#and it will also be a major step forward for something the US is trying really really hard to stave off

[serpentandlily]

Now That We Don't Talk

Part I

Now That We Don’t Talk - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of your mate’s betrayal.

Warnings: major angst, mentions of grief and loss, mention of infidelity 

a/n: this has a happy ending, I promise! I’d also like to mention that I never usually blame the woman when a man cheats, but in this case, both parties knew of the existing relationship and bond so *death to all of them* lol jk…for now…I hope this lives up to your expectations!

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“That’s it, Y/n,” Madja said, taking a step backwards as she carefully monitored you between two support beams. “Go slow.”

Your shoulders and arms were straining as you held yourself up using the two beams, slowly raising your foot to take another step forward. You groaned at the pain, feeling flustered and embarrassed that walking was taking you so much effort. 

Cassian and Nesta had turned one of the larger chambers in the House of Wind into a physical remedial room. You had sessions in here every day with Madja, Cassian almost always there with you and in times he couldn’t be, Rhys would fly up to be with you during these. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell your brother that you preferred when Rhys was here instead of him, only because he always magicked his wings away so you didn’t have to see them. Cassian’s were just a reminder of what you had lost. 

Relearning to walk has been one of the hardest parts of losing your wings.

Even now it was a struggle to simply stand. You were too used to the weight of having wings on your back and using them to balance. You felt their absence in more ways than one.

But this one was easier to deal with—the physical part. It was the mental and emotional part that still kept you up at night. The loss of freedom, having to know you’d never be able to fly again. The nightmares. The embarrassment. The shame. 

You had never been a particularly proud Illyrian, never agreeing with the way your people were raised and the culture they lived in. But still, having those wings made you a part of something bigger than yourself—a community, a tribe, a family. 

You weren’t like Rhys, not a half-breed like him. You didn’t have the pointy ears to make you fit in with the wingless High Fae. You’d always be other to them. And now you’d be other to your people as well. 

You tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes but it didn’t matter. Your brother seemed to sense the change in your mood and rose from his chair in the corner where he had been monitoring the session.

“You’re doing great, kiddo,” Cassian said, trying to encourage you to keep trying. “One step at a time.”

“I can’t,” you choked out, your muscles straining from the effort to keep you upright. “I-I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Cassian said, sternly. “Come on, I know you can do it.” 

“I can’t.”

You wobbled, letting out a long exhale. You had only made it halfway to the other side of the mat. Pain pierced through your still healing back, serving as another reminder of what you had lost. Your fractured hip had healed already but the bones still felt like they were being grinded together every time you moved your legs. 

“Thank you for your help today, Madja,” Cassian said, sharing a look with the older healer. “I can take it from here.”

Madja, as if also sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took her leave without argument to give you some privacy with your brother. 

“Just make sure she eats something after this. Her body needs more nourishment,” Madja said on her way out. The noise of the door shutting behind her was all it took for the hold on your emotions to completely crumble. 

You felt your legs give out as a cry escape from your throat. Cassian darted forward, catching you only just before you hit the ground. He slowly lowered you the rest of the way, going with you to hold you in a tight embrace as sobs racked your body. 

“I-I can’t do this, Cass,” you cried over and over again. “I can’t do this.”

He knew you weren’t just talking about walking.

Every intake of breath reminded you of the heavy weight of your heart in your chest. It was unbearable, all consuming. The heartache, the pain, the feeling of the mating bond still lingering in the background of it all. You wanted to rip your heart out, wanted to scream and scream but all that came out were inaudible words and sobs. 

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured, petting your hair on the back of your head. “I promise you.” 

“My wings, Cass, m-my wings are gone,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Cassian cradled your head in his neck, pulling you tighter against him. His own body was tense and you knew he was holding back his own emotions, trying to be strong for you. “I know, kiddo, I know.” 

“M-my wings,” you cried. “My wings. I-I want them back, Cass. P-please, I want them back!”

“I would cut off my own wings and give them to you if I could, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered, his voice filled with despair. “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t understand this feeling, would never unless he too lost his wings. You remembered when he almost had after protecting Azriel in Hybern from the blast of the Cauldron. Azriel…Just thinking of his name was making you spiral further, choking on your own sobs. 

There had once been a time when Azriel had been the one to save your wings. And now he was part of the reason why you lost them. You weren’t even sure which hurt more at this point. His betrayal or the loss of your wings. 

Both felt so violating. 

A piece of you, of your body, ripped away along with your trust and heart. Your mate sleeping with another female and coming home to you. Looking you in the eyes and keeping that secret from you each and every day. Making love to you knowing he was sharing himself with another behind your back. How were you supposed to move on? 

It didn’t help that you weren’t fully rid of Azriel. The bond was still an unwelcomed presence inside of you, still sang his name–called for him–despite the hurt he had caused you. You wanted to tear it to shreds. 

“Why?” You cried, wrapping your arms around Cassian’s neck to fall into him further. Your brother held you as tight as he could, stroking your hair, whispering words of support in your ear. “Why wasn’t I g-good enough, Cass? W-why wasn’t I enough for him? What is wrong with m-me?”

The guttural wails that came from you caused Cassian to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to keep his own tears at bay. Your chest heaved as you struggled to even breath under the crushing anguish that was consuming you. He held you as you shook, held you as your tears soaked through his shirt, held you as he restrained himself from shooting off to go find Azriel and kill him. 

“There is nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Nothing,” Cassian growled. “Azriel is a fool for losing you. He’s the fuck-up. Not you.”

“He is my mate, Cass, my mate. And he–he did this to me. Why?”

“Because he’s a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to love,” Cassian growled. 

You couldn’t even register his words over the pounding of your own wailing heart. “What did I do to deserve this?”

You felt so violated, so vulnerable, so completely and utterly shattered. The pain of your broken heart seemed to echo in the depths of your very soul. Why hadn’t you been enough for him?

Was Elain just that much better? Was she prettier, smarter, a better female? Could she give him something you couldn’t?

“You didn’t deserve this. You did nothing wrong,” Cassian murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “You are so much better than them, sweetheart.” 

“B-but then why wasn’t I enough?” Your cries met their crescendo, your hands shaking as you clung onto Cassian’s shirt with tight fists. “Why wasn’t I enough, Cass? Why?” 

Your voice was hoarse, your words cracking as you spoke. But there was nothing left to say. 

Nothing left to say at all. 

You weren’t good enough for Azriel, for your own mate. You weren’t good enough to keep his attention. Not good enough to keep his love. 

You were just simply not enough. 

Cassian held you there as you cried and cried, held you as the weight of everything you lost engulfed you. Held you through the raw grief that surged like a tempest within you. Held you until you had cried yourself into a fitful sleep, only then rising to carry you back to your room. 

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As soon as Mor had gotten word about what had happened, she immediately started her journey home from the continent. She had gone to you the minute she landed in Velaris, but Cassian had turned her away because he didn’t want to interrupt your sleep, something you hadn’t gotten much of since the attack.

But that was okay because she had a few things she needed to take care of. 

“Where is she!”

Mor’s shout rang through the entire house, the ground quaking underneath her as she stormed into the dining room where a very morose dinner seemed to be taking place with Rhys, Feyre, Elain and Amren at the table. Rhys shot up from his seat. “Y/n is at the House of Wind with—”

“Not her,” Mor snarled before pointing a finger at Elain, who stared at her wide-eyed. “You.” 

Before anyone could stop her, Mor launched herself forward, grabbing Elain by the hair on the back of her head and slamming her face down on the wooden table she was sitting at. Rhys cursed while Feyre jumped up from her seat, thanking the Gods that Nesta wasn’t here for this. 

Rhys grabbed Feyre by the arm, shaking his head at her. “Some things need to be fought the fae way. Let her learn.” 

Amren leaned back in her chair, not so much as flinching at the display. 

Mor kept her fist wrapped in Elain’s hair, pressing her face against the hardwood as the other girl cried out, blood dripping down her nose.

“That was for Y/n because she’s up there learning how to fucking walk again because of you,” Mor hissed before yanking Elain up by her hair until she was standing. 

Elain cried out for Feyre but her sister just pressed her lips into a thin line, Rhys’s hand still around her arm. Feyre was disappointed in her sister for what she had done but she still bristled as Rhys’s amusement at the scene traveled down their bond.

Mor decked Elain in the face, the sound audible, causing Feyre to flinch. Elain’s head whipped to the side as she dropped to the floor with a loud sob. “And that was for Cassian because he would never lay his hands on a weak, pathetic female but I will. Remember that.” 

Elain’s cries rung out in the room, blood dripping from her now broken nose and a bruise already forming on her cheek. Mor ignored her as she looked to Rhysand.

“Where is the other one?” Her voice was full of anger. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” 

“I don’t know,” Rhys sighed, finally letting go of Feyre. She rushed to Elain’s side, helping her off the floor and out of the room, giving Mor a remorseful look, feeling guilty over what her sister had caused. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He disappeared once Y/n woke up and made it very clear she didn’t wish to see him. I have no idea where he went.”

“That fucking coward,” Mor grumbled. “Why is Elain still here? This is Y/n’s home, not hers. She shouldn’t have to be the one who leaves and you know she will if those two are still around. Cassian would leave with her too—I’m sure of it.”

“I know he would,” Rhys said, sitting back down and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Mor. If Elain wasn’t Feyre’s sister I would’ve had her banished in a second and Azriel…Gods, he’s my brother. I can’t believe he would do something like this. He loves Y/n. I don’t know why he would hurt her like this.” 

“Azriel has always been his worst enemy,” Mor sighed, sitting next to Rhys. “We’ve all tried to help him as much as we could but this just isn’t something we can help him with. Y/n is going to need our support. This could destroy her.” 

“It already has,” Rhys replied. “She might leave our court regardless of whether or not we send Azriel and Elain away. I wouldn’t blame her. I’ve already let her know that if she wants out, I’ll have everything set-up for her.” 

“What of the girl’s mate? The redhead,” Amren piped up, crossing her arms. “Does he know yet? You know how males are. He might call for a blood duel against Azriel.” 

“Lucien has already been informed about what happened,” Rhys spoke. “Cassian has been on a warpath and was all too eager to tell Lucien. I think part of him hoped he would duel Azriel. But Lucien wouldn’t.” 

“So what happens now?” Mor asked. 

Rhys looked at her and she took note of the heavy bags under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. Neither had she. She was certain none of them had. Azriel had caused a giant rift in this family—one felt by them all. 

Rhys held back his tears, clearing his throat.

“I know what was to be done,” he breathed out. “But it’s going to be hard. He was…He was my brother for over five hundred years. Regardless of what he’s done, it’s going to be hard to say goodbye.” 

Mor rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know, Rhys. Nothing about this is going to be easy.”

“He cannot be trusted anymore,” Amren added. “Anyone who could cheat on their mate cannot be trusted. He might as well have spit on the Mother’s face for what he did.”

“I just want to know why. Why would he do this?” 

Mor let out a long breath. “I’m not sure you’ll ever get an answer. I think Azriel, himself, can’t even answer that question.” 

“I failed her, Mor. I knew how dangerous that mission was. I should’ve never given it to her,” the quiet cry shook Rhys’s body. 

“Azriel was supposed to be with her, Rhys,” Mor said. “It’s not your fault. He failed her. This was his doing.” 

But Rhys just shook his head, the tears finally slipping free from both of their eyes. 

“Get it out now, Mor, before you see her,” Rhys choked out. “It’s…hard to see her in the state she’s in. Prepare yourself. We have to be strong for her.” 

“I know,” Mor whispered, wiping at her tears. “I know.” 

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“Hey, kiddo,” Cassian’s voice pulled you from your sleep.

You blinked awake, groaning at the pounding in your head. It took you a second to realize you were in your room. Cassian must’ve carried you here after your breakdown yesterday. 

Cassian was sitting beside you, stroking your hair. “I brought you some breakfast and someone is here to see you.”

It was only then you noticed the other person sitting at the end of your bed. 

“Mor?” Your voice was hoarse, the word barely escaping. “You’re here?”

“I came back as soon as I heard,” Mor said, leaning forward to clutch your hand in hers. “How are you doing, babygirl?” 

Mor had always felt like an older sister to you. Her friendship with your brother had made the two of you close. 

“I’m…I’m not doing good,” you replied, honestly. “I can’t…I don’t know what to do, Mor. I don’t know how to move on from here. Part of me wishes I died in that alleyway. I wish I died the minute my wings were cut off.” 

“I know,” she said, sadly. “I wish I had an answer for you but I don’t. It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to be with you every step of the way.” 

“Come on, why don’t you sit up so you can eat,” Cassian murmured, putting a hand on your back to help you up. 

“I’m not hungry,” you protested.

“You have to eat something, sweetheart,” Cass said gently. “Madja’s orders.”

But you shook your head. You didn’t have an appetite. Everything still hurt so much. 

“Just give her a second, Cass,” Mor murmured. 

Cassian frowned but nodded. He brushed some of your hair away from your face again and the soothing motion started another round of tears. 

“Hey, hey,” Cassian whispered. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Cass! How will I ever be able to show my face again?” you cried. “I will be shamed, spit on, shunned because I lost my wings—because I couldn’t fight for them. I can never return to Illyria. I won’t be able to help train with the girls anymore.” 

“Emerie told me the girls are already awaiting your return. They miss you,” Mor reassured. “Who cares about what the stupid males are going to think? Most of those females have had their freedom of flight taken from them. They would never shun you for what happened.” 

Your eyes fell on the many bouquets of flowers and get well cards on your nightstand. Cassian had been bringing them to you. Your heart ached at the sight. 

“But I failed them, Mor,” you sobbed. “I failed them. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be a warrior and all it took was one male to completely destroy me. I’m worthless to them now. How can I teach them to fight for themselves if I cannot even do that?” 

“You are not worthless,” Cassian said, sternly. “You are more of a fighter than half of those Illyrian males. You continue to fight each day knowing you have to live with the loss of your wings. Most of the males would’ve given up already, sweetheart. You are stronger than you think.” 

“I-I’m not. I’m weak and a failure,” you cried. “I couldn’t protect my wings. Couldn’t keep my mate’s love. Couldn’t…couldn’t–”

Your sobs overtook your words, your entire body shaking. 

“Listen to me, Y/n.” Mor demanded. “You are not weak. You are not a failure. You are a million times better than the two assholes who hurt you. You will survive this. You will survive him. I promise you, Y/n, I promise you.” 

She embraced you, holding you as you broke down into gut-wrenching sobs once again. 

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The air was tense to say the least. Rhys was standing behind his desk, palms pressed flat against the surface as he stared at the two people sitting in front of him. Feyre stood next to him as both a pillar of support and the High Lady. 

Azriel’s eyes were downcast. He hadn’t even looked at Elain since he had been dragged into this office by Mor—a new black eye and a bruised jaw decorating his face. Elain stared and stared at him, her eyes pleading with him to look at her but he ignored her presence. 

Azriel looked rough. He hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, but the most surprising thing was his lack of shadows swarming him. 

“Where are you shadows?” Rhys asked. “I swear, Azriel, if you sent them after Y/n, I will bring Cassian down here to do with you as he pleases.” 

Azriel looked up, shaking his head. “They won’t sing to me anymore. Not since…Not since the accident.” 

It was true. His shadows had hissed at him, recoiled in his presence before they dissipated as if they too had felt his betrayal. They had wailed in agony at the loss of Y/n. They had always skittered away in Elain’s presence, probably the only reason they never yelled at him when he was with her…but it seems this time, they had left for good. 

Despite his curiosity, Rhys decided to drop the subject. This was not the time or place for that discussion. 

“Feyre and I have come to a decision about what must happen due to the results of your actions,” Rhys said, his voice full of authority and resignation. 

“What? But we’ve done nothing wrong!” Elain exclaimed. “I know we shouldn’t have gone behind Y/n’s back but we’re in love!”

“I don’t care,” Rhys snarled, baring his teeth. “I don’t care how much you two claim to be in love! Azriel has caused irreparable damage to his own mate—a member of my court, of my family. And you were complicit in that.” 

“Are we not your family too? Feyre is my sister!”

“And Y/n is mine,” Rhys retorted. “And Cassian’s.”

Elain crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “So we’re being punished for falling in love? It’s not our fault the Cauldron decided to make someone else our mates. It was never our choice.” 

“You’re not being punished for falling in love, if that’s even what we can call this,” Feyre spat out, staring at her sister with disappointment. “You’re being punished for how you handled a sensitive situation. You’re being punished for lying to our whole family and for causing it to be torn apart.”

“You’re not being punished at all,” Rhys snapped. “If you were, both of you would be in a cell in Hewn City and I’d let Cassian decide what your punishment would be considering Y/n would never have the heart to hurt either of you. This is simply the consequence of your own stupid actions.” 

Azriel’s head shot up at the mention of your name. “How is Y/n? Is she doing okay?” 

Feyre went to answer but Rhys shook his head at her. 

“You don’t get the privilege of knowing anything about her at this point, Azriel,” he huffed. 

Azriel stood from his chair in anger. “She is my mate, Rhys.”

“Sit down,” Rhys commanded, his voice rising for the first time since the meeting started. “Funny how now you acknowledge her as a mate but not when you had your tongue down Elain’s throat.” 

“Fuck you, Rhys,” Azriel growled, but sat, unable to fight the power of a High Lord’s order. 

“No fuck you, Azriel! I thought you were my brother! How could you do this to Y/n? To our family? Both of you should be ashamed. You are already getting off easy, don’t make me rethink my choice. Lucien has every right to storm in right now and demand a blood duel against you. And even though it’s not a practice in my court, I’d even let Y/n declare one against Elain.”

Elain’s face paled but Azriel only scoffed in indignation. “As if Feyre would ever let anyone kill one of her sisters.” 

Feyre stepped forward, glaring at the shadowsinger and Elain. “I’m done protecting her. Nesta is done protecting her. We have spent our whole lives taking care of her thinking she was just too soft for this world—too naive and innocent. But I think we’re finally seeing the real you, Elain. And it is time for you to face the consequences of your own actions, make your own way in life.” 

“So what are you going to do? Are you going to force me to live in the House of Wind like you did Nesta?”

“No,” Feyre said, stone faced before looking at Rhys. They had decided together how they would handle this situation.

“You are both hereby banished from the Night Court,” Rhys declared. “I will not tolerate Y/n having to lose her own home after she just lost her wings and we are going to do what's best for her. Lucien has made it clear that you both will not be welcomed in Day either and Helion is standing by his son’s decision. Beyond that, we cannot help you. You will pack your things and leave immediately. If you step one foot in this court after you leave, I will be notified and you will face worse repercussions.” 

“What?” Elain exclaimed. “Feyre, you can’t be serious! Look, I’ll move out of the Riverhouse. We can live in Azriel’s apartment and avoid Y/n.”

“That apartment belongs to Y/n too, you know,” Feyre snapped. “We have already made our decision. We will not be negotiating any terms.” 

“Rhys, come on,” Azriel said. “I will leave but you don’t need to banish Elain too. She did nothing wrong.”

“Elain knew you were a mated male, knew you were together with Y/n. While I agree that what you have done is worse, she still knew what she was doing wasn’t right.” 

“Where are we supposed to go?” Elain cried. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anywhere to go, Feyre. You can’t just toss me out like this.” 

“Azriel has money,” Feyre shrugged. “I guess you’re his problem now.” 

“You know none of the other High Lord’s will want me in their courts, Rhys,” Azriel snarled. “Not after the things I’ve done for you.” 

“Should of thought of that before you betrayed our whole family.” 

“I hear the old Manor is still abandoned in the human lands,” Feyre remarked. “Since Vassa had reclaimed her territory with Jurian at her side and Lucien had moved to Day to be with his father.” 

“We can’t survive there,” Elain sobbed. “Humans hate faeries.” 

“Not my problem, Elain,” Feyre said. “You’re not my problem anymore.” 

“Azriel, do something!” Elain cried, looking at the shadowsinger. 

“What do you expect him to do?” Rhys laughed humorlessly. “He no longer has his title, his place in my court. He has no sway here. You both don’t. You will not change our minds.” 

“Nesta won’t allow this!”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, “is packing up your things as we speak.” 

Elain fell back in her chair, crying. 

“I’d say I wish you two the best, but I don’t,” Rhys said. “You have two hours to sort out whatever you have to before I expect you both to be out of my court. Two hours. Do you understand?” 

“Please,” Elain begged. “Please don’t do this, Feyre.”

But Feyre only shook her head at her sister. “There’s no going back for either of you. Say your goodbyes, sort out your affairs, but you will leave in two hours.” 

Rhys took his leave after that, giving Azriel one last look that was full of disgust, guilt, regret, sadness. One last look at his brother before striding out of that room, never to see or speak to him again. 

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Mor had just left when you heard the flapping of wings approaching your balcony. Thinking it was your brother, you pushed yourself to stand and hobbled over to the balcony doors using the walls of your room for support. You opened the door, expecting to see your brother, but your heart stopped when you came face to face with Azriel. 

Your eyes narrowed and you went to slam the door, but he grabbed it before you could. 

“Please, please just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I will leave, I promise, I just…I just—please.” 

“There is nothing you can say that will make me forgive you, Azriel.”

“I know, baby–”

“Don’t you dare call me that!”

Azriel looked down at his feet. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not here to try to earn your forgiveness, Y/n. I know I fucked up beyond repair. I know I failed you, failed us. Words will never be able to convey how much I regret everything.” 

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe as your legs threatened to give out. You were debating screaming out for Cassian. 

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone that looked to be enchanted. He held it out towards you. 

“I can’t…I can’t hear the shadows anymore,” he murmured. “But I can’t just leave you without some way to contact me. In case you ever change your mind, in case there is ever a chance that we can be together again. You’ll be able to call for me with this.”

“That is never going to happen.”

“Please, just take it,” Azriel begged. “Even if you don’t want me, please. If you’re ever in danger again and need help, you can use it for that too. Just please, take it.” 

When you said nothing, didn’t so much as open your palm so he could place the stone in it, he knelt down and placed it at your feet instead. You stared at him, emotionless. You didn’t want to give him anything. He didn’t deserve your tears or your sadness. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for the way things ended,” Azriel said. “You deserve a better mate than me. If I never…If I never get to see you again after this, I promise I will find you in the next life and the one after that. I will do right by you. I will give us another chance.”

He stared at you, pleading with you to say anything. Anything. Even if you screamed at him, beat him, cried—anything was better than this utter silence. But you didn’t. You merely looked at him like he was nothing to you. Like he was a stranger. 

“Goodbye, Azriel,” you said. “I hope you find happiness in your life. Truly.”

And then you slammed the door shut and walked away. 

And he knew then that your words would haunt him for the rest of his life because he knew he had lost the one real thing that had brought him true happiness forever.

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One Year Later ~ Winter Solstice 

“Get up, you lazy cow!”

The sheets were yanked off your sleeping body, exposing you to the cold morning air. You let out a shriek, cursing at your brother and trying to grab the sheets back.

“What the hell, Cassian!”

“It’s Winter Solstice!”

“It’s also six in the morning,” you retorted, falling back down on your bed. 

“Nope, you’re not going back to sleep,” Cassian said. “It’s time to get up!” 

Before you could even respond, Cassian grabbed you by the ankle and yanked you to the end of the bed. You squealed as he tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, pounding on his back as he raced out of the room.

“Cassian! Let me down, you big brute!” 

But he only laughed at you, carrying you all the way to the kitchen where Nesta was sitting at the counter with a steaming cup of tea. She didn’t so much as blink as he dropped you into the chair next to her, already used to her mate’s antics. 

“Goodmorning, Y/n,” Nesta said, pushing an already prepared cup of tea your way.

“Oh, you are an absolute goddess,” you groaned, greedily accepting the mug. You curled your ice cold fingers around it, relishing in the warmth. 

“Hey! What about me?” Cassian yelled, swinging a wash cloth over his shoulder as he started to make breakfast for the two of you. “I’m the one making you guys food!”

“You’re also the one who woke us up, dingbat,” you scoffed, causing Nesta to snort.

It wasn’t long before Cassian was sliding a plate of pancakes your way. “Eat up. You have a long day ahead of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him but accepted the food, scarfing it down. It was almost hilarious how out of the three of you it was Cassian who cooked the best. 

After breakfast, you retired to your room to get ready to go down to the River House for the real celebrations. Cassian had cryptically told you to wear pants, so you did. You had no idea why until hours later, when you were all lounging in the sitting room after lunch. 

A knock on the front door had you jumping up from your seat. “I’ll get it!” 

No one batted an eye as you raced for the door, pulling it open to see Lucien standing on the doorstep. You let out a noise of excitement, grabbing him in a hug.

“Lucien!” you exclaimed. “You’re here early!” 

A few weeks after the incident, Lucien had sent you a letter asking how you were faring and offering you support. He became a lifeline while you had dealt with the aftermath of saying goodbye to your mate and healing. You both leaned on each other during that time because you were simply the only two who understood the pain of having a mate who fell in love with another. 

“Happy Winter Solstice,” he said as you pulled away and opened the door wider so he could enter. “I’m actually here to retrieve you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Is everything ready?” 

Your brother’s voice came from behind you and you whipped your head around to stare at him. He was wearing his flying leathers now only confusing you further. 

“Yes,” Lucien nodded. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, suspiciously. 

No one else followed Cassian out. Not even Nesta. You frowned as he shook Lucien’s hand, giving him a friendly whack on the back. 

“You’ll see,” your brother said with a grin. “Lucien is going to winnow us somewhere, kiddo, to your solstice gift.”

You looked between them with narrowed eyes but accepted Lucien’s outstretched hand. His grin was the last thing you saw before you were pulled away in a flurry of wind. A second later, you appeared in the middle of a clearing. 

The tall green grass, the slightly warm breeze, the lack of snow, told you that you were in the Spring Court. You whirled to face your brother who let out a sneeze as soon as he got his bearings. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“So, you know how when Feyre was brought back she was given a drop of power from every High Lord?” Cassian asked. 

You nodded, not understanding where this was going. Your hand slipped into your pocket, around a stone that was always kept there. The one Azriel had left you. You had never used it but for some reason, had never parted with it either. At some point, you had started holding it whenever you felt nervous or fell back into the heartache you had experienced last year. 

“Well, of course she inherited part of Tamlin’s shapeshifting powers. And we thought maybe she could shapeshift others the way he does, but after numerous tries, unfortunately it seems as though the sliver of power she received only allows her to transform herself.” 

“It was not fun being the guinea pig for those test runs,” Lucien laughed. “When Feyre was unable to do it, we had to turn to someone else.” 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me? Or my solstice gift?” 

Before either of them could respond, a noise came from the shrubbery in the distance. Tamlin’s beast form pounced out from it, striding towards you. You gasped and backed away, right into your brother’s chest. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “He’s here as a favor to Lucien.”

“And Feyre and Rhys approved this?” you whispered up to him. 

He nodded his assurance.

You let out another gasp as Tamlin shifted back into his fae form. He looked well, better than the last time you had seen him at least. He seemed to have regained some weight and gotten a haircut. You knew he was still in the process of recovering his court. You wondered what sort of strings Lucien had to pull to get him to willingly let you and Cassian come here considering his history with your rulers.

He gave you and Cassian a polite, but bland, greeting which you reciprocated.

“Are any of you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

“Tam is going to help you shapeshift,” Lucien explained. “If you will allow him.”

“Shapeshift? But why would I–”

It clicked in your head, what they were implying, why they had brought you to this large clearing. You whipped around to look up at your brother who seemed to be holding back tears. He gave you a nod, already knowing what you were asking.

“W-wings,” you choked out. “He can give me wings.” 

“It won’t last forever,” Lucien said. “But yes, he can give you wings.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks and you lurched towards Lucien, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. You…you were going to have wings. You were going to be able to fly!

You didn’t care that it wouldn’t last forever. Just the chance to fly once more was a gift in itself.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his ear. “Thank you.” 

Lucien laughed, hugging you back before you slowly pulled away from him. You looked over your shoulder at your brother. “This was your idea?”

Cassian shook his head. “As much as I wish I could claim this, it was actually Lucien who thought of this first. I’m just here to supervise–and to offer you a flying partner if you’ll have me.” 

You smiled up at Lucien, unbelievably touched at the thoughtfulness. Lucien wiped your tears from your face, gently, before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

You nodded with enthusiasm.

Lucien gestured at Tamlin to come closer.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said to him with a small bow of the head. 

“I once watched a faerie die after losing his wings,” Tamlin murmured. “Its…Its a horrific crime. One my family has a history with. I’d like this to be my first step towards making amends for their mistakes.” 

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just gave him a grateful nod of the head. He focused intently on you and you felt his magic surround you. It felt nice, like a crisp Spring breeze. And then you felt a familiar weight on your back. You stumbled for a second, readjusting to how it used to feel having wings. But it surprisingly came back to you quite easily.  

You looked at them over your shoulder, stretching them out and flapping them a few times. They looked just like your brother’s and you realized Tamlin must’ve used him as a guide. You grinned, facing Cassian. 

“Race you towards the end of the clearing,” you shouted before taking off into the sky. 

Your brother’s laughter followed after you as he too launched into the sky. 

+++

Hours after night had fallen, you found yourself behind the River House, leaning on the railing to watch the slow moving river. Your wings had since dissipated, but you hadn’t felt this light in a long time. Being able to fly today had healed you in some way.

You had spent a lot of time thinking while you flew amongst the clouds. Thinking of who you used to be. Sometimes you missed that girl, sometimes you wished more than anything to be her again. 

But you hadn’t felt that today…

Today, you had felt like a new person. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. And perhaps in a way, you were. 

Life had never been predictable. Your whole life had been filled with tragedy and sorrow, challenges and hard work, happiness and joy, regret and insecurities. You had gone through so much, so much, but somehow, you were always able to come out on the other side.

It wasn’t easy. It involved many days of despair, awful thoughts, and soulless recovery. You had to fight to get up sometimes, had to fight just to feel something. Sometimes it seemed like you’d conquer one mountain only to be faced with another. 

If it wasn’t for your brother, you were certain you would’ve fallen back a dozen times. But he had been your pillar of strength, your rock to rest against when things got too hard. And Mor and Rhys had been there to help lift you back up. 

You had gained new friends, found a new life for yourself. Metamorphosed into a new person. 

That girl from a year ago? 

