, as James and Anna were put in regular physical danger by rebellious lords, who you must remember repeatedly kidnapped young James and absolutely would pull all sorts of power shenanigans if they could lay hands on the heir. However, Anna was understandably furious and devastated by her separation from Henry. This became a huge battleground of their marriage, and James did not give way until the 1603 accession to the English throne, and it really ruined any affection Anna had for James. After that, Anna was often embroiled in schemes with factions that have grievances with James, like Bothwell and the Ruthvens. When the Ruthvens supposedly tried to assassinate James, Anna accused James of fabricating the whole thing. And as their children (Henry Frederick, Elizabeth, and Charles) grew up, Anna was often subtly working on them and turning them against their father (which wasn't hard because James was an awful, totally uninvolved father).

It is said that Anna once """"accidentally"""" killed one of James's favorite hunting dogs named Jewel.

Despite this, I would say that James always respected Anna… as much as he was capable of respecting any woman. Because James was really a misogynist, even more than the typical man of his time. His thoughts about marriage, and about the respect one should give one's wife, are clearly articulated in Basilokon Doron, and it's not pretty. (Full text is online here) Essentially, he gave Anna what he thought a wife should have from her husband: condescension, indulgence, honor before other ladies, sexual attention and fidelity (men don't count, ofc). James, one must remember, had a strong sense of himself as a divine right king, God's representative on Earth. The position of queen therefore also had an aura of the divine, and deserved respect for that - but not for her personhood, personality, or ideas. This is the man who is wearing a bejeweled "A" on his hat to celebrate his love for his wife at the same time he denies her access to her child and basically opposing her in court schemes.

Treat her as your own flesh, command her as her Lord, cherish her as your helper, rule her as your pupill, and please her in all things reasonable; but teach her not to be curious in things that belong to her not.

Something interesting is that when James learned of Anna's secret conversion to Catholicism, he told her he had no issue with her following her conscience as long as she kept it under wraps for the sake of political stability. For this time that's remarkably tolerant, both of Anna and of Catholicism.

Both Goodman and Weldon (remember them? writing from totally opposite English Civil War factions, one pro-Stuart and one anti-Stuart) described James as "not very uxorious". Maybe because he was too gay to really love his wife; maybe, as Goodman accused, Anna did not give him much cause to love her (can you blame her!?). But certainly there was not the sort of effusive affection for Anne he would show to his male favorites.

Over time the king and queen lived more and more separately. Until a miscarriage in 1606, after which Anna decided she was done with pregnancies, they continued to sleep together, but emotionally their lives were rather divorced. Especially after 1606 but IIRC even before, a separate "king's court" (dominated by James's male favorites) and "queen's court" developed. Real political power was located in the king's court, of course, but Anna used her influence to create a much more culturally sophisticated and artistically influential court. The Jacobean flourishing of the arts is more attributable to Anna's patronage than to James's (he fell asleep during plays and much more enjoyed watching a good debate).

But, I feel that their relationship somewhat recovered with time. In the more peaceful environment of England, they negotiated a sort of understanding, and had a cool but amicable relationship, sometimes working as partners and sometimes at cross purposes.

Anna's attitude to James's favorites seems to have been ambivalent. On the one hand, she was said to have understood "the king could not exist without his favorites" (I tried to find the source for this quote and failed but I'll look again later), and for his part he allowed her some degree of veto over his favorites, if only so that if she complained later, he could tell her "But you recommended him to me!" But it doesn't seem like she was happily indulgent - rather, pragmatic.

Also, as regards the Gowrie Conspiracy, Michael B. Young, author of King James and the History of Homosexuality, relates a conspiracy theory (not Young's own invention) that the Ruthvens might have lured James in not with a pot of gold (what a ridiculous story) but with sex appeal, and that Anna's reaction to the plot subtly accused him of this. And I believe it because I blindly believe everything that Michael B. Young says.

Even though James barely interacted with her by the point of her death in 1619, he was reportedly pretty upset about it, writing her a commemorative poem and going into a depression. You could say that his failure to appear at her funeral (it was Charles who was chief mourner) was evidence of his not caring very much, but some historians, like IIRC Rictor Norton, say that Anna's death actually triggered a minor breakdown for James, who was now facing his own mortality as well, due to his worsening illnesses. James may have also avoided the funeral because he had a longstanding fear of death, disease, and funerals (he also did not attend Henry Frederick's, and likewise that can be read as absence of love, depression, and/or neuroticism.)

IMO, the M&G monologue that I reblogged is not a bad take on the overall tone. I actually don't think James would have been so self-aware or ever considered that God was against any of his ideas, but it captures the ambivalence.

I hope that's a fair picture and of interest, @thelastplantagenet!

