#but yeah if the buried suppressed the hunt...

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Dead in the Water | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, Dean and the reader are dickish to each other

Word Count: 9338

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You were sitting inside of a diner across from Dean, munching on the last of your fries as he circled names in an obituary. Sam had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and you and Dean refused to speak to each other unless it was to start a petty fight. 

The pretty blonde waitress returned, leaning over the table and showing off her boobs. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked Dean. 

You looked over at him as he grinned around the pen he was chewing on.

You suppressed an eye roll, addressing Wendy. “Just the check, please.”

“Okay,” she smiled at you, glancing over at Dean once more. The waitress strutted away, and Dean dropped his head down before looking over at you. 

“You know, (Y/N), we are allowed to have fun once in a while.” He pointed at the waitress as she walked into the kitchen, “That's fun.”

“You can have fun when we find your dad.” 

Dean went to say something back to you, but Sam sat down and effectively cut the conversation short.

“Hey,” he said. “What’d I miss?”

“Just your brother trying to pick up our waitress,” you stated, glaring pointedly at Dean. 

“Can it, (Y/N).” He put the newspaper in front of Sam. “Take a look at this, I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin.” He pointed to the obituary he had circled in the paper. “Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago.”

“A funeral?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin. For, uh, closure, or whatever,” the older of the two shrugged.

“Closure? What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them.”

Dean’s expression hardened. He squared his shoulders and leaned forward on his forearms on the table. “Something you want to say to me?”

You took a sip of your drink, eyes widening as you looked down and to the side of you, feeling pretty awkward. 

“The trail for Dad,” Sam started, “It's getting colder every day.”

Dean sighed. “Exactly. So what are we supposed to do?”

“I don't know. Something. Anything.”

“You know what? I'm sick of this attitude.” Dean’s tone was harsh as he spoke. “You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?”

“Yeah, I know you do, it's just—”

Dean cut his younger brother off. “I'm the one that's been with him every single day for the past two years, while you've been off to college going to pep rallies. We will find Dad, but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he did so. 

The waitress walked past again, effectively distracting Dean from his anger toward Sam. His gaze was focused right on her ass.

You snapped your fingers a mere inch in front of his face.

He jerked back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What was that for?!”

“For focusing on getting your dick wet instead of the task at hand,” you replied. 

Dean went to shoot something back at you, but Sam was quick to jump in. “Alright—” he directed his next question at Dean, “—Lake Manitoc, how far?”

***

You had been driving for what felt like forever. Lake Manitoc was, in fact, pretty far from the diner you had stopped at. In between playfully bickering with Sam about the cultural impact of 1995’s Clueless and fighting with Dean over the stupidest thing, you had been doodling in your journal to keep you occupied. You were focused on drawing the wendigo from your previous hunt to the most detailed extent your memory would allow. 

Most of your sketches were placed next to journal entries about the hunts you embarked on, or you wrote around them once you had finished your drawings. The drawings themselves were halfway decent, in your opinion. However, you always wished you would’ve been able to take art classes in your youth and had some semblance of normalcy. You did all your shading and drawing with black pens you’d purchased while hopping state to state. You found the process relaxing and helpful at getting your mind off the horrors of your day to day life. 

Your shading process was interrupted by the Impala’s roaring engine stalling to a low rumble in front of what had formerly been the drowning victim’s home. 

You got out of the car and headed up the painted green steps leading to the house. The wooden stair boards creaked beneath your boots as you walked. Dean knocked on the door of the house and was greeted by a man that looked to be about your age standing there.

“Will Carlton?” Dean questioned the young man.

“Yeah, that's right.”

“I'm Agent Ford,” the older Winchester started. “This is Agent Hamill—” he gestured to Sam, “Agent Fisher—” he gestured to you, “We're with the US Wildlife Service.” He held his fake badge up for Will to see. “Can we ask you a couple questions? Maybe see the spot where your sister went down?”

“Sure,” Will nodded. He led you and the boys down to the edge of the water. “She was about a hundred yards out.” He pointed at a spot far out into the lake. “That's where she got dragged down.”

“And you're sure she didn't just drown?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. She was a varsity swimmer,” Will answered. “She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub.”

The older man sitting on a bench on the wooden dock that jutted out into the lake grabbed your attention. The following interrogation was just background noise to you as you studied the man’s slumped over form. 

“So no splashing? No signs of distress?” Sam piped up.

“No, that's what I'm telling you.” Will was failing at keeping his aggravation at bay. You were sure he had already had a week full of questioning keeping the wound of his sister’s passing ripped wide open.

“Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?”

“No. Again, she was really far out there.”

“You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?”

“No, never. Why? Why, what do you think's out there?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we do,” you heard Dean say. You sucked in a breath when Dean suddenly yanked on your arm to get you to follow him to the car.

“What was that for?” you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip.

“You wanna stop creeping on the old man and focus on the case?”

“I wasn’t creeping on him,” you replied.

“Yeah? Well, then what were you doing?”

“Just... thinking,” you answered. 

“You can think when we’re not in the middle of talkin’ to a witness,” he told you.

“Are you that much of a control freak that I can’t think when I want to?” you asked incredulously. “Grow up.” 

Dean opened his mouth to say something back to you, but Sam cut him off in an attempt to stop a fight from happening in front of the Carltons. “Okay, so. Can’t talk to Mr. Carlton.“

“Okay...” you trailed off, “So our best bet is the police station, then.”

***

The sheriff, whose name you found out was Jake, walked out from behind the desk in the police station’s lobby as he addressed you and the boys. “Now, I’m sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?”

“You sure it's accidental?” Sam challenged. “Will Carlton saw something grab his sister.”

Jake led you and the Winchesters into his office. “Like what?” He motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk. "Here, sit, please.”

You took a seat in one of the chairs and Dean sat in the other. Sam leaned on the back of your chair as the sheriff continued to speak.

“There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster.”

“Yeah, Dean laughed, “Right.”

“Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still—” Jake sat down behind his cluttered desk, leaning forward on it on his forearms, “We dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there.”

“That's weird, though,” the older Winchester noted, “I mean, that's, that's the third missing body this year.”

“I know,” Jake started, “These are people from my town. These are people I care about.”

“I know,” Dean told him.

“Anyway,” the sheriff sighed, “All this...it won't be a problem much longer.”

“What do you mean?” Dean questioned.

“Well, the dam, of course,” Jake stated as if it were obvious.

“Of course, the dam. It's, uh,” Dean stuttered awkwardly, “it sprung a leak.”

You jumped in before Dean could make the situation worse. “No, it’s falling apart, remember? The feds won’t give them the money to fix it, so they opened the spillway,” you told him. 

“It’s good to see somebody does their research,” the sheriff commented. “As Federal Wildlife, you should already know that.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed.

A few quiet knocks on the door drew your attention behind you.

A pretty brunette walked into the office. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

You and Dean stood up, facing the young woman.

“I can come back later,” she said, turning to leave.

Jake’s voice stopped her movements as he stood up as well. “Gentlemen— and lady— this is my daughter.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” the older Winchester smirked.

‘Is he seriously making his voice deeper?’

“I'm Dean.” He shook the woman’s hand. You fought the urge to scoff, given he couldn’t spare you a handshake when he’d met you.

“Andrea Barr,” she smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He was eyeing her up and down. 

‘He’s still fucking smiling.’

“They're from the Wildlife Service,” her father interjected. “About the lake.”

“Oh.”

A little boy with shaggy, copper-colored hair walked out from behind Andrea, his head down low.

“Oh, hey there,” Dean grinned at the boy. “What's your name?”

The child looked up at Dean with sad eyes before turning and walking out of the room without saying a word. Andrea looked at Dean apologetically before following who you assumed was her son out of the room.

“His name is Lucas,” Jake answered for the boy. 

You watched as Andrea gave Lucas a box of crayons and ran her hand over his hair. 

“Is he okay?” Sam asked.

“My grandson's been through a lot. We all have,” the older man admitted. He went and stood by the entrance to the office, turning to face you and the boys. “Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know.” He led the three of you out of the office.

You thanked the sheriff.

Dean looked at the sheriff as he began to talk.“You know, now that you mentioned it—”

‘Oh, boy.’

He directed his attention toward Andrea, “—could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?”

“Lakefront Motel,” she told him. “Go around the corner. It's about two blocks south.”

“Two—” He feigned confusion. “Would you mind showing us?”

Andrea laughed. “You want me to walk you two blocks?”

“Not if it's any trouble,” Dean stated, his smile bright.

‘Is he for real?’

“I'm headed that way anyway,” she shrugged. She told her father she would be back to pick up Lucas at three and told Lucas that she would take him to the park before leaving with you and the boys. 

“Thanks again,” Sam nodded at Jake as he followed Andrea out of the station. 

You and Sam stayed a few paces back from Dean and Andrea as he attempted to charm the brunette. You and Sam both wanted the pavement to swallow you whole.

“So, cute kid,” you heard Dean tell her. 

“Thanks,” she replied.

‘Short, to the point, not taking any of his crap,’ you thought. ‘I like her.’

“Kids are the best, huh?” the older Winchester tried again.

Andrea glanced back at him over her shoulder, shaking her head with a smile on her face as she continued walking.

She stopped in front of a place that said “Lakefront Motel” in bold, white letters, contrasting with the red background the words were placed upon. “There it is. Like I said, two blocks.”

Sam thanked her.

She turned to address Dean. “Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” She walked away, calling back over her shoulder, “Enjoy your stay!”

You let the laugh you were trying to suppress burst out of your lips. “I like her!”

“‘Kids are the best'? You don't even like kids.” Sam was not missing the opportunity to rag on his brother. 

“I love kids!” his older brother argued. 

“Name three children that you even know,” Sam responded.

Dean paused to think for a moment but came up empty. You waved your hands at him in a shooing motion before walking toward the motel with Sam.

“I’m thinking!” he called after the two of you.

“Have fun going to get the car, Dean!” you called back to him as his younger brother chuckled.

“We seriously just walked two blocks and left the car at the police station all so Dean could try to hook up with the hot mom,” you sighed, shaking your head. 

You and the boys had gone to your separate motel rooms to unpack once Dean had grabbed your bags— well, his and Sam’s— making you go out to the Impala to get your own. 

Sam told you that he and Dean were going to take some time to unpack and the three of you would meet up again later. You were never one for unpacking your duffel bag on hunts since you would not be staying in one location for very long. Instead, you took the downtime you had been given to do some research.

You pulled your laptop along with a few other items out of your bag before flopping down onto the flimsy mattress and kicking your combat boots off. As you blew out a puff of air, you opened your laptop to The Lake Manitoc Tribune’s browser page. You scrolled through article after article on the drownings in the town. One article, in particular, caught your attention. The headline read “Local Man in Tragic Accident” with the story of a man named Christopher Barr written below. 

‘Christopher Barr... as in Andrea Barr?’

Your question was answered when you scrolled a little way down the page to see a picture of a soaking wet and traumatized Lucas wrapped in a towel. He was standing next to a policeman who you assumed was Lucas’s grandfather. 

You read the article in full detail. It told the story of how Lucas and his father were out swimming in the lake when Christopher was pulled beneath the surface of the water. Lucas was floating on a nearby wooden platform at the time of his father’s drowning. Two hours later, Lucas was rescued. 

‘That poor thing...’

You were no stranger to witnessing the death of a parent, so you knew how hard it must have been for Lucas. As far as you could tell from reading through loads of articles, Lucas was the only eyewitness to see whatever creature you were dealing with. This struck you as peculiar since there were so many accounts of other lake monster sightings, making you believe you were not dealing with something corporeal. 

You heard a knock on the door moments later, and you opened it to find Sam standing there. You invited him into your room, and the two of you sat at the small table by the window of the room to talk. 

“So,” he started, “we figured out what’s up with Lucas.”

“Yeah, I did too,” you responded. “That poor kid.”

“Yeah...” he trailed off, shaking his head. 

“Where’s Dean?”

“Back in our room. He’s still unpacking.”

“Jesus, how much shit does he carry around with him? He’s been unpacking for, like, forty-five minutes,” you scoffed.

“He’s slow,” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, so I’ve gathered,” you retorted. 

You saw Sam’s eyes drift over to your bed where some of the contents of your duffel bag were scattered. He nodded at what you assumed was your open journal as he questioned, “You draw?”

“Yep,” you replied. 

“Can I see?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair to grab it off your bed. You opened it to some of your most recent drawings and let him flip through them. 

“Dude, these are really good,” he complimented you. 

You thanked him with a smile. “I did one of you the first week I met you.” You showed it to him.

“Thanks,” he grinned. “This is amazing.” He looked from the drawing back up to you. “But why’d you draw me?”

“Well, I draw people I find interesting,” you shrugged. "You and that freaky head of yours are interesting.”

“Who are the other people you drew?” He gestured to one of an older woman from a few months back. 

“Not a clue,” you answered. “Like I said, people I find interesting. Random people in bars, diners; pretty much anywhere.”

“That’s so cool,” he told you. Sam handed you the book back. 

“What about you?” you asked as you took it from him. “You have any fun hobbies? Hidden talents I should know about?”

“Not really,” he replied. “I mean, I like to read.”

“Lame,” you joked, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed. “C’mon, there’s gotta be something more fun than that.”

“Well, I liked going to the gym at Stanford and going on runs.”

“Oh, so you’re a health nut,” you chuckled.

“I guess so, yeah,” Sam laughed. 

A moment passed before you spoke again. “You remind me so much of my brother.”

He turned his head to you. “Didn’t know you had one.”

You shrugged. “I, uh, don’t talk about him much. But yeah.”

“What was his name?”

“I always called him ‘Stevie’ or ‘Bubba,’ but his name was Steven.” You smiled fondly at his memory. “He was super smart. Greatest person I’ve ever known.”

Before you could continue, you were cut off by a knock on the door. 

“You girls done in there?” Dean called. 

“I guess we are now,” you remarked. 

Sam got up and let his brother into the room as you glanced at the clock on your bedside table that read “3:15.” 

“We should probably head over to the park now,” you told the boys.

“Park? Why?” Dean inquired.

“Andrea said she was bringing Lucas there at three. He’s the only eyewitness we got, so we should probably try to talk to him,” you informed him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

***

Conveniently enough for you and the Winchesters, there was only one park in Lake Manitoc since it was such a small town. You noticed Andrea sitting on a bench on the outskirts of the small field near the playground watching over her son. He was sat on the ground by another bench a little ways off from Andrea, using the bench as a table for him to color on. Lucas had crayons, paper, and what appeared to be green army men scattered on the bench. 

“Can we join you?” Sam asked Andrea once you three had walked up next to her bench. 

The brunette looked up at you three, smiling as she stated, “I'm here with my son.” 

“Oh,” the older Winchester started, “Mind if I say hi?” Without waiting for her answer, he went over to Lucas. 

Andrea addressed you and Sam as the two of you sat on the bench next to her. “Tell your friend this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me.”

“I don't think that's what this is about,” Sam told her.

You watched as Dean knelt next to the young boy while Andrea and Sam talked about Christopher’s drowning. Lucas paid Dean no mind, continuing to color as Dean played with the army men on the bench briefly. He spoke a little more before grabbing a piece of paper and sitting on the bench. Dean showed off whatever he had drawn to Lucas before putting the drawing down when Lucas was unresponsive and decided to say something else to the young boy. Moments later, the older Winchester walked back over to you, Andrea, and Sam. 

Andrea was saying something about how Lucas had not spoken since his father’s death as Dean reached your group. 

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Sam told her. “What are the doctors saying?”

“That it's a kind of post-traumatic stress,” she explained. 

“That can't be easy. For either of you.”

“We moved in with my dad. He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw...” she trailed off and shook her head. 

There was a short silence broken by Dean. “Kids are strong. You'd be surprised what they can deal with.”

You noticed Lucas get up from his seat by the bench out of the corner of your eye and make his way over to your group with a piece of construction paper in hand.

“You know,” Andrea began, “he used to have such life. He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—” she was caught by surprise to see Lucas suddenly next to her. “Oh, hey, sweetheart.”

Lucas ignored his mom and looked up at Dean. He handed the man the picture. 

“Thanks,” Dean nodded, looking the drawing over. “Thanks, Lucas.”

You caught a glimpse of the paper, recognizing the house in it but unable to place where you had seen it. 

“We’ll see you around,” Sam told Andrea as you and the Winchesters turned away from the Barrs.

You studied Dean as he looked over the picture. In your mind, he was still a dick but had made the child feel comfortable enough to communicate by some means with him.

“What are you looking at?” Dean interrogated you gruffly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

‘And he’s back to being a dick.’ 

***

You slept pretty well that night but woke up groggy in deep need of coffee. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and got up from your bed, moving over to your duffel bag. You grabbed a clean black shirt from your bag along with a pair of jeans and socks. You tucked the oversized shirt into your jeans and tugged on your combat boots. After finishing your morning routine, you headed out of the door. You figured it was late enough that the boys should be up, and knocked on the door to their room. Sam opened it a few seconds later. 

“I want coffee,” you stated dryly, feeling a bit like a zombie in your decaffeinated state. 

“Me too,” he answered. “You want anything, Dean?”

The older brother grunted in response from somewhere within the room.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

After grabbing the Impala’s keys, you and Sam headed over to the car.

“Is he always that cheery in the mornings?” you asked referring to Dean.

“Yeah, he’s a joy to be around when he first wakes up,” Sam responded sarcastically. The two of you got into the car and Sam began to drive away from the motel.

“Ooh, I saw a cute little coffee shop over that way.” You pointed out of the passenger’s side window. 

Sam followed your instructions, and soon the two of you were off for a drive in the neighborhood around the lake with coffees in hand. 

You straightened up in your seat when you saw an ambulance in front of the Carlton house. “Pull over.”

Sam did as told, and the two of you hopped out of the car. There were several other onlookers standing near the house. 

“What happened?” you asked one of the older women nearby.

“Oh, the young man who lived here, Will Carlton,” she began, putting a hand on her chest, “he died last night.”

“What?” Sam asked incredulously.

“The poor thing drowned.”

“How?” You gave the woman a quizzical look. 

“I don’t really understand it myself,” she laughed uncomfortably, “he drowned in the sink. His father didn’t find him till this morning.”

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath. 

“Poor Bill,” the older woman sighed, looking at the house. “First his godson in May, then his daughter, and now Will.”

“His godson?” Sam questioned.

“Christopher Barr.”

You looked up at Sam, who looked down at you with a confused expression that mirrored your own.

You said your goodbyes to the older woman and headed back to the car. 

“This just gets weirder all the time,” Sam commented as he drove the two of you away from the scene. 

“At least now we know there’s a connection to Bill Carlton,” you reminded him.

“But what did he do to deserve this?”

“Hell if I know.” 

You and Sam filled Dean in on the situation as soon as you walked into the boys’ shared motel room.

“What the hell? So you're right,” Dean said, talking to Sam, “this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else.” 

“Yeah, but what?” you asked. 

“I don't know,” he told you in an annoyed tone as if you had asked a stupid question. “Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water...” he trailed off. He straightened up and his eyes grew wider as he came to a realization. “Water that comes from the same source.”

“The lake.” You were making the same connections he was.

“Yeah.”

“Which would explain why it's upping the body count. The lake is draining. It'll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it's running out of time,” you added.

“And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere.” Dean got up from the bed as he spoke, his stress level seeming to rise slightly. “This is gonna happen again soon.” He sat down on one of the chairs at the table near the window. 

“And we do know one other thing for sure. We know this has got something to do with Bill Carlton,” Sam mentioned. 

“Yeah, it took both his kids,” the older Winchester acknowledged.

“And this lady at the Carlton house said that Chris was Bill’s godson,” you explained. 

Dean looked up at you and Sam. “Let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit.”

***

Your attempted questioning of Mr. Carlton had gone unsuccessfully. 

“My children are gone. It's...it's worse than dying. Go away. Please,” the older man dismissed you. Through the duration of his visit, he refused to look up from the boards of the wooden dock. His posture had been slumped over, and his facial expression remained solemn. 

“We’re sorry,” you told him before you followed the boys back to the car. 

“What do you think?” Sam asked.

“Aw, I think the poor guy's been through hell,” Dean replied. “I also think he's not telling us something.”

“So now what?” the younger brother inquired, leaning on the roof of the car.

“Huh,” you let out, still facing Bill’s home.

“What?” Sam asked. 

“You got Lucas’s drawing on you by any chance?” you asked Dean. 

He looked at you questioningly but pulled it out of his jacket pocket nonetheless. 

You unfolded the paper and held it up next to the Carlton house. Lucas had drawn Bill’s house on the paper, which is why the drawing looked familiar to you. 

“Maybe Bill's not the only one who knows something,” Dean commented. 

***

You and the boys were just inside the door of the Barr household, trying to get Andrea to let Dean talk to Lucas.

“I'm sorry,” Andrea expressed, “but I don't think it's a good idea.”

“I just need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes,” Dean pleaded.

“He won't say anything. What good's it gonna do?” 

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt. We think something's happening out there,” Sam explained. 

“My husband, the others, they just drowned. That's all.” 

You could tell Andrea did not really think that. 

“If that's what you really believe, then we'll go. But if you think there's even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let me talk to your son,” Dean tried one last time.

Andrea gave in, showing you and the boys down the hall to Lucas’s room. Your group found Lucas sitting on the floor surrounded by drawings and army men. He was coloring another picture. 

Dean walked into the room and crouched down beside the boy’s setup. “You know, I, uh, I wanted to thank you for that last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again.”

You looked over at what Lucas was drawing. It was a person in the water. You quirked an eyebrow at it as Dean placed the picture of the Carlton house in front of Lucas.

“How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen? Maybe you could nod yes or no for me,” Dean offered. 

Lucas ignored him.

“You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.”

That seemingly touched something within Lucas, who dropped the crayon and looked up at the older Winchester. 

You heard Andrea suck in a breath as Lucas handed Dean a picture of a white church, a yellow two-story house, and a little boy with a red bicycle. 

“Thanks, Lucas,” Dean said quietly.

***

“Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died,” Dean brought up as he drove along the highway. The three of you were attempting to find the place Lucas had drawn. 

“There are cases—going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies,” Sam explained.

“Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow? I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please,” Dean remarked.

You leaned forward on your elbows on the back of the leather front seat. “All right, we got another house to find.” 

“The only problem is there's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean brought up, his tone once again implying what he thought you were suggesting was stupid.

Sam looked at the picture, which he held in his hand. “See this church? I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here.”

“Oh, College Boy thinks he's so smart,” the older brother mocked. 

“You know, um...” Sam started. “What you said about Mom...You never told me that before.”

“It's no big deal,” Dean shrugged. 

Sam looked at him with his signature puppy dog eyes expression.

“Oh God,” the older Winchester groaned. “We're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?” 

You and the boys walked up to the yellow house that matched the one in the drawing. The house just so happened to be across the street from a church just like Lucas had drawn. 

You were greeted at the door by a petite old woman. “Hello,” she smiled.

“Hi,” you grinned back. “I’m (Y/N), this is Sam and Dean—” you gestured between the two boys, “—we just have a question for you.”

“Come in, come in.” She was incredibly welcoming as she allowed you and the Winchesters into her home.

“We're sorry to bother you, ma'am,” Dean began, “but does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle.”

The woman’s formerly cheery disposition suddenly shifted to solemn. “No sir. Not for a very long time.” She looked over at a picture of a smiling little boy on a table in the living room. “Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now.” She turned back to you and the boys. “The police never— I never had any idea what happened. He just disappeared.” The woman’s voice wavered as she spoke.

Your eyebrows turned upwards out of sympathy for her. 

Sam nudged your elbow and pointed out toy soldiers sitting on one of the side tables. 

“Losing him—you know, it's...it's worse than dying.” The woman echoed Bill Carlton’s earlier statement. 

“Did he disappear from here? I mean, from this house?” the older Winchester question. 

“He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up,” the woman whimpered. 

Dean picked up a picture off of a mirror in the room. It was of two little boys in boy scout uniforms, one of them being Peter with his red bicycle. “Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen seventy,” Dean read from the back of the photo. 

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sam stated softly. “We’ll just be going now. Thank you for your time.” He and his brother turned to head out of the door.

The woman turned away, her sniffles tugging on your heartstrings as you went to follow the boys. 

“Mrs. Sweeney?” 

She turned to you, as did the boys, who watched from the door. 

“Can I give you a hug?”

She seemed surprised by your question but accepted your offer nonetheless. As soon as you wrapped your arms around her, she broke down into sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered to her. 

She nodded into your shoulder as a response. 

After another moment, you released her and rubbed up and down her arms. “It’ll be okay.”

She nodded once more. 

You and the boys showed yourselves out. None of you said a word until about halfway through the drive.

Sam was the one to break the silence. “Okay, this little boy Peter Sweeney vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow.���

“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?” Dean mentioned.

“And Bill, the people he loves, they're all getting punished.”

“So what if Bill did something to Peter?”

“What if Bill killed him?”

“Peter's spirit would be furious. It'd want revenge. It's possible.” Dean’s eyes flickered to yours in the rearview mirror. “This is probably the quietest I’ve heard you since I met you, (Y/N). Wanna share what you’re thinkin’ about with the class?”

“Like you give a shit,” you grumbled back.

“I was trying to, but fine, keep being a bitch.”

You could not believe Dean. “What, you treat me like I’m stupid, act like a dick to me for weeks, and suddenly I’m supposed to believe you’re genuinely concerned?” 

“Forget I asked.”

The Impala pulled in front of the Carlton house, and to your surprise, you had not seen Bill sitting on the dock. You and the Winchesters got out of the car, calling out to Mr. Carlton.

You wheeled around when you heard the roar of what sounded like a boat engine. 

“Guys?” you called to the boys behind you when you saw Bill driving his boat out into the lake. 

You immediately broke out into a sprint, yelling for the man to turn his boat around. 

Bill turned his head to look at you three standing at the edge of the dock but continued driving out. As soon as he turned his head back around, the water beneath the boat sprang up as if a bomb had been blown up beneath the surface. Bill’s boat flipped over into the water, and neither Bill nor the boat ever resurfaced.

