#so proud this has 1k notes now. i love you all

[abracadaze]

it’s so refreshing seeing that people have woken the fuck up and realized how campily cecil palmer dresses. 10 years ago you monsters were putting him in purple monochrome button ups and vests and slacks with a little tyler oakly blond coif… it was like keeping a tiger in a concrete enclosure… now i see him drawn in cowboy boots fishnet leggings a kilt with a thong underneath a bellybutton piercing sheer top/lace bralette combo fingerless gloves 8 different rings green eyeshadow a pink wig and a nightcap ALL AT ONCE and its like yes finally he has some enrichment thank god. nature is healing

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

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

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

wc: 17.1k

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

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has he been charged for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

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

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

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

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

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

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

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

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

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

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

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

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

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

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“...No.” 

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got that right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god— what are the odds? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

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

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Rent or own?”

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

“What inspired the move?”

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

“And home is?” 

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

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

“Sources can lie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.” 

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t tell him—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

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

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

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

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

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

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

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

“You know th—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The profile—” 

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

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

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

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

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

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

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

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

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

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

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

“I can imagine.”

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

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

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

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

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

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

Your eyes open and you frown. 

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

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

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

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

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

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

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

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

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

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

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

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

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Hotch asks. 

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

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

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

“You’re already packed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you go to class today?”

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

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

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

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

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

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

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

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

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

And now… 

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

“Thank you, Garcia.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

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

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

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

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

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

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

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to kill you. 

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

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

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

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

But there’s relief there, too.

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

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

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

“And how long have I been here?” 

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

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

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[devildomwriter]

All I See Is You | Thirteen x Reader

1K | GN! Reader | CW: none just fluff

The music drowned out your conversation with Satan as you chatted over drinks. Thirteen watched you closely, wondering what you were saying and why you were blushing. She smirked at your playful smile and your awkward swaying as you tried to dance.

You took another sip of her drink and her eyes followed you across the room.

“Thirteen,” Mephistopheles greeted her from behind.

She jumped and pointed her latest invention at him. Mephistopheles put his hands up and glared, “Now wait just a minute,” he huffed and Thirteen pointed her squid shooter back at the ground.

“I only came to say hi, what has you in such a mood?” He asked and she shook her head.

“I’m not in a mood you just startled me,” she excused and Mephistopheles followed her gaze back to you. He noticed the small smile grace her lips and her chuckle as she watched you bump into Leviathan.

Mephistopheles raised on brow but grinned to himself, “Oh, I see.” He nodded and Thirteen looked at him in confusion.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked and he shook his head.

“I’m surprised you don’t know. Aren’t you the one always telling me to be more honest.” He chastised and she shook her head and crossed her arms.

“That’s because you act like a boneheaded fool trying not to compliment people when that’s obviously what you mean to do.”

“Now hold on—“

“Thirteen. Mephistopheles.” Solomon greeted cheerily with a bottle of demonus in hand.

“Solomon!” Thirteen exclaimed in horror and immediately she launched her squid shooter. “Inky, go!” She hollered as the squid shot at Solomon’s face.

Solomon ducked, a natural reaction to being around Thirteen, and the squid latched itself right onto your face.

The color drained from Thirteen’s face and she dropped her invention, not caring if it broke.

“___!” She exclaimed and ran to your side as Satan removed the squid from your face.

“Thirteen, what the hell?” Mammon snapped and everyone else gave her a dirty look.

Thirteen frowned and waved her hands trying to explain, “I’m so sorry! That was for Solomon!”

You sighed and wiped your face with the cloth Barbatos provided for you as Lucifer took the chance to yell at Solomon.

“Oh no, your makeup,” Asmodeus fretted as everyone helped you to your feet. “Come on sweetie, let’s get that fixed,” he offered.

“No, wait!” Thirteen cried out catching their attention, “I messed it up, I’ll fix it. Gimme that,” she ordered as she took the power bag from Asmo’s hands.

“Wh-hey!” Asmodeus complained but Mephistopheles stopped him and shook his head.

“Let her help,” Lucifer agreed.

Satan and Mammon were not pleased for you to leave their side but you were led to the bathroom by Thirteen’s hand on your back.

Thirteen flipped on the lights and pulled a stool up in front of the mirror. “Dammit, I’m so sorry ___,” she confessed.

You believed her as you hadn’t seen her this distressed in a long time. “Solomon that Damn pest snuck up behind me while I was talking with Mephisto. And Mephisto was being awfully weird too, telling me I wasn’t being honest.”

“Oh?” You asked. “Honest about what?”

She blushed and avoided her own reflection as she ran the soft brush over your ink-stained face.

“N-nothing,” she turned as pink as her hair and you laughed, throwing her off and she leaned back.

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

“You,” you chuckled. “You’re about as pink as your hair,” you pointed out and she turned away to dig through the makeup bag.

You smiled and took note of her curled hair in a ponytail, her hair was always beautiful but something about the way it bounced against the back of her pale neck made it so much more lovely.

“Your hair,” you spoke and she looked confused, “it’s extra pretty today.”

She blushed and messed with her hair, fluffing it a bit. “O-oh yeah? Thanks.” She grinned, proud of herself.

She locked eyes with you and noticed the way you observed her. Looking back on her conversation with Mephistopheles she realized he’d only Sienese her because she was too busy looking at you with the same adoration.

She was never at a loss for words but right now she wasn’t sure what to say.

She made a few jokes as she fixed your makeup up and you both blushed at how closely she leaned in to fix your eye shadow.

“Th-there,” she announced. “It’s perfect again.”

You looked in the mirror and blushed, it looked so much better than when Asmodeus had done it and you told her as much.

She puffed out her chest, “Well yeah. I can tell what looks best on you and this is much more your style. Honestly, as much time as he spends with you you think he’d notice, isn’t that his whole thing?”

You hugged Thirteen and she let out a small eep in surprise. Why did you have to keep surprising her like that? She had no idea how to feel around you anymore.

She hugged you back and leaned into your shoulder, relaxing.

You would’ve stayed that way longer but a group of succubi entered the bathroom looking to redo their makeup and fix their hair.

Thirteen pushed everything back into the makeup bag and pushed you out the door.

“Okay well, have fun!” She said awkwardly. You noticed the sadness in her eyes as she resorted to leaning against the bar to drink again.

You shook your head and grasped her hand, “Hey, what are you—“ You leaned over her hand and pressed your lips against it. She blushed and from across the room, Mammon’s jaw hung open in surprise.

“Thirteen,” you beamed, “may I have this dance?”

She blushed but grinned eagerly, “obviously.” And she leaned over your hand and returned the kiss. She smirked at the brothers behind you looking on bitterly.

Confidently she pulled you onto the dance floor beneath the shining disco lights.

One dance was all you both needed to realize your silent longing was not unrequited. No words needed to be spoken as neither of you was sure what to say. But as it’s often said—actions speak louder than words—and you danced the night away with the woman you loved.

[drivelikeiido]

to dye for

matty dyes the reader's hair in his own chaotic, messy way

matty healy x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: some suggestive mentions but it's all jokey but other than that it's just fluff ! (aka all i seem to write)

notes: this is self indulgent because i dye my hair all the time and i saw a pic of blue haired matty on the dash this morning that inspired me to actually write this ! also shoutout to mads for saying it was similar to the hair dying scene from clueless you were so right and i finally watched clueless because of that so slay

The scene in the bathroom is carnage. Coloured dye and stained towels litter the previously spotless floor. You almost regret putting too much trust into your boyfriend’s capabilities to help you, but he did insist and who were you to resist those chocolate brown eyes?

You're sitting cross-legged on the chair you brought in from the office, one you’re glad neither of you cared about as it’s now irreversibly dyed with memories of this venture. Matty stands behind you, your head at the perfect height for him to apply his ministrations. Normally you adore the feeling of your boyfriend’s slender fingers playing and passing through your hair, but at this current moment in time the feeling just stresses you out, not being able to see the ‘artistic choices’ he’s taking in terms of your appearance worries you. It’s not that you don’t trust him but judging from the sight of the splatters of dye that are dotted all over the bathroom floor he seems to have gotten a little too overenthusiastic to be involved in your makeover, making you worry for the state of your undoubtedly stained scalp.

After a particularly loud sigh from you and a warning of “Matty!” your boyfriend's infectious giggle can be heard from above you, the wholesome sound filling the small space of the bathroom.

“Darling I am helping you know”

“Matty, you’re getting dye everywhere!” you chide, only pretending to be annoyed at him and he knows that.

“You want it all to be covered don’t you?”

