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atlabeth · 1 month

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dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

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

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

wc: 17.2k

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

Hotch can barely stay awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has he been charged for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

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

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

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

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

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

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

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

You nod. “He lives with me.”

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

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

And he didn’t even know when she died.

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

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

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

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“…No.”

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got that right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god— what are the odds?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

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

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Rent or own?”

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

“What inspired the move?”

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

“And home is?”

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

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

“Sources can lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t tell him—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.”

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

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

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

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

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

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

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

“You know th—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The profile—”

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

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

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

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

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

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

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

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

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

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

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

“I can imagine.”

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

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

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

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

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

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

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

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

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

Your eyes open and you frown.

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

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

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

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

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

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you finally say.

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

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

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

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

No one expected this to happen so soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

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

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

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

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

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

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

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Hotch asks.

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

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you have to deal with this now.

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

“You’re already packed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you go to class today?”

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

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

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

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

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

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

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

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

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

And now…

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

“Thank you, Garcia.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.”

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.”

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?”

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.”

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you.

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think.

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave.

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?”

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.”

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.”

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.”

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.”

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.”

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you.

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.”

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you.

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you.

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him.

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force.

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead.

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake.

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms.

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment.

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers.

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron.

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!”

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours.

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.”

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name.

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die.

You wake up in the hospital alone.

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you.

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real.

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life.

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day.

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all.

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life.

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind.

He was going to kill you.

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU.

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him.

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you.

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly.

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.”

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask.

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…”

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.”

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?”

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start.

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.”

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.”

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.”

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!”

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—”

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper.

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life.

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues.

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number.

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.”

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner.

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.”

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together.

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.”

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.”

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit.

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.”

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.”

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out.

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.”

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down.

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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makncheese12 · 10 months

Text

Jenna Ortega x g!p!reader

Warnings: smut, blow job, oral. Basically anything suggestive. Minors DNI

A/N: I haven’t written smut in a while give me a break, it’s short because I’m tired🙂

Stats: requested, I changed it up a bit

The sound of moans and whimpers fill the silent room, coming from both you and Jenna but most of them come from you as you feel her hot mouth around you.

The sight of her was mouth watering. On her knees in between your legs in front of you and your cock buried deep into her mouth, small tears forming in her eyes as she starts to get used to it. Her head moving up and down, with Little Woman playing on the tv in front of you but that was the last thing you were paying attention to.

Your head lays back against the head of the couch as small moans lip your mouth, body twitching with every little touch she gives you. Whether it be the gently rubbing or the soft squeeze against your thigh, or the way her mouth moved up and down against your length. It all made you feel more sensitive than usual as you feel your cock slide in and out of her mouth.

Your grip tightens on her hair as you instinctively thrust into her mouth, moaning each time she would force herself to push you deep down her throat while using her free hand to jack off the part of her shaft she couldn’t fit down.

She was enjoying herself more than she cared to admit, the feeling of you inside her mouth was completely different from the feeling of you inside her pussy, she felt she had much more control of the situation as she suddenly sucked on the hard length making you let out a dirty moan. She couldn’t get enough of it.

Your body twitched, the familiar feeling form deep down in your abdomen as I look down at her, eyes half lidded from pleasure.

When you do she’s already looking up at you with a look you couldn’t get enough of, her usual soft brown eyes are dark. Her pupils blown out and her face a soft pink as she bobs her head up and down you. A sight you could absolutely get used to, her ass poked out from behind her teased you just enough as her eyes never left yours. Her occasional moans would send electric shocks of pleasure through your body.

She then lets out a low moan, the rumble making you shiver as you throw your head back against the head of the couch, moaning loudly into the quiet house.

“Please..” you whimper out as you try to force her head to move faster and that she does making your body tense even more under her, your grip on her hair tighten as more moans spill out of your mouth.

Her hand on your thigh tightens as well, gripping you to try and keep her new pace between your legs. You look back down and she’s still staring at you, watching your every reaction to her as she sucks you off.

Another loud moan mixed with a whimper makes her stomach do flips as she stares up at your contorted, pleasure filled face. Chest going up and down from breathing so hard and trying to catch it once again but it’s no use as she continues to pleasure your cock and take your breath right away again.

“Fuck!-“ you croak out as you stare into her eye dark eyes, moving your other hand to her head in a desperate attempt to push her further onto your cock.

She complies and lets out a loud moan. The moan itself was heavenly and was enough to send you over the edge, your hand gripping her hair and holding it still to keep your cock buried deep into her mouth as your eyes never leave hers, a loud mouth coming from both of you as your cum fills her mouth.

Your body twitches even more now as she slows her movements, swallowing everything you pushed out before slowly remove your cock from her mouth with a quiet ‘pop’.

You continue to breath heavily as you watch her gently rub your thighs and kiss the tip of your cock making you whine quietly as her bare body crawls up to sit in your lap with a smile.

“Good girl.” Is all she says as she leaves hot, open wet kisses on your neck, hands running up and down your chest as your hands immediately go to grab her waist in a tight grip, still a moaning mess under her.

She feels your member twitch against her and she can’t help but smirk against your neck as she pulls away from you.

“You’re still hard.” She says before grabbing your throbbing cock making you let out another desperate moan.

She smirks, lining the tip up against her soaked pussy, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “I can fix that.”

Tagslist: @raven-ss @natashasapphic @paladinncleric @2silverchain @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ctrlamira @maggie-004 @rainbow-love4ever @boobitch5u @paudotcom @novastargalaxydesigns @squirtlebob @idkjustliving2 @devarajah @pamoresworld @canyonyodeler @alexkolax @morganismspam23 @iliketigolbitties

(Sorry if I forgot anyone, I’m trying to keep up😭)

(While you’re here, read this😫)

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter #vada cavell #jenna ortega fanfic

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mackenzielovee · 2 years

Text

loveless — bucky barnes

synopsis: hating Bucky Barnes is easy. Sleeping with him and keeping the feelings away proves to be much more difficult.

warnings: swearing, slight mention of anxiety symptoms, SMUT (oral: f&m receiving, PinV sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight orgasm denial, degrading language (not to reader), kissing)

His eyes are darker than usual today.

That’s the first thing you notice as you sit across the table from him, glaring at him with a clenched jaw. He’s glaring right back, neither of you trying to pay attention to your boss as he goes through the quarterly figures.

“Got it, Barnes?” Tony’s voice brings both of you out of your hateful gaze.

You watch as Bucky clears his throat and looks over, nodding his head, “Yeah. Got it, boss.”

“I’m sure you do. You looked very engaged,” Tony mutters sarcastically.

Bucky laughs at that, “Oh, I was. In fact, Y/N’s got some ideas to increase sales this quarter. She was telling me about them last night—”

“When I was working late,” you cut in, not wanting to give the wrong impression, despite knowing Bucky’s actively trying to make you look bad, “Bucky came into my office to drop off the expense reports, and—”

“And, we got to talking,” Bucky takes over, “Tell him your great ideas, Y/N. I especially like the strip poker idea. For charity, of course.”

“That’s enough,” Tony glares at Bucky, “Y/N, any real suggestions?”

You swear your blood stops in your veins, because no, you didn’t have any real suggestions. In fact, part of this job makes you feel like you’re drowning, and the ability to think outside the box is far out of your reach when you can barely think inside of it.

“Um,” you stutter, listening to Bucky chuckle victoriously across from you, “Sir, I—”

“No, then. Great. Let’s move on. Rogers, how are things on your end?”

Your eyes close under the embarrassment and you're sure you look about as incompetent as anyone can get. After a moment, you look over to Steve, who’s preparing to speak. He gives you a compassionate smile, which you return. He’s always been nice to you. Your first day on the job, he walked you all the way to Tony’s office. He brings you coffee from the breakroom frequently, and he always backs you up in meetings when he can tell you’re nervous. Your favorite part about it all is that he doesn’t have to do any of it.

Bucky rudely clears his throat, earning your attention back. You narrow your eyes, trying your best to show your annoyance in one glance. He just smirks and raises his elbow up on the arm rest, waving his metal fingers at you.

Once the meeting clears, you take your time collecting your things. Bucky escapes without a second thought while Steve hangs around, giving you a gentle and reassuring smile when you stand from your chair.

“Strip poker, huh?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, “I never suggested that.”

Steve laughs easily, leading you out of the conference room. He holds his arm out, allowing you to walk through first, and the blush that rises to your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed, you’re sure.

“I know you didn’t. Bucky’s brain is… unique.”

He watches you smile as he walks by your side down the hall, where you spy Bucky himself, leaning against the wall and flirting with Tony’s intern. Your eyes roll once again as he leans in closer, grinning like a fool as she smiles up at him with hopeful eyes. You’re sure he’s loving it.

“It sure is,” you mutter, “How’s Sam?”

“He’s good, you know, he’s spending some time with his sister and nephews…”

Steve’s voice trails off in your head as you pass by Bucky and his beloved intern. You catch his eye as you pass, glaring at him. He smirks, his eyes shamelessly checking you out even while he’s in the middle of flirting with another woman.

“Excuse me, sweetie,” Bucky mumbles, pushing himself off the wall and following behind you. With a smirk, you start swaying your hips a little bit as you walk just to fuck with him. You hear a groan from behind you, which widens your smirk greatly. “What are you two gossiping about up there?”

Steve sighs, “Do you have to be a dick every second of your life?”

“Makes things more interesting,” Bucky shrugs, “Hey, great idea in the meeting today, Y/N. I really enjoyed that panicked look on your face at the idea of disappointing Tony.”

Before you can muster up a response, Steve stops and turns around, setting his wide palm on Bucky’s chest.

“I think that’s enough, Buck,” Steve warns, “Come on, man.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he looks from Steve down to you, trying to stand tall even though both men tower over you — even when you’re in heels.

“You come on, Stevie,” Bucky mutters, “She can take it. Can’t you, Shortcake?”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap.

Bucky laughs, “It’s all friendly fun. I embarrass you in meetings, you get to sit across from my handsome self—”

Your eyes narrow, “You really don’t know how to apologize, do you?”

“Of course I do,” Bucky scoffs.

“Sure,” you mumble, spinning around and preparing to walk away, “You embarrassed me, Bucky. When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll be waiting.”

As you walk away, your heels against the tile being the only thing breaking the silence, you smirk when you hear Steve speak.

“Nice, Barney.”

A few minutes later, Steve drops by your office with a full mug of coffee. He’d perfected making it the way you like it, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar. You thank him and then get back to work, stopping only when Bucky sticks his head in your office as he passes. His white button down and baby blue tie work wonders for his eyes, even though they still look darker than usual to you.

“Pizza or Chinese?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Chinese,” you reply, not bothering to look away from your computer screen.

He taps your doorframe with his hand as a signal that he heard you, then hurries away as quickly as he came. The smile that graces your face is the only thing that sticks around.

“Fuck. Oh, my God. Right there.”

You pull on his hair as he buries his face in between your legs, expertly switching between tongue-fucking you and sucking on your clit. You arch your back even further, dying to get closer somehow. Your moans grow louder as you feel his scruff brushing against your thighs every time he switches positions, which only fuels him to continue.

“Jesus— please don’t stop. Let me cum, please, I’m so close. So fucking close—”

He pulls back then, a smirk plastered on his face as his lips glisten with your slick. You whine, trying your best to pull him back down to your core by his hair.

“So, you forgive me, Shortcake?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, I forgive you, please, Buck,” you beg.

He grins and yanks your body down even closer to him, settling your legs over his shoulders. He leans down and presses a kiss right above where you want him, listening to you cry out for more.

“God, I wish the guys at the office could see how you fucking beg for me,” he mutters, more to himself.

“Prick,” you mumble.

“What was that?” he questions, sucking your clit in his mouth for a second before he pulls away again, listening to you groan, “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Bucky,” you mewl.

“Alright, I’ll let you cum. But only because I’m so fucking sorry,” he remarks.

“Thank you, thank you— fuck.”

With one swipe of his tongue over your clit, you clench your thighs around his head as you release. Your eyes roll back and you have no idea what noises you’re making, but you’re too blissed out to care. He holds your hips steady as he continues tongue-fucking you through your orgasm, not faltering or stopping even once.

You come back down slowly, soft moans escaping from your lips as Bucky continues. The overstimulation sets in, and when you whine and push him away, he snickers. With one last gentle kiss to your core, Bucky pulls back and licks his lips clean, smirking as he does so.

“I fucking love the sounds you make when you cum, Shortcake,” he grins.

You sigh, “God, I wish you weren’t so good at that.”

“Why? Then you’d have an easier time not wanting to fuck me?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply, sitting up on your elbows. Bucky had stripped you naked and then himself, although you hadn’t so much as touched him. He owed you, first. “I’m hungry.”

“Pizza’s in the kitchen,” he tells you, standing from the bed and sliding his boxers back on.

You frown, “I told you to bring Chinese.”

“I know,” he grins, earning a swat on the chest. He tosses his white button-down to you and watches as you cover yourself, lazily buttoning a few buttons before you stand.

He follows you out into the kitchen, where you collect the plates while Bucky grabs two beers out of the fridge. You open the pizza box and start tearing the slices apart to put onto the plates when Bucky leans his front to your back. He buries his face in your neck and presses his boner into your back, which has you swallowing harshly.

“Can we please have dinner like civilized people?” you grunt, doing your best not to arch into him.

Bucky scoffs, “There’s nothing civilized about the things I want to do to you, Shortcake.”

For a second, you consider giving in. You consider letting him bend you over this counter and fuck you before he feeds you. You fight to gain control of yourself, and when you do, you elbow him in the chest.

“At least let me eat before you get your fill and leave,” you mutter, shoving him off of you and grabbing your plate and your beer. You walk over to your kitchen table and sit down, centering yourself before he joins you.

Bucky grabs his plate and walks over, gripping his beer bottle tightly. He drops his plate down on the table like he would junk mail; his eyes beading into the side of your head.

“What does that mean?” he questions, “You’re the one who kicks me out every time. You stand up from the bed and say ‘You can go, Barnes’, then go shower me right off of you. Don’t think for one second I’m using you when it’s obviously the other way around.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, “Don’t yell at me.”

“If I was yelling, you’d know,” he replies, finishing off his beer and grabbing another, “Maybe you should apologize to me, now.”

“Fuck off,” you wave him away.

He takes his seat across from you and collects his plate, taking a huge bite of his food once he has hold of it. You keep your eyes focused down on your pizza, amazed that even after all this time, you never know what to say to Bucky. You don’t talk to him the way you talk to Steve — you never have.

“So,” he breaks the silence, his voice muffled through his food, “How long are you gonna let Rogers bring you coffee before you suck his dick?”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you shake your head, pushing your plate away from you, “Are you serious?”

“What?” he laughs, “You know that’s all he’s after, don’t you?”

“It is not,” you protest.

He snorts, “Okay. Finish your food.”

You just shake your head and finish off your beer, but don’t bother with another. Bucky finishes eating and sets his plate in the sink, then makes himself comfortable in your living room. The room is visible from the kitchen, and you watch as he flips on the TV from the couch.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” you call sarcastically.

He chuckles, “Yeah, yeah. Come ride me.”

You ignore the shot straight to your center that comes with those words. Imagining riding him makes your stomach flip, but doing so while he drinks beer and watches TV just feels like you’re any other girl. With how often you and Bucky fuck, you don’t want that to be the case.

You enter the living room and snatch up the remote, turning off the TV. He furrows his brows and looks up at you with an accusing expression, to which you shrug.

“My house, my rules.”

“Fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth, “Come here.”

He wraps his arm around your waist while remaining seated, his need practically plastered across his face as he pulls you closer.

“We need a condom,” you remind him.

“No,” he growls, “Let me fuck you bare. Just this once.”

“Fuck no. I don’t know what you might have—”

“I’m clean,” he promises.

“Or who you’ve been fucking—”

“I don’t fuck anyone else, Shortcake,” he admits, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah, right,” you roll your eyes, pulling away from him to go get a condom, “Good one, Barnes.”

“I’m serious.”

He’s gripping your waist like his life depends on it, dying to keep you still. He maintains eye contact, and when you look at him, you know he’s telling you the truth. You tuck your bottom lip into your mouth as you think about it; the idea of Bucky inside of you with nothing between you an intimidating thought.

“Bucky—”

“Please,” he continues, “We’ve been doing this for how long, now? I want to cum inside you. Mark you as mine. Just this once.”

Mark you as his?

As far as you’re concerned, this is just about the sex. You’d never pegged Bucky as into that type of shit, and before now, you thought you knew all of his kinks. Even though you hate to admit it, hate to give in, the thought of satisfying every single one of his kinks excites you.

“Okay,” you practically whisper.

He grins, and without wasting any more time, he pulls you on top of him. His mouth meets your throat in a frenzy as he frees himself from his boxers, then tugs his dress shirt up, the one you have on, bunching it at your hips.

“Y/N, can I–” he stops himself and meets your eyes, feeling your warmth as you hover over him and wait for him to enter you, “Can I kiss?”

Kissing is rare in your sex with Bucky. The only times he really kisses you are in the office when he finds you all alone in the break room, not having enough privacy to shove his hand up your skirt. Occasionally, he kisses you before he leaves, but that’s only if you don’t get up from the bed first.

“Mhm,” you hum, rocking your hips back and forth, “You can kiss me.”

You see his smile for about half a second before he kisses you, tongue invading every inch of your mouth immediately. He swallows your moans as he guides you down onto him, moaning himself when you grind your hips.

“Holy shit,” he pants as you start to bounce, “God, you look so pretty when you ride me. Need this shirt off.”

He fumbles with the buttons and eventually gets so frustrated that he tears his own shirt open, tossing it away from you like it’s personally offended him. He pulls you in for another kiss, seemingly unable to get enough now that you’ve given him permission.

“Feels so good like this, Buck,” you tell him.

He grins, “It does, baby, it does. You’re perfect. Take me so fucking well. I have to cum inside. Who knows, maybe I’ll get you pregnant. What would people at work say then, huh?”

“Fuck, you just want Steve to know you’re fucking me,” you pant.

“Hell yes, I do. I can feel you squeezing me, Shortcake. You want me to cum inside you, don’t you?”

He shoves his hips up, his tip prodding that perfect spot inside you and forcing a gasp from your lips.

“Yes, Buck. Please.”

“Need you to say it,” he demands.

You’re close. So fucking close. All you need is his thumb to press lightly on your clit, and you’re sure you’d explode right here. That feeling, that desperation, would lead you to say anything to Bucky if he asked, just as long as he throws you over the edge afterward.

“Cum inside me, please,” you beg.

“Oh— shit, shit shit, cum for me, baby, now.”