You and the boys called Jake to the scene of Bill Carlton’s disappearance. Neighbors gathered around the lake, looking for signs of Bill, the boat, or whatever had taken him down. After Jake found nothing and questioned the neighbors who witnessed what had happened, he asked you and the Winchesters to head back to the station with him. 

Once inside the station, you spotted Andrea and Lucas sitting behind the desk in the police station’s lobby. 

When the young woman saw you, she bounced up and put the bag that was in her hands on the seat behind her. “Sam, Dean, (Y/N), I didn’t expect to see you here. 

Jake looked between your group and Andrea. “So now you're on a first-name basis,” he scoffed. “What are you doing here?” He directed the question to his daughter.

“I brought you dinner,” she explained. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't really have the time.” He shook his head and moved past her to head into his office, you and the boys hot on his tail.

The sound of Andrea’s voice made all four of you stop and turn around. “I heard about Bill Carlton. Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?”

“Right now we don't know what the truth is,” Jake relayed. “But I think it might be better if you and Lucas went on home.”

As soon as the older man mentioned Lucas going home, the little boy jumped up with a panicked look on his face. He whined and tugged on Dean’s arm as Andrea and Jake tried to comfort him. 

Andrea managed to get her son off of Dean and pull him out of the office. You watched the pair as they left, and noticed Lucas’s eyes never left Dean.

The sheriff threw his jacket onto a chair and scrubbed a hand through his hair as he walked into the office.

You looked at Sam and the two of you supposed you were to follow Jake.

You sat in one chair, Dean sat in the other, and Sam leaned on the back of your chair just as had happened before. 

The older man leaned on the front of his desk in front of your trio. “Okay, just so I'm clear, you see,” Jake trailed off, recovering a moment later, “something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the drink, and you never see him again?”

“Yep, that about sums it up,” you replied.

“And I'm supposed to believe this, even though I've already sonar-swept that entire lake? And what you're describing is impossible? And you're not really Wildlife Service?” Jake casually mentioned.

You managed to keep a poker face on, but apparently, Dean gave you away.

“That's right, I checked. Department's never heard of you three.”

“See, now, we can explain that—” Dean started, but was immediately cut off by the officer. 

“Enough. Please. The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton's disappearance. Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get into your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again.” Jake jutted his finger in your face as he spoke, his tone harsh.

“Door number two is... rather appealing.” You were trying to keep up your plucky attitude despite your circumstances.

“That's the one I'd pick,” he said sharply. 

***

You had your head against the window, legs tossed to the side of you as the hum of the Impala’s engine was slowly lulling you to sleep.

Sam’s voice pulled you out of your haze. “Green.”

“What?” Dean asked. Apparently, he had been in a daze, too.

‘Not good considering this asshole’s the one driving.’

“Light's green,” Sam elaborated. 

Dean turned right.

“Uh, the interstate's the other way,” you yawned.

“I know.”

“Oh-kay—” you dragged out the word, “—so why are you heading back to Lake Manitoc?”

“Cause I think we still got more work to do,” he responded.

“But Dean, this job, I think it’s over,” Sam interjected.

“I'm not so sure,” Dean replied shortly. 

Sam gave his brother more pushback. “If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest.”

“All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done? You know, what if we've missed something? What if more people get hurt?” Dean argued.

“But why would you think that?” 

“Because Lucas was really scared.”

‘Can’t argue with him there.’

The younger Winchester was caught by surprise. “That's what this is about?” 

“I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay.” Dean tried to play off his concern nonchalantly, but you could see right through the act.

‘Aw, he does have a heart.’

“Y’know, I’m actually with Dean on this one,” you declared. 

Dean quirked a brow at you in the rearview mirror, but you simply shrugged at him.

“Who are you two? And what have you done with my brother and (Y/N)?” Sam quipped sarcastically, glancing between you and his brother with a confused expression.

There was a slight pause before both you and Dean said in unison, “Shut up.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Sam looked around as you and the Winchesters stood on the front porch of the Barr house. “It's pretty late, man.”

Dean ignored him, ringing the doorbell. Immediately it opened to reveal a panicked Lucas.

“Lucas? Lucas!” Dean called after the boy as he took off into the house. 

You followed behind Dean as all four of you sprinted through the house. You heard a splash beneath your feet and realized water was pouring down the stairs in front of you. Lucas started to pound on the door that led to where the water was coming from, which you assumed was a bathroom. 

Dean pulled Lucas out of the way just before you gave a powerful kick to the door, effectively knocking it in. 

Inside the bathroom, the tub was filled to the brim with murky, brown water. You jumped out of the way to let Sam try to pull Andrea out of there, knowing he would be a better fit for the job than you were. 

Sam eventually managed to pull her out of the bathtub. They landed with Sam on his back and Andrea on top of him, sobbing and coughing up water. You immediately offered the woman a towel you had found and wrapped her in it.

Lucas threw Dean off of him and immediately wrapped his arms around his mom. 

Happy to see that she was okay, you and the boys let Andrea have some privacy to get dressed. After she had done that, she and Sam went into the living room to talk while you and Dean looked for a connection to Peter Sweeney. 

You found a bookshelf full of photo albums and began giving the labels a quick once-over. You found one with “Jake— 12 years old” scrawled across the white label of the brown cover. You flipped to a page with pictures of the same Boy Scout troop that Peter Sweeney seemed to have been in from that picture you saw at the Sweeney house. You shut the book on your finger, holding your spot in the photo album.

“Whatcha got?” Dean asked.

“You’ll see.” You walked past him back into the living room. You opened the photo album to the page your finger was tabbing, putting the book in front of Andrea on the coffee table. “You recognize the kids in these pictures?”

She seemed caught off-guard, and you felt bad for potentially startling her after the night she had had. 

“What? Um, no.” She took a pause. “I mean, except that's my dad right there. He must have been about twelve in these pictures.” The brunette dragged her finger across the page gesturing to her dad as a young boy. Jake was standing next to who you recognized as Peter Sweeney in several of the pictures.

“Chris Barr's drowning,” Dean spoke up. “The connection wasn't to Bill Carlton. It must have been to the sheriff.”

“Bill and the sheriff,” the younger man corrected his brother, “they were both involved with Peter.”

“What about Chris? My dad—what are you talking about?” Andrea was looking at the three of you like you were crazy.

“Lucas?” Dean’s voice brought your attention to the little boy staring out of the window. “Lucas, what is it?”

Lucas kept his gaze focused outside as he walked out of the door. Andrea continued to call after Lucas as you all followed him outside. Lucas stopped and looked at the ground and then up at the older Winchester, who stood beside him.

Dean faced Andrea. “You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay?”

Andrea did as told, pulling her son away from your trio. 

You turned to the brothers. “You guys still have those shovels in the trunk?” 

“Keep workin’ hard over there, sweetheart,” Dean deadpanned. 

You pushed yourself off of the tree you were leaning against. “Dude, you only had two shovels and you were too busy trying to be macho and digging whatever’s down there up yourself to let me use one of them,” you protested. “So don’t tell me shit about ‘working hard.’ But by all means—” you then started to use a mocking baby voice, “—if Dean is getting a wittle too sweaty, I’d be happy to take his pwace.”

“Nope. I got it.”

You loved using his stubbornness against him. “So hush your mouth.”

He glared back at you and plunged his shovel back into the dirt when the metal part of the shovel hit another piece of metal. You and Dean both looked down at what laid beneath the ground and you helped the boys pull the object out of the dirt. 

“Peter’s bike,” Sam remarked.

You heard a gun cock behind your head before feeling the barrel pressed squarely on the back of it. “Who are you?” 

‘Jake.’

The boys slowly turned around.

“Put the gun down, Jake,” Sam pleaded. 

Both he and Dean dropped their shovels. 

“How did you know that was there?” The sheriff demanded.

The older Winchester did not answer his question. “What happened? You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake, and then buried the bike? You can't bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried.”

“I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” The sheriff’s lie was not even in the ballpark of convincing.

“You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago. That's what the hell I'm talking about.”

“Dad!” Andrea yelled, running up to the altercation.

“And now you got one seriously pissed-off spirit,” Dean continued, keeping his eyes trained on Jake. 

“Peter’s gonna get everyone you love— Lucas, Andrea— and drag their bodies god knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter’s mom felt. And then it’s gonna take you. It won’t stop until it does,” you informed him, trying to keep your voice even despite the cold chill running down your spine emanating from the spot where the gun met your head. 

Jake pressed the gun further into your skull. “Yeah, and how do you know that?”

“Because that's exactly what it did to Bill Carlton,” you told the older man.

“Listen to yourselves, all of you. You're insane!” he chided. 

Dean scoffed. “I don't really give a rat's ass what you think of us. But if we're gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them into dust. Now tell me you buried Peter somewhere. Tell me you didn't just let him go in the lake.” 

“Dad, is any of this true?” Andrea interrupted, her voice shaking.

“No,” her father lied. “Don't listen to them. They're liars and they're dangerous.”

The brunette wasn’t having it. “Something tried to drown me. Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me.”

A pause followed.

“Tell me you—you didn't kill anyone,” Andrea pleaded.

No response came once again. You felt the gun behind your head drop away. You rushed over to Sam and Dean, your adrenaline still keeping your breath in a vice grip. You could see the guilt beginning to overtake Jake’s features. 

“Oh my God,” Andrea breathed.

“Billy and I were at the lake,” Jake started to explain. “Peter was the smallest one. We always bullied him, but this time, it got rough. We were holding his head under the water. We didn't mean to. But we held him under too long and he drowned. We let the body go, and it sank.” 

‘Great,’ you thought. ‘Makes our job so much easier.’

Jake’s focus remained on his daughter. “Oh, Andrea, we were kids. We were so scared. It was a mistake. But, Andrea, to say that I have anything to do with these drownings, with Chris, because of some ghost? It's not rational.”

Dean was done with Jake’s skeptical attitude. “All right, listen to me, all of you. We need to get you away from this lake, as far as we can, right now.”

Andrea turned her head and immediately cried, “Lucas!”

You turned your head in the direction she was looking to see the little boy leaning over the side of the lake reaching for something.

You took off, following close behind Jake as you ran. You spotted Lucas get pulled into the water by something, causing you to cry out his name. You ran off the solid ground onto the dock, leaping into the water once you reached the edge of the platform. You pulled yourself deep into the lake, trying your best to make out the shape of Lucas or the spirit of Peter. You went back up to the surface, taking in a deep breath. You looked over to Andrea on the dock, and she stared back at you with a panicked expression. You shook your head, diving back below the surface.

While you did not see Lucas, you did see a boy with skin pale gray and tattered clothing rising to the surface a mere few feet from you. You flinched back, the appearance of Peter’s spirit catching you off-guard. It grabbed Jake, who you just noticed had gone into the water and began pulling him under. You sprang into action, swimming as fast as you could over to where Jake was being pulled down. You reached your hand down, trying to grab him, but. it was too late. You were running out of air, and because the water below was getting blacker as you went deeper, you could not see Jake anymore.

You clawed your way back to the surface, gasping for air when you came up. Andrea looked at you frantically, and you shook your head once more. She screamed “No!” just before splashing coming from behind you on the right caught your attention. You looked behind you to see Dean holding an unconscious Lucas to his chest. The poor little boy’s head was lying on Dean’s shoulder limply, and you and Sam swam to help him. Sam took Lucas ashore, and you checked him over to see if he would need CPR. Once you determined that he would, you immediately set to work. You were able to revive him with two cycles of rescue breaths and chest compressions. He immediately coughed up water as air filled his lungs once more. You got out of Andrea’s way and let her hug her son. 

The scene before you— Andrea on her knees, crying and hugging her rescued son— was the reason why you did what you did. Seeing families reunited and given a temporary happy ending was what made you love hunting, despite how gruesome the job could get at times. You figured that even though your life was so screwed to hell, at least you could save the lives of others.

Once you and the boys had changed clothes, dried off, and packed up, you began loading your stuff into the car. Dean clearly had something on his mind, and you were not the only one to notice.

“Look, we're not gonna save everybody,” Sam reminded his brother, having figured out what Dean was mulling over.

“I know." His voice was distant. 

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N),” you heard Andrea call. 

You looked up to see the young woman walking toward you with Lucas, who carried a tray of food wrapped in cellophane.

You all walked toward each other, stopping once you had met in the middle. 

“We're glad we caught you. We just, um, we made you lunch for the road,” Andrea smiled. “Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches himself.”

“Can I give it to them now?” Lucas asked his mom.

The sound of his voice made you smile. 

“Of course.” The young woman kissed her son’s head. 

“Come on, Lucas, let's load this into the car.” Dean led Lucas over to the car, and you stayed with Sam to talk to Andrea.

“How you holding up?” the younger brother asked her.

“It's just gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?”

“Andrea, I'm sorry,” Sam sighed.

Andrea shook her head. “You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that. Dad loved me. He loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold on to that.”

You heard Dean talking to Lucas from behind you, and you turned around to face them as Dean spoke. “All right, if you're gonna be talking now, this is a very important phrase, so I want you to repeat it one more time.”

“Zeppelin rules!” the boy cheered.

Dean cracked a genuine grin. “That's right. Up high.”

The two boys high-fived as you, Sam, and Andrea began walking over to them.

“You take care of your mom, okay?” Dean told Lucas.

“All right.”

Andrea leaned over the open door of the Impala that Dean stood behind and pressed her lips to his.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

You rolled your eyes, pissed at him for his ability to pick up whoever he wanted. 

He scratched his head, walking around to the other side of the car. “Sam, (Y/N), move your asses. We're gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road.”

You got into the seat behind Dean, waving to Andrea and Lucas who were waving back at you as Dean backed the Impala out of its parking spot.

Once you were on the road, you spoke up over the music. “Y’know, I’m not dissin’ on Zeppelin because I love them, but there were so many other amazing bands that ‘rule’ that you could’ve told Lucas about.”

Dean groaned. “Really? You’re picking a fight with me about that?”

“I’m not picking a fight, I’m giving my honest opinion,” you replied.

“Okay, well, who would you ‘ve told Lucas about?” he questioned.

“Um, how ‘bout Fleetwood Mac, Metallica, Guns ‘n’ Roses, Blondie, Black Sabbath, need I go on?”

“I cannot believe you just said Fleetwood Mac is better than Zeppelin,” he stated incredulously.

“It’s fucking Stevie Nicks, dude, of course Fleetwood’s better than Zeppelin,” you argued. “She’s a goddess.”

Dean turned left onto the Interstate, picking up the Impala’s speed. “Robert Plant’s better.”

“Yeah, no,” you responded dryly. 

Instead of responding verbally, Dean put one of his Led Zeppelin tapes into the cassette player and cranked the volume up. “What’d you say? Can’t hear you over the greatest band of all time!”

For the first time since you met him, you genuinely laughed at him. “You are such an idiot!” 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireaderr @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylorr @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel

[monstrouslyobsessed]

(jack) frost in the glass window

—alone on the expedition, with your shelter buried in the snow, you couldn’t help but think you were far from being alone.

—a/n: the edit on the maze commission is taking a minute so...i finished another very old thing while yall wait!! this is very tame, more on creepy atmosphere than anything, but still, hope you enjoy anyway~<3 i tried to incorporate all the common lore as i can in this piece too.

—tw / tags: gn reader, isolation, haunted, implied confinement, reader is in an existing relationship, implied kidnapping, implied teratophilia(?), implied exophilia(?), general yandere themes(?), long post, sfw.

—featured character(s): jack frost? (implied)

“Alright,” you sighed, suppressing the urge to grimace as your partner donned a mask and secured shaded goggles. You could hear the ecstatic sled dogs blaring their songs, their yowls resonating throughout the vast, untouched sea of snow. “I don’t see why we couldn’t wait for another day for the supply run.”

Your partner’s name tasted slightly sour with your irritation.

The weather forecast had been quite clear about the coming blizzard. For your partner to leave now was not an idea you could agree with, fearing for their life.

Nor were you comfortable being alone, in the middle of the nowhere tundra. This cabin always felt so oppressive, small, in ways you couldn’t describe. It was as if there were presences much larger than just you, your partner, and the dogs—and you couldn’t see them beyond the shadowy horizon of trees and snow.

“Maybe, but we’re running out,” your partner tossed a thumb over their shoulder toward the still-closed door, where the dogs were still howling, “of their food. There ain’t no hunt around I can get for ‘em either.”

You finally allowed a grimace to wash over your face.

Before you could argue, your partner yanked on the last glove and gave you a long look. “If I don’t go tomorrow, those stinkers won’t have enough energy for the full run—and I won’t be able to come home with a full supply for another month. You know how ridiculous their metabolisms are.”

Shit.

No matter how much you wanted to protest their decision, they were right. It would be gambling with not only the dogs’ lives, but yours and your partner’s as well. But, staying here alone was not an idea you wanted to entertain either.

“Maybe I should go with you—” you tried, but your partner interrupted you with a shake of their head.

“No. If something goes wrong out there with me and the dogs, we won’t have enough supplies for both of us. Here, there’s enough to last you a couple of weeks. I just need you to hold down the fort,”

At the wrinkles in your crossed face, they sighed, straightened their insulated jacket, and tapped your face. You turned your chin out of their reach and they tutted, lowering their thickly gloved hand. “The dogs and I will be back before you know it, babe. Alright? Everything will be fine—and I’ll keep the radio with me.”

You huffed, before your tension softened. With yet another sigh, you closed in and readjusted your partner’s mask. “Sorry. You know I just don’t like being alone in this weird cabin.”

They laughed, grasping your hands to their lips. “That again? It’s just an old homesteader’s cabin. The family that used to live here, were a bunch of homebodies who never bothered no one.”

“Yeah, those ‘bunch of homebodies’ got a bunch of weird rumors from the locals, you know. Something about missing kids.” You grumbled in reply, leaning into their warmth with a resigned slump.

“Rumors are rumors. Just be happy we got a nice roof over our heads for this expedition.” They reminded you kindly. Retreating from your presence at the sound of one dog’s near-screeching demand, your partner tugged you into a hug and pressed their cheek against yours with a mumble, “You’re a trooper, I know you’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I get to the point B and loaded up with the goods, okay?”

It was hard to agree, but you weren’t ignorant to the urgency. With a sudden pang of unease, you relented and huffed, “You better be safe and come back to me in one piece.”

They chuckled at your grumble and crossed their heart with a near-mocking promise.

You smacked them for their attitude, but it was enough to upturn your lips a little.

Just like that, you stood in front of a fogged window, watching your partner start the sled dogs with a confident shout and steer them through the snowy landscape. You remained until they were no longer dots on the horizon and your shoulders sagged. Already the cabin felt darker, with every shadow seemingly creeping ever so closer to you.

Shivering from the chill, you shook off the residues of your disappointment and decided to pursue brewing your favorite hot beverage for comfort. Stocking the fireplace with more wood wasn’t a chore you were keen on doing right now, but any distraction was better than dwelling on how creepy this place was. You rubbed your hands and resigned to yourself to being alone for gods only knows how many days before your partner and the dogs returned.

“I’m an adult,” you tried boasting up your confidence, to ignore whatever entity that continued to haunt this old cabin. “I’ll be fine.”

You were being silly, the feeling of constantly being watched wouldn’t make sense in such an icy, isolated land. There were no other living souls else out there in the immediate proximity for miles around. It was probably a hungry predator eying you like a meal.

If that was the case, you already had several guns nearby for self-defense.

But it wouldn’t explain the feeling within the very building itself—

You shook yourself out of that train of thought, realizing you were overworking your imagination again.

You needed your hot drink.

Bundled up in nothing but layers of blankets, you sat before the crackling fireplace and flipped through your book.

Yet, you couldn’t seem to absorb a single printed word off any page. Every letter you read blurred together in a jumbled, black mess. Your brain was in chaos, riding high on anxiety you couldn’t let go of.

You couldn’t stop your knee from bouncing and your hands from trembling. Your blood ran hot and your ears rang loudly from the eerie silence. Your throat hurt—

Abandoning your book to a nearby table, you tightened your cocoon and grimaced at how hot you felt—yet your exposed face was so cold, even with the fireplace roaring a mere several feet away. You felt helplessly alone.

Checking the grandfather clock not too far away for the umpteenth time, you buried your face against your knees in defeat. It was getting dark—and pacing around and trying to fruitlessly distract yourself as the blizzard rattled the cabin, had only helped in feeding the anxiety.

Reading was a futile endeavor, with you hyper-alert to each howling wind that passed over the roof and some distant wails, doubtlessly from some lonely arctic animal.

…You hoped they were from those animals and not some yeti-like creatures from the unknown depths of the frozen wasteland. It would be far too silly to believe otherwise, but you feverishly prayed anyway. Nothing more than your imagination acting out from sheer loneliness.

Utterly freezing, you scooted a little closer to the fire and rubbed your hands and feet, desperate for some heat to calm your shivering nerves.

The shadows crept closer.

You remained fixated to the fire, imagining yourself and your partner on vacation in some warm country, perhaps relaxing on a beach on a sunny, cloudless day. Not a speck of white snow in sight.

Absently, you plotted to guilt your partner into finishing the job early, mentally outlining how you would get your way. Schemes formed. Imaginary debates followed, maybe ending in deals and offers to sweeten the proposals.

...Anything to ignore the darkness looming ever so closer with every breath.

Then something fluttered.

You whipped around, your sudden movement tumbling layers of thick quilts off your shoulders. They piled up on the rug around you.

“Just some wind,” you said to yourself, not quite convinced that it could move the window curtains like so from inside the cabin. They were heavy, designed to prevent snow blindness, especially in the early morning.

There were certainly no wind inside the house either.

Shaking your head, desperately trying to curb your growing anxiety, you turned back to the fire and pulled the blankets back over your shoulders. You hastily reassured yourself, “Just a trick of the light,”

That was all it was.

Maybe you should just go straight to bed, you decided. But, it was almost impossible to sleep when it was so bitterly cold.

Still, neither was it good for you to be inducing yourself in the state of panic over the littlest thing, just because you were lonely and trapped in the middle of the white nowhere.

“Bedtime it is,” you sighed, roughening some ashes around the roaring fire to bank it. There were few other choices otherwise, and you were reluctant to extinguish the fire when it was colder than hell itself.

Gathering your quilts around you, their hefty weights nearly pulling you down to the floor, you marched to your bedroom like some kind of caped idiot. Your shoulders started to ache a little, but you refused to release your cherish blankets, ignoring your age. You walked past a window, minding the knickknacks in your path and mentally complaining about how crippled you’d felt as you got older.

You paused.

“Huh?” You turned, twisting in your quilts as you leaned back to the window.

Your brows furrowed in annoyance at the sight of the opened curtains. Clenching the thick fabric, you grumbled, “I didn’t open this.”

You jerked them close, not willing to suffer a case of snow blindness the first thing in the morning—

Your screams swelled, but it couldn’t leave your throat as you refused to acknowledge what you saw. Your mind was loud, screaming like the symphony of the sled dogs, but you forced yourself to maintain a mask. You just needed to go to bed.

You didn’t see a pair of wide eyes staring down at you from the top panes of the window, through a fine dusting of frost. You didn’t catch a glimpse of something very tall standing waist deep in the snow, unmoving even against the raging blizzard. It simply didn’t exist.

Just a trick of the light from the fire.

The shadows in the cabin drew closer as you retreated to your bed.

It got colder.

In the distance, you heard the fire flicker out to its last ember.

You tried not to shove yourself under your bed, pretending that everything was normal. Tucking yourself under your quilts, you curled within yourself, and closed your eyes, bidding for a peaceful sleep.

You did not see the white fog of your breath escaping your lips.

Icy fingers curled over your biceps through the layers of quilts.

You forced yourself to pretend, suppressing the growing urge to whimper deep in your throat.

“You cannot hide from winter—for I am the cold you cannot escape from, my dear.”

Your partner will inevitably come home to an empty cabin, with every inch covered in fine frost inside.

—end.

[natalie-scatorcccio]

something that's been ping-ponging inside my head lately: shauna is much more dangerous than she lets on and than she prefers to be. after 25 years, she can both catch, kill, disembowel and cook a rabbit without thinking twice. after 25 years, she knows exactly how to cut up a human body. after 25 years, she remembers the way skin clings to the body and loathes to be ripped off, the oily smell of it after death. after 25 years, she remembers the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of the kill—the look on a person's face when they know they're about to die. but, she knows what had happened to lottie—institutionalized and tortured back to 'normal.' so, shauna hid—shauna cultivated the perfect image of the average, vaguely-depressed housewife. and, yeah, maybe over the years, she's really settled into that role, it's become... almost second nature, maybe. but it'll never be Her, it can't be, because She needs to remain suppressed, buried deep—because She has no place in civilization, She could only ever thrive out there in the woods: where her skills are useful instead of deadly, where they inspire hope of survival rather than fear of hurt. the wilderness had altered her on a deeply fundamental level, it had granted her unconditionally sharp instincts, a strong stomach, and a certain coolness of head that allow her to do what she does—and that deadly little package remains beneath the veneer of an average, borderline helpless, housewife. and, She mostly stays in the dark, where she belongs, but we occasionally see Her surface—to the misfortune of adam martin and that bastard that had stolen the minivan.

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

No pressure on this, but I wanted to ask if you'd like to tell me about one of/some of your favorite Christy scenes, and the things you like most about it/them? I can't singlehandedly revive the fandom on here, but it's such a joy to talk over this show with other fans!

I didn't realize until recently how thoroughly the Neil/Christy relationship informed my romantic preferences in all the media and writing I've done since watching it in my teens. Older, scholarly man/younger, determined woman, some kind of angst in the man's past, a need to change things for the better as an intrinsic part of the woman's character, a taboo element that stands in the way of the relationship... Even in the slash pairings I love so much, there's still so many elements of it!

Hey filmmakers, don't think we don't notice that you frame these two with Christy on a step/incline half the time to de-emphasize the height difference...

