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change-the-world-someday · 3 years

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I'll Be Here

Oh boy I'm back baby. Here's a Derek Shepherd x Teen!reader bc I just started Grey's Anatomy. I'm well aware I've had stuff in my inbox for over a year, and frankly I'll get round to them soon. I hope this tides you over.

Derek Shepherd x Teen!Reader

Summary: Who'd have thought the child of Derek Shepherd would suffer with something even he can't cure?

A/N: I've been twitching a lot lately so this was a comfort write. Derek and Meredith don't have a relationship, and there's a bit of canon divergence.

⚠️TW⚠️ Talk and descriptions of twitching/tics

—•—

You knew the moment you woke up you were going to have a bad day.

Your alarm went off at the bright and early nine and as you made a move to turn it off, your arm twitched, almost pushing it off your nightstand. You let out a sigh, leaning down and managing to shut it off and sit up.

Until you neck starts to snap left and right, tensing and relaxing each muscle.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, standing and stretching, well, as much as you can before your twitches start up again. You makes your way downstairs, finding an empty kitchen and a note on the counter. You manage to pick it up and read it.

Sorry, I got called in today. Let me know when you’re up

— Dad

You shake your head, whistling and shaking your hands. Great, so you're alone on a day where your twitches are worse than normal. You sigh and head back upstairs, almost losing balance on the stairs, and takes a quick shower before trying to style your hair. With difficulty, you get changed before reaching over and grabbing your phone. You grip it tightly, until it’s flung across the room.

“Shit,” you mumble, reaching down and picking it up. You open your messages, trying to text your dad.

Y/N

Hi, up. Bad today

It’s short, and to the untrained eye, might seem pretty rude, but to you and your dad, is a warning. Heading back to the kitchen, you try to eat a bowl of cereal. Instead, you managed to spill the cereal twice, drop milk on the floor, and then poke yourself in the side of the face a few times with your spoon instead of eating.

Your phone buzzes.

Dad

Do you need me at

home?

Y/N

No. Just bad

Dad

Do you want to come

to the hospital? You

can stay in one of the

offices if you want

You think about it for a moment, though you don’t get too long before your phone starts ringing. You pick up.

“Hi—” you whistle “—hi Dad.”

You hear him sigh. “Hey kid. Do you want to come in today? I can make sure no one stops you and you can come straight to the office.”

You click, your neck jerking forward. “You sure? I’ve—“ you whistle “—never been there before. I don’t want—“ you click “—to become a case study.”

Your dad laughs lightly down the phone. “I won’t let them. Just make your way over, and keep your earphones in. Music helps.”

You nod, before your neck twitches to the side and cracks, making your dad wince audibly. “Okay. I’ll let you know—“ you whistle and sigh, clearly getting frustrated with yourself.

“I get it. Don’t work yourself up; it’ll only make it worse. See you soon. Love you.”

A ghost of a smile passes across your face. “Love you too, Dad.”

—•—

Derek hangs up and leaves the store cupboard, almost bumping into Dr Bailey as she marches past.

“Watch where you’re going, McDreamy,” she scolds and Derek smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Bailey narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Y'N's coming here. They're having a bad day,” he replies and Bailey nods, immediately catching on. “No one else knows.”

Surprisingly enough, you haven’t met anyone from Derek’s work, except for Bailey and even then, that was an accident. You'd bumped into her on a bad day and Derek had to explain what was wrong. Ever since, Bailey’s had a soft spot for you.

“Not even the chief?” She asks and Derek shakes his head. “Did you warn them?” He nods. “Well, there’s not much else you can do.”

“They're texting me when they’re a few minutes away. If I get caught in surgery, can you meet them at the doors please?”

The two stop in the corridor, Bailey pulling him over. “I have my own schedule too, Shepherd.”

Derek nods. “I know, but you’re the only other person here they know, and you know how they can get in places they don’t know…”

Bailey looks around. “If you’re caught up, you owe me one.”

Derek smiles and nods, a look of relief on his face. “Thank you.”

—•—

You're walking down the street to the hospital, constantly readjusting your earphones so they don’t fall out. Your neck keeps snapping to the side and jerking forward, earning a few odd looks from strangers. You sigh, a few minutes away from the hospital, and pull out your phone. Before you can do anything, though, you promptly throw your phone on the pavement.

Thank god your dad bought you one of those industrial phone cases. You pick it up, dodging people as you go to call your dad. He picks up after two rings.

“Hi, I’m—“ you click “—a minute away.”

“Okay. I don’t think I’m going to be able to meet you at the doors. Just walk through, take the stairs to the fifth floor, and come down the hall. I’ll be in the break room, second door on the left.”

Your eyes widen; you're going to be by yourself? Walking through a hospital? Where no one knows you?

“O-Okay,” you stammer out and your dad sighs.

“I’m sorry kid. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He hangs up and you take a breath, nodding to yourself. You pocket your phone and turn your music up as loud as it can be. Your dad was right, it does ease your twitching, though not as much as you'd like.

Fall Out Boy blasts through your earphones as you walk through the doors of Seattle Grace. You refuse to make eye contact with anyone, your neck twitch making it a lot easier to achieve. You click as you make your way to the stairwell, making your way up.

You don’t hear the calls of concerns from the interns following you, trying to catch up to you.

By the time you reach the fifth floor, the two interns have gone to find Dr Bailey to try and assist them, and Dr Shepherd who can help with the disorder being presented. They haven’t had someone who needs medical attention blatantly ignore them and go to a certain department before.

You lose your balance a little as you walk through the doors to the fifth floor, your neck jerking left and right repeatedly, muscles tensing and relaxing. Your hands are shaking and you walk like a new fawn.

You reach the door and push it open, whistling and clicking as you do so. At least you can see your dad today.

—•—

Derek knows immediately what kind of day is happening when you steps into the room. You're a jerking mess, neck and shoulders tensing and relaxing as though given electric shocks. You're whistling, clicking, and your eyes have recently started screwing shut, temporarily blinding you.

And that’s with your headphones in.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets, gently taking one earbud out of your ear and leading you to the seats. At least if you're sat, you have less of a chance of hurting yourself.

“Hi Dad,” you reply until a whistle comes back out. “S-Sorry.”

“Hey,” Derek places a firm but kind hand on your shoulder, “don’t apologise. None of this is your fault.” There’s a silence between you two, only broken by the sound coming from the removed earphone. “Fall Out Boy? Nice choice.”

Your neck snaps but you give a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you want something to eat? Did you manage to get some breakfast?” You sigh, your hands twitching and trembling, which tells Derek everything he needs to know. “Is it a bomb-site there?”

You shake your head. “I managed—“ you whistle “—to clean up. Took ages.” Your neck jerks forward. Derek sighs, putting an arm around you and pulling you into his side. You've always been wary; you never want to hurt your dad accidentally but Derek doesn’t care. You're his kid, and nothing will change that.

“You’re okay. Do you want some lunch? We can go to the cafeteria—they’ve got some pizza in there that’s actually pretty good.”

You nod, knowing anything you try to say will be interrupted by one of your twitches. You walk alongside Derek, trying your hardest to suppress your twitching as you make your way through the hospital and into to lift, where a few others are going to different floors. Derek notices, and leans into your ear. “You don’t have to hide it here, kid. Promise.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief from you as you let out a scatter of twitches, your neck jerking forward as you whistle and click. Your hands shake and flap and you let it all go. A few of the doctors and nurses turn around to look at you, but one harsh glare from Dr Shepherd makes them all go back to minding their own business.

You exit the lift and walk through the corridors to the cafeteria. You join the queue and you feel Derek keep an arm around you, trying to help you ease your twitches. You're grateful, though you both know there isn’t much either of you can do to stop them. You sigh, putting your earphones back in and blasting some music, this time Hozier.

Derek watches you struggle, sympathy panging through his heart. He hates that you've been cursed with this, and the worst part is they can’t find anything that’s causing it. It’s not like there’s a tumour or growth on your brain Dr Shepherd can operate on, you're just stuck with it.

“Dr Shepherd, good afternoon. Who’s this?” Lindsey, the server behind the food counter, greets. Derek smiles.

“Afternoon Lindsey. This is my kid, Y/N. They're joining me at the hospital today,” he explains, gently tapping you on the shoulder and causing you to take an earphone out. “Y/N, this is Lindsey.”

“Hi,” you greet, before your neck jerks forward yet again, cracking. The two adults give a wince and Lindsey gives you a small smile.

“What would you like, hun?” She asks. You look over, or does so as best you can. You can barely stay still long enough to read the menu. “We have a standard pizza or pepperoni pizza today. We also have some ham, chicken, or cheese sandwiches and salads. Or a few pastries we can heat up if you’d prefer.”

You give her a grateful smile. “Can I—“ you whistle “—have pepperoni please? And a—“ you click “—bottle of water?”

“Sure thing, and you Dr Shepherd?”

You put your earphones back in, trying your hardest to stop twitching. The problem is, the more you try to stop it, the worse it gets. It takes a few minutes for you to get your food, and when you do, Derek carries both trays to a table and sets them down. He takes a seat opposite you, giving a small smile.

“Thanks Dad,” you thank, pulling one earphone out so you can hear the conversation. You pick up the plastic fork and spear a few chips, but before you can eat them, your hand twitches and you throw it on the floor. You sigh but before either you or your dad can make a move to pick it up, someone else does it for you.

“You better be more careful. I don’t want fries on my shoes.” You recognise that voice anywhere, and smile as you look up at Dr Bailey. You let out a small laugh.

“Hi Dr Bailey,” you greet, whistling as your head snaps to the side and back. She smiles at you.

“Heard you were coming and through I’d say hello.”

—•—

“Guys, shut up,” Cristina hisses. “Do you see?”

“See what?” George asks as they quieten down. She nods her head and the table of interns turn around to catch sight of what’s going on. Dr Bailey is talking Dr Shepherd… and you sat with them. You're not dressed in any kind of hospital gown, nor are you wearing scrubs, so who are you? And how are you making Dr Bailey smile?

Meredith watches, catching sigh of your hair, and her eyes widen. She reaches over, slapping George on the arm.

“What?” He asks.

“It’s them,” she replies, “the person from earlier. Y’know, the one who didn’t check in at reception and took the stairs. The one who ignored us!”

George’s eyes widen too, and the two get up and start to walk over, ignoring the protests of Cristina and Izzie as they reach the table. You're struggling to get a sentence out, whistling and clicking as you try to tell Dr Shepherd about something.

“Dr Shepherd!” Meredith calls out, making the conversation halt between you. “Are you with a patient?”

She misses how you cringe. Dr Shepherd frowns, which only deepens more at the crack in your neck as it jerks forward. “Dr Grey, Dr O’Malley, how can I help?”

“W-We saw, erm, this kid walk straight through and up to neurology without checking in. Do you want us to check them in and get a better examination? We were going to come to you for a consult when we saw them anyway, but since you already seem to know them…” George trails off and Dr Shepherd looks between you, the interns, and Dr Bailey.

An awkward silence falls between you, only disturbed by the occasional whistle or click from you. “I can get a wheelchair if it’s easier.”

“No need,” Dr Shepherd cuts in. “They aren’t a patient, their name’s Y/N. They're my kid and they're accompanying me to work today.” The two interns look at each other, mortified. “Now, if you excuse us, we were just having lunch.”

Your hand flexes again, making you throw your fork on the floor (the second one in the space of fifteen minutes) and sigh. You go to pick it up, only for George to beat you to it. “Here.”

“Than—“ you click as your head jerks forward “Thank you.”

“Don’t you two have places to be?” Bailey asks, less than impressed with her two interns in front of her. They both nod and scurry off, back to their table to tell Cristina and Izzie about Dr McDreamy’s kid.

—•—

“I don’t know how they cope with it,” George muses as the group of four interns sit on some beds in the back corridor, waiting to be paged for something.

“Yeah, twitching all the time. God, I’d kill myself if I had them,” Izzie continues. “Would ruin my chances at both medicine and modelling. And a lot of other things, probably.”

“Do you think they wanted to go into medicine? Y’know, before they started twitching? Or have they always had it?” Cristina asks. “Or do they have a tumour?”

“For your information,” a voice cuts in, making all four jump and turn to the source, meeting the likes of Dr Shepherd, “Y/N wants to be a lawyer.” He walks down the corridor to them, everyone’s cheeks turning red a the prospect of being caught gossiping. “The tics developed about eighteen months ago, just before we moved to Seattle. It’s not a tumour, or any kind of swelling; in fact, we have no clue what set it off.”

“Have you done an MRI? CT?” Meredith suggests and Derek nods.

“We ran everything. It all came back clean.” He looks at Cristina. “They did want to be a doctor. When we realised we couldn’t cure them, they were upset for weeks. They—“

“Talking about me?” A voice calls down the corridor and Derek’s face splits into a smile, something that doesn’t go amiss by the others. You whistle, making it to the group and taking a seat next to your dad. You lean on him… until your neck twitches and you almost fall back. Derek’s hand shoots out, supporting you.

“We were just—“ Izzie tries to say before you cut her off, clicking in the process.

“Let me guess.” You whistle. “The doctor que—“ you click “—question and how I live with—“ your neck jerks to the side “—it.”

Your dad gives you a smile. “Ten out of ten for you,” he smiles. You nod.

“Well, I used to want to—“ you click “—be a doctor, until we found out this is incurable.” You whistle. “Pretty soul-crushing.” Your neck jerks back, and if it wasn’t for your dad’s hand, you would’ve hit the wall. “And we’ve learned to adapt to it. There are—“ you click “—days where I’m fine, with only a few, and days—“ you whistle and everyone can feel the frustration radiating off you. Still, no one chooses to finish your sentence, letting you get it out yourself “—like this.”

—•—

For a while, the six make general conversation, until, slowly but surely, you start to drift off. It isn’t until there’s an odd silence that Derek notices, and he has a smile on his face as he looks down at you, asleep on his shoulder.

“They look so… peaceful,” Izzie comments quietly, the others agreeing.

“Yeah. We’ve had a few rough days this week. God knows they need the rest,” Derek mutters. He shifts to look between the four. “Any of you wake them, I’ll make sure you’re banned from the OR for a month.”

Everyone’s eyes widen as they nod in unison; they’re all begging for a chance at more surgery. Carefully, Derek manoeuvres you so your head’s lying in his lap, body stretched out on the hospital bed. He carefully cards his fingers through your hair, detangling it as gently as he can.

The interns’ pagers go off, assigning them jobs and the four rush off, leaving Derek and you to rest. He smiles, getting himself comfortable sitting on the end of the bed, back against the wall.

“Get some rest, buddy. I’ll always be here for you.”

—•—

Hope y'all enjoyed. I know it's pretty different from what I usually write, but this is for my own comfort so...

Sorry not sorry

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#derek shepherd #teen reader #Derek Shepherd x teen reader #Derek Shepherd x reader #platonic #tics #twitches #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #greys anatomy

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novaviis · 3 years

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sick!dick au. Bruce's POV. read in order here.

For most everyone else, it starts at the Gala.

For Bruce, it starts in a grey little office, with a stack of papers and a glitter pen.

Dick will confess after the fact to the fainting spell in the apartment he shares with Wally, and the months of progressively worse migraines, including an incident on patrol with Jason – and Bruce is none-too-pleased with that information being kept silent, but he picks his battles and this isn’t one of them. Still, looking back nearly everyone will unanimously agree that the night it really “began” was the Gala.

For Bruce, it begins when the social worker hands him a creased manila envelope. Inside is a birth certificate, a social security number, and an immunization record. Bruce looks through the contents of the envelope. Is this really it? Yes, he’s never exactly done this before, but he feels like there should be more. Guardianship of a child shouldn’t be reduced to three pieces of flimsy paper in an envelope. There’s a coffee stain on the corner. The social worker doesn’t really know what to say to that; this is just the way it is. She slides the rest of the paperwork across the table. Everything’s already been looked over by his lawyers, all he needs to do is sign. She pats her pockets, muttering to herself before bringing out a red glitter pen and sheepishly offering it to him.

Bruce is in his twenties. He’s impulsive with his compassion and he just witnessed another little boy watching his parents die. He knows he can give this boy what he needs. Or he’s going to try. But between the drive to bring this boy’s family justice and the need to heal a part of himself in the process, he’s somehow skipped over just how huge this is. He’s thought about it, of course, but always with the under current of doing whatever it takes to make it work. He was going to give the boy a home, give him the closure that Bruce never got, and maybe he’d save him from turning out like… well, like Bruce. Only now he’s staring down at Guardianship written in big block letters across the top of the stack, and it’s sinking in now that he’s not just taking the boy in. He’s going to be his family. And it doesn’t change a thing, his resolve doesn’t waver, because he knows he can give him a good life, but it’s that one word. Family. His family is starting out with a coffee stain, a stack of papers, and a glitter pen.

He signs the papers. Dick is already waiting outside with Alfred, who’s taken him to the small cafeteria down the hall. The boy hasn’t spoken much, in the days Bruce has taken to get to know him. Bruce had asked Alfred if he was like that – after. And Alfred had looked at him sympathetically, answered carefully. Yes, he was, in a sense. Bruce had been quiet. Shellshocked. Traumatized. But Bruce needs to remember that he had him, at least one steady presence in his life. Dick has no one. It’s going to take time.

It shouldn’t be so easy, Bruce find himself thinking over and over as they finish up. He tucks everything away into his briefcase, bears with the social worker smiling and shaking his hand and thanking him for doing such a good deed as if this is a charity stunt for publicity and she doesn’t seem to care either way. He asks again, just before he closes his briefcase, if she’s sure that there’s nothing else he needs. Report cards, keepsakes, family medical history, he doesn’t know. She shakes her head, all pleasant smiles. No, that’s all he came with – as if he’s a shelter dog. Bruce latches his suitcase shut.

Back then, it was just a passing thought. He doesn’t spare it another over the years, because he doesn’t need to. Time went on, Dick becomes an inseparable part of his life. Bruce will always silently maintain that Dick was the one to save him in the end. He’s not a perfect guardian, not a perfect father, and he makes more mistakes than he can count. They argue, they have fallings out, and still they always work through it – because they’re family.

And the issue of the family medical history does not resurface until that champagne gold night. Until he catches Selena watching him from across the ballroom, smiling behind the rim of her wine glass and cocking her head to tease him. Until, he’s distracted between secretively searching the crowds for her and forcing himself to smile and laugh with Gotham’s elite, so he doesn’t notice the commotion rising up on the other side of the room. Until his youngest son comes racing toward him through the crowd looking more scared and shaken than Bruce has ever seen him. Until he breaks through the ring of bystanders and sees Dick passed out on the floor, Wally kneeling over him beside himself with panic. Until the ambulance and the fury of the waiting room (making a mental not to raise absolute hell with the Hospital’s board of directors) and the doctor pulling him to a side room, a little grey office, to ask the dreaded question. All at once, it comes back to that moment, and Bruce sighs, scrubs his palm over his tired eyes. No, he doesn’t have Dick’s family medical history. It doesn’t exist. Realistically, it isn’t Bruce’s fault, but that has never stopped him from shouldering blame.

Selena reaches out in the following days it ask in on how Dick’s doing. Bruce is cordial, tells her that her concern is appreciated but Dick seems to be doing fine. And on the other side of the phone, he can hear her moving around her penthouse, maybe standing at the window – she’s glad to hear it. Let her know if he needs anything, if she can do anything to help. It’s early days then, and none of them know just how bad it’s going to get.

It’s a slow progression at first, and then it’s not. It’s months between seizures, a steady increase in migraines – but life goes on. It’s not as if Bruce is hovering every Dick at every second. He’s a grown man now, with a career and a home and a partner. Bruce supports him in any way he can, until it gets to the point that he has to make the hard call. The argument he has with Dick that night, in the study of Wayne Manor, is something he’ll never wash from his memory. He’s used to making the tough decisions. He’ll be the asshole if he has to, he can handle Dick’s anger, but he’s not going to allow him to take this much risk into the field. Benching Nightwing until they have a handle on this is a necessary call, but Dick is stubborn (who on earth did he learn that from), and unwilling to step down so easily. And as the argument reaches its fever pitch, Bruce pacing and ranting, listing off his rational, he hears Dick call his name in a wavering voice and it cuts through the background noise. Dick, the colour drained from his face, eyes unfocused, conceding that he’s about to lose this argument, will haunt him in the same way as the worst things he’s seen in the life he’s chosen. That’s the moment he knows that this isn’t just going to pass, the moment he bolts to catch Dick before he can topple forward and hit his head. This isn’t something they can wait out. He’ll never regret making the call, but he will always regret the way he put the pressure on Dick, as if he’d just made things worse.

The thing is, this lasts years. It becomes a part of all their lives – because it’s Dick. It isn’t all consuming, it doesn’t eat away at their thoughts every minute of the day, but it’s a resurfacing concern that’s rarely spoken about aloud. And Bruce sees how this changes his family. No one can say that the Wayne clan is the most well adjusted and healthy family, but Bruce does his best. He realises and appreciates now more than ever just how much work Dick put into keeping them all functioning. Keeping them together. He never thought he’d taken it for granted until then. It shouldn’t have taken this to bring the family closer together, but it does, and as much as Bruce hates that, he’s not going to fight it.

Time goes on. Still. It’s a slow progression at first, and then it’s not. Bruce is in a meeting with his chief executive officers when his secretary buzzes in over the speaker saying there’s a call for him on the line. He thanks her for letting him know and tells her to take a message. She says the young man is telling her it’s an emergency. One of the CEOs is about to launch into a presentation and Bruce doesn’t spare him a second thought. Picks up the phone, pushes away from the board table, and paces to the window. Wally’s voice comes through saying his name, shaken and urgent, rambling out sentences too fast for Bruce to hear.

Wally. Slow down. What happened?

He stopped breathing. Fuck, Bruce, he called me at work – sounded like a seizure so I ran home, but he – it didn’t stop, he wasn’t breathing.

That first night, after Bruce has sent his reluctant children home with Alfred, it’s just him and Wally left with Dick. The end of visiting hours is fast approaching. Bruce steps out to let Wally have his time with Dick, allows him some privacy. He eventually makes his way up to the terrace balcony on the upper floors, a green space with massive glass walls and an open ceiling. Fresh air for the first time in hours does wonders.

Selena is there. She approaches him from the other side of a low hedge, bundled up in a cashmere sweater and scarf – ones he bought her ages ago. When he asks how she knew, she smiles. She has her ways. Tim called her, didn’t he. Yeah, he did. They stand in silence for a while, staring out at the mosaic of lights against the persistent dark of Gotham, before she puts a hand on his arm. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, Bruce, she says, and the coy smile fades into sincerity. Come to me when you need to.

Three days after Dick is admitted to the ICU, Bruce calls Damian into the study. It’s late, they just got home from visiting an hour ago. They’ve been arguing a lot lately, before Dick went downhill. Mostly regular thirteen-year-old boy versus father arguing, but a few too many frustrated shouting matches in the Cave. Bruce can’t help but wonder if it’s in part because Dick hasn’t been there to act as a mediator. Still, the past few days have been quiet, if not tense. Damian complies when Bruce calls him down. He’s wearing a sweater he stole from Dick months ago, the bulk of it swallowing his smaller frame like a blanket. He has the sleeves rolled up, his hands in the front pocket, when he pauses in the doorway. Bruce gestures for him to sit across from him at the desk. He can see the way Damian is bracing himself for a lecture, wondering whatever it is he did wrong this time, as he takes his seat. Bruce, in his chair on the other side, watches him for a moment before deciding this won’t do. He stands, and pulls his chair next to Damian’s and pulls a file over from the other side of the desk.

Wayne Men are at a higher risk of Prostate Cancer as they get older. I get tested every few years. He tells him. My Mother’s side of the family, the Kanes, have a history of Crohn’s Disease. It’s prevalent in people of Ashkenazi Jewish decent. I’ve never had it, or had symptoms, so it’s unlikely that I passed it on to you, but not impossible. And when Damian stares back at him, he leans forward, presses his hand to his son’s shoulder. I want you to know these things, Damian. It’s important that you know your history.

And with any other child, it may have not been a good idea to have this conversation right then. Any other child may have been scared. But this is his son, and Damian is as frank and pragmatic about these things as he is, and Bruce knows that he will appreciate the honesty, knows that those questions have likely been rattling around in Damian’s head for a while now. They spend another hour that night talking about their family, beyond just medical history, and Bruce answers any questions Damian has.

Dick gets worse. Wally leaves to find answers. Bruce is doing everything he can; medical bills are nothing to him, he checks in on his children, calls in favours from the league to keep watch of Gotham when he’s needed at the hospital. It’s the most he’s ever relied on others in his entire life.

It’s just him in Dick’s room one night. He’s at the window when he hears Dick rasping his name. It’s been rare lately that he’s been coherent enough to really speak without being prompted, so he has Bruce’s full attention immediately. He crosses over to the bed, braces a hand over Dick’s. And Dick doesn’t say anything for a long while. His eyes are half closed. Bruce is close to assuming he’s fallen asleep, when Dick’s unsteady hand slides out from under his, and rests on top with a barely there squeeze. Dick is staring up at him. His voice his so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the monitors, but Bruce hears it.

Take care of Wally.

Bruce doesn’t waste time on don’t talk like that sentiments. He doesn’t tell Dick that he won’t need to, that he’ll be fine, because Bruce does not make promises he knows he cannot keep. He nods. He will. Dick doesn’t need to ask him to take care of the family, that much is an unspoken understanding, but if this is a piece of mind he can give Dick, it’s without hesitation.

He ends up at Selena’s door after visiting hours. She buzzes him in, and when she opens the penthouse door neither of them say a word. She guides him over to the couch, pours two glasses of good wine, and when she returns, he’s already got his face in his hand – not sobbing, not breaking down, just… exhausted. She isn’t sure Bruce knows how to break down anymore. In the end, she just sits with him. Rubs his back, tentatively at first, not sure if he’ll let her. Bruce not only does, but he shudders under her hand, allows himself to breathe with her, and it’s enough to let the pressure ease and the ache to come in. He allows himself feel to it.

Because that’s his son. That’s his first son. And he’s failed him.

Years from then, when this is all in the past, he’ll let it slip. It’s over a late night coffee with Dick in the Cave as they wrap up a case, near to the anniversary of the Dick’s surgery. Maybe it’s the string of late nights and no sleep wrecking his inhibition, maybe it’s something he needs to get off his chest. But Dick stares at him, goes quiet, sets down his coffee mug.

You did everything for me, Bruce. He says. You never failed me.

And, someday, Bruce will believe it.

#dickwally #batfam #sick!dick #I've wanted to do Bruce's POV for years and it just hit me in one sitting

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spencer-reids-adventures · 3 years

Note

“you don’t understand, do you?”