His thumb meets that bundle of nerves right as he finishes inside of you, filling you to the brim as you ride out your own orgasm. The sex with Bucky has always been great, but something about this feels next level. It feels different. You don’t pinpoint it until you collapse on his chest, panting wildly as your brain catches up with your pleasure. He’s not treating you like any other girl. He’s making you feel special, cared about, praised. He’s never done that before — at least, not that you’ve noticed.

“Wow,” he mutters, “That was our best yet, I’d say.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly.

“You let me kiss you,” he observes, “Surprising.”

You swallow, hiding in his chest, “It’s a sex thing, Barnes. Don’t get cocky.”

“Right,” he remarks, “So, I guess you want me to go, then.”

He’s still inside of you, his cum slowly dripping out around him, and he’s talking about leaving. You frown and sit up, catching the vulnerable expression in his eyes.

“You could—” you start, watching his eyes light up, “I mean, if you want—”

“I want,” he says eagerly, “You have the softest fucking sheets.”

You laugh, and before he can help himself, Bucky leans up and pecks you on the lips. You’re taken aback by it, and for a moment, you don’t react. He pulls back and purses his lips, letting his eyes roam around the room so as to avoid yours.

“Um,” you swallow, “We could shower. I have some decent movies recorded.”

Bucky playfully rolls his eyes, “Legally Blonde does not count as a decent movie.”

“Hey,” you pout, “It’s a really good one. Just for that, we’re watching it.”

He grins, “Fine. But just so you know, Shortcake, I’m a cuddler.”

That shouldn’t make you smile, but it does. The butterflies that erupt through your chest should make you uncomfortable, but they don’t. In fact, the only thought your brain holds on a loop is how okay this all feels. Like maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t have to be just sex with him.

“I can deal,” you tease, “But, seriously. Shower. Your cum is dripping out of me.”

You watch Bucky’s face fall into seriousness and shock at once. He opens his mouth to speak, then presses his lips together, and gradually, his eyes fall to your center, where his cum is, in fact, dripping around him.

“Oh, my–” he stops, shifting you to his right so you lay out on the couch. Gradually and carefully, he pulls out of you and watches as it comes gushing out, leaking onto the couch.

“You’re gonna ruin my sofa,” you groan.

“I’ll buy you another,” he waves you away, eyes wide as he takes in the sight, “Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Bucky.”

“Alright, alright, come on,” he takes one last look before he lifts you up, carrying you to the bathroom without a care in the world about the stain he’s left on your couch.

Bucky had certainly been right when he told you he’s a cuddler. You wake up with your back pressed into his chest, both of you taking up only about a quarter of your bed. His arm is tucked tightly around you, palm grasping your breast like it’s keeping him in place. Your alarm wakes you up, and for the first time in forever, you don’t want to get out of bed.

“Turn it off, Shortcake,” he groans, his morning voice waking you up more than any coffee could.

“Sorry,” you mumble, turning around to crawl over him to grab your phone off the nightstand.

“Mmm, stop moving.”

“You’re whiny in the mornings,” you fire back, shutting off the alarm.

“Let’s call out of work,” he decides, his eyes still plastered shut as he manipulates you back into your original position, “Nobody would catch on.”

“We’re not calling out,” you insist, “And you should go if you want to swing by your house and get clean clothes.”

He shakes his head, “I’ll wear what I wore yesterday. Steve will call me a slut, but I don’t care. Know why?”

“Why?” you indulge him.

“Because I came inside you last night, and that’s way more than he’ll ever get.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, sitting up, “That really went to your head.”

He smirks and turns on his back, sliding his left arm under his head. He flexes his muscles and watches you stare, wanting nothing more than to climb on top of him. You resist, given how you'd awakened in the middle of the night and kissed his neck until he woke up too, ready and willing to fuck you back to sleep.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks teasingly.

You narrow your eyes, “Which skirt Steve will like better. The blue one really shows off my curves, but the pink one makes my ass look amazing.”

“Mhm,” he nods, and without warning, he pounces on top of you, pushing you back onto the mattress. You squeal and giggle uncontrollably, squirming to try and break free.

“Teasing,” you say.

He smiles from above you, “Better be. I want you in that white dress today.”

“It’s at the dry cleaners. Try again.”

“That sexy white top and blue pants. White heels. I love that one on you.”

You bite your bottom lip to hide a smile, “Okay.”

Bucky’s eyes glisten with emotion, and when his gaze moves down to your mouth, you freeze.

“Can I kiss you good morning? Or is that against your rules?”

You swallow, “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“Neither have I,” he confesses, “But with everything I’ve ever done to you, that’s hardly the most inhumane.”

He watches you purse your lips, waiting patiently for you to give him the go ahead. With an impatient sigh, you nod, pulling him down for a kiss.

His kiss feels more gentle, more passionate than it has before or did last night. By the time he pulls back, you’re desperate for more. He laughs when you whimper, already trying to pull him back in.

“If you’re ready for work by eight-fifteen, I’ll give you more,” he promises, “Go shower.”

His laugh fills the room when you hop up from the bed, shamelessly rushing into your bathroom and turning on the water.

At eight-eleven, you wonder when you became such a softie for Bucky Barnes. Thinking about where the two of you were yesterday versus today, you almost don’t believe it. At eight-thirteen, you don’t care how you got here, you just want more of him. At eight-fourteen, you rush into the kitchen with your heels on, smiling when you see him holding two thermos’ full of coffee.

“One minute to spare,” he smirks, standing in the same exact clothes he wore yesterday. His blazer is buttoned up, you notice, though it wasn’t before.

“I’m good,” you grin, “We have to get all this in now, because the second we walk into that building, I hate you again.”

“Same here.”

You smile, glancing down at his jacket, “Why is it all buttoned?”

He smirks again, “I may have ripped a button or two off when I gently removed it from you last night.”

“Oh, my God,” you deadpan.

“Come here. We don’t have a lot of time.”

He cups your cheeks in his hands and pulls you in for a kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth the second he has the opportunity. Quickly, his hands wander down to your ass and he palms it gently in his hands, grinning into the kiss as he does so.

“What?” you ask him.

“I’ve always wanted to grab your ass in this outfit.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re such a boy.”

“Mmm,” he hums, kissing you again, “We should go before I suggest moving to the couch.”

He waits for you while you collect your things, and it’s not until you stand in your driveway that you realize two things. Bucky’s car was parked outside your house all night — not too big of a deal, but still feels weird when you think of it — and the two of you have to go separately to work.

He walks ahead of you, unlocking his car and tossing his belongings onto the passenger seat.

“See you at the office, Shortcake. Don’t you dare come onto me,” he jokes.

You laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Barnes.”

He grins and gives you a semi-shy wave before he climbs into his car. He drives away the second you get into your own car, and you wait a few minutes for him to get up the road. You process the events of the past twenty-four hours as you drive to work, trying to figure out when exactly Bucky put those butterflies in your stomach. You push one thought in particular out of your head, wondering if, maybe, he’ll spend the night again tonight. It’s Friday, after all, so no work tomorrow.

By the time you park your car in the lot, you’re determined to ask him. He’s not fucking anyone else, right? That gives you confidence that he won’t reject you.

Bucky parked across the lot from you, and when you climb out of your car, he gives you a fake-friendly smile and wave.

“Morning, Y/N. How are you today?”

There’s one other employee walking from the lot to your building, so you know he’s just putting on the show to be funny. He watches as you roll your eyes and lock your car, heels tapping against the pavement as you walk.

“You’re getting a pretty early start with annoying me, Barnes,” you call over your shoulder.

He laughs, “Given how my morning went, I actually think I’m pretty far behind.”

He follows you into the building and both of you scan your badges, then head for the elevator. Steve’s standing, waiting, hands in his pockets and navy blue tie tight around his neck. At the sound of your heels, he turns and grins, earning a loud sigh from Bucky behind you.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Steve greets you.

“Good morning, Steve,” you reply.

“Good morning, Bucky,” Bucky mutters, narrowing his eyes at Steve, “Hey, buddy. I’m here, too.”

“Morning, Buck,” Steve laughs dryly, “You’re earlier than usual. Is this all a part of your plan to apologize to Y/N?”

Bucky snorts, “Oh, I apologized to her many times. She even forgave me. Loudly.”

You elbow him in the ribs then, giving Steve a fake smile, “He’s already pushing it.”

Steve laughs, “I can tell. Hey, did you get a chance to look at that loan file I sent you? It needs approval as soon as possible.”

“Not yet. I’ll look at it first thing,” you reply.

The elevator dings and the three of you file in. Steve motions for you to go first and then he walks in behind you, leaving Bucky last. Steve settles in to the left of you and Bucky to the right, where he takes advantage of Steve’s position. His knuckles skim your own, and when you yank your hand away, he grins.

“How was your night, Stevie?” Bucky asks, “Get laid?”

“No,” Steve replies, “I texted you, actually. Never heard back.”

“Oh,” Bucky shrugs, “I was getting laid.”

You choke on your own spit, earning both of their attention as you cough. Steve places his hand on your back, and if you weren’t choking, you’d see how Bucky tenses.

“You alright, Shortcake?” Bucky asks, a teasing hint to his voice.

“Fine,” you grunt, “Just not sure who would want to have sex with you.”

Bucky grins, but when Steve laughs, his face falls, “You’d be surprised. She’s pretty insatiable.”

“Right,” you roll your eyes.

“In fact,” he continues, “She woke me up in the middle of the night begging me to—”

The elevator doors open, and you step out before Bucky can finish his sentence. You take a deep breath and give them both a tight smile, then hurry away to your office before Bucky’s words can get to you even more.

It’s after lunch when you hear from Bucky again. He sent you an email, one which you took a while to open.

Y/N,

If you can find the time, please come to my office after your lunch break. I require your assistance on a very hard task. You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.

Respectfully,

James B. Barnes

You knock on Bucky’s office door, noting how he closed all of his blinds. Part of you is nervous, the other part is desperate for a glance, a touch, a kiss, anything.

“Come in,” he calls.

You open the door, watching as he smirks when he sees you. His eyes skim over the outfit he asked you to wear, to which his smirk only grows.

“What is it, Barnes?” you question.

“Come in,” he repeats, “Close the door.”

You do as told, and once the door is shut, you smile at him. He ushers you over, pulling you into his lap. You’re barely comfortable when you feel him guide your ass over his boner, telling you exactly what he needs.

“Buck, we can’t,” you mumble.

“Yeah, we can. I have a meeting with Rog in ten minutes.”

You furrow your brows, “So, I’ll come back later.”

“No,” he grumbles, “I want you under my desk when he comes in. I want you to suck me off while he’s in here.”

“Oh, my God, so it’s a power thing?” you sigh, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t like how he looked at you,” Bucky mutters, kissing your jawline, “Please. I’m so hard.”

“I have to get back to work—”

“The meeting will take twenty minutes. Fifteen if you make me cum. Please.”

“Of course I’ll make you cum,” you remark, “What if he sees me?”

Bucky’s desk has a slit in the middle at the bottom, allowing air to flow up where his legs rest. If Steve were to look down, granted he’d have to get very low to look underneath, he could see you.

“He won’t. He won’t see you. I promise.”

“Fine, but—”

A knock sounds on Bucky’s door again, and Steve’s voice rings through, “Barnes?”

“Under my desk, Shortcake,” he commands, helping you off his lap and onto the floor, “Come in, Steven.”

Bucky tucks himself under the desk, careful to leave room for you, while you hear his office door open. You reach up and work open his belt, feeling him tense already. You know this will be fun if he’s already so sensitive.

“Hey, man,” Steve greets him.

Bucky lets out a scruff laugh, “I’m really comfortable, Rog, I can’t stand and shake your hand.”

You freeze, wondering if you should zip his pants back up.

“Fair enough,” Steve replies, and you hear him sit.

As they start to talk business, you take Bucky out of his pants. He’s red and throbbing, clearly in need of some assistance. You spread his pre-cum around, and when you lean forward to kitty lick the tip, his hips buck.

“You alright, Barney?” Steve questions.

Bucky’s voice comes out harsh, “Fine.”

You grin and grip him tighter in your hand as you work him up and down, finally taking him into your mouth and sucking. You work your hand along the area you can’t take in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks every so often just for laughs. Bucky’s shoe taps your leg, as if a warning to tell you to slow down, but you pretend like you don’t understand him.

“What the fuck is your problem, seriously?” Steve asks him, “You’re sweating, dude.”

You know it’s because he’s trying not to fire off his load into your mouth too soon, which only makes you braver. You take him deeper, smiling around him when his palm covers the top of your head and tries to yank you back.

“Shit—I’m fine. Just a little, uh, anxious.”

“About the numbers?”

“Um, yeah, sure, about the numbers,” Bucky replies, “Fuck.”

“Hey, Buck, didn’t you wear that tie yesterday?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, I, uh, told you I got laid last night.”

You can’t see Steve, but you slow down, shifting your weight and tucking your legs under you from where you sit.

“Yeah, but you don’t usually spend the night, do you?”

Bucky groans, “I don’t know, man.”

Steve seems to let it go, and with another few words, you hear his chair shove against the floor.

“I’ll see you later, Barnes— uh, is that Y/N’s heel?”

You freeze, pulling your leg up closer to you, and listening as Steve audibly gasps. You free your mouth and peak your head forward enough to catch Bucky’s expression; his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.

“Oh, shit.”

Tags: @goldenjo @onmykneesforrafe

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky smut #the winter solider #bucky barns x you #bucky barns x reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky fucking barnes #bucky fluff

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velvetcloxds · 2 years

Text

LUDICROUS | C.C.

pairing: carlisle cullen x gn!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: ittie bittie bit of blood

summary: cooking with the cullens is a remarkably risky task, especially when you're too focused on your boyfriend to pay attention to what you're doing

You had no idea what you were doing, long gone into a world of your own as Alice continued to melodically dish about instructions to cook the perfect lasagne in honour of Bella coming to dinner- though, with your cooking expertise lacking the perfection the Cullen sister demanded, she’d very quickly assigned you the task of preparing the salad which was the real beginning of your downfall. You’d been halfway through washing the tomatoes when you heard Carlisle and Edward coming down from his office, their voices filling the otherwise silent kitchen.

You’d already seen him today, of course, a quick greeting and a somewhat whispered speech of affection before you’d been whisked away to work and you’d attempted with all your might to remain focussed, to not let your thoughts slip away but that was all but impossible with him being sat so perfectly in your view. It was hardly an unfamiliar notion, you being mesmerised by him, being lost in him- in fact, Edward was the unlucky soul to experience most of your musings first hand, but it felt worse with him in the room, perfectly at your disposal yet completely out of reach.

Your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes almost dazed as you made vertical cuts into the cucumber, moving your fingers with the knife as you heard Carlisle laugh lowly at something Edward said, the kind of laugh he reserved purely to humour people, to make them feel noticed, the type of laugh that set a tumble free in your heart. Edward picked up on that first, picked up on the loving thoughts that coupled with it, another familiar notion- what happened next, however, was a first.

“Y/n,” Alice sounded alarmed, dropping the spoon from her hand as you hissed softly, barely registering the pain that spread through your nerves as you watched blood creeping from the cut on your hand, panic only settling when you remembered where you were. “What happened?” she demanded, moving away from you to make room for Carlisle to pass, his own features showing a mixture of concern and confusion.

“I’m not sure,” you sighed, eyes instantly meeting Carlisle’s as he wrapped a rag around your fingers to hide the almost addicting scent that scurried about the room, somewhat relieved that the others were out hunting. “I wasn’t paying attention,” you admitted and the little scoff that Edward offered in reply painted your cheeks with warmth, a reaction that didn’t for a second go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Carlisle suggested, deciding to give you some time to breathe before satisfying his curiosity. “Everyone out of the kitchen,” he commanded, though the pair of vampires were already preparing to do exactly that, knowing it would not be wise to stay there until Carlisle cleansed everything from your blood.

While Carlisle guided you upstairs you considered your fate, not entirely sure how you’d even begin to explain that daydreaming about him was the very reason you’d managed to hurt yourself- this man, the very vision of sophistication and stature- the same man to reduce you to a blushing, foolish mess simply by appearing in you mind. It was all very much unfair, torturously so, that you’d find yourself in love with someone who robbed you of all composure and control.

“I know you’re not all that fond of this part,” Carlisle noted and when you finally convinced yourself to pay attention to your surroundings you noticed the disinfectant in his hands. “But I promise, if you just keep your eyes on me, it’ll be over before you know it,” he suggested and you couldn’t help but smile up at him, curious eyes doing exactly what he told you to as he leaned in closer, prompting you to take a desperate quick breath. It was, in fact, over before you knew it, you'd been focussing on his every move until you found yourself melting into the way his fingers brushed over the now closed wound all the way to your elbow, gently tugging you closer.

“Carlisle,” you breathed, and he hummed, immediately interested in what you wanted to say to him, hoping it would give some insight into your uncharacteristic silence. “You are extremely distracting,” you explained simply, allowing your hands to spread out over his chest, fingers moulding the cold fabric between them. He raised a questioning brow, begging you to continue but you couldn’t bare saying more, groaning lightly at his soft smirk.

“Distracting?” he pushed, tilting his head when you tried to move out of sight, free hand now gripping your waist, keeping you in place while also gifting him with the perfect little scene. “Oh, love, don’t tell me…” he was amused, even more so when another groan left your lips, head falling forward against his bicep.

“Please don’t laugh at me, Carlisle, you don’t understand how difficult it is,” you twisted to look up at him, moving your hands to his lower arm as he half-smiled, eyes ablaze with adoration you were too distracted to notice, but he was ever enjoying his own torturous view.

“Laugh at you? Why ever would I laugh at you?”

“Because it sounds ridiculous, absolutely ludicrous that I should allow myself to be so consistently enthralled by you that I can’t seem to think of anything else or do anything else for that matter without it turning into a mess,” you’d not noticed you were pouting until he brought his thumb to your lip, gently smoothing it into placed as you felt a familiar sense of silly intoxication sneak into your mind.

“You think yourself the only one facing such a treacherous trepidation? Surely you don’t think I’m immune to the delusions of love?” he smiled at that, shrugging as if to silence your objections before his hand cupped your cheek. “You flatter me, love, but I promise you, that I’m as much of a ludicrous fool for you as you are for me.”

“So you say, but only one of us has the scars to prove it,” you retorted, melting into his hold as the very laugh that led to this whole ordeal sang around you, and you groaned, silencing him with a delicate kiss. “Careful,” you warned against his lips, kissing his cupid’s bow as he smiled. “That’s a dangerous little sound.”