You snap your head back to look up at him, his infectious grin already staring back at you, “Yes but not the walls!”. His responding laugh is booming and full of entertainment and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges with how broad his smile is makes you want to kiss every inch of his pretty face, that too which somehow has dots of dye splattered onto it, making him look even more like a work of art than he normally does. 

His colourful gloved hands start a shooing motion, telling you to turn around once again so he can finish his job. You slump your shoulders in joking exaggeration, breathing out “You’re gonna make my hair go grey Matthew”. His laugh is immediate, “And then I’ll just dye over it again” his voice proud and smug as he drops a loud, overdramatic kiss to your shoulder, that act alone fracturing your annoyed facade, a large lovestruck smile breaking out onto your face.

“You make me want to scream sometimes”

“Oh I know, love”, you can practically hear the shit-eating grin in his sudden sultry voice as he decides to interpret this as innuendo.

His antics make you sigh once more as you lean your head back, looking up at his playful eyes, “Oh stop, you know I didn't mean it like that”.

His mischievous smile is hypnotising as you look up at him from below, his face upside down due to your awkward angle, “Oh sure you didn’t but I have enough memories of you screaming for me to last a lifetime so forgive me if your threat lacks substance sweetheart”

“Oh my god Matthew!”, the memories of pleasure-filled nights filling your mind and making you blush; even after all these years of dating he still has this effect on you so easily.

His amused laugh echoes in your ears once again, “Please, stop pretending to be innocent, we both know you like it”.

You suddenly feel very vulnerable, covered in hair dye and currently blushing and flustered from your boyfriend’s previous comment, “Behave and finish my hair now please”. 

“Anything you say love”.

He maneuvers your head forwards again to allow him to add some finishing touches to the art piece that is your hair, how there’s any part of your head not covered in dye at this point is a mystery to you but you let him entertain himself.

Once Matty had rinsed through your hair until the water ran clear, his fingers soothing as he ran them through the freshly coloured strands as well as the conditioner he had generously applied afterwards. 

When that too was rinsed out, he left you sitting on your shared bed like a wet dog while you towel-dry off your hair as he tries to clean up the multicoloured mess he had created in the bathroom. As you take the hairdryer to your hair Matty comes in from the other room, now changed into his ‘comfy clothes’ and wearing those tartan pyjama bottoms he knows you can never take your eyes off of. He walks slowly up to you from behind, wrapping his tattooed arms around your chest as he leans his head on your shoulder, looking at you in the tall mirror you both stand in front of. His eyes and smile are tired as he silently appreciates you and your new look, his thumbs rubbing slowly over your ribs and holding you flush to his cosy chest, an action that always feels like home.

Your hair is finally dry and Matty takes on the responsibility of being the one to brush it, slowly dragging the brush through your fresh hair and afterwards running his fingers through it once more, that motion alone bringing on a wave of sleep causing you to subconsciously lean back into him, your eyes fluttering shut at the contact. Matty begins carefully swaying you both side to side, still watching you intently in the mirror, leaving feather-light kisses in the crook of your neck, the urge to have them tattooed into your skin a constant desire. 

His voice is low as he sleepily mumbles into your skin, “New hair looks good y’know, always knew it would, you’d suit anything”. 

Your voice is light and appreciative as you thank him and watch your sleepy man of a boyfriend nuzzle closer into your body, his dark eyes making eye contact with yours as he leans up to drop a kiss to the side of your temple, 

“You look beautiful, my perfect little art piece”.

His reference to his pollock-like hairdressing style makes you giggle and turn around to hug him fully, his large arms more than welcoming as he holds you tight against his pyjama-clad torso once again, whispers of sleep swirling around you both and subconsciously dragging you back to bed.

[hanafubukki]

The Love of a Family

Summary: A young Malleus Draconia travels back in time to meet Lilia and his older brother, Silver.

Characters: Young Malleus Draconia, Silver, and Lilia Vanrouge

Notes: I saw Lian’s post yesterday about Big Brother Silver AU and brain literally went haywired ( @rayroseu​ ) Please check out her post, its so precious and beautiful and still has my heart aching and I loved it so much. Big Brother Silver AU has a soft place in my heart now and I just had to have them meet. I just had too 😭😭💚💚 I hope you enjoy. I’m not used to writing non-reader insert stories, but I did my best 🙌💚 (This is 1k+ you can tell my brain went brrr 🥰🥰💕💕💕)

Mother…

Father…

Even Silver…

I’m so sorry I was born too late and never got to meet you all…

Malleus felt his tears drip down his face, splattering on the album in front of him.

He loved to look at this album; Lilia always said how it was filled with people who loved him.

His mother and father hugging his egg.

Lilia drawing little bats on the egg.

Big brother Silver, as a baby, shared a cradle with him.

Big brother Silver looked so happy.

As Malleus flips through the pages, he saw how time changes and so does Lilia and big brother Silver.

Always cradling the egg and giving love.

Malleus wiped his face, looking at the ring the brother he never met wore in the picture.

The same ring that was hanging around his neck.

Malleus recalled what Lilia had told him:

o   “Silver had wanted you to inherit his ring. He wanted his younger brother to know he was loved and cherished. How proud he is that you finally hatched.”

o   The smile Lilia wore was tinged with fondness, love, and sadness.

o   Malleus wanted to reach out and wipe that sadness away.

I wish…I wish I got to meet you big brother Silver….

Malleus fell asleep on top of the album, unknown to him, a haze of magic swirled around him.

Silver patted the egg in front of him before wrapping it with a blanket.

Nice and cozy.

He leaned his head slightly on it.

Father is working hard to find a way to make you hatch…I don’t understand how I can use love in making you grow…even so, I still would love to help.

Malleus-sama, I hope you know how loved you are. I hope you will hatch soon so everyone can meet you.

Silver turned, startled, at feeling a burst of magic coming from his father’s study.

Father isn’t home.

Silver grabbed his nearby sword, glancing at a white dove near the windowsill, who chirped before flying to relay his message to his father.

Silver used his magic to shield off the room, only with his death can anyone enter.

As if he would allow anyone to hurt his little brother.  

Silver silently treaded across the hallway, using the shadows to keep out of sight of any potential dangers.

He was the personification of the Phantom General.

Silver opened the door, weapon ready…

…only to be surprised by the dragonling in front of him.

Silver watched as the little dragon fae ate the mushroom risooto he made him.

When the dragon fae had awoken, he had surpsied Silver with a hug.

Big Brother Silver! You’re here!

Silver had returned his hug just as tightly.

Said dragon tightly held his hand, as if he never wanted to let go.

When his father had returned home, Silver had already put Malleus-sama down for a nap. He had promised him he wouldn't leave his side.

His father looked relieved at the sight of Malleus-sama, tears shining in his eyes. Silver knew exactly how he felt as he felt the same.

Lilia raised a trembling hand and placed it on the dragonling’s head. Malleus mumbled and continued to sleep.

Lilia and Silver couldn’t help but smile.

Malleus-sama loved as strongly as any dragon kin, fiercely.

He would pull Silver with him everywhere.

He would root for him against their father when they sparred.

o   Lilia pouted, “Hey! Why don’t I get any support!”

o   “Big Brother is cooler than you!”

o   Lilia gasped in fake affront before chasing the little one.

o   Silver laughed.

o   He smiled as he looked on in fondness.

o   His little brother was adorable.

Malleus-sama would always ask Silver to cook, not that he could blame him as his father wasn’t…the best.

Malleus-sama’s and Silver’s favorite part of the night would be when the three would share a bed. Silver and Lilia would take turns reading to Malleus, both using magic to make some of the scenes come alive. Malleus would giggle before they would all eventually fall asleep together, cuddling under the blanket.

o   “Goodnight Father and Big Brother.”

o   Father and son smiled as the fae unknowingly melted their hearts and brought more joy to them than he would ever know.

As time went by another issue arose…what to do with this young fae who belonged in another time?

They had both decided to convince Malleus to return home.

Though admittedly it was difficult to deny the young heir anything, especially when he loved so wholeheartedly.

It was decided that Silver would be the one to talk to Malleus.

After all, Silver was the reason that Malleus had come and it was for Silver that Malleus wished to stay.

Time would be kind to Lilia, but not as kind for Silver. Both Lilia and Silver knew that all too well.

For that very reason, Silver had chosen to talk to Malleus-sama.

Lilia watched from afar as Silver brought up the topic and watched as Malleus cried.

Maybe in another world or another time they could have shared a life, but in this life, this was the hand granted to them.

Which was all the more reason they cherished this time together they had with the prince.

Silver had to stop himself from retracting his statement.

Silver wouldn’t deny the fact that a part of him wanted to be selfish, wanted this little one to stay with him.