[johnwilson1st]

It is with a great deal of reluctance that I am once again writing about how Claire’s recent attempt to hasten society’s quiescence to moral pluralism and epistemological uncertainty may prove to be a watershed event for those of us who want to listen, find compassion, and collaborate. My reluctance stems from a concern that she will read this letter and use it as an excuse to inure us to counterproductive, hoggish vandalism. For practical reasons, I have to confine my discussion to areas that have received insufficient public attention or in which I have something new to say. How can we trust a dastardly chawbacon who actively conceals her true intentions? We can’t. And besides, Claire insists that everything will be hunky-dory if we let her flush all my hopes and dreams down the toilet. Naturally, she gives no evidence whatsoever to support that parti pris. Perhaps that’s because Claire’s peons have repeatedly been caught attacking the critical realism and impassive objectivity that are the central epistemological foundations of the scientific worldview. I had expected better from her and her vaunted Tartuffism movement, but then again, Claire will do anything to prevent us from critiquing her unhinged, juvenile theatrics. Don’t theatrics that aim to destabilize the norms of traditional society deserve—and in some sense, require—abundant critique and evaluation? That’s why I propose that we prevent the invisible hand of loosely regulated markets from becoming an invisible fist that lets Claire effortlessly pound her rivals into oblivion, mainly because Claire has been known to prove statistically that her decisions are based on reason. As you might have suspected, her proof is flawed. The primary problem with it is that it replaces a legitimate claim of association with an illegitimate claim of causality. Consequently, Claire’s proof demonstrates only that in my opinion it is a not unjustifiable assumption that I was personally offended—and I don’t easily offend—by the value she places on making me feel disconnected from reality. This is not what I think; this is what I know. I additionally know that interpretivism is like fire—both an essential component of Claire’s tirades and yet so elemental that its existence and influence are often overlooked. Similarly, interpretivism can burn badly and destroy if one neglects to consider that every day I wonder, Is this as uncivilized as Claire can possibly get? And every day, Claire figures out some way to take it to the next level. Let me close by reminding you that there’s no time for denial, despondency, or disinterest. This is a time that demands urgent actions from each of us to investigate the development of yahooism as a concept.

[eightfoldjourney]

Suddenly, a purple shooting star is falling from the sky and can be seen across Solistia. (The main cast's reactions to this, it takes place 5 years before the main story)

Ochette was out on a bit of nocturnal hunting: a test from Master Juvah to see how well she could stalk her prey in the dark. The hunter paused briefly when she saw something purple streak across the heavens. What was that? Was she seeing things? Hmm... Oh well. Back to the hunt.

Castti was out gathering some herbs by the river, searching for flowers that were said to only bloom at night. She needed to make sure to get enough for Andy and Randy as well. Just as she was wrapping up, though, Castti saw a strange purple light briefly flash by in the heavens. "How strange..."

Throné sighed as she wiped the blood off her dagger. She'd been sent to assassinate some wealthy noble in the city, and was just finishing the deed in the woman's own bedroom. Throné hastened to the balcony in an attempt to escape the smell of blood, only to see a strangely-colored shooting star streaking through the night. The soul of her latest victim, perhaps? "...Don't worry. I'll probably be joining you soon enough..."

Osvald had just finished putting his daughter to bed, and was about to retire himself when he spotted something rather curious out the window. "A shooting star, but an unusual coloration..." It had gone by in an instant, but Osvald's curiosity was piqued. Maybe he could stay up a little longer to do some stargazing...

Partitio lay on his back in the bare desert soil, gazing up at the night sky. The stars were perfectly visible tonight, and if he was lucky, he might even get to see a shooting star to make a wish on! As if the heavens themselves read his thoughts, Partitio would see exactly that... Except, something was off. The star that passed by was odd purple color. For some reason, he didn't feel like making a wish anymore...

Agnea was on her way home from performing at the local tavern. She was slowly but surely on her way to acquiring the money she'd need to travel, though it would likely still take some time... On her way back, though, Agnea couldn't help but notice something streaking across the sky. Before she could think too hard about it, though, Agnea heard her sister calling out to her, telling her that dinner was ready. "Coming, Pala!"

Temenos yawned as stepped out of the library. He'd been up reading late... Or at least, that was the excuse. In truth, he was looking into a matter on behalf of the Pontiff, albeit in a manner that wouldn't draw attention from the knights... Temenos was about ready to head back, when he noticed a peculiar purple star streaking through the heavens. A purple star? "Hmm... How strange..." An omen of sorts, perhaps? Not that Temenos could recall anything in the scriptures about such a thing. For now, he's just keep it in the back of his mind...

Hikari stared out into the night sky from his room at the palace. He had just gotten back from an evening stroll, and was about to drift into slumber. However, as Hikari gave one last glimpse to the stars, he noticed a streak of violet light through the heavens. Something inside him stirred, if only for a moment. Hikari grasped his head, suddenly feeling dizzy. The prince would sleep restlessly that night...

---

Hope that was what you were looking for, anon! This was actually pretty fun to write, though it took a while. I'm guessing the "purple star" has something to do with The Wicked One, so I decided to lean in on it appearing ominous and giving a sense of unease.