Oh my, oh my. Okay, first, let's be real. I've been waiting for an ask like this since 1994 (baby Tumblr wasn't even born yet 😂) so get ready for some major Neil/Christy feels that I've been suppressing but also diligently-tending-in-the-background for 30+/- years. THEY. ARE. PERFECT. Top-shelf OTP bottle, for sure. You understand, right? Of course, you do. We've discussed. But yeah, I feel the same way about this show/book/pairing influencing and informing both my writing style and romantic preferences in fiction over the years. Happy to admit it. Yes *raises hand* 1000 times yes. Hello, my name is ladymelodrama, and the fact that CBS so cruelly stole resolution for Neil/Christy from us forever (I'm not counting the PAX movies, I'm just not) is a crime against good television everywhere and will haunt my Christy-loving bones until I'm dead and buried in the ground deep enough so's the critter's can't find me, as Little Burl or Creed Allen would say. Anyway, you asked about Neil and Christy and favorite moments and since I can't just pick one...

I have a proposition to make :) Let's trade fave moments until we run out of them, maybe? No pressure, of course, but this is me mostly unwilling to commit to my Top 5 Scenes until I finish my rewatch, and even then I'll probably change my mind a couple times 😂 But here's one that I'll discuss in detail today and which I like to call the "Will This Do?" scene aka "and then they both smiled their little smiles at each other and lived happily ever after. The end." <3

(Credit to @heatherfield for this gif, and bless you, friend, for continuously shipping the same pairings as me - makes my gif-hunting so much easier haha <3)

So why do I love this scene so much? Oh, you know. Margret's dress. Objectively, it's gorgeous (the woman had style, even if she had no heart). And hey, it only coded Neil/Christy as endgame from the first episode, no big deal. Plus it was one of the softest moments in the whole show and THE WAY THEY SMILED AT EACH OTHER. Ugh. Soffffffft. I'm mean, you're seeing this too, right? ;) Meanwhile, I'm sure David is over here in the corner...doing what David does best XD Lurking. Always lurking.

(and, based on the pic I chose, maybe taking notes on how to have better chemistry with Christy? - "Dear Diary, Neil MacNeill is kinda the worst, have I mentioned?" 😂) But in all seriousness, what I love about that scene (and the exchange of smiles, in particular) is how there's an honest-to-goodness, my-spirit-just-spoke-to-your-spirit bit of humanity happening there. I die for those moments, little and quiet as they may be. It's just so...SOFT. They don't know each other yet. Not really. There's no romance at play (other than what I assume might be mutual physical attraction, even if Christy would never let herself go there. Not on her first days in the Cove) so it's more a budding friendship that we're seeing and friends-to-lovers is one of my favorite things? (Jorleesi, Jisbon, Siegfried/Audrey, Obidala, Red Cricket, Dickon/Mary much?). I also really enjoy when she comes down the stairs looking all pretty-in-lavender with her hair down (still lolling at your comment on that detail btw because...c'est vrai 😂) and "Oh no, David, it's so late...how will we ever get to Lufty Branch in time?" "Not we, Christy." (exactly, David, you're getting it). Too bad she has to spend all afternoon in this rustic cabin with a plaid-shirted, barrel-chested, brogue-speaking, moody mountain man with inside pain for dayssssss. Oh the everlasting horror XD

So yeah, so much to love about this scene (and the entire convo in the cabin afterwards and him plucking her from Theo prior to the whole dress thing - guy helps girl down from horse = I'm in love 😍). To witness the very beginning of their arc (okay, Part II of the beginning, but the doctor was busy with brain surgery during Part I, so you know what I mean) and to have the actors play it so, so beautifully and in an Appalachian setting that's just misty and magical and to die for all by itself... Mmmm *chef's kiss* Your turn, @darsynia <3

[citrus-soju]

What kinds of things would the Masked Assassin do around or for someone he likes? How much of a freak is he? (take that any way you wanna 😌)

Someone he likes? You mean like, with some salt and pepper? /lh

In all seriousness though, I think he doesn't quite know that himself. He's never "liked" anyone besides his brother, and that relationship was never very healthy to begin with. Agent 216 was pretty much the only person he ever trusted, and even with him he could never be completely himself.

MMA views other human beings as beneath him, so it would take a tremendous amount of time and effort until something that SOMEWHAT resembles affection or even trust would come up inside him. But let's say that IS the case-

cw Stalking, Obsession, Necrophilia, Dubcon, Murder

If it's someone he genuinely, truly likes, he would cling to them like a loyal dog. He wouldn't want to leave their side and constantly attempt to prove himself worthy to them. Like a pet, he would bring dead things he hunted for them as gifts. Like a good friend, he would make sure they always get home safe - and kill everyone who dares to hurt them in any way. His perception of a "healthy" relationship is very unhealthy. His love language is stalking you from outside your house to make sure you eat and sleep properly. He shows that he cares by trying all your food and drinks first so nothing happens to you. Your attention needs to be on him 24/7. If there is someone else you're closer with, he views them as a threat. He wouldn't kill anyone you care about, but he would sure be tempted.

He would sporadically bring up feelings. Thoughts. Concerns. Things he usually doesn't mention to anybody. He's mostly a silent observer, memorizing things, watching from the shadows. So when he starts talking to you, then you know you're special. His questions and thoughts are almost childlike in nature at times. How many teeth does it take to fill up an entire stomach? Do you wanna find out? He could arrange that. That's his idea of fun, probably. It's like inviting you to a game.

His hands would also keep finding their way onto your body - sorry if you hate physical touch. It's his main love language besides gift giving - or rather, it would be, if he hadn't suppressed it. He likes the texture of hair, running his fingers through it. He also likes rubbing your palms, caressing your fingers, playing with them. He enjoys how you smell (not just because you smell delicious), and likes to bury his face in your hair or shoulders. Warmth feels forbidden, but he craves it. A lot. He's like a traumatized dog, though. As much as he wants to cuddle up to you, let you play with what remains of his hair, caress his shoulders, he flinches the moment you move too fast. He backs away so fast he tips over anything in his way. Vulnerability has to be punished, right?

Yeah, that goes for sex as well tbh. He's never had consensual sex in his entire life. He doesn't understand being wanted. Desired. It feels like a joke to him. He just can't wrap his head around it. But he DOES want others. And he wants them badly. When he kills them first, he can just take it after they're dead without any struggle. But dead bodies aren't exactly fun. He's incredibly needy for a real person. He wants to "make love" more than he would ever admit. But it never stays at the "making love" part, because it drives him wild. Blurs and clouds his mind with arousal and unfiltered desire. Once he has someone who wants him as well, he fucks like a rabbit, no rhythm, no pacing, no breaks. He grips his partner tightly, not allowing them to move. He can't let you stop. He can't let you get away. His possessiveness and his fear of losing you shows especially when he's aroused, pressing against you, digging his fingers into your skin, as if he wanted to rip you to shreds if you didn't stay in his arms. He wants you. He wants you. HE WANTS YOU.

Basically, MMA is a very anxiously attached person who spends most of the time trying to prove himself worthy to you. Funny, considering how he feels superior to most humans. He believes that while he's a "monster", or a "weapon in human form", he ranks above humanity, on top of the food chain. But he needs to "earn" his place as a person, as a human being. MMA spent so many years convincing himself that he's not human, so anything that makes him remember that fact is... painful. Difficult. Scary.

[loosingmoreletters]

Mermay Fic Day 2: Fins. Part 1 Overview

“Ready to admit you were being stupid yet?” Jiang Cheng asked his brother.

Wei Ying only pouted and turned around. As he moved, his tail scrapped against the wooden pier, further aggravating his injury. He winced and instead of doing Wei Ying the favor of making fun of him for it, Jiang Cheng noticed and looked worried instead. “Did you get hurt again? Should I call a-Jie?”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened and he surged to the surface. “Don’t you dare!”

“So no more silent treatment?” Jiang Cheng countered.

Wei Ying suppressed the urge to bury himself in the deepest part of the river. It’s not like he could go there, a barrier was keeping him and only him securely tied to Lotus Pier’s harbors. He supposed it was better than being back in the baby tank in his room. It was not actually a baby tank, big enough that he’d be able to rest comfortably in it as an adult even, but he’d used it when he’d come to Lotus Pier first and he’d been a kid then, so it was The Baby Tank.

“It’s just not fair,” Wei Ying muttered. “You got to go on your first nighthunt this year.”

“Yeah, but it was a spirit and not a water ghoul,” Jiang Cheng replied. “And a-Die took me.”

“It’s not like I can go after spirits,” Wei Ying said. Some spirits lingered, but they tended to turn to water ghouls before Wei Ying could get to them. Not that Wei Ying ever got to go anywhere.

People could see, you could be hurt—it wasn’t anything Wei Ying hadn’t heard before. Nothing he’d lived before, even if he didn’t remember too much of it. Whatever, why linger on the past when he could think about Lotus Pier.

“Water ghouls are the next best thing for me and it’s not like I take as long as you to be all grown up,” Wei Ying said and grinned, sharp teeth shining in the sunlight. Uncle Jiang had said that his father could bite through thick bones by the time he was fifteen, that was only two years off.

“Tell that to your fins,” Jiang Cheng said. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call a-Jie to look them over again?”

They’d gotten hurt on his failed nighthunt. He’d barely started fighting the water ghoul when it scratched him badly and Uncle Jiang had come to save him, resulting in Wei Ying being grounded.

“I’m good, just bored,” Wei Ying said. “Can you bring me the radio before you go to your lessons?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “Sure, just don’t play it too loudly or a-Niang will complain.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes, but nodded. It wasn’t like there was anything for Wei Ying to do when injured. He couldn’t help the fishermen or learn with the disciples. He supposed that if there was just one person more like him, Wei Ying could spend all his time busy, but there was only him.

He wondered what it might have been like if his parents actually got to raise him. Would they have taken him on a proper hunt yet? Wei Ying didn’t know, he knew so little about what he was supposed to be like. Maybe someday someone would steal him away like his mother did his father and teach him. It would probably be his second-best kidnapping.

[ihateoc]

Ghost

(word count: 2,857) (a mission brings back a ghost from xavia's past)

Dusk and Xavia find themselves before their boss, Aurelius, in his lavish study as he outlines their next assignment, "This upcoming mission promises excitement," He begins with a gleam in his eye, "There's a sword I'm after. It's currently being displayed at the state fair which gives us a great opportunity to take it." 

"What's so special about it?" Dusk asks curiously, albeit bluntly. 

The old man grins, exclaiming enthusiastically, "Ah, I was hoping you'd ask! It was once wielded by the legendary Baron Glover!" 

Xavia freezes at the sound of his father's name. He hides his shock with a hollow laugh and clenched fists, "Are you serious? That famous swordsman?" 

Memories of training sessions that always ended in belittlement and disappointment flood back. Just his damn luck. 

"Indeed! And I know just how your abilities could be used to retrieve it without causing too much fuss," Aurelius replies, blissfully unaware of Xavia's discomfort. 

"Uh," Dusk starts before blinking in confusion, naively pondering, "What's so special about him? There are a million swordsmen out there, right?" 

"Well, for one thing," Xavia interjects, trying to ignore the bitter taste of resentment that swelled in his mouth at her words, "The guy's a well-known bastard." 

"Xavia!" Aurelius reprimands good-naturedly with a chuckle, turning back to Dusk, "But he does have a point. Baron Glover is more infamous than famous these days. However, it doesn't change the fact that his sword work was unparalleled and there's quite some value attached to anything related to him." 

Dusk thinks hard for a moment, "Glover…? The last name sounds kinda familiar I think." 

"They're quite well-known blacklist hunters. They run Glover Hunting LLC in the Kukan'yu Kingdom. Their lineage is considered quite impressive," Their employer explains with a thoughtful grin, "They are very respectable."  

"Is that so?" Xavia says with a dismissive snort, "Impressive lineage. Yeah, right." 

Aurelius looks at him confused and Dusk glances at him curiously but he waves them off, leaning against the wall nonchalantly while suppressing any further reactions. 

"Erm, sorry, sir. You know how cranky Xav can get," Dusk covers for him with a nervous chuckle before reassuringly declaring, "We'll get your sword, sir!" 

"Good to hear. Now off you go both of you," Aurelius says with a dismissive wave of his hand, before burying himself in some old book. 

Xavia pushes himself off of the wall and exits the room without another word, his mood as gloomy as stormy clouds overhead. He could sense Dusk's concerned gaze on him but chose not to acknowledge it at that moment. 

"Xav," She reaches out to him, grasping his arm once they're out of earshot, "What's going on? You seem upset." 

"I'm… I'm alright, Dusk," Xavia says, looking down at her with a forced smile, "Just… this job got under my skin I guess," He then attempts to lighten the mood by nudging her shoulder playfully with his own and quipping in a teasing voice, "You've never seen me cranky before?" 

Damn it! Why does she have to be so insightful? But No one needs to know about him and Baron. She doesn’t need that burden and nor does he. 

"You're always cranky," She begins before thoughtfully pointing out, "But not this cranky." 

"I'll try to be less cranky then," He shoots back, albeit without his usual spark of fun. An awkward silence falls between them but it isn't long before he grumbles out in earnest, "Thanks... For worrying." 

"Um, you can tell me anything you know," She reassures him, quickly adding, "I mean! If you ever want to talk or vent, I'm here." 

Xavia gives her a long, silent stare before finally saying in a soft voice, "I know, Dusk…  And I appreciate it. Really. Maybe someday." 

With that, he walks on ahead leaving his past and his words hanging in the air. 

She is good for him. But how can he explain what even he doesn't understand? The pain, anger and disappointment of his father's betrayal. How it twisted his life into this never-ending cycle of misery... Not yet. 

---------- 

As evening falls, Xavia roams the fairgrounds, nearing closing time, with Dusk positioned strategically for cover at a vantage point, a tall tree a distance away. He steals a glance at the sword exhibited in a glass case, surrounded by a crowd of people. 

Then, realization hits like a sledgehammer. The individual giving information about the sword... Fuck, this is bad. It's Baron himself. 

Xavia's heart pounds in his chest as he sees Baron, the man who abandoned him twice over. Instinct takes over as he activates Zetsu to mask his presence from detection by aura, carefully maneuvering around the crowd towards Dusk's position. 

He reaches up to his ear, pressing down on his comm as he discreetly says, "Trouble. Stay hidden until I say otherwise." 

Using her enhanced eyesight, Dusk watches her partner from her perch, "Xav, what's going on? Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" 

He sighs heavily, trying to keep his voice steady as he responds quietly into the comm, "Not a ghost. Just my past. I'll explain later, Dusk. For now, we need to stay clear of Baron," He glances over his shoulder at the swordsman's back again before adding almost bitterly, "Trust me on this one." 

"Baron?" She questions him, her voice coming through his comm, "Baron's down there? Isn't that guy super strong or something?" 

"You could say that," Xavia mumbles into the comm, constantly keeping his gaze and senses trained on Baron's movements, "He's also my..." 

Nope, he wasn't going to finish that sentence right now. 

"Never mind… We need a plan B quickly." 

"I shoot him in the head and he dies," Dusk responds simply, earning a quiet chuckle from her partner. Maybe he was rubbing off on her. 

"Trust me, as much I'd love that idea," He responds grimly, "If it was possible, he’d have been six feet under a long time ago," He clicks his tongue in frustration but then an idea hits him, "Wait, Dusk, could you take out the lights? The entire place would be plunged into darkness." 

Shit, it’s risky but if they want that sword without a fight... She has her archery skills and him his bubbles, they'll improvise from there... Or prepare for the worst. 

She scans the area, her sharp eyes locking onto an object of interest, "I can. I have eyes on the main generator. But you'd have to be quick. You'd really only have a second before his eyes adjust… Unless… Right afterward, I focus my arrows on him, he blocks and you have an extra second or two to take it and run." 

"That… Might just work," He groans, already plotting out the fastest route to the sword in his mind, "The moment you take down those lights, I'll rush for the sword." 

"Enhance," She says under her breath to herself as her eyesight grows sharper. 

With a deep breath, he signals her with a curt nod before turning off his comm and getting into position. 

"Move. Now." 

She shoots an arrow at the generator, knocking out the power and then relentlessly barrages Baron who unsheathes his sword to skillfully block the oncoming projectiles. 

In the darkness, Xavia's skills shine. He uses his bubbles to hover in mid-air and shoots toward the sword display like a missile. The glow of Dusk's arrows racing by illuminates Baron well enough for Xavia to keep track of where not to be. 

As he reaches the glass case holding the sword, he wraps a bubble around it, making both items invisible with his Nen before rushing back towards their exit point. 

Dusk continues her assault of arrows as Xavia makes a swift escape. Baron narrows his eyes as he catches sight of his illegitimate son leaving but says nothing, sheathing his sword and folding his arms over his chest. 

Police begin scouting the area, but Dusk and Xav are long gone, back in their hotel room to rest for the night.  

"Shit Dusk… That was close," Xavia pants heavily, collapsing onto the closest chair. He watches as she puts her bow away and can't help but sigh in relief, "You were amazing out there."  

His words are simple and earnest, matching his gaze as he finally looks at her properly for the first time since their ordeal began. She saved their asses back there. And handled it so fucking well. Where would he be without her? Maybe it's about time he started letting his guard down around her a bit more. 

"I'm glad I could help," She responds as she stashes away her quiver in her bag, "Used up all of my arrows." 

Xavia snorts, trying to lighten the mood with a sarcastic grin, "Used up all your arrows? Seriously Dusk, need me to buy you another dozen?" He teases her while pulling out their mission item. The glow of the sword in its bubble washing over his face as he opens and closes his hand around it with a satisfied smirk. 

Silence wraps around the room for a moment, tension slowly rising, until Dusk abruptly speaks up, "Baron definitely had the opportunity to go after you but he didn't. Why?" 

Xavia looks at her, startled by the suddenness of her question. He'd been hoping to avoid this topic for as long as possible but it seems like the universe had other plans. 

"Let's just say…" He begins cautiously, "We share a... Complicated past." 

Dammit… He was hoping she wouldn’t notice but of course she did. Does he really want to spill everything now? She’s going think different about him once she learns who his old man is. Is that something he's ready for? 

"You said he was a ghost from your past earlier too, didn't you?" She sits down across from him at the foot of the bed, her hands resting on the edge of it, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to but... I'm curious." 

Xavia pauses, looking at her with a deliberating gaze. 

"Baron..." He breathes out after a long pause, "He's... My father." 

There it is. The truth is out and there's no turning back now. But why does he feel oddly relieved sharing this? Maybe because it’s Dusk. She always seems to know how to make one feel heard and understood without even trying. 

"W-what?? Really?" She stammers out in disbelief before leaning in closer to him to examine his face, "I don't see the resemblance." 

"Good, because I'm not really aiming to look like a self-righteous prick," Xavia replies sarcastically.  

There's bitterness in his voice but he manages to keep it steady and detached enough for Dusk. He then scoffs lightly, running a hand through his white hair as if trying to clear some heavy thought burdening him. 

"You've never mentioned him before." 

"No… I haven't," He looks away, clenching and unclenching his fists. His gaze falls onto the sword again for a moment before he sighs heavily, "Not really a topic that comes up often…" He finally admits in a lower tone. 

She’s good at this, prying without making it seem invasive or hurtful. He guesses his past was bound to come out sooner or later, better with her than anyone else. 

"Well..." Dusk drawls out slowly, "I don't know much about him but if you say he's a dick... I believe you!" She flashes him a grin and a thumbs-up. 

He blinks at her for a moment, clearly not expecting that response before he begins laughing. It's genuine and hearty, the sound echoing around their room. 

"Thanks Dusk. I appreciate your endless faith in my judgement," He manages to say between laughs. 

She tilts her head curiously as she wonders, "What about Glover Hunting LLC? Do you know anything about his side of the family?" 

He sighs, leaning back into his chair as the subject of Baron's legitimate family comes up. 

"I know enough. His daughter Jaya has a good reputation but… Let's say I don't really care about them," Xavia answers dismissively while absentmindedly tracing the edge of his bubble with one finger. 

They’re all dicks, he's certain… And Jaya? Well, she doesn’t deserve his time or thoughts anyway. 

Dusk flinches when he finally pops the bubble, "I understand. And I'm sorry." 

Xavia looks at her, surprised by her apology. 

"Don't be," He tells her reassuringly, "It's not your fault." 

"I know but... I still feel bad," A sigh escapes her lips as she lays back on the bed, "My family wasn't normal either." 

He observes her curiously for a moment, tempted to ask about her own family. But he knows better than anyone how delicate such topics can be. 

"Normal is overrated anyway," Xavia comments with a nonchalant shrug and attempts at diversion, "And you’ve turned out pretty damn fine despite all that, right?" 

"But you're curious, aren't you?" She presses him as she pushes herself to sit upright, "I've seen you go through my things in my room before." 

Xavia looks taken aback for a moment, his cheeks slowly reddening as he realizes he's been caught. He grumbles something inaudible before finally admitting it, "Fine… I was curious," The white-haired man confesses with an annoyed huff, looking away from her, "Didn't think you'd notice." 

"Have you heard of a cult called the Endless?" 

His brows furrow at the mention of the Endless. He's heard whispers and rumors about them but never really crossed paths with any members as far as he knows. 

"Can't say I've ever met anyone from there, but yeah… I've heard stories," Xavia comments cautiously, not quite sure where she's going with this. 

She looks away, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap nervously, "My mother was the founder." 

Xavia blinked at her, trying to digest the new piece of information. Of all the things he could've guessed about Dusk's background, this wasn't on the list. 

"That… Explains a couple of things," He murmurs half to himself before looking back at her with sympathy in his eyes. 

Sighing, she looks down at her hands as she explains, "I grew up in the cult. Never went to school. I was taught by religious teachers in the cult and was never allowed to leave the grounds." 

Her partner listens silently, his gaze fixed on her, "Sounds quite… restrictive," Xavia finally mutters, his tone gentle and understanding, the usual teasing completely absent. 

Restrictive is an understatement… He had never pegged Dusk to have dealt with such difficult circumstances, but maybe that explains a lot more about how she carries herself and why he finds it so damn hard to wrap his head around her at times. 

"But my mother wasn't a bad person. She loved me," Dusk notes defensively before pausing for a beat in preparation of her next words, "She passed away from an illness when I was 16 and my older sister took over." 

He stays silent for a moment, digesting her words before speaking again, sincerity lacing his voice, "I'm sorry." 

"But my older sister, well… She was a lot different from my mom," Dusk begins, refusing to meet Xavia's gaze, "She took advantage of the followers and abused me." 

His eyes widen, dumbstruck by her admission. 

"One night she had me cornered, submerging my head in holy water over and over again while I couldn't catch my breath. I… grabbed the nearest sharp object within my grasp and just stabbed the shit out of her. She bled out," She explicates in a trembling voice, "I changed my name, dyed my hair and ran. I'm wanted at the moment… Or I guess Violetta is." 

Xavia’s only response was a small, stunned silence. He stares at her in disbelief as she painfully reiterates the traumatic event that changed her life forever. So those ‘night terrors’ weren’t just nightmares after all… He thought he had it bad with Baron but Dusk has been dealing with so much more than anyone should have to.  

"Guess we're both fugitives in our own ways then," He comments finally but there's no usual jest or sarcasm looming behind his words. Instead, just understanding and acceptance. 

"Partners in crime, right?" Dusk wonders as she finally makes eye contact with him, her multicolored eyes meeting his. 

With a small, sympathetic smile, he reaches out to gently clasp her hand in his larger one, "Partners in crime," He confirms quietly with a gentle squeeze, prompting her cheeks to tinge pink. 

She’s brave. Stronger than he ever gave her credit for. Maybe they're more alike than either of them initially thought. 

"You're remarkable, Dusk. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise," He remarks sincerely, not breaking the gaze he holds with her. 

A wide grin forms on her face as she softly utters, "Thank you, Xav. I think you're remarkable too!" 

"Thank you, Dusk," He murmurs softly, his gaze softening even further, a light blush dusting his cheeks at the compliment, but he doesn't break eye contact. 

The way she looks at him... It’s like seeing a clear sky after a storm. Maybe they aren’t so alone in their struggles after all. 

[teacherintransition]

The Undiscovered Freedom

Through our lives, we are encouraged to be ourselves…

We rarely do …

Teacher in Transition discovery # 3267: by damn, I can finally be myself. If I can remember who that is. Looking back towards a lifetime and a thirty year career, I wonder how rarely I was able to “be myself.” All of us in the American workforce are expected to be what the “boss” wants or what you think she/he wants you to be…project…the hoops to be jumped through…blah, blah, blah! This putting on a facade at work at the expense of your personal expressions and views is one of the more humiliating aspects of being a career person. The emotional dishevelment (yeah, it’s a real word) is usually satiated by internal dialogue of the following nature: “oh yeah,” “if I didn’t need this job,” “one of these days!” I NEVER dreamed of violent responses to the experienced effrontery of the working stiff…NEVER. One often wonders if a paycheck is worth all the subjugation and suppression of your thoughts; then the bills come along and you gotta put a smile on that face!

Looking back, I early on developed into a people pleaser, which isn’t a pejorative when you’re referencing a teacher. To be effective, you’ve gotta please the student, the parent, the curriculum director, the AP, the campus principal, various superintendents and so on. If you have a flair for the theatre…it can be a little fun. We all want to belong and make others around you feel comfortable. Now, some folks can’t make the adjustments or simply refuse to make them. I tip my hat to them, if they were successful in their defiance. People pleaser here…I could be the man of 1000 faces when called upon: raccoon hunting at nights with my buddies at Foretravel….no problem! “Git yowr no hunting ass away from that beer!” If I needed to confer with curriculum specialists and university staff…ACTION: “while the linear approach to historical scholarship is quite efficacious, a topical approach expands the understanding of the concept across various fields of study!” Talking with parents, students, various department meetings all created a repertoire of personality adjustments…that weren’t exactly “being yourself.”

