#sometimes he crouchs down so humans have an easier time to talk to him eye to eye

[tinyghost0]

Height and size between humans and the Titanous humanoid forms they take are drastically different.

Monarch had to write much note taking comparing the Titanous both forms, documenting everything in case of emergencies if they had to treat them for injuries or other medical needs in their human-ish forms and, if possible, their Titanous forms.

Godzilla was not happy with that idea at first, after all not all humans are exactly thrilled with them to say the least since the last few battles and not to mention there was going to be certain groups that wouldn’t hesitate experiment on them in their humanoid forms if given the chance. Mothra had to step in to help her King understand that, while there were cons on that idea, Monarch and its people wouldn’t let that happen and would help them in the long run.

Godzilla didn’t trust it but he did trust Ishiro, so if Ishiro was in charge of that, or trusts the people that would be working on it, he’ll allow it. Ishiro was deeply honored that Godzilla trusted him that much. Poor guy nearly cried too.

[luci-is-a-bitch-x3x]

Obey Me! Brothers react to: Mc turning into their sheep form to comfort the brother when he's upset.

Lucifer's, Mammon's, Leviathan's, Satan's, Asmodeus's, Beelzebub's (you are here), & Belphegor's reactions.

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Welcome! to another part of this adventure! The characters may not be how you imagine! I apologize for any poor jokes, bad spelling, and terrible grammar. Without further ado, please enjoy the content. ♡

This may contain spoilers idk the lesson tbh.

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Beelzebub's reaction:

Beel cries occasionally, I dont think he cries to often but he does cry. Beel may cry if he ends up to hungry, like while he's rampaging around and destroying stuff he's got tears falling down his face or something. Beel may even cry if the food is just so good, but this doesn't happen often. Beel mostly cries over family matters, like Lillith. He may cry if like fighting in between the brothers gets to bad, but I dont really see that happening often. Beel mostly cries when he has nightmares over Lillith's death, or if hes just thinking of Lillith.

The first time Mc finds Beel crying, Mc doesn't actually find him, Beel finds Mc. Mc has been staying in Beel's room, since Beel had accidently broke the kitchen wall, making it to where Mc's room couldn't be slept in. Mc and Beel get along well so it really hadn't been a problem so far, Mc slept in Beel's bed and Beel slept on a couch. (If i remember correctly) mc had been sound asleep until they were shaken awake by someone, they open their eyes to find Beel crouched by their bed crying. Beel gets straight to the point- "...sorry for waking you Mc..I had a nightmare..will you stay up with me for a little while..?" Honestly only a heart of stone could deny this sad puppy boy. So Mc sits up just to realize they are in their sheep form? Sheep Mc sighs realizing they must have turned into a sheep while sleeping due to feeling so safe and comfortable. Sheep Mc considers turning back to normal but when Beel gently scoops them into his arms, Sheep Mc decides to stay as a sheep for him, since he doesn't seem to mind. Beel sits down on his bed with Sheep Mc in his lap, holding them as one would hold a stuffed animal or pet.

Sheep Mc just has to be there to comfort him really, Beel just wants to cuddle and pet Mc until he calms down. He may talk to Mc about his nightmare, explaining bits and pieces without going into to much detail, he doesn't want to relive the nightmare he just had, but he does cry and help Mc understand what the nightmare was about. Beel will pet Mc until his tears stop falling as fast, and then he may just sit there holding Sheep Mc in his lap. Beel probably unintentionally rocks himself in attempts to calm down as well. Once Beel starts calming down he'll thank Mc for comforting him, he may be a little shy about it but I don't see him being as embarressed as some of his brothers are when Sheep Mc comforts them. Sheep Mc will know that Beel is fully calm and back to normal once his belly growls for food. That means Beel's mindset is back on track and his body is back to being constantly hungry as it should be.

Beel has nothing against Sheep Mc but I feel like he likes human Mc's comfort just a bit more sometimes. I think Beel feels uneasy around Sheep Mc, their so small and fragile he's scared he'll crush or break them on accident, he's a strong boy who barely knows his own strength. Beel also probably worries that he'll try and eat Sheep Mc, I mean its much easier to not eat a human than it is to not eat a sheep. That being said Beel is not against Sheep Mc, he does enjoy his time with the adorable sheep, when he knows he wont do anything to hurt them. He usually lets Mc choose which form they'll be in, its not their fault he has problems with restraint when it comes to food. It doesn't matter whether Mc stays in Sheep form or not, Beel will bring them to the kitchen with him for a midnight snack. If Mc is still a sheep he carries them on his shoulders, he'll carry human Mc on his shoulders as well if they let him. Once the two get to the kitchen Beel practically takes every inch of food before they venture back to his room. The two eat the pile of food, well Beel eats most of it, and then the two get back into bed. Beel will sleep in the same bed as Mc if Mc tells him he can, if not Beel will venture back to where he had been sleeping or if he's still feeling a little uneasy he'll sleep on the floor next to Mc for comfort like a dog would.

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Thats all for now babes! Hope you enjoyed!! ♡ This is not proofread. Feel free to comment or reblog any thoughts or any add ons you have! I have more content coming soon so Stay Tuned! Stay Safe! & Stay Groovy Scooby!

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

⟡˙⋆Masterlist⋆˙⟡

[loser-jpg]

being sad somehow makes me write damn good shit, so heres even more hurt/comfort LeoDee. I need to write these two happy sometime. (this takes place before 'bad day' and early on in their relationship)

Leona wasn't sure what to do.

Here he was, the boy he was supposed to be able to protect and take care of in front of him, yet said boy was crying.

He'd seen Dee cry before, but not like this. He'd see him tear up at an injury, and had seen his eyes get watery on certain occasions. But right now the Ramshackle prefect was sitting on the ground of his dorm, sobbing uncontrollably.

Grim was curled up in his lap, somehow able to do more to comfort him than Leona, despite also seemingly frozen in shock. 


It was previously a normal day, save for Dee not appearing at Savanaclaw after classes like he usually did. Typically Leona wouldn't have bothered, but something felt off, especially since Dee had given no heads up about not visiting. So Leona decided for once he'd visit Dee himself. Which led to the current situation.

After a moment of useless standing, finally Leona moved, crouching down beside his lover, softly grabbing the sides of his face, though there was hesitation behind his actions.

"What is it, whats wrong?" Leona's voice came off more concerned than intended. He aimed for comforting, but a bit of panic still seeped it's way into his words.

Dee let out a choked sound, lifting his arm to his face to attempt to wipe the teary mess temporarily. He sounded sick when he spoke, "You ever been in a situation where you really need to cry, and have every reason to cry, but you can't because if you do then people ask what's wrong and when you're inevitably forced to tell those people you know they'll just make things worse-"

Leona wasn't sure where Dee was going with this, but he supposed getting him to talk was better than nothing.

"So then you keep not being able to cry even though you keep needing to cry until you finally are in a situation where you can cry, even though you don't need to?" Dee's voice had become more stable as he talked, but as he neared the end of his sentence Leona could hear him getting choked up again.

Leona could figure out the rest on his own from there, "And that's what this is? You're just crying about old stuff since you weren't able to before?" Leona almost chuckled, it seemed silly, but also made sense. He was able to calm down, at the least, knowing there was no immediate issue.

Dee nodded, laughing through his tears, which made Leona laugh lightly too. Grim was however, not so amused.

"Mrah! That's all this was?! Stupid hench-human you had me think something was wrong!" Despite his words the cat kept himself firmly planted in Dee's lap, opting to pretend to be less concerned than he truly was.

"Aww you cared about me~" Dee sniffed again, his tears slowing down, "you pretend you didn't but you care~"

"Alright whether the furball cares or not it's time for him to leave." Grim yelled in protest and Dee gave Leona a deadpan look as he picked the little monster up and removed him from Dee's lap, pulling the man towards him as he sat down.

"Wow. Rude."

"I see you making no efforts to keep him." Leona was right, of course. Dee fully allowed Leona to pull him away from Grim, and Grim seemed to get the message, as he was already on his way out of the door to Dee's room. Leaving Dee and Leona sitting on the floor in front of Dee's bed.

The two of them stayed silent a moment, both seemingly unsure of what to say. "You...sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I am, thanks."

"Alright, that's all I need to know." Leona pulled Dee closer, resting his forehead on Dee's shoulder from behind. "...though if you need me to do anything for you..."

Dee snickered a little, and it comforted Leona to see him bounce back so quick, "I mean it Leona, I'm fine."

"I can still do stuff for you even if you're fine. Though I have to admit it'd probably be easier to get me to do anything if it was because you weren't fine."

"Snrk- To be expected from you, huh?"

"Mhm." Leona hummed into Dee's shoulder, the last of his concern leaving, now replaced with slight discomfort at sitting on the old wood floor rather than the only slightly softer bed right behind them.

"...crying made me tired."

"Your eyes are all red now."

"I know, I can feel it."

"You can feel that they're red?"

"I can feel that they're puffy, dummy. You know for someone so smart you say some silly things."

"Oh yes, out of the two of us I'm the one who says silly things."

"Yeah well you're the smart one and I'm the silly one, so leave saying silly things to me."

Leona chuckled, before finally growing uncomfortable enough to move the two of them to Dee's bed. Leona had planned to wait until Dee fell asleep, but surprisingly enough he was extremely truthful about being tired, and fell asleep within a minute. Though Leona decided to wait a bit before going to sleep anyway. Just to watch him for a bit.