“i understand perfectly. you’re being a dick.”

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“I understand perfectly. You’re being a dick.”

Hotch glares at Spencer, who stands with clenched fists, doing his best to maintain eye contact, practically shaking with rage. It takes a moment for Hotch to realize what's happening, but when he does, he quickly breaks his gaze and relaxes his posture.

"Reid," he says carefully. "Who are you really angry at right now?"

"You," Spencer says sharply, almost before Hotch has even finished speaking.

"Are you sure?" Hotch asks. "Are you angry at me, your Unit Chief, for telling you to be more careful in the field? Or are you angry at William Reid for constantly making you feel like everything you did was wrong?"

Spencer's eyes grow huge and he starts to frantically slam one of his fists against his thigh. He seems at a loss for words, until finally--

"Go fuck yourself, Hotch," he spits, and stomps away several yards before breaking into a run.

It's almost 3am when there's a hesitant knock on Hotch's door, but it's enough to wake him. He opens the door to find Spencer. He's still fully dressed, and somehow looks impossibly small. He obviously hasn't been back to the hotel until now, and Hotch wonders if he should have tried to call instead of giving him his space.

Hotch ushers him in without saying anything, and Spencer sits down on the floor next to one of the beds, pulling his knees up to his chest. He wrings his hands and rocks back and forth for a little while, and Hotch doesn't interrupt him, just takes a seat on the other bed and waits for Spencer to be ready to speak.

"I haven't seen William Reid in 15 years," he finally says. "But he's still there, all the time, telling me everything I'm doing wrong. And every single thing I do is a reaction to that - to him. I kept my mom and I safe through high school to prove to him that we didn't need him. I got all those PhDs to prove to him that I could do it. I joined the FBI to show him that I could be successful in a real job. Even if he never actually knew, I knew, and I knew that I had succeeded, and I did it all without him."

He's crying by now, tears streaking down his cheeks that he doesn't even bother to brush away.

"You're nothing like him, Hotch. Even when you're mad at me, you've never tried to change me. My behavior, sure. But you've never made me feel like there was something wrong with me, like I couldn't be counted on or trusted. You've never made me feel broken or faulty, you've never made me doubt myself, and you've never downplayed my sensory issues or tried to stop my stims. You've never done anything like that."

He pauses to take a breath, and still, Hotch stays silent.

"I'm telling you all these things to try and help myself understand why I spoke to you the way I did today. Why sometimes I talk to you the way I want to talk to him, even though you're nothing alike. It's like I'm so scared of being wrong or doing wrong, the second someone calls me on it I have to attack them. Maybe because I could never do that with William, I could never stand up to him. I don't know..."

He starts to cry harder, and Hotch moves from the bed to the floor, sitting next to Spencer and letting him cry on his shoulder. Spencer clings to him like a child, shuddering and sobbing, and Hotch rocks him gently.

"I'm sorry," Spencer gasps. "I'm so sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Spencer?" Hotch asks quietly.

"For being rude to you. For disrespecting you. For thinking I knew better than you. For making bad choices. For hurting myself and others. For failing. For being different. For being too sensitive. For not being a mind-reader. For being an embarrassment. For not being enough to keep our family together. For giving up on her. For leaving her behind. For not being smart enough to find a cure for her..."

He's almost howling, now, as he sobs, and Hotch can't tell who exactly he's apologizing to, but he thinks maybe it doesn't matter.

"Shh, Spencer, Spencer," he murmurs. "It's okay. You're okay. You don't have to apologize for those things, Spencer. You are good, and smart, and capable. You aren't an embarrassment. You haven't failed. You've always done what you had to do, and no one can fault you for that. Spencer, you're one of the best people I know. Do you hear me?"

"Mm," hums Spencer, beginning to calm down and slumping tiredly against Hotch's chest.

"Let's get you to bed, okay?" Hotch whispers.

They have their own rooms, but there's no way he's making Spencer go back to his, not now, not after this. Instead he helps remove Spencer's shoes and brings him an extra pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, guiding him into the bathroom to change and wash his face.

When he comes out, Hotch tucks him into bed, leaving the desk lamp on, and turns out the rest of the lights.

"Goodnight, Spencer," he says.

"G'night," Spencer mumbles. "Love you."

He's asleep before Hotch can even process what he's said.

#cw abuse #autistic spencer reid #aaron hotchner #maya writes more than 5 sentences #maya's spencer whump collection #maya's autistic spencer collection

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Video

youtube

Tears of Themis: Xia Yan/Luke 【昼夜余想】 Wishes Between Day and Night - Date Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Unsubbed Video

Transcript below cut:

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Part 1

Empire

On the empty, desolate street, only the night wind whistled past my ears.

MC: …

I walked forward carefully. Plates full of food had been placed similarly in front of the tightly-shut doors of the residences.

MC: … I hope nothing goes wrong.

It was the Wag Festival tonight.

According to the legends, the spirits who were venerated by their families would make their way towards the afterlife, while the spirits who had no one to remember them could only go around begging.

*Note: This festival did indeed exist in Ancient Egypt, and was dedicated to the death of Osiris.

Thus, kindly members of the populace would place offerings at their doorways, dedicated to the lonely dead. This was originally a holiday of commemoration, but things weren’t so peaceful recently…

Several people had disappeared strangely during the night. People said that terrible curses brought by the dead were spreading all over the town…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Discussion Hall

Not long ago, I had reported this issue to the pharaoh.

But as he sat upright in his high seat, he merely looked indifferently ahead, his mood hard to discern.

Pharaoh: A curse…

Pharaoh: As the respected oracle priestess of the dynasty, you only need to convey the will of the gods. Just observe for any other situational changes for now.

MC: But Pharaoh… more and more people keep disappearing these days, and the people are very panicked. The temple keeps receiving more prayers every day.

MC: If this really is the work of evil magic, the legends in the future will include a Wag Festival plagued by wandering spirits, and we’ll find ourselves with even more victims…

The pharaoh merely waved his hand at my suggestion that came from a spurt of courage.

Pharaoh: I have my own ways of dealing with this.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Though the pharaoh had said that he had ways to deal with this, I couldn’t just sit around and watch.

As the oracle priestess, listening to the prayers of the people, maintaining order, and protecting the empire were my duties, to begin with.

Thus, I decided to act secretly at night.

MC: (Based on the rumours… the ones who disappeared before last appeared at night, on the streets…)

MC: …

I grasped tight at the amulet in my hands. The golden scarab beetle shone with a cold luster under the bright moonlight.

Feeling reinvigorated, I walked deeper into the street. Right then…

Unknown Man: Aaahhh—

MC: !!!

After freezing momentarily, I immediately sprinted towards the source of the shrieks.

Unknown Man: Save me! Someone save…

Suddenly, the cries for help stopped.

In the small, dusky alley, just a few steps away, a man was lying motionlessly on the floor.

MC: Are you alright?!

I rushed over, preparing to check his body for injuries. However…

MC: !!!

A frigid aura emanated from behind me. I instinctively stopped moving.

MC: (Wait… I think someone else is here…)

I looked towards the shadows in the corner.

MC: !!!

???: …

The moment our gazes met, the person stopped hiding and walked out slowly.

In the dead silence, I held my breath.

???: Sometimes, being too sharp isn’t a good thing.

The owner of the voice held a dagger as he looked from a distance at me.

Half of his face had been covered by a black jackal mask, and the slender eye slits were full of a crimson colour.

As I faced this person who was dressed strikingly like an assassin, I couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit of apprehension and surprise.

MC: A person…

MC: (Wait…)

I thought back on those disappearance rumours from before, and suddenly came up with a bold guess after connecting them to the scene before my eyes…

MC: (Does this mean that he’s the one behind all the disappearances in the city…)

???: Piece of advice: you shouldn’t be zoning out at a time like this.

Without giving me a chance to think more, the person in front of me spoke again.

He glanced at the talisman in my hand. His voice was relaxed, as if this were a normal, everyday conversation.

???: … So you believe in the gods, huh.

???: Too bad, though – it doesn’t seem like the gods will be protecting you.

I hadn’t even reacted when I saw him close in on me rapidly.

???: …

Time seemed to stagnate.

At a close distance, he muttered ponderously to himself, and the dagger he was holding stopped a few centimetres away.

???: You’re…

He seemed to be staring at me through the slits of the mask.

I could smell a faint aroma, and despite the urgent situation, it left me unexpectedly mesmerized.

MC: (Is this some sort of perfume’s scent? I think it’s coming from him…)

After I calmed down, I lifted my head and met his gaze.

MC: … It sounds like you recognize me?

He paused for a moment, then spoke.

???: Based on your appearance… if I’m not mistaken, you must be the oracle priestess of Ayana Temple?

MC: I am…

???: If so, then it can’t be helped.

He retracted his dagger, seeming to have given up.

I let out a long sigh, relieved from being released from my dangerous situation. But when I saw him walk towards the corner where the collapsed man was, I grew agitated again.

>Stay and observe >Try to save the man

MC: (I shouldn’t do anything foolish if I haven’t confirmed that it’s safe.)

Bearing this thought in mind, I carefully tried to talk to him.

MC: What are you planning to do with him? Is he still… alive?

???: Worry about yourself before concerning yourself with others.

MC: … What do you mean?

???: You’re more likely to run into someone wicked than a dead spirit, wandering around town in the middle of the night.

???: On your return, make sure to watch your back.

>Stay and observe >Try to save the man

MC: (Maybe he still can be saved…)

The moment he turned around, I silently picked up a wooden baton used for the vendors’ stands.

After making up my mind, I closed in and brought it down on his head-

MC: !!!

He hadn’t turned around, yet he was able to precisely grab the baton and yank it forward, ripping it out of my hands.

???: I think it’s best that you do not worry about saving others while your hands are full.

???: Otherwise, you might not even be able to return yourself.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

I couldn’t help shivering from his words.

MC: …

???: Why aren’t you talking?

???: You’ve probably already guessed, but…

???: I hope you’ll be able to keep your mouth shut when you get back, just like now.

I stared at him wordlessly without reacting. He paid no attention to that, instead glancing back at me meaningfully.

???: This is for your own good, too. After all, no one will listen to you, no matter who you tell.

MC: Why…

He hoisted up the man before I’d even finished speaking, walking into the depths of the alley. Even my doubts were taken into the soundless darkness.

After, I attempted holding an audience with the pharaoh again… But each time, he avoided me with various excuses. Even my submitted documentation received no response.

I also secretly ordered people to investigate the masked man, but due to us lacking in manpower, we never received any results.

At the same time, more and more people kept disappearing, and the people’s panic grew worse every day…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Ayana Temple

Person A: When will the curse issue be solved?! Are you just going to watch as we all die off?!

Person B: Exactly! A neighbour of mine disappeared in the past few days… where’s the high priestess?! I want to see the high priestess!

On the day of prayer, it was even more chaotic than I had imagined on the temple courtyards.

The people who had come to pray had crowded together, such that the temple bodyguards had to block them to maintain some control over the riot.

MC: People of Ayana Empire…

Person A: It’s the high priestess!

As if they were grabbing onto their final chance of salvation, the jostling crowd all swarmed in around me after I entered the courtyard.

Right when the guards were on the verge of being broken through, a familiar voice suddenly came from above.

???: Chief Guard, how long are you planning to watch this go on?

Part 2

Ayana Temple

???: Chief Guard, how long are you planning to watch this go on?

The originally panicky crowd stopped their steps forward for a moment.

Like them, I turned my gaze to the heights of the building behind us. Though the owner of the voice was hidden, there was no way I’d mistaken who it was.

MC: (The one from that night…)

He had just spoken when a troop of fully-armed soldiers burst into the temple courtyard.

Based on their clothing, they were the Pharaoh’s trusted Imperial Army.

Chief Guard: Silence!

After the commander handled the crowd control, the chief guard in front held up the documents in his hand and stood in the center.

Chief Guard: People of the Empire, fear not. I speak on the Pharaoh’s behalf with this oracle-

Chief Guard: “In seven days, I shall personally preside over a prayer ritual, where all curses will be broken.”

MC: (Breaking the curses…)

When the pharaoh said that he had ways to deal with this, was he talking about this prayer ritual?

But based on what I had seen that night, the man who’d disappeared had been attacked and taken away, and the curses didn’t exist at all…

Right when I was about to refute these words, the chief guard swept his gaze over, his expression solemn.

Chief Guard: The high priestess will also play a major role in this ritual.

Chief Guard: So, please come with us.

MC: ???

Person A: That’s great! If the high priestess is there, everything will be fine…

Person B: Indeed, the high priestess is sure to protect us and Ayana Empire!

MC: (… I haven’t heard about this at all.)

Confused, I looked at the crowd, jubilant as they were in their relief.

Seeing my motionlessness, the chief guard ordered his men to come “help me along”.

MC: What are you doing?!

I instinctively retreated one step.

Simultaneously, a dagger flew past the tips of their ears, embedding itself on the ground.

???: No need to trouble yourselves. Leave that to me.

The chief guard lifted his gaze towards the building behind us, looking at the corner that was blocked by a colonnade.

After a several-minute stalemate, he finally gave in, gesturing for me to head to the high platform.

Chief Guard: Please make your way over then, high priestess.

MC: Understood…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

The temple was built on the heights of the empire, as the place that was closest to the sky and the sun god.

Birds – the messengers of the gods – flew under the blazing sun, distracting me from the silhouette hidden in the shadows.

MC: What exactly are you aiming for…

The pitch-black jackal mask had been casually placed on the ground. The assassin who’d taken off his disguise stared off into the distance against the wall, looking utterly unperturbed by my arrival.

He looked calmly at me, even smiling a bit.

???: My aim is very simple. Per the pharaoh’s orders, I am to bring the high priestess to the desert shrine and carry out the final preparations for the ritual.

???: For convenience, just call me Luke.

MC: Luke?

I looked carefully over his face.

In stark contrast to the fiendish appearance I had imagined, his features were clean and delicate, his eyes clear and captivating.

Luke: Are you staring at me because you think I look weird?

MC: No, you just look a bit different from what I imagined.

He frowned slightly in response.

Luke: Never relax your guard just because you’ve judged a book by its cover.

Luke: If I wanted to, I could have you decapitated and scattered right now for seeing my true face.

He waved the dagger in his hand slightly. I met his gaze, refusing to concede.

MC: You wouldn’t dare.

MC: If you really do obey the pharaoh, you wouldn’t do anything to me – just like that night.

Luke: …

Unlike the confrontation he had earlier with the chief guard, this time, he quickly ceded, then smiled again.

Luke: Yep, you’re right. I wouldn’t actually do anything to you.

Luke: It’s just that it’s rare for me to get looked down on, so I wanted to mess with you a little…

Luke stood up and walked towards the temple interior.

He walked slowly up to me, but due to the presence of the Imperial Army, the guards outside the temple didn’t dare do anything foolish to him.

Luke: High priestess, do you know why I told you that no one would listen if you told them about the truth of the “curse”?

MC: …

Luke: Because he knows better than anyone where those who have gone missing are…

Luke: Adorning them with charges based on nothing and having them executed were his orders, to begin with.

MC: No way… the pharaoh has no reason to do this sort of thing.

Luke: Is that what you think?

Luke shook his head, in apparent exasperation at my stubbornness.

But I couldn’t understand at all, because my impression of the pharaoh was that he was a benevolent person, one who cared for the people.

Ordering the execution of innocent civilians, causing panic-inducing rumours… it really was hard for me to believe if I only heard one side of the story.

MC: I must go see the pharaoh.

Luke: He won’t see you.

MC: Why?

Luke: …

His only response to my direct questioning was silence. Thus, I could only change my question.

MC: Based on the oracle just now, the pharaoh will be personally presiding over the ritual in seven days, right?

Luke: Correct.

MC: Will the so-called “curses” really disappear after the ritual?

Luke: Yes.

MC: If so, I’ll personally verify all this on the day of the ritual with the pharaoh.

Luke: You mean, you’re still willing to go with me under these suspicious circumstances?

Luke frowned slightly, his mood hard to discern.

Though I knew nothing of the ceremony, I could only nod at him in consideration of the situation’s severity.

MC: The people are all looking forward to the ceremony.

MC: Regardless of the curse’s veracity, this is the only way to contain the panic in the town…

MC: Now that the pharaoh’s oracle is out, no one will believe me if I say what I saw without evidence.

MC: Sometimes, the truth won’t be able to change anything, and as the empire’s priestess, I have to prioritize how the people feel.

Luke sighed after he heard me.

Luke: Can’t be helped, then.

Right then, a maidservant came in with perfect timing. She placed a cup of fine wine on the table.

Maidservant: High priestess, please have the sacrament wine.

Luke: Wine?

MC: Sacrament wine is part of our typical rites. The pharaoh says that we need this to reach a higher level of consciousness and build a connection with the gods.

Luke: The pharaoh again.

He muttered in discontent, then poured the precious wine on the ground when the maidservant left.

MC: You…!

Luke: These sorts of things are bad for you. Plus, you’re better off not drinking wine during a critical time like this.

Luke: I haven’t prepared any fancy carriage for you, after all, so you’ll have to walk with me to the shrine.

MC: W-walk?

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

The market in the afternoon was as bustling as ever, with the sounds of hawking mixed in with the joyful laughs of children, creating a ruckus that was completely different from the night.

I followed behind Xia Yan, hurriedly replying to the enthusiastic greetings of the people.

Person A: The high priestess! I can’t believe I was able to see the high priestess in the market!

Person B: Hello, priestess! Hope you have a great day…

Facing the surprised reactions from the crowd, Luke looked back at me curiously.

Luke: Have you never come out before?

MC: Yes… These are the temple rules. Aside from the necessary trips during typical sacrificial rites, that time on the Wag Festival was my first.

Luke: No wonder.

He smiled, looking up at the circling birds in the sky, and suddenly asked me a question.

Luke: Do you know why we worship the birds?

MC: Because they can fly freely to the world of the gods?

Luke: Yes. So, high priestess, the one who boasts the title of gods’ messenger – why do you shut yourself up in a little cage?

Luke: To me, you should be able to go to more, greater places without any worries.

Luke looked seriously at me, his voice earnest.

He was smiling slightly, so unlike the coldness he displayed on our first meeting…

His eyes reflected the vast sky behind me, seeming to contain so many things I had never considered before.

MC: ???

His expression left me somewhat confounded…

MC: (Why is he asking this…)

MC: (I don’t think anyone has ever asked me this…)

During my moment of distraction, my stomach, which hadn’t received food ever since the morning, made its complaint.

MC: …

Luke: Haha, can’t be helped – in reward for walking so far with me, I’ll treat you to something.

A few minutes later, Luke held out some biscuit-like things placed on leaves in front of me.

Luke: Here, try them. They’re freshly-fried bean balls.

MC: Huh?

I looked bewilderedly at the fried things in front of me.

The food and drink in the temple had always been light, so it was my first time dealing with food like this.

Meanwhile, he seemed to have misunderstood what I meant…

Luke: Sorry, I almost forgot.

Luke: As the high priestess, you probably had maidservants helping you with your clothes and food in the temple…

Luke: But I don’t have this sort of experience, so could you just put up with it?

Luke stuck a toothpick in the fried bean ball and carefully held it up in front of my mouth.

MC: It’s not because of this…

Luke: Is it because of the rules again?

Luke: This isn’t the temple, so doing some improper things should be alright…

Luke: If the gods truly were to lay blame onto someone, then don’t I deserve even more blame for this sin, as the one who encouraged you to do this?

He took on all the guilt, candidly stating a bold and reckless proposal.

MC: (Blame for this sin…)

Merely tasting a snack in the city didn’t seem to be bad enough to be called a “sin”.

MC: … The gods wouldn’t be that petty.

Luke: If so, then it’s fine.

MC: …

I stared up close into those perpetually unfathomable eyes, and vaguely felt for a moment that he meant something else.

Luke: … Here, open your mouth.

A tempting aroma wafted from the food near my mouth. I couldn’t help gulping as he patiently guided me.

Finally, I couldn’t resist taking a bite.

MC: Whoa… it’s really delicious!

The bean-made food and the vegetables had been mixed in with a perfectly-adjusted spice, and was fragrant and crispy from frying.

Luke: See, I knew you’d like it.

Luke: …Slow down, don’t burn yourself.

As he looked at me amusedly, I took several bites.

MC: (So delicious…)

MC: ???

Strangely, though this was the first time I’d tried this, the taste in my mouth made me feel faintly wistful…

Part 3

Outer Edges of Empire

Under Luke’s lead, we made our intermittently-halting trip onwards, approaching the shrine outside the city.

MC: (That should be our target destination…)

My field of vision gradually expanded. I could faintly see the ancient buildings towering amid the boundless golden sand.

Unlike the market, there were mostly caravans outside the city.

Apparently, their wares were specialties from various different towns – some were even foreign goods.

MC: It smells really nice…

I looked all around as I walked, stopping when I stepped by a little mobile stand.

MC: …

Luke: What’s the matter?

Luke keenly noticed that I’d stopped and followed my gaze.

Luke: Go check it out if you’re interested.

MC: Huh? No, it’s already getting late, so we should probably head on our way instead…

Luke: It’s fine – we’re almost there anyways.

Luke: You probably won’t be getting much of these chances after the ritual, so how about you take it as a chance to make a memory?

He walked up to the stand as he spoke, and I rushed to catch up.

Exquisite incense boxes of various kinds of workmanship were piled densely on the wooden car, glittering so vividly under the sun that they looked like they’d been divinely blessed.

Stand Owner: Whoa, the high priestess, aren’t you! I just heard that you’d appeared in the market for once, but I sure didn’t expect to run into you myself.

Stand Owner: Go ahead, look to your heart’s content. Tell me if there’s a scent that you prefer – I’ll help you pick it out!

In consideration of this rarely-experienced kindness, I looked down at the dazzling lineup of incense boxes.

MC: A scent I prefer…

The rites in the temple were specific and set, and all of the incenses used had never once changed in years.

Over time, I didn’t bother with considering my own “preferences”…

If I had to come up with something now, the only one I could remember, the freshest memory of a scent that I had was…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

He seemed to be staring at me through the slits of his mask.

I could smell a faint aroma, and despite the urgent situation, it left me unexpectedly mesmerized.

MC: (Is this some sort of perfume’s scent? I think it’s coming from him…)

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

But thanks to how serious the situation had been back then, I couldn’t really remember it all too well anymore.

Both the elegant scent of water lilies and the rich fragrance of roses didn’t seem to quite match up with it.

Luke: What’s the matter? What are you thinking about now?

Apparently having noticed my hesitation, Luke rushed to comfort me.

Luke: Don’t worry, just pick as you wish. No need to worry about anything.

MC: Okay…

I nodded in response.

MC: (But… how do I figure out what that scent was…)

>Get close and sniff >Ask him directly

MC: Excuse me, I just want to confirm…

I grabbed his wrist and took a light sniff of it.

Luke: !!!

Luke: W-what are you doing…

For once, he looked at a loss from my sudden actions.

MC: I don’t know what I like, so I want to buy an incense that’s like the scent on your body.

Luke: … No, stop smelling it. What’s so good about being like me?

He anxiously withdrew his hand, covering his face with his arm to hide his expression.

>Get close and sniff >Ask him directly

MC: Then, boss, could I get an incense that smells like the scent on his body?

Luke: The scent on my body?

Luke quickly recovered from his surprise, looking at me seriously before the stand owner could speak.

Luke: No. You can’t just say something like that on whim…

MC: Why?

Luke: … No reason.

Luke: Stop staring at me…

He retreated away from me, a slight blush appearing on his face as he dodged my gaze.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Seeing him look so unexpectedly helpless, I couldn’t help feeling surprised, and immediately apologized with my head lowered.

MC: I’m sorry…

Luke: You don’t need to apologize. It’s got nothing to do with you…

He withdrew several steps as he spoke, increasing the distance between us.

Seeing how awkward things had become, the shop owner helpfully started to market his wares to me.

Stand Owner: If you aren’t sure which to get, high priestess, how about trying this incense called Kyphi?

Stand Owner: It uses sixteen ingredients, including cinnamon and muskroot, and is made after soaking it in high-quality honey and grape wine…

MC: Kyphi?

Stand Owner: Indeed. This name even has a special meaning – “welcome to a place beside the gods”.

Stand Owner: This scent best suits the people of Ayana, who live in the state protected by the pharaoh, the incarnation of the gods.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Welcome to a place beside the gods…

With the incense called Kyphi in my hands, I slowly walked with Luke through the desert, towards those majestic ruins.

MC: (Everyone says that Ayana Empire is protected by the gods…)

MC: (But if Luke is telling the truth, the pharaoh had those missing people executed…)

MC: (As the incarnation of the gods, is the pharaoh truly protecting this place?)

MC: !!!

This sudden, absurd thought left me somewhat astonished.

But before I could think further, I heard a shout approaching behind us-

Worn-out Man: People… people over there, wait…

Worn-out Man: Could… could you give me some water… I’m in a hurry, and I can’t hold on anymore…

The owner of the voice was a man in ragged clothes, covered in sand. His skin had been severely tanned after years spent working under the sun.

He staggered up to us, looking like he was on the verge of collapsing.

MC: Are you alright?!

I was almost about to run up and support him when Luke held me back.

Luke: Don’t. I’ll deal with it.

MC: Huh?

Luke looked the man up and down. After pausing for several seconds, he threw over the water pouch he was holding.

Luke: Here.

Worn-out Man: Th-thank you!

The man took several loud gulps of water, finally calming down somewhat.

Luke remained on guard the whole time, watching the man’s movements closely.

Doubts gradually popped up in my head as I followed his gaze.

MC: (Why is he alone in the desert… and why does he look so worn-out…)

MC: (Is he a refugee? But… there haven’t been any battles under this dynasty for a long while. We should be in the middle of an age of prosperity…)

Right as I went over my suspicions, I heard Luke’s voice again, sounding pressing this time.

Luke: Are you almost done?

Worn-out Man: Yes, th-thank you both! I’ll be off…

Luke: … Hold on.

Luke frigidly called that man to a halt as he was about to make his hasty departure.

The moment he took his water pouch, he yanked at the man’s wrist and pressed him onto the ground.

Worn-out Man: Aaaaahhh- w-what are you doing?!

Luke: Rather than leaving, shouldn’t you be returning to where you should be?

Luke: Based on your clothes and condition, you must be a construction worker for the pyramids. Why are you here?

MC: …Worker?

Worn-out Man: No! I won’t go back… I won’t go back! I want to go home!

Worn-out Man: I beg you, great sun god, please save me!

As the man prayed to the sun, I looked towards the edges of the desert that I hadn’t noticed before.

Several unfinished pyramids rose from the ground on the horizon. Many antlike, black dots surrounded the area, toting stone blocks around.

A shiver ran down my back under the blazing sun.