Well, you were finally going to let her die. 

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the stone Azriel had left you. You ran your thumb over its smooth surface. It didn’t hurt as much to look at it now, not like it had before. Before it had represented so many things.

The loss of love, the grief of losing your wings, the reminder that he had betrayed you. 

But now…now it just looked like a rock. 

You gripped it in your fist and tossed it into the Sidra, watching as it hit the water’s surface with a small thud before sinking down into the black water. Down and down, until it would find its way to the bottom. Perhaps then it would drift out into the sea. 

You heard the backdoor to the house open.

“Hey, Y/n, come on!” Mor shouted out to you. “We’re going to Ritas!” 

You took one last look at where the rock had disappeared in the water, letting out a long breath. 

“Goodbye,” you whispered into the cold air. “I’ll see you in our next lifetime. Maybe then you’ll deserve me.” 

With a new weight lifted off your shoulders, you turned and marched back to your new beginning. 

[confused-pyramid]

You're the Only One Who Knows to Slow it Down | s5

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: 16.2k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, major character death, gun violence, drinking, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 5x01, 5x02, 5x06, 5x09, 5x10, and 5x21

a/n: This season was really hard to write at points (I think we all know which eps I'm talking about lol) but I'm looking forward to brighter days ahead:') Also we get some more tangible tension so yay! Title is from Look After You by The Fray

series masterlist

"We're not working a case," Derek states matter-of-factly when you arrive at the crime scene. You were woken up early the next morning after getting back from Canada, and on less than four hours of sleep, your brain is struggling to function.

"Why call us to a crime scene?" you ask, walking up to the front door of the house with the rest of the team.

He shrugs. "I was hoping you knew."

You look around, trying to find Aaron, but he's nowhere in sight. He had promised to put in the team request for a few days of leave, but you presume the call came in before he got a chance to do so.

The local police let you survey the scene, explaining that a Dr. Barton got a threatening letter that someone would be murdered everyday that he didn't give up his own son. Once you're done inspecting the body, you turn to JJ, lowering your voice. "Where's Hotch?"

"He's not answering his cell," she says, her lips thinning. "I assume it's on vibrate."

You nod. "I'll try him again."

You step away from the group and click his number in your speed dial, listening to the rings until it reaches his voicemail. It's unlike him to keep his phone on silent, but you know the previous night was tough on everyone. "Hey, it's me." You tell him the address you're heading to for the case, before turning towards the car and lowering your voice. "I know you're probably just asleep, but I don't know...I have that weird feeling again that you know I get...so please just call me back." You take a deep breath, hoping you're being overdramatic, and that you'll see him pull up in a few minutes. "See you soon."

When you get to Dr. Barton's house, he still hasn't called you back. You sit with the doctor, Prentiss, and Reid in his living room, going through his recent patient files, while Morgan, JJ, and Rossi head to the school to find his son.

"Something set this guy off," Emily explains as you start poring over the records. "Odds are it's in your files."

You manage to get through about a dozen before Dr. Barton stands up with a sigh. "My son is leaving school in five hours. There's no way we can get through all of these patients in time."

You check your phone again, mostly to see the time, but you also note that there aren't any new calls or messages. "He's right. We need more eyes on this. I can get Hotch and be back in a half hour."

"Keep us updated," Emily says, nodding at you. Concern flashes across her eyes for a millisecond, and you're sure it reflects the look in yours.

The drive to his apartment doesn't take long, and you stalk down the hall, all the way to the end, until you find his door. There's no answer the first time you knock, so you reach for the spare key he gave you, but before you can use it, you realize the door is already unlocked.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you pull your gun out, using it to push open the door carefully. "Aaron? Aaron, it's me."

When the door is ajar, the sight before you almost makes you drop your gun. There's a large bullet hole in the far wall, along with a patch of drying blood and bits of broken glass on the floor. His phone is on the ground as well, and his gun and holster are lying on his dining table.

You crouch down on your heels, trying to calm your breathing, as you take in your surroundings. You need to think logically about this, or you'll be no help at all.

A few things come to you as your mind clears.

His car is still outside.

No blood splatter around the bullet hole.

No drag marks.

You dig your hand around your back pocket and pull out your phone, dialing Garcia as fast as you can. "Overtime shift, Penelope speaking."

Her chipper voice usually calms you down, but right now you need to cut to the chase. "Garcia, it's me. Something's happened to Hotch. You need to get an APB out on him."

Her breath stutters. "What do you mean, something?"

"There's blood on the floor," you whisper, willing your voice not to crack as your throat thickens with tears. "There's also a bullet hole in the wall, probably a .44."

"I'll send the whole team," she says before you cut her off.

"No, don't call the team. They need to finish the case we were assigned. Just tell Emily, since she's expecting me back, but send every other agent in the vicinity."

"On it."

The line clicks off and you release your breath, before standing up again. While you wait for the crime scene techs, you poke around his things in the main area, trying to see if anything has been taken or moved. The only thing you notice before they arrive is that a page has been ripped from his address book.

"Agent L/N?" a voice calls from the doorway.

You lift your hand. "Yeah, in here."

They come inside and get to work immediately, so you step out, just in time for Garcia to call you back. "Y/N, I checked local hospitals for his name, and I didn't find anything at first, but then one of them told me something really strange."

"Garcia," you whisper through gritted teeth. You love her, but she needs to hurry up before you explode. "What was it?"

"Someone dropped off a John Doe at St. Sebastian hospital, and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."

Your vision turns black for a moment. He's back. Foyet's back.

You're rushing to your car before she has a chance to hang up.

***

He's still under anesthesia when you arrive at the hospital. He was stabbed nine times. That's what the nurse told you when you flashed your credentials and asked for any information she could give you.

Now, you're standing in his doorway, trying to build up the nerve to approach his sleeping form. Even with all of the bandages covering his arms and abdomen, he somehow looks peaceful. It's been so long since you've seen his brow unfurrowed, his forehead smooth, without the tension that invades his daily life.

After a few minutes, you take a step inside, then another, and suddenly you're right beside him, reaching out to clutch his hand over the bedsheet.

His skin is cold, and you wrap both hands around his to warm it up, if even by just a little. He's usually a furnace, generating his own heat even when it's freezing out, but whenever he gets hurt, his hands turn to ice.

After a minute, your phone buzzes in your pocket and you let him go to answer it. It's just Emily telling you that she's at the hospital with the rest of the team, and you walk out into the hall to talk to them.

Rossi is the first to reach you. He squeezes you into a hug before getting back to business. "You sure it was Foyet?"

"He had Morgan's credentials," you nod, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck. Derek glances at you then, and you press your lips together with a nod.

"Did they catch him on the security cam?"

"You could see him dropping Hotch off," you explain, trying to keep your voice steady, "but the camera's only on the entrance, so I have no idea what direction he went once he left the hospital."

Emily shakes her head. "It doesn't make sense for him to have brought Hotch to the E.R."

The nurse from earlier approaches you then, pulling your attention. "Agents, he's waking up."

You shuffle inside and take his hand again as everyone walks in.

His voice is soft when he opens his eyes. "Where am I?"

"In the hospital," Emily whispers, taking care to be mindful of her volume.

He shuts his eyes for a beat. "How did I get here?"

"Foyet drove you." Rossi doesn't frown often, but the lines of his face are clearer than ever. "Can you remember what happened?"

Hotch shakes his head, closing his eyes. "What did he take? The Reaper always takes something from his victims."

"There was an address page missing from your day planner," you whisper, finally finding your voice. "In the B's."

His eyes snap open and he tries to lift his head from the pillow, but he can only wince. "Where are my clothes?"

Emily hands him a plastic bag filled with his belongings, and he ruffles through them, until he finds his wallet. When he opens it, a photograph is stuffed inside, covered in blood spatter. Haley and Jack.

Your breath catches, and he seems to realize what it means at the same moment you do. "Haley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands."

You squeeze his hand involuntarily, and he exhales sharply. "He knows where they live."

***

When the rest of the team rushes off to his old house, you stay with him at the hospital. You get a call soon from JJ that Haley and Jack are just fine, and you are finally able to breathe easy for the first time all day.

"They're okay," you tell him when you hang up the phone. "That was JJ. She said Haley was home and Jack's at a playdate, but Morgan is going to pick him up right now."

He nods slowly, his body relaxing into the bed. "Good. That's good."

"It is," you say, eyeing his movements. It's still enormously difficult to look at him like this, but you won't be able to move forward if you don't know the truth. "Aaron, what happened? What did he do?"

"I don't remember all of it," he says slowly, clearly taking his time with each word. There's no rush, and he knows it. Even if it takes him hours to get it all out, you'll still be here. "I remember him being there when I got home, after I dropped you off. He fired off a shot into the wall, and then I tried to tackle him, but..."

He trails off, and you squeeze his hand tighter, as though trying to tether him to the present moment. After a few shallow breaths, he continues. "I tried to tackle him, and I got him on the ground, but then he overpowered me." You can almost see it in your mind. The picture he's painting as he weaves over the details with startling clarity. "The first one hurt the most."

The first stab. Your eyes close for a beat, like you're trying to hide from his words. The first of nine.

"I don't remember much after that." You can tell he's leaving things out, but you also don't know if you'll be able to handle it if he does tell you everything.

"That's okay," you whisper as his eyes droop down. "You should rest."

He nods slowly as the exhaustion takes over and his grip loosens around your hand as he falls asleep.

You wait by his side for about a half hour, until you spot a familiar face (with a new haircut) dawdling in the hallway.

You stand up in a fervor. "Oh, thank god."

You rush over to Haley and pull her into a hug, which she returns just as forcefully. "JJ called us when she found you, but it's still really good to see your face."

"It's good to see you too," she says with an exhale before letting you go. You look down and see Jack standing next to her, his mouth downturned as his fingers twiddle at his sides. "Do you mind staying with him while I go talk to Aaron?"

You turn around and see that he's blinking his eyes open again. "Not at all." You take Jack's hand with a smile and lead him down the hall.

"I'm sorry if the big men scared you," you tell him once you find a few seats in the waiting area. "I know it was all very sudden."

To your surprise, his face breaks out into a big grin. "Uncle Derek let me turn on the siren!"

"Wow!" you smile, feeling warm laughter echo around your chest. "That sounds super fun."

He nods ecstatically, before leaning his head over to look back up the hall. "Can I see Daddy now?"

Your smile falls as fast as it appeared and you take his hand again, pressing his fingers between yours. "Soon, baby, soon."

***

He wakes up to the sound of faint talking. He can vaguely see you hugging someone, and he blinks a few times to clear his vision as you disappear down the hall.

"How do you feel?" Haley asks as she walks into his hospital room. She doesn't come further than the foot of the bed, but he's just glad to see her here, in one piece.

He clears his throat quietly. "I'm gonna be okay." She doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't want to focus on him right now. "Did they explain to you what's happening?"

She nods slowly, looking at him for another moment. "They said the Marshal's service is taking us straight from here and putting us into protective custody."

She looks upset, and it takes him back to the lowest moments of their relationship. "Haley, I'm sorry."

She looks down and the familiar urge to comfort her returns, even while lying in a hospital bed. "Do you know where they're gonna take us?"

"No, I don't." He tries to catch her eye but she won't look at him. "And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

She finally looks at him then, and her sadness is tinged with exasperation. "Jack has school. He has friends. I have a job now."

He doesn't know what else to say but: "I know. I'm sorry." He hopes he's conveying what he means, but it doesn't feel like enough. "We will catch him, and you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you."

She nods minutely, and he takes the small comfort. "Are you sure that we're in danger?"

"Yes." There's little else he's been more sure of.

"And what about you?" she asks, her voice small. "Are you gonna be safe?"

He doesn't want to worry her, but he also doesn't want to lie. "He wants to see me suffer. Knowing that my son is out there and that I can't see him is better than killing me."

Her brow pinches and she pushes her short hair back from her forehead. "Jack wants to come in."

He tries to argue at first, not because he doesn't want to see him, but because it will only make it harder to let him go again, but eventually she convinces him to accede.

She leaves to go get him, and he leans back on the pillows, trying not to let himself sink inside.

~

Haley finds you in the waiting area, with Jack sitting on your lap, in the middle of a game of I Spy.

"Is he ready for him?" you whisper when you see her approach. She nods and you lift Jack off your lap and set him on his feet. "Off you go, buddy. Time to see Daddy."

"Yay!" he cheers before racing down the hall, you and Haley right behind him. She steers him into the correct room, and he jumps onto the bed before either of you can stop him.

There's a quiet chorus of 'be careful's before he grunts, "Don't worry. It's okay. The doctors made sure that I'm completely fine." He turns to the small boy with a smile you haven't seen in days. "Did Mommy tell you that you two are gonna take a trip?"

Jack nods once, moving his chin up and down dramatically. "Yeah."

"So I'm not gonna see you for a while."

Jack frowns. "Why?" The word sounds so small out of his mouth, and your heart cracks in your chest.

"Well, think about it like when Daddy goes away for work. Only this time you and Mommy get to go someplace."

Jack ponders this for a few seconds, before crawling up again and wrapping his arms around his dad's neck. "Are you okay?"

"I'm very proud of you." It's a father's answer. The kind of response that doesn't tell the truth, but hides the pain with love. "Every single day. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

Haley says another goodbye and grabs Jack's hand before leading him out of the room. She gives you another hug, squeezing extra tight for the last second. "It's not his fault."

"Of course it isn't," you whisper, letting her pull back.

"No," she whispers, closing her eyes. "I mean, don't let him blame himself for this."

He's one of the most stoic people you know, but he can also be so transparent sometimes. "I won't. I'll be here."

"He needs you," she says with a sad smile. "He's always needed you, but he especially needs you now."

She doesn't let you respond before she's tugging Jack down the hall. You watch as she exits the side door of the wing, and only turn back when you can't see her anymore. She's one of your longest friends, and you won't be able to see her or her son for god knows how long.

When you step back into the room, you stand at the foot of his bed, trying to gauge what he needs from you, but then you see his expression. Tears prick the corners of his eyes and his mouth twists as you rush forward and grab his hand, squeezing it between yours with the grip of someone holding onto a life preserver.

"They'll be okay," you whisper, trying to keep your own tears back. "We'll get through this."

He nods, his eyes still shining. You move to sit in the chair beside him, but he tugs you back, pulling you closer. You understand the desperate look in his eyes, the need for connection and comfort from someone you care about that you've seen in yourself on so many occasions.

Slipping your shoes off, you tuck the sheet into his side and carefully climb onto the little hospital bed, taking care to avoid any of the wires and tubes. Once you're sure you're not pulling on anything, you curl up beside him and wrap yourself around his arm. His skin is warmer than it was earlier, and you take solace in the fact that he's going to be okay. Maybe not now, but he will be.

Your breaths synchronize with his and you listen to the beeping of the heart monitor as your own heart rate calms down. There's a feeling tugging at your spine, filling you up and threatening to spill over, but you shove it down, knowing it will be too much right now. You don't have the words to describe the emotions circulating through your brain, so you stick with what you know. "I love you." It's quiet, barely a whisper, but you know he can hear you. "Thank you for staying alive."

"You're welcome," he whispers back, his voice barely audible over the monitor. "I love you too."

***

You leave the hospital the next morning with a plan. He's still asleep when you wake up, so you get up carefully and thank the nurses one more time before heading out.

You make two stops on the way to his apartment, and this time, you use your spare key to unlock the front door. The crime scene crew cleaned the blood off the floor, and you told Rossi to get them to spackle the hole in the wall, for at least a temporary fix, but there's still an air about the place. It was just starting to feel like his home, and now it's soiled, once again.

You shut the door behind you and drop your bags to the ground, surveying the place one last time for any damage or mess you missed earlier. When everything seems fine, you get to work.

An hour later, you slump back against the wall and toss the packet of instructions to the ground. In front of you is a freshly installed security system, with a door proximity sensor and keypad for when he leaves the house in a hurry.

You can already hear the arguments coming, but you don't care anymore. You won't be able to sleep knowing he's in here, all alone, without anything to keep Foyet from coming back and finishing the job.

For someone who has as little of a technical background as you do, you're impressed with how quickly you were able to get the system running, and you test it a couple of times, turning it on and off and checking the doors, before you finally pull his door closed and lock it behind you.

***

The doctors don't release him until the end of the week, but once he's able to walk again, he calls you to get him from the hospital. By the time he signs his discharge papers and makes the phone call, you're already almost there, and as much as he hates putting you out on a weekend, he can't help the satisfaction that rumbles through him.

The drive to his apartment is mostly silent, with him just trying to stay still as you take the turns carefully, and drive five under the speed limit. When you arrive, you hold the bag of salves and ointments for him as you take his arm, helping him down the hall and to his front door.

He moves to grab his key, but you stop him with a forceful "Wait!"

"I can unlock my own door," he grumbles, but you just shake your head, taking the key from him and turning it slowly in the lock. The moment it swings open, a loud beeping fills the air, and you rush forward to type something into the keypad by his door. Wait...keypad? "When did tha-"

"Before you argue," you jump in, clearly anticipating his disgruntlement, "it's for me, okay."

He raises an eyebrow and you glare at him, but there's no effort behind it. "I mean, it's obviously for you, but still...it's for my peace of mind too."

You're rambling makes him crack a smile for the first time in days, and he nods slowly. "Okay."

Your mouth snaps shut and you look at him with a meek smile. "Okay."

You help him get settled on the couch, and he waits there as you scrounge up some food from the kitchen. He's not sure he has anything perishable, but you manage to put together a comforting bowl of pasta with jarred tomato sauce that makes him feel a little more at home.

As the evening turns to night, he catches himself glancing at his watch more often than not, and eventually you catch on too.

"Is it time?" you ask, your voice gentle.

After a breath, he nods, and you reach across the coffee table to grab his bag of supplies from the doctor. You lay the salve and extra gauze on the table, and wait for him to make the next move, a decision he accepts gratefully.

He's been injured before. He knows how painful it is to sanitize a wound, and especially one as deep and grotesque as his. He just needs a few moments to accept the fact that he's...scared.

"I can do it," he says once he's ready, before reaching for the salve. The simple motion makes him wince and you jump in right away, grabbing it for him and undoing the top.

"Let me," you whisper, your words somewhere between a statement and a question. "Please."

He can already feel his stitches pulling, just from the simple act of swiveling his body to face you, so he gives in with a quick nod.

He doesn't look at you as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. He's not embarrassed - you've never pitied him, even at his lowest moments - but he needs the semblance of privacy as he exposes his injuries to the open air.

The air feels cold as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and you get to work immediately, peeling back the old layer of gauze as slowly as you can. The sections directly over his wounds stick slightly, and he grits his teeth against the pain as you gently tug them free, making sure to avoid pulling his stitches.

"Do you want a break?" you ask once the gauze has been fully removed. He shakes his head, needing this to be over as soon as possible, but when he meets your eyes, he sees them welling up with tears.

He glances down at his bare torso, his eyes darting over the jagged scars ranging from his stomach to his collarbone. Your breath stutters as you take it in with him, and he looks at you. "He made sure we'd match."

He sees you rapidly blinking away the tears that rush forward, and he wants to comfort you somehow, but he doesn't know what to do. You help him lean back on the armrest, so you can apply the salve around each of his injuries, and as your fingers press into his skin, he can't help but be reminded of his childhood. The pressure of your hands as you wrapped him with bandages, the warmth of your breath when you leaned in to inspect your work.

It's usually a sad memory when he thinks back to his childhood, but with you, it was always good. He watches as you slowly tape the new layer of gauze around his abdomen, and even as tears slide down your cheeks, the way you look at him doesn't change.

"All done," you whisper after pressing on the final pieces of tape. "How do you feel?"

Anxious. Terrified. Lonely. Guilty. "Good. Thank you."

***

"Hey, it's Emily."

"What's up, Em?" you say, your phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you hop around, trying to get your shoes on before work.

"How was your weekend?"

You pause. "Fine?" The question isn't out of the ordinary, you're just not sure why she called to ask you that when she's going to be seeing you in person in about twenty minutes. "How was yours?"

"Oh, you know." She sounds distracted, and you feel a smile pull at your lips as you realize she's avoiding something.

"Em...is there a reason you called? You know, given that we're both on our way to the same place."

She clears her throat, and you hear the indecision in her voice, even over the phone. "I know this is kind of a weird question, but would you mind if I picked up Hotch for work this morning. I left late last night, so JJ was able to brief me early, and I figured he could use a headstart."

You stop your movements, straightening up and lifting your hand to your cell. It's not at all what you were expecting her to say, but that's not all you're confused about. "Yeah, of course. You don't have to ask me first, though. We're all teammates."

She makes an little noise that you don't recognize. "Yeah...but you two are different."

You don't know what to say to that, so you just wait for her to keep going. Emily was never very good at uncomfortable silences, so after a few moments, she's back. "Anyway...I'll grab Hotch and see you in 30?"

You try to hide your grin, even though no one can see you. "Sounds like it."

"Bye."

The phone clicks off, and you tuck it back into your pocket, still smiling. You're already in a better mood than normal, because after 34 days of medical leave, Aaron comes back to work today.

You finish clasping your shoe and head out the door, more relaxed this time. With Emily picking up Aaron, you're not in a rush anymore. You take the drive at a leisurely pace, and when you arrive at the office, you run into Spencer by the front of the building.

"Wait up!" you call out, jogging over to him before he gets in the elevator. "Let me get that." You slide the strap of his book bag off his shoulder and sling it onto yours. He nods in thanks and tucks his crutch under his arm as he presses the button for your floor.

"I thought I'd be used to the crutches by now, but I keep tripping over everything." You scrunch your brow with amusement as he frowns down at his leg. "The doctors say it's healing well, though."

The elevator doors open and you step in front of him to get the door across the hall. "Does it hurt?"

He shrugs. "It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time."

The statement isn't exactly comical, but his deadpan tone makes you snort as you hold the door, and he smiles as he passes by you. You follow him to Garcia's lair, and she perks up upon seeing the both of you.

"My babies," she grins, pulling out a chair for Spencer. "Sit, sit."

You let out a laugh as you place his bag on the floor next to him. "I'm older than you."

"Who's counting?" she throws back, typing something furiously into her computer. She turns around a moment later, just in time to swat Spencer's hand away from the tin of cookies sitting on her table. "No, no, no."

"What?" he complains, gaping at her.

She swats him again, before pulling the tin away from him. "Get away, you. These are for Hotch."

"Butterscotch?" you ask, glancing down at the box. His preference for butterscotch cookies was something you used to tease him about when you were kids. Butterscotch Hotch.

Penelope nods and lifts the edge of the lid, implicitly offering you a cookie. When you take one, Spencer throws his hands up into the air. "Why does she get one? I get shot in the leg and I still don't get any cookies."

You laugh and break off half of your cookie, which he takes from you the moment it's in your palm. He stuffs the entire thing into his mouth, not bothering to swallow it before he pipes up again. "You know he's gonna hate the attention."

"It's cookies," Garcia pouts, "not cake."

Spencer shrugs. "He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway."

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to."

You don't know how to weigh in to this discussion, mostly because you know more about how he's feeling than they do, but also because the idea of speculating on his recovery without him here feels like a betrayal.

"What do you think?"

You look up and realize that Spencer was directing this question to you. Swallowing down the last bit of your cookie, you cough once to clear your throat. "I think he's been through a lot, but sometimes coming back to work is the best way to take your mind off of things. Foyet was in his home. I don't think staring at the same walls that used to have bullet holes in them is exactly healthy either."

Spencer and Penelope both stare at you for a moment, before nodding and looking down. They remind you of two children who have just been reprimanded, and you smile to soften the sentiment. "I love you guys for caring about this, but we just have to trust that he's okay."

"Yeah," Penelope nods, reaching forward to squeeze your hand. "Are you okay? This can't have been easy for you, either."

"I'm fine," you say too quickly. "Nothing happened to me." It's not a lie, exactly. You weren't the one who was stabbed. Nine times. "I've just been keeping him company after work, and helping with some of his post-hospital care checklist."

"He's lucky to have you," Penelope says softly, to which Spencer nods.

"He was great too after I got shot," you add, feeling oddly defensive of your friendship. "He stayed with me for a long time when my dad was gone."

She smiles at you sadly, before holding the tin out for you. "Want another cookie?"

You let out a weak laugh as Spencer chuffs behind you, and you shake your head. "No thanks."

"Do you think he'll like them?" Her voice sounds earnest, and you nod, knowing what it's like to want so desperately to understand someone who's as closed off as he seems at times.

"Spence, Y/N, there you guys are."

You turn around to see JJ, her face lined with tension. "Are you ready for us?"

She nods. "Grab your go bag."

***

He's been erratic all day. When he snapped at Garcia earlier for missing the antipsychotics link, you wanted to throttle him, especially when you remembered the cookies she had waiting for him in her office.

The thought that maybe Spencer was right keeps flashing through your mind as you watch him get frustrated with everyone, including himself. When you all arrive at the Darrin Call's father's house, where he and a young boy he kidnapped are waiting, Aaron instructs Emily to speak with the lieutenant on scene to figure out what you're dealing with.

"The kid's in there," you hear him say, "We've got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. Call needs a distraction. He's focused on the old man."

Emily glances back at the house as she ties her hair back. "For now. But we're gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out."

"I've got a team in the back and one on the way. We're going to infiltrate."

"You do that and someone else dies."

The man just shrugs. "Either Call or a child murderer...flip a coin."

"It doesn't have to end like that." You can see how hard she's trying to make the lieutenant understand, but sometimes the locals just don't listen. "We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die."

There's movement behind you and you turn around at the last second as Aaron stalks past you and towards the house.

"Hotch," you call out, but he doesn't look back. "Aaron. Aaron!"

He's almost at the front door, and your feet start moving without you realizing it. You make it within a few feet of the front gate before two pairs of arms seize you from behind, halting your momentum.

"Let him go," Dave whispers as he and Derek release you. "We have to trust him."

"He's not thinking straight," you grit out, unable to tear your eyes away from the closed door as you step forward again. He wasn't wearing his vest, and you can't remember if you saw his gun in his holster. You close your eyes, wracking your brain. Think, goddamnit.

Derek grabs you again as you try to make a break for it, anticipating your movements before you even know what you're doing. "Rossi's right. We have to trust him. We can't help him if we rush inside now."

"We can't help him out here either!" Your voice sounds frenzied in your ears, but he doesn't loosen his grip, even as you try to shove him off of you.

"You know we're right." He looks at you sternly, and your resolve diminishes as reason starts to set in. "Going inside will only make it worse."

Emily comes up from behind you and takes your arm, leading you back to the street in front of the house. You back up, but you don't turn around, ready to rush in the moment anything changes.

"What's he doing?" she asks Derek, her voice quiet, like she doesn't want you to hear.

"Stalling," he says simply. "He's got nothing to lose."

Your breath catches and you lift your hand to your chest, clutching the top of your vest like it's a lifeline. You want to scream at them, scream that he has everything to lose. He has a son, and an ex-wife who loves him, and he has you.

"You got the shot?"

"Negative."

He suddenly appears in the front of the door, but you can tell he's angling his body to block the visual of the shot. What is he doing?

The door opens for a split second, and the little boy runs down the porch and into the arms of one of the SWAT members. It shuts as fast as it opened up, and you only manage to see his face for a moment before he disappears into the house again.

For a minute, there's only silence, until the air is pierced with the sound of three gunshots, one after the other. Your body visibly flinches and you throw yourself forward and over the gate, pulling out your gun at the last moment as you breach the front door.

When you storm into the living room, Aaron is putting cuffs on Darrin. The father is dead in his recliner at the center of the room.

"What happened?" Dave asks from behind you.

He purses his lips. "I couldn't stop him." It's then that he finally looks up at you, but all you can do is glare. You don't know if you've ever been angrier in your life, and definitely not at him.

His brow dips with a mix of confusion and remorse, but you just stuff your gun back in its holster, spin around, and stalk out of the house. The fresh air outside feels like a welcome respite from the emotions swirling around inside of you, and you turn your face to the sky as your brain fires off millions of questions at once.

When did he get so reckless?

Is this all because of Foyet? The need to feel like he's getting something done, with his family on lockdown?

He comes out of the house then, and you're practically shaking from the relief that he is okay, but the anger isn't fading. You can feel it flooding your veins with each breath you take.

He hands Call off and approaches you slowly, stopping in front of you with a look you don't recognize.

"This is the job," he says simply, his voice almost cold. "You know what you signed up for."

"I know what I signed up for?" Your face twists with disbelief and you look at him with contempt. "Fuck you, Hotch." His face drops slightly and it only feeds your fight. You know him better than anyone else in this world, and that also means you know exactly how far you can push him until he cracks.

"This is what we do." His voice is tight, and you see your anger reflected in his eyes. "You knew that when you joined the team."

Emily and Dave exit the house, and you can feel their eyes flickering over to you, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.

"No," you grit out, shaking your head. "You don't get to be angry with me. You don't get to say that to me."

He looks at you for a beat before his face falls and you see all the fight leave him. He sighs, his brow pinching. "You're right."

You can practically see the war going on inside his head. The battle between fear and action, where there are no winners.

You nod as you look down at the ground, and he reaches forward to take your hand. He squeezes it tightly, before lifting it to his chest. "Y/N." I love you, I'm sorry.

You nod. "I know." I'm sorry too.

***

You've been looking at the text JJ sent you for the better part of an hour. Something's going on. Strauss was in Hotch's office and it looked bad.

You're reminded of his suspension and the two long weeks you worked here without him, and you internally resolve that it won't be happening again if you have any say at all.

The next morning, you're one of the last people to arrive, and you walk into a conversation that Spencer is having with Emily at his desk.

"You're not gonna believe this," he says, turning to you and lifting his hands dramatically. "Some moron just posted a blog called 'What would Carl Sagan do?' and it's completely illogical."

"L/N, what did I miss?"

You spin around to see Derek strutting into the bullpen, his phone held up in his hand.

"What do you mean?" you ask with a frown.

He looks at you expectantly, and you start to feel like you're on the outside of something you should know. "All the emails from Hotch..."

You yank your phone from your pocket and refresh your email. "I don't have any new ones."

"Me neither," Reid chimes in from next to you.

Derek doesn't wait another moment before he's barreling past you and up the stairs to Aaron's office.

"What was that about?" Spencer asks, a confused look on his face.