[sab3rto0thed]

when i was thirteen, my close friend at the time said that death, to him, was like an empty seat. a classroom of bobbleheads, a rainy day, and an object that was misplaced. too many chairs. not enough students.

i did not like him very much after that. it wasn't because of the comment. he was often callous and self-involved, as many thirteen-year-olds are. actually, at eighteen, i am probably much more callous and self-involved than he could have ever hoped to be. he is a college boy now, star theatre student. there was never an empty seat of his.

the same could not be said for me.

i struggled with school. i struggled with most things, actually. being kind. being patient. being believed. this would be a recurring theme throughout my high school years.

when i was much younger than thirteen, i remember sitting in the back of my mother's car. she and my little brother were talking about something or other; the details were not important. the day was rainy and gray. i had a princess-themed toy in my hand, its coloring pastel blue.

dread melted along my skull and trickled down my back like warm water, because i had realized that i was going to die.

death was also an important recurring theme throughout my high school years. when i was sixteen, i would stumble out of class as if i was drunk. if i sat still too long with the same four walls looking at me, they would start to crumble. the floor would fall and i would end up upside-down in the counselor's office. i hated the way they would look at me, with a cocktail of disappointment and pity in their eyes.

one day, i pounded down the dirt road that led to my school, my backpack draping awkwardly over my shoulders. dust flew up in my path. i ended up at the animal shelter, crouched outside of a cage with my knees to my chest. the cat inside of the cage mirrored my position, its eyes as wide as the moon.

when i was younger, i would write about superheroes. the S girl, who wore everything bright pink and sparkly. she was me. when i was thirteen, i climbed the ropes outside of the middle school in the early morning frost in my super girl costume.

the best teacher i'd ever had suggested a few days ago that i should write about a teacher that was also a superhero. i was far past that.

my dog died a few months ago. before her and even while we had her, i was not very fond of dogs. the day we put her down, i knelt on the carpet next to her and took her paw in my hand. it was a very human experience, the act of dying.

she turned her eyes on me. for the last few months of her life, i was the closest person to her. i took her out at night and always made sure her water dish was clean. she would take the leash from me and hold it in her mouth, and she would always cling to my side.

i didn't like dogs, but i liked her. we were the same sort of creature. our lows were very low.

during high school, i had produced a lot of empty seats. i hadn't thought i would make it past sixteen; and in a way, i hadn't. i am still half-convinced that i was mostly decaying for that entire year, walking around with an anchor hooked in my bones.

i am eighteen. i graduated high school. for a month, i felt like i was high on that fact. now, the reality of it tastes like metal. sometimes i don't know if i am ever enough.

my lows are still very low, but then my highs are steady. my best friend went to college two months ago, but she visited last weekend. we sat in her bed and while she dozed off, i laid there next to her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. it had become easier for me to live and not think so much about dying. that in itself was worth a thousand graduations.

the best teacher i'd ever had suggested i write about a teacher that was also a superhero. i didn't need to do that. i didn't believe in the whole fancy-suits-and-climbing-ropes thing anymore. actually, to me, a hero had been my junior year english teacher, who had noticed every time my seat was empty. if he was no one else's hero, he had been my first one.

i was eighteen. if i wanted to drive two hundred miles to see the boy i liked, i could do that. and i did not need to live in empty rooms anymore.

suicide had been my most intimate relationship for a long time. moving on gave me growing pains, but most things did.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, OCs, mild drowning/hypothermia, violence, one instance of self-inflicted injury, attempted self sacrifice, cliffhanger

-

Virgil laid low for a while after his encounter with Roman, avoiding towns and taking winding paths far from the main roads. Every passing moment, he half-expected a maniac with a sword to descend upon him out of nowhere.

Isolating himself probably made him seem more suspicious, an easier target, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught in a crowd. Demon slayers were an odd bunch, rumored to have supernatural senses to counter a demon’s, and the last thing he needed was to be outed in front of everyone.

The rumors about the ‘Hooded Demon Slayer’ had shown him that gossip spread in unpredictable ways, and he didn’t want to have that unpredictability turned against him.

So, yeah, no towns.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t accounted for the people living out in more rural spaces, the way his own family had once.

And now he was here, in a silent standoff at the shore of a frozen lake with a stranger who was staring at him with far too much alarm for his liking.

He held up a hand in an awkward wave. The stranger threw a handful of salt at him, made a sign to ward off evil, and then twisted on their heel and bolted.

Virgil blew some salt out of his fringe, nonplussed, but didn’t move after them.

Either they’d noticed his eyes reflecting eerily the way they sometimes did when light caught on them, or they really hated social interactions. Regardless, who was Virgil to stop their frantic flee to safety?

There was an ominous cracking sound from the direction they’d just run off in.

That could be anything, Virgil told himself stalwartly.

As if in retribution for the thought, there was a splash, as though perhaps something approximately human-sized had been abruptly plunged into the waters of an icy lake.

Virgil was sighing even as he hurried onto the ice after them.

Sure enough, the stranger was scrabbling at the edge of the brand-new hole they’d made, eyes wide and breath coming in tiny little gasps as they clawed at the ice.

He stepped closer testingly, and the ice pinged in warning, hairline fractures spreading under his feet. The stranger let out a half-sob, probably thinking that an evil demon was taunting them or something.

Virgil pulled off his cloak, brushing his fingers over the clumsy stitching of the patch closest to the neckline for good luck. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to patch it up further after this.

His ears catching every minute noise the ice made, he leaned forward as far as he could and tossed one end of the cloak in front of the stranger’s grasping hands.

They latched on with surprising speed, maybe due to cold shock, and Virgil tugged them up.

The ice in front of them broke the moment their weight was leaning on it, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Didn’t this person know anything about escaping thin ice?

He struggled to speak, and only growled, the noise low and half-choked. Somewhere between his mind and his mouth, the words became tangled and refused to form. He would guess that horrific man-eating monsters didn’t deserve to talk, but he’d witnessed other demons chattering away, so maybe it was just something in his brain that had been scrambled. Figured.

Giving up on words, he instead slowly lowered himself until he was flat on his stomach, now eye level with the stranger. He forced his hand into a flat shape and laid it on the ice several times, hoping that they would catch on.

Gradually, they did, though they looked as though they could hardly believe they were listening. They stretched their arms out and kicked their back legs in the water until they were as level as possible, though their movements were growing more sluggish.

Virgil reeled the cloak towards him, providing the leverage needed to help them propel themselves onto flat, unbroken ice. He relaxed slightly in relief.

They immediately tried to get to their knees, prompting a creak from the ice beneath them, and Virgil snarled so viciously that they went right back down like their limbs had given out, terrified eyes locked on him.

That was one way to tell them not to stand, he supposed.

As quickly as he could, he shuffled back to solid ice, towing the stranger along with him over the smooth icy expanse. Once the ice beneath them was solid against even a few elbow jabs, he rose to his feet and gestured for them to do the same.

Apparently being dunked in life-threatening waters had taken the fight out of them, because they followed without protest, trembling from the cold or fear or both. They were still clutching tightly to the cloak, so Virgil used it to lead them along the ice until they reached solid ground again, mindful of their slow, stumbling pace.

All told, they hadn’t been in the water very long, perhaps under a minute or two. Still, Virgil knew better than to leave them to their own devices. One didn’t grow up on an icy mountain range without knowing what the cold could do to people.

He sniffed the air, the dip in water thankfully muting the scent beside him, and easily caught the trail that the human must have taken. Hopefully, it would lead to an actual building as opposed to some campsite in the woods.

The stranger seemed to be about Thomas’s age, though they currently looked more like a drowned mouse than anything else, and Virgil had been able to lift Thomas up into a fireman’s carry even before he’d gotten the supernatural strength of a demon, so he had no problem scooping them up and beginning to run.

They kicked and flailed for a short moment before seeming to just… give up, letting their limbs go limp and heavy, their only movement the full-body shivering that was still tearing through them.

Shivering was good, Virgil reminded himself, shivering meant they weren’t at lethally dangerous levels of cold or shock yet. He should feel reassured about that, but he couldn’t ignore the terror that was practically coming off the stranger in waves.

He couldn't shake away the memories of carrying a younger Thomas around in the same hold, either. The gleeful shrieks of his kid brother being toted around overlapped with the taut, tremulous silence of this stranger, painful nostalgia twisting in his chest.

Once again, the world proved that he was right to have left Thomas. Even the idea of his little brother like this-- drenched and resigned and terrified of him-- was enough to make his stomach roll. He didn’t want to imagine how bad it would feel to face it in reality.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek and kept moving, hoping that shelter was nearby.

-

The upside was that Virgil had found a small house, saturated thickly enough with the stranger’s scent that it had to be their home.

The downside was that there was someone in there.

The other downside was that as soon as he got within sight of the little home, the drowned-kitten stranger found a reserve of energy apparently dedicated to trying to smack the shit out of him.

He grunted in annoyance as another swing thwapped against the back of his head, their other hand frantically attempting to grab at his ears and throat with surprising vehemence. It was about as effective in actually harming him as a kitten’s pounce, but he tilted his head away anyways before they could get too close to one of his eyes. Sure, his eye would probably heal from any damage human hands could inflict, but superhuman regeneration didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it.

Calm down, he tried to project, but the few throaty chirrups that curled out of him weren’t exactly reassuring to a human.

They continued to struggle, not subsiding even when Virgil’s annoyance turned to literal growling, and he eventually just gave in and crouched to shift them off his shoulders.

Rather than try to struggle to their feet and bolt for the door, they plunged a hand into a pocket and came out with-- Virgil’s irritated rumble spiked up into an alarmed snarl, but he was too late to keep them from putting the carved whistle to their lips and blowing hard.

The piercing noise was enough to make him shift back, and two heartbeats later, the door of the cabin slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a new stranger.

Next to him, Drowned-Kitten was making a motion with their hands over and over, but the new person barely even glanced at them before running directly at Virgil, pulling a knife from a sheath with vicious intent.

The dagger’s blade practically glowed, even in the dark of the night, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up the moment it got in range. He jumped backwards, but Stab-Happy just kept coming, matching his ‘back-off’ growl with a shattered human snarl of her own.

Slayer-knife or not, this human didn’t have nearly half the trained grace he’d witnessed from Roman, and so he was able to trip her up and grab her wrist mid-strike, ignoring the way being so close to the blade made his skin crawl.

He twisted, forcing her to drop the knife, and the moment it hit the ground, he dragged her back toward the open doorway, ignoring her vicious swearing as she struggled to break away.

Drowned-Kitten made a choked-off sound but was barely able to move, let alone stand and stop him.

The interior of the cabin provided what he needed, and he yanked a blanket from the mat on the floor and shoved Stabby into a chair, swiftly wrapping the blanket around her until she could only snap her teeth and kick her legs, the rest of her swaddled against the chair back.

“Get back here!” she screamed when he turned back to the door, the anger in her voice cracking into something close to fear.

Drowned-Kitten had crawled a few paces from where he’d left them, and they’d grabbed the fallen blade. Virgil grimaced as they pointed it at him with trembling hands, looking frantic enough that they seemed more likely to injure themself with the jittering knife than him.

He couldn’t tell exactly in the dark, but it seemed like their hands were turning the shiny red that heralded frostbite. They needed treatment. Why did people have to make everything so damned difficult?

A moment passed in this silent standoff, Stabby’s angry shouts still going strong, and Drowned-Kitten’s gaze strayed past Virgil to the doorway before their gaze went firm and hard.

They tightened their hand on the knife hilt-- and ran it clumsily over their other palm, opening a thin red line.