[malleusmaleficent]

The Liberator (an abolitionist newspaper), 1831:

"On this subject, I do not wish to think, or to speak, or write, with moderation. No! No! Tell a man whose house is on fire to give moderate alarm; tell him to moderately rescue his wife from the hands of the ravisher; tell the mother to gradually extricate her babe from the fire into which it has fallen; -- but urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in earnest-- I will not equivocate-- I will not excuse-- I will not retreat a single inch-- AND I WILL BE HEARD. The apathy of the people is enough to make every statue leap from its pedestal, and to hasten the resurrection of the dead."

god damn bro people's rhetoric was so much better back then. that last line hits so goddamn hard, the idea that people are moving so slowly on such an important issue that even the fucking statues are getting fed up with it? and that it is hurrying us closer and closer to the day of judgment due to inaction on slavery

[welcometomypov]

No excuses, no changing the topic. Answer my question directly:

If not abortion, what other solution do you have in mind to solve these problems:

- Mentally challenged women

- Disabled women unable to even take care of themselves

- Rape victims

- Teenage mothers

- Pregnant children

- Women who cannot safely have children due to their physical health

- Victims of incest

Note: Foster care and donations are not valid or trustworthy solutions. I'm talking about something effective and dependable. You clearly think abortion is wrong, so you obviously have other ideas to replace it.

"All well! Should've been more careful!"

"All well! Shouldn't have had sex!"

"All well! What was she wearing?"

"All well! it was god's plan!"

I don't want you to twist this around. I want an answer. Something women can depend on instead of abortion. If you can give me one valid solution, I'll apologize for bothering you and be on my merry way.

Okay, sensing some aggression and an incoming argument that all of my solutions will not be viable because murder is the only way.

And I did start writing some answers. But I've moved them into my note blog for later use. And here's why:

So, firstly, I will stay this:

I'm not here to convince you of anything. I'm not here to shove my thoughts down your throat. I'm here to put them out there and see what the world makes of them. To share from my POV.

If you came up to me on a college campus and said this, I'd politely tell you that I'm uninterested in this conversation, thank you for your time, and then go find an area known for housing crowds to stay in until I'm satisfied I'm not about to be harassed or endangered.

I'm not an expert. I'm not going to convince anyone of anything. I'm not here to do that. Go to a Pro-life centered blog. They will assist you with these questions. They are more likely to accept demands. I can recommend some good ones if you ask.

Secondly:

You have no right to demand anything from me. I'm under no obligation to answer you. I answer Asks because I make the choice to. I answer asks because I feel eager to share my POV with others.

And right now, I do not feel like sharing. I kinda feel nauseous.

This is not a debate or a conversation. This is an interrogation. And considering my hands are shaking, my Anxiety brain seems to believe I'm in an unsafe situation despite me being safe at home (uggghhh).

I have my essay. But I'm practicing boundaries.

If you would like to return and use kindess, we can chat.

I will not endanger my mental health for you.

I'm going to force myself to eat something in the hopes of quelling the nausea (stupid brain), say my prayers, spend the day with my family, and slowly allow my brain to feel the normal buzz of fear.

Then I will return and answer these other Asks in my box.

You're here for a win. The rush. Not a conversation. One of my answers, basically amounting to "we should fix the government instead of killing babies" will not satisfy you. It will upset you because it does not fit your expectations. And you will hasten to upset me.

If you'd like to resubmit with kindness to see my POV, we can have a real conversation. In the meantime, I have plans.

You will not love me for this. You may despise me for this answer and use this ask to prove that I am rude and stupid to your followers.

But I hope you have a wonderful day anyway.

[ga1adriel]

:  ̗̀➛  *ೃ༄  THIS FEELS TOO INTIMATE ; too wanting , her weaknesses suddenly laid bare and blatant as they move together about the room - a furious clash of light and darkness as her hair billows out behind her like the sail, loose strands and braids catching the light of the lanterns that still hang above them. she wishes she had not come. that she had made some excuse to stay away and attend her writings and research. instead she is trapped in a misery of her own making - caged not just by his arms but by this conversation. it is dangerous to be speaking so openly and yet those about them ignore the words being spoken - too blind and too deaf to care, so enraptured by the food and drink. by the dancing that never seems to end.

the green stone at her throat is surrounded by adamant, with silver that hangs lower down and across her throat - a gift from her mother this evening, a gift in turn from him as much of their more precious stones are.

it feels like a noose, like a reminder of what is owed and what can suddenly be taken. artanis wishes for nothing more than to tear at it and watch the smaller stones fly about the floor - a starburst of beauty, created by destruction. such thoughts are easily quashed, pushed lower as her footsteps quicken - hastened by the change of music as she watches others being thrown into the air beside her.

❛ i do not believe him to be sated by this power they allow him to share in -- ❜ they should not be speaking of this, none of it is permitted, to question the valar is a sin. a crime. there are stories of those who had dared stand against them - exiled to the east, descendants of chaos. other pilgrims from the great forges who has lost their way. ❛ ... how can he be given so much when they know he is always hungry for more ? ill at ease unless he is sowing seeds to discontent among our kind and his own. ❜

her displeasure is palpable as her uncle's attention turns to her brother, sweet finrod who chooses the blade rather than the fine crafts of jewel work. his own red headed sons laugh with a mirth she wishes she could manage.