MC: Can’t we let him go?

Luke: He’ll get caught soon even if we do.

Luke: He’s better off submitting obediently – he’ll still be able to live, at least.

Just as he said, supervisors on their way to catch him soon came running over.

After a respectful salute to Luke, they immediately dragged the man roughly back to the barren-looking pyramids.

MC: Does the will of the pharaoh also include building pyramids all over the place…

These were a display of the pharaoh’s power and the structure that would connect him to the heavens for immortality after he passed away. It should have been an incomparably holy thing.

And yet, I couldn’t help shivering as I looked at them.

Luke: They’re living people, yet they’re busy all day with death-related work. High priestess, don’t you find this quite ironic?

MC: …

Luke looked seriously at me in silence.

MC: I…

Before I could respond, he changed the topic, his expression changing along with it.

Luke: Remember, this is a reverse example.

MC: ???

Luke: … Before escaping, make sure to deal with all the threats behind you, or else all of your efforts will go up in smoke eventually.

MC: Why are you telling me this?

Luke: To make sure you don’t waste your efforts in the future, of course.

I didn’t understand what he meant at this critical moment.

Only as we gradually approached the desert shrine did I gain a faint understanding of his meaning.

Part 4

Desert Shrine

Luke: Have something to eat.

Luke closed the stone door shut and walked slowly up to me, leaned down, and smiled resignedly.

Warmth still emanated from the dish full of fried bean balls, but I had no appetite whatsoever.

MC: …

One day had already passed since we entered this place.

No matter how much I was unwilling to believe it all, I gradually found myself noticing lots of abnormalities. This location, where the prayer ritual was to be, wasn’t situated in the heights closest to the gods. Rather, it was buried deep underground… The interior of the dark shrine was cold and hollow and had no sacrificial tools whatsoever – only weak candlelights that flickered discomfortingly.

I looked at Luke, recalling what he had told me when we had first entered this desert shrine again-

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Luke: Here’s our destination.

MC: Destination… so this is where the prayer ritual will be held?

Luke: Yes. Rest first and get used to your surroundings. I’ve prepared all your daily necessities for the next few days…

Luke: I’ll tell you everything about the ritual after.

Luke: Because you’ll be completely severed from the outside world from now on, starting from when you enter this place.

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

MC: Is this ritual really a “curse”-dispelling prayer ritual?

Luke: Based on the results, you could say that.

Luke held up the container he’d just brought over, set down a cup, and poured a cup of water for me.

Luke: But its true purpose isn’t that simple.

Luke: The pharaoh wants to use this ritual to win over the people and solidify his authority.

MC: …

I received the cup of water, setting it aside on a stone table, as I didn’t feel thirsty at all.

MC: What do you mean by solidify his authority?

Luke: The current pharaoh did not receive his position through inheritance, like it would be usually. The process that this happened in is pretty complex…

Luke: Such that even though the people trust that the pharaoh is the gods’ incarnation, his prestige is far below that of you, the high priestess.

Luke: These conditions are disadvantageous for long-term authority. Plus, the people are starting to question things, with the increasingly burdensome work they do…

Luke: Which is why the pharaoh urgently needs this ritual to strengthen the trust that everyone has in him.

MC: !!!

My back broke into a cold sweat, hearing his low voice resounding off the cold, hollow stone.

Luke: The pharaoh’s methods are very simple…

Luke: First, use fear to force the people into submission, then save them himself, and finally, give them some far-fetched hope.

Luke: In this process, the “fear” is the curse, the “saving” is this curse-dispelling ritual, and the final “hope”…

Luke: Is you.

MC: Me?

Luke: Correct. You, the high priestess who is deeply revered by the people, who is a major threat to the pharaoh.

Luke: He will bestow you the right to enter Aaru* before the populace, and vow that this honour will be given hereafter to the most faithful of followers.

*Note: Aaru literally means “Field of Reeds”, which is what the Chinese text says.

MC: Aaru…

In the myths, the deceased would enter “The House of Osiris” after judgment. That lush, leafy heaven was called Aaru.

Though I had a faint hunch already, I still asked my question…

MC: What must be done to enter Aaru?

Luke stared at me, a sliver of pity in his eyes.

Luke: Come with me.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke brought me through a winding corridor to the underground shrine.

Luke: Aside from the terrible missions I do for the pharaoh, this is also one of my duties.

MC: This is…

As we got deeper, a familiar scent grew stronger. It was the scent I had smelled before from Luke, but its source was different this time.

Luke: You seemed to like this scent a lot before…

A bed carved from alabaster had been placed in the middle of the massive room.

The scent came from the containers on the nearby round table, from which the incense I had been so curious about probably came from.

But…

Luke: But will you still feel the same after this?

Luke walked up to the round table. On it, aside from the incense, there was a row of sharp tools.

Luke: The legends say that the soul will remain attached to the body after death. If the proper antiseptic preservation methods are performed, they can come back to life one day…

Luke: This is how one enters Aaru.

MC: Mummies…

This was the tradition handed down from the ancient times of the dynasty.

As the procedure was cumbersome, only the pharaoh or the royal family would receive this honour, and also…

MC: Typically, this is only done after the person has died…

Luke: Yes. So, for the pharaoh, the other purpose of this ritual is to get rid of you.

MC: … Get rid of me?

I instinctively shook my head.

MC: No – according to the legends, the dead can reach the afterlife under the guidance of their patron god Anubis…

MC: I don’t think there’s anything that different compared to when they’re alive…

Luke: Is that what you really think?

Luke held up the chisel on the table. I shouldn’t have been scared, with my enduring belief in the gods, but my body couldn’t help trembling.

Luke: This process is not as simple as you think.

He gripped my wrist and stuffed the chisel into my hand, pointing it at his forehead.

Luke: First in the antiseptic procedure… this will be scooped out.

As if he was trying to make me experience all of this…

He ignored the pale red marks, watching me seriously with his unfathomable eyes. The tip of the chisel glided over his skin, down his nose, neck, chest, and abdomen.

Luke: Next, the other organs in the body are taken out from the cut on the abdomen.

Luke: All that is left in the end is the heart…

Luke: As everyone generally considers the heart to be the symbol of intelligence, and that it is needed on the path to the afterlife.

As Luke went on with his slow narration, an overwhelming fear grew like a whirlpool in my heart.

Ding-

My hand had released the chisel, and it clattered on the floor.

MC: …

I opened my mouth, but I had no idea what to say.

Finally, he held up my hand, slowly placing it over his heart.

Luke: But after all these procedures end and the heart is left, do you think that it could ever beat again?

Luke: The afterlife, Aaru, the gods… do these truly exist?

Luke: Do you believe in them?

The warmth and the forceful beats – everything that I felt under my palm – were the greatest proof of life.

After this, Luke released me.

I lowered my hand slowly, feeling nothing but a biting coldness and an infinite emptiness.

Luke: High priestess, though you have no way out anymore…

Luke: I hope that you can at least see all this clearly in your remaining time.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

For as far as I could remember, I lived in Ayana Temple and worshipped the gods piously.

Even if I had my doubts now, what could I even do at this point?

I tossed and turned for a long time that night…

Amid my never-ending unease, I dreamed – something that I had not done in a long while.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

In the resplendent Ayana Temple, the pharaoh, in place of the former priest who had died from illness, kindly bestowed the title of succession on me.

He then handed the splendid cup full of sacrament wine to me.

Pharaoh: Gods bless you.

I held my hand out to accept it, but the cup suddenly fell to the ground. There was now no one in the sacrificial room.

Only a boy dressed in finery stood behind the curtain, speaking earnestly-

Boy: If you want to live, then run.

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

MC: !!!

I suddenly woke right when he finished speaking.

The incense box placed at the headboard fell off the stone bed from my movements, making a clinking sound in the silent, empty room.

MC: This dream is…

I leaned down and picked up that incense box, and was suddenly reminded of what that stand owner outside the town had told me.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Stand Owner: Oh right, one other thing…

Stand Owner: This Kyphi incense was once used in various rituals.

Stand Owner: So, these complicated ingredients include some that have slight anaesthetic and hallucinogenic effects…

Stand Owner: High priestess, be careful that you do not overuse or ingest it when using it.

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

The leftover fried bean balls were placed beside the bed.

Though I felt that it tasted completely different from before no matter how much I tried it…

But another serving would be sent tomorrow, assuming nothing went wrong…

MC: If so…

I clenched the incense box in my hand and made up my mind.

MC: Just like he said before…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Luke: Remember, this is a reverse example.

Luke: … Before escaping, make sure to deal with all the threats behind you, or else all of your efforts will go up in smoke eventually.

[Flashback end]

Part 5

Desert Shrine

As expected, Luke had people send over freshly fried bean balls the next day.

While no one was around, I added some of the incense source from the box into its filling.

After, I coaxed Luke to eat them, and he did so without any hesitation or doubt.

Luke: …

The anesthetic aspect soon took effect.

I heard his quiet, low groans as he held his forehead, his eyes gradually becoming hazier.

MC: Are you alright?

Luke: … Huh? You…!

I snatched the moment he fell into a daze…

Bam-

After pushing Luke down onto the ground, I rapidly grabbed the cloth strips behind me that I’d made from the bedding, tying his hands up tight.

After ensuring that I was safe, I lowered my body and stared at him.

Maybe it was because of the effects of the incense, or maybe because his current, troubled state left him flustered…

Luke’s breathing in his tied-up state was rapid and his chest heaved violently, almost as if I could hear his heartbeat.

Luke: You… don’t get so close…

MC: Are you scared? I was also scared before… and those innocent, victimized people probably were too.

MC: Do you now know what it feels like?

Luke: …

His eyes no longer shifted away. Instead, they met mine directly.

I looked into those crystalline, penetrating eyes, and to my surprise, I saw a trace of evident apology in them.

Luke: … I’m sorry.

Luke: I know it must not have been easy for you to do this much…

His voice was gentle. Despite his current situation, I couldn’t hear the slightest bit of resentment.

This sudden consolation left me frozen for a moment.

But before I could soften, I forced myself to stay on guard, in case he was planning to escape.

MC: Pretty words won’t help you. I won’t let you go.

Luke: I wasn’t asking for you to let me go.

MC: Back on topic – where is the key to the door? How do I get out?

Luke: There is no key.

MC: If you won’t tell the truth, I really won’t hold back…

I slowly got closer to him, trying to display a threatening sort of pressure.

And his breathing did indeed become panicky again.

Luke: … I’m telling the truth.

Luke: Those doors don’t have locks, and they don’t even have guards set there. You only don’t know because you never tried.

MC: !!!

Just like he said, I had never thought of escaping, as if I had been bound here.

But things were different now…

Right when I was planning to get up, he called out to me.

Luke: Wait.

Luke: I told you before - make sure to deal with all the threats behind you, or else all of your efforts will go up in smoke eventually.

Luke: So… aren’t you going to do anything?

Luke looked at me searchingly, his expression calm.

He was bound up, yet I felt like he was in the active position right now, dominating the entire situation.

MC: … No need. That would only cause a greater commotion. Either way, the guards won’t find you for now, so I have enough time to escape.

MC: After this, someone will punish you for your mistake.

Luke: Is that so…

He smiled faintly at me as if he were moved, the emotion in his eyes indescribable.

Luke: After you escape, remember to not be so softhearted ever again.

MC: …

I suppressed the mixed feelings in my heart, getting up without replying to him.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Everything became quiet again as the footsteps faded off, leaving only the faint sounds of the flickering candles.

Luke did not call for help. He applied a slight force with his wrists, easily breaking free of his bindings.

He stood up by supporting himself against the wall, then released a gratified sigh towards the direction that the girl had vanished in.

Luke: As it should be…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

After I was fortunately able to leave that underground shrine through a secret path, I had originally prepared myself to have to rough it…

But, beyond my expectations, this death-escaping journey was much smoother than I’d expected.

As I wandered aimlessly, a caravan headed for foreign lands suddenly appeared in the desolate desert, just like a mirage.

They said that they were going to the oasis country across the sea…

Where resources and people abounded, where it was as overflowing with culture as it was here – a fertile land that drew many to it.

In the night, the salty, wet sea wind blew in my face, making me feel as if everything I’d experienced was an entire lifetime ago.

Caravan Member: Get ready to board the boat – we’re about to set off.

MC: Mhmm…

I looked at the merchant boat floating beside the shore. For some reason, I felt an inexplicable restlessness.

Caravan Member: Don’t worry, young lady. We’re honorable businesspeople – no human trafficking whatsoever.

Caravan Member: And since you’ve promised to help us with miscellaneous work, it’s a transaction where both sides benefit, so you don’t need to feel like you owe us…

Caravan Member: If you’re still worried, I’ve got a self-defense dagger here for you. You can keep it on you at all times on the trip.

MC: … Thank you.

I took the dagger that he held out to me, but that feeling of distress still didn’t dispel.

Seeing that the sailors were beginning to retrieve the anchor, I could only follow him onto the wooden board that connected the shore to the merchant boat.

But right before I boarded…

MC: !!!

MC: He’s…

Right when I was halfway there, I suddenly saw a familiar silhouette on deck.

Though we didn’t know each other, I remembered his face clearly, because on that night…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

In the little, dusky alley, just a few steps away, a man was lying motionlessly on the floor.

MC: Are you alright?!

I rushed over, preparing to check his body for injuries. However…

MC: !!!

A frigid aura emanated from behind me. I instinctively stopped moving.

???: Sometimes, being too sharp isn’t a good thing.

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

MC: (Shouldn’t he already be…)

MC: (Plus, isn’t it way too coincidental for him to be boarding the same merchant boat that’s escaping across the sea as me…)

I finally seemed to have sorted through my originally messy emotions…

Right then, I recalled the various minor details that I had ignored before.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Luke: Do you know why we worship the birds?

MC: Because they can fly freely to the world of the gods?

Luke: Yes. So, high priestess, the one who boasts the title of the gods’ messenger – why do you shut yourself up in a little cage?

Luke: In my opinion, you should be able to go to more, greater places without any worries.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke: This isn’t the temple, so doing some improper things should be alright…

Luke: If the gods truly were to lay blame onto someone, then don’t I deserve even more blame for this sin, as the one who encouraged you to do this?

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Encouraged… I repeated this word in my head.

Those strange emotions, those inexplicable words – the answer seemed to be within reach after I painstakingly pondered over them.

Nearby, the sailors were urging people onboard. There was no more time for me to speak with that man on the deck.

Caravan Member: Get aboard, young lady! Get aboard!

All I had left were these final seconds.

I knew right then that this was a critical decision in changing my fate. I should have gone for the more reliable option, but…

“After you escape, remember to not be so softhearted ever again.”

But this time, I wouldn’t do as he wanted.

MC: (There must be a better way to solve this than doing nothing and escaping alone…)

The waves surged in the night wind. Finally, I ended up returning to the shore, against the blowing wind.

I returned to that shrine one day later.

The ritual was imminent. I gripped the dagger that the caravan member had given me and carefully made my way through the winding secret path…

In the former grand hall, there now stood another person aside from Luke.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Chief Guard: So you really were playing little tricks.

Chief Guard: I specifically had people investigate after that day – the so-called grave pile doesn’t have any skeletons at all.

Chief Guard: Where exactly did the people that the pharaoh had you deal with go?

I held my breath, lying low silently in the corner.

The chief guard was a devoted follower of the pharaoh. He was as hostile as he had been that day, pointing his sword straight at Luke.

Chief Guard: And the high priestess – where is she?

Luke was completely unarmed, seeming like he’d lost his will to live as he lowered his neck to the sword blade.

Luke: None of your business.

Chief Guard: If you’re going to be so pigheaded, then on behalf of the pharaoh…

When I saw the chief guard swing his sword, I sprinted out and stabbed him in the back-

MC: !!!

I thought that I’d landed the mark… But he reacted with shocking speed, changing his direction of force as he backhandedly parried my attack.

With the clinking of metal, the dagger was sent flying into the corner.

Luke: Careful!!!

I heard Luke shout anxiously. Right then, my mind was completely blank as my ability to think evaporated.

Time seemed to stagnate. I watched wide-eyed as the chief guard swung his sword at me…

MC: …

But right after, my body spontaneously reacted.

A fierce wind blasted in my face as I saw the blade sweep past my hair. I instinctively retreated one step, rolling to the altar as I dodged the slash.

Chief Guard: !!!

Under the chief guard’s astonished stare, I got up and grabbed the two chisels on the round table. Then, I threw one of them at him before he could react…

Clang-

Using the moment that he deflected it with his sword, I sped forward. After this feint, I met his shocked, widened eyes as I adjusted my center of gravity, stabbing him at his weak point on his side-

Bang!

When I came back to my senses, the chief guard had already fallen.

The sharp chisel was embedded in his back waist as a crimson liquid flowed out unceasingly from the wound, dyeing the ground in red.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke: Are you alright?!

Luke ran staggeringly over to me. Only when I had indicated that I was fine did he release a breath.

After he wiped the stains off the back of my hand, he blocked my view of the chief guard.

Luke: Don’t worry, he’s still alive… just leave the rest to me.

MC: I… I…

The crisis had been averted and my rationality had returned, yet a greater fear flooded over me.

MC: H-how did that happen… just now… my movements…

I had always lived in the temple, praying daily to the gods.

But the memories that were growing clearer in my mind told me that both the instinctive fighting skills just now and the scene before my eyes…

Were not my first encounter with them.

Part 6

Ayana Temple

I could vaguely remember seeing these brutal scenes often, back during candidate training.

I once snuck into the temple and prayed to the gods, not as a priestess, but as a pathetic seeker of help.

Boy: I finally get to see you again. I thought you weren’t going to ever return.

Boy: Are these things on the altar… the offerings you brought?

“Yes, these are the leftover fried bean balls from what the uncle in the city was selling… please try some.”

Boy: You look like you’ve been injured again… does it hurt? Come over – I’ll apply some medicine for you.

“I’m alright – at least I still can feel things. But there are some children who couldn’t hold on, who won’t ever get up again after lying down.”

“So, esteemed high priest, there is something that I would like to request you help me bring to God…”

“… I have prayed for a long time, but it seems like he has always ignored my wish.”

Boy: I’m still learning from my teacher, so I’m not an official priest yet.

Boy: But since you chat with me all the time, and because of the fried bean balls you brought, I’ll do my best to help you.

Boy: Tell me, what’s your wish?

“I don’t want to do things for the new pharaoh. I only want to… continue living peacefully…”

Boy: … I got it.

Boy: If you want to live, then escape.

“But they run much faster than I do. I’m sure they’d catch me instantly…”

Boy: They won’t.

“Why?”

Boy: Because God just told me that he heard your wish, so he will protect you.

Boy: Plus… he also wants you to live on peacefully.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

That night, I mustered the courage to leave the empire.

I didn’t dare stop running until I was thoroughly exhausted, in fear of the chasing soldiers behind me.

Finally, I collapsed in the desert. When I woke again, I was in the temple.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

The high priest sat on the bedside, stroking my head gently.

Former Priest: From now onwards, this will be your residence. You can study here with me without worry.

I asked him “why” many times, but the only answer I ever received was a sigh, as well as those never-changing words-

Former Priest: Because the gods favor you.

The gods favor me…

But after that, I never saw that boy in the temple, and the high priest never said a word about him.

I continued praying devoutly to the gods, praying that I would be able to see him again.

During those days of prayer, I even suspected that the one person who had heard my wish might have been a god himself.

After the aged high priest passed away, the pharaoh gave me sacrament wine during the succession ceremony.

This was the only way to reach higher levels of consciousness and build a connection with the gods.

Gradually, I forgot what my goal in all this was.

Amid the never-ending prayers, only a deep belief in the gods became rooted firmly in my heart.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Desert Shrine

MC: Luke…

After dealing with the unconscious chief guard’s wound, Luke looked back at me from his place in a hard-to-detect corner.

He looked completely worn-out, yet he looked extremely similar to that finely-dressed, holy boy of my memories.

MC: The pharaoh messed with the sacrament wine… at the temple before, did you knock it over on purpose?

MC: I did forget what happened, but you’ve always remembered…

After a moment of dumbfoundedness, Luke smiled resignedly.

Luke: Before, I thought that forgetting the past and starting anew was a good thing.

Luke: But now, I feel that it’s better to remember some things, such as… a past desire to live.

MC: …

Only then did I completely understand that the so-called gods had never favored me.

It was Luke… he was supposed to be the empire’s oracle priest revered by the populace, and he traded his fate with me.

MC: … But why did you help me?

Luke: Because I stopped believing in the gods, starting from that day.

Luke swept calmly past the protective Anubis statues on the two sides.

To him, those probably weren’t the revered ancient gods at all – instead, they were two worthless rocks.

Finally, his gaze fell on me, his mood hard to describe.

Luke: I couldn’t understand – if the gods truly existed, why did they never help you despite all of your many prayers?

Luke: Were you not sincere enough, or were they not benevolent enough? Or – maybe the gods don’t exist at all.

Luke: I deliberated over this unsolvable problem many times, and ultimately made a decision.

Luke: Regardless if they had heard your wish, I, at least, had heard it. So I would be the one to fulfill it.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

[Flashback]

Former Priest: You want to save her, but how will you do so?

Former Priest: Those children were selected by the pharaoh from many places. Though it is difficult to distinguish who they are from the masks that they typically wear…

Former Priest: But the numbers are rigorously counted every day. They’ll know instantly if one is missing.

Boy: Then I’ll replace her.

Boy: Our ages are similar, and even if our genders are different, there are several hundred candidates. No one will care that much.

Former Priest: …Ridiculous! I did not train you for this sort of purpose!

Boy: But, high priest…

Boy: If I leave this alone and she really does die from injury in training one day…

Boy: Not only would I stop believing in the gods – I’d even start hating them… in that case, I would not be able to serve as your successor.

Boy: So, I beg you…

[Flashback end]

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Luke smiled lightly after his explanation.

Luke: Maybe because I was very fit with particular talent…

Luke: Though I started training late, I still was able to hold on until the end, thanks to a surpassing will to live.

He spoke so simply about a process that must have nearly killed him many times.

I faced him, a bitterness that I couldn’t swallow in my throat.

MC: Will to live… then why were you willing to be defeated by the chief guard?

Luke: …

Luke: If I knew that I’d be able to see you again, I would have definitely resisted.

Luke let out a deep sigh, then looked back at me seriously.

Luke: There is still some time until the ritual, so run now. Hide by the seashore for the next while, and wait for the next…

MC: I won’t run.

Luke: Don’t joke around! You…

He was just about to admonish me when the sounds of footsteps sounded from the far end of the corridor.

Luke picked up the chisel that had just been taken off the chief guard’s body in response.

Luke: I’ll deal with this.

MC: Wait. Don’t make a big ruckus out of this.

I grabbed his hand, wiping the red stains on his body with my clothes.

Luke understood my intentions quickly.

He frowned, knowing that time was tight, and could only pull aside the curtain before the altar as I wanted…

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

The moment I reclined on the altar, the reporting guard also rushed in, a few steps away from us behind the curtain.

Guard: The pharaoh will be here soon – may I ask how much longer you need…

Luke: … I’m already preparing.

Guard: The high priestess…

The guard stepped up to check on the situation as he spoke…

Luke: The high priestess has already gone to rest. Do not disturb her.

Right after, Luke threw the chisel he was holding past the curtain, embedding it beside his foot.

The curtain fluttered gently, revealing half of my hanging arm.

Guard: Y-yes…

Startled by Luke’s angry sullenness, the guard retreated from the stone room.

When everything quieted down again, he released a breath, planning to help me up from the altar…

While he was off-guard, I reached up, pulling him down by the nape of his neck.

This sudden action gave him no time to react, and with his unstable center of gravity, he could only prop himself up in front of me…

Luke: What are you doing…!

His breathing grew panicked from my movements.

He could’ve easily broken free, but he let me approach his ear as I placed my head in the hollow of his neck.

Luke: … Stop smelling it. Don’t you find it dirty?

Luke: I already told you that this incense’s scent comes from my antiseptic work…

MC: It’s not dirty at all. I like your scent a lot.

I inhaled gently. My exhale blew over his ear and neck, trembling slightly.

MC: You ensure that the souls of the deceased can rest peacefully, and you give living people new chances.

MC: You’ve saved so many people, including me… to me, you are more worthy of reverence than those imaginary gods.

MC: So, Luke, let’s find a way that can save both others and ourselves this time.

Luke: Do you mean…

MC: Fake it until the end, just like earlier – then, deal with the pharaoh using the ritual.

If only Luke made a move, he was sure to be executed after being charged with severe crimes.

But if I, who was thought to have gone to “Aaru” already, suddenly “resurrected” and imposed punishment on the pharaoh for the “gods”…

We might gain the trust of the people and have a chance at living.

Luke: This is too risky for you…

Luke: I’m worried…

He seemed to have realized that I wouldn’t change my mind, powerlessly lowering his head as he spoke, his trembling voice full of worry and distress.

MC: Based on our customs, the priest will write protective incantations on papyrus paper and place it in the tomb of the deceased, to bless them so that they will live peacefully in the afterlife.

MC: If you’re worried, Luke, write some prayers for me too.

Luke: … That’s bad luck. You’re still alive.

MC: The blessing intent remains the same, though.

Unable to persuade me, Luke could only hum an affirmative.

Luke: I’ve already thought of what to write. I’ll do it in a moment.

MC: What is it?

Luke: I’ll tell you after it ends, so… you must get out of this safe and sound.

We plotted a plan that was basically blasphemy against the gods, clinging together on the holy altar.

Before he finished carefully preparing my body as if for a corpse and covered me with a blanket… he kissed my forehead, as if in blessing.

In the faintly flickering candlelight, I looked into those perfectly clear eyes, praying reverently that the lights in them would never be extinguished…

… Simultaneously, giving that kiss a more fervent response.

Finally, this curse-dispelling, empire-stirring prayer ritual came to an end with the death of the pharaoh.

Opinions varied on the entire course of events, leaving a heavy, bright mark on the history of the dynasty.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Palace

One month after the new pharaoh succeeded to the throne.

Chief Guard: I will bring the young pharaoh back then, high priestess. There is still much that he must study – if he hadn’t been clamoring about coming to the temple…

Chief Guard: Ah, forget it.

I nodded, preparing to rise and send him off.

Before he left, I couldn’t resist calling out to that eternally straight-backed chief guard, who was intimidating even when he merely stood there.

MC: Even if the people believed my words that day, you must have known the reason behind it all, chief guard…

MC: You have always only obeyed the pharaoh, so why have you still not made a move?

Chief Guard: High priestess, I don’t understand what you mean.

Chief Guard: I still obey to the “pharaoh” – otherwise, I would not have brought him to you today to play.

MC: … That is true.