Virgil was there in the next instant, wrenching the knife away before they could try again for a less shallow injury. They shuddered but didn’t recoil, tucking their face away like they didn’t want to see what happened next.

The smell of blood turned thick and cloying in the air, and Virgil swallowed the sudden welling of saliva in his mouth with no little irritation.

Snarling, he grabbed the back of their shirt with his other hand and yanked, using the shirt as a makeshift scruff and stomping back inside. He dropped them on the mat, pulling the satchel he’d restocked at the last town from his back.

“Don’t you dare touch them, you monster!” Stabby yelled indignantly, and Virgil ignored her entirely to press a pad of gauze against the cut and breathe very carefully through his mouth.

Drowned-Kitten watched him wind thin cloth bandages around the gauze with wide eyes, like they weren’t quite sure this was real. More of those hand motions-- signs?-- and even Stabby grew quiet, thankfully for the headache beginning to pulse behind Virgil’s eyes.

The two of them were eerily silent as they watched him poke around their cozy little home with bated breath, dragging any extra cloth he could find to drape over the one who’d fallen into freezing waters and stoking the fire stove until warmth suffused the room.

Drowned-Kitten’s breathing turned strained almost immediately, the increasing temperature likely feeling much too hot on their skin, but they grit their teeth through it and didn’t try to shed any of the blankets after Virgil just insistently pressed them back on.

He crouched in front of them and held his hands up, moving his fingers through the slow stretches that would help ease the near-frostnip that had blistered Drowned-Kitten’s fingertips red. This, at least, was something he was familiar with, having done it frequently for passing travelers back when he apprenticed under the town’s doctor.

Back then, he’d mostly helped neighbors with colds or bruises and ran delivery errands, rarely seeing the doctor perform actual large-scale treatments. How was it that he was only getting more experience with medicine out in the field after becoming a demon?

Seriously. He was pretty sure that having a monster tending to them was freaking people out.

Case in point, the silent, secretive conversation that the two teens behind him were trying to have, made slightly less discreet by Stabby’s occasional hissed answer. He added a bit more charcoal to the stove, and rose from his squatted position to stare at the two of them, feeling fairly satisfied at the way Drowned-Kitten no longer looked as though they’d been dunked in freezing waters.

It had been an annoying detour, but at least he could say that he hadn’t yet managed to drive someone to death-by-lake just by walking past them.

Dawn would come soon. He unraveled the knotting keeping Stabby in the chair and ducked through the door back into the cold night air before she could fully untangle herself.

He took the knife with him.

-

Naturally, because the fates weren’t fond of him, the pair found him curled up in a cave the next day.

Drowned-Kitten-- or Harley, as Virgil would learn-- could smell demons, and had followed his trail, DW-- also known as Stabby-- right behind them. He hadn’t bothered to hide his scent trail because he hadn’t caught wind of another demon for miles, and foolishly assumed that he was safe. Which had led to him being cornered and interrogated by two teenagers.

Yeah, he’d been less than pleased.

Still, he could snarl and snap until they stepped out of his cave, but he couldn’t exactly get away with the sunlight bright overhead. So, he grumpily conceded to the questioning.

Surprisingly enough, they seemed to believe him when he shook his head ‘no’ to ‘are you going to eat people’. They hadn’t outright expressed doubts, at least. It was kind of concerning that they took his word for it.

DW had demanded the knife back, at least. Smart kid.

He’d attempted to shoo them off afterwards, but Harley had been very insistent on ‘repaying their debt’, wary in the way that meant someone had given them kindness before, but with strings attached. DW had eyed him with more blatant suspicion.

They didn’t owe him anything. Debts, deals, returned favors... Those were for people, not monsters. Virgil had dragged a hand over his face and wished he could say as much.

And then he’d paused.

He’d jabbed a clawed finger at the little hand signs that Harley made, the ones DW had been translating the entire time, and tried to mimic them sloppily until the two cottoned on to what he was asking.

Lessons in hand-speech.

Maybe there was still a way for him to speak after all.

-

From there, they settled into routine.

Virgil spent his days in the shadiest corner of their little house at the urging of Harley’s puppy-dog eyes, and at night, after their daily work was done, he would slink out under DW’s wary gaze and learn how to angle his hands into the proper shapes and flick small motions full of meaning in the right directions.

He picked up on the structure of the language surprisingly fast. Harley was a patient teacher, and DW was always willing to provide extra details on where Virgil had gone wrong.

He’d half expected them to usher him out the door once he’d had the basics down, but the season began to turn and still, they allowed his presence. The blatant trust was enough to make him worry, though any attempts to convince them to be more careful around demons earned him a confused look from Harley and a derisive snort from DW.

Hopefully, Thomas wasn’t being so reckless.

Since he was staying, he insisted on carrying their heavier goods down to the market in the nearby town, heading out with them in the early-morning dark and making sure they didn’t fall into any more lakes on the way there. He spent those market days waiting in a dark spot, his nerves frayed, until evening fell and he could meet them at their agreed rendezvous point.

As he adjusted to the sudden presences around him after so long traveling alone, the two adjusted to him as well. He hadn’t realized just how many noises he made aloud in substitute for his thoughts until Harley showed him all the signs for different emotions, and matched each of them with a soft imitation of Virgil’s growl, or huff, or even, embarrassingly, that cat-like purr that got started when he was particularly pleased. DW had laughed hard enough to make her side cramp up.

He could admit it. It was… nice. To not be feared. To have people to look after again.

Naturally, though, his occasional presence at their side couldn’t go unnoticed forever, and once one person knew, practically the whole town was guaranteed to hear about it. If Virgil had been paying better attention to anything but the two teens under his protection, he could have had advance warning.

But he hadn’t, and so he wasn’t ready when a polite knock came at the door, unusual considering how remote their little home was. He wasn’t ready for the sudden foreboding that washed over him as the three of them exchanged glances.

He wasn’t ready when DW opened the door to the sight of a smiling stranger with a sun-bright sword at his hip.

[citrinesparkles]

cat.

jason todd, eventually x gender neutral reader. 1,388 words. notes: this is part one of i don't even know how many and i cannot believe how wildly out of hand this got. this was a 500 word idea and it's gonna be at least three parts someone help (thanks to @angelz-dust for being so patient with me and encouraging on this!!! would never have made it out of the drafts without you <3) warnings: danger to kids, mention of a couple arguing, animal illness (spoiler alert: it'll be fine i Promise), a little (lot) different than my usual edit: part two here!

"let me be perfectly clear: if you even think about showing back up here, i will know, and i will make your life a living hell until i finally put you out of your misery. understood?"

"yes! yeah man i get it. understood."

"then i'd get going, if i were you." the man scrambled to his feet and bolted off across the playground, leaving jason to shout after him. "and warn any buddies you might have, too!"

he picked up the discarded knife and pocketed it. he then turned around slowly, hands visibly empty in a careful attempt not to scare the two kids behind him- well, careful not to make it worse, anyway. they, understandably, seemed a little shaken already.

"are you both alright?" he asked softly, slouching just a little to seem as harmless as possible.

probably would have been easier if they hadn't just watched him threaten someone.

the older kid- probably fifteen, if jason had to place a bet- nodded silently before glancing back at the little girl he was still hovering in front of protectively, who was just... staring.

she couldn't have been older than six.

"jazz?" the boy asked, voice tight. "are you hurt?"

he was ignored. "are you superman?"

the question, innocent and earnest and a little timid, made jason laugh. "not quite, kiddo."

she tilted her head like a curious puppy, furrowing her brow. "why are you wearing a jacket?"

jason glanced up at the boy, who seemed comforted by her mini interrogation. good.

talking was a good sign, too, so jason crouched down to meet her at eye level.

"because it gets cold out here!" he said, raising his hands up with a small wiggle of his fingers. "gloves, too."

"well, duh," jazz said with a giggle- a win, jason thought. "no fingerprints."

he nodded. "also helpful."

"and the hat to hide your face!" she said proudly, stepping forward a little to point at his helmet.

"wow, you've got the whole thing figured out, huh?"

"mhm! my friend ricky loves batman and his friends. he talks about batman and nightwing and spoiler and robin and red robin and red hood and batgirl all the time! they hide their faces like you, ricky thinks it's because of bad guys."

"they're kinda cool, huh?"

"nightwing's my favorite," she said firmly, as though it was something she had considered at great length and was fully prepared to defend.

"not red hood?" jason smacked a hand to his chest in mock hurt, shifting back dramatically. "i'm crushed, truly."

"no, ricky says red hood used to be an alien, but then got bored and now he annoys batman for fun instead. that sounds mean."

...well, okay, maybe he did annoy the big guy for fun a little. "that's an interesting theory, all right."

"ricky's got all kinds of theories. he thinks batman's a robot-" jason snorted- "and that nightwing was like pinochle."

"you mean pinocchio," the boy corrected quietly. "pinochle's what gramma plays."

"pinocchio!" she exlaimed, with a "ch" sound in the middle that made jason smile. "a doll that got turned human. that's how he does all the flips and stuff, he's got magic."

"hm, ricky seems like an interesting guy," jason said thoughtfully, making a big show of rubbing the chin of his helmet. "what do y-"

he was cut off by a loud, insistent meow, and jazz gasping even louder before taking off to the bushes.

"w- hey, don't rush off like that!" he said, shooting up off the ground as the boy sighed.

"there's this cat that she's been taking care of," he explained quietly. "the thing's got attitude for days but i think it's sick or something. jasmine's been bringing it little bits of tuna and chicken, but it's not like we can get it to a vet."

jason hummed. "why do you think it's sick?"

"it's thin, with its eyes all watery and sunk."

"might just be malnourished," he muttered.

"she's been trying to find it a home, y'know."

there was a wink-wink-nudge-nudge quality to the kid's voice that did not go unnoticed.

on one hand, it was good to hear something other than fear from him, but on the other... "what part of the tactical armor makes you think i'm an option?"

"the part where you just stuck around to check on us instead of running after that guy."

okay. maybe the quiet thing hadn't been so bad. the cocky 'amateur psychologist' thing was a little grating.

"you the real red hood?" the kid asked suddenly, shaking jason from his internal grumbling.

"what do you think?"

"i think you just saved our lives, and i wanna know who i'm thanking."

jason turned to him with a flourish. "red hood, baby saver extraordinaire. at your service."

"baby- dude, i'm seventeen!"

okay, so he would have lost his bet. "noted. still a baby, trust me."