"I don't know," you say honestly, "but I think we're gonna find out soon."

~

"You wanted to see me?"

He nods and you step into his office, shutting the door behind you. Ever since his private conversation with Derek this morning, you've been obnoxiously curious about what's been going on with the team, but you also know when not to overstep your boundaries.

"Take a seat." He beckons to the couch on the far wall, and he sits down across from you when you plop down. "We have to talk about something."

"If you say Strauss suspended you again-" He cuts you off with a lift of his hand. You look at him sheepishly and nod. "You were saying..."

"This is going to sound odd, but just hear me out." You're starting to get worried, but he doesn't look anxious, so that's a start. You nod, and he continues. "The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised. They've been questioning me since Foyet's attack, and they're not entirely wrong."

You want to refute this, but you've also been questioning some of his actions as of late. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that you won't have his back if it comes down to it. "They can't fire you. The whole team will fight back if they even try."

He looks at you with something that resembles concern. Concern? "They won't fire me...because I'm stepping down."

"What?" you burst out, unable to help your volume. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week, but I'm not leaving this team."

You think you have an idea of where this is going, but his eyes are still tracking your movements, like they do when he's worried about how you'll react. You don't know how it could get much worse than this, but then you realize he hasn't told you who will be replacing him.

"I told Morgan to take my place until we catch Foyet."

There it is. You don't expect it to sting as much as it does. "Oh."

Your voice sounds small to your own ears, and you clear your throat to keep the emotion out. This isn't a personal decision, it's professional. If Strauss was telling you this now, it probably wouldn't faze you. So why does it hurt coming from him?

"Strauss wasn't happy with your decision to not take the New York position," he explains, his eyes finding yours. "You know I think you deserve more leadership roles. It was her that suggested Morgan for it, and I couldn't argue when she was already so unsure about letting me promote internally."

"I get it," you nod. Your tone a bit sharper than expected, even though you understand where the decision came from. Derek deserves this position too. "I do, I promise."

He raises his eyebrows with a check in, and after a moment, you finally nod. It's okay. We're good.

"I'll see you in the morning?"

You dip your chin. "Good night."

***

"I can't believe Hotch is stepping down."

Penelope, Emily, Spencer, and JJ are all unabashedly watching Derek as he briefs Strauss on the case he chose for today. You've been trying not to look, but every few minutes, something snags your attention.

"Morgan said it's business as usual," Emily adds, her brow furrowed as she watches them converse.

Penelope doesn't seem eased. "So we're just supposed to move forward without any discussion?"

Spencer shrugs. "After Foyet, I think we'd have to be ready for anything."

Derek finishes speaking with Strauss then, and you stand up as he asks Emily to call Rossi for the briefing. He looks official with his ironed button-down, and you can't help but wonder if he's trying to emulate Aaron.

You flash him a cheeky smile as he walks towards the conference room, but he just brushes past you. 

~

Derek steps into his new role effectively, and you even notice him provide extra feedback to everyone throughout the case. Hotch has a bit of a difficult time stepping down at first, but you know it comes from habit, not distrust.

When you're back at the office later that night, you look up to see that he is still in his office, furiously jotting something down, even though his responsibilities have been greatly diminished. You don't know why you expected the demotion to make him want to cut back a bit.

Derek is the only person still in the bullpen when you take a seat again. You finished up the last of your paperwork, so you start to pack up your stuff, but then your interaction from earlier crosses your mind again.

Latching your bag closed, you stand up and perch on the edge of Derek's desk. "Hey, boss, how's the responsibility feel?"

"Fine," he mutters, his tone snippier than you've ever heard it.

"A lot more paperwork than you were expecting, huh?"

He doesn't look at you, so you reach forward to tap the back of his hand. "Derek, come on, what's going on with you?"

You brace for him to snap at you again, but then he just sighs, setting his pen down. "You're not angry with me, right?"

"What?" You don't know where this is coming from, seeing as how he's been the one who's been avoiding you all day. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Why?" he repeats, his face twisted with disbelief. "I basically stole this position out from under you."

You shake your head forcefully, putting your hand over his on the desk. "Not even close, hon. Anything on my end was bureau politics, but that's just one side of it. You deserve this just as much as I would have. You've even been at the BAU longer than I have."

He's silent for a moment, before he turns his hand under yours and clasps it gently. You give his hand a squeeze before bringing your other one up to his cheek. "You're doing a great job. You were an amazing leader out there today. Hotch picked you well."

Derek leans into your hand for a beat, before letting out another sigh. "Thanks."

"Seriously, Derek," you say with a smile. "This might have been one of his best professional decisions yet."

That makes him laugh, before shaking his head. "Nah, his best decision was bringing you to this team."

Your chest fills with warmth and you lean forward to pull him into a hug. His arms are strong as they wrap around you, and you settle into the hug, turning away from the office light upstairs and trying to ignore the fact that Aaron hasn't looked up from his desk since you started talking.

***

"Agent Hotchner, before you go, there's one final thing I'd like to share with you."

Karl Arnold, the Fox, has been taunting each of you throughout the whole day, and right when you finally thought you were done, he drew you right back in. You follow Hotch and Prentiss back into the interrogation room.

"So you think you found my admirer."

"No," Aaron says simply. "We found the killer."

Arnold grins. "With my help, of course."

"Your admirer is exactly like everyone who contacts you..." Emily sneers, "lost."

Arnold turns to her, and the look in his eyes makes your skin crawl. "My love, your guy is far from lost."

Hotch shakes his head, turning to the door. "We're done."

"So is he." All three of you spin back around, much to his amusement. "'Look at what I have done.' It's quite brilliant, you know?"

"We will find whoever sent you that."

"No, Agent Hotchner, I rather think he's already found you."

Aaron immediately starts flipping through the file on the table, shoving pictures and papers aside as he searches for something. Something about Arnold's tone sends your mind reeling and you grab the journal in front of you and start flipping through it as well.

"What's going on?" Emily asks, coming up behind you.

Arnold just laughs. "He's torturing him."

"Who?"

He ignores her. "It's great to see you squirm, Agent Hotchner."

You reach one of the bookmarked pages, and the symbol that greets you almost makes you drop the journal. "Aaron..."

His eyes snap to your hands as his skin turns white. "Foyet."

The three of you rush out of the interrogation room, accompanied by the disturbing sound of Arnold's laughter echoing behind you.

Just before the door shuts behind you, you hear his final words. "He knew you'd come."

***

The whole team spends days with only one goal in mind: find and capture Foyet. JJ works with you and Garcia to track prescription medications that he would be on given his self-inflicted injuries, and Spencer, Emily, and Aaron put together a geographic profile using the letters from the Fox and the proximity of nearby pharmacies. Derek's role as acting unit chief keeps him busy all on its own, but he manages to keep the team on track as he turns any new cases that come in to other teams.

When JJ returns from a local pharmacy with the discovery that many prescription meds have over-the-counter alternatives, the focus shifts. Garcia narrows down the list, and brings back a list of names that is way too long to feasibly question.

"153 names," you huff, leaning over her shoulder as she scrolls down the list.

Emily frowns. "Well, he's not gonna use his own name."

"What kind of aliases should we be looking for?"

You all consider this, before Derek chimes in. "He could have easily stolen someone's identity."

Hotch shuts that idea down immediately. "No, he's a narcissist in love with his own mythology. He'd use a name connected with the case."

"A victim, maybe," you guess, "or a cop?"

Garcia doesn't find anything on the initial search, but thankfully Spencer suggests another approach. "Guys, Foyet likes things to have meaning to him. The eye of providence, the addresses in blood he wrote on the bus that led us back to him. Maybe he's doing the same thing with the alias."

Emily frowns. "Like an anagram or something?"

Spencer walks over to the white board and writes out George Foyet, before fiddling around with the spellings of possible anagrams. You walk up behind him and follow his movements along the board. "You see something, Spence?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet."

"Spencer," you interrupt as the realization comes to you, "he named himself The Reaper."

He pauses for a beat, before switching over to scrawling out possible anagrams for The Reaper instead. After a moment, he's done. "Peter Rhea."

Penelope is already searching. "There's a Peter Rhea in Arlington."

Rossi nods, a satisfied look on his face. "We found him."

***

Garcia sends out the address of an apartment in his name, and you drive over with Hotch, who doesn't say a word the whole way over. You keep glancing at him, trying to be discreet, but the tension in his posture doesn't fade, even after the breakthrough.

The apartment ends up being empty, but when you all go inside, there's a laptop sitting on the center table. Emily dials Garcia the moment you realize that the files on it are being remotely deleted, and when she hacks in, she comes across a series of surveillance photos that make you gasp out loud. "Oh my god, isn't that-"

"That's the US Marshall protecting my family." His face looks frozen with stress as he dials Marshall Kassmeyer's number. When the call goes to voicemail, Aaron stalks out of the apartment and to the SUVs parked out front. He doesn't wait for you to get in, before he's already driving off.

"Where is he going?" Emily calls out as she exits the building behind you.

"Kassmeyer's house," you say, almost certain that you're correct. With the knowledge that his family is most likely in immediate danger, there is nothing anyone could do to stop him from trying to save them. "I'm gonna follow him."

"Here," Rossi says, tossing his car keys to you. You accept them gratefully and speed off down the road.

~

Kassmeyer is bleeding out when you get to his house. Aaron is already inside, trying to get him to explain what happened, and when he describes how Foyet taunted him and stabbed him, you resist the urge to take Aaron's hand.

"Sam," he says suddenly, leaning over him. "I need to understand. Does he know where Jack and Haley are?"

Your heart rate skyrockets as Kassmeyer mumbles another apology. If Foyet knows where they are, you don't know if any of you will be able to get there in time.

The paramedics rush in then, and they carry Sam out to the awaiting ambulance as he refuses sedation. Aaron runs out after them and throws himself into the back of the ambulance before you can catch up.

~

Without any new leads, there's nowhere for you to go, so you wait out front in your SUV as you wrack your brain for where Foyet would have told Haley and Jack to go. You don't know how long it takes until another agent calls you from the hospital with the news that Marshall Kassmeyer died in surgery.

The news hits you like a ton of bricks. One more body you can attribute to The Reaper. "Is Agent Hotchner there?"

The voice is tinny over the line. "He took one of the SUVs and left a few minutes ago."

"Where?" You can hear how frantic your voice sounds, but you don't care. "Where did he go?"

"I'm not sure," the agent says. "He sped away before anyone could ask."

You hang up the phone and turn the car on, before pulling onto the street and calling the team line. Garcia picks up on the first ring.

"Sam died in surgery," you explain as you turn at the end of the street. "Hotch is already gone, but I'm gonna go to the hospital now in case someone has more info."

"Okay, honey," she says, patching in the rest of the team. When they answer, she repeats your statement, before she gets cut off. "Guys, Hotch is calling Foyet."

"Patch us in," Derek instructs over the line, before going silent. You mute yourself as well, before turning back to the road.

"Agent Hotchner."

Foyet's voice makes you nauseous, and you can practically hear the grin behind his words.

"If you touch her..." Aaron doesn't even finish the threat, but you can feel the rage within it.

"Be gentle, like I was with you?"

Your eyes prick with tears as you remember the scars that are now a permanent fixture on his body. The matching scars. The idea of Haley ending up the same way, or Jack-

"What the hell took you so long?" Foyet complains, his tone playful. "I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something."

Aaron doesn't answer him, and the anger is almost palpable over the line.

"Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated," he finally responds. "You're more predictable than you think."

"Am I?"

He starts to recount the tale of Foyet's life, weaving in details that you didn't know from his childhood and the pain he was causing before he was even old enough to drive. You suppose this was what all of those late nights at the office were for. You hope they were worth it.

"That's the thing, George," he continues, his voice suddenly softer. It's like he's pleading with him. "This isn't a fairy tale. You don't have to write this story. Haven't you gotten what you wanted?"

There's silence for a few moments, and you can hear your heartbeat in your skull. Eventually Foyet comes back. "You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair."

Your heart falls into your stomach. He has her. He already has her.

"She's lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her."

Just when you think that might be the worst of it, he continues. "Where's the little man? Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?"

He has them both. You can barely see the road through the anger and fear that is coursing through your veins. Another phone rings and Foyet answers it, leaving his line with Hotch on as well. "Mrs. Hotchner. I'm here. Open the gate and I'll drive in."

You can't hear her reply, before Foyet returns to the call you're listening to. "Aaron? I really gotta go."

The call disconnects, and you can't breathe. Open the gate. The gate. What gate?

Think, think, goddamnit think.

The answer hits you like a truck. "His house. They're at his old house."

Emily whispers something that sounds like "shit" and you swerve across the lanes to make a u-turn. "I'm heading there now."

Assuming Aaron was already heading back after leaving the hospital, he would reach the house before any of you. You can only hope he'll be there in time.

Your knuckles have turned white from how hard you're gripping the steering wheel, and when Garcia patches you all in for another call from Foyet, the tears are already flowing down your cheeks.

"Aaron?"

It's Haley's voice. You gasp out loud from the relief that she's still alive.

"You're okay?" She sounds so scared, but at least she's alive. That's all you can focus on right now.

Aaron answers with a defeated sigh. "I'm fine."

"But...he said that..." The realization hits her, and she lets out a small sob. "Oh, Aaron."

"He can hear us, right?"

"Yes."

His voice is softer then, wet with tears. "I am so sorry. Haley, show him no weakness, no fear."

"I know." Of course she does. She was married to a profiler for years. She knows what all of this means, but she doesn't deserve any of it. "Sam told me all about him. Is he, uh..."

"No," he says gently. "Sam is fine."

Foyet's voice is like the hiss of a snake as it joins the call. "Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. Is that why your marriage broke up, because you're a liar?" His voice is too close to the phone. You want to scream for him to get away from her, but you're not supposed to be listening, and your car isn't moving fast enough.

"He's trying to scare you, Haley." His voice is trembling, and you can hear the tightness behind each of his words.

When Foyet mentions the deal, your stomach roils with nausea. You can picture the exact look on Aaron's face as he blames himself for this entire situation, even though it's happening to him, not because of him.

"Don't react."

Haley's voice is shaking too as she whispers, "What is he talking about?"

"Tell Jack I need him working the case."

"What?" She sounds confused, and that's when you remember the signal he told you about. The words that only Jack knows that are meant to keep him safe from situations exactly like this.

"Tell Jack I need him working the case," he repeats, his voice steadier. But all of it goes away the moment Haley hands her son the phone.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, buddy." His voice cracks and you feel your heart crack with it. The tears are rushing down your cheeks now, and you wipe them out of your eyes with the back of your hand as you get closer to the house. But not close enough.

Aaron tells him to work the case again, and he gives Haley a hug before rushing out of the room.

"He's so cute. He's like a little junior G-Man." Foyet chuckles, before yelling out. "I'll be right up, Jackie boy!"

Aaron ignores him, and you feel his focus return. "Is he gone?"

"Yes." Haley's voice is strong, and you release a single sigh of relief as you press the gas pedal down as hard as you can.

Aaron's voice returns and you can hear the anguish as he speaks. "You're so strong, Haley. You're stronger than I ever was."

"You'll hurry, right?" The fear in her voice breaks your heart, and you want to assure her that you're all doing everything you can, but you're still a few streets away.

"I know you didn't sign on for this."

Neither did you.

She echoes your thoughts. "Neither did you."

His voice breaks into a sob. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh."

"Haley..."

"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron." Her words sound so final, and you can't imagine what Foyet is pointing at her right now, but you can only hope that Aaron gets there before it's too late. "I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him." She sounds almost resolute, and your body floods with hope for a split second. "Promise me."

His breathing is ragged as he whispers, "I promise."

Three gunshots ring out and the wheel jerks in your hand as a painful sob wrenches from your throat. No, no, no.

~

You race out of your car the moment you pull to a stop in front of the house. There's only one other SUV outside, and you don't give yourself a moment to think as you rush inside, lifting your gun at the last second.

The front foyer is empty, but then a jagged thumping fills the air and you dart around the corner to find Aaron beating Foyet to a pulp. You can tell from where you're standing that he's already dead, but that doesn't seem to matter to him.

"Aaron!" you yell, hoping to break his reverie. His hands are covered in blood as he pounds the man's face in, and he doesn't look up until you grab him from behind and yank his arms back. "Aaron, he's dead. He's dead."

He stops moving, and for one single second, everything is still. Then his body pitches forward and he breaks down as he sobs, his hands coming up like he's begging for the pain to go away.

You clutch him as tightly as you can, like if you hold him close enough, he won't fall apart. You can hear the voices of your teammates as they enter the house, but then his head lifts and he pulls himself up, dashing down the hall. You follow after him, rushing past Morgan and Rossi, and you realize where he's going in real time as he runs into his office and kneels down beside his desk.

Please, please, not him. Just not him. He opens the cabinet and you all share a gasp of relief as Jack's little face peeks out, his skin unmarred.

"I worked the case, Daddy. Just like you said."

Aaron reaches in and picks him up, before squeezing him tightly, his little face glancing around the room in confusion.

"You did a great job, buddy." He releases him after a few moments, before handing him off to JJ to go outside and away from the carnage littering the house. You press a kiss to his forehead before she lifts him up and walks out of the room.

Emily looks at you then, concern flashing in her eyes, but you just nod, and she follows JJ, pulling the door closed behind her.

You turn back around just in time to catch Aaron as he collapses to the floor. The weight sends you both to your knees, and he crushes you to him as you hold him as tightly as you can. His sobs mix in with your own, and you try not to let your body shake from the force of your crying, because you need to be strong for him.

He buries his face into your neck, his tears mixing with the blood on his face as it soaks your shirt and vest.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper into his hair. It doesn't feel like enough, but there's nothing else to say. "I'm so sorry."

~

Derek and Emily come back with the paramedics eventually to take him outside to check for injuries, and you're about to follow after them when something catches your eye. A pair of feet invade your periphery as you glance through a doorway down the hall. Oh god.

Your knees buckle and Derek catches you before you stumble forward into her room. You fall to your knees beside her, and you vaguely hear Emily whisper something behind you before there's just silence.

Her eyes are already closed, and if you really wanted to, you could try to pretend that she was just sleeping, but there's too much blood. You reach out to push her short hair back from her forehead, so that you can see her face one last time. One last time.

A sob rips out of you and you take her hand, pressing it to your lips. The scene is suddenly too much, and you close your eyes before letting out a shaky breath. You don't know what your life is going to look like without her presence. What Aaron's life with look like, or Jack's.

You squeeze her hand again before laying it on her stomach, and Emily comes forward then to help you up. Derek holds the door open as she leads you outside, and helps you tear your vest off the moment you hit the fresh afternoon air.

You bend over, hands on your knees, gulping back fresh air and trying not to throw up. Emily pats your back as you take in deep breaths, rubbing comforting circles that help to calm down your heart rate.

When you look up, you spot Aaron sitting on the edge of an ambulance. The medics are cleaning his cuts, and one of them is holding an ice pack to his head, when you walk over to survey the damage.

He doesn't look up when you approach, instead staring at his bloody hands with a look you can't discern. You can't imagine what he must be thinking right now, but if you know him at all, you know that sometimes you don't need to talk.

You reach down and take his hands, holding them in yours with a tight grip that forces him to look at you. Neither of you says anything, but it's okay, because there is nothing left to say. There will be soon, but not right now.

***

"We'll be back in a couple of hours," Jess tells you as she slings her purse over her shoulder.

You nod at her as you pick Jack off the ground and swing him up into your arms. "Take your time. We'll be hanging out here."

Aaron beckons for Jess to walk out in front of him before he dips his chin at you. "Thank you again."

"Of course," you smile, shaking your head. They're going to make the last arrangements for the funeral, and the absolute least you can do is watch Jack while they're away.

"Can we watch cartoons?" Jack asks the moment the front door shuts behind them.

"Soon, baby," you laugh lightly, before placing him on the ground and leading him to the kitchen. "We gotta make lunch first."

You throw together two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bring them to the breakfast table, where Jack is obediently scribbling away at his coloring book. "Here you go, Jack-o-lantern."

He takes a massive bite before you can sit down, but over the next ten minutes, he only manages to finish about half of the sandwich. "I'm done."

"You sure?" you ask, scrunching your face into a playful frown. "I think you got at least a couple more bites in you."

He shakes his head forcefully, before dropping the sandwich onto his plate. You know he doesn't usually eat much, but he hasn't eaten since breakfast hours ago. "Come on, hon, at least another big bite."

"No!" he yells, pushing the plate away from him. Before you can stop him, he jumps off of his chair and races out of the kitchen, towards his bedroom.

You hear the door slam shut behind him, and you heave out a sigh before clearing away both of your plates and wiping down the counter. You don't fault him for anything, you just can't believe he has to go through something like this.

He's so young. Younger than you were when you lost your mom. There's some comfort in the fact that he likely won't remember this pain when he's older, but then comes the nausea. The sickening reminder that one day he'll forget about her. Haley, his mother, your best friend's wife, your friend.

You slowly make your way to his room, knocking on the door twice before calling out his name. When he doesn't answer, you twist the knob and gently open the door. "Jack?"

He doesn't say anything as you cross the room and sit on the floor in front of him. He's fiddling around with a set of colorful wooden blocks, and he only looks at you once you pick one up yourself. The edges have been worn smooth from being tossed around, and you run your fingers against them as you wait for him to speak.

"Did Mommy want to leave?"

You can practically hear your heart crack in two as the block falls from your hand. Tears spring to your eyes, but you blink them back, not wanting to scare him.

"No, baby, no," you say quickly, reaching forward to rub your thumb over his cheek. "She loved you more than anything in this world."

He still doesn't look convinced, so you rest your palms on his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you. "If it was her choice, she would have never left you."

After a moment, his lips jut out into a pout, but he nods once. "Is Daddy gonna leave too?"

The tears rush forward again. You want to tell him that Aaron would never leave him, that he may be gone most nights until after Jack is asleep, and sometimes even before he's up for breakfast, but he would never leave. But you also know that Haley didn't want to either, but sometimes the job takes more than you're willing to give. "He's not going to leave you. Not if he can help it."

That seems to calm him down for the time being, so you take his hand and lead him back to the living room. Once he's situated on the couch, you switch on his cartoons for him, turning the volume down low.

He settles into the cushion next to you, his arm resting on your thigh as he focuses on the screen in front of him, while your eyes wander down to the small tv stand. They land on a framed photo of Haley and Jess together, smiling at the camera as the sun shines down on their faces, and you lift your hand to your mouth to stifle the tears that rush forward.

When your eyes pan over to the photo of you and her, with Aaron and Jess right behind you, the tears stream down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, trying to be quiet so as not to call away Jack's attention. But the cartoons are too quiet, and when a small sob escapes, Jack looks up, his brow furrowing with a look reminiscent of his father. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby," you nod, forcing a smile onto your face as you look down at him and press a kiss to his temple. "I just loved your mom very much."

***

The ground is still wet from the rain. It squelches beneath your feet as Jess clutches onto your arm, letting you lead her across the cemetery for the service.

You walk behind the pallbearers as they bring Haley to the top of the open grass and set her down carefully with a reverence that brings tears to your eyes again. You don't know if your eyes have been dry at any moment today, but the tears haven't spilled over yet. It's only a matter of time.

Aaron is ahead of everyone, looking down at the small sheet of paper in his hands, with Jack by his side. The young boy looks so small in his suit, and his eyes dart around the procession with a mix of confusion and sadness that pierces your chest.

When Aaron is ready to begin, Jessica lets go and walks up to stand on his other side, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Your arm feels cold where she used to be, but it doesn't last long as another hand takes its place. You turn your head to see Spencer, one hand on his cane, and the other on your arm, as he holds you tightly to his side, his eyes brimming with tears as well. You don't expect that there's a dry eye in the crowd.

Aaron starts his speech with a quote, but the steadiness in his voice starts to waver the moment he says her name. "Haley was my best friend since we were in high school."

You remember how fiercely he loved her, even back then. The tenacity with which he pursued her when he realized that she was someone he wanted to spend his life with.

His voice continues as his eyes dip down. "We certainly had our struggles, but if there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son Jack." Your tears surface again, but you suck them back with a deep breath. "Haley's love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn't here today."

Aaron looks up then, and his eyes land on the casket in front of him. "A mother's love is an unrivaled force of nature. And we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life."

His hand flexes at his side, and you wish desperately that you were up there with him, holding his hand like he held yours when your mother died.

"I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him and how much I loved her."

His voice breaks and he reaches into his pocket for the scrap of paper he was looking at earlier. "I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of 'The Pirates of Penzance'. I found our copy of the play and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment."

The quote comes back to you as he recites it, and your mind flashes back to those adolescent afternoons when you would watch him make a fool of himself trying to impress Haley at play practice. You can't help yourself as the tears finally fall, and you feel Spencer squeeze your hand tightly, acting as the lifeline you so earnestly need.

When he finishes his speech, everyone comes forward to place white roses on her casket before it is lowered into the ground. You wait as the crowd slowly dissipates, as everyone heads to the repast, and you hold Jess's hand while Aaron picks Jack up, holding him tightly.

"Blow Mommy a kiss," he whispers, before leaning over to let Jack place a rose on the casket.

His brow furrows as he straightens again, and you watch as the familiar stoicism returns to his posture. He isn't pushing all of his emotions down, exactly. He's just tucking them away, so as to be there for his son, who needs a solid figure in his life, now more than ever.

And that's what he'll be.

***

The repast is bustling with people from all eras of Haley's life, and you sit with the team at a large table, staring at your plate of food. When Dave pulls Aaron outside to talk, you watch them leave, noting the stiffness in his shoulders as he's forced to leave Jack with Jess again. She has been nothing but grateful to see her nephew more often than usual, but nonetheless, he wears his guilt like a jagged scar across his face.

Penelope clutches your hand under the table and you give her a weak nod, unable to do more with all of the energy drained from you.

"It was a beautiful service," Emily says, her eyes big and soft as they look at you.

You nod again, before turning back to your full plate. You can't bear the thought of stomaching any food right now.

Then just when you think the day can't get any worse, Derek and JJ's phones chirp with a message at the same time. No. No.

"They can't be calling us in," Emily sighs, her lips thinning, "not tonight."

JJ shakes her head. "I'm on it." She returns from her phone call a minute later with a forlorn look. "There's no other team available."

Derek gets up with a sigh. "I'll get Rossi."

When he returns with Dave, leaving Aaron alone on the deck, you squeeze Penelope's hand before walking outside. The air is cold, and you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you approach him.

"It's okay," he says before you can open your mouth. "I'll see you when you get back."

Mind reader, you think for a split second.

He has already given you the blessing you assumed you needed when you came out here, but it still doesn't feel right. "I don't want to go."

"It's your job," he shrugs. Like it's that simple. "It's okay."

"Are you sure?" You won't be able to do your job with him here, but even less so if you're feeling guilty the whole time. "I can take time off."

"No," he says quietly, shaking his head. He looks out into the night air, and you take his hand, squeezing it between both of yours. "It'll be good for me to have some time with Jack."

You can understand that. You pull him into a hug, before dipping your chin into a nod and leaving him out there again.

***

His return to work hasn't been easy. When Strauss gave him the option to retire with full pension and benefits, it should have been an easy decision, but something was tugging at his gut, telling him that would be the wrong choice.

Now he's sitting in his office, and all of his recent life choices are swirling around him like a hurricane ready to close in. He misses Jack like he's missing a limb, and he feels terrible for how often he's been relying on Jess to take care of him, even though she readily offered her help.

His emotions are a tumbling mess, and he doesn't notice that his fingers have been tapping the edge of his desk until you enter his office.

"Coffee?" He looks up with a nod, accepting the steaming cup you hand him, before you flop down on the couch across from him. "What are you thinking about?"

He swallows back a scalding gulp that likely scorched his throat on the way down. He wants to push his emotions down and say something quippy that won't distract you for more than a few moments, but tonight he needs reassurance more than he's willing to admit. "Did I come back too early?"

He expects an immediate and bombastic denial, but you just sit there, stirring your black coffee as you tuck your legs under you. "I can't decide that for you."

It's a diplomatic answer, but he needs guidance, and he doesn't have anyone else to go to. Not that he would go to anyone else even if he did. "Do you think I'm jeopardizing the team by being here?"

This time, the answer is immediate. "Of course not. You've been doing your job effectively, and no one can say otherwise."

He pauses for a moment, ruminating over your words. He knows he's not asking the right questions. He's just delaying until he has to accept what he's feeling.

With a shaky breath, he sets his coffee down and looks at you. "Am I jeopardizing my family by being here?"

Your brows pinch. "Jack will be okay. He's young, and he'll miss you, but you're his hero, Aaron. He loves you because you keep him safe."

"But I'm never home." His voice sounds ragged to his own ears, and he's certain you can hear the pain clawing out of his throat. "How am I doing my job as a father if I'm never there?"

"Aaron," you whisper, drawing his eyes back to yours. "You're keeping him safe by catching the bad guys. He knows that. And that's what he needs." You fix him with a look that makes his back straighten. "Okay?"

After a moment, he nods. "Okay."

***

"Hi, Hales."

You sink down onto the bench in front of her headstone, before pulling the baggie of peach rings you brought from your pocket. They were the only candy you liked from your high school's vending machine, and the two of you would share them between classes during your senior year.

"I should've come sooner, but work's been really busy."

You've only visited her once since the funeral six months ago, and you wish you could've come by more, but sometimes being here is just too much. It's too stark of a reminder that she's never coming back.

You pop another peach ring in your mouth, before breaking into a grin. "Jack's growing up so fast. He's so resilient, it's amazing." He has already adjusted to living in his father's apartment full time, and he seems to like hanging out with you or Jess whenever he's stuck at work late. "I wish you could be here to see it all."

You wish for a lot of things these days. The loss seems to keep piling up, and you don't know what to do or how to feel most of the time, but time keeps passing. And with it, so does the grief.

"Aaron's starting to get better too." You don't know what you believe, but a part of you suspects she knows all of this already. "The transition back was hard on all of us, but he doesn't look as defeated all the time anymore." Your lip twitches. "He even smiles at my jokes sometimes."

You swear you hear her laughter over the rustling of the wind, but it's probably just in your head. "Anyway, I just wanted to come see you. Let you know how much we miss you."