Chief Guard: If you are trusted as the will of the people, then the reason why the former pharaoh – the incarnation of the gods – died so easily, may have been the will of the heavens.

Chief Guard: This isn’t something I can do anything about… especially since the true offender has long died in prison, so there is nothing to go over seriously about.

Chief Guard: As time is tight, I will head off first.

MC: Take care.

Just as the chief guard said, the person who dealt the lethal blow to the pharaoh and cut off his head was not me, but Luke.

He was subsequently imprisoned… although…

Luke: Ugh, that chief guard really sounds satisfied with my “death in prison”.

Luke popped in through the window, sighing annoyedly.

MC: On the other hand, that’s a good thing – if even the chief guard believes that, no one will probably suspect anything…

MC: … Sorry that this was the only way to let you let you escape unscathed.

Luke: It’s alright – I’m perfectly fine, right? Just that…

Luke: You should deal less with that chief guard and that ignorant, incompetent little pharaoh from now on.

Luke: Who knows when they might come up with crooked ideas to set you up…

MC: It’s alright – you’re here, after all.

Luke: That’s true. Then, remember to rely on me more in the future, like right now…

MC: !!!

Luke embraced me from behind, bringing me to recline together on the long couch.

Luke: You’ve been dealing with the messes left by the former pharaoh for all of last night. You didn’t even get a wink of sleep.

Luke: Take an afternoon nap, now that you have time for once… I’ll be with you.

MC: … Okay.

I was just about to close my eyes when a sudden breeze blew in from the window, blowing the papyrus scrolls on the table onto the ground.

MC: Ah!

Luke: Don’t move… I’ll pick those scrolls up in a moment. Let them do whatever for now.

MC: They’re not documents, though. They’re what you wrote for me…

Realizing that Luke wasn’t going to let go, I could only mumble an explanation, burying my head in embarrassment into his chest.

Those papyrus scrolls were the prayers that he had written for me before that prayer ceremony.

Luke: … I didn’t think you’d keep them.

MC: Of course I did.

Luke still didn’t let me go, instead reclining his head on my shoulder. Like the hair coiling around my neck, I heard a few comfortable hums, making me feel slightly tingly.

He then spoke.

Luke: When everything settles down, let’s go to a country across the sea where no one recognizes us.

MC: Mhmm, okay.

Perhaps that oasis country across the sea was my true “Aaru”.

Embracing a hope for the future, a sleepiness gradually descended on me…

As I fell asleep, I seemed to hear him gently reciting that prayer written on the papyrus scrolls by my ear-

Luke: “I pray that you will continue to live bravely onwards, as you had described.”

Luke: “When you are exhausted, I too will cease, and sink with you into an eternal slumber.”

Aftertalk

Done with work? Looks like I finally have the chance to be with you alone.

>Intimate interactions >Fried bean balls…

>Select ankh

MC: (According to the legends, this is a possession of the gods with disaster- and illness-preventing effects. It represents the repeating nature of life, rebirth, and eternity.)

Luke: You’ve been staring at my chest for a while. Are you curious about the pendant?

MC: A little… if I recall correctly, you don’t believe in this stuff, so why would you wear an amulet like that?

Luke: I don’t use this to protect myself – I only wore it before as part of the prayers for the deceased, and then I just got used to it.

Luke: Although, it’s pretty pointless at this point. Maybe I should take it off…

MC: Huh? Don’t take it off… I think it looks pretty good as normal jewelry. Just keep it on.

Luke: Is that so? If you like seeing me wear it, then I won’t take it off.

>Select upper-left

MC: (The new pharaoh is still young and requires a lot of support from the temple…)

MC: (This place has been receiving an endless stream of guests all day recently. It’s so rare for me to have time to talk to Luke.)

>Select head

MC: Luke, have you been wearing that mask these days?

Luke: Sometimes I wear it when going out, so my face doesn’t get seen… although, that’s not necessary with you.

MC: Indeed – I can’t see your expression when you’re wearing a mask. This is much better.

>Intimate interactions >Fried bean balls…

MC: Weird, these fried bean balls have a distinct taste compared to the ones we ate before…

Luke: I knew that I couldn’t hide this from you. I made this secretly in the kitchen while no one was there.

Luke: Since I can’t appear in the market now under my current conditions – it would be bad if my identity were exposed.

MC: Is that so….

MC: (Before, I announced that Luke had died in prison. Though he was able to avoid execution thanks to this, his freedom is still limited.)

Luke: What’s the matter? Based on your expression… does it taste bad?

MC: Not at all! It doesn’t taste bad! I’m just worried that you might find your lifestyle right now really boring…

MC: If you want, you can leave the empire for a while, so you wouldn’t need to be so careful.

Luke: I don’t want that, because… not only do I not find it boring, but I also feel like this isn’t too bad, the way things are.

MC: Really?

Luke: Yep, really. Since no one knows that I’m alive, I don’t have to bother with some unnecessary dealings too.

Luke: Plus, it’s because that I’m alone that you’ll worry about me from time to time, just like now, right?

Luke: No matter where you are or who you’re talking to, you’ll remember that I’m waiting for you. That’s enough to satisfy me.

MC: Luke, don’t be so easily satisfied…

MC: Even if we go elsewhere in the future where you don’t need to conceal yourself, I’ll always be thinking of you.

Luke: Then, when time comes, I’ll be able to monopolize you openly… and beat off anyone who bothers us.

MC: Pfft, isn’t that a little too childish?

Luke: I’ve been holding back for so long, so it should be justifiable for me to be a bit childish…

Luke: Plus, I’m also hoping that after you shed the responsibility you bear, you can be more childish and reckless in front of me, okay?

MC: Okay… I’ll try.

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #xia yan #luke pearce #tot spoilers #未定事件簿 #tot luke #finallyyyyyyyy wow this was a whole project

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qvid-pro-qvo · 3 years

Text

smile

something soft i thought of during a rewatch (and a little bit of a character study) for a sunday evening. aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader.

word count: 659

rating: e for everyone. no warnings.

You watch Aaron dress.

It’s your own personal morning routine. You’re not an agent, but you rise with one, and so you wake and let yourself linger in bed while he moves around the room with ease on good days, hesitancy on bad. Sometimes you’ll get up, too. Make his coffee. Interrupt with little bits of laughter and kisses and teasing.

Not today.

Today, you just watch.

There’s something meditative about it for you. And when you take the time, you feel like you learn something new about the man you love with your whole chest.

The way he puts on socks and then shoes. The way he always does his best to let you pick his tie. The way he shaves, small precise movements.

But today, you notice something different, as you turn on your side to watch him stand in the mirror.

His badge.

It’s nothing special. You’re sure every agent at the Bureau has one just like it. Something they can scan to get wherever they need to go. It’s the final piece of Aaron’s outfit, something he adjusts with his clever fingers to make sure it lays straight on his lapel.

But his photo. It grins back at you, in the mirror. It’s Aaron from however many years ago, and he’s smiling so big and wide it kind of makes your chest ache. It’s an Aaron who hasn’t lost Haley at all, an Aaron without a son but planning on one, an Aaron with an esquire at the end of his name and a just-added Agent before it.

It’s probably nothing. Probably just the picture that’s always been there. You do your best at your own profiling, though. Watch the way he clips it on at the end, ready to go before he steps out the door. His full suit of armor, badges included. One at the hip, one on the breast. And it feels like something, that the picture smiling up at you still holds so much of the Aaron you know.

Maybe it’s for others. You think about a victim, watching Aaron walk in. Watching his face, stern, no-nonsense, and the way it softens as he asks them questions. Helps them through their hurt. And think that maybe the sight of that smiling face that helps them open up to this agent who’s just trying to stop the person who hurt them. If he smiles like that...

Maybe it’s for him, you muse, watching him leave the bedroom. You end up pulling back the sheets in clothes that are his in name only, to follow him into the kitchen, hug him from behind. Your hand brushes the laminated clip-on.

Maybe it’s a reminder. Not a reminder to do something, but be something. A reminder that he came from something, as all people do, started somewhere. Did not emerge from the womb a fully realized Aaron Hotchner, special supervisory agent, unit chief, communications director, everything.

Maybe it’s a reminder to smile every now and again. Show off those dimples you’re so fond of tracing with your fingers.

“Hey,” you murmur, as you stand by the door. Lean on the door jamb as he grabs his briefcase, a restocked go bag. “I love you.”

When he turns, and smiles, you’re struck by the way that some things never change. Smiles. Dimples. The apples of his cheeks. You reach out to kiss him.

“I love you,” he says, warm and gentle.

And then he turns away again, and you lose sight of his smile. Struck again by the way that some things couldn’t dream of staying the same. Weights on shoulders build and build, pain in eyes that comes back every so often with a glance at Jack, a bit of laughter with Jess.

You’re proud of him. In that moment. And before he leaves for the day, you steal another kiss to tell him just how much, and to see that smile one more time.

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #gender neutral reader #my fic #criminal minds

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ssahoodrathotchner · 4 years

Text

There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get kidnapped by an unsub and needless to say, it’s not fun

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: swearing, blood, injuries, stabbing, panic attacks, kidnapping, hospitals, angst and fluff

A/N: wanted to write something angsty with a happy ending and here we are! the longest thing i’ve ever written

Masterlist

---

In hindsight, things could have gone better. The case itself was pretty straightforward, with the biggest complication being where the hell Michael Robertson was hidden away. However, no man can hide from Penelope Garcia and within six hours of figuring out Robertson was the unsub, she had his location narrowed down to a small farm in the middle of nowhere. Of course, you thought, where else would a guy like him torture and kill seven women.

Pulling up to the seemingly small farmhouse, you and Reid exchange looks before tightening your bulletproof vests. Double—triple—checking your gun, you tune in to Hotch and Rossi giving directions to the team and local PD about breaching the home. Hotch and Prentiss will take the front door, Morgan and Reid the back, while Rossi and JJ have the barn—you’ll take the side door and meet in the middle, easy. Local PD will secure the perimeter and provide backup as needed. Giving Hotch a reaffirming nod, you disperse to your entry points.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your weapon and prepare to bust this door down in hopes that Robertson will surrender peacefully and you can all go home because fuck do you want to get out of Iowa. Hearing Hotch’s signal, you kick down the door in front of you—a welcome plus of your job—and announce your presence. However, you’re met with a hard elbow to the face. Reeling backwards and tasting blood, you only have the sense to cup your now bleeding—and most likely broken—nose with your free hand.

“Motherfucker,” you spit out in pain, the comms in your vest picking up your voice.

“Y/L/N, report,” Hotch demands, voice scratchy through your earpiece.

However, you are unable to respond as Robertson moves towards you and, taking advantage of your dazed state, hits you over the head with a fucking two-by-four once, twice, nope three times before the jagged wood floor is rushing up to meet you as you collapse into darkness. Oh, fuck. You’re out before you hit the ground.

---

As soon as Aaron hears you swear, he knows it’s bad, but one look at Emily has him forging ahead and clearing each room like he is supposed to. Checking in with the other duos, Hotch can’t help but worry when you don’t respond immediately. When he finally gets to the mid-point of the house and the exact spot where you were supposed to rendezvous with him, Emily, Derek, and Spencer, his worries spike exponentially.

“Where’s Y/L/N,” he spits out.

“We didn’t see her,” Morgan answers carefully. “We assumed she found you guys,” he adds, and Hotch grits his teeth.

“Clear in the barn,” he hears Rossi report, and he sighs.

“Y/L/N is missing,” he says, surprisingly calm. “Report to the house.”

Police officers shuffle through the house, and Aaron tries not to let his irritation show. Turning back to the team, he can’t help but notice how worried the rest of them are.

“Our one and only priority is finding Y/N,” he states.

“I’ll get Garcia onboard to coordinate what happens next,” Morgan says, excusing himself from the tension of the farm house sitting room. “Expect some very distressed calls in your futures,” he finishes with a shake of his head.

“Emily and I will re-check the rest of the house, just in case,” JJ supplies, and Hotch nods. Reid, looking uneasy, makes some excuse about double-checking the floor plans of the property before skirting out the door, leaving Dave and Aaron—and some police officers—to survey the bland artwork on the walls.

Grasping the bridge of his nose, Aaron tries to take a deep breath, but he can’t; not with you missing on the property owned by an unsub fucking known for mutilating women.

“Hey,” Rossi approaches from Hotch’s left. “We’ll figure this out. Y/L/N’s a smart girl; she won’t go down easy,”

Hotch can only hope that Rossi’s right, but he trusts you; trusts your instincts as an agent.

---

You come to in bits and pieces. Some part of your brain recognizes that you’re being dragged by your armpits down some rickety stairs and deep into the earth; another part recognizes that your hands are free, which means your gun is no longer in your grasp. Fuck fuck fuck. A particularly harsh blow to your head from the hands of your captor stops any further thoughts. Fuck you, Robertson.

---

Regrouping with the team outside the house, Hotch starts to get agitated.

“What do you mean there’s an elaborate tunnel system beneath the house, Garcia,” he almost yells. “How did you not catch this before.”

“Well,” Reid steps in, “the only plans that include this system are dated between 1910 and 1924 which means that they were built in at least the 1900s and the fact that they do not appear in any property plans since those dates suggests that the subsequent owners either didn’t know about the tunnels, or they actively chose to not include them for some reason which—”

“—which means that we don’t really have a clue as to what the current tunnels look like,” Morgan finishes for him, and Hotch internally blanches.

No, he thinks to himself. I will not lose her like this, not after Haley.

Taking a deep breath, Hotch tries to re-assess the situation, but finds himself unable to breathe deeply. At all. Gasping, he tries to communicate to the team the severity of their situation, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. Vaguely, he hears Morgan clear the room as JJ gently takes his upper arm and steers him out the back door of the house on to the porch.

“Hotch,” he can’t stand to listen to her voice; her calm demeanor only increasing his anxiety about your current situation.

“Hotch,” JJ tries again, harsher this time. “I need you to take a breath; only one, just now, that’s it.”

I can do that, he thinks. And he does; he takes one solitary breath.

“Good,” she encourages, “now do it again, just once.” And so he does, again, and again, for JJ.

Once his breathing is under control and JJ steps back with an appraising eye, he speaks.

“We need to find her,” he gasps out. “We have to; I can’t—” he trails off.

With a softness he has yet to comprehend, JJ looks into his eyes and sighs.

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” she reassures him. “She’s on the property, she has to be, and we’ll find her.”

With a shaky nod, Hotch allows JJ’s words to take hold of him, and he goes back to being the BAU’s Unit Chief. Gazing out on the field behind the house, his resolve is firm; Aaron Hotchner will find you, Michael Robertson be damned.

---

The next moment you remember—thanks broken nose and probable concussion—is your body being roughly thrown into a plastic chair, sans bullet-proof vest, and then your arms and legs being tightly tied down. A rag of some sort is crudely stuffed into your mouth, and you can’t help but gag because fuck does it do nothing to replace the gross taste of blood in your mouth. At least it’s me, you think to yourself, I’d hate to think of anyone else from the team in this position. And with that thought, you drift out of consciousness with Aaron’s face in the forefront of your addled mind. Love, I hope you find me soon.

---

It’s been three hours and Aaron Hotchner is losing his mind. Garcia, to her credit, is working furiously to uncover literally everything she can on Robertson, his family, friends as well as the closest neighboring farms to the one the BAU is currently ripping apart. Prentiss and Morgan have taken to meticulously going through each and every room of the house and barn in hopes of discovering some new and hidden passageway to the tunnel system that resides under the structure. Reid is creating an enhanced geographical profile of the property and those that encompass it, while JJ and Rossi discuss the nuances of Robertson’s profile somewhere with the local cops. Aaron, however, can only seem to scowl at the field of corn behind the house and remember the last moments he had with you before you disappeared.

“Hotch,” he turns when he hears Morgan’s voice. “We’ve got something.”

Heart racing, Hotch nods and follows Morgan out the side door—the one you entered—before stopping just short of the man in front of him.

“Local crime scene techs just confirmed that there’s blood here, and judging from the placement of the drops, it seems that Robertson got the drop on Y/L/N,” he states with a grimace, and Hotch can’t help but scrutinize the ground where your blood has fallen.

“Reid’s got a better handle on what might have happened, but I thought you’d like to see it for yourself,” Morgan finishes, and Hotch nods tightly before moving off in search of Reid. Finding the young profiler in the front room of the farm house, Hotch only has to look at him before he’s revealing all that he’s learned since your disappearance.

“It seems that the blueprints for the house were updated once since the 1920s, which was in 1953, so that’s our most recent map of what the whole underside of the property looks like,” Reid continues. “From what I can tell, there are at least five entrance points, three main walkways, and eight different chambers that appear to function as some form of bunker for the previous owners, and so my guess is that Y/N is being kept in one of the rooms, just like the previous victims most likely were,” Reid pauses. “Not that Y/N will become another victim, I’m just saying that for the sake of the case it appears that—” Emily enters the room and Hotch has never been so grateful for her presence in a room, ever.

“Hey, I don’t mean to disrupt Reid’s briefing, but local PD has found a possible way into the fuckin’ labyrinth out in the barn,” she states, curiously looking over at the map Reid has scribbled onto the property blueprints.

Turning his head sharply, Hotch nods at Prentiss and uncrosses his arms as she leads him out of the farm house as Reid continues to ponder the blueprints in front of him.

---

The next time you rise to consciousness, Robertson is dragging an ugly hunting knife across your collarbones, shoulder to shoulder, and cooing at you to wake up. Weirdo.

“Ah, there you are baby,” Robertson says sweetly. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up for me.”

You let out a groan and through the gag in your mouth—holy fuck does it taste like dirty socks—you attempt to cuss out your captor.

“Now, now, Sweetness,” Robertson chides. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” and with that terrifying statement, he leans closer to you and pulls the knife across your left shoulder, effectively slicing open your work shirt. Damn, you think to yourself, this was actually one of my favorites. But that’s the last coherent thought you produce because the combination of Robertson’s knife, the searing pain of your broken nose, and your own possibly concussed brain are unable to completely comprehend any more information as the man in question leaves light slices across your upper chest. Thankfully, the rag—sock? —in your mouth muffles your whimpers as you jolt in pain. Aaron, please find me soon you think before the feeling is all-encompassing and your mind shifts to merciful blankness.

---

“I wish I could do more,” Garcia states, but Hotch can only sigh in agreement.

“You’ve done well, Garcia. Let me know if you find anything else,” Hotch states, eyes darting over to the geographical profile Reid is standing in front of, conversing with Emily. The tunnel found by local PD had been a decoy, and they were no closer to finding you.

“Of course, Sir. I’m on it like Sergio on tuna. Garcia out,” and with that statement, the line goes dead.

Putting his phone in his pocket, Hotch walks towards Reid and Prentiss with purpose.

“Reid, have you found anything else about the tunnel system?”

“It appears that there are a series of false entrances that don’t actually connect with the full network of passageways,” Reid states gesturing wildly at the map. “The full system can only be accessed from four different vantage points, but given that this map hasn’t been updated since the 50s, I only have a general idea of where the entryways are given that the buildings on the property have shifted since the last accurate map was compiled.”

“The good news is that two of the entrances seem to be contained within this house, the bad news is that they may have been bricked over by renovations to the building,” Prentiss says with a grimace. “The other two entries are somewhere out in what’s now the fields, so we’ll have less luck finding them, even with all the extra help from the PD.”

Hotch’s shoulders sag under the weight of the new information and he frowns at the agents in front of him. Squinting hard at the blueprints haphazardly tacked to the board in front of him, Hotch tries to make sense of the possible entry points in the house he’s currently standing in.

“Get Morgan in here,” Hotch finally says. “He’s got experience with restoration work and may have a better idea on where the unsub could have taken Y/N from within the house given the structural changes.” And with that, Hotch strides out the front door of the house and leans on the porch railing. Y/N, I’m coming for you, just hold on a little longer.

---

Robertson is a bitch. And he has the knife to prove it.

“So, you’re impotent, that’s why you’re using such a big knife, right?” you taunt him after who knows how fuckin’ long. “You see, we thought you had, mmm, issues, but we didn’t know for sure; this just confirms it.”

He took the gag out of your mouth to hear you scream, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing so. However, instead of responding to your jabs, Robertson just drives the knife a little bit deeper into your torso and you let out a hiss in retaliation, throwing your head back.

“God, you sure know how to treat a girl, don’t ya?” you grit out between pained breaths. “No wonder a charmer like you had so many lady friends.”

“They didn’t appreciate me!” Robertson yells. “Just like you don’t appreciate me!”

The next slash glances off your ribs and yikes does it fuckin’ hurt. Jerking away as best you can, you contemplate your options. At this point, you know your only way out is to either escape—as if—or to make Robertson see some semblance of reason. Otherwise, you aren’t going to make it out of here alive. Fuck, you think, I’m so sorry, Aaron. I promise I’ll find you. Or you’ll find me. A particularly vicious cut to your cheekbone draws you back to reality, and once again, you are only able to focus on the pain and Robertson’s maniacal laughter. Creepy motherfucker.

---

Hotch has never seen Morgan so focused. Scouring the blueprints with Reid and Prentiss, Garcia on speakerphone, Morgan works to figure out where the hell Robertson could have disappeared to inside the house. With you. Hotch has taken to pacing the length of the house in order to keep his nerves and his temper somewhat under control; he needs to be alert and ready to get to you as soon as possible. Running a hand through his hair and over his face, Hotch sighs which draws the attention of Rossi and JJ who slowly drift over to him from their place by a window.

“Hotch—” JJ starts but is cut off by a hard look.

“We’ll find her, Aaron.” Rossi tries. “You know that she’s here somewhere, probably giving Robertson all sorts of hell.”

“We’ve seen what Robertson does to his victims, Dave,” Hotch retorts. “He basically slices women to pieces and beats them,” taking a breath, he tries to calm himself. “We need to find her alive,” he finishes softly.

JJ and Rossi share a concerned look before Rossi sighs and steps forward to place a hand on Hotch’s shoulder.

“We’ll find her. There’s no way—” he’s cut off by an excited yell and the three of them swing around towards the source of the noise which happens to be Prentiss.

Morgan’s already moving, stalking into another room and Reid, accompanied by Garcia on the phone, hurries to catch up.

“We found the door Robertson most likely used to take Y/L/N and we’re pretty sure it connects to the full system under the property,” Prentiss explains and that’s all it takes for Hotch to stride off after Morgan and Reid.

Head spinning, Aaron fluctuates between hope and hopelessness. He knows they’ll find you; Robertson can’t hide in the tunnel system, no matter how well he knows them, but he’s most worried about you. We’re coming for you, Y/N. I won’t let this bastard get away with this.

---

Your whole body fucking hurts and you’re pretty sure it’s not just because you started off your captivity with a broken nose and concussion. Your mouth tastes like blood again from how hard you’ve clamped down on your bottom lip to resist screaming as loud as you can. Robertson is cruel, there’s no question about that. You’d seen the photos of his other victims, and now you were undergoing the same things those women did in their last moments. Your entire body feels heavy, and if you weren’t tied down to a chair, you don’t think you’d be able to hold yourself up. Between the blood loss and head trauma, you’re surprised your thoughts are still relatively coherent.

Robertson is pacing in front of you, muttering to himself, shooting looks your way, and absentmindedly gesturing with the knife in his hand. Fantastic, you think hazily, he’s most likely devolving and I’m the only one around. Yay. Sucking in a breath, you wince as the action reignites a dizzying pain in your torso. Letting out a groan, you flinch as Robertson turns towards you, eyes shining with something that makes your heart race a little quicker.  

“Now, baby,” he states with a twisted grin—grimace? —that makes you grit your teeth even harder. “I’m not done with you yet, don’t worry. I still wanna hear you scream for me.”

Here we go again.

“Do your worst,” you snarl at him, and while that’s probably the worst thing to say to a devolving unsub, you’re too fed up and tired to care at this point; you can take it, you have to take it so you can survive. C’mon, Aaron. Where’s my knight in shining armor? Robertson descends on you with renewed vigor, and after the fourth slice to your leg, your ears rush and your head drops to your chest as you pass out. Fuck.

---

The trap door Robertson dragged you down can only be accessed by sliding one of the wooden floorboards back half an inch before it clicks into place and the adjoining boards lift slightly, revealing the way into the tunnels. How Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss figured that out is beyond Hotch’s current thought process because how many times had he paced over that exact spot? As soon as the hatch is lifted, all he sees is blood—your blood—sprinkled on the steps that descend into the darkened passageway. He takes a sharp breath and somewhere behind him, he can hear JJ gasp and Morgan swear.

“Medics are on stand-by,” comes Rossi’s voice from his shoulder.

Nodding tersely and setting his shoulders, he turns to the team.

“Stay alert and stick together. We don’t know where Robertson is, so clear the rooms and move on.” His voice is hard and leaves no room for debate.

“Let’s go get our girl,” Morgan adds, and with that, the team takes careful steps down into the hallway, following Aaron.

---

The first room they happen across is empty, as are the second, third, and fourth rooms. Forging ahead, knowing that they’re only closer to where you are, they continue. Turning a corner, Hotch can hear movement and his heart speeds up. Robertson. Signaling to the team to pause, he gauges the best course of action. He doesn’t know what state you’re in, or Robertson for that matter, and so he has to approach the situation with caution. Gun in hand and stepping to one side of the door, he lets Morgan and Prentiss move to the other. Backed by JJ, Reid, and Rossi, Hotch nods and Morgan kicks down the door before moving quickly inside, yelling at Robertson. Prentiss follows him and then Hotch steps through and freezes.

Robertson is crouched over your crumpled and bloody body looking wild-eyed at the agents in front of him. Hotch can’t breathe. You aren’t moving.

“She’s mine,” Robertson snarls, brandishing a knife at Morgan as he tries to get closer. “Mine!”

“Okay, Michael,” says Rossi calmly, “Let’s figure this out.”

“No. She’s mine! I’m not done,” Robertson’s reply is harsh, bordering on a yell.

“What do you mean you aren’t done, Michael?” Hotch’s voice is cold and flat. What more could Robertson possibly want?

“She didn’t scream! I need her to scream for me!” and with that, Robertson runs the tip of his blade down your already bloody cheek.

The team is stunned, but then Robertson raises the knife in the air over your chest and—

He falls.

Looking slowly to the right, Hotch sees Prentiss, gun raised, and then to Robertson splayed on the ground, blood pooling under his head. Vaguely, Hotch hears Reid calling for medics and alerting the local officers to what just happened. Morgan’s already at your side, turning you slowly, carefully, gently on to your back, and that’s when Hotch rushes to you, gun holstered.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. There’s blood everywhere. Aaron can’t tell if you’re breathing. He chokes back a sob. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.

“Hotch, she’s alive,” Morgan breathes, and with that, Hotch lets out a sigh of relief and allows himself to fully look at you, blinking a few times to rid his eyes of tears.