"what are you under there, twenty something? whatever, grandpa."

jason chuckled, turning back to watch jasmine pet a small cat under one of the yellow lights littering the park. "you did well, looking out for her with that guy. you got a name?"

he scoffed. "would've been better if i'd kicked him between the legs right when he opened his mouth, instead of letting him get started on the whole 'what're you kids doing out so late?' bit," he muttered darkly, pausing for a moment before answering. "my name's jordan."

"well, jordan, what are you guys doing out so late?"

"mom works nights, and the neighbors were fighting. it was loud enough to wake jazz up, and it wasn't the kind of thing she needed to hear. i figured a trip to see her cat would be less awful than hearing them call each other things i wouldn't even call my friends." the breeze picked up, rustling the trees and catching on jason's jacket. "and then the asshole with the knife decided to make a bad night worse."

"is jazz your sister?"

"yeah, she's a good kid," jordan said, fond and warm. "sorry about the whole ricky thing, though. he's obsessed with those vigilante conspiracy videos and tells her all about them at school."

"no, no, it's fine. i can't wait to tell wing about his new origin story, he'll love that."

jasmine suddenly came bounding back towards them, grabbing their hands and yanking them to follow her. "c'mon, you need to meet cat!"

"you call it cat?"

jordan bristled subtly. "is there a problem with that, red?"

"no, no, it's an appropriate name. just making sure." jason waved his spare hand at his head. "helmet makes me hear things sometimes."

jordan opened his mouth, but his sister plowed right over whatever he was going to say, pulling on jason's hand again. "cat, meet... what's your name?"

"red hood."

"you can't be red hood!" she whirled around, indignantly putting her hands on her hips. "there's already a red hood in gotham. besides, you're not even wearing a hood, so it doesn't fit anyway."

jason turned his head to jordan, who was smiling- a good sign, but probably a bad omen for whatever he was about to say. "she's right, man. it's not a hood."

"tough crowd," jason muttered. "uh... then you can call me, uh-"

"bucket!" jasmine suggested happily, tapping his helmet. "because this looks like a bucket."

if there was one thing vigilantism had taught him, it was that sometimes you actually do need to pick your battles. this...

this was not worth fighting.

"sure, fine, whatever. hi, cat, i'm red bucket." he turned away from the kids- both of whom looked entirely too happy about the whole 'bucket' thing, he thought- and crouched down to finally look at the cat.

it did look a little sick, actually.

it was gray, and thin, and-

and now it was headbutting his knee like it was trying to push him over.

"cat likes you!" jazz cheered.

"sure does," jordan said pointedly. "isn't that interesting?"

jason opened his mouth, but his snarky comment died in his throat when the cat settled down right in front of him and blinked slowly up at him with a sweet tilt to its head.

...shit.

just- shit.

he sighed, standing up and looking back to jordan and his stupid, entirely-too-pleased-with-himself grin. "so, jazz," jason grumbled reluctantly, "where does cat live?"

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Would you, possibly after finishing chapter two, or whenever you feel like it if you do, write something with Aziraphale invisibly following Crowley around, watching him work? (Maybe making sure any scratches do not get infected, falls are less hard than maybe they should be and such. A suspicious amount of large white feathers on the ground, Crowley thinks, but he's a plant guy so he's not too sure. Maybe they've got swans now. Do swans live in the mountains?)

Sure, sounds like a fun time for Aziraphale, and weird time for Crowley!

On with the fic!

--

Tourist season has started, and Aziraphale decided it was his duty to keep an eye on the park staff. Well. At least one staff member. The redheaded one, who had stayed at his cabin over a week ago.

Aziraphale rested on the roof of the center, watching as Crowley was speaking to another staff member. Anathema, if Aziraphale remembered correctly, she had been working here for two years now, lovely girl, bit odd. He sometimes wondered if she knew what he was.

Impossible, really, but... she would give him the oddest looks, as if she were reading him.

He watched as Crowley waved goodbye to her and headed off to a work vehicle parked nearby, throwing a box into it before getting in. Right, work time!

Aziraphale slipped off the roof, invisible to all, and he scurried after the moving car. He carefully avoided humans as he went, trying to see where Crowley was off to today! Hopefully it was somewhere interesting.

Turns out it was just to the Southern Gate, where a massive lake sat. Moonlight Lake was a lovely place, sometimes Aziraphale wished it was over where his main area was, but he could visit it anytime he wanted. That worked just as well for him.

He had listened to what Crowley said his tasks were for over here, clean the restrooms. Aziraphale made a face, oh, the worst job to have...

Well, Crowley probably wouldn't mind if Aziraphale made it a little easier for him, right? He snapped his fingers, and Crowley looked up, confused. Oops, that made a sound. Might have to do waves today.

Crowley looked around, shrugged, then put in some little nubs into his ears. Ah, headphones, yes? That was the correct term? The angel watched as Crowley approached the restrooms, making a confused sound when he found that they were in a decent state, ready for a quick tidying up and restocking!

Aziraphale sat himself down on the ground, coiled up, watching as Crowley started to clean up around the area after he finished with the bathrooms. This shouldn't be interesting, watching a human pick up trash left over by other humans, but Crowley was just so fascinating.

There were no humans around, so Crowley seemed to be singing to himself as he listened to the music from his little nubs. Aziraphale didn't know what the song was, but it sounded like the singer wanted to break free from something. The angel smiled to himself as he watched Crowley dance about as he cleaned.

Well... if you want to call that dancing. Not that Aziraphale could talk, angels don't dance. It was one of the many distinguishing characteristics that marked an angel. Although, Aziraphale did take time off in the late 1880s to learn to dance the Gavotte at a discreet gentlemen's club in Portland Place.

He wondered if he could dance with Crowley at some point.

He continued to watch as Crowley danced about as he picked up garbage, until he stopped suddenly, looking down at something in the grass. Aziraphale felt his halo burn brighter, a warning, was something in the grass? A threat?

Then he saw Crowley crouch down, holding out his hand, and watched as a garter snake started to slip up his hand, around his wrist. "Hello there, you li'l beauty. Almost got picked up with the trash, ya know! Best you stay outta my way, don't want a little guy like you to get into that mess."

Aziraphale watched with wide eyes as Crowley walked over to the trees, letting the snake get off his hand. "There we go, better you're in there than out by the humans, yeah? Off you go!"

Then Crowley smiled and Aziraphale felt his halo ignite for a different reason.

"Oof, gettin' warm today." Crowley commented, fanning himself with his hat before returning to work.

--

This shift had been a rather... odd one, to put it simply.

Crowley had felt like he was being followed all day, but he wasn't sure why. Often, he was left all alone, since Hastur and Ligur rarely worked with him, and he didn't work with a lot of the other maintenance workers unless he had to. Could just be the park guests, they were everywhere.

A lot of them were causing him trouble, messes everywhere, too many stupid questions, especially about the wifi. Well, shit, Crowley didn't know what to tell you about the wifi when you're out in the forest surrounded by trees! If he had wifi here, he'd be playing on his phone more often.

Still, he had a decent enough day. The bathrooms always seemed to be in better order than expected, a lot of the empty campsites didn't seem to have left too much behind, or even had hazardous stuff laying about. And he had seen a snake! Reminded him of his cutie back at his aunt's, Apple, he hoped she was doing well.

He had also seen a black bear, who seemed to be minding his own business. Crowley should have been worried, yes, they were one of the more docile bears, but they were still a threat. Yet he didn't feel like he was in any danger, like there was something that was keeping him safe.

He didn't understand why, but he didn't question it.

As he was packing up his stuff, his shift done for the day, taking care of this areas around the lake, he stopped and noticed something near his truck.

There was a small scattering of pure white feathers. He picked one up, looking it over. It wasn't plucked, it looked like it had fallen off a bird naturally. The texture was strange, so soft and clean, if not a little ruffled, not usually how you find feathers like this, especially near a lake.

Was this from a swan? Did this lake have swans? Crowley wasn't too familiar with the wildlife yet, he knew there were books about what lived here, but he was more of a plant guy, maybe he should look into getting a book?

"Still..." He mumbled to himself, picking up a few more feathers. There were really pretty, he didn't want them to just get blown away, he kind of wanted to keep them. For what reason, he didn't know, but he was sure to figure something out.

He put them in the truck with him before driving off, ready to go back to his apartment to relax. He never noticed that he was followed, to make sure he arrived safe and sound.

--

In case you're wondering, Crowley healed up very well, miraculous how that happened, yeah? His arm's in a brace, so he has to be careful, but he's healing well. And his foot is just fine.

I considered Aziraphale helping him if he got hurt, but I think Crowley deserves a break right now from injuries, haha. For now. Lots of things could happen over the summer. :3c

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Request: Grief Always Lifts (Volturi x Reader)

You didn't expect to be sent away from the Cullen's. You were quickly chastised, never to look at it as being sent away, rather putting you in the care of someone else for your benefit. Losing a parent was never easy and it didn't need to be said that you were struggling. You went on day by day, the simple mundane things reminding you of your father and in turn, your loss. Carlisle and Esme thought it best you had a break from America. Somewhere new to really work through your emotions. The last place you thought they'd send you is to the Volturi. 

Sure, Italy was nothing like you were used to but the coven they said would care for you isn't entirely the caring type. You weren't even sure as to what made them agree to having you in their care but you had no doubt Aro probably latched onto the possibility of rekindling his friendship with Carlisle. Regardless, you agreed. A symptom of your grief that they had noticed. You weren't entirely present, agreeing to be convenient and not having a particular want for anything. Carlisle and Esme insisted that if you weren't comfortable, you didn't have to go but you left reassuring them you'd be fine. 

Marcus recognised the look in your eyes, beyond the exhaustion and blank stare your emotions were loud and clear to him. You felt so much pain that with some irony, you looked to be dead. As though the loss had killed you. However such a statement couldn't be further from the truth. You were very much alive, nearly drowning in whatever was going on in your mind. 

The three leaders welcomed you and made sure you knew the higher ranking guards names. Anyone you came across was introduced. Many matching your own blank expression take away the exhaustion that hung over you like a blanket since a few days after your fathers funeral. 

Demetri and Felix were the ones who took you to your room. You took in the room before turning to the two guards. "Thank you for all of your help." Your voice was as monotone as the minute you had arrived. Although your facial expressions were at bare minimum. You didn't blink very much and it gave off the illusion that your face was trying and very much failing to emote and keep up with your words. Demetri nodded once and the two took their leave, letting you settle in. 