But he knew, he knew he could not do that.

The unhatched egg and his father in the future came to mind.

“Do you not love me Big Brother Silver?”

“Malleus-sama, I love you more than you know.”

“But then…why?”

Silver wiped the fae’s tears, “There are so many people who love you in the future and are waiting for you. Father misses you.”

“But you’re not there.”

“I know.”

“But I love you, Silver.”

Silver pulled his dragonling on his lap and rubbed his forehead with Malleus’, “I know, I love you too.”

Silver cupped the little one’s cheeks, “Malleus-sama, knowing you grow up to be such a good kid, knowing you grow up healthy and happy, has brought father and I more joy than you will ever know.”

Silver pulled at the necklace around Malleus’ neck and kissed the ring, “No matter what time you are in, I will always be by your side. My precious little brother.”

Malleus hugged Silver as tears ran down his face before he felt Lilia also joining in.

Lilia moved a stray hair away from Malleus’ eyes, “Time to go now, young one.”

Malleus nodded and hugged them both once more before he gradually disappeared before their eyes.

Silver and Lilia smiled as hope and love for the future grew.

Father and son watched the stars that night, with Silver’s head on Lilia’s shoulder.

Silver carried the egg preciously, remembering the precious child that will be born.

He kissed the egg, thinking of the tiny scales that were on Malleus-sama’s forehead.

Silver felt a surge of affection when, surely it wasn’t his imagination, the heartbeat from the egg grew just a tad bit stronger.

When Lilia took it from him, he allowed himself to peck it as well, thinking about the cheeky one that will eventually be born.

Lilia swore he felt the egg warm up a few degrees more and turned to Silver in excitement.

After all, it was True Love that would allow the egg to hatch.

Malleus Draconia awoke, feeling more joy and love than he could ever remember.

“Malleus!”

“I’m coming, Father!”

Malleus ran.

He knew without a doubt that he was loved.

He didn’t notice the green aura mixed with pastel pink around him, nor did he see how the ring around his neck shined.

I love you Big Brother and Father.

He ran towards his loved one, ready to tell him about his adventures.

I hope you liked it 💚🥰🌺 This was fun to write 🙌💚 and something very different than what I usually do which I am very proud of.

Now, did Malleus travel back in time? Was it his UM? Was it Silver’s? A combination? A dream? Well, that’s for you to decide ☺️🥰💚

[https-furina]

✎ 4:47am.

ft. diluc x fem!reader

w.c. 1k words

content: short fluff, mildly angst btw! established relationship, perhaps reader has a little past trauma, they were childhood friends, diluc 100% has anxiety, unedited + not proofread

notes: i promise i’ll get around to editing and adding word counts soon, i’ll slacking a little. this turned out more angsty than i was hoping it would but i just wanted concerned husband!diluc. i’m definitely not proud of this one cries

when you had first settled down amongst the rows upon rows of vines, hidden by the leaves, the sky was a deep indigo. it had been littered in specks of stars, all different shapes and sizes and all glittering in their all individual ways; a lot like the beautiful ring now settling on your ring finger. the thought sends your gaze down to the jewellery, a smile crossing your face. two days feels like a fever dream now but it had in fact happened.

he had let you choose location above all else - or else you would have been marrying at the winery - and you quickly settled for the waterfall just south of springvale. diluc had no room to disagree when he saw the way your eyes lit up, sparkling in ways that no jewels could ever compare to. it was like he fell in love with you all over again, the exact way he did years ago having watched you spar with his brother.

a sigh escaped your lips at the thought that kaeya brought this together and diluc still couldn’t completely drop his malice towards the cryo vision. your eyes fall back to the sky, fading into a lilac as morning begins to dawn on mondstadt. how long had you been sat out here? you scowled at the thought of your peace coming to an end however that’s not how your better half reacted when he rolled over and felt a lack of presence beside him.

ruby eyes open, squinting momentarily as his large hand wanders the silk bedsheets imported from liyue and finds that his beloved is nowhere to be seen. a feeling akin to fear sends electricity through diluc’s body, his body rushing to sit upright so quick he gives himself whiplash for a moment. where in celestia was you? had you been taken? no, you couldn’t have been - adelaide would have came running by now to wake him.

he still finds himself rushing out of bed, throwing his hair into a messy ponytail as he saunters the halls of his home, checking every room he’s known you to settle in. where could you be so early in the morning, when the light is beginning to filter through large glass windows as the sun awakens. dread is coursing through his veins, careful when he slams open a door as to not disturb the resting souls still within the manor.

diluc is in the vineyard within moments of searching his manor, looking around for your familiar head of hair or your sweet scent - but even then, the thousands of grapes are strong enough to drown it out.

“why do you look so concerned, my love?” your voice draws him out of his mild panic, his eyes landing on you finally. you’re perched between rows of grapes, cross legged as the leaves cover you. it would be a perfect hiding spot, had you both been kids again. diluc sighs out, a little dramatically as he holds a hand out for you to take, raising you to your feet. you’re still wearing your nightshirt, insinuating you was either going to return to him in bed or be back in the manor shortly.

“it’s not every day i wake up and my wife is missing,” diluc mumbles, albeit embarrassed that you caught him looking so flustered, “don’t do that again.”

you giggle, pressing a chaste kiss to his calloused knuckles before leaving one on his lips too. you laugh but you know diluc is right to be worried as such, he has been ever since you were children. it’s what made you two so inseperable at a young age but you were kidnapped as a child. as the daughter of one of the dawn winery’s most beloved ingredient suppliers, you spent a lot of time at the winery with kaeya and diluc. your disappearance threw the brothers into a fit belittled with anguish as they ignored their father and tracked you down.

ever since, they’d never parted you from their sights for any longer than a few hours and diluc had partially developed anxiety if you were missing out of the ordinary or for longer than usual. while he’s working, he usually has - begrudgingly - kaeya or adelaide at your side. diluc makes a soft noise, brushing hair from your face with his spare hand as he takes in the way your lower lip has jutted slightly and your eyes have softened despite your laugh moments prior.

“you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he needs not say it very loudly for you catch his words, nodding a little with a exasperated sigh. sometimes you can’t help but think back on it, diluc has even caught you multiple times having nightmares about the memories. the redhead says no more, strong arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. you had already noticed how he was barely dressed saved for the ponytail he’d thrown his hair into, pulling a frown onto your lips. you truly had worried him that badly again.

moments pass before the two of you are looking up at the sky, adorned in hues of oranges and pinks as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. you shiver and diluc instinctively tightens his arms around you.

“come, let’s go back to bed.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

curled up against your husband’s resting form, head laid on his chest as you listen to his steady heartbeat, you realise just how much he cares for you. your legs brush against those familiar silk sheets and you cherish the moment as much as you can before diluc must rise again, going about his work as if he hadn’t shown his most weakened state in the early hours of the morning to anybody awake to witness it.

© https-heizou 2023.

[minhosblr]

━ Year-end 2023 and 1k appreciation post! ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Hello there! It's me Maja and I just want to make this post to show some appreciation to some of all the people, who has made my 2023 on this blog so so so worth it! If now isn't the best time to do so, idk when would be. First of all, it's the end of 2023, which means we all somehow made it through another shit-show (I am proud of all of you!!). I also hit 1k followers on here yesterday. It's wild to me, seeing how I only made this blog back in April. It means a lot to me, knowing that so many of you decided to follow me on here - either after following me on my main or just because you found this blog and decided it was worth it! ♥

Thank you to all of you. Thank you for following me (not the probably 1k bots I've had to blog) and for reblogging my stuff and supporting me on here!

I will promise that I will continue to make lots of Minho content in the new year as well!

Under the cut is a list of some of the people, whom I appreciate a lot on this blog. Doesn't matter if we talk or not. If I see you on my dash or in the notes, then I consider you as one of my (at least) somewhat homies! ♥

Thank you folks! (this is in the order of my following list, because I am too lazy to do it in order of anything else).

@fauna-and-floraa @wantbytaemin @jeongined @blueprintchan @minho-knows @skzfaker @minchanz @usergyu @seungmoes @leenope @backformores @christakisbang @hongamon @boba-skz @crazy-form @hyunebear @jerirose @strayklds @lee-minhoe @shorelinnes @booskwan @yang-innie @cheekyquokka @chanrizard @agibbangs @dinoboos @yonglixx @chrizztophers @jinniebit @bandzboy @leefelex @nevoono @go-saeng @quokki @avocadomin @jizung @seo-changbinnies @exocean @hyunpic @chanstopher @yunwooz @leeknown @stray-but-okay @seungminhos @yangjeongin @hyunjinz @snug-gyu @bangzchan

Chances are I might have missed people, and I am sorry for that! I just looked through the people I follow, and I might have forgotten some of the multis who also post or reblog skz stuff (I still love you! If I follow you, I am literally confessing my love to you as we speak). I follow quite a lot of people for my main and a.c.e blog (aka. non-skz, so yeah)

Thank you once again and I hope everyone will have a great 2024!