Your face is littered with shallow cuts. Your nose is bloody—definitely broken—and there’s already bruising around your eyes. Your shirt is torn and bloodied in so many places, as are your pants. He can see blood leaking slowly multiple places on your thighs, and even more from your arms and midsection. Your eyes are closed.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Hotch presses down on one of the lacerations to your torso, Morgan taking another, and JJ appearing to apply pressure on a cut that’s just a little too close to your femoral artery.

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” his voice shakes. “I need you to open your eyes, Y/N. Have to know you’re okay.”

There’s yelling from down the hallway, medics bustling into the room and taking over. Aaron can’t make himself let go of you, and it takes Rossi’s gentle but firm hand to guide him back and away from you. He can’t stop shaking.

---

You wake, briefly, when you feel yourself being lifted. Squinting, you try to turn your head, as the rest of the world comes crashing back in a wave of sound and movement. Vision blurred, you try and make sense of what’s going on around you.

“She’s awake!” calls a voice from your left, and you can make out the outline of… JJ? They’re here.

You’re shifted around more, and you get the idea that you’re being strapped down to a gurney as medics begin to wheel you out of the hellhole where Robertson held you.

Suddenly, there’s a hand grasping yours, and before your mind can comprehend what’s happening, all you hear is—

“Sweetheart…?” in the most relieved, reverent, adoring, tone you think you’ve ever heard in your life and it’s Aaron holding your hand. He’s here he’s here he’s here. He found me.

“Aaron,” his name leaves you in a sigh. “Y’found me,” you say softly, looking him over.

“Of course, I did, Sweetheart,” he says, just as soft.

“Where’s…?” you don’t want to say his name.

“Dead. Emily shot him,” Aaron answers in a low voice. Good fucking riddance.

You hum and ease back as the gurney jostles you particularly hard. Gritting your teeth, you groan as you head starts to pound even harder. Feeling yourself losing consciousness, you squeeze Aaron’s hand.

“Love you,” and before he can respond, you vision goes black and all is quiet once more.

---

After you get loaded into the nearest ambulance and speed towards the hospital, Rossi confirms that local officers have secured the scene. With not a moment to waste, the team takes off after the ambulance. Morgan calls Garcia to update her on your status and spends a majority of the ride to the hospital convincing her that she doesn’t need to fly over to see you. Hotch stares blankly out the window and replays the entire interaction with Robertson. He saw the damage Robertson did to you—I need her to scream—and can’t help but feel a little bit of pride at the fact that you didn’t give in to Robertson despite the obvious pain you endured.

The SUVs pull up to the hospital, screeching to a halt, before all the doors are thrown open and the team hurries into the lobby. The nurse at the desk looks up to find six disheveled agents crowding around the counter, worry across all of their faces.

“We’re here for Agent Y/L/N, she probably arrived twenty minutes ago,” Hotch states, voice surprisingly calm.

“I can confirm she arrived and that she’s currently being attended to, but I don’t know any more than that at this moment,” the nurse replies, looking at the computer screen.

“Do you know if she’ll be okay?” asks Spencer in a subdued voice.

“The severity of her injuries is yet to be determined, I’m afraid. She has obvious head trauma, numerous lacerations, and possible internal bleeding, but until I get another update, that’s all I can share,” the nurse says with a sad smile.

Nodding, Aaron steps away from the counter. C’mon, Sweetheart.

“Thank you,” comes Rossi’s voice from Hotch’s left, and with that, the team migrates to the largest cluster of chairs where they promptly collapse in exhaustion.

Sitting down heavily, Hotch rests his elbows on his knees and runs a hand over his face. Prentiss drops in to the chair on his left, Rossi settles in on his right. Across from them, Reid and JJ sit on either side of Morgan. Looking down at his hands, Aaron realizes that they still have your blood on them. He glares at them, somehow wishing that if he stares hard enough, it’ll vanish on its own. A hand closes around one of his, and he looks at Emily.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says softly, then, louder, “You guys too, Morgan and JJ. Let’s go.”

It’s then that Aaron looks—really looks—and sees that like him, Morgan and JJ have your blood on their hands as well. With a nod, they all stand. Morgan and Hotch walking into the men’s room while Emily follows JJ to keep her company. Mechanically, the two men stand side-by-side and turn on the taps, starting the slow process of washing away the blood that’s dried on them. Glancing to the side, Hotch sees Morgan, brow furrowed in concentration, as he scrubs under his nails.

“Thank you,” he says, stopping his own motions to fully look at Derek, who turns at the sound of his voice.

“For what?” Morgan asks, slightly confused.

“For going over the blueprints with Reid, Prentiss, and Garcia. For figuring out where in the house Y/N had disappeared. For going above and beyond to find her and— “

“Hotch, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Morgan cuts him off. “I will do everything in my power to make sure this team is okay, you know that,” and with a small grin, he adds “I’m just happy that one of my hobbies was useful for the case.”

Hotch can’t help but smile a little in return, and with that, they go back to washing their hands in a more comfortable silence.

---

Walking back into the waiting area, Hotch is confronted with the sight of Reid and Rossi surrounded by a pile of snacks from one of the vending machines. He pauses for a second, shakes his head, and then continues back to the chair he was sitting in earlier. Once he’s seated, Reid tosses him a bag of something—chips? —which he dutifully opens under the watchful eye of Rossi. Morgan snags his own snack and then leans against the nearest wall, content to stand. A short while later, Emily and JJ return, Emily’s arm secure around JJ’s shoulders, before they too are digging in to the veritable mountain of food that Reid and Rossi managed to accumulate. Sitting in silence—save the crunching of whatever food they were eating—the team takes a second to contemplate and reassess the day.

The sound of Velcro breaks Hotch out of his trance, and he looks over to see Morgan undoing his bulletproof vest. The vests which the rest of them are still wearing. There’s a scramble after that, to rid themselves of their exterior layer, which are then haphazardly stacked on an open seat. Taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time in days, Hotch sinks back in his chair and closes his eyes, head tipped back against the cool wall behind him.

“Anyone want water?” Reid is the first to break the tenuous silence. There’s a chorus of hums and head shakes before he stands and wanders off, presumably in the direction of the vending machines where he first got the food.

“She’ll be fine, you know,” Rossi says looking at Aaron, whose eyes are now open, staring at the ceiling. “She’s tough, tougher than I think we gave her credit for.”

Hotch sighs in response, but Emily is the next to speak up.

“Robertson said she didn’t scream, which…” she trails off, looking at the floor before meeting Aaron’s eyes. “I don’t think I could have done that, not like that. I can’t imagine what that was like for her...”

“I wish we had gotten there sooner,” Hotch finally says. “I wish—”

“No.” Morgan says, a hard edge to his voice. “Don’t do that to yourself, Hotch. Or any of us. We did what we could and we found her alive.”

“I know, but—” Hotch is cut off by JJ this time.

“But nothing, Aaron. She’s going to be okay.” And with that, JJ moves from her chair to the one next to him and gently puts a hand on his shoulder. “She was awake and talking before they took her away, you know that,” she adds softly.

“Hey guys, so I talked to the nurse and—” Reid returns and with those words, Hotch sits straight in his seat, JJ’s hand falling away as his attention and that of his teammates focus on what Reid has to say next. “—and apparently, Y/N only needed minor surgery to repair some internal damage from three of the stab wounds and the other slashes were relatively shallow, so they just needed to be stitched up. She also has contusions on her head from where I’m guessing Robertson hit her to initially subdue her, and she does have a concussion and broken nose, but according to the nurse Y/N only has to stay here for a maximum of three days to make sure that there are no serious effects from the concussion and to keep an eye on her sutures before she’ll be cleared to leave.” Reid’s final statement hangs in the air, sinking in, and once it does, Aaron hangs his head as tears fall down his cheeks. You’re okay. You’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.

Derek immediately calls Garcia to give her the good news and her scream of excitement can be heard by the rest of the team even though Morgan did not have her on speakerphone. Rossi chuckles to himself before looking over at Aaron and his shaking shoulders. Putting a hand on his back, Rossi doesn’t say anything, but instead, provides silent support to the man who almost lost what little he had left.

“Agent Y/L/N?” comes a voice from the desk, and Aaron wipes his eyes before taking a breath and standing and turning with the rest of the team.

“Yes?” It’s Prentiss who replies.

“We’ve moved her to a room; you can see her now,” and with that, the nurse beckons for them to follow her through the set of double-doors that lead further into the hospital. Coming to a stop, the nurse turns and fixes Hotch with a look. “I’ll warn you now, she looks worse off than she actually is, so don’t be put off by her appearance. She shouldn’t move too much because there’s a risk she’ll rip her stitches, but other than that, she’ll be okay,” and with a nod, she opens the door and ushers them inside.

Aaron’s eyes rush to take in your appearance—butterfly bandages across your nose, a few on your cheekbones and forehead, bandages up both arms, and he’s sure there’s more hidden from view. For a moment, he’s taken back to the last time he saw you laying this still. Crumpled on the floor, bloody and unmoving, Robertson with a knife crouched over you, going to kill you—

Prentiss pushes past him, breaking his train of thought, as she moves to your side and gives a low whistle before gingerly taking your hand. Aaron walks to your other side, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head, and the rest of the team surround your bed, everyone gazing down at your sleeping form.

---

The first thing you notice is the pain in your head, followed by pain that slowly pulses through your whole body, and for a moment, you remember. Robertson, the knife, slicing, slashing, taunting, yelling, don’t scream can’t scream—

But then you feel it. The familiar pressure of Aaron kissing your head and it clears your head a bit. Not with Robertson, not with Robertson, I’m not with that fucker.

“Fuck,” you groan, mind still hazy, pain more intense, as you return to consciousness. “Wh’re am I?” you slur out next, as you blink away the tiredness in your eyes and try not to squint at the fluorescents or the shadows that are sharpening into your team.

Looking to your right, you lock eyes with Aaron, who pushes hair off of your face before smiling sweetly at you and you try to smile back.

“Hi, Love,” you say, voice low and rough. He leans down and kisses your forehead this time, before gently holding your hand.

Realizing you aren’t alone, you look around at the rest of the team, squeezing Emily’s hand in yours.

“You killed ‘im?” you ask, searching her face. She nods. “Good,” you sigh. “He was such an asshole.”

With that, Derek laughs, followed by Rossi. Emily’s shoulders drop as she lets out a chuckle, Spencer smiles, and JJ rolls her eyes with a fond grin. Almost the whole team.

As if summoned by the power of thought, Derek’s phone rings and he answers the call, Garcia’s voice coming through loud and clear on speakerphone.

“Y/N! My poor, poor, goddess divine how are you?” she questions. You clear your throat and attempt to speak, but before you can say anything Morgan is passing the phone to Aaron, who holds it closer to your face. You shoot him a grateful smile before responding.

“I’m fine, Pen. Just some cuts and scrapes,” you joke.

“That’s a lie, Y/L/N and we all know it. Don’t make me ask you again!” she chastises and you roll your eyes, holding back a wince as pain twinges through your side.

“I’ll be okay, Penelope,” you say softly. Another jolt of pain, this time in your arm, almost makes you whimper, but you bite your lip instead. An action which does not go unnoticed in a room full of profilers.

“It’s nice to see you awake, Y/N,” JJ says lightly before shooting a glance at Aaron and then looking at the rest of the team. “But we should get back to the hotel.”

“Bye my lovelies! I’m happy you’re okay, Y/N. Get home safe, please! Garcia out,” and Derek puts his phone away before smiling at you. Reid give you a small wave and Rossi claps a hand on Aaron’s shoulder before they all turn to exit.

With one last squeeze to your hand, Emily lets go and follows the rest of the team, save Aaron, out the door with the promise that they’ll return later.

When everyone is out and the door shuts behind them, you finally let out a pained breath and scrunch your eyes shut with a groan. You feel Aaron smooth a hand over your hair and you try to control your breathing, but it’s hard when your entire body hurts. Slowly, tears make their way down your face and Aaron’s quick to softly brush them away. Turning to look at him, you allow yourself to breakdown in the safety of his presence.

Your breath hitches as the tears fall faster, your head hurts, your chest hurts, everything hurts and you try not to break into a sob, but the tears won’t stop and eventually sobs wrench from your body and you let them. Aaron has tears of his own falling down his face and he holds your hand in both of his, kissing your knuckles, fingertips, palm, whatever he can as he watches you break. He wants to hold you, wrap you in his arms and shield you from the pain but he can’t because your injuries prevent him from doing so and it pains him to see you this way. So he does what he can.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. I didn’t get to say it before you passed out and—” he pauses to take a breath. “I love you so much. So so much.”

“I was so scared—” you gasp through a sob. “Terrified, Aaron. I couldn’t—” you can’t speak through the force of your tears. Aaron shushes you and kisses your cheek, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know, Sweetheart. I know, but you were so brave, so brave and I am so proud of you for being so strong and—” he breaks off in his own soft sob. “—and for staying alive. You’re alive.”

Lifting a hand to scrub at your face, you take a few deep breaths, but more tears escape.

“I can’t—” your breath hitches at what exactly Robertson had done to you. “He wanted me to scream so I didn’t, I couldn’t. I knew what he did to the others, and I just thought that—” you take another breath. “I just thought that if I could deny him that, not give in, it would buy you guys time to find me,” you pull Aaron’s hand to your lips, resting them on the back of his hand and closing your eyes to ground yourself.

“And you did,” he replies softly, gently. “When we found you—” he takes his own steadying breath. “When we found you, Robertson was angry, he said…he said he needed to make you scream, and hearing that…I just,” he moves his hand to cup your face, softly moving his thumb over the bandage on your cheekbone. “You astound me, Sweetheart. Everyday,” he finishes in a whisper.

“I love you,” you say just as softly.

“I love you more,” he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back.

You lean forward, then. And he meets halfway, hand disentangling from yours so he can cradle both sides of your face as he sinks into the kiss. One of your own hands finds its place on his cheek and you sigh into his lips. This. This is what kept me alive, you think when he gently tilts your head. I love you I love you I love you. Thank you. With tears slowly drying on both your faces, you and Aaron revel in the comfort of each other. In the words you don’t have to speak, and the touch of the one you love. Through the worry, pain, and fear of the day, this is how it always ends. You and Aaron. Together. Safe. Loved.

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xmalereader · 3 years

Text

Thomas Shelby X Male Reader X Hulmet Zemo

|| Masterlist ||

Here is a small crossover between Zemo and the peaky blinders because WHY NOT?! Also, the French I use might not be correct, I only took a few classes of French and then dropped out and decided on Japanese instead :/ please don’t judge me, I’m still learning (°▽°)

Summary: Reader is Thomas Shelbys son, who has been sneaking around with Birmingham’s new Chief Inspector Hulmet Zemo. The two have grow close to each other, but how will he tell Thomas about his secret?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, crossover, language, some French, soft Hulmet, rich baron.

“Not a single word do you care to utter in my direction. You struggle to find meaning as to who I am and what I stand for. Am I not worthy?”

It has been raining in Birmingham for the last three days. The Shelby family had stayed indoors to help with the bettings. They could be doing something a lot more important but, instead they decided to spend the rainy days counting up the bets and making sure that everything is in track.

Thomas was in his office, reading the paper as he smokes his second cigar of the day. His eyes skimming through today’s events as he lets out a puff of smoke. He tosses the paper aside and puts his cigar out, taking his glasses he sets them down.

Hearing the office door open, he looks up to see his only son, Y/n, stepping inside his office as he closes the door behind him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were helping Polly with counting the bets.” He mutters out as he watches his son approaching the desk. “I got bored.” He hears the other say.

Y/n sits down on one of the chairs and leans his head back, groaning softly. “It’s been raining for days, I want to go out and ride the horses.” He mumbled out, causing Thomas to chuckle at him as he too, leans back in his own chair. “It’s dangerous riding in this weather. It can frighten the horses and you can get hurt, don’t want that happening.” Y/n shrugs as he sits up and looks at the material around his fathers desk.

He reaches out for the paper and unfolds it, reading the front page. “Helmut Zemo.”

Y/n froze at the sudden name as he slowly looks up to make eye contact with his father. “Do you know him?” Thomas asks as y/n slowly shakes his head in response, trying his best to not show any fear or intimidation.

“He’s the new Chief Inspector, has been coming around town for the last couple of days—“ Thomas sighs deeply. “He’s already arrested five of our men, told them not to cause trouble only for them to start a fight at the Garrison.” He slips his glasses back on as he sat up. Y/n looks down at the newspaper and clears his throat, “Why exactly are you telling me this? I know you don’t like it when I get involved with the family’s business. You’ve told me many times to stay away.”

It was true, Thomas Shelby was a protective man towards his own family. He’s always kept y/n safe, ever since he was abandoned by his mother. Thomas wanted him to stay out of the family business, away from any enemies that targeted them. He couldn’t risk losing anymore family members, especially his own son.

“I just want you to be careful the next time you go out.” Said Thomas. “If you see or hear about him—you stay away.” His voices slowly grows dark as he gives y/n a stern look. A look that always frightened the younger man. “I’ll be careful, always have!” He beams out with a smile. Y/n didn’t want to worry his father anymore as he stands up from his spot. “I’ll make sure to stay away from Zemo and away from any trouble.” He assures Thomas. He adjusts his coat and walks out of the office doors before his father could say anything else.

Once he’s out of sight he leans against a wall and lets out a shaky breath, gripping his coat close as he bites his lip. “Shit.” He whispers to himself as he heads back to the betting room, entering a separate room where his aunt Polly was counting the bets. He closes the door behind him and sits In front of her, burying his face in his hands as Polly counts the bets.

“Did you tell him?” She asks with a raised brow.

Y/n groans. “I couldn’t.” He looks up from his hands as Polly rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head, continuing on with the bets. “You’ll have to tell Tommy soon, you should know how your father will react once he finds out first.” She reminds him. He already knew how his father would react if he found out that both he and Zemo have been seeing each other in secret for the last couple of months.

“Polly, I don’t know what to do. I want to tell him about us but, it’s been far too difficult—dammit aunt Pol he’s gonna be angry with me!” He exclaims, his anxiety getting to him as he thinks about all of the bad things that can happen between him and his father. “Pol, what I’m doing his wrong! Falling in love with another men, keeping secrets from my father, betraying the family!”

“Alright enough!” Polly stood up and stands by his side as she pulls him into a hug. “You’re a strong man. I know your father can be stubborn but he will also understand.” She pulls away from the hug and pushes his hair back. “Go and talk to Zemo, figure something out and tell your father or else I will.”

Y/n whimpers at her small threat, he knows that he has to tell his father soon or else he will be the first to find out about him and Zemo and it will not be a fun experience. “I—okay.” He whispers out. Polly gives him a stern nod, “Now go see him and figure something out. I’ll tell your father that you went home and took a cab with you or that you went out for a bit.” She informs him as she walks around the small office she had and grabs his hat, placing it on him as she adjusts his coat and sighs deeply. “Go on.” She nods towards the door.

Y/n bites his líp. “Thanks aunt Pol.” He kisses her cheek before leaving the room. He storms out of the betting shop and into the rain, wincing at the cold weather as he rushes out to go see Zemo.

Polly sits back down and sighs, wishing the boy good luck as she goes back to counting the bets, writing down the numbers and amounts in the book as she lights a cigar for herself before looking up to see Thomas entering the room. “Tommy, thought you fell asleep back in your office.” She says sarcastically as she continues on with her job, it sparing him a second glance. “I came in here to talk about y/n.”

“What about him?”

“He’s been acting strange in the last few days, know anything about it?” He raises a brow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Nothing.” Polly replies back as she sets a few bills on the side and continues on with a new stack. The room is silent until Thomas speaks up. “He trusts you and I know he’s told you what’s wrong, so—“ he locks the door behind him and approaches pollys desk. “Tell me what he told you.”

Polly glares at him. “The boy is fine Thomas, he’s growing up and needs some time.” She crosses her own arms with a frown on her face. Thomas looks away and clears his throat. “Very well.” He stands up straight and slips his hands in his pockets.

“Then tell me about Helmut Zemo.”

A loud knocking was heard throughout the house as Zemo sets his stuff down and heads towards the door to see who it was. It’s been pouring for days, so who would want to be bothering him?

As he answers the door his eyes soften at the sight of his beloved. “Chéri.” He says as y/n gives him a small shy smile. “Hey...” Zemo frowns. “It’s raining, come inside, I’ll get you something to wear.” He ushers the young man inside and closes the door behind him. “Go get warmed up by the fireplace while I get you some clothes.”

Y/n does as Zemo says as he walks towards the living room and stands in front of the fire place. Allowing the warm heat to keep his body from growing colder. “Voici.” He gasps as Zemo places a dry towel around him. “Come, let’s get you changed.” He takes y/n’s hand and guides him towards the bedroom where he had some clothes laid out for him. “Get changed while I prepare us some Tea.” Zemo places a kiss on the back of y/n’s hand, reassuring him that he’ll be close by as he leaves him to change.

Y/n gave a small smile as he begins to change his clothes and into something warm. He makes sure to take his wet clothes back towards the fire place. Spreading the clothes out he sets it close to the warm fire and lets them dry. “Better?” He hears Zemo asks as he stands next to him and hands him a cup of tea. Y/n gives a small nod in return, “a lot better.” He thanks him for the tea and sits on the couch as he drinks the warm liquid.

Zemo sits across from him while crossing his leg over the other and drinking his own tea.

“I couldn’t tell him.”

Zemo raises a brow as he sets his cup down on the table. “What do you mean?” He questions.

Y/n bites his lip. “I tried to tell my father about us but—“ he lets out a nervous breath. “I panicked, thinking that he will grow upset if he found out that his one and only son was sleeping around with the new chief inspector that he hates.” He mutters out as he leans back in his spot and groans.

Zemo chuckles softly as he stands up and moves towards y/n. He reaches out to stroke his cheek with his thumb. “We aren’t just sleeping with each other.” He adds. “We care about each other and enjoy being around one another. I love having you around my chéri.”

He blushes at his the small name, he moves it when Zemo calls him darling, it made him feel all happy inside and cheerful. As Zemo leans down to press their foreheads together, y/n can’t help but close his eyes and let out a small sigh with a smile on his face.

“te iubesc.” He whispers out.

Zemo chuckles as he responds back. “I love you too.” The two look into each others eyes as y/n leans up for a kiss. One that they have shared many times before between each other, he sighs against the kiss and runs his fingers through Zemos hair. “Helmut...”

“Yes my Chéri?” Zemo pulls away for a split second as y/n licks his lips. “as much as I’m enjoying this, we still have to find a way on how I’m going to explain this to my father.” The older man huffs out a laugh as he pulls away from y/n and sits down next to him. “I say we go to the betting shop and just tell him.”

“And let him shoot you on the spot?” Y/n raises a brow. Zemo shrugs a shoulder, “Worth a shot.” The other rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “No, we can’t do that. My father will most likely kill you or find a way too.”

This was a lot harder then he thought. His father was a blinder and he wasn’t stupid, he was able to take down many of his enemies and he would not hesitate to find a way to take down Hulmet himself. He needs to be smart and figure out a way to tell his father without angering him or anyone else in his family.

Biting his lip he thinks of an idea. “I have an aunt who lives in London, maybe she can help us?”

“What make you think your aunt will help?” Asked Zemo.

“Aunt Ada dealt with the same situation as us, she fell in love with my fathers friend. During that time they become enemies and my aunt ada was keeping their relationship a secret, she couldn’t allow anyone to know.” He explains. “Aunt Polly found out first about her relationship and then a few months later she found out about her having a baby.”

“Did your aunt ever tell Thomas?” Zemo asks and pulls y/n close, wrapping an arm around his waist as he kissed his cheek. “No, my father found out on his own. He didn’t like it but accept her and the baby, after that my aunt moved to London, wanting to stay out of the shelbys business.” He cuddles up close to Zemo. The fire keeping them warm as the room grows silent, the sound of rain and wood popping where the only things heard.

“We either tell him or wait until he finds out on his own.” Zemo blurts out. They know that it’s hard, but it’s harder for Y/n. He remembers the time Zemo took him to meet his family. The Barons were royalty and filthy rich, but that never bothered y/n or made him feel any different. Zemos father welcomed him with open arms and quickly grew a liking towards him. Zemos family was very accepting towards them and didn’t care about what others said or thought. But things were different for Y/n. His family was different, they all grew up during a war and his uncles were drafted, along with his father. They all returned back home with a lot of trauma and it was difficult to sleep at night as he would hear his uncles waking up in panic or screaming. His family were Gypsies and they were always mistreated. It took his family weeks before they could officially get on their feet, claiming shops and bars as their own and earning themselves a name. He was a Shelby and the Shelby family always had bad luck.

As it slowly grows dark he leans his head against Zemos shoulder as his eyes slowly began to drop. “Sleep my très chère.” Whispered Zemo as y/n’s eyes close and falls into a deep sleep. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

Polly was up early the next day, sitting in her office as she counted the bets. She preferred to up earlier than anyone else, wanting to finish her work faster so that she could head out to the bar and have a drink or two.

As she organized her things she hears a set of footsteps running inside the betting shop. “Aunt pol!” She hears Finn cry out as he jogs up to her office. “Is tommy around?” He pants out. “Probably at a bar fucking some whore.” She mumbles out. “Why?”

“There’s a man outside, claims to be Helmut Zemo.” Polly froze, her eyes widening as she looks over to Finn. “What?”

“He wants to speak with Thomas.”

Polly is quick to react. “Very well, Finn go get Thomas at the garrison and bring him back here and quick.” She ushered him a she quickly cleans up her mess only to see Finn still standing there. “What did I just say boy?! Go! Go!” She smacks the boys shoulder as Finn easily gets startled and runs off to fetch Thomas.

It doesn’t take long for Polly to allow Zemo to enter the small apartment. “Mr. Zemo.” She says with a small nod and guides towards the table. “Would you like some tea?”

Zemo steps around the place and sits down, giving Polly a polite smile as he nods. “Please and thank you.”

Polly chuckles. “A man with manners, you don’t see that everyday.” She gets a kettle started and walks around the small kitchen, growing nervous by the minute. “Is there a reason as to why you are here inspector?”

Zemo clears his throat. “I think you already know why.” Indeed she did. “This is about y/n, correct?” She glanced over her shoulder to eye the older man. “Correct.” He repeats back. “Y/n told me that i could trust you, due to you already knowing about our relationship.” He chuckles out. “He talks a lot about you and your family but...Mostly about you.”

Polly smiles at that statement. “Really? I hope it’s all good things.” She removes the kettle from the stove once it’s done heating up and poured them both some tea. She sets the cup in front of him as he thanks her in French, taking a small sip as Polly sits across from him.

“I’m guessing your here to tell Thomas Shelby about your relationship with y/n.”