“I’ve never been one to shy away from danger, Y/n, you know that.”

tagging: @mirclealignr @cupids-crystals @scarlet-prey

moodboard credit: @sarahisslytherin

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nyctophiliq · 6 months

Text

✮ ┆ KEEPING UP APPEARANCES. deadlock

CONTENT WARNINGS. 18+ only, minors dni. NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; trans girl! reader, public sex, teasing, outdoor sex, hand job, clothed sex, not proofread | ~1,2k words A/N. reuploading this because i accidentally took it down LMAOO

the idea of getting out of the closed metal corridors of the protocol first seemed a horrible idea because of the rapidly growing number of missions that needed to be taken care of. but once you dropped unconscious during a simple staff meeting sage advised you to take a couple of days off to try and relax. seeing your determination to not follow the doctor’s orders, iselin went ahead and suggested something simple like a picnic so both of you could take time off.

“i’d hate to be a killjoy, but what is all this?” you laugh as you see the platter of food that iselin was taking out of the wooden picnic basket and placing on the red-white checkered blanket. she looks up at you, in the midst of taking your drinks out with a small and excited smile, a little of her teeth showing before she bites her lip and ushers you with her hand to sit down.

“some norwegian food, I’m not the best cook but we never have time to try something new so this could be it!” she says, pointing at all the little plates with two bigger servings of food. there were many things, sandwiches, fish, some kind of balls, and even a container of desert-looking deliciousness.

you straighten your skirt out, carefully sitting down next to deadlock who takes the clingwrap off of the plates and offers the food to you one by one, telling you about the stories behind them between bites. by the end of it, you can’t say you regret breaking out of the cold

iselin’s head rested on your shoulder, legs crossed as she listened to you talk about how delicious the food that she prepared for you was. you were so focused on going on and on about the new tastes that you didn’t notice the blonde's hand comfortably resting on your thigh, confidently climbing up under your skirt little by little.

it took another ten minutes until you noticed her hand creeping, fingers brushing against the skin as she slowly pulled your skirt up. trying to pay no attention to it you kept your cool, but your breath hitched, and your words became shaky as the thoughts of iselin's hand palming you plagued your mind.

you give her a glance, a sort of warning, but more of a scared look when her fingertips graze over your panties, just above the hem of your black skirt that had ridden up higher than expected, and your eyes widen when you feel her touch you through your underwear. but your eyes immediately snapped back at the sight of her smirking, her face inching closer to yours until her lips glide across the shell of your ear.

“be a good girl and be quiet, okay kjære?” she whispers, her hot breath combined with her teasing rubs making the thin material covering you feel suffocating, especially the nice underwear that you put on.

"iselin, please..." you breathe, barely able to just reach out to grab her arm, trying to make her move her hand or just stop this public torture she has put you under. "i need you,"

"hmm, while outside with all these people who might see?" you look around as she says it, watching as a few people pass by in the distance but also noting that it is getting a bit dark, the sun hiding behind a giant cloud. the chances of getting caught still riled you up, but it get you hotter to think about the chances lowering with the shades covering you.

"mm, isn't that what you were l-looking for when you forced me outside?"

"what a clever girl." you sighed pleasantly at the praise, a small giggle leaving you but soon cut off as iselin's hand finally found your aching cock under your panties, giving it a few experimental pumps. you watched your girlfriend's hand move under your skirt with your breath stuck in your throat, fingers balling up into a fist as the small shocks of pleasure ran down your body.

iselin loved every moment, the way your hips jerked into her hand, feeling your precum dribble down between her hand and your skin. not to mention how excited she got over the bare thought of how much you will struggle keeping quiet, having to hold your breath, choke on your own sounds, and trying to fight back against her when you were just a matter of a stroke or two away from coming.

"how eager." deadlock gently whispered into your ear before nibbling on your lobe.

"s-shut up..." you said softly under your breath, cheeks hot.

the blonde snickered before rubbing her thumb around your tip causing you to suck in a shaky breath through your teeth. "i just thought it was cute." she said simply before moving her hand back, wrapping her soft fingers back around you.

you shiver, biting onto your lower lip as iselin continues. she knew exactly how to get you to cum quickly, what the right speed was, and what the exact spot was where you were the most sensitive. your breathing was labored, your other hand gripping the edge of the blanket tightly and sweat dripped down from your forehead.

she knows exactly what buttons to push, and she presses them all without hesitation, causing you to let out an audible moan. she moves your hair back so that she can kiss the side of your neck, leaving a few sloppy kisses behind.

"this is my favorite part." she murmurs into your skin. "the moments where you don't know what will happen but know that i will do anything for you." you could practically taste the smug smile on her voice as you hear it. with this she picks up her pace, a still steady but faster rhythm of stroking your shaft, making sure to press her thumb a little harder against the underside of your dick, putting extra pressure of your pulsing vein.

the greedy attention that you receive is one you cannot bear anymore, coming with little pathetic groans while choking on your breath, trying not to be loud. your whole body arching upwards, your dick pouring ropes of cum into iselin's hand and your panties. the blonde giving it some last caresses, milking you for everything you had before releasing your spent cock and wiping her hand first with the inside of your skirt, then the corner of the blanket.

you collapse against deadlock, exhausted and panting heavily. you tried to catch your breath before looking up at her. iselin's face was contorted into a mix of amusement, pride, and satisfaction. her now clean hand came up, cupping your cheek before leaning down and kissing you sweetly. "let's go home." she cooed before letting out a sigh of relief and standing up, offering you her hands as she tried to help you stand up. "are you alright?" she asks with a smirk, pulling on your hand. you nod, but despite taking her hand not pushing yourself up when she pulls on your hand. she laughs, still admiring your glowing features, and suggests that you gather yourself in a teasing tone. with a little groan, you agree and just enjoy the lingering bliss.

#📗 — written by moss !#valorant x reader #valorant x reader smut #deadlock x reader #deadlock x reader smut #deadlock smut #valorant smut #valorant deadlock x reader #valorant deadlock smut #valorant deadlock x reader smut

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 7 months

Text

Minors dni, no Vecna. ❤️

Post S3 Steve reverts back to his King Steve persona when it comes to dating. He's sick of pining after Nancy and having no luck on dates so he figures he will go back to what worked for him before.

Casual sex, no feelings. Absolutely no falling in love with any of the girls he dates or sleeps with.

Robin calls him a dingus and says he's grown far too much to just go back to being a douchebag who just hides his feelings with meaningless sex and dates that don't go anywhere.

"Dingus, it's a disaster in the making, you're absolutely going to fall in love with one of these girls"

No he wasn't. He was making a decision to not let his heart get broken again. It was bad enough with Nancy, he wasn't going through that another time.

❤️

The no strings attached relationships work out, he keeps his dates at a distance and actually enjoys being cool and suave again, making a pretty lady smile or blush just from his words.

Then he meets you. You're sweet but also have a fiesty side as he finds out from your first conversation.

He's chatting to Sandy who's hanging onto his every word when he catches your eye, your shy smile startles him out of his flirting and his heart skips a beat.

Shit that wasn't good... Sandy drags his attention back to her and he feels like he's getting back in the flow of the conversation.

"Yeah if you're done flirting Steve, I'd like to check this out" Steve blinks as he looks away from Sandy to you.

You're sweet smile is gone and you're glowering at him looking impatient.

"Uh, sorry about that. I was just... He looks to Robin for help who winks at him and simply watches what's about to happen.

Yeah, thanks Robin.

"Flirting with all the babes?" you offer and he feels himself blush. Shit, this isn't what King Steve would do.

"Saving my best lines for you honey" he wink and you look at him unimpressed. Sandy has grown bored and walked out of the store but Steve barely pays attention, he's so focused on you.

...

"If that works on anyone I'd be suprised. Can I check this out how?" you ask and he nods trying to find a way to come out of this conversation without looking like a jackass.

"So Star Wars, that's one of my favourites you know with the teddy bears and shit. Han Solo is fucking cool"

You peer up at him and there's a tiny smile on your face.

"Well, I do love them teddy bears" you emphasise and he scowls as he hears Robin hold back her laughter.

"Maybe we could watch it together" he suggests and he leans over the counter locking eyes with you. Wow you had beautiful eyes, he wished he had noticed that sooner.

"Aww well I wouldn't want the babes who come here to be deprived of your handsome face Steve" You take the video and he's left staring out after you with his mouth agape.

Robin smirks at him and he grumbles under his breath. It feels like she should have another whiteboard that tallys his unsuccessful flirting attempts.

He's earned a big zero for this one. But he knows he can turn this around. Once he turns his charm up a notch then things will be different right?

❤️

Wrong.

It turns out his charm has no effect on you whatsoever, he begins to notice you more and other ladies less and less.

He looks forward to seeing you every other day and that both excites and scares him all at the same time.

However, at one point he gets frustrated and yeah a little sad that you don't seem to like him in that way, sure you're more forthcoming now and smile at his stupid jokes but you don't like him the way he likes you.

So he flirts with a customer called Janet while you're returning a movie and talking to Robin.

He feels your eyes on him and is suprised when he sees the pain in your eyes when you look between him and Janet.

His stomach sinks and he realises he's fucked up when you mumble goodbye to Robin and rush out of the store.

Robin taps her foot impatiently and glares at him, he swallows down a lump in his throat knowing he's fucked up.

"Go! You can still catch up with her" he nods and rushes out of the store. At first he doesn't seen you but as he jogs up the street he spots you right across the road and calls your name.

You turn around and you're expression is blank but he knows that he has messed up.

"I'm sorry, he blurts out before you can say anything, I flirted with Janet because I thought you didn't like me the way I like you and that really fucking sucks because I think you're amazing. Now I realise you might just feel the same and I screwed up and I'm sorry"

You're quiet for a minute then you gently take his hand.

"You're an idiot Steve Harrington" he smiles when he sees your expression soften and the pain in your eyes melt away.

"So I've been told. Look, I like you. Would you like to go on a date?" he prays that you say yes and to his delight you do.

"Okay, one date" he sighs relieved and feels confident he can turn it into a secondnand hopefully more.

❤️

Steve's usual nonchalance and distant approach breaks down within the first couple of weeks of you two dating.

All he wants to do is get to know you better and let himself take a chance on something pretty amazing.

He doesn't want to be going from girl to girl for relationships that go nowhere.

Robin was right the whole "King Steve" shit was stupid. She was also right about him falling head over heels in love... with you.

He tries to fight it but it's like fighting a losing battle.

The first night the two of you make love is when he knows. He's lying with you in a post coital daze and you're cuddled up on his chest fast asleep.

He feels content... When he looks at you it feels like home. He can't remember ever feeling like this, he didn't even feel this way about Nancy.

"I love you" He murmurs as he strokes your hair and he's sure you won't hear him, he's sure you're too sleepy to even register what he's saying.

Then he looks down at you and you're staring up at him happily.

"I love you too Steve"

It's those three words that make Steve realise that a happy ending really is possible for him.

❤️

#steve harrington x reader #no vecna #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff

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midnightblues444 · 1 year

Text

Tokyo rev as tropes #2

Cast list: Baji keisuke, Rindou Haitiani,and shuji Hanma

Content warning: smutty themes, harrassment, mentioning of gun fights

Hanma shuji:

Brothers best friend ( note: suggestive af)

"This cant keep happening" you sigh while pulling a bra on. "Mhm" is all Hanma offers in response. He's not paying attention to you, he has an unlit cig resting in his mouth looking for his lighter.

"shuji Im serious." He laughs at you, loud and booming, he comes up behind you wrapping his arms around you. "Everytime you say this cant happen again, it happens again, so can you please stop pretending it won't ♡?" He says in a matter of fact tone. You turn to face him,a tall smug man who is fiddling with the flimsy strap of your bra, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

Your phone chimes, probably a text from your brother .Who would freak out on both of you if he knew the reason you were late to his birthday dinner. You and your brother had agreed that friends are off limits and here you are debating on fucking his best one for the nth time.

The strap slips down your forearm, it's not long before its gone and you hop into Hanmas arms as he carries you to the nearest surface to fuck you. Your phone chimes again with another text from your brother:

"where tf are you y/n?!?!"

Rindou Haitiani:

Rivals to lovers (Bonten timeline, smutty, cursing)

The car ride is tense, the question bouncing through your head;

what the fuck just happened last night?

When you two were first assigned this job together you were equally pissed. I mean it was a known fact that you hated eachother, so why would Mikey do this? Mikey said that you two were Bontens best muscle while Kakucho wasn't around. Which to you was a lame excuse but you took it anyway not wanting to whine like Rindou.

Everything was going well at a point , you got to the warehouse and collected your money from a very *difficult* client. Until the shooting started. A gun fight, 4 people against the 2 of you, how fun right? You obviously dont work well together being all over the place barely surviving it.

When you got back to the hotel the bickering was nonstop the blame being tossed back and forth. He was suffocatingly annoying, and when you asked if he had a permanent stick up his ass. He told you to watch your fucking mouth.

Next thing your legs are thrown over his shoulders, his pace doesn't relent. All that hate all that frustration was fueling his thrusts as he whispered about how crazy you make him while all your able to do is moan in response scraping at his back.

Now the next day, driving back to headquarters you can barely look at the other all you can think is

dont forget to take a morning after pill.

Baji keisuke:

Fake dating (tw, pushy boy ew)

Bajis mom was worried.

"Your surrounded by so many negative influences Keisuke" she says when looking sadly at his report card. Baji never wants his mom to cry anymore because of him. So he has the bright idea to get help. From the top of his class, y/n l/n.

Although it took some convincing you eventually came over to his house for a study session. You sat close to him checking his work both of you surprisingly focused. When his mom came home, her heart swelled at the sight offering you snacks and dinner.

Once you left, she mentioned that you were cute slyly asking if anything was going on with you two, wiggling her eyebrows at her son. The smile on her face was contagious and Baji wanted her to keep that smile. Before his brain could catch up he said "hell yeah there is".

She squealed and went on and on about how good you were for him, and how happy she was for him

Who was he to tell her the truth?

The next day he was casually riding his bike trying to figure how to break the news. Then he saw a guy standing by someone, he realized it was you. Poor thing you looked uncomfortable and once he approached, the guy urgently left, baji wasn't wearing his disguise so he figured he was recognized or something.

You explained that the guy has a crush on you and is being very forceful about it,basically he wont leave you alone . That's when Baji had another great idea.

If you pretended to date each other, the guy will leave you alone and his mom will continue to think you are the good influence in his life.

Win win right?

#hanma smut #hanma x reader #baji x reader #baji keisuke #rindou smut #rindou x reader #tr rindou #tokyorev headcanons #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev fluff

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imlivinginyourtrashcan · 1 month

Text

Hey Guys! So since my MM Au posts have been doing super well! I thought, "Hey, why not give the people a small snippet?" So, here you go!

Lenore slugged out of bed that morning and did her usual routine before walking to breakfast, sitting by her friends, who had already been conversing. She picked and prodded at her food with a fork, but it didn't seem all that appealing to her. She still nibbled what she could muster down, causing Duke to prod. “You alright, aime?” Lenore perked her head up, the prongs of her fork half in her mouth. “Hm?” She hummed, plucking the silver out of her mouth. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired, is all.” She says with an awkward, dismissive smile, making Duke squint in suspicion, but he chooses not to prod. Eulalie chimes in with her own opinion, much to everyone’s dismay.

“You look sad, Lenore.” She says, causing Berenice to spit out what she was doing onto Pluto by accident, “...Sorry darlin’...” She grins nervously, watching as he slowly drags his hand across his annoyed face. Duke chuckles, barely concealing his grin with the curled side of his finger, “Oh là là…” he musters through stifled laughter. Pluto shoots him a glare, “What's the matter, ami? You look upset!”

“Im. WET.” Pluto declares in annoyance, flicking iced tea off his sleeve in Duke’s direction, “And STICKY!” Duke deflects the sappy tea droplets with his arm, chuckling loudly, “Ah! Don’ get it on me!” Berneice begs, chuckling as she now has to deflect the tea. “PAYBACK!” Pluto retorts, a drop falls on Eulalie's cheek, she wipes it off with her finger, setting it in her mouth. Her face changes quickly, more sullen as she takes her finger out, “Ew…” she shivers. “Pluto! Quit it!” Morella pleads, “You’re getting tea on the floor!” Pluto quickly stops, no benefit from earning more demerits, he decides.

Over at the other table, Ada sneers at the misfits with prominent disgust before turning away. Last thing she wanted to do was cause a ruckus in front of her darling Prospero, who wasn’t even looking at her, paying more attention to his tea, glancing occasionally at the vacant seat next to him. Montressor kicked his feet up, leaning back in his chair and moving the toothpick around in his mouth, arms behind his head. “So uh,” he began, taking the toothpick out from beneath his teeth, “Anyone seen queenie?”

“I ain’t seen ‘er since yesterday” Will says with a shrug, “Musta slept in late or somethin’” Montressor slowly turns his head, readjusting himself to a normal sitting position, “Are you a fuckin’ dumbass? Queenie ain’t never do no ‘sleepin in’ she’s always ‘ere ‘fore any of us.”

“So what do you suggest happened?” Prospero asks flatly, taking a sip of tea. “Wellll..” Ada began, twirling her hair, “She was in her room this morning!” That got their attention, “Why ain’t she here then?” Will asks, getting a light jab from Monty’s toothpick, “Ow!” He yelps. “I dunno, she said something abou- oh!” Ada turns and spots the woman herself, Annabel Lee. Though, she looked visibly shaken, pulling out a chair and sitting down, silently staring at the fabric of the table cloth as if it spoke. “Woah, you okay?” Ada asks, causing Annabel to perk up, she nervously smiles, “Oh, no. I’m perfectly fine, love.”

“You look pale” Prospero points out, “I’m fine, really.” Annabel insists, taking the tea that was passed to her, her eyes moving away from the porcelain surface, and guiding themselves to the floor. Her being fine was a complete lie, to almost nobody's surprise from the way they side-eyed her throughout breakfast. She suddenly stood up, “Sorry, everyone, I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.” She’s gone without another word, leaning into Lenore’s ear, “Come along,” She whispers, “What- but-” Lenore attempts to whisper back, but Annabel grasps her forearm, lifting her a little out of her chair, “Now, pet.” Lenore begrudgingly complies as she's dragged inside of a closet while her friends watch, Annabel calmly shuts the door, and keeps her hand on it, being adamant to avoid the knob. “Pet..”

“Oh dear, ‘Pet’ in B flat, you’re disappointed.” Lenore says, sitting down and crossing her arms with a sly smile, “Not really.” Annabel corrects, turning to the other unnaturally wide eyed, “Frightened.” Lenore’s face and posture changes once she grasps the severity of what was going on, untensing her shoulders and standing, approaching Annabel, gripping the sides of her arms with a serious expression. “What happened?” Annabel took a deep breath to calm herself, before opening her mouth to explain;

Before Ada had awoken, I spent due time getting ready for the day. Fixing my curls, changing out of my sleepwear, the usual.