August, 2020; all of that was packed away…because now, finally I could be myself. If I could remember who that was. If I’m not an educator, what am I? As Miguel de Cervantes wrote for Don Quixote, “I know who I am and who I may be if I choose.” There is hope…I suppose. I started working at the age of thirteen, I’ve had to put on different faces a lot of times in a lot of different jobs: construction, grocery sacker, dishwasher, road construction, retail, delivery, safety sign manufacturing, sales, roofer, cleaning service, cabinet maker, electrical system installation, baseball camp coordinator, theatre camp coordinator, baseball coach, giving guitar lessons, being in a band …for a month, and teacher. All of these roles require a little something different of the performer (YOU, ME, THEM) and the real you can get lost in all the shakeups.

Please, please remember…you are a unique personality, with a unique view and vital take on this world. Conformity is efficient, but can be a soul crusher. When free from the circus of the work a day world, self discovery and rediscovery can be challenging. “I know what I am…and what I can be if I choose,” preach it Miquel! This is the freedom I didn’t expect. No more mindless chit chat, no more passive aggressive work conversations, no more being what the supervisors demand…you are left being you. What’s that? I dunno you tell me. Who am I ? The stresses of the world can bury that…conformity is a chain that is hard to break. Tragically, some aspects may be lost to time and repetition. Find your true self, break the anxiety and expectations. Your perception of this world is totally unique and vital to our humanity. Be yourself…like that person. The alternative is sad and terrifying:

THE LITTLE BOY, by Helen E. Buckley

Once a little boy went to school.

He was quite a little boy and it was quite a big school, but when the little boy found that his room was very near the outside door, he was happy and the school did not seem quite so big any more. 

One day, when the little boy had been in school a while, his teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.”

“Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make pictures. He could make all kinds. Lions and tigers, chickens and cows, trains and boats, and he took out his box of crayons and he began to draw.

But the teacher said: “Wait! It is not time to begin!”

“Now, we are going to make flowers.”

“Good!” thought the little boy, he liked to make flowers, and he began to make beautiful ones, but the teacher said “Wait! I’ll show you how.”

And it was red with a green stem.

“There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s flower. Then he looked at his own flower.

He liked his flower better than the teacher’s. But he didn’t say this. He just turned his paper over and found his red crayon and his green crayon.

He made a flower like the teacher’s. 

It was red with a green stem.

On another day, the teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.”

“Good!” thought the little boy. He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay. Snakes and snowmen, elephants and mice, cars, and trucks, and he began to pull and pinch his ball of clay.

But the teacher said: “Wait!” It is not time to begin!” and she waited until everyone looked ready.

“Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.”

He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some that were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said, “Wait! And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make one deep dish. 

“There,” said the teacher. “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish, then he looked at his own. He liked his dish better than the teacher’s. But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again and made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon the little boy learned to wait, and to watch and to make things just like the teachers. And pretty soon he didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened that the little boy and his family moved to another house, in another city, and the boy had to go to another school.

This school was even bigger than the one before and there was no door from the outside near his room. He had to walk up some big steps and walk down a long hall to get to his room.

And the very first day he was there the teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.”

“Good!” Thought the little boy. 

And he waited for the teacher to tell him what to do.

But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy she said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”

“Yes,” said the little boy.

“What are we going to make?”

“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.

“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.

“Why, any way you like,” said the teacher.

“Any color?” asked the little boy.

“Any color,” said the teacher. “Well yes, if everyone made the same picture, and used the same colors, how would I know who made what and which was which?”

“I don’t know,” said the little boy.

And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.*

*Buckley, Helen; “The Little Boy with The Red Flower;” 1961

[madspades]

So Jon 1) hasn't been feeding a lot lately (salty sea captains aside) and 2) probably used up a lot of energy breaking into another Entity's playground, searching it for an unknown amount of time, and then breaking out of it again with his plus one.

Sure would be fucked up if he got frenzied from all that and was so desperate he makes a meal of whoever's closest to him as soon as the dampening effects of the Lonely wears off.

Aka Martin.

[silverdelirium]

this is kind of a mix of eras butttt if you’re comfortable, can you please write a draco and tom threesome?

GUESS | D.M X T.R

warnings: threesome, oral sex, blindfold and handcuffs included, light degrading

———

they were watching you.

watching you like a hunt watches its prey.

they analyzed your every move, the way your hips swayed to the beat, how your friends would sometimes join, but they payed no mind to them, their focus was on you.

draco and tom shared a look through the flashing lights, one that said; whoever gets there first, has her.

they both speed-walked towards you, almost knocking out the sweaty bodies of random people, their complaints blurred with the music, making the males oblivious to their wrath.

you gave a small look up when two bodies approached you, towering you.

“oh- hi draco, hi tom” you greeted, their figures clear considering you barely drank anything. tom gave you a small smirk, running his eyes down your body shamelessly.

draco narrowed his eyes at him but still gave you a polite smile. you observed how they both opened their mouths at the same time.

“would you like to dance?” they chanted together, throwing scowls at each other once they finished.

you stood there with a puzzled and shocked look on your face, amazed at the fact that two of the most attractive slytherins in the school just offered you a dance.

if i had to pick one, which one would i choose? you debated in your thoughts, never really prepared for this type of successions.

both.

their bickering got cut off by a small clear of your throat, signaling that you wanted to talk, tom’s and draco’s head snapped to your figure and they immediately shut up.

“do i really have to choose? or can i take both?” you suggested, tone different than the one you had saluted them with before.

they seemed to catch up on it; and this time, instead of glaring at each other, they both made eye contact with smug smirks adorning their features.

“and wouldn’t you like that, princess?” drawled tom in a teasing manner, hand reaching up to move a strand of hair behind your ear, which were burning hot at the action.

draco snickered and got behind you whilst tom’s palm stayed on your cheek, irises calculating your every move, including your harsh swallow.

the blonde’s hands roamed your waist, giving your hips a light squeeze and hissing lowly when your bum pressed on his hard-on.

he leaned down to your ear and whispered, “my dorm or his, beautiful?” watching as you shivered but still mantained eye contact with tom, who was intently staring as the conversation flowed.

“whichever” was your eager reply not even a second later.

tom gave a small chuckle and shook his head lightly, yet still gave draco an inquiring raise of brows. you assumed draco nodded, since he took your hand and dragged you all the way up to the stairs, tom behind you as you entered his dorm.

there wasn’t even time to appreciate the room, a certain blonde’s lips already on yours, a heated kiss forming that you immediately accepted.

“calm down, mate” snarled tom, pressing himself against your backside and forcefully turning your face to meet his, a similar kiss forming.

draco only scoffed at the action and bent down to kiss your neck, sucking on certain spots, creating dark purple hues.

you were the first to pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily through your mouth while draco continued to attack your neck, tom’s hands now focused on getting his shirt off.

malfoy pulled back a little to look at your already disheveled form, swollen lips and frizzy hair.

“get on the bed for us, darling” he ordered, mimicking tom’s antics and taking his shirt off.

your feet carried you to the bed, sinking down on the middle while your head lay against the soft pillows. the corner of your eyes caught a peak of tom reaching inside his drawers, and almost as if he was sensing your stare, the mysterious object went behind his back.

“you sneaky little girl” he murmured, a small smirk planted on his face as he leaned down to kiss you while removing the straps of your dress.

you hummed into the kiss when you felt, what you presumed, draco’s fingers disregarding the rest of your dress.

tom broke the kiss to press kisses on your chest, fingers going behind your back, silently asking to arch it so he could take your bra off, and you obeyed.

it was at that moment when your eyes finally landed on the blonde who was now only wearing boxers, winking at you while he took of your drenched panties, throwing them behind him.

the brunette, disconnected his lips from your body completely, finally revealing what was behind his back.

handcuffs

your eyes went slightly wide at the object, immediately picking up on what they were gonna do.

“arms up for me, gorgeous” he spoke, tone low.

your arms followed his orders in blind submission, resting them against the headboard.

draco’s eyes caught yours as tom cuffed your wrists to the bed, immobilizing your arms. he gave you a devilish smile as he locked eyes with tom, giving him a nod, not giving you time to decipher anything as he dived his head down your sopping cunt.

a moan left your mouth involuntarily, tom coming besides you, both males with only their underwear on.

he stroked some hair out of your face and made a path with his hands to your breasts, another high-pitched moan coming from you when he rolled the nipple in his fingers, while draco absolutely devoured you.

his tongue lapped up at your juices, humming every once in a while; his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. his darkened eyes stared up at your figure that was now a moaning mess, he could almost chuckle at how fast the night had turned out.

it was like being on cloud nine, the way his tongue worked inside you, absolutely dining on it.

as he continued to devour you, tom leant down to crash your lips together, drinking down all of your noises. your moans continuously spurted out onto his mouth whilst your thighs shaked, orgasm approaching.

both of them seemed to notice this, so tom leant down and disconnected your lips, putting his on your nipples instead.

that did it for you.

you didn’t even have time to warn them, you cum was now being eagerly tasted by draco who could’ve easily cum too at the sight of you.

once he finished riding out your high, he rose up from his position, cock throbbing due to the lack of friction.

tom copied the blonde’s movements and got off your chest.

now, the both of them towered over you, staring down with a mischievous grin. you gulped harshly and switched your stare from one to the other.

“take the handcuffs off” spoke tom, order directed at draco, yet eyesight trained on you and the tone he used sent shivers down your spine.

draco leaned over you, keeping eye contact as he undid the restraints, your arms going limp at your sides.

he gave a chuckle at this and scooted back, grabbing your ankles and pulling you more to the edge of the bed.

tom seemed to caught onto what draco was doing and gave him a smirk, reaching for the drawer he had picked the handcuffs from.

your head was turned to him, curiosity peeking inside you. but draco wasn’t having any of that.

he roughly grabbed your face and turned it to him, connecting your lips to his, his tongue finding its way inside your mouth in an instant, grinding his hips into yours, evoking a small moan from you.

“easy now, malfoy” grunted tom from above you, causing draco to give him a stern look and a roll of his eyes.

tom gave you a teasing smile as he held up a silk blindfold. “this okay with you, pretty girl?” he asked cautiously.

your eyes shined with desire as you stared at the material, mouth slightly agape. “mhm” you hummed in agreement, adding a small smile for reassurance.

“good girl” taunted draco, grabbing ahold of his boxers and dragging them down. you only managed to take a peak of his lower v-line; tom was already placing the blindfold on your eyes, tying it behind your head.

“now, gonna let us use this pretty pussy baby?” teased tom, fingers tapping your soaked cunt twice. you gave a small moan as a response, your body jolting at the sensitivity.

“fuck yeah we are” grumbled draco, hands digging into your waist as he harshly turned you around, ass on display for their hungry eyes and hard cocks.

you whimpered as your tits collided with the mattress, yet your pussy was already dripping in anticipation. “once we’re done with you, you’re gonna have to guess who’s fucking your little hole and who’s fucking that blabbering mouth.” hissed tom on your ear. “if you get it right, we’re fucking you until you’re begging us to stop. you get it wrong and i’ll make sure you’re edged for a fucking week” he finished.

you couldn’t help but let your mouth fall open at the suggestion, senses heightening as you heard the shuffle of clothing and two big hands bringing your ass up until your back was perfectly arched.

“little whore, look at you, puffy pussy in the air like that” murmured draco from beside you.

you suppressed a moan at the comment, burying your face down on the sheets, only for it to be yanked up by an unknown force.

they didn’t even give you time to gasp, your mouth being filled by a thick cock in an instant.

draco positioned himself behind you and rubbed your ass prior to completely bottoming himself inside you, a moan almost escaping him. but he held it, for the sake of whatever silly game they were playing at.

you gave a loud moan against tom’s cock, though you were still unsure on who was doing what. but slender fingers wrapped around your hair, a signal to keep going.

so you did, quickly recollecting yourself and bobbing your head up and down, not that you needed to do much except hollow your cheeks, the force of draco’s thrusts sending your head down on him.

the blonde kept his hands on your ass, roughly rocking his hips back and forth, watching as your head continuously moved up and down on tom, who had his head thrown back, mouth agape and eyes closed.

draco reached down to rub your clit, not slowing his hips once. tears brimmed at your eyes at the sudden feeling, your own body unconsciously fucking itself back on draco, while your tongue focused on the tip on whoever was down your throat.

as draco completely rammed himself inside you, tom’s orgasm was around the corner, with the way you swirled your tongue around the tip, the involuntary jerk forward you gave whenever draco gave a hard thrust, plus the vibrations of your moans did it all for him, he looked down at you as he came, biting his lower lip in an attempt to keep his identity a secret.

you breathed hard through your nose as you felt cum shoot down your throat, the whole load almost choking you as you swallowed it immediately. a small whine leaving you once they removed their softening length.

yet this was more of a relief to you, your moans now spurting out freely as spit dribbled down your chin, feeling tom’s or draco’s fingers rake through your hair.

“i’m close!” you moaned out in a desperate tone, thighs shaking as a slight tap came down on your bum, and assuming they gave you permission you came with a small shout, breathing raggedly.

draco was right behind you, drawing out your orgasm while sloppily thrusting as his seed went deep inside you.

once you both climbed down from your high, you collapsed down on the mattress, blindfold still on as you felt the rustle of sheets, blinding light appearing out of nowhere as tom disregarded the blindfold, smug grins on both of their faces as they took in your fucked-out state.

“now tell us who was fucking what, baby. show us how much of a smart girl you are” ordered draco, hands soothing down your back.

a nerve-wracking feeling hit you. you had absolutely forgotten all about their little challenge, you were too caught up in pleasure to even remember what you were supposed to realize.

“i-i don’t know” you admitted, lip trembling when their expressions hardened, almost as if disappointed, and considering the state of mind you were falling in; it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“well let’s try again and see if you can get it right this time, hm?” suggested tom, dragging the blindfold back up.

———

draco 🏷: @spencervera @methblinds @marrymetheonott @adrianscumslut @wh0re4blaise @turn-to-page-394-please @fredshufflepuff @malfoysbiitch @saggyb1lls @helleli @metaraxia @daddybutmakeitagirl @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dlmmdl @fleursbabe @riddleswh0r3crux @lolooo22 @darlingmalfoy @littlemissnoname13 @i-love-scott-mccall @underappreciated-spoon-321 @steveharringtonswhore @dracosafety @dracoscum @riddleswh0rekrux @laceycallisto @slytherinbabess @lostaurorax @alexavolturisblog @harrystellastyles

tom 🏷: @methblinds @adrianscumslut @wh0re4blaise @malfoysbiitch @saggyb1lls @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dlmmdl @lolooo22 @darlingmalfoy @littlemissnoname13 @i-love-scott-mccall @underappreciated-spoon-321 @daddybutmakeitagirl @steveharringtonswhore @citrusdarling7 @riddleswh0rekrux @lostaurorax @alexavolturisblog

[ack3rlady]

The Universe Had His Back - Chapter 7

Summer

Chapters: Six | Seven

Master List

Warnings: Fluff, Fluff and more Fluff

Word Count: ~2.74k

Inspiration: Don't Go - Exo

A/N: And with this chapter, I conclude this series. Thank you for all the love you all gave my baby project!

Tags: @sooibian, @queenofcurse, @red-n-tall, @badbitxhbuckybarnes , @sweet-assh0le

‘Why am I nervous? We've done much more than just kiss. For fucks sake! I'm the mother of his child.’

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before pushing the cart from behind your truck towards the large glass doors of the café. You had offered to take today’s batch of bread and pastries to Levi’s to snag a chance to see him, much to Mikasa’s annoyance.

“Oi, brat! You’re late.”, Levi remarked without looking up from his laptop when the bell above the door rang with your entrance, expecting her to have finally arrived.

“Levi, I’m so sorry! I made an impromptu decision to come here instead of Mikasa and -”, you emerged from behind the lofty stack of boxes.

Your hair was up in a messy bun, you were panting from hauling the weight and the resultant perspiration made you glow. Your continual rambling about why you were late, instantly gave him a feeling of Déjà vu, hurling him eight years back in time to the morning when he first laid his eyes on you.  Mirroring that day, he couldn’t focus on anything you were saying, gawking at you with unblinking eyes given how stupefied he was by the sight before his eyes and the sound of your voice.

“Levi? Are you listening?”, you waved your hand in front of his face, disrupting the mental movie playing in his head.

“Huh? Oh, y-yeah. Hi.” he shook his head vigorously and blinked a few times to bring himself back to the present.

Both a blushing mess, you stood by the entrance to the cafe, smiling at each other like two smitten high-schoolers.

“Are you finally back together?”, a shriek from the opposite end of the seating area made your ears ring.

The cacophony was loud enough that Erwin’s head immediately peaked out of his office; his face riddled with confusion. Both your necks snapped towards the source - Hange was running in your direction with the brightest grin on their face. Every head in the room was turned towards you. Eren and other new members of staff at the café, Armin, Jean, Sasha and Connie were slack jawed with their gaping eyes fixed on you after being subjected to this abrupt and unnecessary announcement. One look from Levi sent them scrambling back to work.

“Fucking four-eyes.” he mumbled as they came closer.

“I knew it! You lovebirds couldn’t stay apart for long!”, they squealed with joy enveloping you both in an spontaneous group hug, not giving Levi an opportunity to flinch away.

“Shhh! Calm down, Hange! We’re not back together. Yet.”, you tugged on their hands trying to free yourself from their clasp.

Levi's eyes met and stayed on yours when you uttered the last word, the way his heart fluttered at the sound of it clearly reflecting on his face.

Yet.

“But you were together last night. You have both put in way too much effort in your appearances today. And the color on Short-stack's cheeks can be spotted from Mars! What am I missing here?”, they observed, unaware of the heat rising within their two friends thinking about their final moments together at the Ackerman home yesterday.

Always the perceptive one, Hange. They weren’t entirely wrong. You did spend forty minutes in your closet hunting for the one floral lemon-yellow dress that Levi loved seeing you in; piling on deodorant while simultaneously cursing the hot summer. You picked your reflection in the mirror apart for way too long, fiddling with the necklace he bought you ages ago while rehearsing what you would say to him.

By the looks of it, he did too. He looked oh-so handsome today. Granted, he always did. But today was different. He wore your favorite navy-blue button-down shirt with slate grey slacks, sleeves folded to reveal his toned fore arms, and the top two buttons left open to aid with the sweltering heat; or was it because he knew that it made you weak in the knees when he wore his shirts that way? And his cheeks and ears were definitely a brighter shade of pink than the raspberry compote on the cheesecake you brought.

He stood pinching the bridge of his nose, his breathing starting to speed up. You figured it was his attempt at suppressing the strong urge to smack the grin right off Hange’s face.

“Hange, I promise, I’ll give you all the details later. But for now, Levi and I have things to discuss.”, you pulled him away before he could act on his impulse.

Taking a seat at the table by the large bay window, kissed by the morning sun, you watched the city slowly rise awake with your cheek resting on the palm of your hand. Levi, who was walking back from the kitchen with a cup of tea for himself and a caramel latte for you, stopped in his tracks to mentally frame this image. It was as if you were a different person than who he met over the last two days.

There were no signs of the anxious but adoring mother from yesterday nor the bewildered, pained ex-wife from the day before; you were the same clumsy, moody, garrulous, as well as kind, selfless and mesmerizing woman he fell madly in love with when you walked in through the doors of this very place eight years ago. How could one person flood his heart with a barrage of different emotions this way?

You acknowledged him with a soft ‘hi’ accompanied by a smile when he sat down on the chair opposite to you, nervous about the forthcoming conversation. You stole occasional glances at each other while sipping your beverages, hesitating to be the one to say the first word.

“Do you hate me?”, he asked out of the blue, his gaze locked on his cup.

“No! Why would you think that?”

“Uh- you obviously had a chance to think about what I said to you after going home last night. Why would you possibly want to still see me?”

“Well, I’m here, aren't I? I want to work on us if you’re willing to try as well, Levi. I want to see where this takes us.”, you smiled, placing your hand on his.

"Me too."

.

.

Four months later

The day of Suki and Furlan's wedding was finally here. The venue was set, guests had arrived and you were busy helping the bride get ready for her special day, having spent all morning with her, Isabel and the other bridesmaids in the bridal suite, chatting away in excitement and anticipation for the day ahead.

“Honestly speaking, Suki, I’d have a hard time keeping my hands off you if I were Furlan”, you teased while draping the veil into her hair, causing her to bury her face into her palms.

“You’re one to talk! Levi has been looking for reasons to see you all morning. I had to turn him away thrice already. I'm pretty sure he is going to murder me after the wedding is over.”, Isabel shot back with a smirk.

The last four months had been nothing short of a whirlwind. After that morning at the cafe, having breakfast with Levi turned into a routine. He brought Luna along on most days, and the three of you spent time chatting and admiring the toddler’s antics over tea and scones while sitting at your usual table by the bay window. Sometimes you’d have her accompany you to the patisserie to give Levi a much-deserved break.

Everyone there was enamored with the little firecracker. Her Uncle Miche had always been her favorite because the gentle giant ferried her around the large kitchen on his shoulders. Bertholdt and Reiner would happily comply to all the orders their mini boss belted out. Annie, although a little awkward around her, listened intently to her endless stories; Mikasa secretly pampered her with numerous treats even after several warnings from you, and Nanaba would fuss over her all the time and try to keep the little one all to herself, earning protests from the others.

The evenings varied between taking Luna to the park or the pier, or just spending time indoors at your place or his. You even celebrated her fourth birthday two weeks ago. All your friends and family, along with some little friends the birthday girl had made at the park were invited. You spent a beautiful evening in the backyard of your house around a bonfire, with a delectable meal and wonderful company.

Levi especially made sure you knew that you were being wooed by taking you out on date nights every now-and-then to the finest of restaurants, walks on the beach, to the drive-in theater a few miles outside your town, or star gazing from your favorite spot up the nearby hill. You both were working through your differences and had barely had any disagreements during the time spent together. Things were slowly falling in place; in fact, this newly re-built relationship with him felt much stronger than ever before.

The flashback ended when the wedding planner knocked on the door indicating it was time for the ceremony to begin. You, Isabel, and the other bridesmaids ushered Suki to her designated spot, making sure her dress, hair, make up and flowers looked perfect.

.

.

Standing at the altar by Furlan’s side as his best man, Levi was relieved that he would finally be seeing you soon after being apart all morning. Lately, the two of you spent most of your time together; and this sudden separation had him feeling restless.

On cue, the two harpists seated on either side of the rows began to play heavenly tune of ‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perry, a prompt for the bride’s party to start making their way towards the altar. He watched patiently as bridesmaids accompanied by groomsmen walked down the aisle, waiting for you to finally appear. He almost forgot to breathe when your form eventually entered the nave, walking a short distance behind Isabel and one of Furlan’s friends.

You wore the emerald gown from your encounter with him at the store four months ago, and looked a million times more beautiful this morning. Your usually open hair was tied into an elegant loose braid with some curly strands framing your face. The sun rays falling on your silhouette from the towering stained-glass windows of the church made you look like an angel descending solely upon him. He finally began breathing again when you smiled at him and mouthed “breathe”, after taking your position at the altar.

Levi only peeled his eyes away from you when Luna’s giggles reverberated off the stone walls as she waddled down the aisle, scattering petals of baby pink roses, about the same shade has her chubby cheeks, on the ivory carpet. You wiped a stray tear rolling down your face as you both proudly watched her play the part of a flower girl with utmost perfection. Upon making it to the end, she ran to you and buried her face in your gown, suddenly feeling shy from the cheers and applause she received from the smitten guests.

You instantly scooped her up and held her close, letting her nuzzle into the crook of your neck, cooing sweet words of encouragement into her ears. Levi was so taken by this divine scene before him that he failed to notice the bride's much awaited walk down the aisle; surprised to directly find Suki standing at the altar, facing Furlan with her lips curved into the widest smile before his attention found you and Luna again.

He lost track of how long he was marveling at his two perfect girls for, until he felt an elbow harshly crash into his ribs, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Is this revenge for your wedding?”, Furlan frowned.

Levi blankly stared at him, having no clue what he was talking about

“Ring, Levi!”, the fuming groom growled.

Oh, right. He pursed his lips in embarrassment melting under the scrutiny of the baffled guests while he handed over the ring that was in the safety of his blazer’s pocket. His eyes darted towards an alarmed Suki and silently apologized to her. Then his gaze moved back to you, an impish smirk on your face as you stared back at him, knowing exactly what was going on in his mind.

Fuck! Furlan was not going to let this go for a long time.

Luna had lost interest in the festivities midway through the nuptials and had fallen asleep in your arms. After the ceremony, when everyone began to make their way outside the chapel, Levi swiftly moved over to walk beside you and offered to carry the snoozing toddler. You groaned after her weight left your body, stretching your sore shoulders and aching back .

“Stop that. You have no idea how hard it is to control myself from jumping your bones, especially when you look this gorgeous.”, Levi whispered in your ear, snaking an arm around your waist.

You glanced around awkwardly making sure his words did not fall on any prying ears and gave him a quick smack on the shoulder, trying to suppress the heat creeping up your neck.

.

.

Time skip – Evening

The wedding reception was underway. You sat at a table sipping lemonade, watching the newlyweds grooving to the beats of music being played by DJ Zeke. Levi swapped his usual glass of Macallan for a cup of ginger lemon tea; His reason being that his throat was sore from carrying out best man duties. But you knew he was just being supportive of your goal to stay off alcohol.

Erwin and Hange sat by the bar, socializing with Furlan’s Boss, Mr. Pyxis while Luna was busy playing duck-duck-goose with some new toddler friends she made at the venue. Levi needed to be physically restrained from ambushing Isabel who he had discovered slow dancing with the same groomsman that walked alongside her at the ceremony. Miche and Nanaba were spotted in a rare public embrace, dancing leisurely to the slow music; and your army of helpers consisting of Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie took the lead on setting up tables as yours and Levi’s patisserie and café were the official caterers for the evening.

The choice of DJ Zeke's next track brought a sparkle to your eyes. Your smile spread from ear to ear when ‘Fly me to the Moon' by Frank Sinatra emanated from the speakers. You sang along and began swaying cheerfully in your seat to the melody.