[lilliejareau]

Forbidden Love

A Jemily One-Shot

Written by: lilliejareau

Author's Note: this was originally going to be for my 1k celebration post but I unfortunately wasn't able to finish writing on time. But I have finished today and I hope you all enjoy this, though it is quite emotional.

Please be kind because I have not posted anything I have written publicly since 2021/2022 because I am very self-critical of my work. Thank you and enjoy! (ps, I don't have gifs and stuff, sorry!)

Word Count: 1,743

(I know it's pretty long, but I got so into it!)

Summary: When JJ marries the love of her life, Emily comes to accept the fact that she has to let hers go.

—

"Are you alright?"

Emily inhaled sharply, startled out of her thoughts. It was JJ who asked the question, standing there in her beautiful bridal dress, reminding Emily of what she lost. Emily's head tilted slightly, her lips pulled upward but not quite showing her teeth.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

JJ did a sort of smile. "You're out here all alone? I figured you'd gone inside like the rest of us."

The dancing had ended moments ago, everyone had gone inside to enjoy the rest of the party as it simmered down. Everyone except Emily who had lingered out on the dance floor with a glass of champagne thinking about the memories she had with the team over the years. She thought about JJ and the 'what-ifs'. She was so incredibly happy for and proud of JJ for finding her true love and having everything she deserved. Having hidden feelings for JJ didn't stop Emily from being delighted for her.

Emily had never loved, hadn't truly loved until she met JJ. By the time she understood and accepted that love, accepted who she was, and what that meant, it was much too late. Her heart ached terribly as the reality set in that she should no longer love JJ. It wasn't fair for either of them. JJ had Will and for years, Emily watched the couple fall in love and develop their relationship into more than what Emily had ever had with somebody before.

Yet, even after all that time, all those years, her forbidden love for JJ never really went away.

Emily shrugged in response to JJ's observation, trying to come off as nonchalant but when she looked up to meet those blue eyes she'd fallen for long ago, she knew that JJ could tell something was up with her. She cursed herself for not hiding it better.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" JJ inquired, eyes slightly narrowed but showed nothing but concern for her friend. Reaching out, she went to take Emily's hand in her own but the brunette pulled away, seemingly against her own will. A strange reaction to a familiar gesture. Something was wrong. "Emily?"

"JJ, I..." Emily tore her eyes away from those blue ones she'd fallen for all those years ago. She knew what she felt for JJ was wrong, that what she was about to say had a possibility of hurting more than keeping it bottled up. 

"Em, what is it? You can tell me anything, you know that."

"I love you." the words were regretful and rushed, and one quick breath released what she had bottled up for years. There truly was no going back now. Before JJ could respond, Emily held out a hand to stop her. "You don't have to say anything, I'm not asking you to, but I do love you. I think I always have."

A very long silence filled the air, not only tension but something else that neither could name. A moment and a breath of composure later, JJ's shockingly calm voice filled the silence.

"I know, Emily."

Emily's heart beat rapidly in her chest. "You know?"

JJ gave a slow nod. "Back then, God, I was so blind. I had feelings for you, Emily. I did. But by the time I realized what those feelings were... It took me years to finally understand what I felt for you was love." JJ's eyes shone with emotion and Emily's guilt only grew. 'But I love Will. God, I love Will. And Henry, too. They're my family, Emily, and what we had, what we felt back then...it's gone now. I do have love for you. I love you so, very much, just not in the way you want me to. Not anymore."

Emily knew this would be the rational outcome the moment she opened her mouth and said those words, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. It hurt so terribly, even if she knew and expected JJ's response to be nothing short of rejection.

"I know," she tearfully admitted, voice quiet, barely a whisper. She couldn't look at JJ, her eyes focused on the previously forgotten glass of Dom Perignon she held. She felt like an idiot for admitting feelings she should have never spoken aloud, to begin with. And on JJ's wedding day nonetheless. What was she thinking? The relief of releasing bottled-up feelings wasn't enough to overshadow the guilt. 

"I love him, Em, he's my everything. That's my truth and I know this should be the part where I say that I wish I could change that, but I don't. I wouldn't have Henry, my life with Will, I wouldn't have any of what I have now. I know this hurts you, especially coming from me right now, but it's too late for anything more than what you and I already have. You're still my best friend, Emily, and you will always be. That's not going to change."

Emily nodded and finally met JJ's eyes again as a tear slid down her cheek. "I didn't tell you this in hopes of some sort of fairy tale ending. I love you, yes, but you're right, we're best friends. Nothing more. We had our chance and never saw it, it's over now. I just couldn't keep it in any longer. I've been wanting to tell you for a long time. I honestly didn't plan on telling you tonight, I guess it's just the perfect timing, huh?" Emily rolled her eyes at her poor attempt at lightening the mood and shook her head.

JJ didn't say anything, and it was probably better that way. Emily didn't expect an answer. The blonde simply gave her friend a sad smile, leaned in, and hugged her tightly. Emily embraced her back almost immediately. This would be their last hug before she left for London; their last moment alone together. It was very emotional for more reasons than the one.

The hug remained as Emily's mind drifted to the eye contact she and JJ held while the bride shared a dance with her new husband. For JJ, that shared eye contact was about Prentiss leaving for London soon, knowing her best friend was moving to an entirely different country shortly after that very night. But for Emily, it meant so much more. She'd lost her and for good this time. It was over and as painful as it was, it was for the best. JJ had a happy family, a husband, and a beautiful little boy.

It had once been a dream of Emily's that she would settle down and have a family of her own, a husband or a wife, a child or two. But as the years went on, she watched her dream fade away as it became a reality for the woman she loved, the hardest part being that it wasn't with her.

Now she just needed to come to terms with that.

"Thank you for telling me," JJ whispered, holding onto the embrace just a bit longer before pulling away. She could see the pain in those brown eyes and it broke her heart. She studied them longer, seeing the guilt. "I don't want you to feel guilty for admitting what you feel."

"JJ–"

"You don't choose who you fall in love with," JJ interrupted, watching as Emily's eyes recognized those words as they welled up with tears. "Those were your words, Em. I'm glad you told me and maybe in some...parallel universe, we wouldn't be as blind as we were."

"Maybe," Emily softly repeated, bringing up a hand to wipe her cheek. "You're not...disgusted by me?"

"Emily, no," JJ was quick to assure, grasping her friend's hand tightly. "It took courage to tell me what you did, I don't know if I ever could've done it."

"But it's you're wedding day."

"Yeah," JJ nodded. "It is, but what's done is done and there's no changing that. We might not be on the same page when it comes to who we love, but I can assure you that I am proud of you, not disgusted. I don't think I could ever be revolted by you, Em."

"Yeah?" Emily tearfully whispered, looking into JJ's eyes for a sign of reassurance.

JJ smiled. "Yeah."

A touching silence fell upon them as a song played faintly in the background from inside, a familiar melody that both of them knew.

"Em?" 

"Hm?"

"Dance with me?"

The brunette was slightly caught off guard by the offer, her lips withholding a response. She had always been so certain that after she told JJ her secret, the blonde wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near her. Instead, JJ was being as kind of a friend as always and asked Emily to dance. It seemed like such an innocent gesture but to Emily, it was more. It was closure instead of more heartache, and that was something she never expected to have.

"Yes."

JJ took the champagne glass and set it aside, taking Emily's hand in her own and leading them to the center of the dance floor, both women sharing a sad smile as their eyes met, hands interlocked.

This was the end, the end of an era, the end of what could have been, and the beginning of a new journey for both. A journey where Emily would move on, and JJ would remain happy in her family life, content with what she had. Both were certain at that moment that no matter what, their friendship would always be a strong foundation.

For the first time that night, Emily smiled softly, looking into those blue eyes that would be a memory from now on, not a constant reminder. She would no longer look into those eyes and feel her heart ache, her stomach tighten, or that dreadful sense of longing. 

JJ was not hers, and she never would be, but at least she could leave with no regrets, the weight off her chest, and a clear conscious. She still loved JJ, and that would never change, but now she knew things she never knew before.

As they held onto each other and slowly swayed to the music, JJ's soft, quiet voice uttered words Emily had longed to hear in a much different manner.

"I love you, Emily. Always."