Then, the most unusual thing had occurred, I had caught my reflection looking the opposite way, as if it were looking for something. Then I heard it speak, “Oh dear, of all the times to lose my brush, now is certainly not ideal. You couldn't have waited before she looked at the mirror, could you, Annabel?”

I swear to you, I almost screamed. But, curiosity came over me first. I asked simply, “Hello?” and it stopped and stared at me, almost unable to believe what was happening itself, “Are you able to speak to me?” I asked again, with a deer in headlights expression, and it replied, “You aren’t supposed to be able to…” It moved back, hugging itself, “Oh no no no no no no…” It muttered, curling onto the chair “How…? How?!” I could hear it hyperventilating

“I’m not sure, love… check your breathing, ground yourself.”

“This is bad! Bad! Bad! All of it! The others will think you mad, think me mad!”

I reassured it everything would be okay… but…

Annabel took another breath, holding herself to prevent hyperventilation herself, “It was right, pet, a reflection doesn’t just… speak to you! But… it did. it… it talked back to me…”

#nevermore fandom #nevermore fanfic #nevermore webcomic #nevermore webtoon #lenore nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #annabel lee webtoon #annabel lee nevermore #lenore vandernacht #annabel lee x lenore #pluto nevermore #duke nevermore #eulalie nevermore #berenice nevermore #ada nevermore #morella nevermore #prospero nevermore #nevermore montressor #will nevermore

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skzhua · 1 year

Text

mornings with you ('your eyes' series)

♡ "Come live with me."

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader.

genre: fluff, slice of life, neighbour!AU, suggestive.

word count: 9,321

warnings: swearing, cheesy asf.

summary: you've been living in the same apartment building for years now. everything has always been to your comfort; no noisy neighbour, no argument with the landlord, a cozy neighbourhood... when you've come to the realization you could not pay for your sweet home anymore, your friendly neighbour suggests a plan for you to stay. are you going to say no to the handsome man with many charms? of course not.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Your pen was rolling off your desk, yet again. With a small groan, you bent down to pick it up, your friend Dahye giving you an annoyed look. The class was three hours long, and with already two hours in, you couldn't wait until it was finished. As an attempt to occupy yourself, you had been playing with your coloured pens and had dropped a few of them in the process. Dahye had given you the death glare each time and you couldn't do much else than smile apologetically. As the teacher kept talking, you drew your attention on your notebook where you had drawn small sketches over the last few weeks. Inspecting your poorly drawn flower, your brought your pencil to it and started to form some shading. Focused on your work, you did not hear your teacher calling you out. Much to her exasperation, Dahye nudged your arm making you shoot your head up.

"Sorry, what?"

The professor sighed in disappointment before repeating. "I asked if you could explain the meaning of Hamlet."

Completely clueless, you stared at her as confusion spread across your face. Seeing that you did not know the answer, she asked another student which made you relax before going back to your drawing.

The class finished sooner since the professor ended it by giving you your next assignment. English literature was either your best subject or your worst depending on the teacher. This semester, it was clearly your weakest one so far. Can you blame yourself when the class was three hours with a boring woman speaking monotony in front of you?

It took you some time to gather your belongings while your friend waited, tapping her foot on the ground. Your bag all packed, you pointed to her foot with a confused look.

"What?" she said nervously in defense. "I'm stressed."

"You're always stressed." you snarked at her as you headed out of the classroom. "It's just a small assignment, nothing to worry about."

"Small? Y/N, this grade counts for 20% of the semester. If I fail this, I'm failing the course. My parents are going to kill me if that happens." she frantically explained, but you rolled her eyes at her dramatic behaviour.

"Says the girl who has perfect marks."

She kept on ranting, but you were not listening to her anymore. You reached your shared locker to get your hoodie before you walked together to the bus stop. You could not wait to arrive home to drop on your bed while watching a movie. You could only imagine the warm bowl of popcorn filled with butter with a beverage on the side. While daydreaming, Dahye's stopped on her tracks, frustrated with how you paid no attention to her.

"Y/N." she nagged, waking you up from your trance.

"I'm sorry." you smiled weakly. "The class was so boring, it tired me."

"Right, now let me guess. You're going home to do nothing of your evening?" You grinned at her guess, but she didn't copy your expression. "I don't understand why you got a dorm apartment for yourself when you could have a simple dorm. You barely get out of your room, anyway."

"And I keep telling you on how I like my place. The building is quiet enough, unlike yours."

The conversation was cut quickly when her bus pulled over in front of you two.

"I'm going to study at the coffee shop tomorrow, you're coming?" she asked, but you shook your head as a no. "Alright, I'll see you next week, then. Have fun alone, tonight!"

"Thank you, Dahye." you faked a smile as she got on the bus.

Your apartment was in the closest dorm building on campus. The landlord was not originally part of the school, but they made arrangements to accept students to reduce the fees. This made this even better. You had a wide place for yourself for half the price on the usual market. No matter how much Dahye was going to mock you for living on your own, you liked your home so much. You liked how close it was to the campus and how it was peaceful although the fact that all tenants were young adults who liked to party. One thing you had grown fond of was the cute art major student who lived at the end of your hallway. From the few conversations you'd had with him, you learned he was renting the place to make himself a small art studio. You admired the passion he held for this hobby of his. You wouldn't say you were close to the guy, but you were civil to each other. In fact, you used your hospitality many times to come to his help.

When the elevator opened when it reached your floor, you were more than happy to see the young man, who was struggling to open his front door. You chuckled from the sight, being far enough so he couldn't hear you.

"Hyunjin." you said loud enough for him to turn his attention to you.

He smiled while trying to hide his distressed look from his fight with his door lock. "Hey, Y/N!"

"Are you alright?" you chuckled again.

With a sigh, he gave up trying to look normal as worry creeped back on his face. "Honestly, no. I think I mixed up my keys with my sister's again, cause I can't open it. I'll have to ask her to come over... again."

If Hyunjin had the looks of a prince, his younger sister had the features of a goddess. Hyunjoo was, unarguably, one of the most attractive girls to have stepped foot in the college. Hyunjin was already famous among the students, so his sister entering the same school had been a big deal. You were one of the few lucky ones to be able to talk to him on a daily basis. Not like it mattered to you. For you, Hyunjin was simply this clumsy boy with a big heart. Cute.

"You can come in while waiting for her." you suggested, but he moved his hands as to refuse your offer.

"You already did this last time, I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not a bother at all."

Still reluctant, he agreed nonetheless and followed you behind to get in your place. Luckily, you had cleaned around the day before, so it wasn't as much of a mess. Being used to it by now, Hyunjin made himself home by sitting on your couch, pulling out his phone to text his sister. In the meantime, you served him a glass of water and he gave you a warm smile as a thank you.

"She said she should be here in about 15 minutes." he said while turning off his phone to put it aside.

"Good." You sat down next to him. "I was about to continue this drama I started last week. Wanna watch it with me?"

"Sure." he shrugged his shoulder.

You started to play the series on your TV, and got up to go make yourself some popcorn. You would have made Hyunjin a bowl, but if he wasn't going to be staying for more than 15 minutes, you would have made it for nothing. He commented on the characters and asked you a few questions about the plot since you were already halfway through the show.

It didn't take long when you heard a knock on your door, a cue for your neighbour that it was time to leave. You opened the door to the, now familiar, girl who was glaring at her brother, unimpressed.

"Hi, Y/N! Thank you so much for giving shelter to my dumbass of a brother." she smiled kindly to you. "I don't know how you mix up our keys all the time, stupid." she snorted at the man, not forgetting to hit his arm.

Hyunjin flinched at the contact and stared down in shame. "Sorry." he mumbled. "Thanks again, Y/N. I'll see you around." he gave you a soft smile.

"Anytime." you laughed. "Bye, Hyunjoo! It was nice to see you again."

The girl waved you goodbye as she dragged Hyunjin behind, nagging at his clumsiness. You watched them go for a few seconds before closing the door. Hearing the noise from your TV, you suddenly remembered you had a night in for yourself to attend to. Without losing another second, you brought your popcorn with you to watch your drama.

Romance was something you believed to be rare. From past experiences, you could say for sure that none of the gestures your favourite actors were doing for their partner on screen could be seen in real life. Part of you wanted to believe you could have this kind of dynamic with a significant other, but life showed you otherwise. Your past partner, Minho, was close to being your dream man. However, his detached personality could not fit with yours and resulted to multiple arguments. Since then, you had not put yourself out there. You were fine with being single, most of the time. But when you were watching your romcoms, that's when you would be longing to have this in your life.

After a few tears dropping from your eyes and two episodes watched in a row, you glanced at the pile of clothes overflowing your laundry basket. Maybe it was time for you to clean your clothes. For once, you decided to be responsible and grabbed the basket as you left your flat. The common laundry room was rather spacious. Mostly, it was a spot where you liked to interact with your neighbours. You might had been hoping that you would meet Hyunjin again, but to your small deception, you met eyes with Jeongin when you opened the door.

"Ah, you." you joked and the younger boy gasped, offended.

"Sorry I'm not Mr. Handsome."

You picked the washing machine next to his and started to load it. "I'm joking, you're handsome too." you smiled.

"I know." he smiled back. "Jisung told me Hyunjin got stuck outside his place again."

"Right. I had to let him squat at mine."

"That's twice in a month! I'm starting to think he does this purposely."

"Don't be stupid. Hyunjin is too preoccupied with his art or school that it makes sense he's being clumsy." you shrugged, closing the machine and starting it.

Jeongin's started to beep as a sign that his batch of laundry was done. After gathering his clothes (and his roommate's), he started to fold them lazily.

"Did you ask Jisung to take turns with the chores?" you questioned as you observed him.

"I did, but you know him. He stays inside all day and doesn't go out unless I force him to."

"Poor you."

As he finished placing the clothes back in his basket, he waved you goodbye and headed out of the room. As for you, you waited for the machine to be done by scrolling through TikTok. You didn't want the app, initially, but your psychology project partner, Felix, had insisted for you to download it. You would never admit it to him, but you became addicted to it. It helped you pass time, especially at times like this one.

An hour or so passed before your clothes were dried and folded. Walking out, you stumbled on your feet clumsily and lost your balance. Cursing at yourself mentally, you didn't even try to get your balance back and you let yourself fall. When your body stopped mid-fall, you let out a breath in relief.

"Be careful." a soft voice spoke and you recognized it almost immediately.

Getting back on your feet, you grinned at the sight of the man. He had changed into a more comfortable outfit: a pair sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. No matter what he wore, he looked good.

"Thanks." you said shyly.

As he was about to say something, you took off rapidly and ran to the elevator. His gaze lingered to your direction as he let out a small huff. You were one of a kind, for sure.

Psychology class was only fun because Felix was in it and brought you brownies. The moment you learnt he had the hobby of baking, you begged him to bring you some of his pastries each time he would make them. Thankfully, he was too sweet of a guy to say no, and he started to do so since the beginning of the semester. People got the word about his baking skills and started to request baked goods from him, and he accepted. The infamous brownie boy was your creation and you could say you were proud.

When you saw a tupperware on your desk, you had never sat down on your seat so quickly. Morning class could not be boring if you had food along with it.

"What did you make, this time?" you asked Felix while you hopped up and down on your chair.

"Chocolate chips cookies. I'm trying to convince Hyunjoo that I'm a good baker, but the woman is hard to please." he let out a heavy sigh.

Although Felix had never told you explicitly he liked the girl, it was more than obvious. You could not blame him, you had a thing for one of the Hwang siblings as well.

"I'm not complaining if that results into more desserts." you said and took a bite of a cookie, moaning at the delicious taste.

Felix shot you a disgusted look. "I get that they are good, but don't make those sounds..."

"You should just take the compliment instead."

"Y/N, Felix." the professor glared at you. "Class has started."

"Sorry." Felix bowed his head before nudging your leg with his foot.

You held in a laugh as you almost choked on your cookie. Yeah, psychology class with Felix were fun. Until they were not.

The teacher allowed you to work in teams to complete the exercices and you instinctively paired up with your freckled friend. Obviously, you did most of the work, but he had brought you food so you weren't complaining. Just as you thought this course was getting pleasant, Felix had to drop a bomb on you.

"I invited Minho to eat with us."

Pausing on your writing, you looked up at your friend with a frown. "Minho, as in Lee Minho?" He nodded. "Felix, what were you thinking?" you almost yelled, but kept your tone normal since you were in class.

"I bumped into him this morning and he was talking with Hyunjin. I asked Hyunjin for some help with his sister so we agreed to eat together to talk about it. Minho has his break too, so he would tag along." he justified, but you weren't having it.

"I haven't adressed a word to him for a year, man." you whined.

"Look at the bright side, Hyunjin is going to be there." he wiggled his eyebrow.

While his crush on Hyunjoo was obvious, yours on Hyunjin was just as much apparently. However, you had avoided him since that time he had caught you from falling, too embarrased to face him again. You gave in after more bickering, determining that one lunch break with your ex wasn't that bad... No, you were definitely only doing this because Felix was your only friend in college other than Dahye and the latter had classes only in the afternoon, allowing her to sleep in. Thus, he was the only social interaction you could get and you weren't enough of a loser to eat alone in self pity.

Lunch time arrived and you followed Felix to the usual table you both would take. On his phone, he texted the two others about your location so they could join you. You were not as hungry as usual since you had stuffed your belly with Felix's cookies, so you watched him pull out his bento box where he had packed fried chicken as a meal.

"Did you cook that?" you nodded your head towards the meat.

"Seungmin did."

You could see how a roommate was useful. They could be making food or doing the laundry for you. Even though the idea was appealing, you were still content that you had a place for yourself. Sharing an apartment with someone was a no-no for you. And seemingly, sharing a table was just as much. You saw the two men approaching from behind your friend and you could already feel that the vibe was off. Minho sat next to Felix while Hyunjin took the spot next to you.

"Lee." you said in a passive aggressive tone.

"Hi." he replied coldly.

"You two know each other?" Hyunjin asked, having no idea on why there was such a tension.

"More or less." Minho shrugged before stealing a piece of chicken from Felix. You scoffed at his action, which only made him glare at you.

"Okay..." Felix trailed off before coughing to fill in the awkwardness. "So, Hyunjin. How's Hyunjoo?"

"You saw her yesterday, no?"

He blushed at the remark. "Right. Did she like my cookies?"

Hyunjin shrugged his shoulders while munching on the sandwich he had just unwrapped. "I don't know, we don't really talk. But if you want one advice, stop being a try hard. She likes soft boys."

"But I'm a soft boy..?" he mumbled before looking at you in search of any agreeing. Instead, he found you still exchanging glares with Minho. "Y/N?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're a soft boy, Lix..." you agreed carelessly.

Hyunjin was still confused and observed the staring contest more attentively. "Are you two okay?" he dared to ask.

"I guess." you shrugged. "Are we?"

"Depends. Am I too distant to be around?" Minho spat out.

Your eyes widened at his words. He did not just say that. "Am I too clingy to be around?"

In panic, Felix quickly spoke to change the subject. Luckily, Minho didn't seem in the mood to argue more and he went back to eating in silence. After more of Felix's uninteresting story-telling, you've had enough of the weird atmosphere. It was probably time you buried the hatchet with your ex.

"Min." you interrupted your friend, who sent you an offended look. Minho hummed, but he was visibly taken aback by the nickname you used. "Are we okay? I mean, for real."

His ears got red, which you took as a good sign. "I mean, I never was actually mad at you." he admitted. "I figured you wanted space after we broke up."

"Yes, but I did tell you I wanted to remain friends. So, are we good? I'm sorry for my petty comments earlier."

Even more startled, he awkwardly nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry too. We're good, don't worry."

He managed a small smile that you returned. The weight had came off your shoulders and you could feel yourself lighter. You felt someone looking at you and you realized it was Hyunjin, still in confusion.

"Ah, we used to date." you explained briefly and he nodded.

"You have something here." He reached his hand to your mouth, rubbing at the corner of your lips with his thumb. "There you go. I think it was chocolate." he laughed nervously.

Eyes wide opened, you turned to look at Felix who was pressing his lips together, restraining himself from smirking at you.

"Thanks." you coughed.

This scenario was oddly similar to your last interaction with him. Trying to contain the blush creeping on your face, you stole a chicken piece from Felix as a distraction. Heads up: it did not work as Hyunjin was still staring at you.

Great.

"The deadline is tomorrow, how can you ask me to calm down?" Dahye exclaimed as she paced back and forth in your living room.

With your notebook in hands, you didn't bother looking at her and exhaled loudly at her usual ranting. You loved the girl, but school was making her go crazy.

"I did it under four hours of work and you know I'm much slower than you. You'll be fine."

She scoffed at your poor words of encouragement. "You don't get it. I'm not stressed about the work. I'm stressed Seungmin will stop giving me coffee each time he sees me in the shop."

You closed your notes by hearing her. "You know Seungmin?"

She pointed at you, lost on why you asked this. "YOU know Seungmin? And were you even listening to what I've been telling you for the past 20 minutes?"

Before you could answer, you heard a knock coming from your front door. You got up to answer and you saw the postman. He held you out an envelope with the school's informations on it. You were about to question on why he didn't leave it in the mailbox, but he answered before you could speak.

"Urgent news statement, I'm giving this to everyone."

Nodding, you thanked him before closing the door. Opening the envelope, a formal letter was written to inform you about new prices established on the campus. It was mostly book and food prices as well as some other service fees. Being already broke, you groaned while reading out loud the raised prices. Dahye took it from your hand and frowned upon viewing one section in particular.

"You might want to read this one."

Giving it back to you, you spotted the section about dorm prices, and the apartments had risen significantly. You were already barely able to afford the place, now you really could not pay rent anymore.

"Fuck this shit." you said, dropping your head into your hands. You heard another knock and rolled your eyes at the sound. "What now?"

Dahye opened the door for you and there stood Hyunjin, holding a cup of ice americano in his hand. "Hey."

"Hyunjin? What brings you here?"

Your question seemed to make him nervous, as he started to blink rapidly and search for his words. "Ah, um... I thought we... I don't... I... Didn't we agree on going to school together now since we have classes at the same time on Thursdays?"

"Shoot, right, I'm sorry." you got up to get your school bag.

"I'll be off, then. Call me if you need anything, okay?" Dahye said, concerned, before leaving your place.