“Remember, Levi? This was the song we had our first dance to at our wedding.” you reminisced; a nostalgic smile spread across your face.

“How can I forget?”, he asked.

His eyes were unfocused, lost in memories of his own. He remembered how ethereal you looked in your white wedding dress. How your diamond jewelry shimmered under the spotlight, how you whispered honeyed words into his ears when he felt exceptionally uncomfortable dancing in public, how warm your hands felt wrapped around his body, how your breath tickled his neck. He’d give anything just to go back and relive that moment.

You gaze was still lost among people enjoying themselves on the dance floor when a stretched-out hand entered your line of vision. Your eyes followed it to land on Levi’s face. A quirk in your eyebrows wordlessly asked him what this action meant.

“Let's dance.”, he said.

“You, Levi Ackerman, are willingly asking me to dance? Did someone spike your tea?” You smirked, earning an eye roll from him.

“Oi, brat! Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“May I have this dance with you, my love?”

You accepted and the pair of you headed towards the dance floor. He gently pulled you close to him and firmly held on to your hand. His other hand wrapped firmly around your waist and you rested yours on his shoulder. You both moved to the slow rhythm in perfect harmony, as you drowned in those gorgeous blue-grey eyes. It felt like the world around you had dissolved and it was just the two of you and the music.

“You look nice today. I see you bought the same gray suit you hated with a fiery passion.”, you teased.

“How could I not after you said you liked it?”

You looked over his shoulder to Suki and Furlan flashing you a wide grin from across the dance floor. And so did Hange, Miche and Nanaba from over that the bar. Erwin gently raised his drink in your direction. The heat from the from the sudden metaphorical spot light you stood under was cooled by the kiss Levi planted on your cheek.

“Did I tell you how lucky I feel to have you?”, he whispered into your ear as while brushing strands of hair off your face.

“I could stand to hear it more often.”, You hid your blush by resting your forehead on his shoulder, feeling too shy to keep his gaze.

“It's true. You’re the most beautiful woman is this room tonight, scratch that, you’ll be the most beautiful woman anywhere, any day; and I get the honor of calling you mine.” he cooed, drawing gentle circles on your back with his fingers.

“You’re awfully talkative today!”, you lifted your head again to reveal a contagious coy smile spread across your lips.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ve always been talkative.”,

“Come with me.”, he moved you off his chest and tugged at your hand.

“Where?”, you asked in utter confusion, and a bit of annoyance at the wonderful moment being ruined, just to receive silence in response.

Levi quickly glanced over to find Luna munching on garlic bread sticks with Erwin and Hange, as he guided you away from the venue and towards the lake nearby. The ripples in the water gleamed under the moonlight, resembling liquid silver. Warm yellow light from the lamps on either side of a wooden dock dimly illuminated the path that led to a gorgeous gazebo that stood at the end, its ceiling sprinkled with fairy lights that defined the intricate floral carvings in the wood. You stood in the center of the structure and slowly spun around, marveling at the work of whose ever brilliant hands built it.

“Levi, this is stunning!”, you said gazing in all directions, running your fingers over the sophisticated engravings.

“Yes, it is.”, Levi agreed, his eyes not on the architecture, but instead on the human embodiment of radiant sunny day that stood by his side.

Not remotely expecting anything to outshine the sight before you, your vision was captured by an extravagant display of red, green, and gold against the dark blanket of the night’s sky. You jumped when the sound of the first soaring explosion caught you off guard. An arm slid across your waist and a kiss was placed on your temple. You were enamored by the shattering sparks of the fireworks, eliciting frequent oohs and aahs, until a voice snapped you out of your reverie.

“Marry me.”

It took you a few seconds to fully register what you just heard. But when you did, overwhelming feelings of joy rendered you speechless; fingers absentmindedly running over the carved railing of the gazebo, stunned orbs darting between the brilliant sky and the love of your life.

This time Levi had to remind you to breathe.

Your eyes and lips both turned into wide Os, and you slapped your hands to cover your gaping mouth when he slowly lowered himself to kneel before you, opening a little black box containing the same gorgeous ruby ring from all those years ago, which he sneaked out of your nightstand during one of his visits.

“I know that you said you wanted to take this slow. But the last four months with you have been the most precious of my life, where I got a glimpse of what having a perfect family would be like. I learnt the hard way, what I lost when I lost you and you gave me a second chance at finding happiness when you decided to come back. I promise to love and protect you every single day for the rest of my life, and even after. You complete me, love, and you complete our family. So, will you do me the honor of being Mrs. Ackerman, again?”

“Levi...”, your trembling voice was barely audible.

“Yes.”, you breathed, letting the floodgates finally open when he slid the ring on your finger.

He got back on his feet and engulfed you into the tightest embrace as you wept joyous tears into his shoulders.

“I love you so much!”

“I love you too!”, moving to look into your eyes, he cupped your face with warm hands.

And finally, his lips found yours.

It felt... like home;

Like laying in a cozy bed after a long day of work, like the warm chocolate sauce on a cold scoop of ice-cream, like wearing a fuzzy sweater on a crisp autumn evening, like walking barefoot on the beach at sunset, like taking a cool shower on a blazing summer afternoon, like everything you ever needed.

After being torn apart from the one person who made your life perfect, you were finally back in the soothing confines of his strong arms, resting against his able chest, ready to fall apart; all while the fireworks in the sky mirrored the fireworks in your hearts.

“Mama! Papa!”

You were awoken from this surreal euphoria by the most beautiful squeal you had ever heard. Both your heads turned towards the source of it – a tiny figure running towards you with all her might while all your near and dear ones including the newlyweds watched from a distance, cheering merrily.

“They knew?”, you gasped, sobbing and sniffling from the joyous tears.

“Yeah, pretty much everyone but you knew.”

Luna flew into Levi’s open arms when he bent down to receive her. The three of you merged into one blob of a positively smothering family hug, only pulling away to pepper each other with more kisses. Levi held his two girls close. His sun and moon were now back together in the sky of his life. He looked into Luna’s crescent shaped eyes and whispered,

“Moon beam, Mama’s coming home.”

[salemwritesxx]

1:0 for kuroo

↳ bottom kuroo x top reader

summary: Y/n plays MonHun with his friends online, however, Kuroo, the scheming cat, has his own game he wants to play.

w.count: 1.4k

content warning: smut, porn without plot, blowjob, deepthroating while y/n is playing a video game with a headset on, swallowing, fingering

-----------------------------------

“NO! Nonono! UGH FUCK!”, gripping the controller tightly, or it would have flown through the living room, you clicked your tongue in annoyance when the monster on the screen killed your character, making it so you and your teammates lost the battle – again.

Kuroo was in the other room, looking through some of his work related stuff, when he heard your groaning and moaning, hence the scheming cat got out of his chair and walked over into the living room.

“Okay. Everyone, don’t forget your bombs this time so we can sleep bomb it!”, you didn’t even acknowledge your boyfriend, simply talking about your strategy with your teammates over your headset, hence making Tetsu a little bit jealous – since you didn’t give him any attention.

Smoothly crawling on the couch, as if he was a real cat, he finally got your attention when his muscular arms wrapped around your neck from the side, though before you could say anything, his swift tongue was licking along your outer ear, making you shiver and clench your teeth to suppress a surprised little groan.

“Tetsu. I’m kinda occupied right now.”, covering the mic with one hand so your teammates wouldn’t necessarily listen, you turned to him for a split second, your boyfriend however just grinning with this teasing glint in his golden eyes.

“Oh, don’t mind me, Y/n. Just play your game.”, Kuroo purred, before leaning in once more and sucking on your neck so shamelessly that you couldn’t help but shiver again, though you didn’t say much to it anymore when you turned back to your game and started preparing for the next quest.

However, Kuroo had his own ‘game’ he played when he laid down onto his belly and his hand slipped down your torso and on top of your lap, earning your little hiss as you instinctively spread your legs a bit more – making him chuckle with delight, knowing that you couldn’t resist him or his touches.

“Seriously! Babe! What if they hear?!”, you once more covered the mic as you talked to your boyfriend one last time, trying to get through to him and that him touching you so wantonly was very bad right now since 3 other people could literally listen to your moans if you weren’t careful.

Though Kuroo just silently looked up with those glowing, gold eyes and that messy hair that just begged you to bury your hand into it to mess it up even more, but you resisted as the loading screen faded and your quest began, thus your hands were back on the controller to play.

“It’s your fault for not giving me attention, Kitty.”, he purred eventually and giggled afterwards when he hooked his fingers into your pants and pulled them down without a second thought, exposing your soft dick.

Not wasting another second, he softly wrapped his lips around the tip without even preparing you, making you groan while biting your lip to suppress it. Kuroo simply sucked on your cock gently, almost… lazily. Not rushing at first as he played with your cockhead, letting the tip of his tongue flick against your urethra and teasingly pushing it in just a little, before swirling his wet muscle around, soon tasting drops of precum.

“Fuck, Tetsu!”, you had already pushed the mic up and away from your mouth when you couldn’t hold back a light growl, though it wasn’t just about your friends possibly hearing you, it also affected your play when you were the one to go down to the monster’s KO-Attack first.

“Dude! You need to concentrate!”, said one of your teammates, hence you just deeply growled an “I am!” back, which wasn’t true at all, especially when Tetsu scooched in closer and swallowed more of your fully hard cock by now – damn you, you reacted way too easily and fast to his teasing.

Pressing his thighs together, Kuroo himself was pretty affected just by sucking you off, his own dick growing in his pants and his hand quite quickly slipping back and underneath his clothes to press two fingers against his twitching ass, rubbing against his hole and making himself moan around your cock, the want to be fucked growing each second.

“Oh mY GOD!”, you groaned out, at this point your lips had marks of your own teeth in them, yet you couldn’t hold it back when your cock hit the back of your boyfriend’s throat so easily, Kuroo not even gagging or anything, simply moaning so lewdly around your thick shaft, before ever so slowly pulling back. And after sucking on your cockhead for a few seconds, releasing it with a pop.

Panting a little, tears were already in his golden eyes. A few moments later, he pulled his hand up, spit into it and slipped it back down into his pants and underwear, smearing the make-shift lube around his hole so he could push one finger in.

That spectacle alone was making your cock visibly bounce, because even though you tried to stare onto the big screen, in the corner of your eyes, you could also watch your boyfriend fingering himself as best as he could, only to lightly jump and then jerk your hips when his warm, wet mouth engulfed your cock once more.

Clawing onto your thigh with his free hand, Kuroo bobbed his head, letting his tongue once more explore your little hole as he teased it and pushed his tip slightly inside to earn your delightful hissing, before swallowing your cock whole in one go again, your head hitting the back of his throat and making him choke and moan around your dick in bliss.

Panting already, you wondered if your friends could listen, though at this point you merely thought, “Fuck it!”, since it felt too good, the fight in front of you almost forgotten as you lazily dodged a few attacks, trying not to get killed a second time.

Pushing his fingers in as deep as he could, he explored his ass while his mouth was busy and for a moment, he held your cock between his lips – fully swallowed – before starting to move his head once more, thrusting your dick into his mouth without any restraint, his choked out moans only indicating how good he felt.

“Tetsu, I’m gonna…”, trying to warn him quietly, your hips were inevitably jerking into his mouth as well, hence he pulled back a little to let you thrust into his hot, wet cavern while his fingers vigorously moved, however, sadly, not getting the same satisfaction that you could give him since he couldn’t push as deep as he wanted in the position he was in.

“Baby, fuck! Fuck!”, you pressed out between gritted teeth, your thrusts became erratic and irregular between his lips, your fingers on the controller twitching as you wanted nothing more but to grab his hair and push him down, yet you had to attack the monster on the screen.

Moaning loudly himself, he spurred you on with his lewd, blissful sounds, the bouncing from your cock on his tongue so vivid that he knew you were so, so close, before he pushed down one last time fully, your cock buried balls-deep between his lips as you growled and panted, a blissful moan the last thing escaping your own lips as you released.

Kuroo immediately swallowed, not wasting any second as he gulped down your hot seed, his lips vibrating from his choked pleasurable sounds.

Pulling back at last, you were gasping for breath and your cock bounced back against your tummy, while Kuroo sat back up and pulled out his fingers as well, however the visible outline of his cock against his sweatpants, as well as the dark wet spot from his precum, was enough to make you close the game.

“Sorry, there was a disconnect, let’s talk later!”

Maybe it was a little obvious, especially with the way you panted into the mic, but you didn’t care when you turned it off to put it onto the table, your teammates long forgotten.

“Ahn!”, moaning and also kind of laughing when you tackled him at last, you both fell back into the soft cushions that were adorning your sofa, Tetsu’s grin teasing you, his heart thumping wildly and his legs immediately slung around your hips.

“You are seriously so annoying!”

“I know.”, he laughed, knowing you were joking as well when you laughed with him, before groaning into your mouth when your full lips met his for a passionate kiss.

With that, the scheming cat won his game once again.

---------------------------

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: my current obsession is the new monhun rise! so… i thought it was only natural for me to want someone to… “help” during my hunts ;) (lmfao pls don’t take me seriously) anyone who plays monhun here? i’ve been playing monhun since mh4u and for me, as of now i think mh world iceborne is better but that’s probs cuz i am a solo player only and capcom says a big fat fuck you to solo players in rise, so yeah.. i like rise, but being a solo main insect glaive player, i like world iceborne much more for now!

[kinglazrus]

Dead Man Walking

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @syrren: Instead of making him half-dead, the portal accident makes Danny unable to die. This....changes things.

(or: how canon changes if the accident leaves Danny with deadpool-style regeneration abilities to make for a horrifyingly self-sacrificing vigilante, or with some kind of reset ability every time he dies to equally horrifying implications)

Summary: The accident changes Danny in ways he never thought possible. Sam and Tucker watch him fall from the portal dead and burnt beyond recognition, but he doesn't stay dead for long. He never stays dead. Of all the things Danny expected to happen when he walked into that portal, getting unlimited regeneration wasn't one of them, but now that he has it, he's going to put it to good use. Deadpool AU.

Word count: 3606

The first time Danny dies, his friends bear witness. They will never forget the ominous whirr of the portal as it turned on, the warning crackle of electricity, the final throat-tearing scream of their best friend. There are other things, too, that burned into their minds that day. How his body hit the floor of the lab with a thud, burnt beyond recognition, burnt so bad there wasn't any blood. How it smelled, to their horror, not so different from charred barbecue.

They like to pretend that part never happened. It's easy when all they need to do is call his phone and hear his voice, unaffected by the savage electrical heat that brought him to ruin that day. When he doesn't stay dead, it's not hard to pretend he never died at all. It took minutes for his body to fix itself, blackened skin overtaken by fresh pink muscle, which then sprouted new skin, perfectly unblemished.

Even the scar he got when he was fell off his bike at six years old disappeared.

"I liked that scar," Danny says, pouting when he finally notices its absence three days later.

"I don't think that's the right thing to get hung up," Sam says.

"But it looked like a spaceship!"

"I always thought it looked like an upside-down nine," Tucker muses.

"Or six," Sam says.

"Upside down nine is more fun."

They proceed like this for three weeks, mentioning the accident only in the lightest of terms, joking about their new, shared trauma. They are content to move on with their lives, forget it happened, go on as normal high schoolers. Until Danny dies again.

—

"What do you mean you don't want to hunt ghosts?" Jack exclaims. He gapes down at the trio, wholeheartedly baffled by this confession.

"I'll stick with tech, thanks," Tucker says, holding up his phone.

"Ghosts just aren't cool anymore," Sam says.

"Can I go back upstairs now?" Danny asks. At his question, Sam and Tucker fall silent. None of them make eye contact, and neither do they look toward the portal innocently humming only a few feet away. Danny is very aware that this is his first time in the lab since the accident. The same thought runs through Sam and Tucker's minds.

Jack doesn't notice the sudden change in mood. "Nonsense, Danno! You love ghosts. Why, I remember when you were just a tyke, you wanted to be a ghost when you grew up." He clenches his fist. "It was unacceptable. But that's okay! You can hunt them instead!"

He turns his back on Danny and his friends, eagerly going over the array of tools laid out on the counter. Ghost detectors, ecto-guns, protective shield, and an empty space where a thermos should be. "I forgot the best part! Wait right here, kids." Jack charges upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

Danny glances at the portal, unable to suppress a shiver. "You think he'd notice if I snuck away?"

"Nuh-uh, if you go, we go, too," Tucker says.

No one gets to go. Two sets of slimy green tentacles poke through the portal, probing the empty air. Their soft bodies soon follow, revealing a pair of ghostly octopuses.

"Holy shit ghosts are real." That is all Tucker has time to say before the ghosts attack. They launch themselves forward, shrieking in excitement. One goes for Sam and the other charges Tucker. They try to jump out of the way, but the ghosts are faster. The ectopuses tentacles wrap around them, pinning their arms down.

"Danny!" Sam shouts.

In retrospect, a smarter person would have gone for the ecto-gun lying on the table, freshly loaded and ready for a demonstration. Or, they might have shouted for his father, a ghost hunter who has trained his entire life for this scenario. But Danny acts faster than he thinks. He dives toward Tucker, the closest of the two, and digs his fingers into the ghost's tentacles. It screams as Danny's nails dig into its flesh.

The ghost's body goes translucent. Tucker slips out of its grasp, dropping to the floor in a heap, but Danny's hold stays firm. The ectopus panics, thrashing and tugging, its flailing limbs cutting through Tucker over and over without harming him. No matter what the ectopus does, it can't shake Danny loose, and his nails are starting to cut.

"Dude, you're doing it!" Tucker says, too soon.

As it flails, one of the ectopus' tentacles smacks Danny in the face, making his head snap back. At that moment, he and the ghost have the same realization. If he can touch it, it can hurt him back. The ectopus gives another shriek and its remaining seven tentacles surge forward. They wrap around Danny's arms, his chest, curling so tight his bones ache. The last one closes around Danny's throat.

His throat, weak like the ghost's flesh, crumples in an instant. His air disappears. No sound leaves his mouth, not even a wheeze, and his eyes bulge as panic sets in.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker scream. Sam struggles against her captor kicking and gnashing her teeth, but her boots can't reach its body. Tucker grabs Danny, tries to pull him away, to bat off the ghost’s grip, but it is no use. The ghost is too strong, and Tucker can't touch it in this state.

Danny loses focus of them, then. His brain goes fuzzy, everything blurring around him while his face grows hot. All he can feel is the burn, the ache, the need to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it! The haze of the ghost looming over him fills his vision, slowly overtaken by red, then black spots.

As everything goes dark, Danny's last thought is this:

I guess I'm dead after all.

—

He hears the sobbing first. It starts off quiet and distant, but quickly grows louder, great hiccupping coughs scattered between heart-wrenching cries.

"Mr. Fenton!" someone screams. It happens fast, after that. Thundering steps, a deep cry of shock and pain that cuts him to his core. A piercing whine followed by two quick blasts.

The ectopuses' retreating shriek cuts through Danny loud and clear. His eyes snap open and air rushes into his lungs, a hoarse, wheezing breath that he holds for a moment. Then he takes another, and another, and he's breathing again, and he's not anymore.

Sam and Tucker, kneeling at his side, cry out as one. They throw themselves on him, blubbering messes the both of them. Danny's father, facing the portal, turns disbelieving eyes on him.

Danny's gaze drops to his father's hand and the ecto-gun clutched in it. "Oh, right." The word scrapes against his throat. He swallows, twice, until speaking doesn't hurt and says, "I forgot we had the gun.

"Danny!" Jack dashes toward them, dropping to his knees beside Danny. Sam and Tucker scramble back, giving him room. "Are you alright? What happened? You looked..."

Dead.

Because he was. Again.

"I'm fine," Danny assures him. "Lost consciousness, that's all.

"Danny, your face was blu—" Tucker yelps when Sam punches him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. He rubs the spot, shooting her an offended look, but Sam's eyes are only on Danny.

Danny nods, just enough that she can see, a silent thanks.

"I think you kids should go upstairs now." Jack's voice trembles. He raises his hand, about to run it through his hair, but stops when he sees the gun he's still holding. "I'll take care of things down here. Call your parents and all that."

For the first time, Danny notices the green splotches littering the floor and the wall. Probably from the ectopuses.

Sam loops an arm around Danny's shoulders, hoisting him up. He stumbles when he gets to his feet, bracing himself against her as the room spins. It settles after a few seconds, but he still feels a bit lightheaded. A side effect of choking, maybe?

Tucker helps from Danny's other side. They go up to Danny's room in silence, their steps thumping up the stairs. Only once they're safely behind his closed door, and Danny is lying on the bed, does Sam speak.

"You died again," she says.

Danny touches his throat. "Yeah." Pressing gently, he feels is no lingering pain. Just like before, he healed without a trace. "Can I just not die now?"

"More like you can't stay dead," Tucker says.

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"What? It's true! Sorry that I'm not handling seeing my friend die twice very well!"

"Be quiet!"

Danny cuts in before they can devolve into shouting. "Let's just leave it at two, okay?"

Sam and Tucker share a glance over Danny's prone form and nod. The weight of that action is lost on Danny, whose only thought is that he wants to sleep for a very long time.

—

The knives don't kill him. They hurt like hell, but they don't kill him. He sees them flying toward him and leaps out of the way. Something strikes him in the gut, a solid punch that blows the air from his lungs and knocks him back into the walls. He thinks one of the frozen steaks got him, but when he looks down, he sees the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach.

He stares at it, stunned, not feeling anything at first. Then, his body jolts, like a shock of electricity is running through him, and his nerves scream, heat building, until every little twitch sends a jolt of pain so deep coursing through him that he can hardly breathe.

"Danny, look out!" Tucker, or Sam, he can't tell which, so lost in his pain, cry out a warning. Danny doesn't move in time and two more knives bury themselves in his body, another in his stomach, and the other through his chest. The Lunch Lady cackles with glee as Danny gurgles. The last knife got his lung, and he can feel it slowly filling.

The pound of Sam's boots on the tiles reaches his ears. She shouts something, but he doesn't hear it. Trembling, Danny grips the handle of the knife in his lungs. In first-aid, they tell you to leave whatever object stabbing you in. It keeps the wound plugged, stops you from bleeding out. But Danny's instincts cry out against everything he was ever taught.

Take them out! Take them out!

He braces himself, then yanks. It hurts so much worse coming out, now that he's aware of the pain, the sharp edge searing as it rips the wound wider. He drops the knife and goes for the next one. All three fall to the floor beside him with a clatter, their blades shiny and red. Danny can't breathe, can barely think through the pain. He presses a hand against his chest, feeling the wound beneath his shirt.

It stitches itself together beneath his fingers. The searing pain retreats, replaced by a dull ache. By the time Sam reaches him and rips his shirt open to see his wound, his chest is healed.

"Technically, I didn't die," Danny croaks.

Sam sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. There's relief in her eyes, beneath the horror, and she makes a noise that might be a laugh, choked and garbled as it is.

Danny dives back into the fight with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes and one Fenton Thermos later, the ghost is gone, but not before half the student body saw some bloody idiot fighting it bare-handed.

"Did you see who it was?" Dash whispers to his friends.

Danny, clean of blood and wearing his gym t-shirt, slumps against the wall nearby, listening. Someone called the police when meat started flying through the hallways, and they apparently called Danny's parents. Ghosts are real and everyone knows it now, but Danny doesn't care about that at the moment.

"No, man. I wasn't close enough," Kwan answers Dash.

"Whoever that was, he totally just saved us all," Paulina says. She clasps her hands together and leans against Star. "He's such a hero."

Hero. The word resonates with Danny. He can't explain it, but it pulls at him. A hero. The school is in chaos, the yard covered in raw meat, the hallways hacked and slashed, but everyone is safe and unharmed thanks to Danny.

"More like a dumbass," Sam mutters from Danny's left.

"Semantics," Tucker says.

Between them, Danny only grins.

—

Jack paces in front of the portal, a tub of fudge cradled in the crook of his arm. Every few steps, he grabs a square and pops it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Between bites, he mutters.

"I'm telling you, Mads. He must have been some kind of ghost," he says.

"I don't know, Jack." Maddie, staring at the computer screen, tilts her head. They managed to grab a few stills from the school's security footage of the figure who fought off the ghost, but they didn't come out right. The surroundings are a little grainy, but no more than a standard security camera, so they know there's nothing wrong with the film itself. The ghost, who called herself the Lunch Lady if Maddie remembers correctly, is little more than a green haze in the image. They expected this. Ghosts don't interact with most technology well, not unless it is designed to interact with them.

But the smaller figure is distorted, a twisted shadow obscuring their form. Not ghostly, but not human either.

She clicks to the next image, getting the same results.

"Are you saying it's a human?" Jack asks without breaking stride.

"It's humanoid, but I don't think it's human, either. Yet it bled, so it's not a ghost. And look at this." She closes the files, revealing a folder full of pictures, all of them taken over the past couple of weeks as ghost sightings increased. "They show up at most fights and leave lots of bodily fluids behind." Jiggling the mouse, she circles a series of four images with the courser, all pictures of significant blood splatters. "But the samples..."

As one, she and Jack turn to the sample tray sitting on the far counter. Where the blood is deep red in the pictures, the samples they took have slowly turned to a dark, murky brown, like thick mud. The oldest sample from the first sighting is black.

Jack grabs a handful of fudge and shoves it in his mouth. "Not to mention," he speaks around the chewy squares, "what does it do with the ghosts?"

The lab door squeaks as it opens. Maddie and Jack fall silent, gazes turning toward the stairs. A pair of red sneakers appears on the top step, creeping down, until the wearer slowly reveals themself. Their son, Danny, with what looks like a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Sweetie, are you only just getting home?" Maddie asks.

Danny yelps in surprise. He jerks the thermos behind his back and swivels to face his parents, freezing on the step. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you guys would be here..."

Maddie narrows her eyes. "What did you do, young man? You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago."

"Nothing! I just got held up." Danny tugs the collar of his jacket.