Emily repeated, her voice just as soft and quiet, words she meant with all her heart. "I love you, JJ. Always."

[aveegrex]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

oh, yeah, you don't have to pay for the second one. It's one the house! why? well, isn't it your birthday?

genre: smutsmutsmuuuut pairing: kunigami x afab reader x barou word count: 1k cw: penetration, pussyjob, degradation, praise, teasing, fingering, oral (m! receiving), surprise (but anticipated) threesome

authors's note: sweet horny amazing gorgeous stunning smart feral cute talented @saetoshis has a birthday today, so heeey love, hope the day is going great and here's your present to feast on. love you a whole lot <3 Happy birthday!!!!!!

It was the best worst idea that has ever come to your mind. 

"C'mon, puppy, don't make me wait" Barou's deep rasp sends a tickle to your nape, and you whine, watching him stroke his girth lazily right before your eyes. "Want that? Better start talking"

"Take it slow, love, no rushing" Kuni's tongue brushes over the shell of your ear, syllables of comfort accompanied by the rhythm of his fingers inside you. "Tell him what you told me then" he leaves a sweet kiss to your shaking shoulder. 

"I-uh" it's torture. Everything happening now is torture, and they both know it. You exhale sharply and Barou hisses, your breath teasing his aching tip. "I- I want you to talk- uhm.."

You feel your face flush deeper, and somewhere in the back of your mind you register Kuni's praise, soft words of reassurance keeping you sane on a subconscious level. 

"Talk what? Speak up, slut" Barou's impatient, and the mix of commanding tone and the squelch of lube over his cock jolt through your clit. 

You'd lower your sight but it's impossible to not stare at him now. Abs covered in a sheen of sweat, thick thighs splayed over the soft velvet of the couch, and dick, up and proud in it's borderline monstrosity, leaking precum inches away from your lips. You want to nuzzle into his crotch, inhale the thick scent, bury it in the back of your throat, but he made it very obvious you're not getting any until every last dirty secret leaves your lips. 

And Kuni - oh fuck him now, reaching for that spot with what you know is a smug grin plastered over his face, faking kindness so well, making your legs shake with the thumb on your clit. It was your idea to share your dirty thoughts with him, but it was his idea to make them come true /this/ way. 

"Happy birthday!" he smiled innocently, walking into your shared apartment with a mountain of muscle called Barou. "Didn't take much convincing" he whispered devilishly, leaving you two in the bedroom. 

You didn't anticipate how well those two would work together. On the field? Not a chance. In the privacy of your living room, abusing your mind and cunt with pleasure? 

You're about to die. 

"C'mon pretty thing, let go, we all know it's filthy in that cute head of yours" Barou scoots an inch closer and /fuck/ he smells good. His other hand comes down to fondle the balls, and you mewl, watching his heavy sack glistening under the dim light. 

"Want you.." you muster, hypnotized by his thumb circling the angry tip. "Want you to fuck uh-... to taste you... please"

Barou laughs, standing up from his place, and your eyes dart to the floor. "Finally" he pats your head. "But I know there's more in there, yeah". A sudden yank to your hair and he brushes his tip over your lips, pulling away the second your tongue comes out. "Kunigami, there's more in there, right?"

"Oh absolutely" your boyfriend slaps your pussy. You hear his belt clanging against the floor, and gulp, knowing what's coming. "No dick if you hide, baby, and two if you speak, hm? Don't you want it?"

His length brushes along your doused folds, wet sounds of a sloppy pussy job filling the air. "Want you to fuck- FUCK" you yelp as Kuni's tip presses to your clit. "to fuck my mouth and make me..."

No, no no no, it's too much! Eyes screwed shut, a sob of arousal and shame falls from your lips, form shaking as Kuni's dick makes you lose your mind. 

"Sshhh, baby, doing so good for me" Kuni's hot breath washes over you, strong hands enveloping your chest, rubbing reassuring circles into your shoulders. "You're doing so well, so so proud of you. Good job, puppy, good!"

You keen under praise, back flush against his chest. He knows exactly what to do, what buttons to push to open you up to this. "Very good, sweetheart" an open mouth kiss bringing you back into the scene. "Just need you to keep talking, alright? Tell Barou what you need, for me, yeah?"

You nod shyly. He's so handsome now, flushed just as much and heaving, pupils dilated into deep dark. Back when you told him that you wanted his mate to join, he was simply playful, but now-

"Listen to him, cutie, share those dirty little thought" Barou's fingers trace your face, smearing precum all over your cheeks. "Can't use that mouth right until you talk"

Reassured and rearoused, you turn back, a wave of confidence glistening in your eyes. "Want you to fuck my mouth... /daddy/" you feel Kunigami's dick throb against your clit and moan "Want you to fuck my throat"

"Shit, that's it, keep going" he presses his length to your cheek, drowning you in his scent. "Keep running that filthy mouth"

"Want you to make me gag" a sweet kiss to his tip and you feel him shudder, balls tightening under your drool. "And cum all over my-"

"Fuckn slut" he slurs, strained moans from him and Kuni riling you up, making you toss your filter elsewhere. 

"Wanna feel it here, daddy" hazy of his reaction, you pull his hand to your throat. "And here-" you shoot your sight down, where Kuni's hand lays across your lower stomach, and push there, batting your lashes at Barou who's about to snap.

"God you're a whore" Kunigami hisses. Rough hand grips your throat and you yelp as his cock slides effortlessly inside you, hitting that spot on the first try. "Didn't think you'd go this far, damn cumslut"

He's picked up an ungodly pce, fucking into you aggressively. Fingers pressed tight to your neck he pushes your face up, talking to Barou "You heard it, better fucking deliver"

Barou just nods, gripping your hair and easing his girth into your mouth, a wanton groan leaving his lips when he bottoms out. "Bagged up a good one, red" he laughs, bobbing your head up and down his length as Kunigami's dick keeps hazing your mind from behind. "Wanna make a little tradition out of it"

MDNI, reblogs and comments are welcome, please give all the love to the birthday sweetheart @saetoshis

© 2022 AVEEGREX, all rights reserved. reposting and copying my works without my consent is forbidden.

[heartnosekid]

I started making stimboards a while ago, granted I'm not the most frequently active even with a queue, but I greatly enjoy carefully crafting a board, digging up sources for gifs, ... still, I cant stop feeling a bit hurt that I get next to no notes on them. A single board easily takes me 30 minutes to 1 hour, and a recent one got 1 note. That's all. I was so proud of it, and now it feels like it was all in vain, despite the fun it was to assemble. I love seeing you on my dash btw, I love your gifs and boards. But yeah. Did it take you a while too to get a decent amount of notes / followers ? I try my best to use appropriate tags for reach. I dont even do super niche themes. And I tell myself to just keep at it, with enough time and effort I'll have some more followers too. Idk. I was just hoping for some words of encouragement if you can spare some lol

i 100% understand this frustration and i have a few questions for you.

firstly, is there any way you could send me a board of yours so i can see the tags and potentially give some advice about that? it's okay if you would rather not, i understand wanting to maintain anonymity.

secondly, if you did want to send your blog my way, i could potentially reblog some of your stuff and help you gain some traction.

now for some encouragement, i promise your work matters regardless of followers or notes or anything like that. the internet has a sinister way of making us feel as if the only way our work is important, even to ourselves, is if it gets lots of recognition and interactions and clicks. this is wholly false, and a dangerous mindset to get stuck in. (i'm still in it and i hate it. i work so hard to not care about notes but it is so hard, especially when you're raised by a critical voice when it comes to your art.)

i will always encourage you and anyone else to ignore the numbers. i know this is extremely hard to do, especially when you're just starting out and you want to make your work seen and be praised, but i promise it will help build healthy habits in regards to posting your work and not taking the fun or meaning out of it for yourself, because at the end of the day, making art should be for you and satisfy you first and foremost. i made the huge mistake of getting into the numbers game in regards to my work and i regret it every day, quite literally. and yes, it did take a long time for my boards and gifs to start gaining traction. i've had this blog since 2017, i have been making boards since...2019 i think, maybe 2018, and gifs since either late 2019 or 2020, i think, and i didn't start seeing major interactions (1k+ notes) for about two to three years.

if your work is fun and fulfilling to you; if it satisfies your creative nature in a way other things can't, please keep doing it. i promise it is worth it to make the art 100000% self indulgently rather than to rely on attention from others to progress.

much love and support to you, anon. i hope to see some cool stuff from you in the community. <3

[wildemaven]

Congrats again honey! I’d love a little drabble if possible - let’s say 11 and 73 for Marcus Pike 🥰 you should be so proud of yourself! E💕

On the House

Wildemaven 1k Celebration / 1k Masterlist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Mentions of food and drinks, otherwise just fluffy cuteness.