The walk was rather uncomfortable. While Hyunjin was trying to make small talk, your mind could not focus properly. Your main problem played repeatedly in your head, trying to find a solution. Your family home was hours from the college, you could not go back there. Dahye was already rooming with a girl named Eunhee, and she most likely wasn't going to kick her out for you to go live with her. Felix had Seungmin, and Jeongin was with Jisung. Overall, the few people you knew already had roommates. The part you hated the most about the situation was that you'd have to give up your quiet place you'd grown to love.

Hyunjin noticed you weren't a 100% into the conversation, so he stopped walking and put a hand on your shoulder. "What is it?"

"Uh?" you blinked a few times.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, is everything alright? Is it about Minho?"

The both of you had grown closer immensely since that lunch break with Minho and Felix. You had exchanged numbers and went over to the other's apartment just for fun sometimes. You had told him about your break up and he told you about his non-existent love life, which surprised you considering he could get any girl he wanted.

"What about him?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "He's gotten with someone, apparently. Maybe you feel upset about it, I don't know."

From all the things that could upset you, this was the last one on your mind. "Oh, no. He can get do whatever he wants, I don't care. No, it's just that..." you paused as you felt tears building up. You felt like an idiot for crying over a stupid apartment. "The prices went up."

He let out a sigh and looked down. "Yeah, I got the paper. I'm lucky enough to have saved more than needed but I'll have to cut on some expenses."

You huffed, almost in jealousy. "Lucky you. I'll need to get a dorm instead, and chances are that I'll have to live with a pure stranger."

By now, some tears had rolled down your cheek. It took everything in Hyunjin not to brush it off for you. One thing he learnt by hanging out with you more frequently was that he was totally infatuated with you. Your careless but sensitive persona only made him like you more.

"Come live with me."

His heart stopped from his own offer. His mouth spoke before he could even think. Even then, the idea had popped only briefly. He had no idea why he let it blurt out so easily. And from your reaction, you were as dumbfounded as he was.

"I-I mean, you know my place already. And it's close to where you live. And we know each other. And I think I'm a good roommate. And I'd leave you your space. You know what? Forget about it, I don't know what came-"

"Let's do it." you cut him off.

"Oh." he gulped. "Are you sure?"

You nodded your head, uncertainly. "I mean, I don't have any other option. Not like I don't like the idea of living with you, but I mean, it's the only option that seem more than decent."

You stopped yourself from talking before you would say anything any more stupid. As for Hyunjin, you had never seen him grin so widely. Either from happiness or to diffuse the weird atmosphere, it didn't matter. It might be a bad plan accepting to live with your hot neighbour, but the perks were numerous and you could simply not refuse.

"I'll clear my art room for you, then." he beamed at you. "And before you say I shouldn't, I insist. I have access to the art studio at school, anyway, and I have a spot in my room that I can arrange for my work."

"Alright." you smiled back. "I owe you a lot then, thank you."

Upon learning you were moving in with her brother, Hyunjoo had insisted to help you out with your boxes and such. Telling her that Felix was already going to give you a hand, it only made her plead to join the lot. An opportunity to play cupid was presented to you, so you took it and had them move your bed while giggling like children. Dahye would have come if it wasn't for her essay she had to complete, but you believed she was only making up an excuse to see Seungmin.

"How many books do you own?" Hyunjin breathed out in exhaustion from bringing the third box of books already.

"I stopped counting after ten." you shrugged your shoulders. "You don't have to do this, you know. Skipping class to help me. I have these two." you pointed to the blushing pair.

"As if you wanted to third-wheel." he rolled his eyes. "It's fine, I swear. Besides, I want to help you organize your bedroom so you can feel at home for the first night."

Your heart melted. This confirmed how much of a bad idea it was to be living with him. If simple gestures like this made you fond of him, how was it going to be the day he brings food at home for dinner?

"That is if they actually move my bed." you shifted your gaze towards your friend. "Lix, the bed." you said with a stern look.

The pair didn't stay long after finally bringing your bed into your new room. Leaving to have another baking session together, you were left alone with Hyunjin. The feeling was foreign, but you'd have to get used to it. In silence, you put your clothes in your drawers while Hyunjin arranged the covers on your mattress. It was enjoyable, not saying a word to each other but still appreciating the company. After some time, he pulled out his phone to play some music for an ambiance. Unconsciously, he started to hum along the lyrics and it might have been the prettiest voice you had ever heard. You were aware of his many talents, but his singing voice had remained a mystery until now. When the song ended, you took the time to compliment him. His face now pink, he thanked you shyly as he continued to place your books on your shelf.

Hours of work had passed and you determined you were pretty much done. You ordered food and ate, in silence still, while being on your phone. Dahye had sent you plenty of texts telling you all about her evening with Seungmin, being the first time he had actually made discussion with her instead of acting indifferent. With her starting her thing with the guy and Felix being head over heels for Hyunjoo, you were surrounded with love by then. Even Jeongin had told you about a girl he met not so long ago. Forgetting you were not alone in the kitchen, you let out an incoherent grumble, complaining about your lack of spice in that aspect. Hyunjin flinched, taken aback by your sudden noises.

"What did you say?"

Remembering the man was now your flatmate, you grew embarrassed. "Sorry, I have this habit of talking to myself sometimes."

"No problem. It's kind of cute."

It was his turn to be embarrassed as he avoided eye contact, going back on his phone. He had finished his meal afterwards, not adding another comment in fear of flustering himself any further. He waited patiently as you ate your last bite only to fight with you over the dishes. Persistent, he left you sitting alone as he washed your plates. For you, the silence had lasted for too long. Standing on the other side of the counter, you leaned onto it as you made talk.

"Did you call back that girl who asked you out?"

Alright, maybe you should have kept your mouth shut. However, you were too curious for your own good. Hyunjin looked at you curiously, but still answered.

"No. I told you I don't have the energy for that, and they only ask me out because of my looks. Not worth it." he explained as he dried the utensiles. "How about you?"

You scoffed. "Do you see me whoring around? I rather stay home and do nothing. Plus, Minho traumatized me."

"Was he that bad?" he snickered.

"Not really, but we fought a lot over stupid things." you sighed, nostalgia lingering. "I'm glad he found his person." There, one more person who had some action happening in the love department.

"Me too." he said in a yawn. "I think I'll head to bed. Do you need anything?"

"No, go ahead. I'll do the same eventually."

"Okay, but let me know if you need me. Good night, roomie." he grinned as he sent you a wink.

Damn you, Hwang Hyunjin. "Night." you replied in a murmur.

"What's up, Jeongin!" you exclaimed the moment you saw your neighbour in the laundry room. You took notice of the girl next to him. "I'm presuming you are Youngmi, right?"

The girl nodded shyly. "Y/N?" she guessed in a small voice.

"That's me." you smiled and took your usual spot. "I won't interrupt, I'll just load this and head back."

Jeongin inspected you scrupulously and snickered at you. "I swear I've seen Hyunjin wear this exact shirt the other day."

Already two months into living with the man, you formed a routine that worked for you both. Wednesday nights were the times where you would be watching a drama together and hang out in the other's room to simply chat. His way of living was oddly similar to yours which made things much easier. He was an horrible cook, but tried his best whenever it was his turn to make dinner. He showed you his art for second opinions and you made him read some of your favourite books. Once, you accidently wore his hoodie, but he assured you that he did not mind and that, in fact, you were prettier in his clothes. What you loved the most about living with him was forming this comfortable dynamic together. As you had predicted, you had it hard for the man.

"Yeah, it's the first thing I saw before coming here." you answered nonchalantly.

"Whatever, missy."

You loaded the machine and left quickly to give the couple a moment. Entering the flat, Hyunjin was laid down on the couch, frown on his face as he read his school book carefully. It was close to the end of the semester, meaning exams were coming up soon. Summer was also nearing, so you would be going back to your parents' home in a few weeks only.

"Your sculpture analysis?" you questioned him while shooing him to make space for you.

You sat down and he pulled his legs back on your lap, letting out a groan. "Yeah, I haven't even started to write it. He wants us to use the material we saw since the beginning of the course, but it's all painting aspects." he complained.

"Oof, I wish I could help."

He sent you a warm smile before looking back into his notes. "You're helping by listening to my venting."

"We're all struggling, it's nothing."

You grabbed the TV remote and put on a movie to pass time. For once, it wasn't a romcom, but a horror movie.

"Are you being for real?" he deadpanned at you.

"What?" you said innocently.

"You expect me to study while hearing screaming?"

"I lowered the volume."

"Y/N." he glared at you.

"Please, Jinnie! You've been studying all day, don't you want a break?" you pleaded.

"Not with an horror movie."

You held out the remote to him. "Fine, choose then!"

Still doubtful, he put his book aside and took the remote from you. Scrolling through the movies, he picked a drama movie he had made you watch during one of your Wednesday nights.

"This one, again?"

"I like it." he pouted.

"You cry to it."

"I don't."

With more bickering, you gave in and watched the movie together. Hyunjin had repositioned himself to see the screen better and, almost automatically, put his arm around you. He had done the same previously and it still made you feel so many things in your belly. Your body stiffened at the contact, but you eventually relaxed. Maybe too much, as you were now comfortably installed in his arms.

With the end nearing, you heard the man sniffle a couple of times. You loved how he wasn't ashamed of crying in front of you, which was the total opposite of most men who would rather preserve their pride. The credits rolling and Hyunjin tearing up, you detached himself from him, but he kept his grip on you firm. Turning his head to face you, you were a mere inch apart. You felt small, and your brain stopped working at how he was staring at you, his eyes glistening. You couldn't help but flicker your gaze from them to his lips, his full lips you always thought to be beautiful. The same ones you had wondered many times how they tasted. His breath hitched when you dared to get closer. He could feel yours getting warmer.

As your lips barely touched, you stopped yourself just in time. Your body was moving by itself and you could not allow yourself to mess up whatever you two had.

"I should go back to get our clothes." you whispered, not moving.

Hyunjin hummed, but did not budge either. Freaking out internally, you could not take this overwhelming feeling anymore. In a matter of seconds, you broke out from his embrace and left the apartment, your pace rapid as you went downstairs to the laundry room. Folding the pieces of clothing, you felt hot and confused. This was almost causing you a headache. You were filling the laundry basket slowly, afraid of what would happen when you get back to your place.

But everything comes to an end, eventually. Placing the last shirt on top of the others, you gathered the most of your courage to go back. When you walked in, the TV had been turned off and Hyunjin was nowhere to be found. You glanced at his room and sighed when you noticed the door closed with a dim light coming from inside. You placed his pile of clothes in front of his door and went to yours to go to sleep. Spoiler alert: you did not fall asleep that night.

Exam week was finally done. Miraculously, you had managed to study for each of them, making it fast for you to finish them. And by studying, I mean studying. You had barely gone out of your room and drowned yourself into your school books. As a result, you and Hyunjin had spoken to each other only a few times and if necessary. That arranged you, you had no intention in interacting with him since your intimate moment. You never brought it up again and neither did he. Luckily, being so busy with school, you didn't take the time to think about it much. Most importantly, you left out any details to anybody. Felix, especially, would be freaking out over this.

After reviewing your answers on your sheet, you happily left your desk to go give out your copy to the teacher. Dahye, who finished after you, gave hers as well and you met with Seungmin. He waited outside of the classroom and did not hesitate to give his newly girlfriend a kiss as a congratulations.

"Get a room." you said in disgust.

"Congratulations to you too, Y/n." Seungmin replied in a fake tone. "Chan's throwing a party tonight for the end of the semester. Are you coming?"

"Unfortunately, I'll have to pass." you smiled apologetically.

"Please! Even Jisung is coming." Dahye begged.

You huffed. "Because Hwayoung forced him to, probably. I'm sorry, maybe next year."

"You said this last semester. Please." she insisted again, in a softer tone.

"I'll see. I have to go home, for now. I'll text you."

Waving them goodbye, you went to your place to go take a well deserved shower. You crossed path with Jeongin in your hallway, who asked you if you would come to the party too. After telling him you won't be present, you went inside your apartment as you breathed out a long sigh, fatigue taking over. You didn't see Hyunjin anywhere, so you assumed he was still at school. You got yourself a new set of clothes and headed to your bathroom. The moment you came to open the door, it flung open by itself and you were stunned by the sight in front of you.

Hyunjin, in all his glory, was standing at the doorframe completely shirtless with a towel barely holding itself together around his waist. While his long wet golden locks were falling perfectly on his face, his toned six-pack was on full display for you. You could feel your face turning red as you stood still, unable to make any movement.

"Sorry." he said in a small voice as he bypassed you, going to hide into the comfort of his bedroom.

Still blushing, you finally actively moved to get into the shower. After freshening up and putting on a oversized t-shirt with a pair of shorts, you went to the kitchen to get a snack. Your roomie was at the dining table, now wearing something, and avoided your gaze. As for you, you were checking him out in an obvious way. His hair was still damped and he had put on a large white buttoned shirt and black pants. He completed his look with some chains and a few silver rings.

"You're going out?" you questioned.

"Yeah." he briefly answered, still avoiding you. "Chan's got this party for the end of the semester."

"I thought you didn't like partying."

"Yeah, well..." he trailed off. "My sister is going and she insisted for me to have fun for once."

Seemingly, you were going to be the only one not going to the said-party. Although you would rather stay in bed for the rest of the night, it shouldn't be that bad since your friends would be going. And maybe, just maybe, it would give you the courage to ask Hyunjin about the unspoken thing you two had going on.

"She's got a point." you teased. "Are you leaving soon?"

"Why? You want me out that bad?" he joked back, now looking at you. Seeing your poor reaction to his comment, he sighed. "In about 30 minutes."

"Alright, wait for me then." you said and headed back to your room.

You could not choose a decent outfit for the life of you. After already 10 minutes of debating, you called Dahye for some help. Being at Seungmin's place, Felix was there as well and joined the lot to help you out.

"Oh, that top is nice!" Felix commented.

"No, the dress is better." Dahye disagreed.

"What? Sure, but she'll look like a slut."

"Which is what we're going for. My girl hasn't had it in a while."

You rolled her eyes from hearing her judgement of your lack of intimacy. "I don't plan on getting 'it' tonight. I'll go with the top, then. Thanks, Lix! I'll see you later!"

You hung up before Dahye could make another comment about your outfit choice. Putting on a bit of makeup and finshing off with a pair of earrings, you took a better look at yourself with your mirror. Frankly, you were impressed on how you made yourself look this good. Satisfied, you picked up your purse and joined Hyunjin in the kitchen.

He was already standing next to the front door, ready to leave soon. As soon as he saw you, his jaw dropped on the floor. He had always thought you were pretty, but now you were drop dead gorgeous. Not taking his eyes off you, he took a step closer, now towering you. He smirked as he noticed the pink creeping on your cheeks.

"Dressing up to impress, I see." he cocked his head on the side.

"I could say the same about you."

He smirked while taking a step back. He grabbed his jacket and opened the door, letting you leave first.

"What a gentleman."

"That's the bare minimum, angel." he sent you one of his famous winks.

The man was going to kill you at some point, but you were not complaining. After not speaking to each other for weeks, his behaviour was overwhelming for you. As you walked to Chan's place, it being only a couple of blocks away, you shivered since you did not consider the weather to be an issue before leaving. Still having his coat in his arms, Hyunjin brought it onto your shoulders to give you an amount of warmth. Blushing again, you thanked him and he sent you a smile. Another shiver went through your body and, this time, Hyunjin flung his arm around your body, rubbing on your arm.

"You're so cringe." you laughed off.

"I read this in the book you recommended, I know you like it."

You didn't even argue back because he was damn right. You liked it, a lot. Standing in front of Chan and Changbin's place, you could already hear from the other side of the door that there was music playing and people chatting. Knocking on the door, you waited until Chan opened, beaming by seeing the both of you.

"Jin! You made it!" he hugged his friend. "Hey, I'm Chris." he now spoke to you. "I don't think we met properly. Make yourself home! I've got some pizza and drinks."

You bowed at his kind greeting and walked in to see many familiar faces. You easily spotted Dahye, who was leaning onto Seungmin while conversing with Felix and Hyunjoo. Noticing her brother was finally here, the latter raised her hand up, gesturing for the two of you to join them. She immediately hugged you tightly before doing the same with Hyunjin.

"I could've sworn you wouldn't come and stay at your place to watch cheesy ass movies together."

"That was the plan." you said in shame.

"I'm glad you came."

She moved closer to Felix as he took her in her arms, snuggling his nose into her hair. He had always been a touchy person, but the level of affection he gave her was something else. Whatever they had going on, it was definitely more than friendship. Felix had vented to you a few times how scared he was of confessing to her, but by the sight in front of you, you couldn't see why he was so scared.

The night was going pretty smoothly for you. You had refrained yourself from drinking, knowing you would regret it the next morning. The others were being surprisingly reasonable, no one was on the verge of throwing up and the discussions were still coherent. You did not participate much in them, though. You preferred observing the others interact. Chan and his friend, Sora, were fighting in the corner of the kitchen while Minho was observing them with dark eyes, jealousy plastered on his face. Hwayoung was making out with some man as Jisung was observing the scene, staying away from them as he drank his beer sadly. Jeongin and Youngmi were in their own little bubble, both painfully fond of the other. Changbin was attempting to diffuse some of the awkwardness by talking with students you didn't know at all, trying to hide the argument happening behind him.

Your friends stayed together and did not mix up with the rest, which made the party less eventful than you expected, well, for you since the others had issues to attend to. Noticing the boredom growing in you, Hyunjin nudged your arm. You leaned closer to him and he whispered in your ear.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"I was almost waiting for you to ask me, let's go."

Laughing at your demeanor, he followed you as you took his wrist and left the flat, not even saying bye to the host as he was busy with a conflict. Still giggling at your rude exit, you walked lazily next to Hyunjin as you headed back home.

"The sky is pretty." you hummed after you had calm down from your laughter.

"I painted a night sky recently. Oddly enough, it reminded me of you."

You frowned. "Me?"

"Yeah. I guess it's because we always hang out at night."

"I don't recall you painting anything of that sort."

"That's because we barely saw each other these days." he laughed, but became serious shortly after. "Well, after the other night."

Your heart started to pace faster. Despite how much you wanted to make things clear after what happened, you didn't want to bring it up just yet. You stayed quiet for the rest of the walk, until you reached the building.

"Are you going to bed right away?" he asked as you took the elevator.

"Probably not."

While shoving his hands down his pockets, he rocked his body back and forth, unsure of what to say next. He was dying to tell you how much he wished he had kissed you that night, and how much he wanted to do so right at this instant. Instead, uneasiness filled the metal box while it kept going up. The moment the door slid open, you hurried to get to your shared apartment, leaving it open for him to follow behind, and you wanted nothing more but to hide under your covers. On the other hand, Hyunjin had other plans. After catching up to you, he grabbed you by the arm to stop you, turning you around to face him.