Zemo stares at the small cup before turning his gaze towards Polly. “I told y/n that we would do this together, but last night I was able to sense his fear. Fear of rejection, fear of losing his family.” He explains. “So, I took the liberty to do this myself. I feel like it’s best if I say something first before anyone decided to blame y/n for his choices.”

“I don’t blame him, honesty. When I found out that our little y/n was dating the new chief inspector. Let alone a Baron, I was a bit surprised.” Polly grins, taking out a cigar as she lights it up and blows out some smoke. “So tell me, what exactly do you want to tell Thomas Shelby?”

Zemo exhales and sits up straight. “I want him to know that I really care about his son. He’s an amazing man and a perfect partner, I treat him with respect and would never think of hurting him—“

“Would you kill for him?” Polly cuts in, reminding him of who he was. Zemo gives her a frown before answering. “Yes.” He’s hurt and tortured people before but he won’t hesitate to have blood on his hands even if it means to keep his own loved ones safe. “Y/n is precious to me, I don’t treat him like a whore and I don’t play with his feelings. He’s a strong man who can protect himself and knows what he is doing but he’s also afraid. Afraid of losing his family, thinking that they’ll turn against him all because he loves an enemy of his father. He cherishes his family and cares deeply about all of you, but he too wishes to start his own life.”

Polly listens to the man carefully. “He’s not a fucking boy anymore, I remind tommy everyday but refuses to listen to me.” She sighs and rubs her temples. “Do you truly love y/n? You did say that you weren’t playing with his feelings, so do you love y/n?”

Zemo gives a small smile. “Avec tout mon coeur.”

With all of my heart

Pollys lip turn into a smile at his response. “Bien.” She said back and glanced over his shoulder to see Thomas hiding behind a wall as he listens into their conversation. Allowing Polly to take control of the situation. “Thomas is a stubborn man but will most likely understand.” She puts out her cigarette. “Y/n is Thomas first and only child, watching him grow were precious moments to Thomas. He really loves his son but the man is no longer a child, he’s an adult now who makes his own choices and decides his own fate.” She mutters out. “Thomas will grow protective, but as time goes by he will understand that Y/n won’t always be by his side.” She targets that statement more towards Thomas who was still in hiding and listening on their conversation.

“I understand if Mr. Shelby doesn’t want me anywhere near y/n, believe me—the first time y/n and I started dating he has to wait until everyone was asleep so that he can sneak out for the night. I would take him on small walks around town or visit my parents home. We usually spent most of our time in the library reading.” He chuckles out, remembering the first date they had.

The man was a nervous wreck, wanting to impress the other but also not wanting to scare him off. During their first days they spent most of their time reading books and talking about literature, something the two enjoyed doing together every once an while.

“I just want y/n to be happy.” He adds.

“And would you promise him that happiness?” Zemo turns around to see Thomas standing Over him with a dark look in his eyes. Zemo doesn’t feel threatened or intimidated by Thomas. “I promise.” He simply replies back as Thomas lets out a deep sigh and pitched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes before opening them and taking in a deep breath. “Very well, Mr. Zemo. I’ll allow my son to continue seeing you—but, if he gets hurt or if anything happens to him. My family and I will hunt you down and I’ll put a bullet through your head.” He says darkly with a harsh glare.

Zemo stands from his seat and clears his throat. “I’ve already said that I wouldn’t allow anything to happen to y/n and if anything or anyone does hurt him then I’ll make sure to kill them myself.” He utters back, giving Thomas the same look as the two men stare each other down.

“Alright that’s enough, Thomas already gave you his blessing so I suggest leaving back to your home before either of you kill each other.” Said Polly as she breaks up their staring contest. “Mr. Zemo—“

“Please, Call me Helmut.”

Polly smiles. “Helmut, I suggest heading back home before y/n wakes up and decides to give himself a panic attack.” She stands in front of Thomas, ready to stop him if he decides to do anything.

Zemo gives the two a nod. “Very well, it’s been a pleasure.” He tells the two. “And the Tea was wonderful, thank you.” He adds before leaving the shop and heading down the busy streets.

Polly lets out a deep breath that she was holding in before turning to face Thomas. “He slept at his place?!” Thomas growls out in anger as Polly rolls her eyes. “When will you understand.”

#male reader #Daniel bruhl x male reader #hulmet zemo x male reader #baron zemo x male reader #baron zemo #tfatws #the peaky blinders #the peaky blinders x male reader #thomas shelby x male reader #thomas shelby x son reader #Thomas Shelby #cillian murphy x male reader #cillian murphy

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sailorhyunjinz · 3 years

Text

~ 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 ~

Part I

All picture rights to their respective owners.

ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥: Photographer!hyunjin, fem!model!reader, manager!Bangchan, stylist!Jisung, agedup!straykids, SMUT IN LATER PARTS, fluff, character driven story, strangers to lovers, summer au, mentions of insecurity, love at first sight.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3,5 k

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: I have never written a series before so please understand if it’s lacking heh... and yes the title does relate to the kooks song with the same title so do give it a listen because it’s really good and fits the story c:

also this starts slowly LMAO MORE FUN THINGS ARE COMING UP I SWEAR <33

If you have any feedback I’m more than happy to receive it! <3

Taking pictures of you - MASTERLIST

ONE｜TWO｜THREE

Working as a model was not easy. The complaining managers and the expectations by others was too much to handle. Heck, even getting to the shooting locations was a hastle most of the time.

You tilted your head against the window in the backseat of the taxi. It was a calm august wednesday. The late summer breeze made it’s way into the cab thorugh the window that was opened on the drivers side. Your phone screen lit up, multiple notification from Instagram.

“omg! slay bbygrl”

“her face is crazy pretty”

“beautiful”

You’ve heard these words too many times. If you’re told the same thing over and over again they eventually mean nothing. You scrolled through the other comments on your latest instagram post, a photo from your last photoshoot. A picture of you lying in a bed of white flowers, your skin glowing and your body covered by a white sheer dress that accentuated your neck. It’s not a bad photo but was I really worth the attention? “There are a thousands of other girls way prettier than me.” you though and with a sulken expression you watched life run by outside the window.

15 minutes later you arrived at your agency. You smiled your model smile at the taxi driver to which he smiled back and responded: “My pleasure, miss y/n”.

A big shadow was cast from the building in which the modeling agency was. The beige renaissance building was surrounded by green bushes and a black fence. The big oak entryway had golden lion knockers and an ingraved golden sign. “Eccellente Modeling Agency” it said with bold black letters, contrasting nicely with the gold plate. You rang the doorbell next to the sign and in a matter of seconds the oak gates opened with a loud creak.

“Y/n!! You look stunning as always!” said your manager Bangchan as he hugged you. The smell of his aftershave violated your olfactory sense as usual, making you scrunch your nose. He was always dressed business casual, his white polo shirt and light brown dress pants being a good example but today his poloshirt had a great amount of buttons unbuttoned.

The both of you made your way into his office. A room with a high ceiling and a chandelier worth more than your career. You sat down in the leather couch across the desk, Bangchan sitting on the other side of it.

“Give me a moment.... Just pulling up some files for the new photoshoot I’ve planned! I promise, you’re not gonna be disappointed.” he says smiling, the desktop screen reflecting in his brown eyes.

He turns his computer screen towards you. Your eyes scan the pictures that pop up.

“May I present to you the profile of Hwang Hyunjin. One of the most renowned photographers of this age”. Bangchan looks at you, reading your expression.

The pictures are truly beautiful. Everything, from the outfits to the lightning was perfect.

“Bangchan, you’re insane” you say, smiling widely as you made eye contact with the dark haired manager. “These pictures are so stunning!” you squeal. “How did you even get in contact with him?”

“Nothing for you to worry about y/n, I have my contacts. I’m a manager after all”. He scoffs whilst scrolling through the profile. The next picture getting better than the previous one.

“So... when is the shoot and what concept have you planned?” you say whilst your eyes are glued to the computer screen.

“Mr, Hwang works for a multitude of companies but Styliz needed a model for their new pastel collection which I immedietly snatched onto. We all know how beautiful you look in pastels y/n” he said attentively to which you smiled, adoring the interest he has for his work.

“Oh.. I also cheked your schedule and you seem free tomorrow so how about then?” he added.

“Yes! I’d love too” you said with a small nod.

“Not that you have much choice, Mr Hwang’s time is worth gold y/n” he laughed and reached for something in his cabinet drawers.

“Here, take this” he said while sliding over a light grey business card.

‘Hwang Hyunjin, Photographer’ was written in dark grey letters. A black border decorating the edges of the card.

♡

The morning sun shined thorugh the curtains blinding you temporarily. You felt after your phone on the nightstand with you hand, your eyes still closed. ‘8:05 am’ the screen showed against the background picture of your family.

You missed them, moving to a different city across the country at the young age of 18 was scary. You’ve aged, that’s for sure but you still missed them dearly. Dragging your lifeless body to the shower you hope for a day with happiness whilst the warm water hits your bare skin. It was a big day after all. A photoshoot with photographer Hwang Hyunjin. “Me... on Hyunjins work? It must be a dream...” you thought, grabbing the towel hanging on the cold, silver rack.

You dryed off your thick hair with a light pink towel with one hand whilst the other hand held your phone. “I have to look at his photos again” you thought, tapping on the Instagram icon and typing “Hwang Hyunjin” in the search bar, hoping and praying that his work was published on the social media platform.

“@ photographerHwang” was the first result to pop up and you tapped it instantly being just as surprised as you were yesterday of the beauty that his photos carried. Bumping into the table on your way to the kitchen you noticed a different photo on his feed. It didn’t look like any of the other photos because it was a selfie. You dropped your towel on the floor. No... it can’t be him... or could it?

His face looked like a work of art. Not only was the photo nicely edited with warm light emitting from your screen but the person was even more eyecatching. “It’s probably one of his models” you though as you placed your phone on the kitchen counter and grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge.

But what if it’s really him?

♡

You threw on a grey hoodie and biker shorts before you flew out to the taxi waiting for you outside the apartment.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting sir! Here!” you said while panting, quickly pulling up a text message you got from Bangchan sharing the location of the photoshoot.

“Please, Miss y/n! No need to apologize” laughed the middle aged taxi driver softly. You were now on your way to the shoot.

Your brain was scattered. One part of you hoped that Mr Hwang really was the boy you saw on his instagram. His long, blond locks slightly covering his sharp jaw. His skin clear as day and rosy lips plump like two rose petals. The other part shut everything down, convinced that it’s one of his models that happened to be to your liking.

You opened his instagram page again.

“He must be famous for his perfect features...” you said under your breath, staring at his lips.

The whole taxi ride was filled with thoughts of him, whoever he was.

“Soon there miss y/n” the taxi driver said after 10 minutes of driving. The taxi slowed down and looking outside the window you saw Bangchan standing infront of a building that looked similar to the agency building. You waved slightly and he waved back at you.

You turned around to the driver and said; “Thank you so much sir”, giving him a generous tip and exiting the vehicle. A warm breeze latches on to you, making your hair flutter in the motions of the wind.

“Y/n! Perfectly on time” Bangchan said and hugged you.

You hugged him back, asking him about his day so far to which he responded;

“Good but going to be even better after this legendary photoshoot is done and we have the most perfect photos taken by the most influential photographer!” he sounded like a little child in a candy shop.

Your ears heated up due to his words and you smiled slightly.

“Let’s go to the second floor and get your outfit and makeup ready. A introduction with Styliz manager won’t be needed since he already knows your delightful personality” he laughed at his corny remarks and you did the same.

“You seem even more excited than me” you remarked, pressing the elevator button.

“When you see the end result you will be floored” Bangchan said and winked at you.

The elevator clanged. “Second floor”. The metal doors slided open. The eyes of a dozen stylists and makeup artists caught onto you. A slightly potbellied man in a navy colored suit approached you.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see work with you again.” His voice was hoarse due to his age but his personality being the total opposite. You knew him well since Styliz’s chief was one of the first to offer you a modeling job in a foreign city, you only being a teenager with a big dreams at the time.

“Mr. Styliz! It’s lovely to meet you again” you smiled and sat down in a makeup chair, a girl with blond hair and big hoop earrings starting to brush powder across your nose. You saw Bangchans figure leave behind a door in the reflection of the mirror.

“Mr. Styliz, might I ask you a question?” You regretted the words as soon as the came out of your mouth. You didn’t need more information about the mysterious boy you saw on Hwang’s instagram page but you simply had to know who is was.

“Well of course y/n” said Mr. Styliz, his warm breath touched your cheek as he stood right by your side, smelling of morning coffee and looking at you through the mirror.

“Could I please get more information about Mr.Hwang?” you said, making eye contact with the old man.

“y/n, you’ll meet him soon! Then you can ask him how much you would like about his life but I must warn you... He is quite the secretive type”. The coffee breath was accentuated as he laughed.

You tried to play along, laughing a fake laugh as the hair designer started to brush out your locks. A wave of embarrassment washed through you.

The lights of the makeup mirror were getting hot, tiny sweat drops beading on your forehead which the makeup artist wiped off.

“We are done, Miss y/n” said the makeup artist, her earrings reflecting the light in the studio. You thanked her and saw Bangchan standing at the door where the cameras were.

“y/n, not much time left. Please go down the hallway and into the second door on your left, the stylist is in there fixing your outfit”. One reason as to why you loved Bangchan as your manager was his calm temper. Even in a time crunch, he always made sure to talk to you in a serene tone. After years in the modeling industry you still couldn’t get used to the ill-tempered staff. Too many times you had been forcefully dragged down corridors and streets whilst they muttered swear words at you. Even thinking about it sends shivers down your spine.

Your shoes tapped the white linoleum as you made your way down the narrow hallway, knocking on the second door to your left just as Bangchan said.

A familiar voice said; “Come in!” to which you turned the golden doorknob on the white wooden door. The tall figure was rummaging in a big plastic container filled with clothes but upon your arrival the figure greeted you with warm eyes.

“No way!! It’s y/n!” screeched Jisung. He pulled you in to a hug, his belt buckle hit your stomach through the grey hoodie.

Jisung was a stylist and worked closely with Mr. Styliz therefore you’d gotten close to him. Not only did you like him for his exquisite fashion sense which had a whole different concept each time you saw him but also for his friendliness, always being polite.

“I’ve missed you so much Jisungie” you said with a pout.

“I though it was onesided but I guess not haha”

“Don’t be silly! How could I not miss that smile of your Sungie?” you hit him playfully on the arm to which he blushed.

“Go behind that and I’ll throw some clothes for you.” he pointed at the wooden divider standing in the corner of the white room filled with clothes racks and colorful clothing.

You started undressing behind the divider and suddenly a pile of clothing was thrown on your head over the divider. You heard Jisung snicker at the yelp that came out of your mouth as you drowned in the clothes

“Jisung, you are so dead when I’m done” you said whilst putting on the last details to the outfit.

“I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry” he said pleadingly while laughing hysterically.

You stood on the podium infront of the full lenght mirrors in the room as Jisung observed you and pinned the clothes slightly.

“Not gonna lie, it’s looks really good on you. The pastels matches perfectly with your skintone.” Jisung looked on the pleaded white skirt you had on.

You looked in the mirror and shook your head in agreement. The pastel purple sweater with the white collar poking out made you look youthful and innocent. You had on patent mary jane shoes in the same purple color as your sweater. The white kneesocks were slipping down as you moved slightly, almost looking like a school girl as you bend down to lift the socks up.

“Do you like it?” Jisung looked at you through the reflection on the mirror, standing on the floor making him a head shorter than you.

“Yea! You’ve never given me a bad outfit Sungie, they’re always adorable. My favorite stylist but don’t tell that to Bangchan” you smirked to which Jisung laughed.

♡

“y/n, Jisung did a great job! You fit the concept to a tee” Bangchan stood infront of two wide dark green doors which led to the photostudio. He smiled shyly and pushed the doors open, a bright white light blinding you as you stepped in.

You squinted and held your hand infront of your eyes as you entered the studio, the air stuffy from all the white boxlights that have been working for a while.

“Miss y/n is here now, Mr. Hwang” Bangchan announced.

Your eyes felt blurry and the lights created a bokeh effect, your vision feeling like a filter. The first thing you saw was him. Hwang Hyunjin.

The shock froze your feet in one position. It was him. The selfie was Hyunjin. And he was hotter in real life.

A tall, slender figure stood on one foot, the other one behind his leg with the tip of the shoe pointing towards the floor.

“Are you ready, miss y/l/n?”.

His voice was sweeter than honeysuckle, you melted upon hearing him speak. Bangchan looked at you confused when you didn’t move, just observing the presence of the blonde boy infront of you.

“y/n?” Bangchan had a worried expression on his face as your face broke out in a massive blush.

“yeah..uh-mm..yes” you only managed to get that out before you were infront of the camera.

His willowy fingers wrapped around the black Canon camera, it fit perfectly in his hands as if it was made for him. You gulped upon seeing the veins that ran up his exposed arms, the white shirt bunched up by his elbows.

“Everything good miss? You seem distant” he said in that raspy but sweet voice.

“Uhm...yeah totally..” you looked awkward with your hands by your side as you saw Bangchan observing you with a confused gaze.

“Please tilt your head to the right and stand broad with your feet” Hyunjin commanded to which you complied. The flash of the big studio lights didn’t effect you as much anymore since you were used to this but what did effect you was how concentrated Hyunjin looked. Like a true photographer. It was obvious that he enjoyed his job by the way his eyes shined when he looked at the monitor and corrected every detail. Luckily you could stare at his figure all that you wanted since it looked like you were keeping eye contact with the camera and not him. Glancing over to the left of the photographer you saw Bangchan smiling his bright smile, signaling that he’s proud over you.

Flash

And another flash before Hyunjin looked at the monitor displaying the photos he just took, a smirk crept onto his face.

“Good job y/l/n. Could you please grab that chair over there and sit on the edge of it?” he said whilst pointing towards a small wooden stool. Reacting instantly to his soft voice and gestures you pulled the stool towards the x on the ground, making sure you were in frame.

“One leg over the other” Hyunjin said without even looking towards you, his pale veiny hands were now twisting and turning some buttons on both the camera and monitor. You shook your head up and down slightly in agreement before doing as told and as Hyunjin turned back his chocolatey brown eyes landed on yours. Now it was impossible to hide your burning cheeks, Hyunjin noticed since he laughed stiffly before grabbing the camera off the camera stand and going down on one knee to capture an angle from below. Numerous amounts of sparks from the big box lights were emitted and after every spark Hyunjin turned around to the screen which displayed your figure. Staring at him you smiled slowly, feeling your heart beat faster. Why do I feel like this by just looking at him? Your head was clouded with millions of other thoughts. Just as you started tuning out the room Hyunjin clapped his hands hard, the sound ringing in your ears. You jumped slightly which made Bangchan laugh.

“All done! Nice work everybody” Hyunjin announced loudly before bowing down to the other staff members in the room and to you as well. You returned his gesture by a slight bow of the head and quickly scurried of to Bangchan, your face hot.

“Are you sure you’re not ill?” Bangchan said softly before putting the back of his hand towards your forehead. Shaking your head from side to side you pushed his hand away.

“No, I’m fine... just so hot with the box lights you know?” you laughed fumblingly, not knowing where to rest your gaze.

You felt someone tap you on your left shoulder and you almost fainted when you turned around. Hyunjin was standing three footsteps from you, the scent of his cologne making you swoon. He smiled as he saw your shy expression and sparkling eyes.

“I though that it must have been hot, here have this”

He casually held out a waterbottle which you received with both hands as a gesture of thankfulness.

“y/n, I’m just gonna head off to Jisung to discuss something. Meet me at the changing rooms in about 10, ok?” Bangchan said, slightly leaning towards your ear.

“Yeah, see you in 10!” you said while the managers back disappeared through the broad doors of the studio. Turning back to Hyunjin his blond locks were draped infront of his eyes and as he spoke he tucked those light pieces behind his ear, revealing his small silver hoop earrings.

“I’m gonna pack up the cords now but it was a pleasure to work with you, miss y/l/n”

The corners of your mouth went upwards at his formality.

“Please, call me y/n” you said quietly, being too shy to look him in the eyes.

“Sure, see you around y/n” Hyunjin said as he lifted up his hand to shake yours. His lanky fingers were filled with bold rings, many of which were designer. A slight panic rushed through your mind as you didn’t want to scare him away with your clammy hands. The sweaty hands and the churning of your stomach was all due to Hyunjin nearness. Hesitantly you streched the tips of your fingers against the blond haired boy and his hand emitted warmth when being met with your fingertips. He smiled before turning back, his eyes forming into half moons as charming dimples errupted on his lean cheeks.

You bowed to the other staff members on your way out of the building on your way to meet Bangchan and Jisung in the changing room. The waterbottle in your hand almost slipped as you took another clunck of the fresh water and that’s when you noticed something. Stopping in the hallway where the stylists room was located you inspected the waterbottle and saw a black marker scribble on the wrapper around the bottle. Upon removing it your heart stopped. Your knees could give up at any moment from the sheer shock. Am I losing my mind? A number was loosely doodled on the white plastic wrapper and underneath it there was a message.

Call me

// Hyunjin

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@vogueinnie @that-anxious-bisexual @putmetogetheragain13 @hyunsluvv @lawleighette @meow-minho @minaamhh @ohmysparkle @hwangi @rindomo @fleeingreality @nycol-ie @jisungsplatforms

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

A Truth Universally Acknowledged - [Hotch x Reader] - Chapter 1

masterlist // series index // next chapter

Summary: Reader is a member of the BAU that is liked by everyone...except her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k for Chapter 1.

Genre: Angst. Eventually Smut and Fluff.

Content Warning: None for chapter 1.

A/n: This is going to be an enemies to lovers story. It is loosely inspired by pride and prejudice. I decided to release it today because I hit 1.3k followers a little bit ago. Thank you all so much. 😊

--Chapter 1--

One of the lessons I learned early in life is that not everyone is going to like you. You can be the nicest, sweetest, prettiest peach on the tree…and you’re still gonna run into a mother fucker who hates peaches. And that’s okay.

I wasn’t for everyone; the people that loved me loved me fiercely and that was more than enough. It didn’t matter that some people didn’t like me.

…but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Agent Hotchner hated me.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Garcia had told me, but even she didn’t look super convinced.

Hotch wasn’t an easy man. He was intimidating, domineering, and intense; but sometimes when he was with his team, I saw him smile or even laugh at something they had said. I had seen how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about his son. He wasn’t cold, detached, and mean to everyone.

Just to me.

Occasionally, I try to mentally run through my time at the BAU to see if I can pinpoint the thing I did that made the unit chief dislike me. It really didn't matter if he liked me, but he seemed offended by my existence. It didn't make for an easy working relationship, and if I could somehow apologize for what I had done, then maybe things at work would get easier.

I wasn't a member of the BAU team that went out in the field; I wasn't a profiler, but I was part of the entire unit. Most people only thought of Hotch's team that jumped on a plane with him when you said BAU, but dozens of us stayed back and worked behind the scenes to make sure things ran smoothly. Even though I wasn't a profiler, I was still so happy to be a part of this unit; all I had ever wanted was to make a difference.

It just seems that the difference I made was a bad one.

“Hey,” a voice called, drawing me out of my thoughts. Agent Jaruau, JJ as she told everyone to call her, was standing beside my desks with a manila FBI file in her hands. “Did you file this?”

My brow furrowed as I took the file she handed me, running my eyes over the document. Everything looked right…until I got to the bottom line.

“Shit,” I mumbled, my eyes snapping back up to look at hers. “I’m sorry.”

JJ waved her hand, dismissing my apology. “It’s no big deal, I made that same mistake fairly often when I worked as a media liaison. That form is confusing.” She gave me a small, genuine smile. “It’s already been logged into the system…” the pretty blonde woman let her words trail off, but I knew what she didn’t want to say.

“Hotch needs to sign off on the change,” I finished for her.

“I can take it to him for you,” she offered. “I don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “That will just make it worse.” I stood, squaring my shoulders. “It’s okay. It was my mistake; I’ll take responsibility for it.”

She just patted my back when I walked by, making the dreaded walk across the bullpen, up the stairs to Hotch’s office. This sort of dumb clerical error wouldn’t be a big deal for anyone else, but everyone knew how Hotch felt about me.

Huffing out a breath, I rapped my knuckles on his office door.

“Come in,” his gruff voice called out.

I kept my eyes downcast when I entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I sort of looked at dealing with Hotch in the same way you’d deal with a predator. No sudden moves, no direct eye contact, nothing that could be seen as challenging.

“Sorry to bother you, sir.” I began, my fingers gripping the file in my hand tightly. “I just need your approval on a system record change.” I held out the file folder.

It was promptly ripped out of my hands. “It’s customary to look at someone when you speak to them, Agent.”

Heat burned in my cheeks, but I lifted my gaze, grateful he wasn’t looking at me but at the file in front of him.

“Why does this need a record change?” he asked, still not looking at me.

Here goes nothing. “I made an error on line 35.”

I saw the grip he had on his pen tighten ever so slightly. “I see,” he said softly. “Tell me, Agent, did you bother to read the form before you filled it out?”

"Yes, sir," I said quietly, feeling the muscles in my back tensing.

“Then how did you make such a stupid mistake?” Those dark brown eyes finally came to rest on my face. “I can’t have agents in this unit who are so careless. I don’t have the time to be cleaning up after anyone’s mistakes.” His voice had gotten sharper, he wasn’t quite yelling, but his words struck me hard just the same. “Is that clear?”

I nodded, focusing my eyes on his left ear. I was afraid if I saw the anger in his eyes that it would hurt me even worse.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

My throat worked as I tried to swallow my emotions. “I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again.”

He tossed the file on his desk. “See that it doesn’t.”

I snatched the folder off of his desk and all but ran from his office. I made the return walk down the stairs and across the bullpen to my desk. I dropped the file on my desk with a shaky exhale.

I really wanted to be the sort of person who could accept criticism without getting so emotional. I wanted to be the sort of person that could put up a brave face and let painful words just roll off of me.

But I wasn't.

I stood in front of my desk for a moment, weighing my options. I could sit down at my desk and try to pretend I wasn't gutted, or I could run to the bathroom and cry alone.

I chose the latter.

Whenever I got so upset, I always felt like I had let the other person win. Running out of the bullpen and locking myself in a bathroom stall while I angrily dashed away the tears the rolled down my cheeks made me feel like a failure.

I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter what Agent Hotchner thought of me. I was good at my job, I had to be, or he would have already fired me. His complaints seemed to just be with…me as a person.

I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and took inventory of my reflection. It looked like I had been crying, but that’s nothing a makeup wipe couldn’t mostly fix. Besides, what did it matter if Hotch made me cry? He made Anderson cry all the time and no one said anything to him.