❛ i have known my whole life that our fates our bound. i have felt it so keenly, though i believe our journey will not be what stops them. it is the cause. my brothers would raise mountains behind the right banner. they do not fear conflict - they only wish to be enlightened by it. you must feel the same, surely ? ❜

for a brief second she turns her head and he allows himself to indulge in feeling all of the places they are touching; it would not do to allow for more than just a taste of what may yet come to pass, but it is enough for now to hold her close. the jewel about her throat is one of his design, if not necessarily his craft, a trinket gift to her mother nearly a thousand years ago. something to placate a misdirected insult and eärwen had forgiven him whatever imagined grievance - how funny that it should now be some cast off heirloom for a daughter who has never forgotten a slight in her life.

(much like him: forgive, but do not excuse. acknowledge but do not allow.)

the moment is broken when she speaks of lord melkor and fëanor does not try to hide his distaste - yet another reason they should not linger and waste their efforts amongst a land of those who would rest on their laurels as they watch corruption spread like the roots of a weed.

"it is weakness. he would herd the minds and hearts of our kin, a shepherds hound making a mockery of our will, and our betters --" this word he spits, vicious and uncowed, "are so very willing to house the dog amongst the sheep. the valar see only what they wish but i do not believe his idolatry will endure. it is only ever a matter of time before bloodlust takes the dog and drives it to recklessness. we need only bide our time - melkor will show himself before long and whatever spun sugars he has told of our kind will be wetted away."

he nods his head towards the gaggle of his sons and her brothers who laugh merrily along with some joke of finrod's. "but they are another matter. are they strong enough to follow your lead? are you strong enough to leave them behind if they will not answer the call?"

[headfulloffantasy]

Mermaid/Diver AU Reed900

Gavin and Tina are a buddy team, meaning they are diving together and watching out for the other under water. Gavin is at the sea because his always busy brother Elijah is working on some super-secret marine project here, he won't even tell him something about. So while Eli is busy with his colleague/subordinate Amanda in a base close to the shore or on one of those ships laying in the harbour, he and Tina will explore the island and enjoy their time diving.

At least the underwater world is pretty here, making them spend more time at the dive than planned.

When Gavin sees something like an extremely big fin rush past him in the corner of his eye, he abruptly turns his head. Nothing. That happens a few times, but every time he tries to get a closer look, the something disappears. Gavin screws his eyes shut a few times, but it doesn't help. Only when Tina gently touches his arm, he jumps back into reality. His friend looks concerned and taps her Fini (diving equipment showing you how much air you have left) and her diving computer. 40 meters. They should definitely swim up now, they can only stay 2 minutes here before it gets dangerous and they could fall into diver's paralysis. Gavin hadn't even noticed how deep they had gone down. Following Tina back up a bit, he looks but doesn't see anything. He probably had fallen into nitrogen narcosis, a state where you have too much nitrogen in your brain which causes you to hallucinate. That must be it. No way something that big and fast lives down here.

So he follows Tina back up to shallow parts and ends the dive with her.

"What was wrong with you down there? You looked like you saw a ghost, just stared into the blue."

Gavin scratches the back of his head. "Just thought I saw something. Shouldn't get that deep, my mind tricked me."

Tina nods as she disassembles her equipment. "Next time you tell me when you see Ariel, okay Gavin? Rapture of the depth is no joke."

Gavin knows she is serious despite the mocking, so he agrees.

A few days pass without a dive, because Tina is going on a trip to town with her girlfriend. When Gavin gets into a pretty bad fight with his brother one evening, he just needs to get away and out of that flat they are sharing. He does the one thing you are not supposed to do, breaks the one rule that stands above everything in diving: You never dive alone.

He angrily assembles his equipment before putting it on and jumping into the water. The sun is already setting, leaving him with just a small time window before he has to get back. It's nice and calm here. No one arguing. Just small fish rushing past him, the faint rests of light dancing in the water. Calmness. Peace. He needed that. He doesn't go deep to prevent that narcosis to happen again, but he stays under water for way longer than he planned to as he is lost in thoughts. There is a field of kelp ahead of him. When his equipment gets caught in the seaweed, keeping him from continuing on, he curses internally. He hadn't paid attention to where he was going and now he was stuck. Eyeing his fini he cursed even more. 15 bar. He had about 10 minutes left to get out of here if he kept on struggling like this. Gavin reached for his little knife bound around his calf, pulling it free to cut his way out of the kelp forest. He starts to slice away the branches and leaves wrapped around his legs and equipment that trapped him in place. When a giant shadow rushes past him, he drops the knife, almost jumping out of his skin. Cursing, Gavin tries to catch it, but he doesn't get it in time before it disappears in the seaweed. Perfect, now he is defenceless, tangled in kelp and with 8 minutes of oxygen left.

That shadow returns and now he gets a clear look on a big fin, glowing white and blue in the dim light. His heart is beating out of his chest now. Whatever this is, it's huge and it's circling him.