"I'm not going to sleep either. I found a spot recently on the roof. Do you mind keeping me company?"

How could you say no to him when he looked at you as if you were a masterpiece? Hesitant, you nodded your head slowly and let him lead you to a staircase. Going up, you arrived to the roof where benches were installed as well as a few mattresses. Lights were making the place more cozy while a teapot was placed carefully on a small table.

"Wow." you breathed out, impressed. "Did the school do this?"

He rubbed his arm while you sat down on one of the chairs. "Actually, I did."

Your head shot to his direction, more stunned than before. "When?"

"Weeks ago. I wanted a spot to think and clear my mind. The teapot is mine, too. I was hoping to bring you here, eventually. I know how much you like tea, so..."

Your eyes softened as he explained his little set up. You observed his moves and he took the spot next to you. Timidly, he reached to your hand to take it in his and rubbed his thumb against your soft skin.

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about, well, you know."

You gulped, afraid of where this was going. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been this close to you, and I didn't want things to get weird so I kind of avoided you on purpose. I'm truly sorry."

He huffed in response. "I don't want you to apologize. That night, I realized how much I grew to like you with time. You have no idea how much energy it took me to not kiss you."

You tilted your frame away from him as doubt and confusion filled your mind. "You wanted to kiss me..?"

He smiled at how clueless you were. "And I still want to, very much. I've been having perfect grades in my last assignments because every single piece was made just by the thought of you. I know it sounds creepy or something, but I really can't get you off my mind."

"It's not creepy." you smiled back. "It's kind of sweet."

He carefully brought himself closer to you. "Do you remember the first time I saw you last year? When I moved in?" You frowned, but nodded once the memory came back to you. "I don't know why, but you left an impression on me. I was so clumsy, but you laughed in a friendly way and helped me. And after you came to live with me, I was convinced I would spill out how much I like you."

You could not believe your ears. Hyunjin, the clumsy boy with the looks of a prince, had feelings for you. The same boy you had been crushing on for months, now.

"I like you too."

That was all it took for him to grin like a child. "Good." he simply said.

The same scenario happened again; him staring at your lips while you breathed uneasily from the proximity of his face to yours. This time, however, you did not back out and were the first one to crash your lips onto his. From the way he brought you closer by the waist, you could tell how long he had been waiting for this moment.

"God, you're perfect." he whispered to you in-between kisses.

You couldn't tell for how long you made out, but it ended undeniably too soon for your liking. You continued your unplanned sort of date by going over to the mattresses, cuddled up while stargazing. You complimented the sky, Hyunjin pointed out some aspects he could add to his painting. The subject drifted slowly to moments you had shared over time when Hyunjin thought you were the one for him. You took this as a chance to point out the times he made your heart stop from his gestures. Overall, it was perfect.

It was getting late and you were yawning loudly when Hyunjin said it was time to go to bed. Sadly, you left the roof to go back inside. Holding hands, you were walking towards your room and then stopped abruptly.

"Do you want to... um... sleep in my room with me? Like, actually sleep?" you suggested nervously.

"I won't do anything, I promise." he kissed your forehead.

You didn't take the time to change clothes since you were so tired, so you slept while still having your party outfits on. You didn't mind. What mattered was how Hyunjin's warmth made you feel at home, and how his sweet words of good night made you realize how damn lucky you were to have found him.

The morning came slowly. Not having school anymore, you didn't have to wake up early, but your body did anyway out of habit. You couldn't help the smile forming on your face when you heard a certain someone mumble in his sleep. You turned around to face him, taking in how he was still insanely handsome despite the fact he was sleeping hard. You let him rest for a bit, but you grew impatient at some point, so you poked his cheek to wake him up. He streched out his arm as he opened his eyes slowly, grinning the moment he saw you.

"Good morning, angel." he pecked your cheek, making you blush.

"Hey." you murmured. "I can make us some breakfast while you get ready, yeah?"

"Sounds perfect to me." he smiled, his eyes closing again.

You happily hopped out of your bed and went straight to the kitchen. Being the lazy ass you were, you were glad Hyunjin wasn't picky with his food and you settled for some toasts. When he walked to sit down at the table, he hummed as the smell reached his nostrils.

"You have no idea how many times I imagined this moment."

You laughed. "Sounds like you are obsessed with me."

"I might be." he shrugged while you placed his plate in front of him.

You kept on teasing each other as you ate your breakfast. Hyunjin was done before you, so he left to go to the bathroom to wash up, leaving you with the stained plates. After getting rid of the dishes, you joined him to get ready as well and came face to face with your toothbrush, all ready for you to use.

"I can do this myself, you know?" you couldn't help but giggle.

"I wanted to do it." he said unclearly, having his own toothbrush in his mouth.

You brushed your teeth together, with him tickling your sides from time to time. After washing your teeth, you took out your cream and started to apply it on your face. Hyunjin tried to get a kiss from you, but you denied, assuring him the taste of morning cream wasn't pleasing. Pouting, he started to brush his hair, still observing you in the mirror. Being bored, or cheesy (might be both), he fogged the mirror with his breath and drew a heart on it. You exploded in laughter at his gesture, but he proudly presented his drawing.

"You're so fucking adorable, stop it." you said, in awe.

"I know." he snickered. "Can I have my kiss now?"

Gladly, you grabbed him by the back of his neck and set a soft kiss on his mouth. Happily, he melted into you and deepened it. As you separated from each other, he kept you in his arms while staring right back into your eyes.

"Wait until I tell my sister about this."

You slapped his chest, rolling your eyes at his idiotic self. With the giggle it caused from him, you pressed another peck on his lips. This was just the beginning. You knew every morning with him was going to be as dream-like as this one, and you were more than content with the idea.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids series #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids college au #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids your eyes #hwang hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin college au

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lisbeth-kk · 1 year

Text

Experiment

Thanks for the prompt @calaisreno

Realisation

One of John’s favourite things is watching Sherlock interact with Rosie. She’s almost four and already Sherlock’s equipped her with a small microscope, goggles, gloves and an apron. Seeing the two curly heads bent over their microscopes fills John’s heart with love, and he must resist the urge to go over and kiss them. He does it sometimes with Rosie, but with Sherlock. No, that would not go well. The man’s married to his work. That said, he’s adjusted considerably since John and Rosie moved in. He watches Rosie when John has late night shifts at A&E, and Greg’s told him that Sherlock refuses to come to crime scenes when he’s watching her. John’s told him he can ask Mrs. Hudson or Molly to help on those occasions, but Sherlock’s determined.

“You trust me to watch her in you absence, John. That’s not something I take lightly. A crime scene is barely that important,” Sherlock’s reassured John.

Sherlock’s another man than he was before the Fall. More considerate, more contemplative, but also the same infuriating, lazy git John remembers and missed for two years.

***

“So, what are you two up to today?” John asks after lunch.

It’s Saturday, so there’s no daycare for Rosie, and John’s shift starts at 2 pm.

“Speriment?” Rosie asks and beams at Sherlock.

Sherlock looks intently at the little girl, steeples his fingers under his chin and scrutinises her for a while. Rosie giggles and claps her hands. She loves it when Sherlock takes her seriously, which he does most of the time, truth be told.

He’s so great with her. More like a second father than a godfather.

The thought hits John like a car in full motion. Sherlock spoils Rosie, but in a good way. With undivided attention, teaching her all sort of things John can’t, taking all her questions seriously, but he’s also stern with her when she has a tantrum. John’s startled out of his musings when Sherlock speaks and Rosie squeals with joy.

“Yes, Watson. We’ll do a new experiment today, but we need to do some shopping first. Soap.”

“Soap?” John asks and gives Sherlock a quizzical look, and Rosie mimics him.

“Mm, yes. We’re going to find the perfect mix that gives the biggest and shiniest soap bubbles,” Sherlock says, his index finger tapping his lips.

“Soap bubbles!” Rosie sings and jumps around the living room.

John grins and his chest expands with all the love he feels for the two crazy chemists.

“Right, have fun,” John says and scoops Rosie up for a hug.

She kisses his cheek and wriggles to get back down on the floor.

“Shall I bring back some takeaway?” John asks Sherlock. “I’ll be finished around nine.”

“I know, John,” Sherlock says and rolls his eyes.

As if he’s not memorised John’s schedule.

John knows this, but he won’t take Sherlock for granted, particularly when he’s caring for Rosie.

“Stop worrying, John. I’ll text you.”

“Fine. Bye, you two.”

And with a heavy heart, John descends the stairs and walks to the tube. He loves his job, but some days he just wants to spend it with the two people he loves the most.

***

It’s a slow day in the A&E this Saturday. John’s almost bored, but at least he gets a serious amount of paperwork done. He knows that it might explode with all sort of things later. Accidents may happen, victims of violence are not unheard of during the weekend, people with fractures is an everyday routine.

When his phone rings, his blood freezes in his veins. It’s Sherlock’s number. Sherlock never calls, he texts. Unless something’s happened to Rosie.

“Sherlock?” he answers, trying to keep his voice calm.

“John, I’m so sorry. It’s Rosie. She…”

Sherlock’s voice is far from calm, and John can hear Rosie crying in the back.

“What’s happened?” John asks, still calm. Rosie crying means she’s conscious, and that can be a good thing. He hopes it is, but Sherlock’s distress may suggest otherwise.

“I didn’t pay enough attention. I’m so sorry, John. Her hand, I think it may be broken. I…um…”

Sherlock’s clearly about to panic, and John knows just how to handle that. Captain Watson’s needed.

“Sherlock! Listen to me. Get a cab and come here straight away. I’ll meet you at the entrance. Try to steady Rosie’s arm as much as possible, and…I know it’s hard, but try to stay calm. For her. Small children tend to pick up on their parents and loved one’s distress. Fake it if you have to, okay?”

John hates being this brusque with Sherlock when he’s in this kind of state but needs must.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock acquiesces and hangs up.

***

Sherlock’s about to hand Rosie to John when they arrive at the hospital, but John stops him.

“We´re going straight to the X-ray department, and you’re holding her perfectly now. The arm’s stabilised and the pain subsided a bit. Let’s wait to move her until it’s inevitable,” John says and bends down to kiss Rosie’s forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart. Let’s get you sorted. Sherlock’s going to carry you, so your arm won’t hurt, okay?”

Rosie sniffs, nods and leans her head against Sherlock’s chest. John places a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and guides him to the lifts. Sherlock walks cautiously, transfixed on the girl in his arms. John leans in, stroking his back.

“It’s alright, Sherlock. You did just the right thing. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine,” he assures Sherlock, who looks more devastated than John’s ever seen him.

Sherlock doesn’t answer. John suspects he’ll break down if he’s forced to speak, so he just keeps stroking Sherlock’s back to sooth him. Rosie’s totally still but looks around curiously when they exit the lift. She cries out in pain when she’s taken from Sherlock and placed on a bench in the X-ray department. John stays but prompts Sherlock to wait outside.

***

When Rosie’s put to bed that night, exhausted from today’s happenings, John walks into the sitting room and finds Sherlock curled up on the sofa. His body shakes and John acts on instinct. He kneels on the floor, strokes Sherlock’s upper arm and back.

“Sherlock, what’s the matter? Rosie’s fine. It was just a small fracture, and she’s quite satisfied with her cast and the attention from the medical staff. They were utterly impressed by her. Telling them all about your experiments while they …”

“It’s my fault, John. I didn’t pay attention. If I hadn’t…”

“Stop it, Sherlock. It wasn’t your fault. Rosie’s the one who were in a rush when Mrs. Hudson came to visit. That she tipped that bottle of soap over and then slipping was an accident that could’ve happened even if I was present. These things happen with children all the time, Sherlock. Don’t pester yourself, please.”

Without being aware, John’s started to stroke Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock’s gone limp and breathes evenly.

Is he sleeping?

Then Sherlock moves and faces John, reaches out an arm and pulls John in, hiding his face on John’s chest. John continues to pet Sherlock’s hair.

“Did you finish the experiment?” John asks quietly.

“Mm, we did,” Sherlock mutters.

“Good. Maybe we can go to the park and try it out tomorrow, then,” John says and places a kiss on the top of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock draws back a little and looks up at John, lifts a hand and places it on John’s cheek. John turns his head, grabs Sherlock’s hand and kisses the palm. Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise. He looks so young and vulnerable, and John can’t resist the urge any longer. They meet halfway in a soft, promising kiss.

Some parentlock for you this Saturday <3

@totallysilvergirl @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @peanitbear

#sherlock fandom #johnlock #sherlock #sherlock fanfic #john watson #parentlock with rosie #ao3 fanfic #may prompts #experiment

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anyon-else · 1 year

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Will You Remember Me As I Am Now? (The Red Room pt.10) | For the first time in your life, you understand what true happiness feels like, and it's both exciting and terrifying. You know now that you have to hold onto it before it's ripped away. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Orochimaru, Kabuto Yakushi

Warnings | female!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, abuse, violence, guns, manipulation, nightmares

Word count | 9.3k

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Life was pleasant.

You hadn't realized that a feeling like this existed. For as long as you could remember, your existence was contained within a small echo-chamber where you learned only about the world's cruelties. On a good day, you didn't add another scar to your seemingly never-ending collection. On a bad day, someone died at your hands. The bad days were often more frequent than the good ones.

But now, it seemed that the Red Room and all of the pain associated with it was just a distant memory. Even your nightmares had slowly faded away, only reappearing between long periods of restful nights.

The dizzying change wasn't necessarily hard to accept. Especially when you were becoming so attached to what your life had become.

Tonight, you'd been invited to Sakura's first movie night since she'd gotten back.

Kakashi was on your right side, tired eyes straining to focus on the movie. Naruto sat at his feet, leaning back on his legs and nodding off every few minutes. Sakura was pressed against your left side, leaning in your shoulder with a small, content smile. Sasuke was on the floor next to her, leaning just slightly on her legs and watching the screen with interest.

According to Sakura, movie night was a fairly normal activity for the four of them. Before she was taken, they'd had one at least once a week. However, when Kakashi had asked you to join them, he told you that this was their first time continuing the tradition since Sakura was taken. He could never bring himself to suggest it without Sakura being there, and Naruto and Sasuke never brought it up either.

So, while Sakura probably saw this as her reintegration of a continuous and simple tradition, you noticed the way that Kakashi glanced over the three kids fondly. Every now and then, you'd catch him looking at each of them as if taking a head count, just to make sure he had all of them there.

You couldn't remember what the name of the movie they'd chosen was. In all honestly, you were barely paying attention. From the moment Kakashi had sat down at your side, close enough that his arm was pressed against yours, you'd felt your heartbeat spike. Frustratingly, it refused to lower despite your best efforts to focus on the movie instead of the proximity.

This had been happening more and more recently. It frustrated you that you had little control over the way you reacted to his presence, and even more infuriating was that you didn't know why.

And you couldn't ask him. The thought alone made you want to crawl into a hole. But it was also becoming troublesome; it was getting harder and harder to sleep in the same bed as him when your heart was beating out of your chest. Some nights you worried he'd hear it, but he seemed perfectly normal.

So normal that it aggravated you.

Why were you so effected by his presence, yet he seemed perfectly fine? He slept peacefully. He rarely got flustered. He was acting the same as always, and while you were grateful that he wasn't confronting you about any odd behavior, it didn't seem fair that this mysterious nervousness was only effecting you.

However, now wasn't the time to ponder on the reasons. It was all you could do to keep your heart from racing. It was unfamiliar and unpleasant enough that you wished your body would just calm itself down without your intervention.

You were disappointed in yourself. Could you really not control anything about your body, from your actions to your feelings?

Sakura glanced at you when you shifted, trying to adjust and put as much space between you and Kakashi that you could. If it was the physical contact that made you so nervous, you knew that you should've just told him that you didn't want him touching you, but this felt different from the unpleasantness that you generally associated with touch. You were so confused, and it infuriated you.

Sakura was giving you continuous and frustratingly obvious glances whenever Kakashi shifted. You knew that she felt your heart-rate pick up, and this new tangle of emotions was not made any less frustrating by her knowing looks.

At one point during the movie—which you'd discovered through short intervals of attention was about a friendship between a fox and a dog—you noticed Sasuke's subtle nudge against Sakura's leg. It would've been easily mistakable as a shift in position, but the small glance that he shot her was painfully obvious to your well-trained eyes.

For a moment, neither Sasuke nor Sakura moved, and you felt it acceptable to let your guard down and shift your attention back to the movie. However, the moment you lifted your head, Sakura leaned closer to you and pressed herself into your side. She sighed happily as she pushed much more than her full weight on you, and while it wasn't necessarily strange that Sakura clung to you like this, her movements ended up crowding you against Kakashi's side. You were practically hip-to-hip now, though Kakashi didn't look anywhere near as startled as you felt by the change. In fact, he smoothly and nonchalantly pulled his arm from between your hips and laid it over the back of the couch behind your head. Your eyes widened, and your heartbeat picked up again despite his arm being a few inches from your neck. Sakura looked at the new position, and you wanted to shove her off the couch when a smug smile spread across her lips.

Kakashi, much to your chagrin, didn't look the least bit phased. He and Naruto were completely engrossed in the movie, oblivious to the silent war that you'd decided to start against Sakura and Sasuke.

"Psst," Sakura whispered, loud enough to pull Kakashi's attention away from the screen, "you're heart's beating pretty fast. Are you feeling okay?"

You heard the false concern in her voice, and you met her forced frown with a glare, pointedly facing her rather than Kakashi when he raised a brow at you and Sakura.

"I'm fine," you grit, closing your eyes when Kakashi's hand fell to your back to feel your racing heart for himself. He you'd become far more comfortable with his touch over the past few weeks, but now it was beginning to have the opposite effect that you wanted. You thought your heart might burst from your chest if this went on any longer.

"It is beating fast," Kakashi muttered, misguided concern in his voice. He probably thought you were having a panic attack, "you don't have to stay. Do you want to go back to our room?"

Our room. Damn him. Sakura covered her mouth to hide a snicker and Sasuke was grinning like a cheshire cat. Damn them too. Damn it all.

"Yeah," you said hoarsely, clearing your throat and stepping away from his touch, "that'd be good, I think."

You left the room quickly, steps echoing in the vast space of the lounge. The movie continued playing, and you released a heavy sigh when you entered Kakashi's room.

This was a fairly recent phenomenon. Your nervousness hadn't been this bad last week, and the week before you'd been perfectly content in Kakashi's presence. You'd still been able to sleep somewhat soundly, though you'd recently started facing away from him at night. It was hard to tell whether that was a result of growing trust or increased nervousness.