It wasn’t until I was tossing my makeup wipe away that I let out a slightly bitter chuckle; I realized I still mentally refer to him as “Hotch,” it’s what he told everyone to call him.

Everyone but me.

I had long ago decided that coffee was the answer to almost every problem life had. I think the only person who made more trips to the coffee machine than me was Dr. Spencer Reid. He didn't talk to me a lot either, but I don't think that's because he didn't like me. I think he was just awkward and nervous. Maybe I should try to talk to him more.

Dr. Reid wasn’t at the coffee station when I made my way there after exiting the bathroom, but another member of the BAU was. If it had been anyone else, I might have tried to turn and act like I wasn’t going to the coffee pot in the first place, but I’m sure he had already noticed me.

David Rossi didn’t miss much.

I made my way over to the kitchenette counter, grabbing one of my mugs out of the cabinet before turning my head in his direction. "Good morning, Agent Rossi," I chirped in greeting.

The older man returned my greeting, his eyes running over my face in a way that would have been terrifying if I didn’t know the man. I still wasn’t sure how someone could look so friendly and so calculating all at the same time.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asked, dropping his focus to his own coffee cup on the counter.

My teeth gnawed on my bottom lip as I considered my answer. “There’s no point in trying to lie to you, is there?”

The man who developed the art of profiling chuckled at my question. "No, not much of a point," he informed me, his voice kind. He didn't seem the least bit off-put by my question. "It's also probably not fair of me to ask such a hard question."

“No, it’s fine,” I insisted.

The older man just shook his head. “We both know it’s not.”

I felt tears prick the inner corners of my eyes again. “I just…I don’t know why he hates me so much. And I wish it didn’t bother me but-.” My voice cracked, betraying how upset I truly was.

Rossi let out a defeated sigh and reached his hand out to cover my own. “I’ve known Aaron for a long time, y/n. He’s a good man, one of the best men I’ve ever met.” He patted my hand before he pulled away to pick up his own cup. “Doesn’t mean he’s not a dick sometimes.”

I just gave him a slightly watery chuckle. “It’s okay. I just need to toughen up.”

“You don’t need to change a thing, Bella.” Rossi gave me one last smile before walking back to his own office.

I had already turned my focus back to my own coffee cup when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, a primal instinct to let me know that I wasn’t totally safe.

There was no reason to look around; there was only one person who could make me feel that way in this building. My focus remained on my cup as I stirred in my packets of Splenda. Every cell of my body was telling me to run, but what was the point? Besides, he was less likely to yell at me in front of other people.

I hoped.

The air shifted when he took the same place against the counter that Rossi had just occupied; I'm sure he noticed subtle changes in my posture, no matter how hard I tried to hide them.

I gathered up the empty packets in one hand and gripped the handle of my mug in the other. “Excuse me,” I mumbled as I moved around him.

I hadn’t taken more than two steps before he spoke. “Agent.”

“Yes, sir?” I spun on my heel to face him.

He looked just the same as he had in his office. Trademark scowl, closely cropped dark hair, piercing dark eyes, black suit, red tie. Most of all he still looked utterly displeased that I existed in his general vicinity.

Agent Hotchner seemed to hesitate for a minute while his eyes ran over my face. “I…I, um.” He paused to clear his throat. “I expect that form to be re-entered into the system before the noon briefing.”

Right. I glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time was 11:15 am. “I’ll do it right now.”

He looked like he would say something else but snapped his lips together, giving me a sharp nod instead. I took that as a dismissal and made my way back to my desk.

Aaron Hotchner had won this round.

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#Aaron Hotchner Imagine #Criminal Minds Imagine #ATUA #Aaron Hotchner x Reader #Aaron Hotchner x y/n #Aaron Hotchner x you #Aaron Hotchner angst #Aaron Hotchner fluff #Aaron Hotchner smut #Hotch x you #Hotch x reader #Hotch x y/n #eniemes to lovers #criminal minds angst

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sincerelystranger · 4 years

Text

read on AO3

Qiren is of the opinion that if anything bad is to happen, it will most likely happen in the summer.

Something about the heat and long days brings trouble and, of course, this year trouble finds Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan, I’ll be fine,” Wei Wuxian rasps out, pulling his hand out of Wangji’s grasp and shooing him away. “You’ve been here for days. Go take a break. Uncle will take good care of me.”

“Wangji,” Qiren says, standing behind him, “Clan leaders have been kept waiting. Go see to your duties and rest afterwards.”

Wangji sits there, staring uselessly at Wei Wuxian for a few more moments before nodding slightly and moving to stand.

“Uncle,” he says with a small nod, “Wei Ying…”

Qiren almost wants to roll his eyes, but years and years and years of practicing restraint stops him. Qiren has only taken care of hundreds and hundreds of sick and injured disciples. Does Wangji think his own uncle will not be able to handle watching over one sick Wei Wuxian? It’s almost insulting.

Well it would be insulting if Wangji was known to show any sort of sense when it came to his husband… So Qiren just nods and moves past Wangji to sit in the seat next to Wei Wuxian’s bed.

QIren can feel Wangji just stand there for a few more moments, just staring at Wei Wuxian.

“Go!” Wei Wuxian rasps out, lifting his head off the pillow and shooing with his hand, “Listen to me or I’m going to stay sick for longer just to spite you.”

“I will be back soon,” Wangji says as he leaves the room.

Wei Wuxian flops back onto the bed with a sigh, “It’s your fault uncle,” he says, “You raised him stubborn.”

“Nonsense,” Qiren huffs, “Wangji was perfectly obedient before he met you. You corrupted him!”

“Me!?” Wei Wuxian asks innocently, blinking his big eyes at Qiren. It’s not endearing at all – sickening, really.

“Stop fluttering your eyes stupidly,” Qiren grunts, moving the blanket back around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and tucking him in. He wrings out the towel in the basin and taps it around Wei Wuxian’s sweaty temple. He’s not worried about how Wei Wuxian is shivering in the summer heat – he’s not. He’s not worried at all. Wei Wuxian is going to be fine.

He will be fine.

“You don’t have to stay here, uncle,” Wei Wuxian whispers out with a sigh, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have better things to do than just watch me.”

Qiren doesn’t have time right then to dissect why this awful boy makes his heart ache sometimes, and he doesn’t want to look too deeply into why it makes him angry when he sees Wei Wuxian push care away but…

“Quiet,” he says, running the towel along his brow and down his temple, “Only you would go to cleanse the river of water ghouls and have them turn into a monster.”

“I didn’t make them a monster,” he whines, turning away from Qiren’s hand when Qiren tries to wipe his eyes. “Besides, the monster didn’t make me sick – it was those stupid fishermen!”

Qiren knows that is true. From what he read on the report from the junior disciples that had followed Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian had defeated the river monster quite quickly. He fell to this illness while saving a few fishermen that had jumped into the water in a deluded attempt to help him. He had taken in too much of a contaminated dark water and the dark water had brought his spiritual energy down to such a degree that when he gave the kiss of life to save a drowned fisherman, he contracted the illness the fishermen had had.

Trouble, basically.

Only Wei Wuxian would go out for a simple river cleansing and come back with a non-cultivational illness. His golden core is strong enough now that it burns through the medicine too quickly for Wei Wuxian to have any pain relief, but his golden core is still too weak to heal him from this illness. All they can do it wait.

Qiren puts the towel back in the basin and sits back to watch Wei Wuxian.

His eyes are closed now, his brows furrowed just a bit in pain as he shivers underneath his blanket.

The healer had said that the illness would take its course and that Wei Wuxian would be fully healed in a week, so Wei Wuxian will be fine.

He will be fine.

But… but it’s still strangely horrible to watch him suffer.

Qiren doesn’t know what comes over him, but he shoves his hand under the blanket and finds Wei Wuxian’s hand and holds it.

It’s what Wangji had been doing, and Qiren finds that maybe Wangji had been doing it not only for Wei Wuxian, but maybe to steady himself as well, because there is something grounding in touching Wei Wuxian – like maybe if Qiren holds him, he can share some of the pain? Because it’s strangely horrible watching him suffer – strange in a way Qiren never imagined he could feel for…

And Qiren hasn’t felt this sort of helplessness in years. Not since…

“I’m a married man, uncle,” Wei Wuxian says, a cheeky smile on his face, but he squeezes Qiren’s hand in his.

Horrible boy. Horrible, no good, boy.

“For your insolence, I’m going to assign you to library duty for six months once you get better,” Qiren says bitingly.

Wei Wuxian, infuriatingly enough, huffs a soft laugh, coughing at the end. “You don’t really want me in the library, uncle,” he says closing his eyes and taking a labored breath, “I’ll make an indecent reads section and you and Lan Zhan will be so mad at me.”

Qiren thinks this over and sighs, running his other hand through his beard. “Nonsense, Wangji doesn’t get mad at you for anything. He’d probably abuse his powers as chief cultivator and set up an indecent reads section for you himself if he thought that was what you really wanted.”

Wei Wuxian coughs another laugh, his eyes still closed, his hand still squeezing Qiren’s.

“Lan Zhan gets mad at me, uncle,” he says, sleep slurring his words just a tiny bit, “he’s mad at me right now – can’t you tell?”

Horrible boy.

Qiren doesn’t understand why this evil boy has forced himself a place in Qiren’s heart if all he does it hurt it.

“Is that what you think he is?” Qiren asks softly, rubbing his thumb over the meat of Wei Wuxian’s palm. Qiren waits till he hears Wei Wuxian’s wheezy breathing even out before he runs his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s head, settling down stray strands of hair.

“Stupid boy,” he chides gently, “can’t you tell the difference between worry and anger?”

The room is almost unbearably hot in the summer sun, and sweat is pooling between Wei Wuxian’s hand in Qiren’s, but Qiren strangely can’t find it in himself to let go.

He watches the man, who at one point in time he considered the bane of his existence, and…

Well, Qiren isn’t worried.

He brought a book to read but it stays closed as he sits by Wei Wuxian’s side, lost in thought. Maybe it’s old age or maybe it’s just that Wei Wuxian is strange and uncomfortable and loving in ways that constantly catch Qiren off guard, but…

He’s still holding Wei Wuxian’s hand when Wangji returns.

It’s late then, the night breaking the summer heat and bringing in a cool mountain breeze.

Qiren pulls his hand from Wei Wuxian’s and tucks the blanket securely behind him as he pulls his hand out.

“I told you to rest,” Qiren says, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason. He feels like he’s shown too much – like he’s been caught with his heart out. It’s strange to feel that way in front of his nephew, but he does.

“I will rest with Wei Ying,” Wangji says. He places a tray of food down. “You missed dinner, uncle.”

“You didn’t have to bring it here – one missed meal won’t kill me,” Qiren says, still feeling found out and embarrassed in a way that surprises him. Affection – the sheer embarrassment of having it and showing it. And… Wei Wuxian. The horrible boy who forced these horrible feelings into Qiren.

This is horrible – all horrible.

“We haven’t shared a meal in a while,” Wangji says, breaking Qiren from his thoughts, “I thought…”

Oh gods.

Qiren so badly wants to enjoy a meal with his nephew so it’s strange why he has this sudden urge to run. Everything is so embarrassing. His nephew bringing him a meal out of meal time and asking to eat with him. Eating in an improper setting with his nephew’s sick husband sleeping beside them. It’s all too… affectionate…

He wants to run, but he has years and years and years of practicing restraint that stops him.

“That will be… acceptable,” he says, moving slowly from the chair to the seat Wangji has prepared for him.

Qiren sits across from his nephew and enjoys a quiet meal.

It’s… strange.

Summer has brought trouble, but this year, for some strange reason, trouble wasn't the only thing it brought, and Qiren can't tell which is worse.

The trouble or the affection.

#deeper seasons #my fic #mdzs #the untamed #wangxian #lan qiren #being taken care of by proxy through writing someone being taken care of #everyone be safe and happy!!

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ellitx · 3 years

Note

I know this is mostly a venti blog but will you write for albedo again? would love to see more of him with your writing.. oh also I hope this doesn't come off as pushy haha I was just wondering

I did made a snippet of another albedo x reader and the draft is sitting here for months now ajskks

It has 1.7k words and albedo still hasnt appeared yet orz so uhm, here ya go even tho its not yet finished im sorryy

This looks like aether x reader at the start

The soft clouds of Mondstadt were a wonderful sight to see. Hues of white and blues scattered across the horizon, making it seem like a smudge of a paintbrush, beautifully painted on the canvas.

You were wandering at the town square of Mond, mindlessly checking the shops that will ever catch your interest. You passed by Marjorie’s souvenir shop, boring. Checking Timaeus’s alchemy, yeah you’ve already learned a lot, no need to go back there.

Unfortunately, there was none at all.

A tired sigh slipped from your lips and furrowed your brows. There was nothing to do and you’ve already done all your tasks. Klee was still stuck in her confinement, so you can’t play with her today.

What a bummer…

Another sigh came and your stomach released a sound hungry grumbling. You squirmed and wrapped your arms around your waist to silence the noise. Walking around the town made you starve for sure.

You noticed a lot of people have been crowding at Sara’s restaurant. Was there an event or something? You shrugged your shoulders to brush those thoughts off, more focused on getting food than the commotion that is happening in front of you.

“Excuse me—“

“Please, traveler!! I’ll give you a meal for free!”

Your brows raised in surprise seeing the Honorary Knight was here. “Ooh, free meal?! Traveler, say yes! Say yes!!” His floating companion, Paimon, exclaimed whilst floating around and wiggled her little legs in excitement. “F-fine… we can’t say no to a free food.”

Aether placed his hand on his hair and ruffled it with a sigh of defeat. From the corner of his eyes, he saw you waving at him.

“[Name]!” You approached them and gave a big grin. “Hey! Didn’t know you’re already back here in Mondstadt.”

He chuckled and rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, we just recently arrived.” Before you could respond, Sara called out your name. “[Name]! Perfect timing, I also need your help.”

You tipped your head and hummed. “Sure. Is it another delivery?” The waitress shook her head and jutted her thumb behind her. “Lots of customers are coming and we need you two to give these orders on their table.”

Your eye twitched and squinted at her in wariness. “I don’t mind but please don’t tell me I still have to wear that uniform.”

“Even though it’s a must, there's no need to. There's not enough time to change. Just give these meals to their respective tables.” She clasped her hands in front in a begging manner. Breathing in relief, you went to the counter to take the plates and set off to serve them.

“You owe me a free Flaming Red Bolognese!” The outlander chuckled at your words and mimicked your action, ready to do the task.

The duty actually went smoothly than you thought it would be. With Aether helping you out, it was fast and steady but with a few slips here and there. Just as you were already done, another pack of customers came rushing in.

“Woah!! [Name] really is the waitress again in Good Hunter~!”

“Hey! First come, first serve!! And no skipping lines!”

You stopped in your tracks and slowly turned your head. This is bad. Really bad.

Your throat bobbed seeing lots of customers gathering in the diner. Then you slapped both sides of your to shake off the nervousness. Paimon glanced at you and floated over. “Woah, lots of people came. Shouldn’t you two handle it?”

Aether seemed like he was about to pass out from exhaustion and hunger. “I…I just want something to eat…” Head clouded and hazy, he unknowingly grabbed the emergency ration by her legs and opened his mouth ready to take a bite to get rid of his starvation. It surprised her as she wriggled out from his grasp and stomped her foot in the air.

“Get a hold of yourself! Sticky Honey Roast is almost there waiting for you!”

“Huh?! Says the one who just floats around and does nothing to help!”

This is going to be a long day.

—

“Good work, everyone!” Sara clapped and wiped her head to remove the sweat that was slipping on the side of her head. The waitress then put out a meat dish coated with sweet honey sauce. The fragrant of the freshly cooked dish wafted through their noses making them drool.

“Finally!!” Aether cried and took a big munch of Good Hunter’s beloved dish.

“And here’s your Flaming Red Bolognese, [Name]. They’re freshly cooked, so eat it while it’s still hot.” She winked and gave you a fork. You thanked Sara and twirled the spaghetti with your fork, letting its long noodles snake around it.

“Ah, by the way, I have another request for you.” You quirked a brow at her as you chew your food, signing her to continue. “A client asked me to prepare a banquet and since we’re currently low on staff, do you mind if you do the baking?”

You grabbed a napkin and wiped the red stains on your lips. Her request made you raise a question though. Why you and not someone who’s good at baking? Well, you can bake too but at an approaching proficiency level only.

The first person who came to your mind was Noelle. She can do everything perfectly well with ease. However, she seems so busy lately, so asking her to do it will make you feel bad and you don’t want to add another task to her hands.

And the other one is…

I-I don’t know anyone else who can bake…!

You can also ask Aether but you don’t want to trouble him any further especially since he just arrived here. You've already lost count of how many sighs escaped from you. Well, it’s better to help a friend who’s in trouble than just leaving them there struggling.

“Sure, but why me?” You asked. Her lips curved and grinned at you as her eyes gleamed like the stars at night. “Your Moon Pie was so heavenly! When I took a bite of it, all the taste came to me at once. And the meringue was perfect! Not too sweet and not too bland.”

“I would do anything to have another plate of it…” She placed her hands on her cheeks as she whined, drooling just thinking about the said pastry.

“So what kind of pastries am I going to bake? I hope it’s not too many.” Sara propped her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “Just a cake that’s all.” She then waved her hand, motioning you to come closer.

Aether looked at them who are whispering to each other. He saw your face turned beet red and before puffing up your cheeks and playfully slapping her arms. Whatever their chat was, he shouldn’t bother wanting to know it.

Food is here. Food is free, must eat it. Yes, only these thoughts must be inside his head. He continued relishing the delicious meal with Paimon across gnawing the plate clean.

—

“Flour, check. Eggs, check. Milk, check. Now all I need is… strawberries!” You were currently shopping for ingredients in Blanche’s shop. Your eyes scanned the racks, looking for a pack of that delicate pink fruit. With the continuous search for the red fruit up and down the shop, you're starting to lose hope at no signs of sight of that sweet berry.

Did they run out of stock?

You went towards the shop owner and asked. Sadly, she said yes, much to your dismay.

“There might be fresh strawberries in Springvale. You should ask there. Or—” Blanche suddenly smirked, making you feel unease about what’s behind that mischievous smile of hers.

“You could ask Albedo to grow one for you. He can easily grow out those with just his alchemic powers or something.” Huh, it can be. You closed your eyes and give a thought about it.

“Albedo? I mean yeah, but he’s busy right now.”

“Eh? But he’s right behind you.”

The mention of the said male standing behind you made you immediately whirled your head in excitement. You feel delighted knowing about it, but rather expecting to see his figure there, you see nothing. No one and not a thing was there. Only air greeted you.

The shopkeeper snorted and covered her mouth to hold her laughter as small tears started to create from the edge of her eyes. You can’t believe she just did that. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment that Blanche just tricked you into thinking the Chief Alchemist was really there.

“S-sorry sorry.” She said in between her giggles and shook her hand. You grumbled and took out a pouch of mora to pay for the ingredients and shoving it into her hands.

“Keep the change.”

And with that, you marched your way off to Springvale with your face still flushed. Blanche looked over to the waitress of Good Hunter and gave her a thumbs up with that impish grin still glued to her face.

i have to cut it off here since its not finished yet. It’s just klee and reader are baking. idk what happened to my motivation in writing for albedo ;; but if you read the snippet you can get the whole idea of this oneshot

#anon ask #ellianswers #elliwrites #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact albedo x reader #albedo x reader #unfinished #albedo #genshin impact albedo

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starlightsearches · 3 years

Text

Hello friends! It’s my birthday tomorrow so I just had to write something ridiculously self-indulgent that’s been on my mind non-stop. Here’s a second part to this ficlet that I posted the other day, and I’m already anticipating that there WILL be a smutty, smutty third 😏

Requests are open ✨

Armitage Hux x GN! Reader

Warnings: PINING, ANGST, unrequited love (or is it? 👀), language, sexual references, the shortest case of fake dating anyone’s ever seen and a cliff hanger ending! also I wrote this really fast so please don’t be mean to me if it’s bad

You don’t expect to wake up alone.

You know it’s silly, the moment you reach for him and can’t find him, but still—you reached. You expected him to be there, and he wasn’t.

You don’t leave the bed until the sting in the back of your throat dies down.

He’s already dressed by the time you’ve crawled from his sprawling mattress and padded your way into the refresher. He doesn’t hear your soft footsteps, maintaining steady eye contact with the mirror as he slicks his hair back with the help of a comb, and it’s easy for you to forget again that this doesn’t mean what you want it to mean.

“Good morning, general,” you say, if only to stop yourself from pressing a kiss to his cheek in greeting instead, “how did you sleep?”

He meets your gaze in the mirror as you approach, resting your hands against the edge of the sink. It’s easier to look at him this way, when you know he’s looking back. Your acting is much better when you have an audience.

“Well,” he replies, dropping his gaze from yours, rinsing the gel from his comb. You wonder if he just wanted an excuse not to look at you, “very well.”

“I’m glad.” Silence permeates the room; he still won’t meet your eyes.

“I’ll leave you to get ready, then,” he says after a moment, tapping the droplets from his comb before shutting off the water. You press yourself closer to the sink when he walks past, letting the hard stone bite into your thighs so that his shoulder won’t brush yours. As soon as the door closes, you regret it.

You expect him to be gone again, when you exit the refresher, ready for the day, and again you’re surprised—this time to find him sitting in the small kitchen area, sipping on a steaming cup of caff and scrolling through some document on his data pad.

“Did you want something to eat?” he asks, half way out of his seat before you shake your head, preparing a cup of tea for yourself and joining him at the table. It’s a pleasant way to start your morning. You feel no urge to fill the comfortable silence, a moment of peace before the rush of the day.

He clears his throat once he’s drained his mug, and you look up. He’s nervous—fidgeting in his seat—and that makes you nervous. Like you’re about to be reprimanded.

“I appreciate your help,” he begins, eyes zeroed in on his own hands, delicately folded and resting on the table in front of him, “and if it’s not too great a favor . . .”

He doesn’t finish the thought, just looks at you with stormy green eyes, needy in a way you’ve never seen before, and you’re sure you’d walk barefoot over broken glass if he asked it of you.

“If that’s what you need, general,” you say, taking a sip of your tea to clear the desperation from your voice, “like I said before: I want to help.”

He nods, pressing his lips together firmly in a weak attempt to hide his smile, and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “Call me Armitage, please. I think we can forgo formalities for the time being.”

You whisper the name back to him, smiling around each of the syllables.

You part ways soon after that; he heads to the bridge and you make your way in the other direction to one of the maintenance hangars, ready to check up on the progress the crew has made on repairs to some of the damaged TIE fighters salvaged from a recent skirmish.

You’ve only just arrived when you feel a nudge at your shoulder, turning just in time to grab the cup of caff unceremoniously dropped into your hands by your friend, Mai.

“Good morning to you, too,” you say, adjusting your grip on the cup, returning her cheeky smile. Ever since Mai’s promotion to chief maintenance officer you’ve seen less and less of her, but it’s hard not to feel at ease when she’s around.

“Thought you might need that—” she says, nodding to the caff, “after your late night.”

She punctuates the sentence with a friendly wink, but your blood has already turned to ice in your veins. How could she possibly know about that?

She sips her own caff, reading your mind before can manage a sentence. “Security droid flagged you as a potential risk, since the general doesn’t get many late night visitors. Isa was on duty and he may have mentioned it in the commissary over breakfast.”

Gods. Fuck. The commissary at breakfast—he might as well have announced it over the damn emergency comms. The whole ship was bound to know by now.

“So, how was it?” she nudges you with her elbow again, and you try your best to control your breathing.

“It’s not what you think, Mai.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that shit, I know how you feel about him.”

She doesn’t, not really. She knows what you’ve been able to tell her—that you think he’s handsome, the way you have to dig your nails into your palms if you want to stay focused when he’s speaking in a meeting. But you’ve never been able to talk about the way it feels when he walks into a room, never had the words for how badly your hands ache whenever he’s within reach, knowing you’re not allowed to feel his skin underneath your fingers.

She doesn’t know what it felt like to finally fall asleep with him in your arms, after all those nights of dreaming.

“It was good,” you say, before you can think about what you’re implying, the way you know she’ll interpret your words, “different than I expected, but still . . . really good.”

“Oh my gods! You have to tell me everything! What was he like? Are you going to see him again?” She grips your arm in both hands, trying to shake the information out of you, and you can’t help but feed off her joy, even if it’s misplaced.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Mai,” you warn her, as stern as you can manage. “I don’t want this blown out of proportion.” More than it already is.

“Don’t worry, love, my lips are sealed. Just like yours are going to be around his—”

You punch her in the arm, hard, before she can finish that thought. It’s going to be a long day.

By the time you finish the inspection, you don’t have to ask who knows. Everyone you walk by does a double-take, at least, and a few even stare outright. tiny slivers of guilt start to gnaw at your heart. You shouldn’t have encouraged the rumors; you should have tried your best to set the record straight.

The bridge grows quieter as soon as you enter, all eyes on you, frantic whispers breaking out across the room as you move towards the place where Hux stands at the helm.

“Excuse me, general, but I was hoping I could speak with you in your office for a moment? It’s urgent.”

He raises his eyebrows as soon as he notices you, shocked expression only lasting for a moment before he smooths his features. He must not know what everyone’s been saying.

“Of course.”

The two of you walk silently towards his office, and you can feel your heartbeat in your hands. What would he say, when you told him? Would he be angry with you?

Would he want you to stay away from him?

The door shuts behind you, and the lack of air in his office is stifling, but you do your best to steady yourself with a few deep breaths. He deserves to know.

“Someone saw me visiting your quarters last night,” you blurt out before he’s made it behind his desk—it’s easier to tell the truth to the back of his head.

He freezes, turning to face you. There’s nothing in his expression, no hint of anger or confusion that you can find, and you’re not sure how to proceed.

“Oh?” he asks, still as stone, watching you with almost frighteningly calm eyes.

“There’s a rumor that’s going around, people are under the impression that we . . . are involved. Romantically.”

He raises his eyebrows again, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, “oh.”

“Yes, well—I just thought you should know what people were saying, in case it, uh, came up.”

He frowns now, still frustratingly cryptic. You want to know what he’s thinking. If he’s embarrassed. If he wishes it were true, like you do.

“Do you know who started the rumor?” he asks calmly, taking a seat behind his desk, and you shake your head.

“I’m not sure,” you lie, chewing on your lip. He sits quietly, fingers steepled in front of him. You recognize the look—he’s strategizing.

“If you’re going to continue . . . helping me, like you did last night, then I don’t think it would be wise to try and quell the rumors for the time being—unless you find that objectionable.“

You nod, too quick, too eager. “Alright. If that’s what you think is best. Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you tonight, general,” you reply, already moving towards the door, mentally flagellating yourself for your lack of decorum.