"They look like they haven't slept in days." Felix said quietly. "Apparently they have been sleeping, that's just how they are currently." Demetri responded. Felix looked perplexed. "They were sent to us for a reason Felix. The Cullen's wouldn't have asked us if they weren't desperate." Demetri said. "Sure, it's just odd to see them so lifeless." Felix replied. Demetri nodded. "Seeing them like this in comparison to how we last saw them is very strange. Even the twins seemed to be caught off guard." 

"Is the room to your liking?" You looked over your shoulder to see Caius approaching you. "It's great." You responded. "Thank you so much, I don't think I've ever stayed somewhere to extravagant before." Caius cracked a smile. "We have expensive tastes here. I imagine that isn't the only thing you have noticed though." "You're right. The decor isn't exactly modern yet you still have the random TV, electricity and such. I think what I'm trying to say is that it's a perfect combination of old decor and convenient modern day technology." Caius hummed. "That is good. I can't say many of us use most of the modern equipment, although it has its uses every now and then. Such as warm water for you." It was your turn to crack a smile. It was nice they remembered the little details. "I've never had a room with a balcony. Not had one with such an amazing view either." You could see out to the ocean beyond the cliffs, the sun setting creating a cool breeze. "Yes, it is very beautiful. My wife adores the view. She doesn't see the buildings as much from the tower but she sees the sun rise and set. That's enough for her, she says." Caius said looking in the direction of the setting sun. You noticed Caius was never this talkative with anyone, never mind a human. It had gone from polite pleasantries to a conversation and you weren't sure what to make of it. "We must ask something of you, (Y/N). A few things actually." "Okay...I mean, it makes sense since you're letting me stay here." "We only ask that you do not leave your room when we are feeding. A guard will tell you when we are going to feed and when you can leave. At most you'd be in for an hour. We must also ask for your phone. You are more than free to make calls using the phone at reception but due to all of the things mobile phones can do, we must insist." You nodded. "Sure, that's reasonable." You dug into your pocket for your phone before handing it over. "Oh wait, can I turn it off first?" Caius looked down at the device in his hand. "I believe that would be best because I don't know what I'm looking at with these things." You cracked a smile, holding down the power button. "There." "Thank you." Caius nodded. 

They noticed that you slept, a lot. Sure they were told between 8-12 hours is enough but they let you sleep a little longer in case of jet lag or time differences. That was until it became apparent that these were no longer an issue. It couldn't have been healthy.  It was no surprise to anyone when Demetri and the twins opened your door to find you asleep. They already knew that of course, as did the rest of the castle. You were tucked into the covers, your face buried into your pillow, only the top of your back being visible to them. It would have been amusing or even adorable at the time, if it wasn't very concerning. 

Demetri crouched at your bedside. "(Y/N), it's time to wake up." Demetri said softly. You shifted before shaking your head. "Come on, darling. You'll sleep the day away." "Let me." Was the quiet grumble you responded with. This was confirmation that you weren't in high spirits today. Demetri rubbed at your arm that was under the covers. "We can't let you do that, darling. We'll be more than satisfied if you get out of bed and get changed. It'll make a lot of difference." "No, it won't." There was a whimper in your voice that time. Your grip on the covers tightening, your knuckles going white. "It doesn't bring him back. It doesn't make the day any easier because he's gone." Demetri moved closer. "I dreamt about him." You said, a sob breaking through. Demetri rubbed your back as you sobbed. Anyone with a sliver of empathy would have found it difficult to watch. Demetri had no doubt that he seemed like a villain to you right now. Asking almost the impossible but it was better for you. Not to mention, the leaders had already decided that this couldn't continue. "I know you're suffering right now sweetheart." Demetri rubbed back again soothingly. Demetri looked to the twins, nodding to them. A silent message to relay what had happened here to the leaders, to confirm the distress they could likely hear. "One step at a time. This is all you have to do today. In fact," Demetri paused, looking around the room. "why not get changed into those softer clothes you have. The ones you say are more comfier like your night clothes. Can you do that?"  It took a lot of coaxing but you caved, doing exactly that. 

A couple of more days passed and you seemed to just cry your way through them. Aro was the first to approach the matter. "I know that this all feels like an ending but you may find that-" Your gaze shot up to Aro's like a deer in headlights, feeling tears build up once more. "Aro, I don't think I'm ready to hear this right now." You managed out in a whisper. The only way the words would leave your mouth. "I thought I'd have my sister with me forever." Aro told you with a sad smile. "We were many years apart but she was my sister. We may not have grown up together but we were going to make up for that...with forever. One day that changed. I lost her. I won't lie to you, I will always remember that pain, and I'll still feel it every now and then but with time, it isn't so raw. It doesn't consume you as it does when it's fresh." You dropped your gaze from his once more, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "This feels like a pain that will never go away." "It lifts every day, my love." Aro responded. "Loss creates wounds and sometimes they scar but that's alright." Aro nodded.  

A tear ran down your cheek as you bit back a sob. Aro's words were actually comforting. It validated your feelings, telling you that you could feel that way whilst not undermining or dismissing it as something to be ignored as it would go away. Furthermore, it was a meeting point to help you understand that the pain you felt wasn't going to drown you, no matter how deep the pain went. It would get easier and you wouldn't forget. 

A day passed and it was possibly the most draining day you had yet. You felt tears constantly. Sometimes they fell yet it was for no reason, they'd leave as quickly as they arrived without explanation. Therefore you couldn't give any explanation to the Volturi. You were somewhat reluctant to see Marcus when he asked for you but you also knew you weren't in any position to refuse. 

You found the door was open as you entered. The room only illuminated by the fire to the right of the room and surrounded by two couches that looked old and exceptionally expensive- a dark brown wooden frame with padding covered with a rich red fabric. You quietly sighed to yourself the moment your eyes landed on Marcus. His back was turned to you, a very old, large book holding his attention. Or so you thought. "I know your pain, child." He said as you moved towards the fireplace, your arms crossed over chest. "I'm sorry for your loss." You grumbled.  Marcus turned to look at you before moving towards you. He gestured for you to sit in the seat behind you. As you did, he sat down opposite you. "I'm more concerned about yours." He responded. "We find ways to cope with loss. You have lost your way whilst trying to find yours." "I'm fine if that's what you're asking." You said. "I'm not asking. I know how you are feeling, (Y/N). I know not what you are thinking." Marcus replied. "You could always ask Aro. He's seen inside my head-." "Aro's sight is nothing to me in this case." Marcus interrupted. "It's meaningless. Hearing it from you gives it meaning." "You want me to talk about it." You said flatly. Marcus said nothing but looked at you expectantly which had confirmed your suspicions. You looked away, contemplating if you should. You came to the conclusion that it wouldn't hurt. "I can't really figure out where I've to go from here, in life. I've never had to live without him." You answered.  "You go on, little one. There is no direction. No one is pointed in the correct direction. At the end of the day, you go there yourself. With everyday, you go on and that's exactly what you're supposed to do." He responded. "When someone puts their all into you, their love, their effort, their time, they grow a bond to you that can never be broken, not really. It's always there. So when someone loves you so much...it's never goodbye." Marcus continued. "The truth is...losing someone is never easy. It changes you and it changes your life but it's never more important to remember that life goes on and people will miss you when you're no longer around. I know you well enough to know you'd want your loved ones to carry on. That's what is being asked of you now."  Hearing Marcus' perspective was actually important to you in hindsight, seeing as he endured such a painful loss that still haunted him to this day. It meant he understood the feeling of something missing in your life. He knew that better than anyone. Although much like Aro's advice it was difficult to put into practice. 

Four days passed and you were fed up of the grief and the constant tears for the tiniest thing. When Caius wanted to see you, you couldn't help but think that he was going to lecture you. Tell you to get over yourself like you had told yourself time and time again. So when you met him on the balcony, you asked. "I suppose you're going to tell me to toughen up right?" You asked Caius. Caius turned his head to look at you, instead of the ocean view. "Is that what you need to hear?" Slowly you shook your head. "So what would be the point?" He asked and you shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just thinking about everything he wanted from me. If my time with him was enough." Caius hummed. "A parents wish is to never outlive their children. They raise you wanting you to be better than they could ever be and live your life as much as you can. Even more so, enjoy it. Be safe and happy, free of doubt." Caius continued. "He got so many years of your life and I bet if you asked him...he wouldn't give up even a moment of the time he had with you. I'd say your father did a wonderful job raising you." "Was it enough though? Was it enough to make him proud and continue believing in me?" Caius cracked a small smile. "I think your father couldn't be more proud of you every day he walked this earth and if there is life beyond the living, he's just as proud." "How do you know? That I made him proud?" You asked after a moment of silence. "Simply because I am proud of you and not only are you not my child...but I am also very difficult to please." Caius responded with ease. You had to swallow hard against the lump in your throat. "Everyone in this castle, every vampire no matter the rank has outlived their parents. Although you may be surprised to know that many among us, had their own children that they have since outlived. All of different ages, from the old to the young. Every single one would tell you the pain of outliving their children was much worse." Caius assured you. Your eyes narrowed. "is that supposed to make me feel bad for my feelings?" You wouldn't have expected any less of him. Caius hummed in amusement. "Not at all, it's something to consider that your father wouldn't have had it any other way." Caius responded. 

You weren't sure when things had changed but the grief wasn't so heavy on you. So much so, you got out of bed at a decent time, got changed and came down for breakfast.  Felix checked in on you as soon as it was evident you were awake but left you to get ready for the day in peace. After breakfast you found both Felix and Demetri in one of the living rooms watching TV. 

You had gotten closer to the two over time. Demetri went out if his way to make sure you were looked after and Felix tried to be something of a friend or even a distraction as he tried to include you in almost everything. 

"Well look who's here!" He grinned. "Come and pick us a movie. You've got good taste as we've learned." Felix patted the empty seat next to him. "No, I need to sit on that side of you- that's my good side." You said. "If I need to have your magnified gaze on me it should at least be on my good side." Felix paused, a small smile growing on his face. You couldn't help but giggle at his expression. "I'm sorry? You're good side? What does that mean?" He said through chuckles. "Is this a human thing I don't know about? You have sides to you now?" "No!" You started but began giggling hysterically. "Listen, I need to know how many sides you have. Is this like personalities? Which side came down to breakfast this morning?" Felix continued and you laughed even more. "Or is it an angel and devil kind of thing? Did you leave your bad side upstairs, sitting in the sink? Which is another conversation all together by the way." "No!" You laughed. Felix turned to Demetri. "I was sent to check on them Demetri, do you know where I found them? Sitting in the sink! When did humans ever do that!?" "It was to get closer to the mirror!" You cried out in your defence. "To check on your good side by any chance?" Felix responded. You had doubled over so much in laughter and uncontrollable coughing Felix looked at you quizzically. "Breathe, (Y/N), it's kind of popular amongst your kind!" Felix's statement didn't help you. Instead you laughed more, curling up into a ball where you stood. "What are you doing now!?" Felix said in mock exasperation, beginning to chuckle himself. "I have to or I'm going to pee myself!" You managed out and Felix suddenly roared in laughter. "Friend, Demetri, listen, Carlisle needs to order a new human. This one is broken." Felix laughed hysterically as Demetri smirked with a playful eye roll. You wiped at tears that had built up in your eyes. "Ah, see, now that you've stopped yourself from relieving yourself on our floor, it's coming out your eyes instead. Humans are great!" "Felix, that is not how that works." Demetri said, his eyes wide as you continued to laugh. "Yes I kn- you ruined my joke! Of course I know that!" Felix face palmed.