You stand up, grabbing the bouquet from next to you, and walk over to the headstone. Without thinking, you reach into your bag of candy and drop a peach ring into the dirt. It feels juvenile, even as you're doing it, but you can't help yourself. She would find it funny. You know she would.

You tuck the rest into your pocket and walk across the grass to another row of stones. It's not a quick stroll, but it gives you enough time to take a few deep breaths before you face him again.

Jeff Adler. The letters jump out at you like flashing lights, and you blink a few times as the magnitude of your loss washes over you. So many lives, so much love and warmth gone from your life.

Bending down, you place the bouquet of carnations in front of his headstone, before kissing your fingertips and pressing them to his name.

***

"You've got to be kidding."

He just shrugs, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips. You make sure to keep your voice down as you toss your cards into the center pile and lean back against the bottom of his couch.

After putting Jack to bed, neither of you could think of anything quiet to do until Aaron pulled out a deck of cards from below the tv stand.

"I hate that you're so good at this," you grumble, watching as he deftly splits the deck and starts shuffling again. This being Go Fish.

"You're good, too," he concedes, flashing you an amused look that you don't share.

"Yeah, but you're better."

"As with most things."

You throw a card at him, but he dodges it easily. When he's finished shuffling, he deals out a card, before pausing. "We can play something else if you don't think you can beat me."

"Just deal the cards."

He lets out a low laugh and deals out another card, just as both of your cellphones chirp at the same time. You share a look before dropping the cards on the table. He stands first and gives you a hand up, which you accept.

"I'll call Jess," you whisper as he strides over to his bedroom to get his go-bag. You dial her quickly, and get the confirmation that she's coming over, before grabbing your own bag and heading out to his car.

***

"Sorry to ruin your night."

Everyone is in casual clothing when you walk into the briefing room with Aaron on your heels. JJ shoots you an apologetic look which quickly turns to surprise when Rossi walks in wearing a full tux.

"What, are you working on, wife number 4?" Derek laughs as he sets his bag down.

Dave just grumbles. "I see you people way too much."

"I hear that," you grin before taking your usual seat between Aaron and Spencer.

"Let's get started." JJ hands out the case files and clicks the screen on. "All right. Anchorage field office is asking us to investigate a series of murders in Franklin, Alaska. There's 3 people dead in less than a week."

You scan the file as fast as you can, but Spencer beats you to it. "For a town with a population of 1,476, that's fairly significant."

JJ nods. "It's their first murder investigation on record."

"Who are the victims?" Dave asks, his eyes darting back and forth between the file and the screen.

JJ looks down at her notes. "Uh, Jon Baker, a hunter. Dedaimia Swanson, a schoolteacher. Brenda Bright, the first mate on a fishing boat. There's a new victim every 2 days."

Everyone seems to be thinking the same thing, but Emily gives it a voice. "Any connections?"

"Unfortunately, in a town this small, everyone's connected."

When JJ finishes up the briefing, Aaron stands up and grabs his bag. "We'll fly out tonight. Everybody can sleep on the plane. Garcia, I need you with us."

She shoots him a confused look. "Sir?"

"I've tasked a satellite uplink and it's your job to keep us connected."

"Yes, sir."

"This town's already on the brink," he continues with a sigh, "and if this pattern continues, we've only got another day until the next murder. Let's finish this fast."

***

After barely getting any sleep on the plane ride over, and a long day in the cold, the team holes up in the lobby of a local inn, warming up around the fire.

"I'm gonna pull an all-nighter," Garcia announces when you stifle a yawn behind your fist. "I'll finish going through the town records. Should have background checks by sunrise."

"Good," Aaron nods, sitting up on the couch. "The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning."

At his suggestion, the innkeeper steps out from behind her desk. "I've got four of the upstairs rooms available."

"Uh, 4?" Spencer squeaks, his eyes darting around the room.

"Come on," the sheriff sighs as he stands up, "that's the best we can do. Your team is double the size of my department." He glances at Aaron and they share a nod. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night."

The sheriff walks out of the inn and you lean back on the couch, turning your head to the side to look at Aaron. The question in your eyes is implicit. What's the plan?

"It looks like we'll have to double up," Emily answers for you, her lips stretching into a grin.

Derek speaks up immediately. "I'm not sleeping with Reid."

Penelope reaches over and grabs Derek's arm. "Dibs."

Emily and JJ stand together and head upstairs, and you glance at Aaron with a nod. "Let's find one of the double rooms before Emily snags it."

"Guess it's you and me, kid," Dave says to Spencer as you grab a key from the front desk and pick up your bag. The inn is so small that all of your rooms end up being in the same hallway. You leave the door open behind you as you step inside and toss your bag onto the nearest bed.

Aaron enters after you and locks the door, before wordlessly moving your bag to the other bed, away from the door. It takes you less than a second to realize why. His protective nature was always strong, but over the past year, it has kicked into overdrive, especially around you and Jack.

"Do you want first shower?" you ask as you unzip your bag and pull out a tee shirt and some sleep shorts.

"You take it," he says, shaking his head. The chilliness of the outside air hasn't left your bones, so you don't wait for him to change his mind before grabbing your toiletries and rushing into the bathroom.

While you're in the shower, Aaron takes his time fluffing out the comforter and pillows on his bed. The room itself isn't very spacious, but he doesn't mind sharing with you. The close quarters remind him of his youth when he would sneak into your room late at night to get away from his family. Just the sight of the lights through your bedroom window used to bring him peace. When he glances over at your side of the room, a tranquility washes over him, and he realizes that the feeling hasn't really gone away.

"Your turn," you say a little later when you emerge from the bathroom. Your skin is still slightly damp, and your cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, and he has to tear his eyes away as he nods and steps around you.

The tiny mirror in the bathroom is still steamy when he shuts the door behind him and pulls off his shirt, and he lifts his hand to wipe it off, before pausing. His scars aren't something he likes to think about often, but after saving Jack, they took on a different image in his mind. He felt less like a victim.

He rubs his hand against the mirror to wipe off some of the condensation, and his reflection looks tense as it stares back at him. Back in the room, your presence felt warm and comfortable, but in here, with the steam fogging up the glass, and the scent of your perfume lingering in the air, something else roils in his gut.

It's a not-so-unfamiliar feeling that used to be commonplace when he was younger. It hadn't reared its head in years, but lately, it's been so much harder to push it down. When he sees how much his son loves you, how much he looks forward to finding you in his apartment when he gets back from a late meeting. It's been...hard.

He turns on the shower and steps in, letting the hot water wash away the notions tickling the edge of his brain. When he walks back into the room, you are tucked into your bed, the covers up to your chin.

"You look like a burrito," he notes with a small laugh.

You shrug, though it's barely visible from under the comforter. "I find this is the best way to keep out the Arctic chill that seems to have invaded our lodgings."

"Fair enough."

He slides into his own bed and clicks the switch on the wall to turn the lights off. He tries to sleep for a few minutes, but even though he's exhausted, it won't come.

It's dark enough that he can't see his fingers in front of his face, but the uneven sounds of your breathing let him know that you're still awake.

"You should really sleep," he whispers into the darkness.

"You first," you say after a moment, before your voice lowers. "How are you doing? How are you holding up, I mean."

"How are you doing?" he asks, knowing he's being unfair.

You don't let it slide this time. "You're deflecting."

"I know."

There's a pause before he finally concedes. "I think I'm okay. The normalcy is coming back, and Jack is doing a lot better, which helps immensely."

"Me too," you say after a beat.

He wants to let the subject go and try to sleep, but the words are pulling at his throat. "I miss her all the time."

"Me too," you repeat. You huff out a husky laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "God, me too."

There's a tinge of bitterness in your voice that he recognizes in himself, but it's not something he knows if he can explain. He remembers how a small part of you blamed Jeff after his death, but that's nothing like what he's feeling. He blames himself for everything but the act itself, knowing that if he had just gotten there quicker, or taken the deal, or taken the transfer-

His breath catches and he hears you rustle under your covers. He imagines you turning to face him, and as his eyes slowly adjust he sees that he was right.

"Do you remember that time in high school," he says suddenly, not entirely sure where he's going with this, "when I got detention."

"I'm gonna need you to be more specific."

He laughs, in spite of himself, and turns over to face you as well. You're so far away, but he can just barely make out your face from across the room. "When you broke me out."

Your laughter is sudden and it echoes around the small room as the memory hits you. "I do remember that. I told them your grandfather was in the hospital so that they would let you out. God, Mrs. Parker was so upset when she went to get you."

"I think my favorite part of the story was that both of my grandfathers died before I could walk."

You chuckle, your voice softer now. "I know."

His chest warms at the memory of the two of you running out to your car and driving to get a scoop of chocolate at your favorite ice cream shop. Even afterwards, you had driven around town for hours, without a complaint, and he hadn't mentioned the time once. It was so soon after his dad's death, and he hated going home for so many reasons. Sean hated him, and his mother was sad all of the time, and it was like you just knew.

"You were good at reading me," he whispers, almost to himself.

"Were good?" you ask with mock offense.

He snorts. "Fine, are good at reading me."

"That's more like it."

***

You drop your empty glass back on the table, feeling the burn of the liquor as you swallow it down. It's your second drink of the night, and while you usually don't indulge in more than one, you welcome the chance to let loose.

Everyone else seems to be in the same mindset, because JJ, Emily, and Penelope are in various states of drunkenness around the booth, and the men are either nursing a drink or driving.

"Let's dance," JJ shrieks, lifting her head off of Will's shoulder and pushing herself up from the booth.

"Hell yeah," Emily grins, pulling you and Penelope up with her.

JJ tries to corral the guys to join, but they all stay firmly seated. Dave and Will look content as they sip their whiskey, and Spencer doesn't budge, citing his leg hurting (a lie). After a bit of targeted shoving, Derek chuckles and gets up for one dance, following Penelope and JJ onto the dance floor.

"Aaaaaron," you slur, tugging his arm. He doesn't move even an inch, but the corner of his lip twitches when you don't give up.

"You used to dance in college," you point out with a frown.

Emily hoots as she saunters over to the floor. "This I need to see."

Aaron just shakes his head with a smile, and you eventually oblige, joining the ladies (and Derek) for a few dances. The dark atmosphere of the club has you feeling looser than you have in a long time, and after the next song, you join Dave over at the bar to get another drink.

You down half of it before you leave the counter, and by this point, JJ has coaxed Will out of his seat, while Spencer rushes off to find the bathroom. The tiredness hits you as soon as you finish the drink, and when you spot Aaron by himself at the booth, you glide back to keep him company.

He doesn't notice you at first as you walk over to him, and you can't help but register that he looks good in his undone button-down. You take another step forward and a thin glint of metal around his neck becomes visible. A jolt of heat shoots down your body and you set your glass down on a nearby table without looking as you approach him.

When you reach the edge of the bench, someone walking by bumps into you and you stumble forward. Aaron grabs onto you as you fall forward, and you end up crushed in his arms, your face just inches from his. Your thoughts cut out and you don't make a sound, your breaths coming out in quick spurts.

Neither one of you moves as you look at each other, so so close, so much closer than you've ever been, than you've ever gotten to be. The faintest impression of a thought - the thought - crosses the deepest edges of your mind as you lean in infinitesimally. He doesn't notice, and you barely register it either, but you can't help but notice how easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him.

Kiss him?

Your brain short-circuits and you just barely manage to keep your eyes from widening. You have no idea where that came from, but then again, if you are honest with yourself, it has always been there, buried deep down beneath years of friendship and history.

The question invades your brain again, and this time, you're unable to stop it. What would it be like to kiss him?

You can't keep your breath from catching, and he pulls back immediately, tugging you to the side and depositing you on the booth beside him.

Your mouth falls open as you try to meet his eye. "Aaron-"

His head turns and he stands up, his eyes dark under the soft lighting. "I'm sorry."

Before you can get another word out, he's gone.

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @yiiiikesmish, @sanayikes, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog, @madesavage05, @littlemisskavities, @love13tter, @domithebomi, @guacam011y, @averyhotchner, @silver-studios, @whosmys (message me to be added!)

[mindmelter]

Alien On The A-List - Ross Lynch Takeover

A vibrant, bustling crowd filled the arena, their excitement palpable as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their beloved idol, Ross Lynch. A particular individual within the crowd stood out, one of the few men among the majority female crowd, his heart racing and his palms sweaty not just from the energy in the crowd but from something more personal. His gaze never left the entrance, his eyes fixed awaiting for the man who had stolen his heart. The fan was obviously gay, horny and had a huge crush on Ross Lynch, the star and singer of the band. He had been following his idol's every move for years, attending concerts and collecting the tickets. Little did he know that fate would soon intervene in the form of a tiny, alien creature he would find that day.

The fan had been in many concerts before, but this particular place was an odd choice to host one, it was just too far away from the city and there was an old legend about the place, they say it used to be a military base where they would keep captured Aliens, but it was closed many years ago for mysterious reasons.

As the lights flickered and loud music began to play, the fans erupted into deafening cheers, their screams echoing through the arena. Ross Lynch finally emerged on stage, his charisma and charm immediately taking hold of the audience.

The gay fan felt a surge of happiness and desire course through his veins. He could only dream of having a chance with Ross, of somehow making contact with the object of his affection, but he knew it was impossible, he was just one gay fan among a crowd of four thousand people.

"Down here" The fan heard a voice say, he looked around confused, but everyone else was just enjoying the show. "No, down here! look to the ground" the voice spoke again.

And then, during this chaotic moment, he spotted it: a tiny, transparent, Alien humanoid, fighting not to be stomped by the crazy crowd.

Without hesitation, he picked it up, not realizing the significance of what he had just discovered. It was an alien creature, and it was about to change his life forever.

The alien and the fan started communicating through telepathy. The tiny creature explained that it was hibernating under the ground for decades and had just woken up but due to the loud music above. The Alien was very angry about being woken by the loud music and the singing voice of this human named "Ross Lynch" The Alien was trying now to find a new host to take over, but he almost got trampled by all those people, if it wasn't for the fan, he would have. The alien also seemed to understand the fan's infatuation with Ross Lynch and promised to help him get closer to his idol, but with one condition.

"My species feeds on human emotions, but Desire is the tastiest and sweetest human emotion, it makes us very strong. And you, human...you are full of it, I could feel your desire from miles away, and it is delicious. I just woke up from my hibernation, that means i'm starving, that's why I want to offer you a deal, I will make your dream come true by taking over the source of your desire, and all you have to do is just keep desiring him"

As the concert drew to a close, the fan devised a plan. They would do it during the meet-and-greet session that would happen after the concert.

Finally, the moment arrived. The fan waited in line, his heart pounding with anticipation and fear. When it was his turn, he stepped forward...

_________________________

Ross Lynch was in the middle of another exhausting meet and greet, signing autographs and taking selfies with his adoring fans. One particular fan, a young man who had been waiting in line for hours, approached the star with a box of chocolates and a tiny, plastic alien toy. As he kindly accepted the gift, the alien toy came to life and jumped right inside his mouth. The Alien's true form was gelatinous and slimy, so it was easy to slide inside.

Ross, feeling a foreign object in his throat, began to cough uncontrollably. The crowd around him grew silent, watching in horror as their idol choked on what appeared to be a tiny plastic toy. As he finally caught his breath, his eyes rolled back and his head went limp. The alien had made its way down his throat and into his brain, taking full control of his body.

Suddendly his white eyes went back to normal, and he glared at the scared fan. The security guards moved in to restrain the fan. But before they could touch him, Ross spoke: "Let him through." The guards hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, but eventually parted to let the gay fan approach him. As he stepped closer, a wicked grin spread across Ross's face.

"I've heard from a tiny Alien that you are a big fan of mine, is this true?"

The fan was speacheless, he tried to talk, to say yes!, to say he's been a huge fan for years, but no words came out, he was just too nervous to speak with his Idol. Ross just chuckled and turned to his staff members.

"End the meet and greet session, I'm done for today" Ross said to his staff. The possessed star then took the fan's hand and led him to the backrooms, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The fan could barely believe this was really happening and he started to imagine what would happen next.

"That's it, keep imagining all the dirty things I'm gonna do to you" Ross told him.

The fan then continued imagining different hot scenarios of him alone with Ross. Ross just closed his eyes and started to moan while telepathically viewing all the things his horny gay fan was thinking about him. "Uuugghhhhh...fuck yes, I'm totally doing that...and that as well... Hmmm this looks hot!"

The fan was terrified but also strangely aroused by Ross's newfound dominance, he could only nod in agreement. Ross leaned in close, their breath mingling, and he whispered: "We are going to have toons of fun with this host." The possessed Ross Lynch then turned around, marching back to the halls.

They finally arrived at Ross's private dressing room, with the door closed Ross turned to face his fan. "Now," he smirked, "you're going to see what happens when you try to fuck with the wrong person."

With that, he pushed the fan roughly against the wall, taking off his white sweaty tank top and then throwing the shirt to the fan. "Sniff it" Ross ordered and the fan obeyed. Ross smirked as he watched.

"Good boy, I see you like my smell" he purred, before roughly shoving the fan's face into his sweaty armpit. "Suck it." he commanded. "It was what you wanted all this time wasn't it?"

The fan, overcome with a mixture of fear and lust, obeyed, wrapping his lips around Ross's sweaty armpit and sucking greedily. Hours of non-stop singing and dancing had left his body completely covered in sweat.

Meanwhile, inside Ross's brain, the alien creature was having the time of its life, reveling in the power it now wielded over its new host. It sent a wave of desire coursing through Ross's veins, and as he felt the fan's tongue lapping at his host's sweaty armpit, he could no longer contain himself. Grinning wickedly, he spun the stunned fan around and pinned him against the wall again, their bodies pressed tightly together. "Now," he growled, "it's time for you to see what I really want." And with that, he slid his hands down the fan's pants, grabbing his aroused member in his hand. As the two of them finally gave in to their desires, the possessed Ross Lynch and his adoring fan started to kiss, the fan forgot about the world outside the dressing room, lost in the throes of passion.

After the 8 minutes long french kiss, Ross ordered the fan to kneel before him, and the fan obeyed without hesitation, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and arousal. Ross Lynch placed a hand on the fan's head, pushing him towards his bulge roughly, and the fan felt Ross's hard boner inside his pants. "You're mine now," Ross growled, his voice deep and commanding. "This host belong to me, and you belong to this Host!"

The fan could feel Ross Lynch's erection pressing against his face, and he knew that he was going to get what he had always wanted. Ross Lynch grabbed the fan roughly by the hair, pulling his head back, and the fan gazed up into the intense, alien-possessed eyes of his idol. "You're going to worship my body, my sweat, my everything," Ross commanded. "And when I'm done with you, you're going to beg for more." The tiny alien within Ross Lynch's body was relentless, driving him to take control and dominate the situation, and the fan couldn't help but submit to the tough alpha persona the Alien was adopting.

Ross guided the fan's hands to his armpits while the fan licked his hard sweaty abs "Yeeees," Ross hissed, "that's it. Taste me, boy"

As their bodies moved together in a frenzy of lust, Ross Lynch reached down and started to unbuckle his belt.

After dropping the jeans to his ankles, Ross grabbed the fan's hand and guided it to his exposed, hardened flesh. The fan's fingers trembled as they wrapped around Ross's length, feeling the heat and the power that emanated from it. "That's it," Ross growled, "stroking your god. Show me how much you want me." And with that, Ross Lynch began to thrust against the fan's hand, his hips moving in a powerful rhythm that drove the fan to the brink of ecstasy.

The fan could feel Ross Lynch's breath hot against his ear, his words sending shivers down his spine. "This is what you always dreamed of," Ross whispered, "and I'm going to make sure you remember this for the rest of your life." And with that, Ross leaned down, capturing the fan's lips in a brutal kiss, their tongues clashing together as they exchanged their saliva.

As their hot passionate encounter came to a climax, Ross Lynch let out a primal roar, his body tense and shuddering as he released his seed deep into the fan's hand. The fan felt a wave of heat and pleasure wash over him as he came as well, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. And when it was over, Ross leaned back on a chair, catching his breath, his chest heaving as he looked down at the fan sprawled beneath him. The fan watched in awe as Ross's softening member pulsated every few seconds, he also could see the alien still glowing brightly within Ross's eye, its presence both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

"So? How did you like it? I tried to recreate exactly the fantasy I saw in his mind." Ross said, a smile curling the corners of his lips. "It looks like this whole experience left you speechless, I understand, you need time to recover" He laughed, and with that, he leaned down once more, kissing the fan softly on the forehead, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "Thank you for feeding me, I'm full now"

The fan stayed on the floor, he just smiled and looked down to his cum covered hand, he couldn't help but wonder what other more adventures they would share together.

____________________________________

"This is our destiny" Ross sang to the loud crowd.

Four days had passed after the take over, and Ross was already singing at another concert as he was still on tour. The fan was now sitting in the front and exclusive row, which allowed the fan a perfect, up-close view of Ross's fit, sweaty body. For a few moments while he was singing, Ross would look, wink and point at this particular fan. For some people it even seemed that Ross was singing only for him.

[bloodynereid]

Hey babes! What do you think about some rivals to lovers for jordan li? I love how Jordan was super competitive at the start of the show, and idk why but I wanted to see more of that from them :) anyway something angsty but also super cute?

Jordan Li is my new obsession and the little amount of fanfiction for them hurts

Sending you lots of love 💕💕💕

Heartstrings

pairing: jordan li x fem! reader

tw: angst, horrible parents... again, rivalry, swearing, fluff, crying, alcohol consumption, intrusive thoughts?

description: rivals always do have that unspoken tension don't they?

a/n: hiii sorry it took like a month to write this - hopefully it's similar to what you thought about. also sorry it's so short, i think i went into a sort of mini writing slump so i'm trying to get back on the saddle. anywaysss hope you enjoy <33

You let out a huff as you collapsed on one of the picnic tables outside of the exam room (what really was a random auditorium). God, that exam was horrible. For some reason, it seemed easy up until the moment you dropped the stack of papers off at the examiner’s desk.

Business was probably easier than it was at different colleges because it just focused on supe management but it had a variety of key terms that you had studied like a maniac. But… you still felt like a failure. How were you going to make it past Jordan fucking Li on the leaderboard if you got a mediocre score on a random business final?

“Damn that exam was easyyyy, why are you grumbling on such a beautiful day like today?” Speaking of the devil.

“Jordan…” You said, poison lacing your tone as you looked up at the stupid smirk on their face.

“Y/N. What did you think of the test?” You and Jordan had a sort of rivalry between the two of you since you started at God U. 

Freshman year. You and Jordan share the majority of classes. It sounds like the recipe for real friendship but no, it turned into something more twisted.

“Incredibly easy, what about you Jordan? Think that you actually did well at something for once?”

“Oh I’m hurt darling. Who’s higher on the ranks by the way? I haven’t checked.”

“Fuck you.”

“I think that’s something you want to do.” Jordan’s voice held something hard to identify as they leaned forward and she winked at you.

You smoothed out the fabric of the dress you were wearing. The gold dress hung around your frame perfectly and it actually made you feel confident in a room of people who probably had more money that you could even dream of.

A sip of bubbly champagne filled your mouth when you suddenly felt a solid presence behind you. The flute of bubbly alcohol was plucked out of your hand and you twirled around with an indignant look on your face. You really shouldn’t be surprised that the person standing in front of you was Jordan.

“Wow, so now you don’t just steal my place in the ranks but you also steal my fucking champagne.”

“It’s pretty shitty champagne, you’re not really missing anything.” Jordan said as they smiled that stupidly teasing smile of theirs as he took another sip. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the flute back out of their hands.

“What do you want, Jordan?”

“Oh I don’t know, it seems like you looked a little lonely.”

“So this whole charade was so you could check on my wellbeing, yeah I fucking doubt that.”

“Then why do you think I came here?” Jordan purred out as they leaned on one of the columns.

“To gloat.”

“Oh I think you suffer enough whenever you open up that little phone of yours to see who’s higher up.” Jordan said they trailed a finger over the hand that you were using to hold up the flute. Your eyes narrowed and you felt a shudder of pure hatred run through your veins. Quickly pulling your hand away, you huffed and walked straight away from a smirking Jordan.

“Aww did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?”

Frantically wiping away the tears that littered your face, you slammed your phone down maybe a little too harshly on the concrete steps. You heard the protective case shatter but in that moment all you could care about is the venomous words spewed into your ear by your parents.

Never enough. That’s what you constantly felt like. You were the eldest and yet you could never do anything as perfectly as your brothers. They were getting top ranks at their supe training school and what were you doing? You were sitting at a mediocre 5. Not good enough for parents who demanded perfection in every single aspect of your life.

A sob was trying to fight its way out of your throat when you buried your head between your arms. The harsh fabric of your jeans scratched painfully on your tearstreaked cheeks. You deserve the fucking pain at this point.

You could almost feel your blood boiling when your powers turned on hyperdrive. Well that’s wonderful timing. Suddenly you could feel, hear and see basically everything. The senses assaulted your very being and a choked whine left your lips.

Why did they think you weren’t good enough? Top 5 is something kids and their parents dream about. And yet you were sitting around on a cold concrete slab crying your eyes out because of your parents.

“Y/N?” The voice you recognized ever so well, made you look up from your clothed arms. Meeting Jordan’s eyes with your own tear-filled ones.

“Fuck off Jordan, I don’t need or want to deal with you today.” You said sharply before dropping your head back onto your knees. You didn’t feel Jordan move away though, instead a warm body settled down next to you and you felt an arm weave around your shoulders.

The chill that had seemed to have permanently weaved with your DNA left when Jordan cradled you into their embrace.

“Y/N?” You let out a loud sob at the sound of your name. What you didn’t realize was that Jordan’s eyes were filled with brimming concern. They had never seen you like this, you were literally like a rock. You always took their teases in stride and easily rebuked them. Your little cat and mouse game was one of the only things that kept Jordan going whenever they were having a bad day.

“I fucking hate them. I do everything they ask of me and yet I’m never enough. I’m never going to be as good as their perfect little sons.” Your words came out in heaves and sniffles. Jordan felt a pang of emotion, they knew exactly what you were feeling.

“I get it, I know everyone always says that but I really do this time. My parents fucking suck. They constantly demand perfection, don’t they?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off as the tears started to dry up and crust on your cheeks.

“Are you okay, darling?” Jordan said softly as you looked up to meet her eyes.

“I can’t believe you are comforting right now, but other than that fine.”

“Always with the scathing insults.” Jordan said with a delighted twist of their smile. 

“You know me… thanks for this Jordan.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Something sparked in Jordan’s eyes when you smiled at them. “You know I don’t really hate you right?” Jordan said softly as they caught a stray tear with their thumb.

That was when you had the realization, you never really hated them either. You liked the competition. You liked feeling pushed and you absolutely adored their stupid fucking smirk.

“Maybe I don’t really hate you either.”

“Ah you see, progress.” Jordan said, making a zap of energy sing through you.

“This doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends suddenly.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it but between you and me, darling, I think we would be something more.” Jordan said with a wink which made goosebumps appear on your skin.

“You’re going to have to beat me first.”

“In what?”

“In that stupid business exam… results come out tomorrow. If you get a better grade than me you get to take me out on a date, if I get a better grade than you I get to take you out on a date.”

“Seems like a win-win situation either way. I can’t wait.” Jordan brushed their warm fingers across your cheekbone before they sent you one final wink and a smirk before heading off in the direction of the dorms.

“You coming? We do have that marketing exam on Friday…” Jordan called out over their shoulder, their remark made your body instantly heat up. Fuck it. You were in a losing battle with them again, this time the prize was your heart and they were certainly going to win it.

ahhh jordannnnn

[wonderlandwalker]

The Will of the Moirai | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Part three of Remember and Trying to Forget. Time passes in district 13 and Finnick wonders if everything will ever be as it was, but the moment everything feels like it did before, fate interrupts

Content Warnings/Tags: Angst, memory loss, blood, gunshots, major character injury, hurt/very little comfort, my love of Greek mythology, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: So turns out I lied and I wrote this before my exam but since I did I might as well post it. Look I tried to make it less sad but as I was writing it somewhere my thoughts just took over. If anyone knows how to make happy endings let me know cause by the gods we all know Finnick deserves one. I also nerded out a bit on the mythology part I'm sorry

Vocabulary:

Moirai = the three fates which determine the length of someones life

Atropos = one of the fate sisters who cuts the thread of someone's life

River of lost souls = one of the five rivers of the underworld, the river of misery

Lethe = one of the five rivers of the underworld, the river of forgetfulness

He knows someone died today, he knows because whenever this happens there is always an announcement. And he’s never sure why they do this, because to him it feels like they're just adding salt to a fresh wound. He doesn’t understand the custom, and he hopes he will never get the chance to learn either, hopes that Atropos will have mercy on him for a little longer. He doesn’t know who it is that passed away in the hospital wing, he hears them mention a name but he’s not listening. He can hear someone else, someone yelling about how the doctors did something wrong, how they messed up. And he isn't sure if it’s insensitive, but he does not care much, he can’t get himself to care because it isn't you. You are standing next to him and to him, all is right. For the most part

It’s comical almost, the way he gets excited every time, as if this is the last piece of the puzzle and the picture will be complete, but every time there is still another piece lost somewhere. And while he’s grateful every time that light of recollection passes through you, it’s not enough. It will never be enough because you do remember him, but you don’t remember him like he remembers you. He thought he knew what patience felt like, because first, he spent his time waiting for you to fall in love with him the way he had always known he loved you. then he was tested whenever you would wear something just a little too revealing to a party, making him wonder if patience really was a virtue, and if it was, he’d prefer spending his time searching for vices. 

Yes, Finnick thought himself a patient man, but as the days continued to pass by he found himself reevaluating the standard. Because he wasn't annoyed, he wasn't anxious, and he was surely not tolerable. So maybe this wasn't a question of patience, maybe, he thought, this was a test of his love for you. And with that thought, he went to bed every night. He went to sleep not with the comfort of you next to him, but with the comfort of knowing that this was a scrutiny he would spend eternity enduring in order to get you back.

With that he spends his days next to you, knowing that even if it takes forever, he will still be there. So he makes conversation with you during dinner and makes you laugh at parties, he makes sure everyone knows he is yours, even if you don’t know it yet. So when someone interrupts him from the hypnotizing effect you have on him, he tries not to pay it any mind, but unfortunately, that is not an option this time. Because the man he had seen making a commotion the other day is here, he is even more upset than he had seemed before, and this time he has a gun.