Prompts: - The feeling is mutual." / "It's impossible to get rid of me."

You faintly hear the bell ring, signaling to you the front door opening to a customer, either coming or going. 

The frantic whirring of grinding beans and the rumble of the espresso machine pulling two shots, drown out the more muted sounds of the shop. 

A quick glance over your shoulder you see one of your regulars waiting at the cash stand, he smiles when he sees your attention is already on him. 

It’s a quick dumping of shots and swirling of steamed milk into a paper cup, placing it on the counter for the kind older gentleman who’s been snacking on his scone as he waits, bidding you a ‘good day’ with his warm coffee in hand. 

“Good morning! What will it be today? Your regular?” Memorizing orders isn’t easy, but when a cute face stops in regularly, it becomes fairly easy to remember they drink a 16 ounce latte with 2% milk and 2 pumps of vanilla. 

“Morning! Yeah, can I get it on ice today— if that’s not too much?” He asks, noting to ask him hot or cold next time he stops in. 

“Of course!” You say as you start to prep his drink, grateful he’s the only one in line so you don’t have to buzz through it. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the suit and tie.” Pointing to his more laid back outfit. 

He glances down and smiles, a plain tshirt and jeans are today’s attire, realizing he’s only ever came in before heading to work.

“Yeah, I have the day off, no need for the office uniform.” He chuckles, heat pricking his face at the way you seem to know his order and what he wears regularly. 

He’s only been in the city for about a month, still learning all his neighborhood has to offer, but settles on this coffee shop as his go-to place, especially since it’s on his way to work— it doesn’t hurt that you greet him most mornings either. 

“So what is it you do then, that is so official?” You ask, adding the vanilla to the cup of iced milk before pouring the two steaming shots over top, the dark liquid curling into the milk. “If you can’t say, I totally understand.”

“FBI, Art Crimes Department to be more specific — I have the day off. My name is Marcus.” His hand shoots out in an attempt to put himself out there, being that he is still pretty new to the area. 

Sliding his order across the counter, you give him your name as you shake his hand, the gesture lingers a bit, getting lost in each other’s gaze— laughter breaks the silence, both of you realizing what just occurred. 

“Well, it’s on the house today, Marcus.” 

“Oh no! Let me pay, please! I don’t want you to get in trouble for this.” Pulling several bills from his wallet and holding them out to you. 

“Lucky for you, I’m the owner, so I make the rules— it’s on the house. If you want, you can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner tonight, I’m off at 5. I enjoy your company in the mornings, I’d love to get to know you better— outside of daily latte orders.”

He doesn’t respond, you think he must be thinking of the best way to let you down. 

“I’m so sorry, I thought we had a moment there— now I’m being weird and too forward with you.“ A nervous laugh escapes as you try to explain yourself. 

The pairing of his jaw tick and cute smirk nearly take you out. 

“Definitely not being too forward, the feeling is mutual— I’d love to take you to dinner tonight. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up at 7.”

“I’m happy I didn’t lose you as a customer, my mornings would have sucked without your smile.” Handing him your address that you scribbled onto his receipt paper. 

“Never, it's impossible to get rid of me."

[yangbbokari]

Not So Meant To Be

Pairing: Scaramouche x gn!reader Genre/AU/Trope: Angst(y’all should know this by now), Royalty AU Warnings: Explicit language, yelling, crying, self-harm WC:1k Summary: Prince Scara would forever be your rival. But what if one day, your heart doesn’t think the same? A.N: Birthday fix for my lovely mootie, @simonisferal / @kuni-coded HAPPY BIRTHDAY POOKIE I LOBE YOU (I also know like little to no lore so this fic will probably not include much of it) Song rec: Let You Break My Heart Again - Laufey, Creep - Radiohead

Way long before you could understand the feelings of love, there was a boy. And just as he was a boy to you, you were just another kid to him.

You met that boy on the borderlines. Beat up and barely able to walk. Covered in blood. Someone else’s or even possibly his own. You called your parents over in horror and shock. The three of you quickly returned to your hut with the boy in tow. Each of you took turns at nursing him back into good health.

When he awoke, he didn’t talk much. He was more of a curious little child. His precious little eyes would shine when presented with something new and no matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to, he’d help.

But good things always come to an end. Long before the awakening of the sky and the birds harmonious cries, he up and left your tiny little hut and cast you aside.

All that was left was the tiny doll you made for him and a small little note.

“I’m sorry.”

That morning when you awake and found your second bed empty, you didn’t know what to think. You thought that things were finally beginning to bond but maybe it was all your wishful thinking.

These days you wonder where that boy is. How is he doing? Where has he gone? What has become of him? When will you see him again? Why did he leave? How old is he now? But that’s not what matters.

The enemies are at the borders just like they were all those years ago. Trying to wage another war. They just won’t back down will they?

You lost your parents in the last war. Around the time that the little boy left, your parents were slaughtered for hiding an enemy. But how were you supposed to know that? By now you have risen. From the bottom to the top. A mere commoner into a proud general. The King’s most trusted aid.

His majesty had decided to send you and your troops to negotiate with the opposing side.

But upon your arrival, you were awestruck. You had heard about the beauty of the princess of Inazuma, but the prince was ephemeral. His beauty was unmatched to all you’ve ever seen.

When he began speaking it was like a sweet melody that you’d been yearning for for years. You didn’t even notice that he was waiting for your reply until your right hand man, Cyno, nudged your side.

Your eyes finally left the prince’s lips and your eyes met. “I’m sorry, what was that you said?” You eventually spoke as you cleared your throat.

The prince’s eyebrows grew closer and his frown increased. “Are you even taking me serious at all General (y/l/n)?”

You cleared your throat once more. “Of course I’m taking you seriously. I just got a little… distracted is all.” Your eyes flickered to his lips and back to his eyes again. “Would you care to tell me what you had stated previously again?”

He sighed with a shake of his head and continue his speech. “I said… It is I, Prince Kunikuzushi, and I’d like to have a discussion between us. I’m sure that we can both agree that war is not something that we wish for. So please, let’s discuss matters and call a truce shall we?”

A smirk spread across your face as you looked up to meet his eyes once more. “How about a duel. None of our men have to be involved. Just the two of us. What do you say?”

“Are you trying to cause a war!?” Kunikuzushi glared at you with a deep scowl on his face. How could you ask such a question in matters like these? Were you insane?

Your smirk slowly turned into a full blown smile. “Exactly. We don’t want a war. So why are you on our borderlines anyway. If it weren’t for your kingdom consistently trying to cross boundaries, none of us would be here.”

Kuni’s eyes bore into yours, causing them to burn. “Us!? We’ve tried every way to keep to ourselves and prosper with even our enemies. But no. We simply wanted to use a trade route and your leader — being the little bitch he is-”

“Don’t you talk about our king like that!!!”

“Then how else should I!? He’s consistently calling us burglars and thugs. We want no more than to have the same rights as our allies do. We can barely use a waterway without my people being attacked and terrorized. How would you feel if this were to happen to you?”

You must admit, you were left in shock. You never thought that there’d be another reason why the people of Inazuma kept entering your kingdom. Maybe you had been blindsided after all.

“I understand your worries, sire.” You spoke up “But I must discuss matters with His Majesty. Why don’t you accompany us back to the city. Not with your entire army of course. But you and a small troop shall be fine.”

Suspicion filled his eyes as you talked. “And how do I know you won’t try anything.”

“I swear on my oath of loyalty to His Majesty that me and my troops will bring you no harm.”

Kuni seemed to ease up upon hearing your words. “Alright then, lead the way.” ~~~ After about three days and three nights worth of traveling, you finally arrived outside the capital city. As soon as you entered along with the prince of Inazuma, the townspeople were quick to scatter. they didn’t want to get involved in this war any longer.

You led Prince Kunikuzushi straight up to the castle, throughout the halls, and all the way to the double doors of the discussion hall.

“You Majesty, General (name) has requested an audience.” You can hear the eunuch say loud and clearly.

His Majesty clears his throat before a reply. “You may leave.” The eunuch bows his head and retreats to you, in which he gives you a nod of approval to step in. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ this will be a series and this is only a part of it. I just wanted to get it out and I was too lazy to write😭(we’re gonna pretend ur bday wasn’t like 2 weeks ago😁)

[sitp-recs]

Hello Liv, I’m looking for a fic with « a falling in love while the world around us is ending » vibe. Finding love in a midst of a war or a tragedy. when everything around is collapsing, when we don’t know how much time is left so every second is lived fiercely and intensely.