God, you were losing it. You were a spy. A former Black Widow. You were better than childish crushes, though you were really doing your best to convince yourself that there was something else going on. Unfortunately, that was the only explanation that you could come up with.

You couldn't really be blamed for it, though. Not when you got to see his face night after night, mask discarded like he was completely comfortable being so vulnerable around you.

It made you overthink to an infuriating extent.

You sat on the bed, thinking hard enough on this revelation that you'd slowly come to over the past week that you barely heard the door opening behind you. The fleeting hope that it was Sakura coming to check on you vanished when Kakashi's familiar weight sank into the bed.

"Sakura said I should come check on you," he said, and you closed your eyes. She really had it all planned out.

"I'm fine," you told him, careful not to let any emotion into your voice. What that translated as was a cold and closed-off response, which was likely not going to make him feel reassured by your answer.

"It's okay if you're not, you know."

Everything was becoming irritating. Kakashi. His unending patience. His warmth. How secure you felt around him. It was too good—too...safe. It was completely different from anything you'd ever experienced.

"I am," you sighed, deflating at his gentle tone. He nodded, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the ceiling.

A few months ago, the idea of adjusting to a place like this would've made you laugh. It hadn't been safety that you wanted, it had been routine. Order. Even if it was enforced by pain. In fact, that was something you were so used to that you would've welcomed it with open arms.

But even though the person you'd become was a far cry from who you were, you found yourself becoming more and more comfortable with yourself as each day passed. Each time Sakura laughed at your joked, or Sasuke asked to spar with you, or Naruto asked if you wanted to have ramen with him, you wondered what you had done to make them willing to spend time with you.

You wondered what you had done to make Kakashi feel safe in your presence. You wondered and wondered, but even when no answers came, you felt content.

You woke later that night frozen on your side of Kakashi's bed, gripping the sheets and trying to force yourself to breath. Tears rolled silently down your cheeks and dampened the pillow below you, but you were paralyzed, unable to move to wipe them away.

Kakashi hadn't stirred. It gave you the chance to collect your thoughts, though that was easier said than done. It had been a few weeks since your last nightmare, but your reaction to them kept increasing in intensity. You had grown too used to a pleasant night's sleep. Now your nightmares seemed even more daunting than before, and the idea of sleeping without Kakashi was equally as terrifying.

It took a few minutes to get your stiff limbs to begin moving. Eventually, you stood from the bed and shuffled towards the door to Kakashi's small balcony. The air was crisp, and you took in a deep breath once you'd closed the door behind you.

Your gut was churning.

Things had been quiet at the compound since you and Kakashi finished the mission. Your wounds had fully healed, and with less prominent marks than many of your other scars thanks to Kakashi and Sakura's superior medical care.

Everything was fine. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and HYDRA didn't seem to be a threat to you now. Your previous suspicious that Sakura was still in danger despite Kakashi's reassurances were disappearing with each day that passed, as was the fear that you were losing your mind. Adjusting was becoming easier and easier, and it seemed that way for Sasuke and Naruto as well. You were fitting into their little family with more ease than before.

But looking out at the calm, clear night sky, you felt a familiar, unpleasant feeling in your stomach. It was probably the Widow whispering in your ear, convincing you that all of this was too good to be true, but you felt that there was something else. Something that was giving you this gut feeling.

"Maa," Kakashi muttered behind you. You listened to each of his footsteps as he walked to your side; now, with your lingering sense of dread, it was harder to focus on your nervousness. You studied the surrounding area carefully, looking for a threat that had likely never been there in the first place, "aren't you cold?"

Right. It was the middle of winter, and the middle of the night, but you'd neglected to wear a jacket. In all honestly, you'd barely noticed your poor clothing choice, too caught up in your panic to think of anything but the endearing pull of fresh air.

"A bit," you shrugged, "I just wanted to come out for a second. I'll come back in soon."

Kakashi shrugged, but before you could stop him, he had disappeared inside and returned with a jacket. You'd seen him wearing it when he left the compound for missions, and he generally kept it hung over his desk chair. You felt your nervousness returning when he draped it over your shoulders.

His hands brushed against your arms as they pulled away, and you closed your eyes to try and stop yourself from visibly shivering. Every time he did that, you wanted to grab his hand and keep him close, just to stay in his peaceful presence a little bit longer. The foreign urge made you want to scream; a few months ago, you would have scoffed at the idea of feelings like this. They made people weak and soft.

But now you understood the appeal to a frustrating extent. You still heard Orochimaru's voice like a devil on your shoulder whispering in your ear, telling you that this was why so many Widows died before their time. Their feelings—their humanity—were their downfall. And you'd always looked down on them, just like all the others.

How had you become your own worst fear in so little time?

Was this the person you'd hoped to become? Had you ever hoped to become anything?

You stood with him in silence, listening to the wind rustle the trees and scanning between the trunks, triple checking that there was nothing lurking just out of view.

"What's bothering you?"

It was only logical to tell him about this foreboding feelings, but you also didn't want to raise any alarms if you were just getting worked up over a gut feeling. You had no desire to send Kakashi on another goose chase—not now that things had actually calmed down enough for him to relax.

"Nothing."

He accepted your answer with a nod and further silence. It sent a rush of gratitude through you, and you turned to face him before you could think better of it. You ignored the Widow's voice and Orochimaru's reprimands in your head telling you that acting on childish feelings would only create weakened resolve and depleted strength.

But you felt powerful when you were with Kakashi. Orochimaru's teachings had far too many holes for them to have the same grasp on you as they did before. Especially now that you understood more accurately what humanity entailed.

It felt like freedom.

Kakashi met your gaze, elbows still resting on the railing, but he shot up when you lunged at him. He was frozen in place as you wrapped your arms around his waist, keeping him locked in a tight hug. You were unsure of yourself, and you worried when he didn't respond to your gesture that you'd done something wrong—were hugs meant to be this tight? Should you have given him some sort of warning? Sakura had never minded hugs like this, but that was different. Hugging Sakura never made you feel like your heart was going to burst from your chest, or that your stomach was turning itself over again and again.

It took Kakashi a few seconds to recover, and you thought that he'd stopped breathing in that time, but when he regained his senses he was quick to reciprocate. You let out a sigh when he wrapped an arm around your waist and brought the other to the back of your head, pressing it firmly into his chest and letting out a deep, relieved breath. You felt it against your cheek, a comforting warmth in the cold night air.

You weren't sure what possessed you to do this; it was both brave and, from what Kakashi had seen, completely out of character. But it was something you were desperate for. Just one touch that provided comfort—one reassurance that you were allowed to be someone new. That you were allowed to choose who you wanted to become, and feel these new emotions that had always been forbidden before.

I'll teach you how to be human.

Kakashi's words echoed in your mind, and you thought about how much he had already done. About the progress you'd made in so little time. You were proud of yourself. For the first time in your life, you felt that you'd accomplished something for your own sake rather than someone else's.

Kakashi pressed a kiss to the top of your head, hands still pressed against your back to keep you close.

Maybe, just for this moment, it was okay to ignore your worry. Things were so good, and if this forboding feeling would go away you'd be able to relax. Maybe this kind of gesture wouldn't feel so significant. Maybe, after enough time, it would become normal to hug Kakashi. To hug Sakura, and even Sasuke and Naruto. To be part of a family. To have a home.

"Is this okay?" you croaked, swallowing against your dry throat. "Can I do this?"

"Yes," he whispered back.

You'd never been held before. Not like this.

Everything about your life now was so precious. You were becoming more and more desperate to keep it safe.

You also noticed through the contented haze of your thoughts that Kakashi's heart was beating just as fast as your own.

The next morning, you woke up alone.

Muffled voices slipped under the door, and you could make out Kakashi's voice directing the three kids as they cooked breakfast. You could smell something sweet all the way in the closed bedroom, and it lured you from the warmth of Kakashi's blankets. You trudged into the kitchen groggily, following the sounds of Naruto's shout of surprise and Sasuke's angry groan.

The kitchen was a disaster. The flour that Naruto had supposedly just spilled was spread over the counter and the floor, and some of it had somehow ended up on Sasuke and Kakashi. Sakura had sidestepped the mess and spotted you before the others.

"Ah!" she smacked Kakashi's shoulder, eyes wide in surprise, "Good morning! You're up early, huh?"

"I always get up early," you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at the frozen group, "what's going on?"

"Uh..." Naruto looked around, dusting flour off of the counter and running his hands over it frantically until he found a small, cylindrical object, "happy birthday!"

Confetti shot out of the small tube, and you watched it flutter to the ground to reveal a still-grinning Naruto. You blinked at him, completely bewildered. Birthday? Whose birthday was it?

"What's all this?" you asked, approaching the mess on the counter. From the looks of it, they were in the middle of making pancakes. There was a stack of them on a plate and a mixture of ingredients in a bowl in Sasuke's hands for more batter, which was presumably where the flour mishap had happened.

"Duh. I just told you! It's for your birthday!"

"It's...not my birthday."

"Huh?" Naruto turned towards Kakashi, "but you said...Kakashi-sensei! Did you get the day wrong?"

How would Kakashi know your birthday? You didn't even know your birthday. The concept of birthdays was practically nonexistent in the Red Room; you'd never really given a second thought to yours. When you discovered that people celebrated theirs every year, you thought it was a useless, time-wasting tradition.

"I saw it in your file at the bunker," Kakashi explained when he saw your puzzled expression. You looked at him, but you had to quickly avert your eyes from his soft smile, showing itself in his eyes above his mask.

Oh. So he...remembered your birthday? And went to all this trouble just for a day that was fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

Huh.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you stared at the man, eyes wide and mouth agape. You probably looked comical, and the grin on Sakura's face told you that you weren't being very subtle about your conflicted feelings.

"We made you breakfast!" Naruto said happily. He slid the full plate of pancakes across the table at you, then gave you a wide assortment of syrups and fruits. You approached the table carefully, still reeling from the fact that today was your birthday, and that the others had decided to do something for you to celebrate.

"Eat," Sakura smiled, softer than her previous one. She seemed to understand your confusion, even though she hadn't experienced it herself. Being in the Red Room since birth creates a detachment from one's identity that was hard for you to reconcile now that you were out, independent of Orochimaru's will, "we made it for you."

"Thank you," you muttered, chest warming as you looked at the small buffet that they'd created. Naruto kept pulling toppings out of the fridge—first whipped cream, then chocolate syrup, then strawberries.

"Eat! We're making more, so don't worry about leaving any for us."

It was the first time you'd ever tried pancakes, a fact that you informed the four of as you ate your fill. Naruto looked horrified, mouth open wide before he began shouting about how sad it must've been for you. You didn't attempt to remind him that you'd never exactly been worried about the lack of pancakes in your life.

"Try this one!" Sakura grinned as she pushed a large, spotted pancake towards you, "it's chocolate chip and it's amazing."

"Is not," Sasuke grumbled, ducking away from Sakura's attempt to shove him to the side. "What? They're too sweet."

"Mm," you hummed around your first bite, smiling at the two, "'s good."

"Tch. You all have bad taste."

Sakura glared at Sasuke and caught sight of his plate despite his best efforts to hide it.

"Ew, are you putting raisins in yours, weirdo?"

Kakashi reached over Sakura for the spatula that she was waving at Sasuke and flipped the remaining pancakes on the griddle. When he'd finished, he slid it back into her hand and watched her smack Sasuke's with it.

"Don't insult our pancakes when yours looks like they came out of a retirement home."

Naruto giggled, and you smiled to yourself as they bickered. Kakashi continued making the pancakes with each of the kids' chosen toppings, unfazed by the escalating argument that Naruto had become involved in after an insult to his own topping choice.

"Shut up, Naruto! You add an ungodly amount of chocolate to yours, so you have no room to talk!"

"You shut up! Chocolate is the best topping, believe it!"

Kakashi shook his head at their bickering, and you could see his eyes scrunching as he smiled behind his mask. You were glad that Sakura was enthralled with her argument, too distracted to see your cheeks turning red as you watched Kakashi's emotions through his eyes.

You pictured his face under the mask, smile small but still so full of joy. He really was beautiful.

You choked as the thought crossed your mind. Kakashi glanced up when you practically inhaled the bit of pancake you'd been chewing hit your chest to try and dislodge it from your windpipe.

Beautiful? You had never really been interested in those kinds of observations before. Sure, you could acknowledge things that were beautiful versus not, and you knew what features people generally found attractive, but this was an entirely new feeling.

Every day you added to the list of things that were new about your life. It was exhausting.

But it was also exciting. That was another new feeling. You constantly felt excited about this new life you'd been given.

"Don't choke," Kakashi griped after you'd finished coughing.

"Helpful," you grumbled, avoiding his curious gaze and looking instead at where the kids were still arguing. Sakura had Sasuke in a chokehold, grinning at him as she held him up by the throat. The boy looked like he was starting to go blue in the face; he was tapping Sakura's arm in an attempt to alleviate the pressure, but she just tightened her hold. Naruto had gone silent, argument forgotten as he grabbed Sakura's shoulder with a nervous smile.

"Uh, Sakura? I think he's had enough..."

Sakura looked up, and you finally got a clear look at the smile on her face. Rather than the playful, slightly guilty one that you'd expected, it was a familiar smirk that greeted you.

"Kakashi," you barked, but the man had already realized what was going on and taken action. He jumped at Sakura and freed Sasuke from her hold. You heard the boy coughing and taking in gasps of air before you lunged for Sakura, ignoring the part of your mind that was begging for this to be a dream, focusing instead on the problem right in front of you.

Save her, a part of you screamed. It was the part that she had helped you unlock. It was the one that had been growing since you escaped. It was one that you wanted to hold on to.

Stop her, another voice said, old and familiar like a long-forgotten friend. It was the Widow's voice, reaching out to you again after her long silence. Her phantom hands pressed against your back and pushed you towards Sakura—towards the threat—before she could reach Naruto. The boy had taken a defensive position, but he looked considerably more hesitant to engage with his friend than you felt. Before Sakura had a chance to lunge at him, you wrapped your arms around her waist and threw yourself back so that she landed on top of you.

"Sakura!" you shouted at her, wrapping your legs around her waist at the same time that Naruto and Kakashi grabbed each of her arms and pinned them to the ground. You could still hear Sasuke catching his breath a few feet away, and you tried not to focus on how pained his breathing sounded or how hard Sakura must have tried to kill him.

Not Sakura, you reminded yourself, Orochimaru.

"Sakura, you're stronger than he is," you grunted. Sakura growled, the sound almost animalistic, and Kakashi grabbed the back of her head before she could launch it back into your nose. She snarled again, baring her teeth at him and continuing her vicious fight against the three of you, "Sakura, please! If you can hear me, then fight!"

Her struggle continued, and you tightened your hold on her when her movements became more sporadic.

"Orochimaru," Kakashi said over Sakura, voice carrying across the room and leaving an echo in its wake. Sakura had gone silent in an instant, full attention on Kakashi, "interesting. So you can hear us and see us through her eyes?"

Sakura's eyes were blank, as if her body had been left vacant for a split second. Then she was blinking, and though her body had gone still in your arms, her lips split into a smirk.

"Sakura–" you croaked, tears burning in your eyes as the girl craned her neck as best she could to look at you. When she saw your broken expression, her smirk split into a grin and she let out a laugh.

"My Widow," Sakura whispered, studying your scar as if to confirm your identity, "I hope you enjoyed this phase of rebellion, but I've come to collect what you owe me."

"She doesn't owe you anything!"

"Quiet," Sakura hissed, whipping her head towards Naruto and silencing him with a single, scathing glare, "she owes me everything. She owes me her life. And that is what I've come to collect."

You could feel yourself beginning to shut down. These words were so familiar, and it had been far too long since you'd been reminded of your place. It was a shock to be thrown back into the mind of the Widow, but Orochimaru's were enough of a catalyst. Your head was spinning, and you fought to regain control over your senses despite feeling waves of nausea crashing into you.

"I want to kill you more than anything," Orochimaru said, and the words felt like daggers coming from Sakura's mouth.

This feeling of complete and utter helplessness was what you'd been battling against all this time. It was what you thought you'd overcome, but you were the same as before. You hadn't changed at all, and this was proof. One word from Orochimaru, and you were falling back into your bad habits like they were old friends welcoming you home.

It was as comforting as it was painful.

"It's an ironic kind of punishment for both of us that you're what I need to go back."

"You're more delusional than I expected."

Sakura turned towards Kakashi this time, blank expression focused on him. She studied him carefully, looking between his eyes for any hint of emotion other than forced indifference. He didn't blink.

"Hatake," she finally said with another grin.

"It's good to finally meet you, snake," Kakashi said patiently, still holding Sakura's arm despite her lack of struggle, "I hope you know that this is technically trespassing on SHIELD property."

"You stole something from me," Sakura shot back, "and I've come to collect it."

"You haven't come to collect anything," Kakashi shook his head, leaning closer to Sakura and looking into her eyes. Into the eyes that Orochimaru was watching him through, "you're nothing more than a coward. Not even brave enough to confront me face-to-face."

"You?" Sakura cackled. It sounded wrong coming from her, "I have no interest in you, or any confrontation. What I want is very simple. And I'm willing to offer a trade."

"We don't want anything from you–"

"Freedom," Sakura interrupted Naruto sharply, glaring at him intensely. Naruto flinched at the unfamiliar expression on Sakura's face and turned away, "for Sakura. That is what I'm offering. All I'm asking in return is for my Widow back."

That's it?

It seemed like an easy trade-off. Sakura's freedom? You were willing to give anything for that. Giving yourself up was always an option you'd considered, and now you had the opportunity to save her. She could finally live without fear, and without Orochimaru's control looming over her like puppet strings.

Freedom was the only thing you wanted for her. It was never something you expected for yourself, even if you'd momentarily deluded yourself into thinking it was a possibility.

Trying to be human had proven too difficult for you. Orochimaru was calling you, and you would answer with a promise of loyalty. For Sakura, you would give yourself back to him in a heartbeat.

"No."

You froze, limbs seizing at Kakashi's declaration. You stared wide-eyed at the ground, hearing only your quiet breaths as they began to quicken.

Then, like a switch flipping within you, anger crashed into you in waves.

"It'll only be a matter of time until we figure out how you're controlling her," Kakashi was saying, though you could barely hear him through the ringing in your ears and the heaviness of your breathing, "and then you'll have no power over us anymore."

A hypocrite. That's all Kakashi was. For all his talk about not wanting to be Orochimaru and about giving you back control of your own life, he was standing in front of you—not even looking at you—and deciding with no hesitation that you couldn't save Sakura.

No, that new, happier voice said. She could barely be heard over the Widow's ferocious anger, but she clawed her way to the surface and fought desperately to speak, don't do this. That's Orochimaru's voice in your head. That is exactly what he wants you to believe.