That's odd. Maddie doesn't remember him leaving with a jacket this morning. The sleeves drape over his hands, down to his knuckles, and he has the collar turned up to cover his neck. It must be cold outside, even though September is only just ending. "What held you up?"

"Uh, that's kind of why I thought you guys wouldn't be here? There was another ghost fight. It got pretty bad." He shifts, pressing his arm against his side. Is his jacket darker there, against his ribs?

"Another ghost?" Jack exclaims. He slaps the fudge down on the closest surface, rattling the test tube samples. "Mads, we gotta go! There might still be some evidence!"

Maddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shoot. You're right! We need fresh samples." They race to grab their equipment, snatching up sample gathering packs from their desks, and charge up the stairs.

Danny presses himself against the wall, offering them a nervous smile as they go. "Stay safe!" he calls. The front door slams as Maddie and Jack make their exit, leaving the house in silence. Still, Danny doesn't relax until he hears the rev of the Fenton RV and the familiar squeal of its tires against the pavement. His shoulders slump and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Taking his hand out from behind his back, he looks down at the Fenton Thermos. "Now let's get you taken care of."

As he empties the thermos back into the Ghost Zone, his gaze wanders to the computer screen, still open to the photo evidence. Danny reads the title of the folder. "Challenger?" He snorts. "That's lame." As he skims the photos, a couple jump out at him. In most, he can barely make out the shape of his own body—something he tries not to think about—but in one or two, he can recognize the colours of his clothes beneath the distorting shadow.

Danny slaps the cap back onto the empty thermos before moving closer to the computer, frowning at the screen. "That might be a problem."

—

Danny stands in front of his friends, fists resting on his hips, and shows off his new look. "Well? What do you think?"

Tucker looks him up and down, body shaking as he suppresses his laughter. "Is that a paper superhero mask? Did you spray paint your hair white?"

Danny's hands rise to his head. "It's a spray-on dye! I thought it was cool!"

"Ten bucks says it's super crispy."

"Don't be mean," Sam admonishes Tucker. "I think he looks pretty good. For a discount Jack Frost."

Tucker snaps his fingers. "Emo Jack Frost! The real one would never wear this much black."

"We are no longer friends," Danny says, turning away from them.

"Come on, don’t be a spoilsport."

"Nope, too late. I'm already dead to you."

Sam and Tucker share a confused glance. "Don't you mean we're dead to—" Before Sam can finish the sentence, Danny turns and throws himself out his bedroom window. "Danny!" They scramble after him, falling against the sill as they lean outside, peering down to the alley below.

Danny lies face-first on the pavement.

"Are you dead?" Tucker asks.

Danny raises his arm and gives them a thumbs up.

—

Valerie holds back a startled shout when the metal suit crashes onto the sidewalk next to her. She is not scared, but anyone would be surprised if two tons of metal suddenly fell from the sky. A scream, rapidly increasing in volume, drawings her gaze upwards just in time for a black-clad figure to plummet inches from her nose and land with a sharp crack on top of the suit.

This time Valerie cries out because holy shit, is he dead? Her panic sputters out when she peeks at the possible corpse and gets a good look at exactly who, or what, came falling after. A human figure dressed in all black with poorly coloured hair. It looks crispy as hell.

Valerie sneers. What kind of cheap dye did they use?

She recognizes the Challenger on sight. By now, more than half of Amity Park can, although Valerie can't account for the sudden style change. Maybe they realized how lame their regular t-shirt and jeans are and decided to switch things up. This isn't much better, though. Black hoodie, black pants, black boots, no style.

No one knows their name, but the moniker the Fentons gave them seems to have stuck. Valerie thinks it's a little on the nose, though.

Something wriggles in the corner of her eye and she looks to the Challenger's fist. It clutches a bright green blob, with stubby limbs and a wide mouth.

"Let go of me!" The blob beats its penny-sized fists against the Challenger's thumb. "You are my prey!"

The Challenger groans. "Can you shut up for a second? I think my neck broke." They squeeze the blob until it squeaks.

"Hey. Watch where you're throwing this stuff around." Valerie kicks the arm of the metal suit. "You nearly crushed me!"

The Challenger jolts. Their head whips up, accompanied by a loud crack, and they lurch to their feet. A mask covers their eyes—cheap like the hair dye, probably from a costume stored—but judging by the way their eyebrows shoot up, they look at Valerie with wide eyes.

"Uh, hey, Va—citizen." Their voice drops a solid octave. "Sorry about that! I'll watch out next time." They are about to say something else when a loud squeal interrupts up, the signature sound of the Fentons' approach. The Challenger pales. "Sorry, gotta go!"

They dash into the nearest alley before Valerie can get another word in, leaving her with the empty metal husk and the sound of the Fentons from two streets away. She gapes after them, unsure what to make of the brief exchange.

"Actually, wait a second." The Challenger pops back around the corner, leaping over the ghost's suit to reach Valerie. They grab her shoulders in a cold grip. "Are people really using that dumb name for me?"

At a loss for words, Valerie nods.

"Ugh." The Challenger groans and lets her go in favour of rubbing a hand down their face. "Stop that. It's so boring. Just call me... Phantom. Okay? See ya!" They spin away, too fast, and trip over the metal suit.

Wow, Valerie thinks as Phantom scrambles around the corner once more. We have the lamest superhero ever.

[whumpwriterforlife]

Could I please request shaking and shivering with Cor? Your writing is so good!

Yes you can! Here you go, shaking and shivering with young Cor!

Shaking and Shivering

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Cor Leonis, Regis Lucis Caelum, Clarus Amicitia, Weskham Armaugh & Cid Sophiar

Whumpee: Cor Leonis

Word count: 3790

Warnings: Sickfic

Can be found on ao3 here

-----

“Wakey, wakey, Sunshine,” Clarus’ voice broke through the sleepy haze surrounding him and then there was a foot nudging him.

Cor grumbled and buried himself deeper into his sleeping bag. His head felt stuffy, his body aching in a way that made him want to do nothing but close his eyes and drift off again.

It was a luxury Clarus didn’t grant him.

Suddenly the world tilted, eliciting a startled yelp from Cor as he scrambled to hold onto the sleeping bag as Clarus dragged him out of the tent by the foot-end of the sleeping bag.

“Hey! You’re buying me a new one if this one gets torn!” He ended up sounding more whiny than anything as he swore at the Shield. Clarus dumped him in front of the fire unceremoniously and laughed as Cor tried — and failed — to smack him. Cor pouted.

“Ah, just in time for breakfast,” Weskham said from somewhere to his left, and Cor turned his head to see him walk over with a bowl of something in his hands. “Here, have some.”

Cor quietly accepted the bowl and peered down at its contents. It was oatmeal with nuts and fruit toppings. Normally he would have been ecstatic about it — it was definitely better than the weird sludge-like ratios they sometimes had — but he didn’t feel hungry this time. He poked some of the fruits with a spoon. Knowing Weskham, or any other of those damn motherhens, they wouldn’t let him get away with skipping the meal. With a resigned sigh, Cor shuffled his way out of the sleeping bag. He instantly missed the warmth of it as he settled down on one of the chairs surrounding the fire.

Regis gave him a curious look from across the fire but said nothing as he dug into the oatmeal. Cor pulled his legs to his chest, ignoring the dirty look Weskham sent his way at that, and slowly started working his way through the oatmeal. At least it was warm if nothing else.

“You’re looking awfully pale this morning. Are you feeling alright, Cor?” Weskham asked as he sat down in the chair next to him.

“I’m fine,” Cor replied and rolled his eyes. It was just a bad day, a minor cold at worst. There was no reason to worry the others with it when he could handle it.

“Are you sure?” Regis asked. “You do look off today.”

Weskham seemed to take this as an invitation to reach over to touch Cor’s forehead. Cor slapped his hand away and sunk deeper into the chair with an unhappy grumble. “Leave me alone. I’m fine.”

Clarus’ eyes narrowed. “Cor...”

Regis put his hand on Clarus’ arm and shook his head. “Let’s finish eating. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Fine,” Clarus said and shrugged off Regis’ hand before going to get himself breakfast.

Cor stayed silent as they finished eating, barely even greeting Cid as the man appeared from who knows where. He scooted his chair slightly closer to the fire as a shiver raked through his body. It was late Fall, the beginning of the Winter really, and he blamed it on that. He still didn’t have a thick jacket, partly because it was a hindrance in a fight but also because of the cost. Hopefully they would get to the warmer parts of Lucis soon so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting one.

“What’s the plan for today?” Cor asked when the last of the bowls had been put away. They were all still sitting around the fire, watching as the sun rose higher in the sky.

“Well, while you were still sleeping and wasting daytime, Clarus and me went over to a local tipster and got ourselves a few hunts. Nothing too bad but enough to pay for Regalia’s repairs,” Cid told him and sent a glare in Regis’ direction at the last part. Cor snickered. It was the second time Regis had wrecked the Regalia since they had left Insomnia.

“Oh give it a break, Cid, that was hardly my fault,” Regis huffed and got up from his chair.

“You hit a parked car,” Clarus pointed out as he watched Regis disappear into the tent. “The only other car on the lot.”

“It shouldn’t have been parked there!” Regis protested.

“Whatever you say,” Clarus shook his head with a smirk.

Cid looked at the two of them for a moment before rolling his eyes. “The first job is to take care of a pack of saberclaw. According to the map, it takes thirty minutes to drive there and another thirty to hike to their last known location. From there, we’ll head towards Malmalam Thicket for our second hunt.”

“What’s the second hunt?” Cor asked, half dreading the answer. He had hoped the day would be easy, one he could spend sitting in a car, but of course that couldn’t be the case. At least, if he had done the math correctly, he would be able to get a few hours of sleep on the drive to Malmalam Thicket.

“Seadevils,” Clarus told him with an unsettling grin. He was just as much a daredevil as Cor was, even if he was better at hiding it. “Should be fun.”

Cor suppressed a groan. Neither hunt would be exactly easy and there would be no room for slip ups. He got up from his chair. “Right.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Weskham clapped his hands together and nodded. “We should all pack up so we can be on the road as soon as possible.”

Cor grabbed his sleeping bag from the ground and vanished it into the armiger without even bothering to roll it up. He got a few weird looks for it but ignored them as he went to grab his things from the tent.

“I’ll just go wait by the car.”

“No you don’t,” Clarus said and grabbed him by the back of his jacket before he could leave the haven. “It’s your turn to take down the tent.”

Cor yanked his jacket out of Clarus’ grip and glared at the man. Clarus glared right back at him.

This was going to be an awful day.

----

Cor felt like death warmed over. His feet felt leaden as he tried to keep up with everyone else as they hiked towards the Maidenwater Bridge and the second hunt of the day. He buried his face into the crook of his elbow to suppress a cough. Fortunately he was far enough behind the group that they didn’t notice. His condition had only worsened throughout the day. He was cold, frozen to the bone. He was wearing two long-sleeves and the thickest jacket he had — which admittedly wasn’t all that thick — but he was still shivering. His head felt stuffy and he was having a hard time focusing on anything. None of this was exactly good when hunting.

Cor was still committed to making it through the day. What kind of ‘guard would he be if he couldn’t do his job because of a little cold? There were so many people that doubted him, that were just waiting for him to fail and fall, many of them his fellow Crownsguards. He wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction which meant he would just have to power through the rest of the day, one way or another.

“Eos to Cor!” Cor’s head jerked up and he saw Clarus looking at him over his shoulder. The Shield gave him a pointed look. “Keep up, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cor rolled his eyes but took off in a jog to catch up to the guys.

He hoped the Seadevils wouldn’t put up too much of a fight. He had heard of them and knew roughly how they acted when engaged but he had never actually fought them. At least the Saberclaw pack hadn’t given them much trouble. No curatives had been used and no one had gotten injured. Well, no one if they didn’t count Regis tripping over a tree root when they had been on their way back to the Regalia. That had been hilarious.

They soon arrived at the bridge. It didn’t take long for them to see the Seadevils. There were five of them just chilling on the shoreline on the other side of the river. Cor pressed his lips into a thin line. They were larger than he had expected. Still manageable but more annoying.

“Well those look vicious,” Regis remarked dryly.

“Those jaws look like they’d have no trouble snapping any of us in half,” Weskham nodded as he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I suggest we all exercise caution when approaching these creatures. Regis, my research indicates they’re weak to ice elemancy.”

“Excellent,” Regis grinned and Cor glanced at him just in time to see his hands flash light blue. Clarus patted him on the shoulder with a laugh and summoned his broadsword. They were both way too excited about this hunt. Cor would have most likely been right there with them, all ready to fight, if he hadn’t been feeling like shit.

“Let’s get this over with before sundown, don't wanna be stuck out here when the daemons come out,” Cid told them, sounding as grouchy as ever as he started crossing the bridge. Clarus grabbed Regis and was quick to follow him.

Cor sighed, pulling out his katana from the armiger as he walked after the trio. He only made it a couple of steps before there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Weskham looking at him with worry. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Weskham asked him. “You’re all pale and don’t quite seem to be your usual energetic self today. If you need to-”

“I’m fine, Wesk,” Cor told him, more forceful than he needed as he pulled away from the man. He needed to see this through and could rest when they were back at camp. “The others are going, I don’t want to fall behind.”

Weskham pressed his lips together, clearly less than happy with Cor, but said nothing. Cor took that as his cue to pick up the pace to catch up to everyone else.

Regis and Clarus had already thrown themselves into the fight like the adrenaline junkies that they were and Cid wasn’t far behind them with his trusty spear. Cor jogged down to the shore, ignoring how lightheaded and out of breath it made him feel as he attacked the Seadevil closest to him.

He let his training and instincts take over from there, striking and slashing wherever he could as he avoided ending up a snack. The teeth on those things were large and sharp. If that wasn’t enough, they also shot water out of their mouths with pressure that would easily knock any one of them over. Cor hissed as he twisted out of the way when one Seadevil lunged at him, its jaws snapping shut with a downright terrifying snap. He staggered, barely managing to keep his balance. Adrenaline was a huge help, possibly the only thing keeping him upright at this point, but he was lacking his usual finesse.

It became even more evident when he was forced to evade yet another attack. He staggered, the sleeve of his jacket getting torn in the process as he yanked it out of the beast’s maw. A hand on the shoulder stabilized him, and he craned his neck to see Cid behind him.

“You need to be more careful, kid,” Cid told him. Then he was off, back into the fight.

Cor shook his head and muttered a curse under his breath. He was starting to feel a hint of frustration at how badly he was performing.

“Cor!”

Cor spun on his heels at Clarus’ shout but a heavy weight collided with him before he could see the situation. He gasped, his foot catching on a rock as he tried and failed to recover his balance. His katana disappeared in a flash of blue, a startled yelp escaping his lips as he fell into the freezing cold water.

He gasped for breath. The icy water soaked through his clothes in an instant. He couldn’t breathe. Cold. It was so cold. His whole body felt stiff, and he tried to push himself onto his elbows to get out of the water but they gave out from beneath him. He was shivering worse now.

“Regis get him out of here!”

There was sloshing as someone ran into the water and cursed at the coldness of it. A moment later there were hands propping Cor into a sitting position. Regis said something, his eyes tight with concern as he looked at him but Cor was too busy catching his breath to register the words. Regis threw his sword and his grip around Cor tightened. The world lurched in and out of focus and Cor’s stomach churned dangerously. Then they hit the ground by the bridge, away from the fight.

Cor screwed his eyes shut, a strained noise slipping from his lips as he shivered violently. “Regis-”

Regis pulled him into a better position and started tugging off his jacket. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

“But- but the h-hunt,” Cor pointed out. He was still struggling to catch his breath, his teeth chattering together.

“The others can take care of it, we need to make sure you won’t get hypothermic.” Regis stated sternly and threw Cor’s jacket aside. Cor frowned softly, almost tempted to whine as he looked at the rock pile where his jacket landed. It was his best jacket and Regis had just thrown it away like it was nothing. Cor was about to turn and tell him to fetch it but he was overtaken by a coughing fit. He whimpered.

“Cor, look at me.”

Cor’s gaze flicked over to Regis, only to flinch when he reached over to touch his forehead. He tried to move away but his stiff muscles refused to obey him.

“Shit, you’re burning up,” Regis cursed as he pulled his hand away. “Have you been sick this whole day? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s nothing,” Cor shook his head, regretting it when he was hit by a dizzy spell.

“It’s clearly not ‘nothing’!” Regis retorted. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered something unflattering under his breath. “Astrals, that explains a lot. We just thought you were mad at Clarus for what happened in the morning.”

Cor made a confused noise.

Regis sighed. “We’ll talk about this later. We still need to get you out of those wet clothes and away from here.”

The good thing about the armiger was that it made carrying items easy and was always accessible. Regis helped Cor out of his wet clothes quickly and into a pair of warm sweats and a coat he happened to have lying around — floating around? — in the armiger. Cor had tried to tell him he could do it on his own but the way he was shaking told Regis otherwise.

“How’s the kid?”

Cor looked up to see the rest of the guys walking over to them, having taken care of the Seadevils.

“The ‘kid’ is right here.” He glared at them but the effect was ruined when another shiver shook his frame.

“He’s running a fever,” Regis said. “Been sick the whole day most likely if not longer.”

“Could you guys stop talking like I wasn’t here?”

“You what?” Clarus asked, brow furrowed as he looked at Cor. “Is that true?”

Cor shrugged. It was no use hiding the truth anymore. “Yeah, but it’s-”

“And you didn’t think to tell us? Do you realize how stupid that was!” Clarus exclaimed as he cut him off. Cor clenched his jaw and dropped his gaze to the ground as the Shield continued, “Your job is to keep Regis safe and then you just neglected to tell us-”

“Clarus,” Regis admonished him.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you!” Cor snapped, getting to his feet even as he swayed dangerously. Regis was quick to take him by the arm and stabilize him. Cor didn’t brush him off. “If I had told you, you would have left me behind and been one man short! I did my job, I wasn’t going to let a minor cold take this from me!”

At the end of his tirade, he felt all the energy drain out of him and faltered. Regis wrapped both of his arms around him to keep him from falling.

Clarus opened his mouth to say something but Regis silenced him with a sharp look.

No one said anything for a moment but eventually Cid broke the silence. He shook his head as he glanced at each member of the group. “The sun won’t be up for much longer. We need to find a haven.”

“No, we’re going back to the car,” Regis said as he pulled one of Cor’s arms over his shoulders and wrapped his other arm around his waist. His tone left no room for arguments. “We’re finding a motel for the night.”

“We’ll need to move fast then.” Weskham walked over to where most of Cor’s wet clothes had been discarded and picked them up. “The roads are perilous at night.”

“Right, we should get going then,” Clarus sighed. He crossed the gap between him and Cor, sliding the kid’s hand over his shoulders to support him from the other side.

Cor had a childish urge to push Clarus away after the outburst but he had very little energy left. He shivered, taking a shuddering breath as they started walking. His feet were stiff and sore, as was his whole body, and Regis and Clarus ended up having to support most of his weight. They kept up a steady stream of chatter and made Cor participate so he didn’t fall asleep. At a few points during their trek to the car, they had to stop when Cor got overcome with violent coughing fits that left him unsteady and gasping for air. It was clear that his impromptu river bath had only made his condition worse.

They eventually got to the Regalia, where he was safely tucked to the back seat with Weskham, Regis, and their best-equipped first-aid kit. They denied Cor the warm blanket in it which elicited a barely suppressed whine out of him.

“You have a high fever,” Weskham kindly informed him, as if Cor hadn’t been aware of that before the stupid thermometer had beeped with 39,4 °C. “We need to get your temperature down, not up.”

“I’m cold,” Cor complained as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“You just feel cold,” Weskham replied as he dug through the first-aid kit for something.

“Same difference.”

Regis snorted and patted Cor on the shoulder. Cor pouted. At least one of them was having fun.

A moment later Weskham pushed a water bottle into Cor’s hand and offered him two pills. “These should help lower your fever. Take them and drink as much of the water as you can.”

Cor took the pills as ordered and managed to down nearly half of the water before giving it back to Weskham. He then pointedly ignored everyone in the car, except for Regis and his comfy shoulder that was acting as his makeshift pillow, as he closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the steady rumble of the car to lull him to sleep.

He stirred an indeterminate amount of time later when a car door slammed shut. His nose scrunched up and he made a soft, disgruntled noise at being woken up. Someone chuckled above him, and it was then that he realized he was not in the car anymore. It took a moment longer for him to pick up on the fact that someone was carrying him. If he had had any more energy, he would have been mortified, but as it was, he could barely crack his eyes open to see it was Regis.

Regis looked down at him, a playful smile on his lips. “Go back to sleep, Cor. We just arrived at the motel.”

Cor blinked at him blearily as his brain registered the words. He licked his lips and frowned. “I can walk.”

“Of course you can,” Regis stated matter-of-factly but didn’t even pretend to put him down. “And I can carry you.”

“Just let him do it, kid,” Cid said. Cor craned his neck to see the man walking a few steps behind them. “Reggie can and will outstubborn you this time.”

Cor huffed. Regis carried him into their motel room and lowered him on one of the beds. He closed his eyes and flopped down on his back, only for his head to snap up a moment later when he felt hands tugging on his boots.

“What are you doing?” “Taking off your shoes,” Clarus said, rolling his eyes.

“I can-” Cor started and went to sit up.

Cid pushed him back down. “Wesk wants you to take it easy, so take it easy.”

“I can take off my own shoes!” Cor grumbled but didn’t try to get up again.

“Let us take care of you for once,” Regis said as he sat down next to Cor. Clarus muttered something about how it would have been nice to have some help with the boots but Regis ignored him. “You’re our brother, we want to help.”

Cor turned his head to look at Regis. He wondered if the fever was making him hear things. “But-”

“But nothing,” Regis cut him off. “You worried us today, Cor. You could have been badly injured. We know you’re as stubborn as can be, but we need you to tell us if you’re sick or injured in any way. Out here we’re on our own and need to take care of each other.”

“I’m sorry,” Cor sighed.

Regis smiled. “It’s okay. Try to get some rest. We’ll wake you up when we have food.”

Cor hummed, eyes falling shut once again. Regis helped him get under the covers and Cor offered no complaints this time. When he felt Regis start to rise, he reached out to grab his arm.

“Regis? About the brothers thing.”

“What is it?”

Cor smirked. “Cid’s old enough to be my grandad…”

There was a crashing sound somewhere in the room, followed by swearing. “How old does that brat think I am?”

“Probably sixty or something,” Clarus muttered in amusement.

“Listen here, Amicitia, I could-”

“Cid! Clarus-” Regis began but the words turned into incoherent mush as Cor drifted off. Hopefully the motel would be still standing when he woke up.

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 14

II.III

Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, violence, rape (pretty canon typical descriptions), mention of PTSD, description of PTSD symptoms

Song(s): “when was it over?” by Sasha Sloan ft. Sam Hunt

Aaron Hotchner is a man who has always been accustomed to loneliness. Not that he lacks in company, all his time is split between work with his team and his son. But he has no one to share himself with. He has no one to open up to. To just say whatever he’s thinking out loud.

He’s grown used to needing to bury his emotions deep inside of him. Feeling everything all at once has become too painful. He needs to be solid and ever-present in his son’s life. He needs to be strong for his team. Though he tells them all, ‘it’s okay to lose it sometimes,’ he will never allow himself to lose it again in front of them. He wishes he could act emotionally, the way Morgan and JJ and Reid do. He wishes he could break down every once in a while without everyone thinking differently of him. But what kind of leader would that make him?

He’s a man who has a deep respect for the chain of command. He understands the need for structure and rules and protocol, yet at the same time, he wonders how much easier his life would be if he just broke the rules a little bit. What if he had taken that deal with Foyet? Maybe, just maybe, Haley would still be alive. Jack could have his mother in his life.

He’s acutely aware of the fact that as a leader he must put others' needs before his own. He follows protocol for a reason. He knows that Morgan sees him a little bit like a dictator. A stubborn, hard ass. Maybe even a little bit of a bully. But he doesn’t follow the protocol or the rules to be difficult. He does it because most of those rules are in place to keep people safe. To keep his team safe.

He’s plenty comfortable with this personality he has to put on. He’s accustomed to this role. He is comfortable in it. The problem is you. You come from the time in his life before all this. Before the shift. You remind him just how much fun you can have by breaking the rules. You remind him of giving in to his emotions. You remind him of feeling. Feeling anything. Feeling everything.

Whatever he once felt for you, it’s not lingering around. It’s been eight years. He doesn’t still harbor feelings for you. He’s had his great love. Haley. Haley was his great love. He’s not sure that his heart has the capacity for any more love, and if it does, he owes it to Jack to give him all the love in the world. The kid has lost enough.

It’s not that he wants you back in any capacity, but he feels this urge to explain himself to you. He knows doesn’t have to explain himself to you. He’s your boss. It would be best to keep everything professional. That’s what he’s been trying to do. He’s been doing a pretty great job at keeping everything bottled up. Not just keeping what he wants to say to you tucked away, but everything he feels— has been feeling— since he lost Haley a few months ago, tucked away.

But when you turned to look at him and asked how he was so okay, that little voice in his head was urging him to spill it all to you. To tell you everything. Tell you how much he cared for you. How much he still cares for you. He wants the best for you. He always has.

You had the potential to be his great love. The feelings were there, but back then he didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know what it meant to give your everything to someone. To bare your soul to someone. He did know, however, that you would’ve given him all of you. No matter the cost to you, you were willing to give him all of yourself. He didn’t know much, but he knew that was unfair to you. He knew he had to put a stop to it because you gave him everything and he gave you nothing.

He wanted the best for you. He was incapable of being the best for you. You deserved better than him, and he was not able to be better. That’s on him. He knows that. That’s no one’s fault but his own. You deserve an explanation better than what he gave you.

He doesn’t want you back, but he has been finding new levels of beauty within you. Within this new you, that he’s just meeting for the first time. You’re not a completely different person. The things he once found himself falling for, your wit, your intelligence, your smile, your humor, they’re all still there. Yet there’s so much new to discover, that he can’t help but find himself being drawn into you all over again.