Felix stood up, pulling you to a stand and bringing you to sit with him, his arm over your shoulder. "There, there, deep breaths. I've got you kid." Before you could blink he was on the other side of you. "Soothe both sides of you." A other giggle escaped you as he grinned. Demetri looked at you both with a smile. This was much more like the human they were accustomed to. 

The day before you left, you visited Caius at his office, wanting to thank him for everything he had done for you. You were beyond aware he didn't have to say anything to console you. Yet he went above and beyond. "Come in." You heard his stern voice behind the door. "Hi, do you have a moment? I can come back later if it's more fitting?" You asked, looking at him as he moved a few sheets of paper to the side of his desk. "Not at all, you chose a very good moment. What is it?" Caius stood up, moving away from his desk and approached you, closing the door behind you. "Hm?" Caius promoted, slightly softer in tone than he had before. "I wanted to thank you, for taking me in and being there for me when I needed it most. I didn't have the expectation but you went above and beyond more than I could have ever asked of you. I'm grateful." You said. "Well, you certainly needed it. That I can tell you. It's a joy to see you've been more like yourself lately." Caius responded. You felt yourself gradually grow a little more emotional by the second. In some strange way, you were going to miss him and others of the Volturi. Despite being rather rough around the edges. "I don't know if anyone has ever told you this." You began. You feared his reaction but couldn't keep the thought to yourself. "You'd have been a really great father." You said swallowing against the lump in your throat. Caius looked slightly taken aback. His expression changed to something you couldn't quite describe. Awe wasn't the correct word but looked to be the closest thing. His eyes softening as though you had melted his heart with those words alone. He said nothing, unable to believe what he had heard. You immediately closed the gap, hugging him tightly. Caius inhaled sharply, uncertain what to do as you hugged his waist and your head against his chest. You couldn't see it but felt as Caius relaxed, a small smile growing upon his face. You felt a hand cradle the back of your head softly as his other arm wrapped around you. He bent ever so slightly, his head resting on top of yours. "You take care of yourself. Understand? I expect to hear of your transformation soon." He said quietly. When you broke away, he wasn't so emotional. Instead he gave you his signature smile. "I promise." You responded as he led you towards the door. 

Marcus was the next you visited, around two hours later. Softly, you had knocked on his door to his own study and received a soft "Enter." in response. "Hi." You began meekly. "Do you have a second?" You asked as Marcus was putting a book back on book shelf. One of many that covered the whole wall with cabinets at the bottom. "I do." He nodded, turning towards you. "I...Oh hell, this gets harder to do each time." You said, eyes wide. Marcus tilted his head. "Take a breath. I won't bite." Marcus offered you a comforting smile. You smiled at the irony. "I wanted to thank you. You took me in and helped me through probably the most difficult thing I've ever endured in my life. You didn't have to and you did anyway. I wanted to say thank you. I appreciate it more than I could put it into words." Marcus smiled slightly. "Then allow me to thank you, dear (Y/N)." You raised an eyebrow, confusion crossing your features. "It's not often we have such young hearts here, all of ours have faded. You may have shown us that humans can be such wonderful things. Some of us might argue you to be the most wonderful of all. So thank you for blessing us with your presence, little one." You felt tears build again, rendered speechless. Marcus smiled, if anyone understood. It was him. "Your father would be so proud of you and every moment you've spent with us has been nothing short of a gift to us. Never forget that." You nodded. "I'll never forget what you've done for me. I can't express how thankful I am to you and the Volturi. I don't think I could have gotten through this without you." "Ah, ah, remember my dear. You were always going to come through. You've always had that strength in you. That was never strength that we could give. You've had it from the very beginning. It just takes some time." Marcus softly took hold of your arms. "I know it's going to make longer than our time together to properly heal from this. Although I'm more than confident that you will be just fine." As tears threatened to fall, you smiled at him. "I really don't get how you don't have children." You said and Marcus chuckled. "It wasn't supposed to be." "They'd be so lucky!" You responded as the two of you moved towards the door. Marcus chuckled. "If I ever had a child, I'd hope they'd turn out like you." 

When you finally got a hold of Aro, it was in the throne room with Marcus and Caius. You bit your lip. "There's so much I want to say..." You said to him. "...but every time I go to talk I nearly cry." You admitted, the lump returning in your throat. Aro chuckled slightly. "Allow me then, my dear. You've shed enough tears." Aro stood up, descending the stairs with his hand extended towards you. You held out your hand and he took his, cradling it close to his chest. A warm, genuine smile grew on Aro's face. "We have such high hopes for you, young (Y/N)." He said softly. "Your time with us has been wonderful. You are a beautiful soul, my dear. The pleasure was ours, truly. You have no need to thank us." Aro finished. "I trust you will join our kind soon enough. Until then, be safe and send my regards to my dear friend Carlisle." You nodded and Aro nodded behind you. There stood Felix and Demetri who escorted you to the entrance. 

The twins stood in waiting, dismissing the receptionist as you approached. "Is that everything?" Demetri asked, nodding to the bags beside the desk. You nodded. "Yeah." You looked at the four of them, silence overtaking the room. "I wanted to thank you guys too. I know it's not easy to be around a human like you have since I've been here. Especially an emotional wreck of a human." You noticed Alec's slight smirk at this. "Oh come here!" Felix finally said loudly, hugging you tightly. "I'm going to miss having a human around here." He grumbled. "...the receptionist?" You reminded him. "It's not the same! I actually like you!" You smiled into his broad shoulder. "I'll miss you, Felix." You said. "Don't! I'll find a way to keep you!" Felix grinned, squeezing slightly. "They'll never know. I'll find a way!" You giggled as the two of you broke the hug. 

You stepped away, your attention moving to Demetri. "Of course I have to thank you!" You smiled, hugging him before he could respond. He smiled down at you, patting you on the back lightly. "Be safe." He said to you quietly. Finally you looked to the twins. "I know you two don't do the hugging and I've put you two through enough." Neither responded but Alec's gaze wasn't so harsh. It was an improvement as neither of them were glaring at you. "Thank you for putting up with me. I know it must have been annoying for you to have me around- being a human and all that." You smiled slightly at them. The twins were silent but you caught Alec sending you a smile. Whilst they didn't say anything to you, Alec's smile told you a lot. They didn't completely hate you. You weren't as bad as they had thought. Although they weren't quite willing to let their guard down around you. "You two take care." You nodded to them with a smile before turning away. "I believe the car is outside waiting for you." Demetri said with a small brief smile.

[samstree]

Snowball Effect

Geraskier, hurt/comfort, accidental injury, soft Jaskier, Geralt is self-conscious about his strength, angst and fluff and feelings

cw: panic attack, minor injury

Rated T, 2.3k, read on AO3

Geralt has never been scared of a little roughhousing with Jaskier.

He knows humans are not as sturdy as witchers, but really, tackling him into the thick snow and starting a snowball fight is just a little harmless fun during the never-ending winter of Kaer Morhen.

Eskel hisses nervously the first time he sees the bard getting pinned under Geralt's bulk, but soon the human laughs and rolls back on top of Geralt to retaliate. The other two witchers sometimes join in too, though Lambert keeps playing dirty and the bard soon picks up.

Jaskier, the cheeky bastard, keeps stealing kisses from Geralt to distract him from the attack of his brothers. Every time, the witcher falls for it.

Jaskier is a physical being from the start, tactile, unafraid of Geralt's difficult exterior. He’s always been comfortable, at home with Geralt, long before they tumbled into bed together. Later, years of learning about each other’s body and rhythm has taught Geralt everything about the bard, his strengths and limits alike.

That's why it takes Geralt a second to register the snap of a bone.

Immediately pain fills the air around the bard, who has just been tackled to the ground with a squeal and tried to get away from the snow melting into his collar.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath as a panicked whimper escapes Jaskier's lips.

It's his arm, the one Geralt is not holding. The bard now cradles his left forearm, the one supporting his weight a moment ago.

"Shit, buttercup. Are you okay?" Lambert appears in Geralt's peripheral, crouched beside the injured human. Eskel's concerned voice reaches Geralt too but he can't seem to focus on the words.

His world narrows down to Jaskier's pained gasps and rabbiting heart, soon joined by the salty tang of tears.

Geralt scrambles back as if burned.

No. His thoughts are coming in all at once. He hurt Jaskier.

Geralt has never thought – oh but he should have. Why didn't he hold back? Why did he allow it to go this far just because the bard is blind to the danger Geralt could put him in?

Jaskier would never even bat an eye if Geralt threw him to a griffin as bait, because he has no self-preservation instincts like that. Because he trusts Geralt like that.

The world continues to narrow, choking the air out of Geralt. In his blurred vision, Geralt can see his brothers helping Jaskier up and securing what seems like his broken wrist. The bard hunches over in pain and the image overlaps with the incident he desperately tries to forget – Jaskier choking on his own blood, gasping for air.

Geralt's legs almost give out as his breaths hitch and trap in his lungs. In the flurry of snow, the blue of Jaskier's eyes fixes on Geralt, wide and worried.

"...G'ralt..." Jaskier's mouth moves. "...need to breathe..."

Geralt can't seem to hear the call as if it's from miles away. Or is it a plea?

Suddenly, amidst the crisp cold air and the faint smell of smoke, there’s a whiff of fear. Jaskier’s fear.

It’s too much.

"...I'm so sorry," he murmurs with words that sound like someone else's.

He needs air, so he turns to leave the courtyard, and flees towards the northern tower.

Behind him, Eskel's soft voice ushers three sets of footsteps inside. Someone's gaze remains on Geralt's back, burning a hole into it.

 *

The wind at the top of the tower cuts sharply on Geralt's face, but it washes away the panic.