He sees the man step closer, and he is about to take his chances to try and disarm him when he sees you stepping forward. You take a step closer to the man while holding out your hands, you look as if you’re trying to address an easily startled animal. But it’s working, and Finnick can’t say he’s surprised, because who could say no to you? You’re trying to reason with him, and usually, Finnick would have said it’s no use, but he knows how persuasive you can be. He remembers how you were always the one to reason, even when he didn't see the point. You always had to try, because you had told him about the good of people, but you were the only one Finnick saw any good in. You’re telling the man about the importance of memories. Youre talking about the fondness you hold to your own memories, but they're not just yours, they're your memories with him. You’re talking about that day in the arena, you’re saying how scared you were, scared that those would be your last moments. But you didn't care, because you knew Finnick was alive, and he would never let the memory of you die. You’re asking the man about the woman who died, he still can't remember her name, but you do, you remember. And it’s working, it’s all working like a tower of cards put together by the gentlest of hands. 

But it doesn't take much to destroy what you’ve built, the smallest gust of wind can knock it over. He watches it happen, he sees the soldiers slowly and silently entering the room to try and put a stop to the rampage the man has caused. He sees it and he knows everything is about to start to crumble down. So he does the only thing he knows how to do, he reaches for you. He reaches for you because he knows that once the man notices what is happening, your tower of cards will be knocked over and you will have lost the battle you’ve been trying to win. And he can’t stop it from happening, but he can save you from the fall. He reaches out to you and he can feel your soft skin against his as he tugs you towards him. And he can’t explain it, because he knows there isn't a logical way to do so, but the moment he feels your touch, he knows everything is back in its right place. He knows you remember.  He gets to you, and he hears the shot echo through the room, but he doesn't want you to have to see it, he shields you from everything that's happening because youre letting him, for the first time since the games you’re letting him. 

But he should've learned by now that things are never this simple, and every time he thinks he’s won, there is always something there to push him off the pedestal he’s just built. He looks and he sees the man standing there, and he doesn't understand. Because he heard a gunshot, but the man is still standing, being surrounded and being detained, but standing. He doesn't understand until he can feel you collapsing, he looks back to you as he supports you and his blood turns to ice. Because he sees his hands, the hands that were supposed to save you, and they’re covered in blood. They’re covered in your blood. He can see the blush disappearing from your cheeks and the way your eyes are starting to close. And for once he wished he didn't remember. That he couldn't recall the last time this happened, because he wants to have hope, he wants to convince himself that tomorrow everything would be okay, because he’s managed to get you back yet again. But the memory hangs over him like a dark storm he should’ve seen coming. He spent days, weeks begging whichever god would be listening to make you remember, to give you back to him. And it turns out they heard him, but they have never been known to be fair. He remembers the strength it took you to get here, and he doesn't know if you have enough left to do it again. 

And if he could, he’d offer himself to the river of lost souls, he would spend eternity reliving this misery as long as he knew you wouldn't have to. He would dive into it like the sea on a summer night back home, because to him, that would be better than seeing you be taken to the Lethe again. And he knows the moirai do not care what he has to say, that they do not care what he is willing to offer, but he is still pleading to them anyway. Because you open your eyes when he asks you to, and you look at him the same way as when he found you in the capitol, you look at him as if nothing is wrong, because he makes it all right. And surely, he thinks, this cannot be how it ends. He’s desperate, and he’s scared. But he’s no longer scared you’ll pull away when he kisses you, because your lips are melting together with his again and he’s sure this is what heaven must feel like. Except the moment you stop kissing him, the moment your hand falls from where it was holding his face, he knows this was never heaven, this is his hell.

Next part: One day at a Time

Taglist: @hesperdern @mrsnancywheeler

[persevereforahappyending]

Luck Runs Out |Part 1|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Drugs, Guns, Violence

Word Count: 2.4k

Note: This is what happens when hyperfixations converge

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Epilogue

“Cut the line!” You screamed over the raging storm and grinding machine.

“No!” Your captain yelled. “We can’t let the product go!”

“We have to!” you turned to face the captain.

“We have too much money riding on this drop.”

You watched as your fellow crewman continued to push the lever, trying to raise the net with product. You lifted thousands of pounds of fish almost daily so drugs shouldn’t be any different. It wasn’t usually different. The thing about machines though, no matter how many times you’ve used them, no matter how reliable they were in the past, they could still break.

The machine continued to groan, the wire grinding and struggling to raise the net. It was a bigger drop than usual, but it wasn’t anything you and the crew couldn’t handle. The thing that didn’t help though was that there was a major storm, the waves crashing around the boat, swaying it violently back and forth as your crew tried to raise the drugs. Most fishermen would have held out in leaving the dock when they heard the storm would be rolling in, just wait for it to pass and leave in the morning to get their catches. Your crew had a time limit though, you were told about the drop and drug dealers didn’t care about a ‘little storm’ in their words. Your job was just to get the drugs and bring them in.

“We have to cut the line!” You shouted, begging your captain to see reason.

“No!” He screamed back. “We get this line up or being out of a job will be the least of our worries.”

The grinding got louder, you looked to see the device to lift the net now smoking. Any other captain would have told them to cut the line, it would have sucked, but any other fishermen would have just taken the loss of the catch, the risk wasn’t worth it. You weren’t just any other fishermen though; you were the best. Your crew brought in some of the biggest catches, you were on one of the nicest fishing boats in the harbor, for fishermen the whole crew were well off not just the captain. You were also drug smugglers, you moved more drugs than fish, that’s where the real money came from.

“Screw it!” You said, watching as your crew mate struggled with the lever, losing his grip and as he slipped from a large wave that crashed onto the deck. The lever went down, the cord holding the product started to drop back into the ocean. Your crew mate quickly recovered and grabbed the lever, pushing it up as he caught the product, the cargo swinging from the sudden change.

You rushed forward, moving to push your crew mate out of the way when the cocking of a gun stopped you in your tracks. You heard it clearly, as if there weren’t crashing waves and thunder surrounding you.

“I said no,” your captain repeated.

You slowly turned to see your captain aiming a revolver at your head. You stared down the barrel of the gun, looking over it to see no hesitation in your captains’ eyes. You took a step away from the machine, refusing to back down from your captain's gaze. He was your captain, this was his ship, what he said was law, if he asked the men to throw you overboard, they would. A crew was supposed to be like family, fishing was dangerous, and the ocean was unforgiving, if you couldn’t rely on your crew, you might as well be dead. Everyone had a job and you needed to trust everyone would do their job, if you couldn’t trust them, then there was risk, everything could go wrong, and on the ocean, if something goes wrong it can not only cost you your life but your entire crews.

There was a groan then a loud snap, breaking the tense moment. Your eyes left the gun pointed at you and went to where the drugs were being lifted. One of the cables had snapped, the other was straining itself to hold the load. With the crew distracted you ran forwards, hitting the button to release the load. The net of drugs instantly dropped; the boat harshly swayed at the change in weight, sending you flying back into the side of the boat, nearly going over the edge.

You held onto the edge, trying to keep yourself upright. You turned around just as a shot rang out. An incredible force hit your shoulder, flipping you over the side of the boat. The cord that had broken free of the machine lifting the drugs entered the water, wrapping around your ankle as it trailed after the net it was connected to, the drugs you tried so hard to cut loose to save everyone was now dragging you to the bottom of the ocean. You weren’t a good person, you’d made a lot of bad choices in life, whatever the reason for those choices ultimately led you to where you were now. You always knew getting involved with this life was most likely a death sentence. Maybe the god of the sea would take mercy on you, maybe remake you into a shark or something cool. You weren’t that lucky though; the sea god was just as ruthless and merciless as the ocean he ruled. You were in his domain; you didn’t deserve his mercy.

You watched as the light from the boat slowly faded. You weren’t sure if they were leaving you, they probably were, or if you were too deep for light to reach, also probable, or made you were starting to blackout from whatever hit you, also highly likely. You deserved this, sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor, alone in the dark with nothing to do but rot. You deserved this.

Your eyes snapped open, the saltwater stinging them. You might have deserved to die like this but that didn’t mean you were going to make it easy. You were a fighter to the very end and there was no way you were going to sit back and just let the ocean take you. You swam up, trying to kick your foot loose from the cord it was tangled in. the cord seemed to only get more tangled, the pallet of drugs only pulling you deeper by the second. You felt around, searching your body for the knife you always kept on you. You let out an internal sigh of relief when your finger brushed the metal, your hand quickly gripping the rubber handle.

You freed your knife and swam down, the cord that was around your ankle was too thick to cut through, you were going to need to cut the net the drugs were in. You swam further down, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes. You felt around, finally feeling the net, following the path of the net until you found where the cord around your leg connected to the net. You quickly dug the knife into the rope, sawing back and forth until the cord broke free. You didn’t waste a second, quickly swimming back to the surface.

You broke through the water, gasping for air, trying to keep your head above the water as the waves crashed over you. The storm was still raging, you looked around, seeing nothing but the glint of your knife in the moonlight. A few seconds after floating on the water, trying to reserve your energy since you didn’t know right from left in the ocean. If you just started swimming you could end up going further out to sea. You needed to find a piece of driftwood or something just to keep yourself afloat as the current guided you back to shore.

You sheathed the knife back at your side, not removing your hand until you knew it was secure. You reached down, bringing your leg up as you tried to detangle the cord from your ankle, while also keeping your head above the water. The cord was thick and heavy, it kept trying to drag you down but eventually you got it around your foot, kicking your foot to untangle the rest of it until you were finally free.

Something else broke the surface, making you jump but when you got closer you saw it, three tightly sealed packs of drugs. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, the drugs that seemed to be your downfall might be the thing that saved you. You swam to them, pushing them as close as you could together, holding them in place as they kept you afloat.

You pulled out your necklace that you always kept tucked under your shirt, giving it a kiss, silently thanking Poseidon or any other sea god that might exist. You didn’t necessarily believe in the Greek gods, but you grew up hearing those stories, fascinated by the mythology of it all. When you got into fishing your mother gifted you a little trident necklace and ever since you had never taken it off. You knew it was kind of stupid and your crew always made fun of you for it, but you always kissed it before going out to sea and held onto it during difficult times. You didn’t believe in it but on the off chance that the gods were real you wanted to show your support in some way, besides, representing the god of the sea and showing him respect didn’t hurt anything. It gave you comfort, believing in a god, believing that when you went out to sea you’d be protected and if the worse came, then you’d have somewhere to go, that your soul might be protected in the afterlife.

Or maybe Poseidon saved you only to let you die a far harsher death. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean isn’t ideal but it would have been quicker than your current predicament. Now you were floating in the middle of the ocean, a couple bags of drugs the only think keeping you from exhausting yourself and sending you back down to your demise. No one knew where you were, no one would come for you, your crew would lie about what happened and everyone would write you off as dead. You were soaked down to your bones, the top half of your body shivering in the moonlight, you had no food, no water. Your only hope of rescue was being close enough to shore that the tide would carry you in before you died from dehydration, which you knew wasn’t likely. Otherwise, your fate lied in the coast guard stumbling upon you or some unsuspecting fisherman catching sight of you as they set out for their catch.

You sighed, closing your eyes, yeah, the sea god was pissed at you. You couldn’t blame him; you did taint his ocean with drugs after all. You deserved everything that was coming to you. At least the rain stopped, maybe you were being shown mercy after all, maybe Poseidon wasn’t going to allow you to die alone, in the ocean, in the freezing rain. To most that wouldn’t seem like a kindness but for a god that was about as merciful as it got. You were lucky the waves weren’t still crashing over you, refusing to allow you to break through to the surface, fighting your way up and the surface just constantly being out of reach. If you were to die by simple dehydration, then you were lucky.

You had one arm stretched out over the packs of drugs to help keep them together, your fingertips dipping into the water with each movement of the waves. You rested your head against the packs, your eyelids becoming heavy despite your desire to keep them open. The last thing you saw was the moonlight before you finally lost consciousness.

Your eyes slowly fluttered, squinting as you tried to look around but quickly dropped your head back down when you didn’t have the strength to lift it. You groaned, as you reached over, touching your shoulder, gritting your teeth at the pain that shot through your entire body at the lightest touch. When you pulled your hand away, resting it in front of your face as you opened your eyes just a bit more to see your fingers coated red. With that your eyes slowly closed again.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, not able to open your eyes again. The sun beating down on you as you swayed with the waves. You weren’t sure where they were taking you, to shore, or further out into the ocean, inching closer to your demise with each wave.

The waves got rougher, making you regain consciousness for a second. It sounded like people were talking, you nodded thinking you finally succumbed to delusions and now you were hearing things. Certainly, it was only a matter of time before the ocean took you again, dragging you back down to your watery tomb.

Death never came though, you were gripped by the shoulders and hoisted upward, gently being placed back down on a hard surface. You tried to open your eyes, squinting as you saw a handful of silhouettes standing over you. One of them stood taller than the other, looking down at you as he pointed to the others, seeming to give them orders. When he turned, the sunlight hitting him just right, you could see he had a beard, he also smelled oddly like fish, maybe Poseidon was real after all, or maybe you smelled like fish, you were on a fishing boat the night before and had been in the ocean since then.

“Holy shit,” someone whispered, the first thing you could properly hear but your eyes wanted to remain closed as you tried to turn toward the voice.

“Let’s get back to shore!” someone ordered.

“We need to get them to a hospital,” another voice said. This voice was closer to you, and you felt pressure go to your injured shoulder, causing you to let out a cry, your body jolting from the pain but quickly flopping back down again.

“No,” you rasped out. “No hospital.” You tried to raise your hand to wave them off, but you didn’t think your hand ever left the ground. “No,” you breathed out before finally fully losing consciousness again.

[pretentiousgayguyidk]

-Human Service Dog-

Ghost, Soap, Price, and König

Sorry if some of them are short, I was running low on juice (i need caffeine)

Well i straight up forgot i wrote this- so uh here have it i think it's finished (I'm really not good at this author thing 💀)

"Ghost" Simon Riley

Ghost grunted quietly, sitting down on the couch of the Survey Corps lounge. He leaned forward a little bit,clasping his hands tightly, his breathing was heavy as if he were stressed.

(Name) took note of this, approaching the Lieutenant without any hesitation. Soap watched from afar, anxiously anticipating the rookie getting beat to hell and back. Ghost glared up at the rookie in agitation, the young man simply smiled a little before sitting next to Ghost. The British man huffed a little, staring at the rookie with an unamused look.

"Stressed?" The younger asked quietly, Ghost just looked away slowly shaking his head in annoyance. (Name) sighed quietly before laying across Ghost's lap making the older man freeze up.

"Bloody 'ell are you doing?" He grumbled, not exactly angered - more so confused than anything else. (Name) smiled happily.

"DPT," he stated plainly, before joining the service he was a Psychology major who worked a little with service dogs. He had learned all the minute details of nearly every human emotion, easily able to read people and respond accordingly. Soap had choked on his drink, coughing aggressively as he watched the bizarre scene before him.

"The hell is that?" Ghost questioned again, no longer stressed or angered. He was utterly shocked, baffled as to why anyone would do something like this.

"Deep pressure therapy, it's used by service dogs to help ground people who are in disarray." The Brit sat there for a moment, staring at the newer addition for a while before finally speaking up.

"Get off."

"Alrighty!" He said, unbothered by his superior's aggressive tone. He could tell just by the solder's stature that he felt a little better. The (colour) haired man got up and left with a small wave, going back to his room.

Once left alone, Soap smiled cheekily looking over at the Lieutenant.

"So Lt. You enjoy your little date?" He asked smugly, earning a death glare from the masked man.

"Shut. The fuck. Up."

"Soap" John Mctavish

Soap paced around, running his hands through his mohawk as he huffed and puffed. The others sat and watched as he continued this display, sighing aggressively.

"You done?" Ghost asked, clear annoyance present in his gaze. Price crossed his arms, also growing tired of Soap's dramatic display. (Name) stood up from his seat, and walked closer to Soap.

"Hey, Soap sit down." The Scot paused in his pacing before shaking his head and continuing. The (light/dark) haired man sighed, grabbing Soap by his hood and dragging him over to the nearest chair.

"Hey! What-" Soap was cut off as he was sat down in a seat with the more stubborn man sitting in his lap. The Scottish man flushed pink from the embarrassment and or humiliation as he tried to push him off.

"Chill out, I'm trying to help you." Soap looked up at him with bewilderment.

"Help me? How is this-"

"Deep pressure therapy, now shut up and breath dummy." The other grumbled, leaning against Soap lazily. Gaz burst out laughing at the display, earning a slap to the arm from Price, who attempted to hide his amusement.

"You suck..." Soap grumbled into the others shoulder, gently hugging the other as he came to accept his fate.

"Love you too buddy."

Capt. Price

The older man sat at his desk, exhaustion and stress oozing out of him as he slumped slightly. (Name) quietly knocked at the door of Price's office, peaking in as he cracked the door. Price looked up with a tired smile.

"You need something?" He asked quietly, (Name) looked at him for a moment before stepping in. His expression was a mix of concern and determination. Without much hesitation he plopped down into his Captain's lap, hugging the older as he did so.

Price has already beared witness to this display before, silently accepting it. He sighed tiredly, gently patting the younger on the back.

"Thanks."

"No problem Captn."

König

The squad took shifts going out for supplies like groceries, and this week it was König. Despite his aggravated curses he begrudgingly went out for food. By the time he got back he was slouching, his heart hammering in his chest as the anxiety lingered.

(Name) greeted him, helping him carry in the groceries despite knowing König was more than strong enough to do it himself. König appreciated the help, although he would rather have emotional support than help carrying things.

Once inside, König dropped the groceries in the shared kitchen before speed walking to the nearest comfy chair. Once seated he leaned forward, his forearms resting his upper body weight on his thighs.

(Name) was quick to notice this, approaching his larger friend. König sat up slightly, looking up at his companion with half lidded eyes. The shorter smiled a little before sitting down, straddling König who exclaimed in incomprehensible German. (Name) hugged him as he sat there, earning a appreciative sigh.

"I hate people." König grumbled grumpily, his face pressed into (Name)'s shoulder. The shorter gently ruffled his hair as he continued to grumble and complain about how he would "get back at them" for this.

"It's alright, König... Just beat their asses during training," he suggested, earning an enthusiastic gasp of realization.

"Im gonna kick all of their arses!" He growled, almost literally earning a small chuckle from the smaller.

[moondirti]

tender / and what’s left

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronze at this time of day, you know you can't touch him to feel the sun.

But you’re not looking for warmth.

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: explicit (mdni) word count: 4.3k summary: what gentle has come to mean warnings: smut, canon typical violence, angst, mild gore, mentions of death, very little plot, blowjobs, fingering, joel is not nice - not necessarily. tumblr please don't tag my shit notes: yeah... yeah. i don't know how i feel about this one. i tried something different with the style. that is, i cut down on the purple prose, so let me know what y'all think about that. also, can you tell i struggled with joel's characterisation? idk, it's a mess. but anyway - enjoy!

You’ll never get used to the smell. 

Granted, the contrary was a lie you told yourself once things had gone to shit. A painkiller – your harsh reality sliced into digestible portions and force fed through a dry gullet. Mother earth will reclaim what spoils – like putrid carnage buried behind a thick cover of dirt, perfuming crisp air. That nature, prosperous again, would wind itself around humanity’s faults and embellish your end with a lush green. 

And maybe it will, one day.

But it takes a while for bodies to burn. You’ve come to accept that’s all you have to look forward to in your lifetime. So, you focus on the scent of sulphur-doused charcoal and try to ignore how flesh sizzles when you throw another corpse into the flame. 

Once the weight is offloaded, you trek back over the beaten path to the truck, your fingers tense with the frigid wind. A storm had come screeching through last night, mewling its sombre song while spewing out a flurry of ice onto the decaying buildings of the QZ. The sterility had lasted all of about an hour before the powdery white turned sludge and jaundice-yellow stains popped back up along the streets. 

The only salvageable thing about winter, tainted with piss. 

Huffing to yourself, you curl your hands to dissuade the frost gnawing on your knuckles and square your shoulders for the next haul. A quick scan of the cargo hold tells you you’re nearly done. There must have been ten or so infected cadavers when the unit had been dropped off – piled atop one another, heads wrapped in bags and arms still bound behind their backs. Joel had divided the work between the two of you – sectioning the heavier builds off for himself – and you’d made quick work disposing of the majority before the stink of death could cling to your blouse. 

As for him–

He brushes up behind you, stunted to a slower pace, carrying a body twice his size. You tune in to his laboured breaths, the grunts he makes with each step, muffled behind the bandana he wears as a mask. In your peripheral, you think you spot it slipping – slicked with the sweat that shines down the curve of his nose. His hair is much the same; speckled grey, glistening with sebum and a gruelling day's work. 

(You recall what it feels like, clutched in your tight grip. You like pulling at it, borderline violently, whenever you can. Whenever he lets you–)

You stop yourself. The tangent has a viscous momentum you’re all too familiar with. Reeling it in, you tuck it near your gut before it can get away from you. Instead, you choose to single in on the way his back rolls when he throws the weight into the pit – the penultimate corpse. Then, back to the task at hand. The trailer stands empty now, save for the last; a smaller frame, curled in on itself, clad in embroidered jeans and a dirty, purple sweater. 

He kept the child for you. 

What’s left of one, anyway. 

Two seconds pass. You crouch to tie your shoelaces. 

(You got them for free – traded off a FEDRA agent with a dependance on oxy. You don’t think you’ll get as lucky with gloves. Winter clothes run like cigarettes here – the theft of your last pair indicative of that fact.)

When you stand back up, the body is still there. 

The chain to the trailer latch is tangled. You decide to undo it before you move.

It won’t disappear.

Just deal with it.

It might be the cold, or the sore patch on your palm, singed from hovering too close to the flame. Food poisoning, credit to poorly cooked rat jerky, or the flu. You tell yourself it’s anything apart from what it is. You know he’s staring – can feel the laden look, sparking the frayed nerves along your shoulder. Just deal with it; the sentiment swimming in dark eyes. Deal with it; his rough voice nails into you.  

It’s not a kid. Not anymore. Not since a network of fungal threads wiggled their way into the gummy recesses of its brain. 

(But its skin is soft. Not one scar on those delicate hands.)

You let your gaze slide across the courtyard. His presence tips the scales of your consciousness, crushing with its force, and you find his brow quicker than you can blink away the wariness in your expression. He’s leaned up against a wall, twisting a spare rag over his fingers. His dry study is indecipherable. 

Your jaw clicks. 

He steps the slightest bit forward. 

With a sharp tug on the body’s ankles, you deflect his intervention and position it so that you can easily heave it onto your bent arms. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be. That, or, it’s the rigour mortis, its joints stiffened to intractable peaks. 

Keep your back straight and use your knees. 

(Joel taught you how to lift anything. He said it’d come in handy, one day. You still can’t tell what he’s preparing you for.) 

When you flip the child into the fire, the bag flies off its head. Its hair is the same shade as yours.

He takes double your shift. 

You were a florist, before, operating right outside Boston. It’s easy to forget what it was like: cramped in that two hundred square foot shop, up to your elbows in thorns as humidified air pooled beneath your pits. There’s the vague picture of a book, fatter than your forearm, always propped open on the register counter. Floriography, a guide to the Victorian language, with watercolour illustrations and an empty page dedicated to your scrawled notes on customer orders. 

And, there is the memory that accompanies it. 

An infatuated friend – no, assignment partner – in your mycology requirement. He’d gifted it to you on your birthday and you’d given a complaisant smile back before going back to the video your professor put on. It didn’t interest you at the time. You were a botany student, desperately clinging to the last shred of your sanity before the end of term, and you did not care about the outdated science of some epidemiologist in 1968. 

Perhaps you should’ve.

But–

You remember the flowers.  

Post-grad. You’d bring them in from wholesalers in Columbia. Dahlias and daisies by the dozen – thriving boscages, nursed in minerals, tepid water. It was a blend of powdered femininity, a reification of the artificial scent you’d practically bathe in as a kid. Soil a pillow for nectar and dew, their roots still branched in the nourishing mix. And it was marginally obsessive, the way you’d drink all of it in. Like divine ambrosia, hung in a drunken stupor of all-natural proportions.

In the mornings, you’d separate their petals with a gentle hand. You felt as though you could sit forever in that quaintness. It did not feel like a job.

Joel takes double your shift, because you cannot wait to get away from shit-clogged sewers. 

He comes back disgruntled, just as the afternoon sinks below the horizon. 

The room soaks in an orange tint, a deluge of evening light spilling in from outside. Scotch whiskey burns a trail down your throat, irritatingly concentrated, and you wonder where he got it from. Not many drinks nowadays pool as deep in your belly, are warm enough to strike your inhibitions. You blink, tipsy – malt and smoke clustered on your tongue – and can’t help but smack your lips, the taste reminiscent of the musk you lick from in between his legs.

He comes up behind you, pulling the bottle from your cradle before you can take another swig. You’d set a dirty tumbler out for him too, lipstains smudged against the annealed glass. He pours two fingers worth, then sits back with a weary sigh. It rumbles from somewhere in his chest, hampered with the deep baritone of his own voice. 

You don’t speak. Neither does he. 

This is what life consists of. Busy work and silence. 

Anything is better than clicking. 

You observe him in your free time. 

It’s not often you’re granted the luxury of running your fingers down his face. You have, once, after coming home much too late to see him knocked out, practically blitzed on hydro. You’d discovered his skin – that it matched the way it looks; rough, sun-worn like old leather. It folds up along his forehead, between his brows, etched in a permanent look of exasperation. He’s marked in wrinkles you don’t think will ever go away. 

(You’d tried smoothing them out. It was a stupidly sentimental action, founded on the sudden spout of emotion that plagued you that night. You had just been beaten an inch from your life, and wanted to find comfort in the fact that – if anything – he was peacefully at rest. But he looked tired, even in his sleep.) 

His eyes are far away, too. His lips, pursed. The way his hair twists on his head suggests that it’d been curly, once upon a time – flipping like waves crashing towards an isolated island. Uncoordinated. Devastating. And his beard is all but an extension of that brutality – patchy and abrasive, particularly when it smooths along your thigh. He’s ruinously handsome; weathered and dry and dark and so, so goddamn handsome.

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronzed at this time of day, you can’t touch him to feel the sun. 

But you’re not looking for warmth. 

You slide off the chair, onto your knees. 

You’ve been around long enough for him to sense what’s coming. His shoulders slouch, slack posture buttressed against the back of his chair, and the movement allows his legs to spread, just so you can slot between two beefy thighs. They ripple with restrained strength when you run your hands along them, muscle apparent even under the cover of his jeans. 

“You’re tense.” You remark, slowly ironing closer to the bulge at his crotch. 

“Long day.” He responds with a torn exhale.

The unfurling of his zipper puts an end to the short conversation. You ruck his pants to his pelvis, then scoop his cock out from behind his boxers. It’s semi-hard, heavy in your clutch, pulsing as though it aches. You slip to the base – nested in a bush of wild, auburn hair – and tug it until he swells to become velvet-covered iron. He thickens, brims with arousal, head darkening to the colour of a day-old bruise. 

It’s when it’s like this– 

When you’re on your knees, or back, or stomach, his flesh smelting your insides like you’re metal over brimstone. Your lips wrap around him – stretching taut at cracked corners, your tongue rolling over his frenulum. You will yourself to sink further, to let him touch your tonsils and the enveloping heat there. Your breath hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in, coating his length with a film of saliva, which aids you when you pull back up. Still, he’s too big for you to fully take, so you wrap what you can’t reach and twist it in tandem to your bobbing head. 

Spittle pools at your lip, globbing out to splatter on his boxers. You can’t control the gags his girth elicit. It doesn’t matter. His large hand cups your temple, guiding you lower. You hollow your cheeks to accommodate the bludgeoning rhythm of his cock, choking on the smell of sweat and denim. He’s heady, potent with brine.  Blurring heat corners your eyes, tears cropping at the sheer indulgence of it all. You don’t know whether he notices as they slip down your cheeks, whether he goes harder because of them. 

It’s in these perennial moments, pearlescent prespend seeping down his shaft – a beautiful compliment to his skin – where you’re simultaneously selfish and selfless in a world that is kind to neither. That he feels more alive than ever. Pumping, pounding, like the fibrous sinew of a still-beating heart.

He’s not gentle as he takes. You don’t discourage it. 

(You believe he’s forgotten how to be. There’s a certain severance you have to make to survive; a detachment from humanity. You don’t doubt he was a good man, once. You hear it in his cadence, that southern twinge that speaks to days of gentleman-like civility past. It’s excusable. You understand. You can’t complain of the strain he puts on your throat. You too have lost your touch. 

But it cannot reduce the red on your ledgers. Gore binds the very books together.)

Cum covers your palette when he spurts his end – a hot, febrile concoction; the ocean lapping up on a beached log, like sand in every crevice. He holds your head down until you swallow, knees spasming against hardwood floors.

You splutter for air when you finally draw away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Joel shifts forward, picking an unknown material off the table above your head. You can’t discern what it is – not until he brings it down to your chin. 

Your washcloth. Threadbare and thinning still. 

He doesn’t let you speak as he helps you clean the evidence of his sin.

Lilies for restored innocence. Carnations for pure love. 

You cycle through your mental index of funeral arrangements as carmine ichor spills from your front. 

The operation hadn’t gone according to plan. 

Joel said it’d be a quick pillage of a newly empty warehouse; an apparent treasure trove for supplies, left abandoned after a firefly attack drove FEDRA security off its perimeters. Lined wall to wall in crates of salvaged items; he’d heard wind of it through a contact in the agency – some son of a bitch by the name of Liam, trying to pay off a withstanding debt. Easy gains, he’d smiled, you can take your pick of the loot.

The knife lodged in your gut begs to differ. 

(You posit another smuggling ring got dealt the same deal. They had come in behind you. Jumped fast, fought dirty – took all the ammo and cigarettes they could carry and left you for dead. Naturally.)

Where the fuck is he?