The Widow fought against this new voice, but she dug her fingers into your mind and refused to let go.

If you tell yourself that Kakashi is the enemy, you'll alienate yourself from the only people who have ever seen you as an individual. That's exactly what Orochimaru wants. Kakashi is just trying to–

"Wha...what's going on?"

Sakura's voice had changed again. It sounded terrified, and you realized that you were still immobilizing her in a vice-like grip. Despite your previous anger, you glanced at Kakashi almost involuntarily for confirmation that Orochimaru had let go of his hold on her.

"M-my head," she whispered, pressing her palms against her forehead and letting out a panicked, broken sob, "it hurts. Ah–Kakashi-sensei, it...it feels like I'm dying."

"Sakura," Kakashi yelled when the girl began to fall to the side, slumping into Kakashi arms and letting out sporadic, wheezing exhales, "Sakura, does anything else hurt?"

"I'm dying," Sakura choked, curling into herself on Kakashi lap and holding the back of her head against her chest, "it hurts so bad. I think...am I going to die?"

"No, Sakura, you're–"

"I don't wanna die. I can't...I just came back. I just came home. Please, just don't let me die."

"Orochimaru is still controlling her," you muttered, kneeling next to Sakura and placing a hand against her forehead. Her temperature was normal, "he's making her feel like this. He wants us to see it so we'll break."

And it was working.

Kakashi's indifferent mask had broken into something pained and terrified. Naruto was rambling to Sakura, telling her that everything was going to be okay. Sasuke was standing behind Kakashi, throat bruised with her handprint and fists clenched tight at his sides. He stared at Sakura with a pain in his eyes that you had never seen before.

You could stop this. It was such an easy problem to solve that it was almost laughable.

"Stop," you muttered, pulling Sakura's shoulder so that she was facing you. Your throat tightened at the sight of her face, streaked with tears and twisted in pain, "stop this. You can have me, so stop hurting her."

It took a moment, but you saw the shift that took place on Sakura's face. The pain fell away, and then that emptiness was back. You almost preferred the pain to this—she looked like a corpse.

"Think this through," Kakashi said next to you, voice shaky as he stared down at Sakura's limp body, "we can figure something else out."

"There is no other option, Kakashi," you muttered, anger forgotten. You were too tired for anger. You had already made up your mind. "You have your family. They can all be safe again."

Kakashi stared at you, eyebrows pinched together and still just as pained as they were before. You wanted to run a hand over his forehead and smooth out the frustrated wrinkles in his skin. You wanted to tell him that this was okay with you. That this was what you wanted. To protect Sakura. To protect him and Naruto and Sasuke. To give them back their lives.

They had a chance to be a safe. You weren't going to let them give that up.

Sakura began to move slowly. Her movements were robotic enough that Kakashi and Naruto allowed her to stand, though they stayed close to her side and followed her to the kitchen. She picked up a spare napkin from breakfast and swiped away your empty plate with little regard to it shattering on the floor.

"Pen."

It wasn't Orochimaru's voice, but it wasn't Sakura's voice either. It was like an empty void had taken hold of her, expending only the energy necessary to complete its task.

Sasuke placed a blunt marker into her waiting hand, though she didn't seem bothered by the divergence from her instructions. Instead, she scribbled something on the napkin, then handed it to you with empty eyes. She was looking right through you, recognizing you only as the recipient of the note that she'd written. On it was an address.

"This is your house," you muttered, glancing at Kakashi with wide eyes.

"Meet there," Sakura commanded monotonously. Then, with no warning, she crumpled to the ground.

For as long as you had known her, Sakura had been fascinated by mythology.

She would tell you stories when the darkness of a cell became suffocating for both of you. She would whisper the words with so much excitement, wanting to share the stories that you'd never had the opportunity to hear. She'd tell you about Helen and Artemis and the magnificent creatures that lurked in forests and within caves. She transported you into a world wholly different from your own, where you could imagine yourself sailing the Aegean Sea in the open air, part of an equal collective of heroes whose responsibilities matched your own. Where you could swim with mermaids and face Charybdis' crashing waves and the monstrous form of Scylla. Where pain was simply a part of adventure rather than a means of control.

When you were free, she gave you the book of Greek myths that Kakashi had read to her as a child. She said that you always seemed interested in what you had to say, and you kept it by your bedside in Kakashi's room and reread the stories that Sakura had once told you. You told her every time she asked what you thought that you preferred the way she told them.

You remembered reading about the HYDRA. That was one story that Sakura never told when you were both in the Red Room. You had stared at the detailed painting of its long, snaking heads and the sharp points of its teeth and wondered if this was how Orochimaru saw himself. As one of those terrifying creatures, looming over the world like a god and multiplying each time he raised a girl to become a killer.

The Hydra had poisonous blood so virulent that even its scent was deadly. The Hydra possessed many heads and had regenerative power: for every head chopped off, the Hydra would regrow two in its place.

Orochimaru had left Kakashi's door hanging open in invitation. Kakashi's hands were wrapped tight around the steering wheel, though you were doing your best not to look at him. You almost couldn't stand the tension in the car or the silence that had persisted since Sakura passed out. She was sitting in between Naruto and Sasuke in the back seat, slumped on Sasuke's shoulder and supported by Naruto's arms around her waist, holding her steady. She hadn't stirred since she collapsed.

Kabuto was waiting for you in the doorway. You felt a chill race down your spine at the sight of him, and you could already feel yourself beginning to shut down. You could practically feel the intensity of his gaze, and you wondered if the slight ache in your cheek was a phantom pain that originated from your many memories of his fists hitting you again and again, insisting that pain was the only way to make you stronger.

You had become so weak. You hadn't realized it before, but you'd been too relaxed while you were with Kakashi and the others. You'd let your guard down for too long, and now you were paying for it.

Kakashi didn't move when you opened the car door. You glanced back at Naruto and Sasuke with a silent but firm order: do not come out of the car.

Kabuto didn't move when you began approaching him. His face remained expressionless, though you could see the tension in his body. His hands were balled into fists, and when you finally stopped a few feet away from him, his eyes narrowed just slightly.

Kakashi opened his door at the same time that Kabuto took a single step forward and slapped you across the cheek. The strength of it left your face stinging, and you felt your lip beginning to bleed where a ring had caught on the skin. It was far too familiar to be surprising.

"You have no idea how much you've destroyed," Kabuto said, and you only began to understand just how angry he was when you heard his voice. It was low and dangerous; the man was usually more composed than anyone you'd ever met. This level of anger from him was new territory. "If we didn't need you, I'd kill you where you stand."

You kept your lips sealed shut, ignoring Kakashi standing at your back. You saw Kabuto's eyes shift to meet his and waited with shallow breaths for one of them to move. You certainly wouldn't be the first.

"I see you've found another master," Kabuto sneered, glaring at you once again when he'd finished studying the indifferent expression on Kakashi's face. Kabuto grabbed your shirt and jerked you forward, his movements sudden and sporadic. You reached back and caught Kakashi's arm just as he began to move it. This wasn't the time to hinder Kabuto or Orochimaru from doing what they wanted. Not with Sakura's life on the line.

Kakashi's arm was tense in your grip. You tightened your fingers around his wrist just slightly, hoping that your silent reassurance would be conveyed in the gesture.

You knew it would only do so much. Time and time again, Sakura was being ripped away from him. He had to be sick of seeing her in pain.

And one cause of that pain was standing right in front of him.

Kabuto pulled you close enough that his lips were next to your ear. You felt warm breath on your skin and closed your eyes, fighting not to shrink away.

"You're nothing," he hissed. "Don't forget that just because you're needed."

You knew what you were. You had always known—you had just forgotten. For the briefest moment, you'd deluded yourself into thinking that you could mean something. That you could become someone.

A pipe dream. That was all it would ever be.

The creature was so poisonous that it killed men with its breath, and if anyone passed by when it was sleeping, they breathed its tracks and died in the greatest torment. Even the smallest contact with the Hydra’s blood could be fatal.

Orochimaru was waiting for you on Kakashi's couch. He didn't seem bothered by Kakashi's presence at your side; he must've been confident in the threat that he was holding over you both. He knew after Kakashi's many attempts to get Sakura back that he wouldn't risk her. Not for you.

Kabuto had said it himself. You were nothing.

When you saw Orochimaru for the first time after so long, it felt like you'd never left his side. You mind went blank, and you froze where you stood. You barely noticed Kakashi's pack scattered around the room, all motionless but still visibly breathing.

You were at attention, though you made sure that you weren't looking directly at Orochimaru. He didn't tolerate eye contact with his Widows. He claimed that it made them seem too human—too emotional. He wanted complete detachment from any kind of personal connection with you. To the Widows, Orochimaru wanted to be a god—untouchable and all-powerful.

You couldn't move. Your body wasn't responding to any of your brain's commands. You just stood, waiting for your fate like a deer waiting patiently for headlights to meet it. Orochimaru stood from the couch in silence, calm and collected and appearing as if he was in complete control of his emotions.

You tried to embody that same control, but found that panic mounted within you each time he took a step in your direction. By the time he had stopped in front of you, you'd stopped breathing altogether in an effort to hide your fear. To hide how terrified you were at the idea of going back to him. Any residual longing you'd felt for the familiarity of the Red Room disappeared as you stared at the wall next to him, eyes and lungs burning. With Orochimaru so close for the first time in months, you wondered how you had ever wanted to be near someone who's entire being screamed danger.

Orochimaru didn't move for a long moment. When he did, you felt the pressure of his cold fingers gripping your chin. He moved your face until you were forced to meet his gaze.

Terror seized your body when you finally looked into Orochimaru's cold, snake-like eyes. He was looking at you like he could see into the very depths of your soul, and you finally exhaled in a choked, broken whimper. There was the slightest upward twitch of Orochimaru's lips.

"You've made things very difficult for me," he said, the words slithering from his mouth like a snake escaping a cage. You felt them coiling around your throat with the familiar intent to kill. Despite how calm he may have looked, you had been studying him for signs of anger your whole life. His fury was practically dripping from the corners of his mouth as his lips shifted up into a smirk, "but even so, I've decided that you still have a place as a Widow."

Orochimaru's fingers had tightened on your chin, and his smile had widened into something crazed.

"You want that, don't you?"

Speaking seemed like an impossible task, but you forced your lips to part and felt the expected answer forming in your throat.

"Yes," you croaked, though it was hardly convincing. Orochimaru laughed and turned you around to face Kakashi and Kabuto where they stood in the doorway. Orochimaru's fingers fell to the back of your neck, and you recognized the warning in his tight grip.

"Then why don't you tell that to Hatake before he does something he'll regret."

You took a moment to clear the fog from your mind and look at Kakashi. The indifferent mask had fallen from his face, and Orochimaru seemed to see how desperate he was to stop the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Kabuto was keeping him far enough from you that he wouldn't interfere, but his shoulders were rising and falling too quickly to be from anything but panic. He looked ready to lunge towards you the second he found an opening.

His eyes met yours immediately when you turned around, searching for anything other than the desperate terror and resigned acceptance that he saw.

You wished you felt brave enough to speak. To reassure him and stop him from panicking when he didn't need to.

Don't move. Don't let him hurt her. It's okay. This was always going to happen.

"Tell him," Orochimaru ordered, "where it is that you belong."

His hand on the back of your neck felt like a shock to your system, waking you to the reality of what was happening. You were back in Orochimaru's cruel hands, waiting with bated breath for his next move. But through your hazy panic, one thought fought through and left your lips before you could even consider stopping it.

"Not until you fix her."

Kabuto froze at your words. He knew that as well as you did that ignoring Orochimaru's orders almost always ended in death.

"You offered a trade," you croaked. You voice sounded weak, and you almost felt ashamed that Kakashi was seeing you at such a low point, "so hold up your end of the bargain."

"Look at you," Orochimaru said with another laugh, condescension dripping from the words, "I almost want to be proud, but you and I both know that you weren't raised to speak out against me."

You wished you had never left. You wished you had just given Sakura to Kakashi the day that he came for her and gone back inside. You wished that he had left you there.

"You forgot your place, and now you've made it my job to remind you," Orochimaru hissed in your ear. "Now tell him where you belong."

"No," you whispered, the word so faint that you weren't even sure if you'd said it. But the tightening of Orochimaru's fingers around your neck was evidence enough that he'd heard you. Kakashi took a step forward, but froze when Kabuto raised a gun and pointed it at his chest. His wide eyes were still studying you, watching every minute reaction to Orochimaru's torment.

The man that he'd been itching to get his hands on was right here in front of him. He was close enough that he could take one leap forward and close his hands around the man's throat. He could fix this. He could stop you from giving yourself back to him.

"Kakashi-sensei!"

Naruto's voice was high and panicked on the opposite side of the door. He was keeping his distance, and it was clear that he didn't see you or Orochimaru standing in the center of the room, but Orochimaru still held tight to your neck to keep you from moving towards the boy. You closed your eyes and fought against the urge to follow Naruto's distressed cry.

Kakashi's reaction was instantaneous. He had turned around in a heartbeat, ignoring Kabuto's weapon and taking a step out of the house to face Naruto.

"Sakura's seizing!"

Kakashi's body went taut at the same time that all of the fight drained from your body. This was it. This was Orochimaru's trump card; the one thing that he could hold over your head that would make you do anything he asked.

He could kill Sakura. He didn't even have to be in the same room as her to make her heart stop.

"That's enough," you croaked, attempting to face Orochimaru but stopping when he thumb pressed deep into the junction of your neck, "I understand. I belong in the Red Room. I-I belong to you."

You heaved against the panic that still swirled in your stomach. Nausea was crashing in waves inside of you, and you thought you would've collapsed had it not been for Orochimaru holding you up by your throat.

"She stopped!" Sasuke shouted, voice farther from the house than Naruto's. Kakashi visibly relaxed and ordered Naruto to go back to the car and watch over Sakura. Naruto didn't protest.

Kabuto looked satisfied by your compliance, but Orochimaru was still tight. There was a long pause after your words, and you wondered if it was too late to give him the answer he wanted. Maybe you'd already dug your grave deep enough to lay in.

I belong to you.

You tried to change. You tried to escape. You tried to become human.

It just wasn't what fate had in store for you.

"Good."

Orochimaru's grip slackened, and he let you fall past his fingers until your knees hit the floor with a hard thump. You stared down at the wood with wide eyes, wondering how everything had changed so fast. Just this morning you'd discovered that today was your birthday, and Kakashi was making you pancakes with the kids. And not even two hours had passed.

Kakashi knelt in front of you with little concern about Kabuto or Orochimaru. You couldn't bare to look at him—not after he'd seen what Orochimaru could do to you. At how quickly you'd let him erase months of progress.

You felt hesitant, careful fingers brushing against your cheeks, and when you didn't react to the touch, Kakashi pressed his hands on either side of your face and lifted it so that you were forced to meet his eyes. It was a much gentler way of meeting your eyes, and you felt a deep sense of longing for it.

"I'm sorry," you croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, brushing his thumb under your eye to keep a tear from falling. He was close enough that you knew Kabuto and Orochimaru wouldn't be able to see the movement, but neither were paying attention to the scene. Kabuto was waiting impatiently for Orochimaru to become bored with the emotional display, but Orochimaru was silently standing a few steps from you, barely paying attention to what the scene.

"Don't do this," Kakashi whispered. You wondered if you could trap the sound of his voice in your mind and hold on to it while you rotted away in the depths of the Red Room, "we can protect her."

"I know we can," you said back with a slight smile. You pressed a hand against his and closed your eyes, wondering why you hadn't accepted this kindness from him earlier. Maybe you would've gotten more of it before it was ripped away. Enough that it would take longer to forget the feeling of how warm his hand felt against your skin. But you knew that the feeling would slip away before you were ready to let it go, "just make sure she doesn't blame herself for this."

"I can protect you both," he pleaded. Your breath hitched, though it sounded more like a broken sob. Kakashi's face fell even further.

No one had ever protected you. No one had ever been given the chance. And no matter how much you wished it, Kakashi wouldn't be able to either.

"Take care of them."

Some ancient writers tried to come up with a rational explanation for the myth of the Hydra. Heraclitus, for example, suggested that the Hydra really had only one head, but was accompanied by its numerous brood—that is, the Hydra was really many snakes rather than a single many-headed snake.

"One of your doctors is a Widow," Orochimaru told Kakashi from the doorway, "her name is Shizune. She's the reason that Sakura's examinations weren't conclusive. You'll be able to get answers from her after six months have passed. In those six months, I won't have any use for Sakura, so unless you come looking for me or my Widows, she won't be in danger."

"Absolutely not. That's not what we agreed–"

"You have no bargaining power," Orochimaru snapped, looking down on Kakashi like the man was an ant that he wanted to crush. You shrunk away from him and back towards Orochimaru to avoid any further retaliation against either of you. Kakashi's hands fell from your face as you leaned away, and you tried not to feel like you were ripping yourself away from the only chance you'd ever had at happiness.

"Forget the Red Room and any connection you and Sakura have to it, and you won't ever have to see it again."

You were hesitant to look at Kakashi again, but the fury on his face when you did left you paralyzed.

Was that anger for Sakura?

Was it for you?

"Understand one thing," Kakashi said lowly, eyes alight with an unfamiliar rage, "I'll never forget this. And one way or another, I'll see you again."

"If that days comes," Orochimaru said with a dark smile, lips split like an open wound, "it'll be your last moments alive."

A sharp sting in your neck finally made you look away from Kakashi. His eyes widened when your body went slack and you fell to the side. He reached forward and caught your head before it could hit the floor, but his hand quickly disappeared when you were lifted into less gentle arms. You recognized the grip as Kabuto's, and despite your best efforts to stay conscious enough to be aware of your surroundings, darkness quickly swallowed your vision.

The Hydra's one immortal head was cut off with a golden sword given to Heracles by Athena. Heracles placed the head—still alive and writhing—under a great rock on the sacred way between Lerna and Elaius, and dipped his arrows in the Hydra's poisonous blood.

The last thing you saw was Kakashi, out of focus and still kneeling on the ground with his hands resting on the floor in front of him. Darkness prevailed, and freedom slipped through your fingers.

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Author's note | i'm sorry this chapter took me so long. i rewrote the end after i had it basically finished because i didn't love how it turned out, but i think i'm happy with how it ended up. it also ended up being very long oops. please let me know what you think!

also if you're interested please check out the spotify playlist linked with the summary. i'm lowkey obsessed with it.

title is from "Timefighter" by Lucy Dacus

#kakashi #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi imagine #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x y/n #kakashi hatake imagine #naruto #trr #emwrites

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