The rumbling of noise subsides in Geralt’s mind as he uses the breathing exercise Eskel taught him in their teenage years to calm down. The older witcher helped him the first time he got overwhelmed by the sharp senses, and he’s forever grateful for it.

Now that the storm of emotions has passed, Geralt can recognize the episode he just had. It’s not often that he has a panic attack in Jaskier’s presence – it’s so much easier to ground his senses when the bard is around with his constant chatter or floral scents.

First he breaks Jaskier’s wrist, one of the most important things for a lutist, and then the attack. No wonder Jaskier was scared, as he should be of Geralt’s unstable mind on top of his witcher strength.

He really should apologize. He hurt Jaskier and he just up and left, not knowing the extent of the bard’s injury. Worry creeps in, almost tipping the calm that just settled.

Geralt’s legs take him down the tower in a frenzy when he almost runs into his brother on the stairs.

“There you are, wolf,” Eskel says with ease, “We were wondering where you went –”

“How is he?” Geralt searches Eskel’s face but the older witcher only looks relaxed.

“Just scared.”

Blood runs cold in Geralt’s veins. Of course. What was he expecting? Jaskier will always fear him now, and maybe it’s best if he can leave the bard somewhere, maybe Oxenfurt –

“He’s scared for you, wolf.” Eskel softens, clasping Geralt’s forearm from where he’s standing a few steps down. “You had quite an episode there. Scared me too.” he squeezed gently. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” Geralt tries to shake off Eskel’s hold and concern. “I broke Jaskier’s arm and you are asking if I’m alright?”

Eskel pauses for a moment before giving him a tight smile.

“His wrist is only fractured. He’ll be fine, wolf. Though you should talk to him. Gods know how he freaked out and won’t let Vesemir patch him up until I promised to come and fetch you.”

With that they walk down the rest of the stairs. The urge to see Jaskier bubbles in his throat.

 *

Inside the potion room, Vesemir is tying up the end of Jaskier’s bandages while the bard holds his wrist out on the worktable. From a distance Geralt can’t discern the subtle heaviness in his expression, so he knocks on the doorframe.

Immediately the most beautiful blue fixes on Geralt with relief. Jaskier’s shoulders sag with a shuddering breath, his lips quirk up into a tiny smile.

“Hey,” he says.

Geralt remains silent and only holds his gaze for a moment before Vesemir draws Jaskier’s attention.

“You should be fine in a month or so. Take it easy in the meantime.”

“Thanks, Vesemir. Guess I’m not getting out of my library duties after all.” Jaskier smiles to see the other witcher collect the supplies and leave. When he passes Geralt in the doorway, Vesemir only pats him on the shoulder in silent reassurance.

Jaskier still sits there, alone and tense, until he pats the chair next to him expectantly.

With the utmost carefulness, Geralt approaches Jaskier as he would when Roach is startled and sits down. Their knees are separated by a hair’s breadth, but it feels like miles.

“How’s –”

“Are you –”

The bard exhales and gestures for him to go first.

“How’s your wrist?” Geralt asks with concern, still smelling a hint of pain and anxiety in the air. Now that he’s close, he can see the slight redness around Jaskier’s eyes, like he just rubbed them dry to hide the tears.

But Jaskier only holds up his bandaged wrist with a wink. “This old thing? It’ll be right as rain in a bit, like Vesemir said. Really, it doesn’t even hurt that much.”

No matter how good a liar Jaskier believes himself to be, Geralt can detect the lie in the slight quiver of his voice.

“You don’t have to say this to make me feel better, Jask.” The love Geralt feels for his bard is overwhelming. Jaskier shouldn’t be the one comforting him now. “I – I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier answers softly. “It’s okay. It was an accident. Sometimes things like this happen. It’s you I’m worried about, okay?” the bard reaches out but hesitates like he’s not sure the touch is welcome. “Can I?”

Geralt nods. As if there will come a time when he denies Jaskier anything.

With that, Jaskier cups his jaw gently with his uninjured hand. Leaning into the solid contact with a sigh, Geralt feels the weight in his chest seep away.

“I’m so sorry.” He covers Jaskier’s hand to keep it there.

The bard chuckles tightly. “You are completely forgiven, darling. Always.”

They sit in companionable silence for what feels like a long time, but cannot be more than a minute. The crackling of the hearth is the only sound in the room.

“Now, will you tell me what just happened?” The worry remains in Jaskier’s hushed voice, his calloused fingers massaging Geralt’s temple. Funny he didn’t even realize the headache building himself.

“I panicked.”

“I could see that,” Jaskier encourages softly, “Why? It wasn’t anything worse than what I’ve had before. You keep insisting humans are not as strong as witchers, but you know how tough I am. I’ve certainly had worse.”

“Exactly.” Geralt’s heart sinks again. “I’ve done it again. The djinn, the mountain. Jaskier, I promised to never hurt you again, to do better. And you were hurt because of me…again.”

“Oh.” Jaskier sounds shocked, anguished even. “That’s why you freaked out like that? My heart, you shouldn’t have. I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, and I – Oh, if only I knew.”

With a screech of chair, Jaskier desperately gets up and throws himself into Geralt’s embrace. The movement is sudden and clumsy, and eventually they settle into their usual form – with Jaskier in Geralt’s lap and cuddling his neck. It’s so warm and solid, Geralt didn’t know he missed Jaskier this much until this point.

“I’m sorry you felt like that.” His breath brushes against Geralt’s neck. “I know you would never willingly hurt me, dear heart, or anyone. It was just a silly accident, partially my fault even. I think landed on my arm the wrong way. Really, I didn’t even think too much about it, but then you started to panic.”

“I smelled fear on you. I thought you were afraid of me.” Geralt presses his nose on Jaskier’s doublet and breathes. Thankfully that particular stench is gone. In its place is the pungent salve they use for bruises, so out of place among Jaskier’s floral notes.

“I was afraid because you were hyperventilating.” Jaskier pulls away to look at him in seriousness. “I know you get overwhelmed sometimes, and it looked really scary for a moment there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt in all earnest before placing a kiss on his forehead with a pop. “All these years I’ve never been –” another kiss on his cheek, “– scared of you, and –” another between his furrowed brows, “– stop blaming yourself, you big oaf. You are the best man I know.” on the tip of his nose, “You protect me, all the time. To me, you are the safest person on the Continent.”

The blue of Jaskier’s eyes glistens with soft adoration, and Geralt melts into it. With every passing second, the hint of pain dissipates around them. The injured wrist rests on Geralt’s chest, so he cradles it in a gentle hold, his thumb running circles on the tight bandage.

“I love you, Jask.”

“I love you, too. So next time, don’t just run away when you feel like freaking out.” Jaskier’s plea softens with apprehension. “Stay with me so I can help. Seeing you like that when you wouldn’t let me near you was scarier than being kidnapped by those asshole mages last year. Please?”

“Sorry for scaring you.” Geralt threads their fingers together.

“Stop apologizing. Just promise me you’ll stay.”

The idea of Jaskier being there at his most vulnerable would have made him self-conscious a few years ago. But now, it just warms him to think someone will always be in his corner. “I promise.”

The grin that breaks out on the bard’s face is so precious that Geralt has to capture those soft lips and kiss him senseless and leave them both panting into the air between them.

“Are you still in pain?”

Jaskier presses their forehead together and shakes his head, the tip of his mussed hair still damp from the snow. “But I will need you to wait on me for the next month or so, my love. In fact, I believe it’s best if you carried me around the keep all the time.”

When Geralt pulls back, the mischief has returned to the bard’s eyes. Geralt raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“It’s only your wrist, Jaskier. You can still walk,” he deadpans.

“Oh but I’m sure it’ll hasten the recovery.” Now Jaskier is full of drama again. “You know I read in a book that being carried by a handsome man is good for your… joints. And shirtless too. You should be shirtless more often – it’ll help with the healing of my soul – and tend to my every need, darling. After all, I have been gravely injured and it puts me in a very delicate state.”

“I thought you were fine.”

“Gravely.”

“Mmm-hm, and what else do you need?” It’s hard to keep a straight face.

“What else –” Jaskier smiles and pecks the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Kisses. And cuddles, in bed.”

That’s an idea.

Geralt shifts his hold under Jaskier’s knees, and stands up in a swift motion, taking the bard’s full weight with him. Jaskier lets out a graceless yelp and clings tighter.

A laugh rumbles out of Geralt’s chest as he walks towards their bedroom. “This what you wanted?”

“Yes, my dear,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “You are all I wanted.”

Maybe Geralt should indulge him a bit. It’s been a long day after all.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“If you want me to, I will.” [Hotch x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: Reader has worked for Aaron Hotchner for the past 6 months as the babysitter to his son, Jack.

Pairing: Hotch x (Female) Reader

Word Count: 7.4k – she thicc

Category: Smut/Fluff…and some angst because of who I am as a person.

Content Warning:

A/n: We all know that Hotch’s favorite album is the Beatles "White Album." And I have odd choices for songs that I use as lullabies. This idea came into my head and never left. This video of Billie Eillish singing part of the song is the closest to the structure of how I imagined it. Okay, okay, look, I know Roy wasn’t diagnosed until season 10. But I am taking creative liberties because I needed Jack to be younger.

Meaning this would be set around season 7. Hotch would be about 41, Jack is around 7; so, I made Reader around 26, giving them a 15-year age gap. Please don’t check my math. 😌

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized texts are Reader’s thoughts.

-- If you want me to, I will. --

I was disoriented when I woke up. This isn’t my bed, I thought groggily. Wait…this isn’t even my house.

“Y/n,” a deep voice rumbled beside me.

I jackknifed up into a sitting position, eyes wide and my face flushed with embarrassment. “Mr. Hotchner!” I quickly brought my hand up to my cheek to make sure I hadn’t drooled in my sleep. Because that would really be the cherry on top of my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep. This is so embarrassing.”

Mr. Hotchner had been crouched down, putting himself level with his living room couch; the same couch he came home and found me sleeping on. In all the months I’d worked for the Hotchner/Brooks family, I’d never seen Mr. Hotchner smile anytime he wasn’t talking to his son, Jack. He always looked incredibly serious and sometimes incredibly sad; but the normal scowl was missing from his face as he looked at me, I noticed, watching him rise to a standing position.