Vignette shadows edge your vision, throwing everything off kilter. You can hardly process every aspect at once: the pulsing wound, the surge of blood. Nausea encroaches on the site, convulsing in around the jagged blade, cramming your intestines for space. It blazes a fiery path up to your lungs, where your breaths escape in short, shallow increments. Oxygen dwindles. You’d skipped breakfast. Still, you heave as fluorescent lights blink in and out of existence above you. 

The concrete floor is unforgiving. 

Gladioli, perhaps. For someone who’s proven their strength. Tears glue your lashes shut, and you imagine being buried out in a field of their long stems. Swathed in peach, pink, babydoll colours untainted by grime. You wonder if Joel knows a place. 

(You never asked for his favourite flower.) 

The stab festers, broiling over with an impassioned heat. It must be hell overturning your system, bubbling up in pus, swaying you from making your peace. All those lives you took. The thorns you’d clipped. Your head is lifted onto a twitching lap. It’s soaked in carnage and smells like him.

Thank god. Felt like it was gonna explode.

“B-Bout– nghn, time.” You cough. You’re able to discern his silhouette through the fog, cloudburst heavy on your lids. It’s sticky, disorienting.

“Hey. Hey, stay with me now. We’ll get t-this fixed. We’ll get this fixed, okay?” He chokes, wrestling with a roll of something. “I gotta take the knife out, baby. It’ll hurt. It–” 

“It–It’s okay.”

“No, no. Up, open your eyes, c’mon.” 

You were hired to supply a wedding with its finery, back when you first opened shop. It was the gig that promised to put you on the map, insisted upon by a childhood friend who had the money to blow on imports from Holland. You’d spent days fine tuning the arrangements – fussing with leaves, waxing petals, trimming roots. Your cuticles were red, raw by the end.

The next week, all the flowers had wilted. The paraffin you used was the wrong type.

Joel’s voice cracks like a spoiled floret. You burn at the knowledge that it’s your fault. 

He doesn’t give you the option to grieve it, twisting the blade out of your abdomen. You lurch forward, thrashing with a warbled scream. Borderline animalistic, the pain tears through you with harrowing intensity. 

His hand smooths your hair back in the meanwhile, brushing across your sweaty forehead, winding between the tresses. You shudder under a wave of hypoxia and come to a sobering revelation. 

It feels nice.

Something shifts. 

He was quiet before. A man of very few words; upon your first meeting – a partnered smuggle run, arranged via Tess – you recall tallying the hours until he spoke. It hit three, prior to your suggestion of something so bewilderingly stupid he just had to pitch in his discontent. You’d smirked it off. It hadn’t been personal. 

(Possibly the one insight that allowed you to continue working with him.) 

But since your close call, he’s funnelled down to occupy a fraction of his previous presence. You suspect it has everything to do with how you bled out in his arms.

He leaves and returns during your small bouts of restless sleep. You don’t hear from him, or see of him – aside from the rare occurrences when your days intersect; when he comes back, tarnished and tired, to crash on the couch before his next job. You would haul him to bed if you could, yet your gut throbs in barely-healed rage with every exertive move. So, you spend your limited time with him as you’ve grown used to doing – watching.

His nightmares have gotten worse. 

You used to experience them in pyretic transitions, suspended in a state of hypnagogia, your consciousness bleary and flickering like old film set ablaze. You’d feel his tremors, could hear his whispered pleads filter in on your own dreams. But they existed as secondary – something to be acknowledged in that post-apocalyptic, apathetic way. I get ‘em too, bud. He never mentioned them, so you wouldn’t ask. 

To see him unravel is another thing entirely. 

Like corduroy twill being picked apart at the seams. A material made to be durable, to tough out years of erosion. He quivers, forearms contracting over his chest, his brows creasing. Something about Sarah as his hands rub together, clawing at his palms. 

You wind your limbs around your middle. It’s frightening, you realise. You’ve come to know this man in the snarled face of adversity – he’s never so much as stuttered, carved in resilient rock. But it had to have come from somewhere, and if not vomit, if not viscera, if not fungi–

Whatever it is that torments him, you pour a glass of water and wait for him to wake. 

He doesn’t look at you when he does. You don’t blame him; you’re practically pellucid, yellowing undertones an effect of the lesion that marks your stomach. The only thing you’d gotten out of the warehouse were medical supplies in abundance. You credit only them with your continued survival. 

“I’m going back.” Joel says, tapping his index on the glass. You blink, nonplussed at the sudden noise. You recover in half the time, though, and open your mouth to protest. “We left some valuable shit behind.” He interrupts.

“You can’t go alone.” 

“You’re staying behind.” 

“I’m fine,” You start, then wince with the movement.

He stares at you, incredulous. The silence punctuates his point. 

“Tess has a few men holding it down. It should be simple.” And with how he grits it, the words hissed through clenched teeth, it’s evident he means it as an end to the discussion. But doubt maturates, wheezing in the way punctured lungs do, sore under the pierce of cracked ribs. Tension swells from the afflicted site. You can’t control the disillusion in your tone. 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

Nothing erupts. 

Not how you expected it to, anyway. It takes a moment for the blame to meet him, to find its honest meaning. In that time, it hangs between you, echoing, precariously balanced on seething eye contact. Then, his gaze flickers down to your abdomen. 

“I’m not the idiot who almost got herself killed.” 

It carries all the malice you wished for, and more. 

(Whatever tenderness he had left must have bled out with you on that floor.)

He doesn’t die. But then again, that wasn’t what you were concerned about. 

Joel makes his first appearance three days later. The return is sporadic, and divided upon many, each time with a small bag of supplies he stuffs underneath the floorboard. The sacking was successful, then– 

(He throws a bottle of antibiotics onto the kitchen counter, his jerking shoulder a rough indication that it’s meant for your injury. But when his face catches the light, you’re thrown with the inkling that he might need them more than you.)

–though, nothing is without its faults. 

Eggplant purple and violent red blend in a mottled contusion across his cheekbone, painted down to his neck – beyond his collar – hidden to your wandering gape. You’re no stranger to bruises; the world collapsed in on humanity a good twelve years ago, and burst capillaries have become a constant under the macerating weight. Yet it’s another layer stripped, a sheet of titanium snatched off the manifold complexity that is him. You’d never seen the evidence of his pain so clearly illustrated atop his skin. 

“Joel–”

“Leave it.” He snaps. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, pushing yourself up to sit by the sink. It’s futile to beckon him over, so you wait his pacing out by dousing a rag in leftover alcohol. 

“Was there anything even left?” You accuse. He unzips a duffel bag atop the dining room table, ruffling through a layer of bandaids. 

“Yes. The rations’ll last us two months, if we sell to the right people.” 

“Thrilling.” 

Your sarcasm lingers until he finally finds what he’s looking for, pulling out a jar of ground coffee from behind a box of detachable blades. When he walks over to fetch a mug, you grab him by the wrist and wrench him closer. 

(You wouldn’t have been able to, had he not let you. You know his strength trumps yours.) 

When you touch the makeshift wipe to his face, he doesn’t so much as flinch. 

“What did this?” The question stretches, losing its structural integrity under your elemental concern. This is all novel territory – you don’t make a habit of licking another’s wounds clean. But his desperate pleas hold possession over you; the restrained distress, the wavering timbre. Stay with me now. We’ll get this fixed. 

“Gun.” 

Your hand falters over his jaw. 

“Butt end.” He adds. “FEDRA was on the scene.” 

“Right. Do I even have to say it?” You whisper. ‘Told you so’ titters on the tip of your tongue.

“No.” He concedes.

The two of you sit like that for a long while after, locked in a begrudging dance that pulls you off your feet. Winter has nearly melted to its end, now; the howling gale tapering to a draft that crawls beneath window sills. Somehow still, it penetrates you, even colder than before. 

(Joel crackles like a fed furnace, biting at the firm coals of your desire. You unconsciously veer closer, wiggling your hips until your legs cage his. He holds you in place with one large hand, the other gliding beneath the hem of your jeans.) 

“You’re hurt–” 

“So are you.” He settles. His fingers press up against the plush of your cunt, finding that electric centre. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and likewise, not enough; a defibrillator to your core, one that cannot revive you. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, finding purchase in his broad build. It does nothing dampen the needy moan you make when he pushes your panties to the side, toying with your swollen folds. He spots you, clenching around nothing, soaking the calloused pads of his thumb. It takes place on your clit, then, index and middle inching towards your hole to plug you full.

“Needy fucking thing.” He groans, shoving his tongue down your maw. It’s not a kiss. Far from it. He doesn’t try to match the pace of your gaping surrendering, preferring to devour you instead. You pant up into his mouth, gyrating with the back and forth of his pumping digits. 

He claws out in you your tender-most spots. 

(But that’s just it, isn’t it?

He might not be gentle, in the worn definition of the word. The touch that peels petals, reverent, finding delicacy in the finest bits of creation; gold leaf and concentrated fragrance. What you spent so long holding onto – the beauty that’s become obsolete in a post-fungal land.  

But you cannot kid yourself. 

He’s raw, uninhibited. You’ve seen it – that supplantation of humanity, a measure to rise above the monsters that hunt you. A sore bundle of mortality and death, left unhealed, yet just as capable of flaring when you reach out towards it.  

Like stepping up when you buckle under the horror of your own reality. Wiping your chin of filth. Shaking with you, fading out on his lap, his best efforts centred in on your mutilated centre. The nightmares that plague him, seeking out whatever weakness lies dormant. 

If you had to choose, you’d say he favours sunflowers.)

“Joel,” You whine, sinking your face in his neck. 

“That’s it… C’mon, baby. Cum for me.” 

That night, he pulls something out of his bag, tucking it in your pocket as he joins you in bed.

“Hm?” Murmuring, you reach to wrap your hand around his. The fabric in his grasp is thick, knitted. 

Gloves.

“Noticed you’ve been cold.”

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[sourwolf-sterek32]

Migraine

Summary: Whilst on set you suffer from a bad migraine but try to hide it, not wanting to stop filming. Pedro eventually catches on and looks after you.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: language

A/N: This is literally just a comfort fic that I wrote on my phone while lying in bed with a bad headache. I get chronic migraines and it sucks and wish I had someone like Pedro there to help me, so I wrote it.

Also I wanted an excuse to write something with Pedro in his Mando suit, so here it is.

It had been a long day, between meetings in the morning and filming in the afternoon, it was safe to say that you and Pedro were exhausted. But the crew still had more scenes to be shot in this location and only today to do it.

The headache that was pulsing through your skull had started around midday and had only gotten worse, despite taking probably too many pain killers than recommended on the packet.

You knew normal pain killers weren't going to fix it. You had suffered from enough migraines to know which ones would be cured by painkillers and which ones would stick around for 24 hours regardless, and this was the latter.

"Cut"! The directors voice boomed across set.

You sighed, "sorry. That was my line next, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it was." The director responded from behind the camera for probably the seventh time in the past hour. "Start back from when Mando walks into the room."

Pedro nodded from where he was standing on his mark in the middle of the room, but instead of walking out the door to redo the scene, he walked over to you. His helmet was still on, but you could feel his soft brown eyes looking at you from behind the black visor.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, still in his Mando voice.

"Yeah."

His helmet tilted to the side a little as he stared at you, and you knew he didn't believe you.

"It doesn't usually take you this many shots to get a scene right." He teased, trying to lighten the mood as if he could tell that something was wrong.

The two of you always teased and made fun of each other. After working together for Seasons 1 and 2 of The Mandalorian and in those few episodes of The Book of Boba Fett, and now filming season 3, you had grown close, sometimes annoyingly close if you ask the crew around you. The two of you were always getting in trouble for laughing too much on set, but neither of you ever listened.

"I'm sorry." You replied, not feeling up to teasing him back.

Usually, you'd come back with some witty or sarcastic comment, but right now, you didn't have the energy for it. Not when it felt like there was a drill constantly digging into the side of your skull.

"Hey, no, no, it's okay." Pedro quickly reassured, stepping forward and grabbing your shoulder gently. "I was just teasing. Don't worry about it."

His voice had turned from playful to concerned within a split second and you were grateful that he was still wearing the helmet because you didn't want to see his beautiful brown eyes looking at you worriedly. You were fine, it was just a headache. It's not like you didn't have one a few days ago anyway, you were used to it. You were fine to keep filming then and you were fine now.

"You guys ready to go again?" The director called out impatiently.

Pedro's helmet turned in the direction of the director, but he didn't say anything before he looked back over at you, waiting for you to give him the go ahead.

"I'm good. Let's do this scene."

He hesitated for a moment like he wanted to push this topic, but he simply nodded and went over to his mark to start the scene again.

To your relief and the relief of the director, you managed to get through the next scene without any major screw ups. The next couple of hours went by in a blur. You had shot a bunch of different scenes, but you could barely remember which ones you had just done. Katee Sackhoff had showed up at one point to do a few scenes as Bo-Katan with you and Pedro, but left after her scenes were finished, leaving you and Pedro to film your last scene of the day together.

The scene that you had been dreading ever since you felt the headache coming on.

A fight scene.

"Just like you guys did in rehearsals, okay? Take it from the top." The director instructed.

"Are we starting with Y/N holding the blaster to my head?" Pedro asked, looking over at the crew behind the cameras who all nodded.

Pedro walked over to his mark just as an assistant placed a foam mat on the floor for him to kneel down on. Once he was on his knees, you drew your blaster from the leather holster on your thigh before pressing the barrel of the prop to the side of his helmet. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting off the dizziness. Trying, even through the pain, to remember what the steps were for this fight sequence.

"You okay?" Pedro's voice suddenly asked.

You blinked your eyes open to find the black visor of his helmet tilted up towards you, and you nodded which turned out to be a bad idea because that small movement made your headache flare.

You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it was more of a grimace than anything. But before Pedro had a chance to comment on it, the director shouted action.

A switch flipped inside of you. The pounding headache momentarily forgotten as you shifted into character like you had done hundreds of times before. Your expression hardened, glaring down at the Mandalorian below you, finger resting on the trigger of your blaster.

"It's over Din Djarin. We have you ten to one." You said, glancing around your empty surroundings where your Troopers will be added in with special effects in post-production.

A beat of silence past between you before Pedro's gruff Mandalorian voice responded.

"I like those odds."

He suddenly shot his arm out to the side, his hand forming a fist and your eyes widened in shock, pretending to see his 'whistling birds' missiles shooting from his wrist and killing the Troopers around you.

"No!" You screamed, looking back down at the Mandalorian just as he hit your arm, knocking the blaster from your grasp.

Mando jumped to his feet in an instant and you hastily pulled out the knife from the back of your waistband and swung the prop at him, the foam blade slicing along the beskar armour on his chest.

You took a step back as Mando marched forward and you swung the blade again, but he blocked it with the armour on his forearm.

"Moff Gideon is controlling you." Mando grunted, blocking your next attack. "You have to fight it. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then you will die." You spat, swinging the blade again, but this time Mando grabbed your wrist and squeezed. Pedro didn't actually squeeze it tightly, but made it look like he was, and you fake winced before the knife slipped from your fingers.

Mando suddenly spun you around until your back was flush against his armoured chest, his forearm wrapped around your neck in a chokehold. Your vision blurred momentarily from the sudden movement, your ears ringing a little as Pedro said his next line, but you barely heard him.

The rhythm of blood throbbed in your temple reminding you of the migraine that you had been trying very hard to ignore. But as the minutes ticked by, it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

"You have to fight his control." Mando's voice said, breaking through the ringing in your ears.

"No. I have to fight you." You growled, throwing your elbow up as Pedro flung his head back at the right moment, making it look like you had hit him hard in the helmet.

His arm loosened around you and for a moment, you found yourself missing the close contact. It was nice being held against his body, wait, no. You buried that thought deep down in a box in the back of your mind because where the fuck did that come from?

You switched back into action and slipped out his chokehold with ease, but Mando was already advancing on you. He swung his gloved covered fist towards you which you easily ducked before he tried to punch you again. You were meant to dodge both fists before he would draw his blaster. You and Pedro had done this too many times to count during rehearsals and training, you knew there was a second punch to duck from.

If only your head would stop pounding because you were so focused on the pain that you completely forgot to duck to the left and the next thing you knew, Pedro's fist collided with your jaw.

A collective gasp came from the crew behind the cameras, but it was Pedro's shaky sharp intake of air that caught your attention.

The hit itself wasn't that hard. Pedro must have realised that you weren't going to duck in time and pulled his punch a little because you knew he could punch harder than that. It had happened once back in Season 1 by accident, and this was nowhere near as hard. Your jaw didn't even hurt, but the hit made the thumping pain of your head worsen as you tried to blink away your dizziness.

He was in front of you in an instant, yanking off his helmet and tossing it to the ground without a care. In the distance you heard one of the crew telling him to be careful with the costume, but Pedro didn't acknowledge them, his panicked brown eyes focused on you, and you only.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't... shit, Y/N. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" He frantically questioned.

The world around you was spinning and you weren't sure if you were going to pass out or throw up, but yeah, you were okay, you had to be.

"I-I..." You began to say, about to reassure him that you were fine, but then black dots started to cloud your vision.

You stumbled back a step, but Pedro quickly grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

"Whoa, easy. Just sit down for a sec."

You didn't try and argue, not sure if you could even if you wanted to as Pedro slowly lowered you to the ground. He knelt in front of you, those worried brown eyes searching your face for some kind of reassurance that you were okay, but you couldn't give that to him. Not yet.

You rested your head in your hands and began to rub your temples, trying to sooth the sharp pulses of pain searing through your head.

"Can we get some help here!" Pedro shouted over his shoulder in the general direction of the crew.

"No, no, it's fine. I-I'm fine." You winced, lifting your head to meet Pedro's worried eyes.

"I just punched you and you nearly fainted. That is not fine." He responded, his voice laced with so much guilt it made your heart break.

"It wasn't you. The hit wasn't hard. You pulled it back, right?"

He nodded, "well, yeah. But it clearly still hurt you-"

"It didn't, but I've had a migraine all day and it just kinda aggravated it. It's fine. Just... just give me a minute and we can redo the scene." You reassured, rubbing your face with your hands as the dizziness slowly began to fade.

Pedro's eyes widened, "fuck, you've had a migraine all day? We aren't going to redo the scene, you are going to rest in your trailer."

"Pedro-" You began to protest, but he cut you off.

"This scene is not as important as your health, sweetheart."

Your heart swelled at the last word. Pedro had gotten into the habit of calling you that recently, it sort of came out of nowhere, but it stuck and you weren't complaining.

"Okay." You agreed because you did not have the energy to argue with him.

"Is she good to start the scene again? You guys can have a five-minute break if needed." One of the directors called out.

Pedro sighed, "I'll be back."

You nodded, but winced at the pain that movement caused and made a mental note to stop doing that before you watched Pedro stand up and walk across set towards the crew behind the cameras.

He was speaking with them quietly, but you couldn't hear what he was saying, although whatever it was, the director clearly did not like it if the frustrated expression on his face was anything to go by.

"Jamie, go and grab some pain killers from the first aid kit. They'll kick in within 30 minutes and then she'll be fine to do the scene." You heard the director say to one of the assistants.

"No. We're done shooting for the day." Pedro stated sternly before he turned and began to walk back towards you.

"We only have this location booked for today. It's your job to act. That is why you two are here. We have to finish the scene-"

Pedro stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping in the director's direction so fast you feared he had given himself whiplash from the movement.

"Pedro, it's okay." You called out, slowly getting to your feet and silently relieved that the room didn't start immediately spinning when you stood up. "I can keep going."

"No." He said, shaking his head and walking back over to you, grabbing your arm as if he was scared that you would pass out on him or something which, yeah, okay that fear was warranted. Passing out was still a possible outcome at the moment.

"But the location-"

"You guys will figure something out." Pedro's stylist, Coco, suddenly called out, glaring at the director before glancing over at Pedro. "You okay with her?"

"Yeah, I got her. Can you bring some painkillers to her trailer?" Pedro asked and Coco nodded before he began to walk you out of set in the direction of the trailers out the back.

The sun was setting along the horizon, painting the sky various shades of pinks and oranges, but you squinted at the brightness unable to enjoy the beautiful view because looking in that direction simply hurt too much.

Pedro led you to your trailer, holding the door open as you stepped inside and instantly flicked the light switch that you left on and turned it off, trying to reduce the brightness. Pedro seemed to catch on because before you could say anything, he was walking around your trailer and closing all the blinds covering the windows for you to reduce the light.

"What can I do? Coco will bring some painkillers. Is there anything else you need?" He asked softly, seeming to realise that loud noises probably weren't good for migraines either.

You opened your mouth to tell him that you were fine, but then the nausea that you had been fighting earlier suddenly came back.

"Stay here." You managed to say before you rushed across the trailer into your bathroom, only just managing to kick the door shut behind you before you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and threw up.

Your head pulsed in pain as the little food that you had eaten today came back up. This was always the part you hated the most about migraines. Sometimes you didn't throw up, sometimes you did, and you could never figure out why.

Your stomach heaved as you continued to throw up, when suddenly the door behind you opened and a second later, Pedro was grabbing your hair and pulling it out the way.

"Don't. It's gross." You mumbled.

"I don't care." Pedro's gentle voice responded.

You flushed the toilet to try and get rid of the horrible smell, knowing if you could smell it, then Pedro definitely could. But you didn't dare get up and leave yet, unsure if your body was done throwing up or not.

You leant your elbow against the porcelain edge of the toilet and held your aching head in your hands while Pedro remained silent behind you, holding your hair and rubbing soothing circles over your back.

After a few minutes, you deemed it safe to leave the bathroom and slowly stood up, Pedro quickly grabbing your arm to help.

"I'm not helpless." You sighed, glancing over at him.

"Just let me take care of you."

"You shouldn't have to take care of me."

He smiled softly, "I know, but I want to."

Your heart fluttered a little, but didn't get a chance to respond before there was a gentle knock on your trailer door. Pedro led you over to the couch and you sat down wordlessly before he opened the door.

"I got aspirin and Advil. I wasn't sure which type she wanted." Coco's voice said from outside. "I also convinced the director to give you guys the rest of the week off."

How the hell did she manage to do that? The last time you tried to ask for a weekend off, they shot you down straight away.

"You're the best." Pedro sighed with relief, taking the painkillers from her.

"I know. Don't ever forget it." Coco replied causing Pedro to chuckle softly as he waved goodbye before closing the door.

He walked over to your small kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before he returned to your side, handing you the water before holding out the two different types of painkillers.

"You probably heard, but we got the week off now." Pedro informed as you took one of the bottles, not having the heart to tell him that painkillers won't fix your migraine.

"Thanks." You replied, swallowing down the pills with water.

You shifted one of the pillows to the end of the couch before you kicked off your boots and laid down, trying to ignore the thumping in your head.

Pedro watched you silently, but his brows furrowed a little before he looked over at the wall of your trailer like he was stopping himself from saying something. You had known Pedro for long enough to know that he felt guilty. The way his shoulders were slightly slumped and how he kept fidgeting with his fingers by his side, let alone the guilt washing over those beautiful brown eyes whenever he looked at you.

"Hey, it's not your fault." You whispered, but he just kept staring at the wall. "Look at me. P, look at me."

He sighed, but glanced down at you anyway. His soft chocolate eyes meeting yours sadly, "I punched you, Y/N."

"It wasn't hard."

"It was still a punch."

"Dude, you punched me harder back in season 1. That one left a bruise. But this?" You said, motioning towards your jaw. "Doesn't hurt."

"That doesn't make me feel better. I still punched you."

"Yeah, so? I threw us both off that speeder bike back in season 2. You have nothing to feel bad about." You reminded him and Pedro's face cracked into a small smile which you were calling a victory.

"That was a good day." He chuckled.

"I spent the rest of that day plucking sand out from between my boobs and ass, man. That was not a good day." You pointed out, but that just made Pedro laugh even more and you smiled.

The two of you fell into comfortable silence for a while thinking of that day on set. You lied, it was a good day. Just you and Pedro sharing a speeder bike that the prop team had designed and engineered to actually work. It was awesome, and the best thing was, Mando was injured and had to hold onto you while you drove it.

Nearly 12 hours of Pedro with his arms wrapped around your stomach from behind. It was a long day, but it was great. Even after you crashed the bike, the two of you still had fun.

You must have fallen asleep at some point without meaning to because when you opened your eyes, you realised that there was a blanket now draped over your body that definitely wasn't there earlier.

How long had you been asleep for?

You looked around your trailer in confusion trying to find your phone to check the time before you spotted Pedro sitting on the chair across the room reading some kind of book.

He was no longer in his Mandalorian costume. The beskar armour now replaced with his yellow vintage Lakers shirt and grey sweatpants.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep." You said, speaking up to try and stop yourself from thinking about those damn grey sweatpants.

Pedro practically jumped out of his skin, not expecting you to be awake as his wide eyes shot over to you in surprise. "You're awake. How do you feel?" He asked, concern written all over his face.

Your head was still aching, but the sharp pulsing in your skull had gotten a little better, so that was a win.

"A bit better." You answered honestly.

"Good. Good." He nodded, seeming relieved with that news. "Why didn't you tell me that you had a migraine?"

"I didn't want you to worry. It's no big deal, I get chronic headaches anyway. I'm used to it."

"I never knew that." He whispered in shock. "How long have you had them for?"

You shrugged, "ever since I was a kid."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. What are you reading?" You asked, changing the topic.

If Pedro noticed your quick change of topic, he didn't point it out. Instead, he looked down at the book in his lap with a small smile.

"It's The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann."

"What's it about?" You asked curiously.

He flicked through the pages and chuckled to himself before looking over at you. "It's basically a 706-page book about, uh, death."

You laughed, but that laugh turned into a wince when pain in your head flashed hard and hot. "Don't make me laugh."

Pedro's expression softened, "sorry. I can't help it. I'm just a naturally funny guy."

"More like naturally annoying." You shot back.

"Ouch." He gasped, resting his hand over his heart dramatically. "You, my dear, wound me."

You rolled your eyes at his antics before you sat up, wrapping the blanket around your body tightly as you looked around, still trying to figure out what time it was.

"It's about seven-ish. Do you think you can eat something? Coco offered to drop off takeaway if we wanted." Pedro suddenly said, like he could somehow read your mind.

"I'd like that."

"Great. I'll call her now." He beamed happily. "What do you feel like?"

"Whatever you want. I don't mind."

He sighed, expecting that answer after knowing you for so long. You could never choose where to eat, and he knew that, despite his best efforts over the years to make you choose.

"Five Guys? They do a really good strawberry milkshake." He suggested instead of trying to force you to pick something.

"I would love you if you got me a strawberry milkshake."

"You love me anyway." He teased, bookmarking his novel before pulling out his phone from his pocket.

"Yeah, I do." You replied honestly.

He would never know how true those words actually were though, but that was okay. There was no way you'd admit your feelings to him. You'd rather have Pedro as your best friend than risk losing him forever.

His beautiful brown eyes locked with yours across the room when he mentioned two large strawberry milkshakes over the phone. He smiled brightly at you, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling back at him, soaking up the moment not wanting it to end.

-

THE END.

-

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[k4zushi]

[ 08 ] GONNA SHIT MYSELF WTAF

status : unedited, written 01/04/24 ☆ word count : 0.8k

Y/N’S POV ⟡ COSTUME ROOM

every time you willed the universe to give you a break it found a way to somehow make matters worse.

it all started with your conversation with hu tao earlier that morning. the incident with albedo made sure that your nerves were on edge pretty much the entire day but what your friend said made you want to move across the globe and never return.

maybe if she hadn’t mentioned the possibility of running into a certain grey haired man maybe none of this would’ve happened in the first place.

you were silently freaking out at every random interaction you had. despite knowing the fact that you had no overlapping classes with cyno as he was a computer science major while you were studying fashion design; meaning you’d be studying on opposite sides of the campus.

honestly that made you even more nervous because alongside your history of “short lived crushes”, you also had a track record of bad luck. not one that could compare to a certain blonde engineering major but still bad nonetheless.

play practice was going half decently well. you had managed to escape interacting with others in the theater as you were mostly confined to the space of the costume room along side a couple other students.

it felt like you could finally breathe for the first time that day since you weren’t constantly trying to hide your presence.

“hey y/n i’m going to step out for a bit to measure some of the actors in the theater!” hu tao said, standing in the doorway. “you’ll be okay here by yourself right?”

you looked up from the racks you were sorting through.

“yea no worries. just looking through these racks from the previous years for anything we can use” you replied before turning your focus back to the costumes.

“thanks, we’ll make send anyone down if they have any questions!!” your bestfriend responded before turning to walk out.

you let out a hum in response fully diverting your attention.

it was peaceful being alone in the costume room. it was kind of dusty and cluttered but it was also filled to the brim with clothes, accessories, and fabric. the fashion design major in you was sobbing from the amount of things you could mess around with.

you were snapped out of your little headspace when you detected a new presence in the room.

curious, you peeked out from behind the racks. that, however, was your first mistake.

“um.. are you y/n?” a slightly familiar voice questioned.

you were trying to connect the dots as to why this person’s voice sounded familiar and it finally hit you as your eyes landed on the one person you didn’t want to interact with.

“yea!! how’d you know?” you said in a overly friendly tone in an attempt to cool your nerves.

cautiously, you stepped out from behind the racks to face the guy you had been avoiding all day.

“i was sent down here by hu tao,” cyno explained. “i’m cyno.”

“ohh i guess that makes sense, it’s nice to meet you! i’m on costume design for the play, just thought i should mention,” you paused to think, head tilted to the side in confusion before you continued. “did you need something from me?”

cyno shook his head.

“no, not really. just wanted to ask you a question if that’s okay”

“if it’s about costumes or the play you know i’m more than happy to answer them for—“

“do you happen to be friends with albedo?” cyno interrupted.

your sweat dropped and your nervous system started to go haywire. the urge to book it out the room and flee was overriding all of your other thoughts.

“oh haha.. uh albedo huh?” you said nervously. that was your second mistake.

“so you do???” cyno narrowed his eyes at you and took a step forward as you took a step back.

“yes…?” you looked around hoping that anyone come to your rescue and interrupt the unwanted confrontation.

when cyno took a step forward, you took a step back to maintain a safe distance away from the intimidating, yet extremely attractive, male.

this cycle continued.

that was until you realized you had effectively cornered yourself against a wall next to one of the costume racks. your third mistake.

you mentally facepalmed at your lack of spacial awareness.

“then does that mean you’re the one he was talking about?” he took another step closer.