You’re much more confident. You stand your ground. He knows that he is to blame for that. He showed you what it was like to have someone walk all over you. You have this air of wisdom that has clearly come about with age and experience.

There’s something deeply tragic within your eyes. They were once so bright and full of hope in the world. He can tell that the spark has died. Maybe it’s something he resonates with, a loss of belief in the good in people, that has him gravitating towards you all over again. He knows you’ve been through a fair share of tragedies. So has he.

Whoever said opposites attract applies to relationships was dead wrong. There’s nothing more appealing to Hotch than someone who completely understands him. Someone who completely understands his motivations, his mind, his feelings. Yet he believes he will never be able to open himself up to love again.

But you seem to give him hope. You might be just what he needs. He has this intuition that if he opened up to you, you would understand him. You would simply listen to him. You’ve always been good at listening. Maybe you’ve always been the right person for him. Maybe this is the second chance for the two of you.

Hotch visibly shakes his head, as if attempting to shake the thoughts from his head in the way a swimmer shakes their head to free the water from their ears. Every thought of you feels like a betrayal of his love for Haley. A betrayal of what he had with her. One look at the clock convinces Hotch he should be getting home. It’s long past Jack’s bedtime but that doesn’t mean he can’t be there when the kid wakes up. They’ll spend the weekend together, doing something Jack loves.

Hotch looks down at the stack of unfinished case files. He still has to check over the team’s work from the past week and he’s very quickly falling behind the more his mind seems to want to focus on you. He’s going to have to do a lot of paperwork this weekend. That’s not new for him.

He digs around his pockets for his personal cell, getting ready to text Jessica that he’s on his way home. She’s probably already asleep, but a text can’t hurt. The sound of his work cell ringing fills his body with a deep sense of grief and guilt. Guilty for not seeing his son more often, guilty for tearing JJ away from time with her family, guilty for forcing Garcia to see more of the worst of humanity, guilty of depriving Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss of sleep, guilty of depriving Rossi of his weekends, guilty of forcing you to spend any more time with him.

He reaches for the phone, “Hotchner.”

————

You don't get stuck in place. The instinct to call Hotch and tell him what’s going on has to be suppressed. You can’t tell him. The threat of the letter seems real. The picture is enough evidence of that. It’s not a picture of him at work, or on a case. It’s personal. He’s walking out of the coffee shop. A coffee shop you assume is close to where he lives. Close to his son. Close to a wife? A girlfriend? His son’s mother? You still haven’t heard the details of that whole situation.

It’s something you’re not sure you want to hear anyway. At first, you feel pathetic. For god's sake, you’re still hung up on this man from eight years ago? Get a grip.

But you’ve come to realize you’re not hung up on him. It’s not about the love you felt for him. It’s not a feeling of still being in love with him. It’s not about rage. It’s not about holding a stupid grudge. Yeah, he broke your heart. It was the worst relationship you’ve ever been in. But none of this is about love or rage. It’s about the way he made you feel. This feeling of worthlessness. A feeling that you can’t— won’t ever forget. A feeling you plan to avoid at all costs for the rest of your life.

You turn the photograph over in your fingers a few times. You don’t want anything to happen to Hotch. You’re not sure how you feel towards him. But you know this much is true: you want to keep him and his family safe. You have a sinking feeling that you know exactly who is behind the threat. It’s always been a possibility that he survived, no remains were recovered among the rubble. You’re quick to get to work.

You walk to your bedroom, flipping on the light in the closet and pulling out some of the remaining storage boxes you have yet to unpack. Your eyes fall on the safe in the back of the closet. Pushing everything out of your way, you crouch down, turn the dial and pull a box out. You walk by the door, checking the locks again. He knows where you live.

You open the small box, removing the manilla folder from inside. You pull out the contents: a photocopy of the incident report. The date on the top is just over a year ago. You haven’t looked at the photos since the accident. Your therapist warned against it, telling you it would likely trigger an episode. She wasn’t wrong. The anxious feeling builds in the pit of your stomach, nausea washing over you as you look through each of the photos.

There has to be something here. Something to tell you how he survived, why he did it, why he’s back. You find the transcripts of each of your calls with him. You think about how much easier this would be to decode with the help of the team. Reid would find some specific markers in the language he used when talking to you that would help demonstrate his obsession with you and why it took nearly a year for him to make contact again.

You set up a small workstation on your kitchen table, spreading all the information out. You tape the note and the photo up on the wall. You’re on your own for this one. Speaking to anyone, about anything, would be too risky. You’re not willing to risk Hotch’s life.

One thing is certain, you’re not getting much sleep tonight. You place a defensive hand on your gun holster that you haven’t taken off. You walk to the window lifting it up to study the fire escape. You see no one outside and squeeze through the open window back inside. You close the window, double-checking the lock. You place a small glass on the edge of the window, so that if someone does open it to break in, the glass will fall, alerting you of an intruder.

You never turn your back to the door as you work. The gun stays close to your side. You make a cup of coffee to keep you awake. Your profiling skills are getting better by the day, but you still know that you’re not well enough equipped to handle this all on your own. You pull the profiling handbooks off the shelf. You open Rossi’s books, poring over the words, again and again, noting anything you think might help you, noting any statistics.

It’s nearly two in the morning when your phone rings, startling you. You’re on edge. You reach for it, looking at the caller on the screen. “Agent Hotchner?”

“The team is meeting in an hour on the jet. It’s an emergency.” As much as you wish it didn’t, his deep stern voice soothes your anxiety ever so slightly. It’s nice to hear that he’s okay. He’s safe for now.

“Okay. See you then, Sir,” As you say it, you realize that the trains don’t run at this hour. You have no way of getting into the office or to the airstrip for that matter, “Hotch?” You say quickly before he can hang up. His name slips from your lips. You don’t mean to call him that.

“Yes? Something wrong?”

“I would just call another team member but I assume you haven’t left the office yet… I uh,” You’re embarrassed. Do you really want Hotch to see the shit apartment you live in? Do you really want him to know you don’t own a car? “I don’t have any way of getting into the office or to the airstrip. Usually, I take the train but… they don’t run at this hour.”

There’s silence on the other line for a second. For a moment you think the service has gone dead. You open your mouth but just as you’re about to ask him if he’s still there he speaks up, “Send me your address. I’ll come and pick you up.” This time, you freeze in place. You half expected him to say he would send Anderson or a car service, but the gesture isn’t surprising for Hotch.

At least not surprising for the Hotch you seem to be meeting all over again. Not all the traces of who he was long ago are gone but there are so many new layers to him you find yourself discovering. He’s immensely regimented. He follows rules. He respects authority. He’s the most giving leader you’ve ever seen. He manages to balance the right amount of rigidness and emotional detachment from the job while still acknowledging that his team is inherently composed of human people. People who deal with emotions and grapple with a myriad of different flaws and obstacles to their success. He always knows the right thing to say to each person.

You know that despite tearing his head off a few hours ago, Hotch is still the type of leader to drop everything to help you. If that means picking you up at 3 AM so that you don’t run into the possible dangers of taking a taxi cab this late, then he’s going to pick you up.

It’s equally unsurprising when you hear a buzz through the intercom to let him inside the building and up the stairs. Hotch doesn’t half-ass anything. If he’s going to pick you up, he’s going to come directly to your door instead of sitting outside in the car waiting for you.

You buzz him up, looking around at the disarray you have managed to cause. The case files are scattered across the kitchen table. The picture of him from outside the coffee shop still hangs on your wall. You don’t have time to hide it all. You know Hotch would never force himself inside your apartment, but you worry about what the consequences would be if Hotch found out about the note.

His knock at the door is firm, pulling your attention away from the photo and all the case notes. You shove a few of the case files into your bag and rush to the door. “One second!” You call yanking a jacket off a hanger in your closet and hurriedly sliding your boots on. You wince a little, your feet sore from wearing the shoes the entire day at work but you fight through it and open the door just enough for you to squeeze out without letting Hotch glance into your apartment. He gives you a weird look but doesn’t attempt to look around you into your apartment. “You didn’t have to come to pick me up, you could’ve sent a car or something.”

Hotch shakes his head. “Do you always take the train?” He reaches down, taking your go-bag from your hand, carrying it down the stairs of your apartment for you. You appreciate the gesture yet resent it all at the same time because of who it’s coming from.

“I didn’t need a car while in New York. Public transit got me everywhere. Now that I’ve moved here, I’ve started saving up for a car.” As soon as you step out of your building, Hotch instinctively moves to stand behind you, looking both ways around the empty early morning streets. He has your back as if he’s keeping a lookout.

Nice to know that the shitty living situation you have is not going unnoticed by him. He puts your go-bag into the back and opens the side door for you. Then something happens. As he opens the door for you, his hand drifts to your lower back, gently guiding you into the car. That’s when you feel it. A warmth that spreads throughout your body from where he touched you. You’re quick to move away from his touch and the expert profiler that Hotch is, immediately sense that he’s put you on edge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” He rushes out and averts his eyes from yours, moving around to the other side of the car. You reply with a curt nod as if to tell him that it’s okay but not to do it again. Or do you want him to do it again?

The only thing you’ve felt for the past year is numb. And when you aren’t numb, you’re angry. Not at Hotch, just at the world, at yourself, at the FBI, at the way your life has turned out. So the warm fluttery feeling stirring around your stomach is comforting. It’s comforting to be reminded you can truly feel something, yet this isn’t the kind of something you want to feel right now.

There’s a moment of silence as Hotch starts to drive the two of you to the office.

“What—”

“I—”

Both you and Hotch start speaking at the same time. You fumble over your words as Hotch speaks up, “You go first.”

“What’s the emergency case?” You look over the lines in Hotch’s face and his side profile as he drives. Hotch presses his lips into a thin line and tilts his head down a little, wringing his hands around the wheel.

“It’ll be better to explain to the whole team but if I’m honest… it’s not good.” He sighs and looks over at you. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it, switching his focus between you and the road.

“You were saying something?” It’s so dark in the car that you can barely make out his features. The only time you can clearly see him is when you drive past a street light, which illuminates the whole car. He doesn’t immediately answer you. You watch as he seems to run over things in his head like he’s preparing his words before he says them.

The car pulls to a stop at a red light right outside the FBI building. Hotch finally looks over at you, “I’m sorry.” The bright red light on the side of his face somehow seems to soften his features and the way his voice is soft, hushed almost, keeping the conversation trapped in the car between the two of you, “For being so callous with you earlier and for pushing you to talk and for…” The light changes to green. Like a switch, he focuses on the road again.

“For?” You raise a brow, unable to pull your eyes away from him. He’s utterly enchanting. Aging has done something wonderful to his features. The lines next to his eyes tell you that though it doesn’t seem like he does now, he did at one point do a lot of smiling.

“For hurting you. I am truly sorry,” He breathes out. It’s relieving to hear him finally say the words. To finally own up to what he did. You always thought about this moment, when he finally apologizes for everything. You thought it would feel much better. You always pictured you would look him in the face and scoff lightly, acting as if you had gone on to so much bigger and better things than he ever expected from you.

But right now, you don’t want to be pompous. You feel no urge to throw the apology back into his face. You almost, almost, feel bad for him. It never slips your mind how beaten down Hotch looks. You’re sure you don’t look your best right now, running on minimal hours of sleep over the past few days, but from the minute you started this job, he looked exhausted. Exhausted from what? That’s what you want to figure out. You have this strong urge to reach over and take Hotch’s hand as if you’re the one apologizing to him, not the other way around.

You don’t touch him but only force another nod, “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. It was unprofessional of me.”

Hotch laughs softly, opening the car door and getting both of your go-bags from the back seat, “Nothing about this whole situation is professional.” His breathy laugh brings a smile to your face. Did Aaron Hotchner just make a joke?

You both walk in silence into the building, flashing your badges at the night guard, who recognizes the both of you from when you left earlier in the night. The two insomniacs of the BAU. Both too proud to admit to the demons haunting them when they close their eyes, chalking up their late nights to an excessive amount of work.

Any friendly, playful attitude that Hotch had in the car with you dissipates as soon as you step onto the BAU floor. You can feel him tense up, standing a little taller. His face sinks into that unmistakable frown. You smile at the team as you step into the conference room, ignoring the screwed-up confused glance Rossi gives at the fact that you and Hotch enter the room at the same time.

“Hotch, what’s the emergency?” Morgan asks, standing to make himself a cup of coffee.

Hotch walks to the front of the round table by the monitor, “Columbus PD just contacted us about two recent murders.”

“Okay?” Prentiss glances up at him, “Why does it necessitate immediate BAU assistance?”

“They entered the information into the database and came up with a match, to the case we just closed.” He reaches for the remote to turn on the monitor, “Two college-aged girls on Ohio State’s campus were stabbed to death,” He clicks through the photos.

“The mutilation of their hands,” Rossi nods, almost knowingly.

“Did we get the wrong guy? Has he crossed into a different state to avoid connecting him to Indiana? Columbus, Ohio and Bloomington, Indiana can’t be that far apart. ” Prentiss points out gesturing with the pen in her hands.

“228 miles apart to be precise,” Reid interjects.

“But how is that possible? Everett Wilson, we arrested him, he’s detained, awaiting trial as we speak.” You shake your head. “He confessed to the crimes.”

“The rate of false confession is much higher than you might think,” Reid leans forward in his chair, sitting up straighter as he does, “27 percent of people accused of homicide give false confessions. That number skyrockets to a hefty 81 percent when you isolate it just to people with intellectual disabilities and/or mental illness accused of homicide.”

“So we either have a copycat or we caught the wrong guy,” JJ deduces, sounding altogether defeated.

“That’s what Columbus PD needs us to figure out.” Hotch nods, “I think our time will best be spent split between Ohio and Indiana.”

“Indiana?” You look up from your tablet.

“Someone has to interview Wilson,” Rossi fills in the gaps.

Hotch confirms with another small nod, “We’ll fly into Ohio. I think two of us should drive to Indiana to interview Wilson for a few days. Wheels up.”

———————

Hotch reaches forward, turning down the brightness on his laptop, attempting not to disturb his coworkers, who are currently attempting to get a little bit of sleep during the short flight to Ohio. There are only two other sources of light on the jet. One comes from Dave’s tablet. He’s looking over the details of the case again. The other is from the opposite side of the jet. You have the overhead light on, your eyes scanning quickly over the pages of a novel.

Hotch finds himself distracted from the work in front of him by you. You let out a long yawn. The overhead lighting is not doing your under-eye bags any favors. He wonders how long it’s been since you’ve slept. Really slept. A full night of uninterrupted sleep.

He thinks of the neighborhood you live in. He thinks of the apartment complex. He worries about your safety, living alone in a place like that. Do you live alone? The way you slinked out of the door, barely opening it, not allowing him a view inside, makes him think you were shielding someone from him, hiding someone from his eye line.

Or maybe you were just worried about his wandering judgmental eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if you made every attempt to keep your personal details completely secret from him. He knows he has no right to that information, but he can’t keep the curiosity at bay. No matter what the reason, your secretive behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by him.

You pull your feet up under you in the chair. He watches as you shiver slightly, reaching up to turn off the air vent above you. He feels an urge to offer you his jacket that sits on the seat across from him. He doesn’t, but he wants to. It’s a strange compulsion. Is it possible these urges to care for you, keep you safe that were put to rest eight years ago are still ingrained in him?

He needs to control himself, to remain composed and professional. He knows you don’t want anything to do with him. That much is clear from the way you moved when his hand landed on your lower back. He didn’t even consciously intend to touch you. He just opened the door to be polite. As you got in, he instinctively placed his hand on your back to help guide you into the car. It gave him that feeling again. The small sparks at the contact. The same small sparks from just over a week ago when he welcomed you to the team.

His eyes are lingering on you too long. Dave slides into the seat across from him, cutting off his clear line of sight. Rossi notices that Hotch’s focus is not on the laptop in front of him.

“So you’re going to Indiana to interview Wilson?” Rossi nods, leans forward on the table, folding his hands.

Hotch lowers the screen of his laptop, darkening the jet and shielding his features from Rossi’s profiling gaze, “He’s expecting higher-ups from the FBI. He’s not going to talk unless we fuel his ego. Make him feel important enough that I want to come and talk to him.”

“You know he’s not going to give you everything you need just with you there.” Rossi’s mouth forms a thin line as he shakes his head, “You need to throw him off. You need some behavioral cues as well.”

“I know that,” Hotch sighs, rubbing his fingers together on top of the table. “Prentiss is an intimidating female presence. I think she can elicit the right responses from him.”

Rossi pauses and glances off to the side at Emily who has fallen asleep, leaning her head against the closed jet window, “Emily has a lot of experience. She’ll be good.” He glances back at Hotch. Hotch knows what he’s leading to. It’s a fact Hotch is not oblivious to in the slightest. He knows exactly who the best partner for the interrogation will be. He knows exactly which team member will make Wilson the most uncomfortable.

Hotch shakes his head, “She’s not an option, Dave. She needs more profiling experience with the team.”

“She’s the youngest on the team. She’s not far behind Prentiss in age but she could easily pass for a student. That’s exactly his type,” Rossi argues, “I know there’s something going on between the two of you, but you can’t let that get in the way of this case.”

Hotch keeps his voice hushed so you can’t hear them, “Dave, I can’t do that. What if she breaks down? What if something happens to her?”

“What’s going to happen with you there?”

“To get what we need out of him we need to let him say everything he wants to say. We need to see his honest reaction to a challenging female presence. I don’t think she’ll be able to remain composed,” Hotch argues back with Dave, realizing his voice has raised a few decibels. He shoots a look at you, making sure you haven’t caught any part of the conversation.

“You think she won’t be able to remain composed… or you won’t?” Rossi points out. The old man is always capable of seeing right through Hotch. He goes silent and Rossi finally sits back in his chair, a smug smirk on his face, “There’s always something about your first.” He teases.

“Stop,” Hotch practically cuts him off, “There’s nothing between us.”

That smirk never leaves Rossi’s face. The lights flick on in the jet. Hotch feels the jet start to make an attempt to land. He knows what has to happen when you finally land, yet he is dreading it more than anything.

————

The team rouses from sleep as you land. You close your book, not having made much progress on it, your mind focused on the way Hotch’s eyes kept darting over to you. The shift between the two of you has rattled you. Maybe getting some of the feelings out there in the open has permitted a change in dynamic.

You were honest with him. He was honest with you. You didn’t necessarily want to hear any of his side of the story, but he answered your questions. There’s no doubt in your mind that he told the truth. Unit chief Aaron Hotchner is brutally honest, almost too honest. There’s a callousness to his honesty. He knows that truth can hurt, but sometimes you just need to hear it.

Sometimes you think it’s fate that has brought you back together. Destiny, maybe. But you’ve never believed in fate nor in destiny. You like to think you have some form of autonomy and you get to dictate how your life runs. The problem with not believing in destiny is that there’s no higher power or greater being to blame when your own reckless and stupid decisions end up hurting the people you love.

“Agent Y/L/N and I will drive to Indiana to interview Wilson. I’ve already made the necessary hotel arrangements. The rest of you will run the investigation from the Columbus PD headquarters. We’ll keep you updated and join in on the investigation by tomorrow.” Hotch nods and your head shoots up to look at him. He couldn’t have told you that earlier?

As soon as you step off the jet, there are three SUVs waiting for you. Hotch leads you to one, once again taking your bag from your grip and putting it in the back.

You find yourselves in the same position as just a few hours earlier, Hotch at the wheel, you in the passenger's seat, except this time, the sun is just rising as you start the three-hour drive to Indiana.

“Have you gotten any sleep tonight?” He looks over your face for the split second that he’s able to take his eyes off the road.

You nod, lying, “I got some sleep before you called us all in.”

He hesitates, wringing his hands around the steering wheel. He’s always been fidgety with his hands. When he’s not driving, he still does that little finger rubbing thing at his side. Sometimes he twirls a pencil in his fingers when he’s thinking. He’ll rub his hands over his face or continually place them on his forehead, rubbing at his skin a little. When he drives, he rubs his hands over the steering wheel. It’s even more obvious when he’s thinking. He’s debating whether or not to call you out on the lie.

He clearly decides against it, “Get some sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you up to brief you before we get to the detention center.” And that’s the last thing he says to you for a while. You would reach for your book, to soothe your anxiety, but Hotch put the go-bags in the trunk.

Most of the drive is spent in silence until you’re about 20 minutes out from the prison. You attempted to get some rest but the fact that you’re about to practically be bait for a serial killer isn’t really the most calming pre-nap thought.

Hotch begins to brief you, “Wilson has an ego. He’s a narcissist. This is a game to him. He’ll turn every question back to you or me as another question. He’s going to try and trip me up. Tell me that I’ve gotten something wrong about him.”

You nod and Hotch continues, “Then he’s going to turn all of his attention on you. You’re a young, attractive, successful woman.” You try to ignore the small warmth in your stomach when he says the word attractive, “You’re his exact victim type. He’ll hate you, but he’s also going to want to impress you.”

“That’s why you picked me,” You reach for your tablet, looking over the details from Wilson’s case. You wrote the case report, yet you still want to feel as prepared as possible.

“It’s likely he remembers both of us from his arrest. He’s going to want to describe to you in graphic detail every violent thing he did to those women. How he planned to kill them, how he followed them, how he felt killing them.” Hotch’s voice is steady but you see a slight sheen on the steering wheel from his clammy hands. He’s nervous. Does he not trust you to do a good job? Does he think you’re going to screw up?

“To freak me out?” You glance out at the window as you pull down a long windy road towards the detention center.

“To have control over you. To draw you into his fantasy. Don’t let him know it gets to you. Remain charming with him. Don’t get antagonistic with him. It’ll cause him to shut down.” Hotch pulls to the guard tower, flashing them his credentials. You reach for your own and do the same. The gates open, letting Hotch drive through and into the lot.

“He’s still awaiting trial but he’ll be in handcuffs. I won’t let them uncuff him when he’s alone with you,” Hotch parks the SUV.

“Alone?” You have to admit the thought terrifies you.

“He’s going to want to tell you more without me there,” Hotch turns off the engine. You see a guard exiting the front doors, walking towards you two. You give another wary nod and reach for the car door.

Hotch reaches for your arm, grabbing it gently. Your first name slips from his lips as he does. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s just enough to stop you from getting out, “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You look down at his hand on your arm, the feeling sending tingles all the way through your shoulder and down your back. He tracks your gaze and removes his hand, “And if it ever is too much and you feel overwhelmed, you just leave. It’s okay to need to take a breath. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Your shaking voice gives you away. You open the car door and extend a hand to introduce yourself to the detention officer. He leads both you and Hotch inside. You take off your gun holster and Hotch does the same for both of his guns.

A loud buzz signifies that the door is unlocked for you two to enter the center. Two armed guards lead you and Hotch down rows of cells holding prisoners that are all awaiting trial. A few of them call out, hollering and catcalling as you walk by. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around your body to shield yourself from them.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” Hotch speaks up from beside you. “He’s going to want to see the crime scene photos.”

“We can’t show him,” You argue. “We’re not here to give him a gift.”

“We need him to cooperate with us.” The next door is locked and you both stand there waiting for it to open. You finally catch a glimpse of him. His face is furrowed into that stern interrogation look of his, but his eyes are warm as they look at you, “You don’t have to do this.”

Another loud buzz. The guards push open the door. “Yes, I do.”

You step into the interrogation room. Everett Wilson stands to greet you. “Aaron Hotchner,” He smirks and just his smile sends a shiver through your body. That’s when his cold, steely eyes turn to you, “And you… I remember you.” He grins, speaking your name in a much more dulcet tone than he uttered Hotch’s. “I would shake your hand but,” He lifts his shackled wrists.

“Sit down,” Hotch is solid, unmoving. The way he speaks almost terrifies you. He slams a file down in front of Wilson.

“I assume you’re here because of my wonderful admirer,” He snickers and reaches for the file.

You place a palm on top of it, dragging it away from him, almost teasingly. You open it up, but keep it shielded from view, “You already have admirers?”

“Did one of those exclusive interviews with a newspaper,” Wilson nods his eyes running over you at a slow pace, as if he’s attempting to savor every last inch of your appearance, “The letters are already pouring in.”

You know he’s lying. He’s exaggerating the truth already, just like Hotch said he would. He’s only been detained for about 10 days. There’s no way he’s gotten that much attention in such a short period of time. You also remember Hotch told you to play into his ego as much as possible. “I’m not surprised. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit fascinated by you.” You raise your voice a few tones, letting a small smile grow on your face.

Immediate disgust at your actions fills you. You’re flirting… with a man who brutally stabbed multiple women.

“It’s not possible that you know who is committing these crimes,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the tension between you and Wilson. Wilson doesn’t bother to look away from your eyes as Hotch speaks. You want to tear yourself away from his chilling gaze, but it's almost as if you’re having a standoff and you don’t like to lose or give up.

“It isn’t?” He finally breaks eye contact. He’s questioning Hotch, just as expected. “And how are you so sure of that, Agent Hotchner?”

“You haven’t had any visitors,” He argues, “And according to the guards, very little correspondence.”

“And you don’t believe this imitation could’ve reached out to me?” He tuts and shakes his head, condescension oozing from every inch of the man, “So frequently incorrect, Aaron,” He turns to look at you again, “But how could anyone focus on anything when working alongside such a beautiful, young woman?”

You’re not sure how to act. Do you smile? Do you nod? Do you scoff? What you want to do more than anything is reach across the table, grab him by the neck and slam him up against the wall, demanding answers, “Can we see these letters?”

“No.”

“No?” You ask incredulously, glancing at Hotch for guidance.

“Not until I see those photos and confirm it’s my acquaintance from the letter,” He nods at the file you have trapped under your arms.

Hotch reaches an arm across you for the file but you stand up from the chair, picking the file up, “A word?” You mutter, looking down at Hotch. He nods and stands, following you out.

“If you can’t handle this just step away,” Hotch starts and reaches again for the file once you’re outside the room.