“Armitage,” he corrects you, so quiet you almost miss it.

You stop, smiling to yourself, “right, sorry. I’ll see you tonight, Armitage.”

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

There’s less tension, when you return to his quarters that night, less awkwardness. You move around each other comfortably, sliding between the sheets together. He only hesitates for a moment when you pull him closer, wrap your arms around him. His breath tickles against your collar bone, his satisfied hum vibrating through your chest.

You won’t be able to survive this. You can’t spend the rest of your life living for the moments between waking and sleep. You can’t wake up alone again.

“Armitage,” you whisper, shaking him awake, shifting away from him so that you can see his face.

“What?” His eyes are already heavy from exhaustion, hair falling against his forehead. He almost glows in the dark, pale skin dotted with freckles like an inverted night sky.

You kiss the sleep from his eyes, pressing your lips to his until you can feel his pulse race underneath your fingers. He’s frozen against you, stiff with shock as you trace the shape of his cupid’s bow with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like mint, but he feels like a sunrise. You’ve never been awake until this moment.

“I don’t want to pretend.”

AN: Thanks for reading, friends! I have to mention that I was very inspired after reading @generalthirst‘s fake dating oneshot which has been on my mind non-stop from the moment I read it! (and you can find it here!)

Hux Tag List: @theredwolfisalesbian, @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @catboykenobii, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @holdurhuxbby, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @aramanna, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @generalthirst, @tobealostwanderer

Join my tag list here!

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux oneshot #general hux fluff #armitage hux oneshot #armitage hux fluff #armitage hux angst #general hux angst #general hux/reader #general hux/you #armitage hux/reader #armitage hux/you #general hux fanfiction #armitage hux fanfiction #if there’s something that you notice that pulls you out of my writing please let me know

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fanficbitch · 4 years

Text

Aaron Hotchner // Disagreement

Aaron sighs. “You want some coffee?” he whispers in my ear.

“No thanks,” I say, but give his hand a squeeze before he gets up from the table. Given the fact that I have been up for 72 hours straight, I probably should have taken him up on that coffee. But I still have jitters from my last cup which was only an hour ago.

The whole team sits at the conference room table in the BAU except for Reid who stands at the dry erase board. We have been busting our butts for the last three days trying to figure out where our unsub is hiding. I guess he isn’t really an unsub anymore because we know exactly who it is, Roger Hibbert. He has been kidnapping and killing women that are white, in their thirties with dark hair. No one has directly mentioned it, but that description fits me exactly. Because of that, I have been stuck at the BAU for the last three days while everyone else has gone to look for him.

We discovered who the unsub was because there was video footage of him in an alley kidnapping the latest victim, Kate Wheeler. We know he’s hiding somewhere in the city limits based on his drop sites and pick up locations.

I sigh then rub the tiredness out of my eyes. There are at least a dozen files out on the table. I just finished looking over one with all the latest pictures of Hibbert. I grab a new one at random and see that it is a list of his belongings. He owns a house in east DC, but we’ve already searched the place and there’s no way he’s there. There are a few things listed on the page, car, motorcycle, the stuff we already knew about. But in back of the file is a page that he recently submitted to the Bank of DC. It’s for a small office space in a bad part of town.

Aaron sits down next to me with his steaming cup of coffee. “Find anything?” he asks me.

“I might have,” I say quietly. “Guys, did you see this office space application that was recently submitted?” I ask everyone.

I pass the file around so everyone can look at it. “Yeah, I remember it,” Morgan says. “We didn’t feel like it was worth checking out because the application was never approved.”

“He could still have access to the space,” I suggest and Morgan shrugs.

“How?” Rossi asks.

“Maybe the application process was taking so long that the owner and Hibbert just did their work under the table,” I say and half of the team nods. Unfortunately, my boyfriend does not seem to agree.

“That seems highly unlikely,” Aaron says. “We have no evidence that the owner and Hibbert even knew each other.”

“But that’s because we haven’t even looked into him,” I say as I stand up. “This has to be where he is keeping the victims!”

“Y/L/N, we can’t be jumping to conclusions,” Aaron says. “After all, this is an office building with multiple tenants. Someone would have had to notice.”

I look back at the file and see what I wanted to confirm; the space he rented was in the basement of the office building. “Look,” I say then throw the file at Aaron. “His space is in the basement. The people above him might not have any idea what he’s doing!”

Aaron considers all the information in front of him. But eventually he shakes his head. “No, we can’t raid an office space with at least a hundred people in it. Civilians could get hurt.”

“But this is the best lead we’ve had this whole case! We have to at least-,” I try to say, but Aaron interrupts me.

“I said no,” he says sternly. “I am not risking our lives and the lives of others for this weak of a lead.”

I ball my hands up into fists and let out an even sigh. “Hotch, can I talk to you in your office?”

He gets up as an answer and lets me follow him to his office. Once the door latches shut, I turn to Aaron. “How could you say no to this? It is the only chance to save Kate Wheeler’s life!”

Aaron scoffs. “That is not true. This “lead” you have come up with is weak and lacks evidence.”

“What’s the harm in going to check it out?” I ask.

“Civilians could get hurt in the process. It’s not worth the risk,” Aaron says. “Plus these things take time. We can’t just storm in there. I’ll look into the owner and see if he has a relation to Hibbert.”

“By the time you get that information it’ll be too late to save her!” I shout.

Aaron’s mouth tightens and he steps closer to me so we’re nose to nose. “I said no. You are not allowed to look into this lead and you are forbidden from going to that office space.”

“Forbidden?” I scoff then take a step back. “You aren’t in charge of me,” I say then head to the door.

“As your unit chief I am. And if you go to that office space, I will be forced to punish you for disobeying orders.”

“Oh yeah, like you’d hate that.”

“Y/N!” Aaron yells before I can open the door. “You don’t get special treatment because we are together.”

“I’m not asking for special treatment,” I say. “I’m asking to be treated as a capable agent, not some possible victim.”

With that, I storm out of his office and out of the BAU with one destination on my mind: Hibbert’s office space.

**********

I parked at least a mile away from Hibbert’s office building, but I have finally reached the place. I don’t know exactly what my plan is. I didn’t really think this far ahead. Usually when I am doing a raid, I have a team behind me. I couldn’t drag anyone else into this. Aaron already said I would be getting in trouble, I didn’t want anyone else getting in trouble because of me.

I reach the back door of the building and give it a pull and to my surprise, it opens. I am at a staircase which I decide to go down. I hold my gun up as I go down the steps. I reach the basement and see an empty hallway. I go to the right, still holding up my gun. Each doorway I pass is empty.

Suddenly, I get a chill. Maybe this was a bad idea. I lower my gun and put it back in my holster. As I turn to go back to the steps, I briefly see a man, but then I see darkness.

**********

I wake up on a cold, hard surface. My eyes slowly open and I see a very open room with another woman sitting across the room from me. I squeeze my eyes as I try to get a better look at her and I think it’s Kate Wheeler, but I can’t be sure.

I try to focus on sitting up, but my head is pounding so hard that I can’t think straight. My hands are tied behind my back and my gun is missing. I know I should focus on staying awake, but I know Aaron is going to be so mad at me over this.

As I squirm to sit up, someone from behind me yanks me up by my hair which just worsens my headache. The person moved in front of me while still holding my hair and I recognize him as the unsub.

Things are blurry, but I can see that he’s holding my badge. “I expected better from the FBI,” he says then drops my head so it slams on the ground. “I know you didn’t plan on me getting the best of you, but I’m better than I look.”

“Someone will come for me,” I whisper.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “I can work fast and you’re just my type. But I assume you already knew that. I’ll finish her and then I’ll be right with you,” he says with a wink. Hibbert turns and walks towards Kate.

“No!” I croak, but he doesn’t even look at me. He holds a knife to her throat and I squeeze my eyes shut. Suddenly, I hear a loud commotion and open my eyes again. Hibbert is still holding a knife to Kate’s neck, but my team busted into the room and are pointing their guns at him.

“If I were you, I’d put that knife down,” Morgan says calmly.

“I don’t think so. I have the upper hand here,” Hibbert says.

“Don’t make me show you that’s not true,” Morgan says. “Now put the knife down.”

Hibbert makes the slightest move, an attempt to cut Kate’s neck, but Morgan puts a bullet right through his head. I sigh. It’s finally over.

My boyfriend rushes over to me while everyone else rushes to Kate. “Y/N, Y/N, stay with me,” he says and cradles my head. “We need a medic!” he yells.

“Aaron?” I ask to confirm it’s him.

“Yeah baby, I’m right here,” he says. And that is the last thing I remember because everything goes dark again.

**********

A soft beeping sound wakes me up. I open my eyes slowly to see that I’m in a hospital room. My head is still pounding, but I lift it up enough to look around the room. I see Aaron sitting in a chair next to my bed, scrolling through his phone. “Aaron,” I murmur. His head shoots up and he looks at me. He scoots his chair closer to my bed and he takes my hand. “What happened?”

“Well, we got Hibbert and Kate Wheeler is doing fine. I got to you and you passed out almost immediately,” he says.

“Aaron,” I say softly. “I’m sorry for-,”

“I know you’re not really sorry,” he says and he’s right. I’m not sorry for disobeying his orders, but I guess I am sorry for my execution. “I should’ve followed you. I knew better.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” I say.

“But I’m going to. I’m not leaving your side until you are 100% again,” he says.

I give him a small smile. “Are you still going to have to punish me?” I ask.

“We don’t have to talk about that now,” he says. “I just want you to get better.”

I give him another smile. “You’re too good for me,” I tell him.

“I was going to say the same thing,” he says. Aaron gets up from the chair and places a soft kiss to my lips. He sits back down and gives my hand a kiss as well. This job may sometimes come between us, but nothing could suppress the love I have for this man.

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #Criminal Minds #cm #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #Derek Morgan #Spencer Reid #penelope garcia #david rossi #Emily Prentiss #jj #jennifer jereau

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

lauren: aaron and emily

Yeah so for something that is meant to be a conversation, there’s a surprising lack of her speaking but honestly, this was so much fun to write. I forgot how angsty Hotchniss could be like DAMN

This is my take on what happened at her bedside before they moved her, and is dedicated to everyone who said they would read it because without you guys, I probably wouldn’t have actually written it so thank you so much!

Trigger Warnings: serious medical injuries, references to abortion, implied/referenced child abuse, religious themes

read on ao3!

“You could’ve told me,” he tells her, even though she can’t hear him. Her eyes are closed. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of her chest- so faint it almost isn’t there- he would believe she was dead.

And in some ways, she is.

To the team, Emily Prentiss is gone. Just another victim of a dangerous serial killer with a vendetta. To the children that love her- Jack, Henry, even Carrie, who she still spoke to once a week- she will be in heaven. With Haley. To Aaron and Jennifer, she will be hiding. Alone and weak but safe.

Safe. He wants to laugh at that. How can she be safe when everyone she loved is being torn from her? When Ian Doyle is still alive?

He doesn't want to be the one to tell her she was dead. He doesn't want to be the one to tell her that she had to go to Paris- the one place that had never been touched by the bloody hands of murder and pain- until they found Doyle. If they ever do find him. He doesn't want to let her go.

He wants to bury his head in her hair, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo that had always felt like the safety he craved but could never hold onto and pretend the sea wasn't pulling him under, cutting off his breathing as he struggled to stay afloat. He wants to hold her, hearing the steady and strong beat of her heart that reminds him of the reason for doing all of this. He wants to feel her hands- so warm and soft- against his stomach as she draws on his ribs so he can look in the mirror and see her, not George Foyet.

He wants so much. But there is a reason he is the Unit Chief. There is a reason he is in the room with her whilst JJ comforts a crying Reid. There is a reason that when the team thinks of Mom, they think of him. Not Rossi. Certainly not Gideon.

He does the difficult jobs. He does the things that need to be done but nobody else wants to. He cleans the blood off walls and stands guard at hospital beds. He pulls them away from dead bodies and witnesses their anger and sadness. He takes their insults and cradles them when they cry. He pretends he isn't human so they can believe they didn't hurt him.

He does the difficult jobs because he brought all of them into a life of loss and pain, and in his opinion, it is a small price to pay. It is less than what he deserves to do. It isn't enough to make up for everything he has caused them to see but it is a start.

When Emily leaves- and JJ will go to Paris with her, no matter how much she may say he should go instead- he will carry out their grief assessments. He will let them look at him with pain and hurt and anger and sadness and ask him what the point is. As they ask him why they are alive.

And then he will run. Because they will find Ian Doyle, and when they do, Emily Prentiss will return. They will hate him, and he will be a coward. He will take a job elsewhere and let them repair their lives, rebuild their home, without him.

But until that day comes, he will sit by Emily's bed, holding her hand, limp and cold, and pray for her to wake up. He hasn't prayed since he was a child. And even then, he didn't really believe in God. But desperate people will do anything. And although he was calm and collected before the committee that decided Emily's fate, he is desperate for her to just wake up.

So he will atone for his sins and take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate. He will let her go and never inhale her perfume again, if only so she is able to open her eyes.

"You could've told me," he repeats, thinking about the last woman he said those words too. But that had been different. JJ wasn't Emily. "I could've helped you. You could've trusted me with this. And I know it isn't about me. It's about you. But I'm selfish, Emily Prentiss. I'm selfish and I don't want to let you go but I have to."

He doesn't know how to. He doesn't know what he's meant to say when she wakes up and only sees him. JJ had looked at him when she said Emily never made it off the table. It was a single glance, but he'd understood. He had walked away from the team. Refused to let his tears fall.

And then he had looked the committee in the eye and told them he had no emotional attachment to her case. He had lied. And Emily had, in their words, been saved. He didn't believe it was saving her. He believed it was keeping her alive so one day, she could come home and live a better life.

The woman on that bed is not his Emily. It is not the Emily he loves, or the Emily that told him he wasn't alone. It's not the Emily that dances around the kitchen with Jack, or the Emily that refuses to flinch when he has nightmares. The Emily that never walked away from him until that one fateful day.

He should have known something was wrong then. And if not then, when she was late twice in the same week. But he had been so blinded by his own hurt and anger and betrayal that he refused to comment. Secretly, vindictively, he had hoped that her lateness was being caused by her own pain. That she was trying to avoid him.

Now he realises that he was right. She was trying to avoid him. Because he knew her. And if she saw him properly, she would crack. And in the same way he had been determined to find Foyet alone, without anyone else going down with him, she had been determined to find Doyle alone.

But Foyet had still killed Haley. And Doyle had technically killed her. In some ways, he had killed the team too. He didn't know how to bring up Spencer's migraines with him, but Emily had been his confidant. What was going to happen now? How is Derek supposed to move past being told to let her go?

The doctors had told him to get some rest and to go home, but he can't. Jack is still with Jessica, and his apartment is still littered with scraps of her. He hadn't moved anything after that night. He had thought it was strange when she didn't ask for any of it. Now he knows why. She had bigger things going on.

He told Clyde Easter that it would be his fault if something happened to her. Because he needed someone else to blame. He needed to believe that he was a good man that had done what he could. But he hadn't. Rational thought told him that just like with everyone else, he couldn't force her to tell him the truth or accept his help.

The part of him that was still helplessly in love with her told him that he could have. Should have. But he hadn't. So now he was sitting there, watching the heart monitor, convincing himself she was alive. Bracing himself for the moment she woke up.

He still doesn't know what he's meant to say.

"I was so angry at you then. After everything we had gone through, I didn't understand why you were just so willing to throw it all away. You had told me you would never leave, and you just left me there, in the home we had finally started to build. But I get it now. And I am sorry. I am so, so sorry that I wasn't enough and that I didn't do more and-"

"Aaron," she whispered. Her eyes had fluttered open moments after he'd started speaking, but she hadn't been ready to confront the world. He needed to get the words out. He needed a moment to be Aaron before he morphed back into Hotch.

She has no right to his name. Not now. Not after everything she has put him through. Not after she left him on his knees, a ring so different from the one Ian had tried to give her that still symbolised the exact same thing, with tears in his eyes as she pretended he was nothing in order to protect him.

But she needed him. She was cold, and her stomach hurt, and she didn't know where she was. She didn't understand why it was so dark, or why only he was there, apologising. The team should have been waiting. He should have been smiling, looking slightly disapproving. Not crying. He wouldn't risk any of the team seeing him like that.

He looks up. "Emily," he whispers, pouring every inch of his heart into that single word. But as he says it, he is looking at her hairline. Not her eyes. He knows that if he looks at her eyes, he will crumble. And now she is awake, he cannot let himself do that.

He forgets that Emily knows everything about him. She knows the optimum temperature for his baths. She knows the way he takes his coffee, the fact that he hates two-in-one shampoo and conditioner but keeps it in his go bag for ease. She knows which nightmares lead to a cold shower that chills him to the bone and reminds him of his own fragility.

She knows that his own humanity terrifies him. She knows how he shuts down and avoids everything when it gets too overwhelming, which is how she knows whatever has happened is bad. Worse than bad.

"Where is everyone?" she asks, shocked by the weakness of her voice.

He doesn't reply. He knows that he needs to. That with every moment that passes, she comes up with another scenario. But he didn't need to tell the team that she never made it off the table. Until now, he has been able to pretend that none of this is even happening. That when she opened her eyes, he would guide the others down to her room.

That when they discharged her from the hospital, he would take her to his apartment, Jack's toys strewn across the living room and the carpet, which if you looked at it from just the right angle would see had been changed in one area.

"Hotch," she whispers.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them, there is no warmth behind his stare. He still won't meet her eyes, and she feels herself begin to panic. His biggest tell is when he refuses to look at someone.

"They believe you're dead," he says, voice completely monotone as he fights a wave of emotion.

"Then why haven't you gone and told them that I'm not?" she asks, already terrified of the answer.

He looks down. "Emily, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. You don't need to forgive me, but I need you to know that there was no other way to keep you safe. I tried. I tried so hard, but there was no other way-" he inhaled, snatching his hand back the moment she tried to hold it.

It hurt, more than anything that had happened over the past weeks, to see how he did not trust her. Not anymore.

"I always said that the only person that wouldn't forgive you is yourself. And I stand by that. So tell me the truth. Please Aaron. Just tell me what happened because I can't remember and it is terrifying, and you know what it is like. Please," she whispered. She tried, once more, to take his hand, but she was too weak.

He did not know what it was like to not remember what had happened. He remembered everything Foyet had done to him, from the first time the knife had touched his skin to the moment he had lost consciousness. He had never told her that. He probably never would.

"It's to keep you safe," he said, trying to find the words to explain what had happened. But like the ability to save the people he loved, they evaded him.

"Safe," she repeated. Like she didn't know what the word meant anymore. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she never had. There had been a time where his arms were the safest place she could find herself, but the man sitting in front of her was not the one that had held her at night.

The man sitting in front of her was a coward.

He flinches at her tone. It's been so long since she's spoken to him like that- snapping her words and rolling her eyes- that he's forgotten what it felt like. He wonders how. Her words always managed to meet their mark.

"Yes Em." The Em slips out without meaning to. He doesn't get to call her Em anymore. "Safe."

"Ian Doyle has murdered every single person on that team apart from Clyde Easter. Explain to me how I'm going to be safe."

"He's going to believe you're dead," he says, too quietly for her to hear. He says it to himself because he too needs to believe she's dead. In some ways, she is because she'll never be the woman she was before, and it's all his fault.

She frowns, the words not quite processing as her head still hurts from the painkillers. All she can say to him is: "What?"

She deserves more than what he can give. So he ignores his own shattered heart, and finally, finally meets her eyes. His own pain and anguish is reflected in hers. She almost looks away because she cannot handle his humanity. Almost. Her desire to prove she is better than he believes wins out, so she carries on staring.

"Ian Doyle hurt you. Badly. So-" he pauses again. Desperately tries to find that neutrality he had always stressed the importance of. He fails, because just like with Foyet, this isn't just a victim of a heinous crime. It's the woman that holds whatever pieces of his heart that still exist this time. Even as she had walked away, leaving him on his knees, he knew he would never stop loving her.

"So what, Aaron?" she presses, sounding angry.

It scares him, her anger. Everyone's anger scares him. He hates it, hates that his father still holds that kind of grip on him and his mind, but the moment someone seems angry he feels himself shutting down and becoming smaller. Drifting away to a fictional world where nobody cries and he's safe.

He doesn't deserve to shut down now.

"Everyone thinks you're dead because that's what we've told them. And they will think you're dead until we find Ian Doyle and-" he doesn't finish his sentence. Ian Doyle needs to die before Emily can come home to him and the team. But if he tells her that, she will realise he is not the good man she believes him to be. He is just one misstep away from becoming an unsub they cannot find.

"They think I'm dead," she says, tears in her eyes as all the pain she has been repressing since the first sign of Ian's return suddenly makes itself known. She doesn't feel anything physically- the sedatives are working- but it feels like her heart is being ripped from her chest.

For a moment, she wonders if Aaron felt like this when Haley died.

"I'm sorry," he says, again. It's what his vocabulary has been reduced to. He doesn't know how to put everything he wants to say into words. He doesn't know what the point in doing that is, because it won't change anything.

JJ is taking her to Paris. She deserves that. She needs that. She needs to see something good. He doesn't deserve to see Emily smiling and healing enough to travel. He deserves the anger and hatred of the team. He already knows that when it's time for them to know, he will tell them how it was him.

"You're sorry."

"Emily, please, I am trying to keep you safe, so just let me tell you what's going to happen. When the doctor gets here, they're moving you somewhere out of state, and as soon as you're strong enough, JJ will go with you. Paris, I think. She'll be your point of contact." It comes out in all one breath because if he stops he won't be able to start again.

"Are you?"

"Am I?"

"Are you really trying to keep me safe, or is this about you? Because I told Derek to let me go. I told him to let me go because Ian won't stop coming after people until I am dead. He broke out of a prison that should've held ten of him. He murdered every single person from that operation apart from Clyde Easter."

She's hurting. She's angry and hurt numb and upset and still so in love with him, but she can't hold back. Not now. She has to let go of everything and everyone she has ever cared about, and although rationally she knows it isn't his fault- it's Doyle's- she can't shout at Doyle. She can shout at Aaron though.

"Emily," he pleads, closing his eyes.

"You should've let me die," she spits. "You should have let me die because then this whole thing would be over. Ian would've got what he wanted and nobody else would be getting hurt. He'll work out I'm not dead. He will. And then the next person he kills, their blood will be on your hands."

He knows she doesn’t mean it. He knows that. It doesn’t stop him from looking at her face, at the mouth that had always felt like a firework against his own and wondering how she manages to do this to him.

“Stop,” he begs. He can’t take much more.

“Just like Haley’s,” she says before she can stop herself.

Those three words make his heart shatter all over again.

Time seems to slow down. Her own words register in her mind and her jaw drops. She presses one trembling fist to her mouth, forcing the apology down. She can't give it to him right now. He won't accept it. The other traitorously reaches out for his hand, still resting on the blanket.

He had turned away the moment she said Haley's name. When he looks at her again, eyes read and cheeks damp, his mouth is forming the word why, but no sound is coming out. He's frozen, hands trembling and there is nothing she can do to cure his pain.

There are no words she can whisper. No medication she can count out for him. No stories of her childhood that she can distract him. There is nothing she can do because this time, it was not a serial killer scarring his stomach so every time he looked in the mirror he would see them. It was not a man that should never have had children causing him to look at her and ask what he had been thinking.

It had been her. That was the problem with profilers. They always knew where to strike. The difference was, he was too afraid to do it. She was too angry to not.

The worst part is, he doesn't reply. He doesn't say a single word, because in his head, it is what he deserves. It is what everyone has been thinking since the day of the funeral. The difference with her is that she does not hesitate to say what she thinks.

It used to make him smile. In this moment, it breaks him.

He moves from the chair. He's done his duty. And if he looks at her, he think will say something he doesn't mean. Something cruel. Something about her own issues- about how she doesn't trust him, how she is so afraid of commitment she would let the only good thing she's ever let herself have go.

She knows that he won't. He's too good. Too afraid. It's why, before she can overthink it, she whispers one word: "Stay."

He's still close enough to hear her. She watches as slight relief, then pained love, and finally a forced and cold neutrality that she has always hated because it means people don't get to see how beautiful and painful his humanity is.

Nothing he does will ever be enough for this. He will never deserve her forgiveness. The final decision was out of his hands, but if he had just fought a little bit harder, then he could have told the team and they would be able to share the burden. He will never be good enough for her. The darkness she has carried with her since that day in Italy, even though she understands now that she too was just a child faced with an impossible decision, will never compare to his.

Her darkness was part of her beauty. His got people killed. Her, laying on that bed, is just another piece of proof. He cannot give her what she deserves, but he can give her what she wants.

And so, he stays.

Nothing she says will ever make up for those words that now feel like copper in her mouth. She will never deserve the feel of his calloused hands- some from the horrors of his childhood, others from the guitar he loved to play so much- in her own. If she had just been quicker, less of a survivor then he would be able to mourn her death instead of hiding the truth. She will never be good enough for him. The darkness he has carried with him since he was a child, a darkness that should have never been created, will never compare to hers.

His darkness is part of his humanity. Hers got people hurt. Him, heart once more in tattered shreds because of her, is just another piece of proof. She cannot give him what he deserves, but she can give him what he needs.

And so, she reaches out for him.

She takes his hands that are not coated with Haley's blood, no matter what he believes and holds them tightly. He lets her, even though every part of him screams to let go. Haley's body was cold the last time he held her. He does not want to remember Emily as this cold and fragile girl.

But he will not take her to Paris. JJ had to stand there as they fought to keep her alive because he was frantically trying to convince people that cared more about politics than they did about real lives. She needs it.

He won't survive without it, but maybe that is for the best.

They sit like that, hands clasped in some pathetic recreation of the long nights and days they had spent together.

When the doctors came to take her away, somewhere where he could not follow, the full extent of what was about to happen hit her.

"Aaron, I-"

don't blame you, need you to come with me, want you to forgive yourself, regret saying no, trust you with everything I am, think you are the best man I know, didn't mean what I said-

"I love you."

"Emily, you-"

don't need to lie, are so much more than you give yourself credit for, are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, cannot regret saying no, were right about Haley, were right about everything-

"You shouldn't have said that."

She knows that. But she needed to say it in place of all the things she could never find the words for.

"Be happy for me," she says, right before the doors close.

"I'll try," he whispers, to an empty and cold room.

He doesn't. He runs instead, like the coward she accused him of being.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #sad aaron hotchner #sad emily prentiss #hurt emily prentiss #hurt aaron hotchner #tw implied child abuse #tw religious themes #tw abortion mention #sumayyah writes cm

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