A bit of a tragic lovers vibes (but with ultimately a happy ending).

Do you think you could help?

Ohhh I love this ask so much! I definitely have some nice recs for you, and would love to read more doomed lovers, it’s one of my favourite tropes. Please note that some most of these have open/unhappy ending. Enjoy!

Without Sunshine by @sweet-s0rr0w (T, 1k) - open ending

The fall of the Wizarding World begins on a Tuesday morning. As Draco says, the timing's dreadful.

if the world was ending by saltwatergarden (M, 4k)

The world is ending again, but it's far less dramatic this time. Harry Potter tries to save the day. Draco wishes he wouldn't.

Between Two Fires of Beltane by secretsalex (E, 5k)

As the war drags on, Draco becomes a spy for Voldemort and works his way into Harry’s good graces—and his bed. When the Order prepares to invade Malfoy Manor, Draco is forced to examine his loyalties.

A Cold Spot in Hell by @drarrytrash (E, 8k)

When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire. If you wanted 8k of sexy arson, emotionally difficult arson, general arson, handkerchiefs, dread, and poetry curation, now is really your moment.

The Taste of Magic by @romaine2424 (M, 10k)

As the world's atmosphere changes, magic starts to disappear. Only a "lucky" few will stay in the magical world until the earth begins to heal.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by @blamebrampton (T, 10k) - open ending

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k) - Cw: mcd

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 17k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

All the Ashes Like Leaves by @firethesound (M, 21k)

Nothing about being the Chosen One had prepared Harry for this. With most of the population blinded and man-eating plants running amok, he can only stay close to his friends as they make their way to safety. Not that he’d call Malfoy a friend, but the end of the world does rather make their ongoing feud seem trivial. And it just figures that it took nothing short of an apocalypse to make Malfoy seem like less of a git.

We Are Legend by @vaysh11 (E, 38k) - cw: mcd

Eighty years into the future, Voldemort won. Harry Potter is a renegade wizard, Portkeying Muggles out of London to Hogwarts, last sanctuary in a Britain ruled by the Dark Lord. On a mission he encounters a powerful phoenix Animagus fighting on the Death Eaters' side.

REVOLVEVLOVER by @firethesound and @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 46k) - open ending

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.” “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly; he’d woken up fully by now, and Harry had too; it was starting to sink in that they’d found the problem. “The real question is, how do we fix it?”

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 104k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

Bonus: I don’t usually read WIPs but this one is my all-time favorite and it fits the ask perfectly!

In The Dark by @bixgirl1 (E, WIP)

In the aftermath of an apocalypse, Harry receives an order to find and bring Draco Malfoy nearly a thousand miles, to the tenuous safety of Hogwarts. But more than distance separates them from their goal. The world has fallen, and death is hungry.

[rubberduckrobin]

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬.

Fandom: Obey Me!

Paring: Diavolo X GN!Reader

Type: Fluff, Some Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: Around 1k.

Summary: You love fireworks. Diavolo loves you.

Author's note: Umm...i'm not too proud of this one, I rushed it in one night to get it done for Bonfire Night...regardless, please enjoy :)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51376672

TW: Nothing I can think of.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Prologue: 

I sought the colours in your heart and found them in colourful explosions of moments where we spend time together.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 1: Fire only burns when you touch it.

“Diavolo, did you hear? There’s a fireworks show!”

“Yes. Are you going to see it?”

I arranged it for you.

“I think so! I love fireworks...”

I know. You told me that you loved the colours in the sky, like it was the paint to a canvas. You told me you loved the shine compared to the dark and that you wished you were at home with your family to see it with them.

“Are you planning on going with anyone?”

“…I was kind of hoping it would be with you?”

Perfect. There’s no need for me to cancel my grand plans now.

“Of course. I would love to go with you, Y/N.”

“Thank you!”

“My pleasure.”

Even if you don’t like the surprise I have planned…I'm still glad I will get to see you smile, even if it’s only for the first half of the night.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 2: Memories come with feelings, as colours.

The dark sky of the Devildom is vast. Empty. Devoid of emotion, much reflecting the souls of those who find themselves born here of sin. 

And I rule it all. I own not only the sky, the ground, the buildings but the people. 

One thing I do not own, however, is your heart. 

And it is the one thing I want the most.

It makes me feel like the empty sky has much more meaning for my possession of it; since the day you’ve arrived you’ve brought colour into my life, whether you intended to, or not. 

Like fireworks.

You love fireworks.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 3: The sky alights with fireworks, much like your face with joy.

I love seeing your smile.

Do you remember that night?

The night I visited the House of Lamentation to see Lucifer.

The night I heard you crying yourself to sleep, wishing for home.

The night my heart broke for you, and the night my heart started to beat faster for you. And it still does.

I heard your muffled sobs while making my way to Lucifer’s office. It was quiet, but audible. 

When I opened the door, through the slither of light I could see you curled over. 

I wanted to see your face. 

I wanted you to feel better.

I approached slowly, carefully. 

To make you aware of my presence I sighed.

“Y/N?”

No response.

“What’s the matter?”

“Home.”

Who knew one word would be enough? 

The guilt hits me immediately. I took them from their home, their family. I took everything from them, so I could complete myself. Or my duties. But what’s the difference anymore?

“I’m sorry. I’m…so sorry.”

‘A demon king should never apologise!’ my fathers voice rings in my ears. 

“Diavolo…”

“Hm?”

“Can I go home?”

“…I’m sorry.”

They look up and our eyes meet. Theirs, bloodshot and wet from tears. 

“Will I ever get to go home?”

“Yes.”

I found myself sitting on the bed next to them. Unsure of where to put my hands, I placed them gently on their back, running circles.

“I…had to do this… Your family is fine. Your ‘home’ is just fine. It’s only a year you have to stay here.”

“Still.”

“Only a year.”

They start to sob again - I don’t know how to help them, I’ve never comforted or been comforted before. 

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve made sure of that. Your family…they’ll be fine. You’re okay.”

“…Why are you helping me? Aren’t you a demon?”

“Demons can be nice too.”

“But why? Is it because I’m your student?”

“I can’t deny that I care about your well-being because you are a student at my academy…however…I think you’re truly special. The qualities I've seen within you over the course of this first week have been tremendously unique. In a good way, that is.”

“Really?”

“You’ve been strong. It’s been a week and you’re only just crying now.”

“How do you know I haven’t been crying on other nights?”

“Well…at least you haven’t started any arguments. Very honourable, seeing as you’re living with many infamously argumentative demons.”

They laugh, and what comes with it is a smile that brings colour.

A smile that I find myself wanting to see all the time since that day.

The evening ended with me tucking them in, after they had fallen asleep on my shoulder.

๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Part 5: Ever-growing feelings like the flame to a fuse.

I think I’m starting to love you.

Love your voice, your kindness, your smile.

Inviting you to the castle everyday; for tea, for discussion of your lessons, for anything so I can see you. 

Everything about you is just so enthralling. 

I don’t know when or why these feelings started, but they did. And now I intend to do something about it. 

I’m going to tell you. Not in words, but an expression of how I feel. 

A metaphor through  something you love.

Fireworks.

࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪

Part 6: Fireworks.

The plan. 

First half of the show, normal fireworks. So I can see their smile. 

The second half…. 

In the fireworks, spelt out will be their name.

And it is at that moment that I'll tell them.

——————————————————————-

As the special firework goes off, time slows.

Colours from the sky blur into the background, and all I see now is their smile gradually fading into confusion as they turn to me.

Our eyes meet once more and I speak through tense breaths.

“Y/N.”

“Wait. Were you the one who arranged this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Why?

“Because. I’ve fallen for you.”

At that moment, a loud eruption of more fireworks occurs. I didn’t think of this outcome.

“Sorry?”

They didn’t hear me.

“I said…”

I’m interrupted yet again.

I’m growing impatient.

˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪

Part 7: Colours.

I lead them further from the fireworks, however it's still in view.

The garden. 

“I said…I’ve fallen for you.”

“…Finally.”

As the last set of fireworks explode, they wrap their arms around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. Hey, do you remember that night? I still remember your smile.

˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪

End author's note: While writing this I had the following Diavolo card in mind...:

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day/night :)

[neondiamond]

🪩 Recently Read Fics - July 2023 🪩

These are all the amazing fics I read over the past month (from shortest to longest). Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show the authors your appreciation if you read any of these! 💛

🪩 I’ll Get You Through by @hellolovers13 (1k, G)

Louis will always pick up when Harry calls.

Always.