You move it out of his grip, “No I can handle it just fine. I just… this feels like a reward for him. I want him to give us more before we give it up.”

“What else are you expecting from him?” He crosses his arms across his chest.

“I want to know why. Why those girls? Why the hands? If we can identify the differences between his murders and these, we can figure out where the motivation stems from for these. “

Hotch hesitates, “Okay but if—”

“I’m fine. I’m not going to lose it. I can handle this,” You roll your eyes. You appreciate his consideration, but it’s starting to feel less like he cares about you and more like he doesn’t have faith in you to be able to do this.

You step back into the room, this time, alone. “Uncuff him,” You nod at the guards. They look to each other, then to you again and you nod. Wilson stands so they can remove the shackles from his wrists. He lets out a contented sigh once they’re removed and rolls his wrists around a little to loosen them up.

“Ready to show me what we’re dealing with?” He cracks his knuckles, almost threateningly.

“Not just yet,” You emphasize placing your hand flat on the file, holding it close. You talk a lot with your hands, “You see, I don’t get you. Or maybe I do. That’s the problem. Those women, what drew you to them? Was it their beauty? Or was it their age? You took pride in preying on younger women. You’ve always had a preference for them haven’t you?”

Wilson maintains that smug look on his face, but you notice that his eyes dart6 down to your hands often.

“That’s why your first run-in with the law was with your wildly underage girlfriend. Isn’t that right? Statutory rape. That will put a real damper on your career goals, won’t it?” You tsk softly, “Poor Amanda Reinhardt.”

“I loved her. We were in love. It was her parents’ fault,” He argues. You can tell his anger level is rising.

“I think your defense went something along the lines of this,” You open the file, pulling out some of the notes from Wilson’s history, “It was her fault. She was always teasing me, ruining me with those looks. With the way her hair smelled and the way her hands felt on my body.’ You remember saying that?” His jaw tightens as you recite the words back to him. “You didn’t love her. You grew to hate her. Her accusations ruined your career.”

“She loved me back. I swear she did.” His tone gets sharper.

“So when you killed those women, you really were thinking of killing Amanda, weren’t you?” You push him, finally sliding the file across the table to him. You open it, turning to one of the photos of the newest victims.

“It’s not right,” He growls, “He didn’t do it right!” He slams a fist down on top of the file. You jump back a little. Wilson reaches forward flipping to the next photo, “Not right!” He yells and you start to grow fearful of him. His anger level is quickly rising. You have hit a nerve. He shoves the file back across the table, the papers and photos scattering around as he does. “You don’t know! You don’t! You’re ruining everything!” He lunges towards you but before he can reach you the guards grab him by the shoulders. At the same time, two hands reach and grab your shoulders, yanking you out of his reach.

It’s Hotch. Hotch is pulling you away from him, placing his body between you and Wilson. “We’re done here.” He replies firmly.

Just as you turn to leave and follow Hotch out, Wilson yells one last thing at the two of you, “He’s just getting started! This is far from over for you, Y/N!” Ice water down your back as you hear it. Could the copy cat be connected to the note and photo you received? But this is all too up close and personal. The man who haunts your past never got up close and personal with his victims. Bombs. That was always it. Distance from the victims. This can’t be connected to him.

It takes you a second to realize Hotch is calling your name. He places a hand on your shoulder, which seems to draw your attention back to him, “Are you okay? I told you to step out if you needed to.”

“I’m fine.” You reply curtly.

“What was he saying in there at the end? Do you know who this copycat is?” You follow him back down the halls of cells, towards the exit, and out into the air. You take a few long deep breaths. Hotch repeats your name firmly.

“I don’t know what he was talking about. I think he was just trying to get under my skin,” You shake your head. “Something in those photos set him off. It’s clearly a copycat, and it’s clearly not someone who bothered to get to know Wilson’s original motivations.”

“But why are they doing it? To get his attention? To get him released?” Hotch walks with you back to the SUV.

You look down at your watch and realize just how long you and Hotch have been at this. What felt like minutes in there with him was really hours. “God I indulged him.” You mutter under your breath.

“It’s part of the job,” Hotch starts the engine, “We should get back to the hotel. You can get some rest. We’ll leave for Ohio in the morning.”

You sit in silence, running over the whole interaction in your head. You leaned towards him. You smiled back at him. You even laughed at him. You got valuable answers, but what did you lose in the process? Your dignity? Your self-respect? “I don’t think the copycat is even doing it for Wilson. I think he’s doing it for us. To get our attention. To get the FBI involved.”

“You think this unsub has some sort of personal connection to the BAU?” Hotch pulls into the hotel and parks the car.

“It’s the best explanation.” You meet his gaze.

“I shouldn’t have let you go to talk to him.” Hotch lets out and you feel frustration rising in you.

“Will you stop treating me like I’m incapable of handling this?” You open the door and step out, reaching for your bag in the back.

Hotch follows close behind you into the hotel. The man at the front has already checked you in and hands Hotch two hotel room cards. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. I just think you’ve been through a traumatic experience. It’s okay to be fragile after what you’ve been through.”

You push the elevator button with quite a bit of force. “With all due respect, you don’t even know half of what I’ve been through.”

The doors open and you step inside, Hotch right on your heels. You’re praying that someone else will come running, telling you to hold the doors, so that Hotch doesn’t continue this conversation, but the doors close with ease, leaving the two of you alone. “I know I’m the last person you’d confide in, but everybody needs to lose it sometimes.” You reach forward pushing the emergency stop button, “What are you—”

“Do you want me to lose it?” You question him, “Because you act like you actually want to see me lose it like you’re encouraging it.”

“I just care about you. You’re a part of my team,” Hotch speaks as if his line of logic is the simplest, most normal thing in the world. As if there isn’t a whole life you two lived together years ago.

“Because if you want me to lose it, make a scene, blow up on you, I can do that,” You chuckle bitterly. “Sometimes it really feels like you’re trying to push me to the edge and see how strong I am. How long I hold on before I lose it.”

Hotch doesn’t reply right away. You reach forward and release the elevator, feeling it lurch as it starts climbing the floors again. The elevator only rises four more floors before Hotch reaches forward and stops the elevator again.

“Would that help you? To lose it? To let it all out and yell and scream at me? Would that make you feel better?” His voice is eerily level. “Because if you need me to be your punching bag, I’ll do that.”

He’s telling you the elevator is like neutral territory for the two of you, again. Whatever you say in here won’t leave. You can’t look him in the eyes. You don’t start the elevator again. “I look at you and I don’t see you. I just feel the air disappear from my lungs. I feel pain. In my chest, in my head. I feel sick.”

You take a pause. Hotch doesn’t react. He’s giving you the opportunity to let it all out. To tell him everything you’re thinking. “I’ve tried to imagine how my life would’ve been without you in it. I could, and I felt so much better. The problem is no matter how good it felt to picture life without you, I still wouldn’t choose it over a life with you in it. I hate you, yet I don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

Another long pause. Neither of you moves from your spot in the elevator. You keep your eyes trained on the closed elevator doors. "The worst part of this whole fucking situation is that after all these years, you still manage to have a hold on every decision I make."

“What are you talking about?” He’s giving you an opening. He can tell that something is wrong. Something is off about you. He can tell that this frantic, paranoid energy you’re radiating isn’t because of your past with him. It’s something else. That picture, that note, it’s put you on edge. He noticed from the moment he picked you up at your apartment. You can’t tell him about the letter. You tell him and you risk his life.

You reach for the elevator button, bringing it to life once more. It rises the last few floors to the floor with your and Hotch’s hotel rooms.

“Have a good night, Hotch,” You huff out a breath, stepping off the elevator and walking down the halls to find your room. You desperately want to collapse on the bed and sleep until morning. It’s only late afternoon at this point, but you’re so emotionally drained you just might actually get some sleep.

You open your door, tossing your bag onto the chair in the corner of the room. You draw the curtains, quickly stripping off your clothes, muscles aching for a hot shower. What you want more than anything is a drink, but you know Hotch would have your ass if he found out you were drinking while technically on the job.

You walk to the bathroom, turning the shower all the way to hot. The bathroom fills up with steam and you stand around in it, letting yourself get the slightest bit light-headed in the steam. You step into the shower, hoping to scrub away the disgust you have for yourself after today.

You’re not sure how long you’re in the shower, but at some point, you sit on the tiled floor. You let tears well up in your eyes. You don’t know why you’re crying but it just sort of happens. It’s just so much. It’s all so much. This life, this job. It’s so hard.

Your therapist’s voice rings through your head. Your interpersonal skills will take a hit. You’re going to be more irritable. Easily angered. Easily provoked. Almost like angry outbursts triggered by almost nothing. You think about how quickly you turned on a dime, snapping at Hotch in the elevator. You’ll feel like you can’t trust anyone. You’ll have days where you feel nothing at all, just numb. You might have overwhelming waves of sadness or guilt. Your tears start to merge with the soapy water flowing down your cheeks and all over your body. You might struggle to sleep. Sleep deprivation will aggravate the other symptoms.

The steam is so thick in the bathroom you can’t see your hands in front of your face. The glass is completely foggy. You can barely breathe. Your eyelids are drooping closed with exhaustion, so you haul yourself up off the floor and turn off the water. You reach for the towel wrapping it around your body gently.

You walk back into your room but freeze in place when you see a note delicately placed on top of your go-bag. It’s a small white envelope. The front of it has the same writing as the one delivered to your apartment.

He was in your room. Just now. He got into your room. You fumble around for your gun, looking around the tiny hotel room, still only wrapped in a towel. You swing open the closet doors, frantically aiming your gun. You see a breeze from the balcony, blowing the curtains back and forth. You creep slowly towards them and yank the curtains open, stepping out onto your balcony, seeing no one out there.

The envelope is still sitting on top of your bag. You turn back into the room and open it, still dripping water everywhere as you do. Another photo. Another note. This time, the photo is of Penelope and Derek. They look like they’re leaving a movie theatre. Morgan’s arm is wrapped tightly around Garcia’s shoulders. You pick up the note:

Ready to follow my rules? Rule 1: Play nice with Aaron Hotchner. He’s an expert profiler. He’s going to catch on to those mood swings of yours. Enough with the hot and cold with him.

Nausea grows in the pit of your stomach. He’s been watching you. He was in this hotel. He might still be in this hotel. He knows about your fights with Hotch. How?

You keep your gun close by your side even when you settle into the bed. You leave all the lights on. You check the locks on the door and the sliding glass doors every hour. All hope for sleep slips through your fingers.

You and Hotch travel the three hours back to Ohio the next morning in complete silence. You don’t mention the second note. He can tell you didn’t sleep. You don’t care. Your mind is hyperfocused on that stupid fucking note. Now it’s clear the man taunting you has eyes on Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan. They’re all in danger.

The main problem is with the copycat case. The case goes cold. You all stick around Columbus, Ohio for another two days. No new murders. No new leads. Nothing. You have nothing to profile. All the components of the profile seem to be leading to dead ends. Rossi explains that it’s one of the most frustrating parts of the job. Sometimes what you need to solve the case is another body, but another one never comes. It’s a good thing in retrospect, but it means that the team has failed.

You’re not much help to the team the two days you spend grasping at straws because you’ve retreated so far into yourself you barely speak. You do what Hotch asks of you but he notices your change in behavior. Then you realize you’re supposed to be normal. Play nice with Aaron Hotchner.

By day three, the team has decided there’s nothing more you can do. You have to return to Quantico. From the energy of the entire team on the jet, you can tell you all feel as if you’ve failed. It doesn’t seem like the team is used to unsolved cases. Everyone is frustrated and tired and angry.

One by one, the team starts to fall asleep, all thoroughly exhausted from the past two days. You eye the seat across from Hotch, the only bright place left on the plane. He has the overhead light on as he works on his laptop. You keep your book clutched tight against your chest and sit across from him.

He only looks up to smile at you before diving back into his work. You’ve never had a problem existing in silence with Hotch. Until now. There’s so much that’s happened between you. Yet like always, it’s not about the things that you said to him a few days ago. It’s about whatever isn’t being said. And at this moment, across from him, pretending to read, you can tell there’s so much he’s not saying. You look up at him to find he’s looking right back at you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, not sure if you really want the answer.

“Something you said the other day. It’s sticking with me,” He tilts his head down a little, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You said you hate me.”

“Oh,” Did you mean it? You don’t know. You don’t think you’ve ever hated Hotch. You could never hate him.

“It’s sticking with me because,” Aaron takes a slow deep breath, closing his laptop like he’s preparing himself for what he’s about to explain to you. What he’s about to discuss is going to hurt more than both of you can comprehend in that moment. “Because,” He’s loosened his tie, letting it hang crookedly around his neck, “If you’re going to hate me, I need you to see all of me before you do.”

So he tells you everything. He tells you about Foyet and Haley and the events of the past two years of his life. He starts with the deal Shaughnessy made with The Boston Reaper all those years ago. He goes over the case, in detail, describing the process that led them to Foyet. He describes Foyet’s escape from prison. He didn’t stop searching for him after that. Every free minute in the day, he dedicated to tracking anything and everything he could to find Foyet. But he had gone underground.

Then he gets to his attack. The details start to fade out from there. “That’s when—” Hotch pauses as he speaks. He averts his eyes from yours, taking a second to breathe. He presses his lips into a firm line. It’s hard for him to get the words out, “When he attacked me in my home.”

He doesn’t tell you much, besides the fact that Foyet stabbed him and dropped him off at the ER. As Hotch talks, you just simply sit there and listen. You feel your heart sinking further into your stomach. Your first impressions were correct. The man in front of you is a man who has been through a world of hurt. You could see it in his eyes that first day on the job. He’s deeply broken.

You feel bad for him. It doesn’t take away from the hurt he caused you in the past, but you find yourself starting to understand this current Aaron Hotchner more and more with each word out of his mouth.

You don’t know how you feel about Aaron Hotchner. You don’t know what the future of your relationship with him holds, a fact you remind yourself of constantly. But when he starts to talk about the attack, you see him closing off. You can see him suppressing just how traumatic and painful it all was. He glosses over the details, but just the look on his face makes you want to reach for his hand. You want to hold it, show him that you’re listening to him. You care about what he’s saying.

You resist the urge and resign yourself to attempting to demonstrate just how intently you’re listening to him. He explains how Foyet killed Haley while she was on the phone with him. He was too late. He couldn’t save her. Jack was unharmed. He’s not sure Jack fully understands what happened yet. He’s still not really old enough to understand that his mom isn’t ever coming back.

It’s ill-timed, but you can’t help but feel the pain in your chest as he continues to talk about Haley. He was deeply in love with her. She was his person. His one true love. She was able to show him true love. You feel intensely disappointed. You weren’t enough for him to change, but Haley was. He explains that he met her in high school and they separated a few years later as he pursued his career. They were reunited not long after he quit his teaching position. Right when he started his job in the FBI.

Now she’s gone. His true love, ripped away from him, all because of his job. “I lost her to the job twice.”

“I’m sorry,” Is all you can manage to get out after he stops talking.

“What are you sorry for? It wasn’t your fault,” He has to clear his throat a little, his voice getting caught in the back of his throat. You swear his eyes have glossed over with tears.

“For bringing her up the other day. That was cruel of me.” Your voice is small. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so weak, so emotional.

“You didn’t know.” He waves his hand, dismissing your apology.

“Still. I’m sorry,” You pause, “Also I’m sorry for wishing a horrible life on you.”

“When did you do that?” He scrunches his brows up, confused.

You bite back a smile, “Oh just uh… eight years ago?”

Then something beautiful happens. Aaron Hotchner lets out a full-bodied, amazingly childish laugh. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for the two of you after all.

Chapter 15: II.IV →

Tag list: @wanniiieeee​ @art-and-thoughts​ @enjoymyloves​ @flipperpenguins​

[lovingrosewho]

Flunked

Hii so, as some of you may guess by the summary, one of my teachers failed me in a project in which I put a lot of effort in:( I had to take my anger out writing this haha, I hope you like it, as usual, any feedback or suggestions are well received! English is not my first language, etc. Enjoy!

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T.- Fluff

Word count: 2.1k words

Summary: Crowley finds you crying in your room because you failed a really important test

Warnings: mentions of sex, curse words, protective!Dean which of course counts as a warning

You had been taken under the Winchesters wing for a while now, they agreed to share the bunker with you as long as you didn’t drop out of school after that wendigo hunt that had left so many scars, physical and emotional. They had warned you about the dangers of being a hunter and how it would eventually kill you and the ones you loved around you if you decided to take it up as a job. They kind of saw you as the little sister they never had, to be protected at all costs...

But when it got to the King of Hell, well, that was a whole other story.

Crowley had been around you a few times, the boys did not want him anywhere near you, had it been for them they would’ve put up a 12 feet round salt circle with you in it, but of course you would’ve argued.

You didn’t see the King of Hell as a threat, you even found him charming. His witty comments mocking Sam and Dean made you laugh in silence more times than you could count, his confident stand and even the pace of his steps made your insides nervous, ticklish. When he was around, he’d salute you with a slight tilt from his head and a “Kitten”. Nickname which would make the Winchesters roll their eyes and tell him to focus with, frankly, nearly not any manners.

The first time you talked with him properly, even though the boys were around, was kind of cute. You were helping them with some research and he went to stand by you, eyeing whatever you were reading, you had to suppress a laugh at how his eyes squinted trying to read the tiny letters.

“Something funny, Pet?” he asked you, a hidden, smug smirk in his lips. Sam and Dean gave each other a look, which shifted to Crowley afterwards.

“No, no, nothing” you assured him smiling, returning your gaze to your book “I’m guessing this snooping around is due to boredom, your Majesty?”

Crowley now grinned notably whilst Dean’s head snapped back at you.

“What did you just call him?” the eldest Winchester asked quite annoyed, but you dismissed him anyways.

“How’s hell, Crowley?” you said turning to him, ignoring Dean’s question and Sam’s glance at you.

“It’s okay Squirrel, I think (Y/N) here can take care of herself just fine” he said without taking his eyes off of yours and winking “Hell’s fine, by the way. Sweet, boring hell, which I should be getting back to right now, I hope by next time I drop by you’ll actually have something to show me”.

His eyes flew to Dean’s flared face with annoyance, then Sam’s and finally they fell back at you.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Kitten” and with this he vanished.

After that, Dean had scolded you, repeated once again what Crowley was capable of and how you shouldn’t be joking around with him. You shrugged it off just like Sam did, because nor him nor his brother were able to keep Crowley at bay with you after that. He’d drop by even more than he did before, and most of the times his words were directed at you, not the boys, talking about Hell, hunts, and overall non-important stuff. The Winchesters finally gave up and had to deal with the fact that, inevitably, you and the King of Hell were close.

A few months passed since your first little chat with Crowley, Dean insisted in scoffing and rolling his eyes every time he made a flirty move on you, Sam just smiled, guessing you probably had a thing going on for him as well.

Things stayed that way until the last term of the semester started, then you were buried underneath books, essays and projects. You still talked on the phone with Crowley at least once a week, but seeing each other personally was nearly impossible, he did not want to distract you.

When he was sure you were just days far from finishing school, he appeared at the bunker with the classical “Hello boys”, scanning the library, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for something?” Dean mocked, which caused Crowley to gave him a boring look.

“Very funny, Squirrel. You know bloody well who I’m looking for and I don’t see her in this room” he answered giving them a sarcastic look.

“Now’s not a good time Crowley” Sam affirmed without looking up from his laptop.

“Whatever do you mean, Moose? I’ve been told (Y/N) is almost finished with the semester, she should have less deadlines now” he argues when Dean interrupts.

“She failed a test and she has been... moody, the whole day, I wouldn’t even touch her if I were you, hell, I wouldn’t even go near her” he suggests winking at him. Crowley grunts at his, yet again, unsuccessful attempt to keep him far away from you.

“That’s because you two morons don’t know how to talk to her, I’ll just go to her room” he says beginning to walk, causing Sam to stop paying attention to his laptop and instead getting up all of a sudden along with Dean, who’s decided to stop Crowley.

“Wow wow wow, you’re not going into (Y/N)’s room” Dean declares laying a hand on Crowley’s chest so he doesn’t make another move “You’ve never been to her room”.

Crowley removes Dean’s hand with visible disgust.

“Oh Dean, I thought we were past the whole ‘Stay the hell away from (Y/N)’ deal. Listen Squirrel, if you don’t let me see how (Y/N)’s doing, I’ll just zap myself over there, understood?” he demands, and Dean is about to say something when Sam interrupts.

“Dean... maybe he’ll be able to cheer her up” he encourages timidly.

“What? Oh so you’re on his side now?” Dean reclames and Crowley can’t help but roll his eyes, snap his fingers and there he is, inside your room, standing in front of you.

You are laying flat on the bed when the unexpected smell of sulfur, whiskey and citrus invades your nostrils and makes you smile slightly.

“Crowley” you greet him lifting from your bed, inviting him to sit at the edge of it.

“Hello, darling” he says smiling back and accepting your offer of taking a seat next to you. When he gets closer he notices your swollen, red eyes “Have you been crying, Pet?”

You avert your sight and say nothing.

“Pet?” Crowley prompts “Are you alright?”

“Yeah” you lie “It’s nothing really, just some stupid test”.

“It’s not ‘stupid’ if it’s important to you. What is it? I know you. You can’t tell me you forgot to study or something like that”.

“I didn’t! I-“ your voice cracks again and you have to clear your throat to keep speaking “Of course I didn’t forget. I studied. Hard. But my professor said that ‘my answers weren’t clear enough’ which I totally disagree and I... I just find it unfair”.

“Huh” he says listening to you ramble whilst he gets up and starts walking in circles around your room. You glance at him and see his thoughtful look “Perhaps we could arrange an appointment between your teacher and my hellhounds”.

You laugh lightly and shake your head.

“Whatever it’s... it’s fine, I suppose the boys told you” you say “Guess now I’ll just have to drop out of school and take up hunting again”.

Crowley rolls his eyes for the eleventh time this day. Even if you’re joking he doesn’t like the thought of you being in danger, much less getting hurt or even... or even killed.

“Quit being dramatic, (Y/N), it doesn’t suit you at all” he tells you arching an eyebrow “Besides, we both now I’m the dramatic one in this relationship”.

You chuckle.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Yes” he answers walking towards you and cupping your face with his hands, wiping the last tears from your eyes. You let a sigh escape.

“How did the boys let you in anyways?” you say changing the subject. Crowley scoffs at your question.

“They didn’t. In fact, they surely must still be discussing my quite essential stay with you today” he answers, taking his hands off your cheeks and sitting beside you.

You nod in understandment, amused.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Kitten” he assures you, placing his hand in your leg, yours instantly flies to it.

“I know” you tell him, moving your other hand to his cheek and making him face you “Thank you, for being here...”

He grins softly.

“Anything for you, love” he says and you smile. Slowly, you start leaning forward towards his lips. Crowley stares at you perplexed, but does nothing to stop you, instead, he shifts to touch the nape of your neck and leans into the kiss.

The kiss is swift. It begins with slow, careful movements, eager lips brushing over yours, turning into a heated passion as Crowley requests for entrance with his tongue and you jump to his lap. He explores your mouth until you’re both out of air.

“Well that’s an interesting turn of events” he tells you arching his brows and you laugh giving him a mild smack in the chest with your elbow.

“Shut up” you say pecking his lips a few times “You know... if Sam or Dean come in they’ll kill you right?”

The boys are right outside the door waiting for you or Crowley to go out, conflicted if they should go in, or knock, given that they’re not able to listen to anything you say.

“They’ve been insanely quiet in there” Dean’s mind begins to wander in the possible escenarios where you’re involved with Crowley. In your room. And he doesn’t like any of them.

“So what Dean? Maybe they’re just catching up” Sam says, exasperated with his brother.

“No, no, no, I could hear murmurs just minutes ago, now it’s total silence”. Sam sighs.

“Do you really want to go in there? Like really?” he questions giving his brother a look.

Dean considers his options for a few seconds.

“You know what? I’m going in” he asserts and Sam laughs.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be right behind you, covering my eyes”.

“Don’t be a baby” Dean snorts, but to be honest, he’s praying he doesn’t find you having sex with the King of Hell.

They come in the room to spot you in Crowley’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, eyes closed, his mouth grazing over yours.

“Crowley you son of a bitch!” Dean yells at him, taking long strides to get to you.

“Squirrel” Crowley says sighing, whereas you do the same, adding an eye roll “Didn’t your mommy teach you how to knock?”

Sam is just laughing in the back, glad that at least they didn’t find you naked.

Dean is about to continue yelling at you and Crowley just raises his hand, snaps his fingers and you’re on his throne in hell.

“I believe that was our cue, love” he tells you with a half smirk in his face. You outburst in laughter.

“After this Dean’s definitely making me sleep with the dog” you state. Crowley chuckles lightly “Well, if we had a dog”.

“I thought that was Castiel” he says pretending confusion, you snort and shake your head, a grin not leaving your face.

Crowley takes a lock of your hair between his fingers and starts playing with it. At the same time, he leaves a trail of wet kisses that go from your mouth to your neck.

“Those Winchesters are lucky I was too busy admiring you to shove them out the room and lock the door” he acknowledges, continuing tracing kisses along your skin.

“They’re lucky they found us with clothes on” you admit and he chuckles again.

“Now now, Pet, never took you for the naughty type” he jokes “Quite honestly, I figured this was eventually going to happen, but I always thought I’d be the one to invite you out”.

“You want to invite me out?” you tease “Never saw that coming”.

Crowley smirks, faking annoyance.

“I’m asking to date you, (Y/N), but of course you would tease me about it” he says. You giggle, he’s right “So, what’s your answer?”

“Yes” you speak without hesitation, covering his lips with yours in a long, deep kiss.

“See? If Dean Winchester decides to kick you out the bunker, which I’m highly doubtful, you get to sleep with the King of Hell, not the dog” he tells you with bedroom eyes.

You bite your lips and nod, proceeding to keep making out with the King for a long time, spending the night with him. Dean’s chide can wait.

MASTERLIST