“ahaha i have NO CLUE what you’re talking about cyno!!” you said trying to laugh off the sudden tension.

you were starting to panic. not only was this costume room stuffy and triggering your asthma but you also found it particularly hard to breathe when a really attractive guy was practically interrogating you.

and that’s how you found yourself in this awkward predicament that made you wish you had a twin that swallowed you in the womb.

‘i should just quit life huh’

“y/nnnn do you know where the measuring tape is?? it wasn’t in the theater and i can’t find— WHAT THE FUCK????”

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AUTHOR’S NOTES : note that the costume room is going to play a ( somewhat big ) part of the story btww (*´▽`*) this was also kinda a nightmare to write bc i was fist fighting w/ the dialogue and awkward word repetition way too much😕

cyno is so silly.. ik this is from y/n’s pov so it’s hard to tell bc of his bluntness, but he’s actually genuinely curious abt the whole admirer thing. which i find hilarious bc he comes off as freakishly intimidating while confronting ppl😭 it’s bc he has somewhat of an rbf and is completely unaware of it૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ( hence the ‘lack of expression’ i mentioned in a previous chapter )

— TAGLIST : @ioveaether @otomegame-oneshots @ashyiiy @mafuyuslover @yuminako @waengyknow @sharkdays @tikitsune @jihoonotes @gallantys @keiiqq @mochibaby123 @lambcandle @ell1e2010

[nayatarot777]

what do you need to love yourself for?

• pile one •

cards: 3 of pentacles, 2 of wands, the tower, queen of wands. knight of pentacles. 4 of cups (reversed), {the magician at the bottom of the deck}

you are an extremely skilled and powerful manifestor and you may not even realise it. it seems like you work best with chaos - so for those of you who practice witchcraft, you could do really well with chaos magick. whatever you want, you take small steps to move towards. that’s the declaration of your courage towards life. you have enough confidence to take practical steps towards what you want, even if those steps are days, weeks, or maybe even months apart. you still move forward. the decisions that you make are also according to how you’re planning out your life. you manifest instinctively, instead of purposefully like most people. of course, you put purposeful intentions into thinking about what you’re going to do, but it seems like your actions just naturally align to what you need them to be in order for you to achieve what you want. without you even meaning them to. you know how to seemingly disconnect from chaotic situations in order to keep your peace, but you actually receive and transmute chaotic energy from your environment and turn it into practicality. this could mean that you feel quite drained every-time something negative and overwhelming happens, but you recharge emotionally when you can focus on creating something with your frustration that you can then receive a different energy from. it’s almost like you create your own energy sources when you do that. something useful to benefit you. feeling your anger could also be another great power source that you use to push yourself into making a decision to just do something. a lot of you decided to learn a craft and perfect that craft, in order to turn that craft into something that you can live off of. you’ve reached the energy of the knight. you’ve planted the seeds, done the work, and now you’re just needing to figure out the maintenance of something. but i feel like that’s quite easy for you to do. “slow and steady wins the race”. don���t rush anything. you should love yourself for showing your courage to build the life that you want - even if others try to throw hurdles your way in the process, causing tower moments for you. you know how to let go of destructive energy and transmute it into something that helps you build what you want, instead of self destructing. even when nothing seems stable and built around you. you should love your natural ability to manifest, due to you having a spirit that doesn’t actually take no for an answer. even when you’re unsure of succeeding, you still try. and that’s why you can’t ever fail. give yourself the praise that you deserve for that. allow yourself to feel pride. and allow yourself to appreciate that you’re already living on the journey of your ideal life. appreciate what you create thoroughly.

if you’d like a private reading, please check out my pinned post ☺️💞

• pile two •

cards: queen of swords, king of pentacles, the tower, the hierophant, death, king of wands, {the hermit at the bottom of the deck}

this pile is giving similar energy to pile one, so you could be attracted to both.

you are an extremely powerful person. all of these cards are either major arcana or a King/Queen. you should love yourself for the way that you are able to mature yourself based on what you learn about life from tower moments. this is how you specifically transmute a disaster into something of value for yourself, in those situations. and as a result of that, you’ve managed to shed many layers of the conditionings that you were raised with. you go through permanent endings with the structure or priorities within your life. you choose what makes sense to you and you follow your own judgement and opinions after each layer of conditioning is destroyed. it’s like you’re dedicated to self improvement and self development. searching for the truth within philosophies and your own personal morality. you’re extremely cerebral and rational-minded. that’s why you know what aspects of life need to be cut out in order for you to transform into a more mature version of yourself. you may even know when to destroy structures in your life yourself, for the sake of self development. you’re extremely wise and introspective. you definitely know yourself and who you are, considering how much time and effort you’ve put into self discovery. you’re someone who knows that you can only ever truly find the answers within yourself. that you’re only ever going to be satisfied based on what YOU choose to follow. not what someone else chooses for you. so you’ll cause destruction to certain aspects of life to see this individualism fulfilled. but it’s intended chaos to build something better and more true to you personally.

if you’d like a private reading, please check out my pinned post ☺️💞

• pile three •

cards: judgement, 7 of wands, 10 of wands, king of cups, 5 of wands, 2 of pentacles, {queen of wands at the bottom of the deck}

you need to love yourself for your self-governance. you’re extremely emotionally aware. this may not be obvious from the outside, but you’re constantly aware of how you feel and how you would feel in certain situations. your empathy is grand and loud in the spirit realm. it’s felt and heard from far and wide on the metaphysical plane. that’s why you may struggle with spirits or presences trying to be all up in your grill at times 😂. they know that you can feel them, meaning that you’re aware of them unlike many other people. if you were practically invisible to a bunch of people and then came across someone who had the capacity to be aware of your presence, then you’d make yourself known too 👀. but your boundaries are also extremely strong, so you can separate yourself and perhaps even fight off anything and anyone that you need to. your big heart also attracts a lot of energetically vampiric people who are seeking to take the energy that you have. they know very well that they’re draining you but they don’t care because it benefits them. but with the 2 of pentacles, in these situations, you know when to just drop all of the responsibilities that you’re carrying (that you shouldn’t be) and regain balance in your life by refusing to do anything. you fight against expectations put onto you. if you don’t want to do something (and you don’t need to do it), then you won’t do anything. period. i heard that “you move on divine timing”. it doesn’t matter if other people want you to move, if you feel it’s not time to move, you won’t. your stubbornness is something to love about yourself. it saves you from a lot. your dedication to yourself and your own energetic protection is loveable about you.

if you’d like a private reading, please check out my pinned post ☺️💞

[roseghoul26]

Chapter 4: Your Touch Brought Forth An Incandescent Glow

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this chapter is super dialogue heavy and sets up a backstory for the reader so if this isn’t your cup of tea sorry. i need this chapter to set up the story later on lmao. also the title did use to be different if you noticed that lmao Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

“Have you ever shot a gun?”

You stared at Arthur, shocked. That certainly wasn’t the question you’d expect him to greet you with today. You stood in the entrance of your home, a soaked Arthur Morgan standing on the other side. “Well, hello to you too, Arthur,” you laughed. “Why?”

“‘Cause-”

A crack of thunder tore through the conversation, shaking the frame of your house. “Get inside, please. Before you die right out here on my porch.” You stood back a few feet, giving Arthur plenty of room to come in. 

Water pooled on the floor as he stepped inside, the mat doing little to soak it up. “Sorry,” you heard him mumble, and you shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it.” Arthur leaned his head forward, and all the water from the rim of his hat hit the ground with a splash. “I’m goin’ to grab some towels,” you stated, backing up to the stairs. “Get yourself warm by the fire. And those boots better be off!”

Arthur said something in response, but you couldn’t hear him, already up the stairs. Grabbing an armful of towels, you quickly returned downstairs, surprised to find him still lingering in the entranceway. “Arthur? What’re you doin’?”

“I ain’t gonna stay a while-”

Another clap of thunder cut him off, like Mother Nature didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “Like hell you ain’t gonna stay a while. Have you been outside?” Arthur gestured to his currently soaked attire with a teasing grin. “Alright, stupid question, but my point still stands! It's horrible out there! At least try and wait it out a bit. Please.”

He had looked so adamant when he said he wasn’t going to be staying for a while, his face hard and determined, but it quickly softened when you asked him to wait it out, even more so when you said please. “Alright, darlin’.”

He began to undress, taking his jacket off first, hanging it up on the nearby coat rack. His hat and satchel were next, joining the coat on the rack, and he finally took his shoes off, which were covered in mud. More and more water hit the floor, the poor mat absolutely soaked through with it. 

You had set a majority of the towels on the back of the couch, but you still held one in your hands. Walking over beside Arthur, you dropped it beside him, soaking up what the mat couldn’t. “Go stand by the fire,” you instructed, feeling slightly victorious when he did. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him pick up one of the towels, wiping down his face and hair. He didn’t sit on one of the couches, instead choosing to sit on the rug in front of the fireplace. You were about to ask why, until you noticed the way his clothing clung to his body like a second skin, absolutely soaked, leaving little to the imagination. It was a kind gesture, to not wreck your furniture with rain water, but less than proper thoughts flashed through your mind as you observed him.

Of course he had to wear a white shirt today. You could see the muscles of his broad shoulders move as he continued to dry his hair, and you could see the way the muscles tapered down his back, powerful and entrancing to watch. You were just grateful, or disappointed, you couldn’t tell, that you weren’t able to see the way his jeans clung to his lower body. 

No longer looking at him in your periphery, you tried to ignore the way your cheeks warmed as you watched him. “What’re you doing here?” You asked, hating how raspy your voice sounded. 

Arthur looked over at you, confused. “It’s been a few days, hasn’t it?”

And it had been since his last visit. Your first dinner was almost a week ago, Arthur stopping by every couple of days like he promised afterwards. You’d chat, eat dinner, pay him, and then he’d be on his way. “I mean, yes,” you made your way over to him, grabbing a towel as you did so, “but I wasn’t expecting you to come today. I’d hate for you to get sick comin’ over here, and this late in the evening. Besides,” you glanced outside, “I highly doubt anyone’s gonna willingly come outside to cause problems.”

“Well, besides me.”

You laughed. “Are you here to cause problems, Arthur?”

“Well, that depends on how you answer my question. Have you ever shot a gun?”

Shaking your head, you responded. “Can’t say I have.”

“Then you’re gonna learn today.” Arthur stood up, discarding the towel on the floor. 

“Wha- right now?”

“No better time than the present, right?”

“I think the present is an absolutely terrible time! I ain’t steppin’ foot out there.” As if to prove your point, thunder boomed, and Arthur sighed. “Why are you adamant about me learning to shoot all of a sudden?”

“Because I ain’t always gonna be around, and I couldn’t bear… I’d hate for somethin’ to happen to you. I wanna give you a way to defend yourself.”

“Oh… I see. Well,” you sat down by where Arthur had just been, “I ain’t opposed to the idea. I’m just not doin’ it right now. Let’s see if the storm’ll let up.” You patted the ground beside you. Looking up at him, you were met with the glorious sight that was Arthur in wet, tight jeans. You knew he was a large man, but it was always hard to tell when he wore loose jeans all the time. His thighs were huge, about the size of your head, and you wanted nothing more than to sit on them, to feel them beneath you. 

When he sat back down, you could finally breathe. “I would offer you some dry clothes, but I don’t think I’ve got any that’ll fit you.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Arthur chuckled, “but you’re probably right. Besides, I ain’t so stranger to wet clothes. They’ll dry soon enough.”

You handed him the towel you’d been holding, and he took it with a small nod. Another roll of thunder shuddered the house, and you instinctively felt yourself moving toward Arthur, your shoulder brushing his arm. He didn’t make any move to create distance between you two. His wet shirt was kind of uncomfortable against your skin, but you couldn’t care less.

You watched Arthur’s eyes travel over the photographs again, this time settling on one of you and your family. You could tell he was brimming with questions, but he kept his mouth shut. You stood up, but you weren’t away from him for long, grabbing the picture he was looking at and sitting back beside him, your shoulder remaking contact.

“Meet the Van Burens,” you said, handing him the framed photo, and essentially consenting to any questions he might ask.

“Are those your parents?” He asked, pointing to the two older looking folks. 

You nodded. “Raymond and Irene. Married for thirty some years.

“And the rest are…?”

“My siblings. I’m the eldest, 17 when this photo was taken. My brother, Joseph, was born a year after me,” you pointed to him in the photo. “Next was Margaret,” you pointed again. 

You went through the rest of the rest of the photo in similar fashion, reading their name and identifying them in chronological order. The twins, Ruth and Ethel, were next, followed by Edward, Henry, John, Helen, and finally Bessie. Arthur had a slight reaction to the last name, body tensing slightly, but you didn’t ask him about it. 

“And finally, Bessie. She wasn’t even a year old in this photo.” You sniffed, and you reached a hand up to your face. Hot tears were streaming down it, and a concerned Arthur was watching you. “Shit, sorry. I…. I miss them,” you explained through the tears. “I haven’t seen them since I got married.”

“Two years?” Arthur asked, shocked. You were shocked that he remembered, having only brought it up once back in Rhodes. You nodded. “You said they were up North, right?”

You nodded again. “Around Van Horn.”

“That ain’t too far, though.”

“You think if I could’ve gone to see them, I would’ve?” You laughed bitterly. “No, I ain’t allowed to.”

“He… he doesn’t let you?” 

“No. Won’t even tell me why, either. And the worse part is, I have no way of even seeing them when he’s gone. If you didn’t notice, the only way to get anywhere for me is on foot, or gettin’ picked up by a stranger.” You wiped away another tear, but another just took his place. “And besides, I have no clue if they’re still livin’ in the same house, after all the financial troubles they went through.”

“Financial troubles?”

You forgot the general public didn’t know what you did. If anyone else would’ve asked, you would’ve shut them down, but it was so easy to tell the truth to Arthur. “Yeah, my parents went bankrupt a few years back, nearly lost everything. The house, the business, everything. So, for financial security, they set up my marriage with Hans. He gets a wife, and every month they get a substantial amount of money from him.”

Arthur didn’t respond for a good amount of time, your words processing in his head. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and there was an almost dangerous glint in his usually soft eyes. “Your parents allowed this?”

“My father was the one who married us.” You whispered. You realized that you’d never told another person your situation, and you looked at him with panic on your face. “No one knows that, though.”

“I won’t say nothin’.” Arthur promised, and you relaxed. Tentatively, you felt him reach his arm around you, settling on your waist comfortingly, pulling you into a side hug.You let him pull you into him, your head resting on his shoulder. The cold wetness of the fabric felt nice against your warm cheeks, and it hid the tears quite well.

He comforted you for a bit, hand soothingly rubbing your side. It took every ounce of self-restraint to not just climb into his lap and throw your arms around him. The idea of it was very appealing, though. 

“If you got any more questions, I don’t mind answerin’ them.” You sighed. “I haven’t been able to talk about it before, so this is… therapeutic, in a way.”

“Do your folks know?”

“Know what?”

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. “That you’re absolutely miserable for ‘em?”

“I… Well, no. I wouldn’t want them to know, anyway.”

Arthur paused for a few seconds. “You’re probably one of the most selfless people I’ve met.”

You scoffed. “If this is what it feels like to be selfless, then I don’t wanna be anymore.”

“I don’t think anyone would blame you if you were selfish.”

You shook your head. “Maybe not. But every time I think I’m gonna try and do something I want, I feel so guilty. Insurmountable guilt, something I can’t just move past.”

“And… and what do you want?” It was barely noticeable, but his voice went lower.

You. “I want… I wanted to take over my family’s tobacco farm. I wanted to travel. I wanted to fall in love.” You laugh. “I ain’t so sure what I want now. Well…” you trailed off. Were you really about to confess to Arthur? “There is one thing I do want, but there’s no way I can have it.” The ring on your hand felt like fifty pounds.

He didn’t respond, just continued to rub his hand across your back and side. You took a deep breath, and even under the rain you were able to detect that distinct scent of him; gunpowder and tobacco. Your body couldn't decide if it calmed you or made your heart race faster. 

“Do you have a family, Arthur?”

“In a way, yes.”

“In a way?” You repeated, confused.

“We ain’t blood, but we sure as hell act like a family,” Arthur explained. “There a group of us, twenty-somethin’ strong. Big group of outsiders, free from the clutches of society. Men, women, even a kid. We take care of each other. You met two of ‘em already, Dutch and Bill. Dutch’s the leader of our little group. He’s… he’s somethin’ of a father to me, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“That… that sounds nice,” you admitted. 

“It has its ups and downs.”

“Do you have any photos of them?” You asked. Arthur stilled, and you regretted your question. “You don’t have to show me nonthin’ you don’t want to.”

Wordlessly, Arthur stood, first placing your family’s photo back where it was, then walking over to where his jacket was hung up, pulling something out the satchel he kept. As he sat back down next to you, you noticed he was holding a leather journal, which you honestly weren’t expecting.

“I ain’t got any photos… but I’ve got drawings.”

“Drawings?” You rested your head back on his shoulder. “Well, now I’m intrigued.”

“They ain’t anything good,” he prefaced, and he began to thumb through the pages. “Here.” Arthur tilted the journal to you, and your breath caught. On the left page was an absolutely stunning portrait of who you recognized to be Dutch, along with a paragraph of fast cursive, the same handwriting you saw on the thank you note. On the other page was a full body sketch of an older gentleman cleaning a gun, along with some sketches of a bear and a plant, which were labeled to be English Mace.

“Oh my God, Arthur,” you hovered your fingers above the drawings, following the strokes of the pencil, “these are beautiful.”

Because you were so focused on the journal in front of you, you missed the way that Arthur blushed at your praise. “You’ve already met Dutch, and the other man’s Hosea. Him and Dutch practically raised me.” His voice turned soft, like he was reminiscing.

Clearing his throat, he flipped through a couple more pages, halting when a picture of a younger man appeared. He had longer hair, about neck length, and two angry lines cut up from his jaw, covering his nose. Another angry line cut across his mouth, cutting through the shortly cut facial here. “John Marston. Grew up with him.” You noted the way his voice was short, like he was upset with the man. 

“What happened to him?” You asked, pointing to the scars.

“Wolves nearly tore him apart. Me and Javier had to go rescue him. I don’t think I’ve gotta drawin’ of him.”

“That’s alright. Just show me who you’ve got.”

Arthur flipped the page. A woman was there, sitting on a rock. Even in the drawing, you could feel the rage in her eyes. Her expression, even though it was neutral, had such a deep feeling of grief and anger beneath the surface that it almost made you uncomfortable. “Sadie Adler. Found her up in the mountains. A gang known as the O’Driscolls killed her husband, kept her alive. Her house ended up burnin’ down, so we took her with us.”

That rage in her eyes made sense then. It was surprisingly familiar, too, as it was the same anger you saw in the mirror. “Was she who you were talking about earlier?”

It took Arthur a moment to remember what you were talking about, laughter shaking his shoulders when he did. “Sure, darlin’.”

Strange answer, you thought. “Is she… is she doin’ better?” Will I be able to move on from the events in my life?

“She is. Mad as a hornet’s nest, but she’s tough. Even goes out on jobs with us. One of the best thieves in camp.”

You felt a pang in your heart, and you realized you were envious of her. You wanted the freedom she had. “I wanna meet her,” you found yourself muttering. 

Arthur chuckled. “She said the same of you.” 

You both paused. Were you that important to him that he was telling his “family” about you? “You… they know of me?”

“Well, they kept wonderin’ where I was sneakin’ off to every couple of days,” Arthur explained, clearly not meaning to reveal that. “I didn’t tell ‘em too much, if you were worried ‘bout that.”

“I don’t mind. Just tell ‘em they ain’t allowed to rob me.”

“Oh, they know,” Arthur reassured, and you watched him thumb back to near the beginning of the journal. “I made it clear that you ain’t to be messed with.”

“You make it sound like I’m some tough outlaw,” you teased. “I ain’t even shot a gun yet!”

“Yet.” Arthur reiterated, setting the journal back on his lap. A man occupied the top left corner, and the rest of the two pages were covered in a sketch of a town labeled Blackwater. 

“And you say these ain’t good…” you said, voice disbelieving. “Who’s that?” The man in the drawing had even longer hair than John, extending far beyond what was portrayed in the small drawing. A scar similar to a bolt of lightning streaked up his jaw, and another one cut through his brow.

Even though your tears had stopped, you still found yourself resting your head on the man’s shoulder. You couldn’t help the pleased sigh you let out when you felt his arm return around you, keeping you close. “That’s Charles Smith. Best hunter and tracker in camp. Nice guy, too. He joined us recently, surprised he hadn’t run off after…”

“After?”

Arthur sighed. You could tell he was debating telling you or not, but little did you know that he couldn’t say no to your questions. “After Blackwater.” Your eyes flicked to the sketch of the town. It looked peaceful enough, so why did Arthur say the name with such… disgust? Fear? Regret? You weren’t quite sure. 

“That’s out West, right?” You’d heard of Blackwater before, and you knew that Hans would probably be traveling through it on the way to Tumbleweed. You also knew that it was no stranger to crime, large ones at that. 

Arthur nodded. “It was supposed to be a simple job: rob the ferry and then get the hell outta town. ‘Course, things didn’t end up that way. Innocents were killed. We lost two of our own as well. One of ‘em was captured, too, but we got him back.” 

“What happened?”

You felt him shrug. “I ain’t gotta clue. I wasn’t on the boat when things turned bad. We had to drop everythin’ and run. Law chased us out of the state. We thought we’d lose them in the mountains, but they found us once we left. Chased us out of New Hanover, and now here. Won’t be surprised if they pick up our trail soon.”

“Will you have to leave if they do?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur answered earnestly. “I hope not.”

“Me neither.”

It didn’t feel right to speak, so neither of you did. Arthur simply pulled you closer, and his head practically rested atop yours. You swore his lips brushed the top of your head in a kiss. Rainfall filled in for your voices, the occasion clap of thunder growing softer and softer as the storm progressed. You were so at ease, probably the most relaxed you’d felt over the last two years laying against him like this. He was so warm, his soaked shirt slowly becoming dry, and the fire wasn’t helping you keep your eyes open. Tiredness washed over you, which wasn’t too unexpected because it was already nighttime. You yawmend, and you felt Arthur chuckle. “Go ‘head and rest your eyes, darlin’. I’ll be here.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until you woke up in your bed the next morning. Sitting up, startled, you saw that you were still in your clothes, simply being placed under the covers. Glancing around, you saw a small piece of paper, presumably ripped from the journal Arthur had shown you yesterday. Grabbing it, you cleared sleep from your eyes, and it took a few moments for the words to become understandable. 

Next time you’ll learn to use the gun. Have a good couple of days, darling.

There was something written below it, but it was heavily scratched out, and you weren’t able to make any of it out. 

Smiling, you leaned back down on the bed, clutching the note to your chest. A small laugh left you, pure happiness radiating from you. It was insane that this man could get you like this just from a small note. 

That giddiness was instantly replaced with dread when you imagined how Hans would react if you were to see the note. You’re not sure what would freak him out more; you using a gun or the fact that Arthur called you darling. 

Getting out of bed, you grabbed the lockbox hidden beneath, opening at setting on the bed. There were still some bills left, but there was plenty of room to set the note in. It was then you remembered that you hadn’t paid Arthur at all. Next time he came over, you’d give it to him. Remembering the other note you had from him, you quickly grabbed it, setting it in the lockbox as well. With one final glance, you closed it, tucking back into its original spot. 

You got ready that day with a grin on your face. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The next couple of days were filled with menial tasks and garden visits. You wished you had a book, cards, something to pass the time that wasn’t laborious tasks. The lower floor had never looked so clean, though, so there was that. 

It had been two days since Arthur had carried you up to your bed, and he would be coming over any day now. Even if there wasn’t anything romantic between you two, you loved having him over, getting close with the outlaw. Your loneliness had never been so far away. 

There was a light knock on the door, and you heard your name being called from the other side of the door. You set aside the stitching you were doing, your hands shaking slightly and a smile growing on your face.

“Hello, Arthur.” You greeted the man as you opened the door. 

Arthur was resting his hands on his belt, a warm smile on his face that had you melting. “Hello, darlin’. You ready?”

You stared at him blankly, completely forgetting what he had planned for you for a moment. “As I’ll ever be,” you sighed, getting your shoes on. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“Are you doubtin’ me?” Arthur joked, extending a hand to you once your shoes were on. “I promise you won’t get hurt.”

You snorted, taking his hand. “I ain’t afraid of getting myself hurt. I’m more afraid of what I might do to you.”

Arthur led you out of the house, continuing to hold your hand even after helping you down the stairs. He only laughed at your words, shaking his head as he did. He led you away from the house, away from his horse tied to the same tree as before, into the woods near where your garden was. A large tree stump was there, and about ten bottles that Arthur put out littered the top. Your hands were now no longer shaking from excitement over seeing Arthur. Instead, anxiety over firing a weapon caused them to shake, and you hoped he couldn’t feel it.

He let go of your hand, and he unholstered his weapon, holding it towards you by the barrel. “First rule,” he said when your hand rested on the grip. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Nothin’s worse than a misfire.”

You nodded, fully grabbing it in your hand. He let go of it, and you weren’t expecting how heavy the revolver actually was. It wasn’t unbuildable, no, but it definitely had a weight to it that would hurt your wrists after a while. “Second rule. Only aim it at folks that need hurtin’.”

“Do you follow these rules, Arthur?”

He hesitated. “No. But you should. You don’t wanna end up like me.”

He moved around you, so that his chest was barely brushing your back. You felt his fingers brush the underside of your arm, signaling for you to raise your arm. It shook slightly as you raised the weapon, but no longer because of nerves. 

“Bring your other hand up like this,” he moved so that you could see what he was doing, and you copied the action, wrapping both hands around the gun. “Got more stability like that,” he explained, moving back behind you. “Make sure to keep your arms all the way out. And spread your legs a bit.” 

Doing as he asked, you heard him hum approvingly, low and right next to your ear. You had to suppress a shiver. “You see those two iron bits stickin’ up at the end of the barrel? You're gonna want your target in between ‘em. When you’re ready, you’re gonna pull the hammer back,” he tapped it with his finger. “Then squeeze the trigger. Just… brace yourself.”

Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the way his hands rested on your shoulders, you pulled the hammer back with your thumb. The stretch was uncomfortable, and it took a few tries before your finger eventually caught it. 

Click. 

“Very good,” Arthur praised almost nonchalantly. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’.”

Bang!

The birds, which had been peacefully minding their own business, scattered out the trees, cries of warning leaving them. Your ears rang, mainly because of the gunshot, but also because of the continued words of praise spilling from Arthur’s lips. You were nowhere close to hitting the bottle, hitting the stump below them, but you were still proud of yourself for hitting something that wasn’t alive. 

Exhaling shakily, you lowered the weapon. The recoil was worse than you expected, and you could already feel that your wrists were going to be hurting later. “Both of us are still alive, right?”

Arthur laughed behind you, and you could feel the way his chest shook. “Very much so. You did good.” 

“Thank you,” you replied breathlessly. “Does it always take that long?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“This,” you gestured to the revolver. “Feels like it took an hour before I shot.” Turning to him, you followed the same way Arthur handed the gun to you, you grabbed the barrel, presenting the grip to him. “Show me.”

Cautiously, he took it from you. “What?”

“I wanna see you shoot.” When he didn’t move, you deflated a bit. “Please?”

Arthur sighed, but you saw a small smile tug at his lips. “Fine. Here, move back.”

Moving so you were behind the man, you waited with bated breath. Only Arthur’s eyes moved, flicking across each target with speed, like he was pinpointing exactly where they were. The revolver hung loosely in his hand, an air of casualness about it, like the gun was just an extension of his arm.

Four shots rang out, faster than you expected, and you watched four of the bottles shatter. The whole action couldn't have been longer than two seconds, and if you had blinked, you would’ve missed it. He aimed the gun still with one hand, the smoke of the barrel intertwining with his arm. 

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “That was…” Hot. “Incredible.” He didn’t respond, but you watched as he twirled the gun around his finger before holstering it. “Alright, now you’re just showin’ off.” You laughed, returning to Arthur’s side. 

“Hey, you asked,” Arthur defended.

You rolled your eyes. “Alght, before I go inflatin’ your ego more, can I try again?”

He handed you the gun, and you found that you weren’t as nervous as the first time. “There’s one round left. I’ll show you how to reload it once we’re done.”

Nodding, you returned to the position he showed you, and even though you didn’t need his support, you felt his hands brace your shoulders. The warmth of his hands were distracting, and you quite literally had to shake yourself out of it.

Bang! 

You were starting to get used to the noise it made, your ears not ringing as badly as they were before. This shot still didn’t hit a bottle, but it hit the stump right next to one. You’d take that. 

“Look at you.” His face was right next to your ear, low timbre shaking you to your very core. God, his voice should not be doing these things to you. “You’ll be hittin’ those in no time.”

“You think?” You didn’t dare turn your head towards him, knowing it would then be inches away from his own. You don’t think you could stop yourself from kissing him then, guilt be damned. 

Arthur nodded, and you could cut the tension between the two of you with a knife. He breathed deep, like he was trying to calm himself. “C’mon, lemme show you how to reload the thing.” Stepping away from you, what should’ve been a warm breeze felt freezing against your skin, no longer feeling the warmth of his body. Turning, you saw Arthur begin to head back the way you came. You were able to sneak your hand in his before he moved too far away, walking along beside him.

A bit shocked, Arthur glanced at you, looking down at your intertwined hands, but he made no move to separate them. Instead, he smiled gently, and he brought your knuckles up to his lips, kissing them gently. With the gun in your other hand, the two of you walked back, not saying a word. It’s not like you would’ve been able to hear him anyways because of how loudly your heart was beating in your ears. 

Arthur’s horse’s ears perked up when he noticed your arrival, but otherwise seemed undisturbed, the recent loud noise seemingly not bothering him. It made you wonder how used to gunshots the creature was. 

Arthur led you to the horse, and he sniffed curiously at you. You couldn’t help the slight flinch, not used to being around horses. “He won’t hurt ya,” Arthur reassured, pulling his hand away to grab something from the saddlebags. “He acts like he’s tough, but he’s a real softie.”