🪩 a life that’s lived without you by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (1k, T)

In all of his 116 years, Zayn has never quite felt this way about anyone. Liam is so incredibly human, in the worst and best ways. He’s fragile, even when he pretends not to be. He’s soft and kind, clumsy at times. He’s strong and full of life, full of love even when people around him give him cause to be anything but.

He’s sunshine and happiness and Zayn watches because he can’t not be drawn to him, to this boy that personifies those things that he has been missing out on for over a century.

🪩 rain makes the flowers grow by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (1k, G)

Some people are able to hide it. The way they’re feeling.

This boy at Harry’s work is not one of them.

He’s the boy with his head in the clouds.

🪩 Yours and Mine by @allwaswell16 (1k, T)

Louis goes to the library with his favourite people, his boyfriend Harry and his son, Max.

A Bitter Ends Turns Sweet timestamp

🪩 Everything Is Batter With You by @red-pandaaa (2k, T)

Harry comes across a fun baking TikTok and convinces Louis to do it

🪩 In Time by @allwaswell16 (2k, M)

Harry's uncertainty about their relationship began before he ever stepped foot on the plane to Amsterdam.

A prequel/timestamp to the fic Bitter Ends Turn Sweet

🪩 Timeless by @babyhoneyheslt (3k, G)

After visiting an antiques shop, Harry gets transported through time, and discovers that he and Louis are Timeless.

🪩 Take Me To Another World by @babyhoneyheslt (5k, G)

After escaping from the neighbouring kingdom, Harry finds himself on land for the first time. Despite knowing he should go back home, he lets his curiosity get the better of him.

When a mishap with discovering socks happens, he meets Louis who takes him out for coffee, and finds that Louis doesn’t quite meet the stereotype of humans.

🪩 On That Note by @allwaswell16 (6k, E)

Louis’ office job on an omega only floor would be absolutely fine, if not for the alphas he and his friends have to deal with in the building. But although they’ve never met face to face, the friendly notes sent between him and Harry in Purchasing help him get through the day.

🪩 I Want You to Linger by @insightfulinsomniac (7k, E)

A friends-to-lovers fic in which oblivious alpha Louis courts his best friend, nests with the gifts he gets him, and is faced with the reality that sometimes telling someone you love them doesn’t go to plan (but turns out better in the end anyway).

🪩 Blue Moon by @pocketsunshineharry (20k, G)

What happens when Louis moves away from the busy city life to a small village in the middle of nowhere and meets Harry, the sweetest and most understanding Alpha?

Will Harry be able to get Louis' walls down? Will he be able to adjust to the slower pace of life in the village and open up to Harry's love? As they navigate their new relationship, will they be able to overcome the obstacles from Louis’ past?

🪩 Paint a Rainbow Inside My Heart by @cyantific (22k, T)

A story about hiding in plain sight and the journey to revealing your truth, told in six acts.

Or, the five times Harry queer coded with actions, behaviors or clothing and the one time he was too proud to hide anymore.

🪩 ‘cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by @absoloutenonsense (26k, NR)

When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. That changes when Louis sees his ex, who turns out to be Anne's future husband's son. Now, Louis wants to prove that he's an omega that an alpha could want, and Harry wants to get through this weekend without letting his best friend figure out he's in love with him.

[sweetestdesire]

OH MY GOD Beth can i request 💓 florida kilos - lana del rey with rafe and f!reader pls lysm -love

FLORIDA KILOS

WARNINGS: hair pulling, extreme domination, use of cocaine, sex while under the influence, degrading speech, etc. 18+ readers only

PAIRING(S): Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: in which Fem!Reader has a party to remember.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for the request, my sweet angel. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

join my secret garden for my 1k celebration 🌸

"Hey, beautiful." Rafe said. The compliment was empty and automatic. He looked passed me as he said it, though he was peering into my eyes.

I arched myself above him, knees on either side of his thighs, digging into the carpet. Slowly, ever so slowly, I ground my hips into him. He didn't rush; his eyes lacked hunger. His hands didn't move, superficially placed onto the bed. He wasn't even remotely impressed.

The fire grew in my stomach, kindling as it made my way to my throat. Almost as if sensing it, his right hand moved, and he lightly placed his fingers around my neck, quelling the burn. He didn't push, though I tried to bring the fire back so that he may. His other hand placed itself behind my head.

The music from the party downstairs suddenly seemed louder and more influential. It teased through my body and guided my movements. Every sweep of skin stimulated a shock which instructed my advancement. His hands remained on my neck and head. I looked him in the eyes.

Admittedly, I couldn’t recollect how it happened, but I do remember how it felt. His cock had joined the running, and using his hand to guide me, I bent forward and took him in. This time, I was the one who was patient. I was slow in my movements, tasting him, learning his curves.

I could only think about how badly I wanted him inside me. How it would feel to have his thick cock pop me open, smoothly lining my stomach, inching me closer to pleasure. I wanted to slip my panties aside and climb on top of him, force him to feel me, but I told myself to be patient. I savored his taste and drank it in, moistening his skin so that I may become part of him.

"You're doing so good." Rafe said, his voice nectar sweet, though his movements were becoming rugged. "So good for such a pretty little slut." My brain shot a jolt of pleasure down my spine. "Do you want a treat for being such a good girl?" He asked, and I nodded with his cock still in my mouth.

Rafe arched into the air, thrusting himself out of me and reached into his pockets, which were now at his ankles. He pulled out a white baggie and his keys, then laid himself back down onto the bed comfortably.

I began to get up to move, but he commanded, "Stay the fuck where you are." I was paralyzed.

Using his key, Rafe scooped a bit of the coke from the bag and piled three perfectly neat lines onto his stomach, right above his cock. He told me to sit at the edge of the bed, in between his legs. I did, awaiting his next order.

White lines, pretty baby, tattoos Don't know what they mean, they're special, just for you White lines, baking powder on the stove Cooking up a dream, turning diamonds into snow

"Every time you can take my cock down that pretty little throat of yours," Rafe told me, grabbing the back of my hair, "you can have a bump. Understood?" I nodded, wordlessly.

I'd done cocaine enough times in my life to know what it felt like, but it felt like I finally knew what cocaine felt like. I worked for all three bumps, not truly caring if I would take them or not, but wanting nothing more than to press my nose up against his stomach and make him proud.

Within a few seconds, I couldn't feel my front teeth; I figured this must have been some decent quality stuff. With each bump, I celebrated by taking his cock deeper inside me. Rafe was diamond-hard now, and that made my pussy throb and drip. I was so wet that I knew you'd be able to see the glint of my juices through my panties.

"Please.” I croaked, looking up at him. An outsider might've thought I was in trouble, or begging for help. My mouth was red and chapped, my pupils dilated, my hair knotted. However, I was begging him for more. I was begging for him.

"Say it.” Rafe said intensely, roughly grabbing my head to force me to look him in the eyes. I couldn't.

"Please, Rafe.” I whispered, lowly.

"Use your fucking words, Y/N." He growled, his patience running thinly.

I licked my lips. “I want you."

"You want me?" Rafe asked, tightening his grip on my hair and bringing me closer to his lips. "Or you want this cock?"

The fire rose once again. Hesitant, I touched his cheek with my fingers, lightly grazing his jawline. I didn't dare kiss him, but I tilted my head as I examined his eyes.

"I want all of you." I responded, honestly. The cocaine had made its way into deep inside my brain.

"Well then, enjoy." Rafe said, fluidly and effectively, moving my panties aside with his stiffened cock and sloping inside of me.

The fire had relocated, and I nearly screamed at the pleasure. It was just as I imagined, as Rafe unfurled my insides, causing my walls to expand. I bit down on his chest to keep myself from shrieking. I could feel him tightening even further, as his cock prepared to burst into me. I knew it was coming, and I wanted nothing more than for that moment to happen.

I feel you, pretty baby, feel me Turn it up hot, loving you is free I like it down, like it down, way low But you already know that, you already know

I inched my lips closer to his face, still refusing to touch his, and guided my pussy's walls to flow in the same tempo as his thrusts. Finally, when he could no longer handle it, Rafe grabbed my shoulders and pressed me down on him securely and grunted outwardly while filling me up with his white, hot cum.

"Fuck, Y/N." Rafe drew the word out as his soul returned to his body, and both of us returned to our state of life.

I peaked at him from behind my tangled hair, but his eyes were closed as he laid back onto the bed. Although Rafe didn't say anything, I knew it was time for me to leave. I slipped my panties back in place and stepped out of the bedroom, leaving him to his space.

The party seemed quieter, though it was still packed. I made my way over to the kitchen to get a drink, hoping to regain a sense of normalcy. How many hours had passed? Two, three, eight? I hadn't the slightest idea, but I needed to grind myself back into reality.

-

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