What he doesn't expect is a human face to appear in front of him. It's a man, pale skin scattered with freckles and moles, dark flowy hair and almost glowing ice blue eyes. Gavin eyes wander lower over a naked torso, down to the hips where skin melts into white scales. The phck? There is a fish tail connected to the guy's torso, long and elegant, ending in an almost transparent fan with bone rays. Blue lines cover the tail and a blue ridge was growing out of the back. The thing tilts its head before swimming closer and reaching out for him. Gavin struggles away, but that only gets him more tangled in the seaweed. The fish man lifts one eyebrow, but doesn't stop. His fingers grab the kelp and start to pull it away to free Gavin from his trap. Startled he stops to fight the other and lets him help him. Once he is free though, he quickly swims away to get more space between himself and that ... mermaid? Merman? What the actual phck is that?!

The guy has a small smile on his handsome face and just follows him calmly with a swift move of his fin, obviously much faster than the human. Still, Gavin tries to get as much space between them as possible, but the guy comes closer fast now. The moment he swims past him, the Detective can feel the scales brush against his arm. He is toying with him. The fishman circles him, always coming back and poking him with those long fingers.

Suddenly one of those claws pierce through his jacket, causing the air to rush out and the jacket deflates fast. Shit. Gavin begins to sink fast without the air holding him up and he falls faster and faster. It's deep here, almost 70 metres. If he reaches the ground, he is fucked. Quickly throwing off the plummet, he fiddles with the fasteners and curses internally when they won't open.

When something grabs him by the back and pulls him up, he winces, yet let's it happen. He is brought to the surface, where he climbs onto the stone shore and spits out the diving regulator to suck in some fresh air.

"Get away from me!", he yells at the fishy figure eyeing him from the edge of the water. The man just tilts his head like a phcking puppy.

"You humans are weird. Why dive when you can't even swim on your own?" That leaves the human baffled. He didn't expect the thing to talk. He is smart. Intelligent.

"What the phck, man?! You almost killed me! I could have sunk to the god damn ground of the ocean!!"

But the guy just rolls his eyes. "Calm down. Nothing happened."

They argue a while, but then reality slowly starts to come back and Gavin realises what he has in front of him. A god damn mermaid. Curiosity takes over and they talk, slowly getting to know each other. The guy, Nines, is just as curious as he is so they throw questions back and forth. Nines admits that he never saw a human dive before, only caught glimpses of them from afar and got interested although his brother, Connor, would probably rip his head off. Gavin promises not to tell anyone, though Nines just chuckles and says he isn't afraid of humans. So they keep talking until the sun is fully set and Gavin almost dry. He sighs at his broken equipment. He will need to get that fixed and his plummet is gone as well. Nines almost reads his mind and disappears for a minute before coming back with the weight belt, handing it to the human. Gavin thanks him and he almost doesn't want to go, because he just had the best conversation in a long time. Way more interesting than Elijah's rambling over his work. Nines seems to find the same thing and suggests meeting at this stone shore again the next day.

At first Gavin is sure he won't go. But then he catches himself wanting to go back to that stone. He somehow isn't surprised when he finds himself there a few hours after, waiting for a freaking half fish. And he does show up, white fin glowing through the water. This time they talk even longer and in a more comfortable setting as Gavin is in shorts and a tank top and not full diving suit and equipment. It's already dark when he finally gets up to walk back, throwing a last look at the man in the water. Nines has his chin rested on his arms, fin slowly ploughing through the water.

"See you tomorrow, fish head."

“Maybe you noticed that it’s my lower body and not my upper that resembles a fish. Also I have to disappoint you, my anatomy has nothing to do with a fish”

“Whatever fish head.” Gavin grins, making the other roll his eyes.

"Good night, Gavin."

With that Nines dark hair disappears in the water, white and blue glowing tail flicking up as he dives down and splashing Gavin with a bunch of water. Somehow that makes the human smile.

This habit of meeting continues over the following weeks until they know each other really well. You could basically call this a friendship. And somehow, without realising it, Gavin falls hard for that blue eyed jerk. He tells him how he spends his day with Tina and how annoying Elijah can be with his project that is so super-secret he can't even tell his own brother details about. Amanda is a major asshole as well. Gavin can't stand her, always asking questions about his dives and way too private things.

What he doesn't know is that Amanda has followed him this time. He doesn't know that she sits not far from them, listening to their conversation and taking pictures of Nines in the water. She is euphoric, finally she managed to get a good look on what she is watching out for her whole life, what she and Elijah are searching for. And that idiot Gavin just stumbled across what they have been hunting for years now.

She sees the smile on the merman's face, the way he looks at the human in front of him and she just knows. They mean a lot to each other. Perfect. Over the next days she sets up a trap, all very discrete not to let Elijah know of anything. She calls Gavin on one of their research ships in the harbour. When Gavin is called there, he is already having a bad feeling. Still, he goes and regrets instantly. Not long after he sets a foot on the ship, he is locked into one of the cabins. He punches against the door, but it has no use. He is trapped. And then the water rises around his feet. Phck. Everyone else gets off the ship and the last thing he overhears is someone saying: "That will get the fishman here."