“Sounds like his owner,” you teased, and you heard Arthur scoff. You reached out a hand for him to smell, and you watched him meet you halfway. His nose was wet, and you felt him nibble at your fingers, making you laugh. Moving your hand away from his nose you trailed it down his neck, petting gently. “You not all that mean, ain’t you? You just need some love,” you cooed at the horse. “You’re a good boy, ain’t you?” You pet his neck a few more times. “What’s his name, Arthur?”

You didn’t get a response, so you turned your attention toward the man, stilling your petting. “Arthur?” He was facing towards you, something in his hands, but he had stilled, completely silent.

He cleared his throat, and you swore you saw the beginnings of a blush form on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he rubbed at his neck. “His name’s Bear.”

You didn’t think much of his behavior, moving your attention back to Bear. “Bear?” The horse responded immediately, acknowledgment flashing in his eyes. “Ain’t you a good boy, Bear. Oh, yes you are.” You spoke like you would to a dog. 

Eventually, you moved away from Bear, and you saw him follow you with his head. “Sorry,” you apologized to Arthur, having forgotten what he’d brought you over to do.

Arthur shook his head, smiling and laughing. Yeah, he had definitely been blushing, his ears still tinted pink. “Are you done spoilin’ my horse?” 

“For now.” You stepped closer to Arthur, handing him the gun. “What does he like to eat?”

“Bear?” Arthur shrugged. “Most things really. Grass, hay, apples, carrots. He loves peppermints, though. Goes crazy for ‘em. Why?”

“No particular reason.” You tried to be nonchalant, like you weren’t totally planning on buying some the next time you were in town.

“You tryin’ to steal my horse from me?” Arthur asked, setting what you saw to now be ammunition in his hands on the saddle, taking a step towards you, making you tilt your head back farther to look at him. 

You stuck your chin out defiantly. “Maybe.”

“I don’t much appreciate that, darlin’.” You knew he was teasing you, but his voice had dropped dangerously low, and in any other context would’ve sounded threatening. He was so close now, holstering the gun back on his belt, and you felt your confidence falter as he stared you down. 

“What’re gonna do about it, then?” It came out as a whisper, but at least it wasn’t shaky. You maintained eye contact, even when he moved closer, his chest bumping into yours. One of his hands slowly held the side of your face, like he had done when he wiped the dirt from your cheek. His other hand locked on your waist, tugging you impossibly close, and you sucked in a breath. 

Those beautiful blue eyes danced over your face, settling on your lips, an unspoken question spoken. You nodded, the movement barely noticeable, but you didn’t trust your voice. His thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, and he tiled your head back a bit more. Arthur leaned forward, and you felt his hat brush against your head, knocking it back slightly, but it didn’t deter him. 

His lips almost brushed against yours, and you could feel the air leave him as he almost closed the gap, until a loud calling of his name had him snapping his head up. His hat nearly tumbled off his head, and he caught it using the hand once caressing your face. The voice was familiar, but you couldn’t see who it came from, the form of Bear blocking the speaker.

Once the initial shock wore off, you could practically feel the annoyance and anger from Arthur. “What?” He growled out, and you were thankful that his head was turned so that he wouldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed. 

“Where are you, son?” 

You recognized the voice now: Dutch. Why he was here, you had no idea. Exasperated, Arthur looked at you, an apology on his tongue. You silenced him with a kiss on his cheek, his beard tickling your lips when you made contact. His hand tightened where it still held on at your hips, and felt him sigh, both pleased and irritated. Leaning your head back, you answered for him. “He’s by the house.”

Arthur let go of you now, taking a step back and creating an appropriate amount of room between the two of you. “Good evening, Mrs. Kerrigan,” you heard Dutch respond, and you and Arthur stepped from around the horse and walked to the front porch. 

Dutch came riding into your homestead on a beautiful white horse, and another man followed behind him, hat over his face, so you couldn’t get a glimpse of his features. “Good evening, Dutch. Is there something you need?”

“We need to talk to you,” Dutch responded, and you blinked back, confused. You glanced at Arthur, and he just sighed. You could tell he was still frustrated, though, because he practically glared at the other men as they got off their horses. 

“Me? You sure you don’t mean Arthur?”

“Both of you,” the stranger responded, taking off his hat and keeping it with his horse. He was an older gentleman, probably in his mid-fifties. As he turned to you, you recognized him instantly from one of the drawings: Hosea.

“This here’s Hosea,” Dutch made his way over to you and Arthur, Hosea following closely behind. “You see, me and him have a proposition for you, Mrs. Kerrigan. And Arthur, I suppose.”

“Okay.” You drew out the word. “What is it?”

“It involves your husband,” Hosea chimed in. “We’d like your help.”

“And I’m glad to provide it, if you tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“Mrs. Kerrigan, are you aware that your husband is runnin’ a moonshine business?”

Author's Note:  i swear they’ll kiss eventually don’t kill me

[licncourt]

Is there a specific way to read the vampire chronicles or some books you should skip (I’ve just heard that some aren’t that good but like I’m up for anything)? And what books are focused on Louis and Lestat?

Okay I hope you weren't looking for a short answer to this because there isn't one 😭 Rather than just give my uncontextualized opinion, I'm going to try to explain what makes some (most) of VC so unbelievably terrible in so many people's eyes. There are going to be spoilers for pretty much all the books, but most of it is either incredibly stupid or information that you might want relating to content warnings. I'll list what applies to each book as I go.

I'm assuming you're here from my VC primer post, but if not, I'll link it right here! It gives a bit more detail on my short answer to your main question which is: if you value your sanity, only read the first three. Also a note to read the post I linked at the bottom of it about Anne Rice for context. It will help with understanding the tone this post takes re: the author.

To quickly answer your second question, I am sad to report that Interview with the Vampire is the only book focused on Loustat because after that Anne Rice decided that she hated Louis. Their relationship is on and off in the (very, VERY distant) background until they finally get together permanently towards the end of the series, but it's never the focal point again. She just kept us all on the hook by having one absolutely brain chemistry altering ship moment in a majority of the books (my compilation of those moments here).

Okay, on to specifics:

Interview with the Vampire: a literary classic with incredible character building. I'm assuming we can all agree that IWTV is fantastic and anyone who is reading this because of the show is probably already sold on it. If that's where you're coming from, you might be a bit disappointed by how unsympathetic Lestat can be, but that'll be remedied(ish) later. Lestat is the main character in the series going forward. Enjoy this Louis content because this is pretty much the end of it.

CW: keep in mind that the beginning of the book takes place on a plantation with all that entails; there are some occasional pedophilic and incestuous undertones, but nothing out of place with Gothic horror (it gets so much worse); domestic violence

The Vampire Lestat: this is widely considered to be excellent popular fiction rather than something as elevated as IWTV, but it's a 5-star read according to most fans. Lestat is such a vibrant, exciting character and so much more than the charismatic villain he was in IWTV (the AMC show incorporates a lot of his characterization from this book, as IWTV was originally a stand-alone novel without any real idea of what Lestat would become).

Aside from a (delightful) cameo at the end of the book, Louis is now in Anne Rice Jail and will not be allowed to do anything for the next nine books except be tortured once like a bug for no reason.

CW: a non-consensual turning that is directly analogous to sexual assault; descriptions of child abuse; Lestat, unfortunately, tongue kisses his mom

Queen of the Damned: this is the last book that most fans like. I personally consider it a step down from the first two, but I strongly prefer intimate, character driven stories and QotD is very plotty. It's a fun book, but some cracks start to show in AR's writing that will become a big problem later. Still, it's enjoyable and the ending is very satisfying for the story arc and for the characters. It also contains a fan favorite chapter that follows Daniel, the interviewer, and his insane romance with the vampire Armand.

If you want to be a happy person, turn back now.

CW: non-con blood drinking/vampiric SA; casual racism and pro-imperialism

***CATEGORY 5 EVENT: ANNE RICE FIRES HER EDITOR PERMANENTLY***

The Tale of the Body Thief: this is considered by most fans (obligatory not ALL) to be the worst book in the series simply for how the subject matter is handled. This is the beginning of AR transforming Lestat into something very existentially disturbing without even meaning to. The sympathetic, charming, evil-but-not-really theater kid Lestat is gone without a trace in a way that could be a very insightful look at the aftermath of trauma but is instead deeply insensitive and really upsetting.

Lestat from here on out becomes a hypermasculine caricature that can do no wrong according to the narrative and this has some pretty awful results. There are a few funny moments (like Lestat describing the sensation of peeing for two full pages) and a very cute arc where he adopts a dog, but he also commits two explicit rapes and emotionally abuses/threatens Louis on several occasions with the authorial justification that "men can't help themselves", abuse victims have it coming for setting boundaries, and people who have suffered abuse become abusers. This will be a recurring theme going forward.

Not related to Lestat, but also an Indian man is killed and has his body stolen and inhabited by a white British man in what would be a great metaphor for colonialism if the author thought that was a bad thing.

I am on the last chapter of a 140,000 word fic that I wrote just because I hate TotBT so much and wanted to create a world where it doesn't have to exist. It's one of the most popular VC fics on ao3, and that's not a testament to my writing ability, but rather to how much people hate this book.

CW: graphic SA; domestic violence; insensitivity to the point of racism; the author thinking these things are okay

Memnoch the Devil: not much to say about this. It's AR's ripoff of Dante's Inferno. Lestat meets the devil, goes to hell, drinks the blood of Jesus Christ, loses an eye, vacuum sucks period blood out of a woman's uterus and pad, and then falls into a five year semi-coma on a church floor. Somehow it's still boring. Best I can say is that the Lestat characterization is a bit less heinous than it is in the previous book.

CW: not much here unless you have an issue with period blood guzzling

The Vampire Armand: truly a notorious book in the series, beloved by some, hated by many. There's some good backstory for the character Armand (he first appears in IWTV, likely in season two of the show) and some fun historical fiction, however. Armand begins his story as a twelve year old human child who is rescued from sex slavery by an ancient vampire, Marius (he was namedropped in AMC ep 2).

Over the course of the book, he's physically, mentally, sexually abused by Marius, his teacher and father figure who is, like David, presented as a wise and moral authorit figure. In addition, Armand carries on a sexual relationship with an adult man as a minor. The sex is graphic (it's erotica) and it's really the peak of the pedophilia in VC. Keep in mind that this is coming from an author who publicly defended a child predator and thought that 14 year old kids could consent and should be allowed to have sex with adults.

Of all the later books, this one is the most widely enjoyed because Marius/Armand is a fairly popular ship.

CW: CSA/grooming; statutory rape; explicit adult/minor content; child abuse; cult abuse

Merrick: evil, evil book. AR's giant fuck you to Louis and anyone who likes his character. Lestat is in his devil coma for most of this book, so it's narrated by his newest fledgling and rape victim, David (who I and most others despise. This is the white guy who has an Indian body now). By this point, AR had openly admitted that she didn't like Louis, and she kind of spends this book tormenting and mocking him for no reason.

The titular Merrick (a mixed-race witch drowned in awful racial connotations) mind controls Louis with magic, then forces him to turn her (again, AR has confirmed that this is vampire rape) and be in a relationship. After this, she conjures a "ghost" that may or may not be Louis and Lestat’s dead daughter who tells Louis she always hated him and blamed him for her death. Completely overcome by grief, without Lestat (coma), and having been raped, Louis attempts suicide.

This event and all his mental health issues up to this point are framed by David as being stupid and weak, the sign of a lesser person who should just go and die because they deserve it. It is worth mentioning yet again that David is framed as being in the right and AR had expressed these opinions herself in the past (ie that mental illness is just weakness and you should be able to get over it).

Another fun thing is that Merrick was groomed by David as a child and he spends most of the book wanting her back and also admitting to other acts of pedophilia. So that's fun and great for a character who's supposed to be a voice of reason and moral center.

0/10, despise this book.

CW: sexual assault; grooming; attempted suicide

Blood & Gold: this is Marius' backstory. It is a completely pointless book because we've already heard it twice by this point in the series (and if you read the companion book Pandora, you'll hear it again). The whole thing reads like a Wikipedia page about ancient Rome. Read it if you want I guess.

CW: Marius

Blackwood Farm: this book had...potential? None of that was ever achieved, but I'll at least say that the concept could be worse. Lestat acquires his FIFTH brunette sadboi love interest of the series in this book, so that's kind of funny. Overall though, any positive qualities are overshadowed by weird prose, a really transphobic caricature, and the fact that the main character has shower sex with the ghost of his dead twin brother

CW: transphobia; sibling incest

Blood Canticle: Miss Rice decided to. Get creative with this book. It is a fandom joke. It is the worst prose in existence. It is a literary manic episode. It is truly indescribable. I'm just going to leave this excerpt from ch 1 here and let you imagine an entire book of this

Yes, chapter one is Anne Rice using Lestat as a proxy to berate her readers for not liking Memnoch the Devil. It's also important to me that you know Lestat calls himself "omnisensual" in this book, tries to become a saint, and tells a woman to put some clothes on because men can't control themselves. The word "chuckle" is also written out in the prose in italics like this is ff.net in 2010. The best thing that came of this book is the famous AR Amazon reviews rant (now a beloved VC fandom copypasta). Please read it. It's transcendent.

CW: psychologically devastating prose

Prince Lestat: this is AR's comeback book, published 12 years after Blood Canticle. It's an improvement, but it's still terrible and very, VERY dumb. Lestat has completed his transformation into a macho man male power fantasy for AR and we end with the establishment of a vampire monarchy with Lestat in charge because he slurped and then puked up the brains of the vampire who had the Special Vampire Essence.

Mostly this was an excuse for AR to kill off a bunch of her weird NPCs that she didn't know what to do with. The good news is we get a very cute, official Loustat love confession and for the first time since the first book in the entire series, we get a chapter that's Louis' POV!! It's like 7 pages long but it's the best we're ever going to get.

Other fun thing that happens: Lestat is hooked up to a hormone IV that allows him to fuck (book vampires can't) and the resident scientist vampire steals his cum and creates a petri dish clone of Lestat that is raised in secret for 18 years before being given to Lestat as his son. No, I'm not joking.

CW: uh, brain eating? Insanely unethical human experimentation?

Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis: batshit crazy book. Truly bonkers. There are aliens, Atlantis is real, Lestat has a sentient brain parasite that controls all vampires and talks to him in his mind like the PS5, vampire brain surgery occurs, a choir of child vampires is there, an alien named Derek breastfeeds a disembodied hand until it grows into his clone named Derek Two, and so much more.

The one positive is that after decades of harassment, AR finally lets Louis be a main character again. By this point he has been completely stripped of his personality (I call it the Louis Lobotomy) and exists solely as Lestat's sexy lamp, but whatever. He's there and they're cute together. How they managed to become a healthy, functional couple overnight after two hundred years of drama is never explained.

Lestat makes out with his rapist and talks about how he was asking for it in a particularly nauseating scene, but otherwise it's pretty tame trigger-wise

CW: rape apologia/victim blaming

Blood Communion: we are finally being put out of our misery. The end of the series. This is such a boring book and Lestat’s characterization is completely nonsensical by now. Several main characters are presumed dead for a while and by this point you don't even care. Not even the other characters in the book seem to care. Its only use is to get that sweet sweet Loustat happy ending.

CW: temporary character death

-

Alright, that was a lot of shit-talking a book series I literally run a fandom blog and write hundreds of thousands of words of fic for, but the truth is, fans are here for the characters as they were originally created. The first three books are wonderful, the first two completely masterful and case studies in how character building should be done. There's a reason they've been read and analyzed and fawned over for forty years. What happened to the series is heartbreaking, but it doesn't negate the impact of how it started.

AR may have started spelling her own characters' names wrong and writing a baffling combination of disgusting hot takes and total absurdity, but she created something special in the beginning and I'll always love it and be grateful for what it once was.

I hope that was helpful!

[ygsunflower]

My head canon for Aaliyah x Cruz: Cruz was submissive in her relationship with Aaliyah and it reflected in their intimate moments as well. Out of guilt and out of her unpreparedness to actually falling in love, she let Aaliyah take the lead on how and where their relationship would go. She, especially when she’s under the fake identity of Zara, didn’t want to use Aaliyah more than she had to for the mission, or she didn’t want Aaliyah to think that she only took advantage of her for the mission, so in their intimate moments, she’s submissive to Aaliyah. Something about sex being both a pleasure and a pain for her.

Also with the majority of their interactions, Cruz let Aaliyah take the first step, once Aaliyah initiated, she allowed herself to re-act. This action, intentional or not, was not only an act out of her guilt, it’s also a form of punishment she gave herself for lying to Aaliyah. But in the last episode, when they had their last moment together where Cruz was trying to come clean and show a bit of her true identity to Aaliyah, she was more forward with her words, and in her actions. We literally saw her on top, for the first time, being the dominant one acting on her desires and wants (but then quickly shutdown by her conscious). Cruz was truly tortured both physically and emotionally this whole time… Her emotions were tore a million different ways… poor thing.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 2 MATCH 31

Van propaganda:

"He's a great artist, he's charming and caring... At first it seems like a standard meet-cute with this guy but he turns out being connected to the player character through destiny, in several of their past (and future) lives... Not in all of them you meet, not in all of them you like each other immediately, but in many of them you end up finding one another by chance (or is it fate?), and staying together as a choice."

"He loves you, he hates you, he's one snide comment away from getting an HR complaint, he's been painting the same question over and over again and you're the answer, he uses Pochacco as his profile picture, whats not to love??"

Derek propaganda:

“Extreme hot take but Derek is the best OL1 love interest. He has the best and sweetest confession in the game. You play video games together. He seems reserved until you actually start dating and find out that he's actually just a gentleman who didn't want to be overly forward with someone he's not in a relationship with. He's a family man. You get to blatantly abuse your 'dating' privileges in front of his brothers. He's just so insanely sweet and caring and makes me wanna cry whenever I play his DLC.”

“- Impossible to dislike

- No, like, literally impossible. OL1 will allow you to be indifferent to it's two other LIs, Cove and Baxter but you actually can't pick that option for Derek. Game decided that You Will Be (at least) Friends With Derek

- This boy is so good!!!! He's a sweetheart and has your back in the best way and he's constantly doing his best to make sure the people around him (especially you) are happy

- This is also a complex flaw of his because he feels like he needs to be the best that he can be and to be worth something

- This both manifests in how he treats others (he's exceedingly well-mannered and does everything for others because he secretly hopes that someday someone will do the same for him) and his career prospects (he takes on excessive practice to get good at football/soccer so that he can potentially get a scholarship and become famous all so he can potenially feel like he's worth something. This is actually a major conflict in his Step 4)

- His DLC also has some of the best moments in the game

- He also has a family and they're also really good and you get to see a lot of them

- His dad is hilarious, his mom is gorgeous and their relationship is very cute

- Meanwhile, Derek's brothers are great. I wanna gush about them because I love them but also play Derek's DLC yourself!!! See how good they are for yourself!!!!

- I will say that these three have a really good relationship dynamic and the development it takes in the 10 years between when you first meet Jorge and Nico as little kids to Step 4 where they're adults (and a teenager, Nico is 16 in Step 4) is genuinely very well written

- If you're into the steamy stuff, Derek also has the best make-out session out of all of the boys

- He's also just. Very funny. This boy will invite you to a waterpark and then ask you if its a date so he knows whether or not it's ok to check you out in your swimsuit

- Or, if you aren't dating by that point (but you do want to to date him), the narration will note how he's trying so so hard not to check you out, he's just trying so so so hard

- Puppy dog face. Look at it. Tell me you can look at that face and not want to smooch him

- His confession is also the best, did I mention it's the best? Because it's absolutely the best one in the entire game

- He has a whole thing about having to confess to you on a ferris wheel and he's so committed to it that he actually avoided ferris wheels for a long time before this confession because he promised himself he'd do it the next time he went on one

- And then he went on one...and he literally doesn't confess when he does it because he lost track of time and he had to get off

- so he asks you to go on the ferris wheel with him again so he can actually confess this time

Just. Just vote for him!!!!”

“He's sweet, polite, and out-going and is always willing to put you first (sometimes too willing).”

“polite responsible jock u r NOT immune to this”

[soulessjourney]

Girl With One Eye

Paring: AscendedAstarion x fem!TavReader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: You were the one who got away, and he's the one who never stopped looking for you. After the fall of the Elderbrain, you vowed to escape Astarion and the person he had become. Now, you reside in seclusion with Halsin and Jaheira, who have spared no effort to help you heal from your pain. Little did you know that when Gale seeks you out for an important mission, returning to Baldur’s Gate would ignite a fire of vengeance within you, aimed at the one who hurt you the most.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Ascended Astarion (he's his own warning), sexual references, angst, hurt and comfort, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of children, death (no major character death tho....maybe)

A/N: There's something about my Tav that is simply beautiful, and I doubt I'll ever pinpoint what exactly it is. Additionally, I'm excited to announce that I'll be starting to post my fics on AO3! Once I have everything set up on that end, feel free to follow the progress over there too! I'm also contemplating whether to give Tav a name or not. For now, I'll stick with the standard "Tav," but that might change in future chapters.

You weren't sure what you had done wrong that day. Astarion had seemed torn between ascending, but after sharing a quiet evening together before deciding to raid the manor, something inside him had changed. "Astarion, stop. You don’t need to do this. You’ll kill all those spawn," you whimpered, stepping closer to him. Astarion spun towards you, his eyes darkening as his thirst for power began to consume him.

"They're all doomed anyway, Tav. There's no saving them. Unleashing seven thousand bloodthirsty spawn into the world is foolish. This is the best method to protect us, to protect you," he said, desperation evident in his voice, but there was also hesitation behind his eyes. He didn't want this.

"As doomed as they may be, Star, we can't kill them. You're not a killer." Stepping towards him, you stopped when his eyes darkened and his body tensed. Letting out a grunt, you threw your body forward, the metal armor pinching your skin from the position as Astarion began to probe around in your head.

"You are not taking this from me, Tav. I won't let you. I'm trying to give us a future together. I'll be able to walk in the sun with you, and you want to take that opportunity away from us and exile us to a life in the shadows?" he spat, smirking when he found what he was looking for in your head. "I won't let you take that away from me, Darling. You are either with me or against me." With that, he ripped Cazador's shirt from his body and brought the tip of the knife to his skin, smirking as it sank into his flesh. Astarion began to carve the runes into Cazador, your sobs filling the room as you tried to kick him from your mind.

-----

You wake, your body throwing itself forward as a sob tears through your throat. It feels as if you can't breathe, as though someone has their hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Leaning forward, you open and close your mouth in an attempt to force air into your lungs. The door to your room swings open, and Jaheira appears in the doorway, her shadow stretching across the floor where the light sits. Halsin quickly follows, sliding between her and the doorframe. He settles himself on the edge of the bed, gently placing his hands over your shoulders.

"My heart, you need to steady your breaths. Remember our breathing routine. In through your nose slowly, and then exhale," Halsin says, grabbing your hand so you can feel the movement of his chest as he begins to breathe, eventually helping you fall into the routine.

"I hope you die screaming."

Opening and closing your mouth, you wipe at your eyes, urging the tears to stop. Licking your lips, you hiccup, letting your gaze meet Halsin's before eventually glancing at Jaheira.

"I'm sorry for waking you both. I know you were prepping for an appearance with Lae'zel tomorrow." A chill shoots through you as your skin begins to cool.

Jaheira smiles gently at you and makes her way to you. "Little cub, there is no reason for you to apologize. I've noticed the nightmares have grown to happen more frequently now that..." Now that you're hitting the one-year mark of running away from Astarion.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you nod, leaning into Halsin slightly. "I know, and they're only going to get worse. It's been a year since I last saw him, Jaheira, and he still manages to torment me from wherever he is." Halsin and Jaheira weren't even exactly sure what transpired between you and Astarion; all they knew is that you ended up in The Grove, begging that they hide you away from him. You were soaked from the rain, and your feet were raw from running. Halsin had been worried you were attacked, but you weren't. Well, not exactly. You never had it in you to tell them just what Astarion did, and that you ran fearing he would find you.

The two glance at you before positioning you between them. While Jaheria assumed a more maternal role in your life, Halsin was someone you admired and trusted. They both enveloped you in blankets as Jaheria softly caressed your back, humming a gentle tune. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to sleep, this time, the nightmares stayed away.

---

You adjust your position on your knees, feeling the dirt seep into your pants as you continue to work the soil. Halsin had convinced you to join him in the garden to harvest tomatoes and plant flowers. It was a welcomed distraction from the events of last night. Wiping your arm across your forehead, you could sense the dirt leaving its mark on your skin. Your hair was tied back in a loose bun, with strands framing your face. As you move slightly, a flash of purple catches your eye, and you look up to see Gale making his way towards the cabin. Standing up, you greet him with a warm smile.

“Gale! It’s wonderful to see you. What brings you all the way here from Waterdeep?” you ask as he nears.

“Well, you know, adventures and... more adventures,” he replies, his grin widening as he takes in your appearance. The last time you saw him, you were curled up in your room, refusing to eat. Halsin had reached out to Gale in hopes of helping you. After weeks of his company, you had finally started eating regularly again, though you remained closed off about what had happened between you and Astarion.

You turn back towards the house before facing Gale again. "They should be inside. Would you like to come in? You must be tired from the journey,” you offer, gesturing towards the open door where Halsin appears. Deep down, you knew Gale was there for a reason. He had minimized his presence to help keep your location concealed, even vowing to only appear if there was something important to discuss.

Gale nodded and followed you into the room, where Halsin welcomed him with a pat on the shoulder. "Welcome, old friend. It's nice to see you again, though I suspect your visit isn't merely for catching up," Halsin remarked, his eyes hardening with his final words. Over the past year, Halsin had become increasingly protective of you, particularly after witnessing your condition when you arrived one rainy night, covered in mud and wounds. Seeing your once fearless and strong demeanor shattered broke him, reigniting feelings he once harbored for you. Since then, he vowed to keep you safe from Astarion.

Gale smiled grimly before turning to face you. Leading you and Halsin to the couch, he sat down and rubbed his hands over his robes. "You know I wouldn't come unless I truly needed your help. You're the only person I trust to carry out this task," he said, capturing your full attention. You hadn't looked at the armor in your wardrobe for over a year. Since the battle with the Elder Brain, you hadn't been the same. The encounter had changed you profoundly, leaving you unable to wield another weapon after being forced to confront innocent souls turned against you.

"As you know, our former companion has embarked on a quest for ascension. Baldur's Gate is in peril as he targets politicians and his spawn overrun the sewers. During his quest, he awakened something that threatens the city. I've consulted with others and you are my last hope. We need our leader and our courageous fighter," Gale explained gently.

Beside you, Halsin tensed and shook his head. "Do you realize what you're asking of her?" he began, rising to confront Gale. "You're sending her back to where she fled from. You're asking her to confront the man she won't even speak of. I refuse to subject her to that. She escaped once; who knows what Astarion will do if he finds her again. We can't risk her safety."

You felt Jaheira's presence behind you as she observed the exchange between Gale and Halsin. "I believe Tav should have a say in this, just as she did regarding her dealings with Bhaal. We trusted her with that decision, and I'm confident we can trust her with this. She won't be alone in facing Astarion; we'll stand by her," Jaheira suggested, always the voice of reason among the three of you.

She had a point. It had been a year since you escaped Astarion, and you had begun to heal. Perhaps facing him with the support of your friends was the final step you needed. You wouldn't be alone, and maybe you could show him that you didn't need him as much as he believed. "I think it's time I face him, Halsin. I can't move forward if I can't muster the courage to confront Astarion and show him that I'm thriving without him. Besides, I can't turn away from adventure. Astarion is endangering the city, and I feel compelled to stop him," you said gently, resting your hand on his arm.

Halsin hesitated before nodding. Gale clapped his hands together, a gentle smile on his face as he looked between the three of you. "Excellent. We should make haste; Shadowheart is due to arrive in the city tonight. We can use the Sigil to expedite our journey. It's time to don that armor, Tav; you'll need it," he said, locking eyes with you.

---

Your arrival in Baldur’s Gate certainly didn't go unnoticed, especially not with the ear-splitting shriek that Shadowheart let out upon seeing you. Her arms wrapped tightly around you, nearly causing both of you to topple to the ground. Returning her embrace, you let out a hearty laugh before pulling away to take in her appearance. She looked better than ever, her silver hair standing out against her skin. Her eyes seemed softer, and she genuinely appeared happier than the last time you had seen her.

"My gods, Tav, it's been forever since I've seen you. You were missed at the celebration Withers threw," she exclaimed, pausing to brush your bangs from your face. "Astarion was looking for you there. I was surprised you weren't by his side as usual. He grilled Gale and me for hours, trying to glean any information about your whereabouts. Considering what he's become, Tav, I don't blame you for disappearing. If we encounter him here, I promise I won't hesitate to have Gale fry him alive with a fireball," she added gently, causing a soft smile to spread across your lips as she squeezed your arms gently.

You and your small group made your way to Elfsong Tavern, where the entire top floor was reserved for your crew, a small perk after saving the city from mass destruction and assisting in its rebuilding. Stepping into the room, you glanced toward the side where you and Astarion had spent many nights discussing your future before confronting Cazador. It was a time when both of you were genuinely happy, before he became a stranger.

Snapping out of your reverie, you stretched your arms and set your things down near the bed. Shadowheart watched you from across the room before deciding to set up her bed next to yours. "I figured since you're over here alone, I'd join you," she said, her reasoning clear. The memories that lingered in this room had the potential to destroy you, and she didn't want you to face them alone. A small part of you was grateful for her presence.

Gale once again volunteered to cook dinner, resulting in Halsin pleading with him not to touch the food. As you sat back and watched the others bicker, a small smile spread across your face at the sight. It reminded you of the days you traveled together, how close you all were, and the strange little family you had become. All that was missing were a few friends and a vampire desperate for your attention. Frowning at the thought, you looked out the window, watching as people came and went from the tavern. It wasn't until a flash of white hair caught your eye that you stood.

As the others continued to bicker, you slipped out of the room and made your way to the alley where you had seen the white hair. Looking around, you tensed, your hand moving to rest on the blade strapped to your thigh. The feeling of being watched grew stronger, and the soft sound of footsteps sent a chill up your spine just before you whipped around and grabbed the arm of the intruder, slamming them against the wall and holding the dagger against their throat. Your eyes widened as you came face to face with a pair of crimson eyes. "Hello, darling...miss me?"