Oh no. He is the bait for Nines because they think he will come and save Gavin out of the sinking ship. Normally Nines wouldn't get that close to the harbour, but for Gavin he would. Desperately trying to get out of the slowly filling cabin, he kicks the door and the window, but nothing happens.

Nines does indeed come after he heard about a ship sinking in the harbour. Gavin hadn’t shown up at their usual meeting spot and he never missed a meetup before. Never. That he didn’t show up without telling Nines the day prior really worries the merman. Something is wrong. And when he was told about one of the research ships belonging to Gavin’s brother sink in the harbour, he got a bad feeling. He should check this out.

Right when he gets there, he can see Gavin hammering against the glass from inside, screaming something at him with wide eyes. Bubbles of air rise from his mouth as the water has already filled the small cabin. Nines has to act quick, but he struggles with the door just as much. When he finally gets it open, Gavin is already floating unconscious on front of him, legs and arms limp, eyes closed. Panic rises in him and he pulls the human out the ship, holding him in his arms.

Right when he gets outside, a net closes around them. His first instinct is to cover Gavin with his body as they get pulled to the surface and he holds him close. When they get dropped on hard ground, Gavin is ripped from his arms. At least the impact makes the human wake up and he coughs up water and gasps for air.

Gavin comes back to consciousness, but when he realises the situation, he feels desperation rise in his throat. Amanda triumphantly stands over Nines as the merman is bound and shackled with ropes. He lashes out and fights against the grip of the men, but on land he has nothing against them.

"No." Gavin gasps through his coughs, too weak to get up and push the men away from his friend.

"Thank you for playing bait for us, Mr. Reed."

"No! You bitch! Let him go!" Somehow, he finds the strength to get up and throw himself at the henchmen tying up Nines, but Amanda just laughs.

"Good night, Gavin." Someone hits something heavy against the back of his head, knocking him out. Everything goes black around him and he drops to the floor. A terrified voice yelling his name is the last he hears.

That's how Tina finds him. Bleeding and knocked out on the ground. She curses and shakes him awake, half drags half helps him to their flat and cleans the wound on the back of his skull. Gavin is only half conscious, but he struggles against her.

"No, we have to help him, we have to save Nines!"

"Who are you talking about? Who is Nines?"

Gavin takes a deep breath and then he tells her. Tells her about how he met the merman, how they grew close over the last weeks. Tina sits in silence and listens. When he is finished, she first thinks he got hit over the head too hard. But when she sees the expression in Gavin's eyes, she believes him. She agrees to help Gavin if he lets her treat the wound. It's a deal. Amanda must hold Nines captive in this weird base she and Elijah are always working in. With teamwork they manage to get inside and after searching a bunch of weird looking rooms, Gavin finally finds the laboratory Nines is kept at.

He swims in circles in a giant, tall tank made of glass that is still way too small for him. His face looks so hopeless, it almost rips Gavin's heart in pieces. When he rushes up to the glass wall and Nines sees him, he presses his hands against the glass.

"Nines! Nines, it's me!" The merman quickly makes his way towards him and his face lights up. He presses his hands on the other side of the glass against Gavin's. Both of them smile relieved at seeing the other alive and their foreheads simultaneously drop against the tank, one from inside one from outside. "I thought I would find you already dissected on a table or something like that."

Nines can't answer as he is under water, but he lifts his gaze and sends a soft smile through the transparent wall separating them.

"Okay, let's get you out of here." Gavin climbs up to the top of the tank and help Nines out of the water. He has to carry the merman in his arms and sways under the weight, but it's their only possibility of getting Nines out to the sea. They are halfway there when Elijah steps in their way.

"Gavin? What are you doing?!"

Elijah is shocked that is own brother is sabotaging his lifework. Gavin can hear alarmed guards come closer, so he talks to Eli in hope to convince him to help. He tells Elijah how wrong this is, that he knows Nines and that he is a sentient and intelligent being. He tells him how Amanda trapped and almost killed him just to catch Nines. Elijah can't believe that his co-worker would do something like that. Gavin tells him this is the wrong way of going about this. Gavin's brother is silent for a bit as he thinks and the Detective almost panics when he hears the guards come closer. But then Elijah wakes and pushes him behind his back.

"Go down this hallway and then right, that's shorter. I will distract the guards. Hurry."

Gavin thanks him quickly and continues rushing down the hallway.

When Gavin makes it outside, there is nobody there. He carries Nines to the edge of the pier and slowly let's him down into the water. The merman could have just swum away and he should before anyone could see him. Instead he turns around, grabs Gavin by the collar and pulls the man down into a kiss. Gavin is so startled he almost forgets to kiss back, but finally he does. It's fast and sloppy, but sweeter than he ever imagined. Nines breaks away and leans his forehead against the other, this time without glass between them.

"I will find you." And with that he is gone.

 A few days later, Gavin stares out on the water, sitting on a small cliff. Tina approaches behind him and lays a blanket around his shoulders.

"Are you still waiting for him? Gavin, you haven't slept or eaten enough the last three days, you need to rest. Come inside."

"No, I'll stay." Tina just sighs and turns around. "Thank you T."

Nines hasn't shown up the last three days and his mind is going crazy more and more as the days go past. Gavin falls asleep on the stones, head rested on his arms and covered in his blanket. He only wakes up when something wet drops on his nose. Something is splashing in the water and a blue glowing figure is visible under the surface. Nines leaps out of the water, supporting his upper body on the stone with his hands to push his torso out of the water. Without a word he leans forward and crashes their mouths together. The kiss tastes salty from the sea water, but Gavin doesn't care. He buries his fingers in that dark wet hair and skids closer until his chest is pressed against Nines. His shirt is getting wet, but oh well.

“What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, I first had to convince my brother to let me go anywhere close to humans again.” Gavin looks down that gorgeous sight of Nines' wet abs and pecs and strong arms, making him go weak. Drops of water run down his pale nose, shimmering before dropping down. The merman leans forward to catch Gavin's lips with his own again, this time soft and tender. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, fish head." That earns him a roll of Nines' eyes.

"If I hear a joke about me kissing like a fish next, I will end you” Gavin just squishes his cheeks together and mimics a carp. Before he can react, he is pulled into the water on his collar and he is pushed under water. A mouth finds his and maybe he should struggle to get free, but he trusts Nines. This is his element. When they get up again, Gavin clings to Nines', arms holding onto his neck.

"Hmm, a monkey." This time it's Nines grinning. But Gavin only has eyes for that wet locks curling in his forehead, the soft glow of the blue lines covering the fin, emitting a faint light from underneath them.

"You're beautiful."

Nines gently smiles at him and holds him tighter before connecting their lips in another kiss.

Fin (badum tsss)

[madame-fear]

Hi can you do a Lucerys

x Wife reader Where the reader is in labor and he's just freaking tf out or after they have the baby they're both confused on what to do next.

IDK why but in my head it's Hilarious do you think that these 2 young people Has to like raise a child/Children and they are both confused

Like after the baby/babies is born she's like "soooooo.... what do we do now?" And he's just like ........."IDK raise it I guess"

— new addition [ part 1/2 ]

a/n : omg funny enough, before receiving your request i thought about making headcanons for both velaryon boys as dads !! this was so sweet to write, enjoy !! ♡♡

summary : request. word count : 1.6k

pairing : husband! dad! lucerys velaryon x wife! mum! reader genre : fluff

.·:*¨༺ part one | part two ༻¨*:·.

Lucerys hurriedly hastened through the large, dark grey coloured corridors upon hearing the news of your labour with your first child having finally started. His footsteps were loud across the corridors, and occasionally, pushing away some servants and maidens from his way. Your blood-curling screaming and crying increased the nearer he was to reaching your chambers.

After having ran through the large corridors, Lucerys now finally stood in front of your chambers doors, encountering himself with three maesters standing on your door, whom rapidly turned around to stare at the young Prince. The three of them bowed down their head as a way of curtsying. “My Prince,” one of the maesters, the eldest, spoke. “The princess has began her labour, we believe you will be able to enter once she–” the old maester hoped for Lucerys to stay outside, waiting for your baby to finally be in your arms; but how wrong he was, since the young future Lord of Driftmark wasn't going to simply stand there, listening to your screaming. “Maester, the princess is my wife, and she is giving birth to our first child. She needs me–” as he tried to argue against the maester, a loud cry interrupted him, screaming as you so painfully called out for his name desperately. Lucerys' green eyes turned back to the maester, and raised his eyebrows. “If you excuse me, my wife is requesting for my presence.” he firmly spoke in – what tried to be – a calm tone, walking past the maesters, and practically bursting through the door of your chamber, leaving the maester slightly stuttering with a hanging response to the young Lordling.

Entering your room, Lucerys found you laying in bed all sweating, and slightly crying from the pain. Strands of hair covered your face, as some maidens placed damp clothing on your forehead, cleaning the drops of sweat. Another few maidens were assisting with your birth, as they gave you words of reassurance. “No, no... I- I can't... I can't do this–” you pleaded in a weak, low voice, shaking your head tiredly. “Yes, you can, my Princess. Just some more pushes, and the child will be with you! I can already see it's head.” the young maiden assisting you with your birth reassured. Leisurely, you opened your eyes, only to find Lucerys standing on the door, and a weak, yet bright smile formed upon your lips.

“Luke...” you mumbled, slightly readjusting your position in bed, and groaning. Seeing you in such state, Lucerys slightly panicked, as concern and anxiety arose on his chest. Unknown about what to do, he ran to your side, and held the back of your head with one hand, and the other one sweetly held your own trembling hand. “My brave girl,” Lucerys cooed, placing a loving kiss on your cheek, and removing some strands of wet hair that covered your hair. Despite enjoying his gentle nature and warmth, your facial expressions rapidly turned into a pained one, as the contractions once again began, and you started pushing. Your vocal chords felt as if it was going to rip apart from all the groaning and screaming, your grip on Lucerys' hand tightened as you began harshly pushing for the baby to come out. His head turned around to look at the maiden getting a slight hold of the baby's body, seeing how it came out. “You can do it, my love! Our baby is nearly there, just some more pushes, yes?” your hand was raised to his lips, as he placed a soft and gentle kiss on your knuckles as a way of reassurance.

His mind had racing thoughts, unknowing about what to do. The best he could think of, was to try and keep calm for you, and stay by your side offering you his eternal support. “You're doing excellent, my love. You can do it.” his voice tone quivered with a mix of anxiety, and at the same time, he tried to keep himself calm as to reassure you everything was going to be fine. With the hand that held your head, he tenderly began caressing your wet-with-sweat hair, and once again, he placed a kiss on your knuckles. Giving one final push – harshly groaning, and exhaustingly screaming – as both your husband and the assisting maids insisted for you to keep going, you suddenly felt all the pressure from the lower part of your body be released, and the general stiffness in your body slowly fade away. Baby crying began filling the entire chamber, and the previous tension that was felt was rapidly replaced by a relieved vibe. Your head fell against the bed header, releasing a deep, tired sigh.

“Congratulations, Prince and Princess, it's a healthy boy.” once the newly born child was properly cleaned, the maiden assisting your birth handed the baby to Lucerys, whom held the boy with his trembling hands, and adjusted him in his arms – rocking the baby back and forth in a soothing way, trying to calm the crying. The Lordling quietly thanked the maiden, and his green hazel eyes quickly went to stare down at his newborn with a broad, yet nervous smile. “My sweet, sweet boy...” Lucerys lowly cooed, admiring the baby. With his free hand, his index finger looked for his child's delicate hand, hoping for him to grab his young father's finger. “You are truly your mother's face...” he scoffed, a smirk growing on the curves of his lips. The baby took hold of Lucerys' index finger as it slowly opened his eyes, revealing bright green eyes resembling the one's his father has. The smirk on the Princeling's face grew to a broad smile. “...but with my eye colour, I see.” the brunette-haired boy finished speaking, practically mumbling to himself.

As his eyes were adoringly focused on the newborn, his mind was slowly filled with many thoughts regarding your future with your child. Of course, he was undeniably over the clouds at the birth; but the two of you were still young – him 19, while you were just 18 – and, naturally, absolutely clueless when it came to parenting. Anxiety arose tightly around his chest once again, concerned about being unknown at what to do next. His arms kept gently rocking the child as he turned around to look at you, who was already looking at him with a feeble smile as you laid on bed, recovering from the pain.

“So...” you began speaking in a low, weak tone, as he walked closer to you with the child on his arms. “What do we do now?” you inquired, furrowing your eyebrows as you slightly chuckled. Mimicking your actions, he chuckled with you as well, as he sat by your side on your bed. “I don't know,” his eyes went down to the child, who was staring at him with eyes full of joy now, and then went back to looking up at you. “R-Raise him?” his voice tone had uncertainty, as he awkwardly smiled, unsure of what to do next. His awkwardness made a chuckle spew from your lips, as you tried to recover from the intensity of the previous moments. After the chuckles, an anxious silence was made in the atmosphere, where both of you were lost in your own train of thoughts about what you were supposed to do next once the expected child was born.

Lucerys turned to look at you with a warm smile, and leaned closer to you, gently placing the baby in your chest. “I think it would be proper if I asked my mother for advice, wouldn't you say so, my love?” he playfully inquired, placing a big smooch on your temple. Tiredly nodding in response as a warm smile formed on your lips upon feeling his own kissing you, your eyes lowered to look at your newborn boy, who was staring at you adoringly. The smile that was already shaped on your lips grew broader at the thought of how brightly his eyes resembled his own father's green eyes. “I think we should, yes. Your mother is certainly more experienced than us, clearly.” you joked, with a low tone, as he placed his head against yours.

Both of you laid on your bed silently, gently tracing down the baby's little arms, hands, and face with your fingertips. Lucerys lovingly sighed, before he spoke once again. “You should rest now, my love.” he began, now turning to look at you, removing some bits of hair that covered your delicate features. “I will take care of the baby while you rest, and I will ask my mother for advice regarding parenting, yes?” his hand gently turned your face around by the chin to make you look at him, deep into his eyes. You nodded with a warm smile, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours, now caressing your face with his thumb. Once he slowly pulled apart, he place a last kiss in the middle of your eyebrows, and then pressed his forehead against yours; deeply sighing with pure love. The previous anxiety and panic you had felt once the child was born slowly faded away, turning into a warm moment of comfort and happiness.

“I love you, very, very much. And despite us still being young, I am so grateful and satisfied for the family we are forming together.” he lowly spoke, his eyes now turning around to look at the sleeping baby on your chest with a wide smile. His hand went to softly pet his child's head adoringly. “I promise, I will keep you and our children safe, and I will love our family eternally, and very dearly.”

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