“It’s fine, y/n. It’s after 1 o’clock in the morning.” He shifted, turning to go open the gun safe he kept in the part of the living room where his desk sat. Mr. Hotchner, or Hotch, as he kept telling me to call him, was the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit with the FBI. Which was just a very fancy way of saying he was a profiler that was in charge of all the other profilers. Some people just look like the jobs they have; Mr. Hotchner was one of those people. “Thank you for staying late, I didn’t think things were going to run this long. I didn’t even know you were here until I called Jessica a few hours ago.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled as I began to gather my things from the coffee table and put them into my bag. “She called me a little after 4; something happened with her dad, I think.” I zipped my bag shut, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mind helping out, Mr. Hotchner.”

He made a sound that was almost a chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Hotchner, y/n. I know I’m a lot older than you, but that makes me feel ancient.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” I protested.

He looked incredulous. “Y/n, you’re still in college.”

Well, that stings a bit. “I’m in graduate school,” I said, my voice dampening a little bit. “I’m almost 27.”

Mr. Hotchner blinked at me. “Really? I thought you were younger than that…”

“My age didn’t come up in the numerous background checks you did on me?” I scoffed, immediately wincing as the words flew out of my mouth. “Oh my god, I just keep making this worse.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner. For falling asleep on your couch…and for every moment after that. I’ll just go now.”

"Y/n," he called. "hang on, it's really late, and…I still need to pay you."

Jesus. “It is late, Mr. Hotchner, that’s why I need to head home.” I forced an awkward laugh. “I have class at 9 am.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets, regarding me in a way that made me squirm. I wasn’t used to a person paying attention to me the way Mr. Hotchner did. It didn’t make me uneasy; I just felt like I couldn’t hide anything from him…which made me uneasy. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

I don’t know why it stung so much that he knew virtually nothing about me. I’d worked for him for 6 months; he wasn’t obligated to know anything about me other than how I took care of his son. “I’m actually done with my course work this semester,” I mumbled. “I’m a TA…in a class that starts at 9 am.” It doesn’t matter, you’re just tired. “You-you can just pay me for tonight the next time I’m over. It’s not like you’re gonna stiff me.” I walked over to the door and threw a very quick “goodnight, Mr. Hotchner” over my shoulder before I scurried out.

I missed the quiet “Aaron. You can call me Aaron.”

--

The entire drive home, my thoughts were on Aaron Hotchner. None of this was what I expected when I took this job. I had been in graduate school for 2 years now. I had already gotten my master’s degree and had been accepted into the Ph.D. program. There are many branches of psychology, but I had always been fascinated with cognitive psychology; it seemed only natural that that is what I would pursue in graduate school. Once it became time to focus my interest in preparation for my dissertation, I decided to study the cognitive decay in Alzheimer's patients. We knew that they lost memories, but I wanted to explore how their basic cognitive functions were affected in certain settings.

As part of my program, I was a TA in an intro psych class, and I conducted my research at the hospital connected to the university. That’s where I first met Jessica Brooks. Despite getting a stipend for my teaching assistant work, I had been taking odd jobs to help make ends meet; D.C. wasn't cheap. When I mentioned that I had experience with kids, Jessica had immediately told me that she was needing help caring for her nephew in the wake of her father, Roy's diagnosis. She wanted to keep him at home, which was both admirable and time-consuming.

I wasn’t prepared for the gigantic background check that I was subjected to. I very quickly learned that my potential employer had some power at the FBI. Jessica had raved to him about me, so he agreed to meet with me. When Jessica told me he worked for the FBI, I was expecting a bureaucrat, kind of short, receding hairline, soft from sitting behind a desk all day.

Aaron Hotchner was none of those things. He was a total cliché; he was tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were such a deep brown they were almost black, his hair was black, and he towered over me. His hand was firm when he shook mine. I initially thought he didn’t like me because of the scowl he wore on his face; now I knew that was just his default expression. I’m pretty sure he invented Resting Bitch Face. I think it was my meeting with Jack that sealed the deal. We had clicked right away. The 7-year-old was impressed by my knowledge of both DC and Marvel comics. I could still remember our first meeting so clearly; when in a move that I now know is so much like his father, he had asked me an interview question of his own.

“What is Spiderman’s middle name?” the boy had asked with a suspicious squint of his eyes.

This kid is poser checking me, I had thought with amusement. “That would depend on which Spiderman you’re referring to. Assuming it’s Peter Parker, his middle name is Benjamin.”

We were best friends after that.

I loved Jack; I really did. And I was paid well enough that he was the only child I babysat for, the rest of my time spent working on my research and plotting my dissertation. It was clear that Aaron Hotchner loved his son, and he felt guilty for not being around more. He was fierce and intimidating any other time, but once he was with his son, his entire face would transform. His smiles came easier, his eyes twinkled, and he didn’t seem so scary anymore.

None of that is why he made me nervous, though. What made me so nervous is the fear that one day I was going to spend enough time with him for him to see the feelings I had so stupidly developed for him.  

--

The very next night, I was hiding in the kitchen floor in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the little voice called out before his feet started stomping loudly across the floor.

From my position behind the kitchen counter, I tried very hard to remain silent, despite my amusement. Jack Hotchner was many wonderful, wonderful things. Sneaky was not one of them. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I heard his little feet hurry towards me, and I didn’t lose my balance when he turned the corner and launched himself at me. “Oomph!” was the only reasonable sound to make when a tiny human slammed into you.

Jack was delighted. “I FOUND YOU!”

My response was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Jack was off me in a flash, barreling towards the living room. “Daddy!”

Mr. Hotchner made a similar “oomph” noise when Jack jumped on him, confirming my theory. I rose to my feet quickly, smoothing down my clothes.

“We were playing hide and seek, Daddy!” Jack informed his father. “I found y/n every time! She never found me once!” His chest puffed out with pride, making my face break into a smile.

“You’re just an excellent hider, Jack-attack.”

Mr. Hotchner’s eyes settled on my face then, for just a moment I saw something so sad in those eyes that the breath seized in my lungs.

He cleared his throat, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking before smiling at his son. “I’m glad you had a good time with, y/n, buddy.”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I helped make dinner!”

“You did?” He questioned in fake astonishment. “When did you make dinner?”

“Tonight!”

Mr. Hotchner looked at me quizzically. “Oh, um, I wasn’t actually supposed to watch Jack tonight…but Jessica called and asked if I could. It was really last minute, and she’d already bought some stuff to make dinner…” I trailed off. “I hope that’s okay. Jesus Christ, y/n. You’re a 26-year-old woman, get it together.

His attention moved from me to his son. "Jack, go get changed into your pj's. It's almost bedtime." When Jack's mouth opened to protest this great injustice, his father went on. "You can tell y/n bye when you're done."

So much for a speedy escape, I thought. Instead, I just smiled at him. "Yep, I'll be right here, little man." Satisfied with this, Jack jumped out of his father's arms and ran towards his room.

“Why did Jessica need you to come over? Did something happen with Roy?” He looked genuinely worried, walking into the kitchen to stand near me.

I reached out and put a hand on his arm without thinking. "Oh, oh god no, nothing like that." Realizing I was touching him, I snatched my hand back like he'd burned me. "Sorry. She…she-um had a date."

His eyebrows rose so high they almost hit his hairline. “A date?” he asked, disbelief dripping from his words.

I chuckled. “That’s what she told me.”

He walked back into the living room then, leaning back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he focused his dark gaze on me. “What about you?��

“…What about me what?”

“Does Jessica ever have to cover for you when you have dates?”

If Aaron Hotchner hadn’t made me so nervous, I might have picked up on how he phrased that question. As it happens, all I could do was fidget under his gaze. “Oh,” I chuckled nervously. “Ah, no. She doesn’t have to do that. I don’t really date.”

That had one of his eyebrows rising, his arms crossing across his chest. "Why?"

Because I want you to crack my back like a glowstick. “Um…you know, it’s hard to find the time.”

Thankfully Jack chose that moment to come barreling out of his room, charging full force at me. “You’re still here!” he exclaimed.

I smiled down at him when his arms wrapped around my hips. I put one hand on the back of his head, the other on his back, giving him a squeeze. “Of course I am! I couldn’t leave without telling you goodbye.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he mumbled.

My throat worked as a sudden wave of emotion hit me. "Oh, Jack," my voice was thicker than usual when I spoke. "I don't like leaving you either, but you'll see me before you know it. I promise."

Once we had finally pried Jack off me, Mr. Hotchner went to take him to bed. He turned to me when he scooped Jack up in his arms. “Thank you for today.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Hotchner.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Most people call me Hotch. Or you could call me Aaron.”

I didn't know what to say to that; all I could do was give him an awkward smile. I was gone before he came back into the living room. I didn't want to leave, I never did, but I couldn't risk being alone with…Aaron.

--

The following Thursday night, my phone started ringing just after 11:30. Glancing at it, I saw it was Jessica. “Hey,” I said in greeting.

“Hey, y/n,” she said, sounding frazzled. “I have a huge favor to ask. Dad’s home health nurse had to leave early tonight.” “Is something wrong with Melinda?” I hope not. She’s the sweetest.

“No, I don’t think so. But she needs to go home and there’s no one to sit with Jack. But Aaron isn’t home yet…”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

Which is why I was now in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment after midnight in a pair of shorts that were so short I only ever wore them at home and a t-shirt that I had had for forever. Jessica had sounded so upset when she called, I hadn't even thought to change. She had promised to be back as quick as she could; she said that Mr. Hotchner was flying back from a case, and she didn’t expect him until 5 a.m. at the earliest.

When I first arrived, I had tried to watch TV, my mind too wired to sleep, even though I had class at 9 am in the morning. Sighing, I glanced over at the clock to see it was just after 1:45 in the morning.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I whined out loud. I have to go to sleep; even if it’s just a little nap. I remembered Jessica had left some chamomile tea here for the nights she stayed over to watch Jack. Finding the kettle and the tea itself was no problem; the problem presented itself when I had to get a mug to put the tea in.

I had never considered myself a particularly short person; sure, I had to stretch to get things from time to time, but everybody did that. Looking up into the upper cabinets in the Hotchner house had me reconsidering that. The mugs were on the very top shelf and try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to reach them; my fingers kept grazing over the ceramic.

“Goddamnit,” I mumbled in a huff. What is the point to put mugs way the fuck up there? Some of us are a perfectly normal height…but noooo I have to work for giants. I braced my hands on the countertop as I heaved myself up on to said countertop. Once my knees were in place, I got the offending cup without further problems.

I blame how focused I was on my task for my not hearing the front door open, or the footsteps that followed. Which is why I had a mild heart attack when I heard a voice that sounded highly amused say from behind me, “What are you doing?”

Several things happened all at once, and very quickly. I let out the most embarrassing squeak in all of history, I lost my balance on the counter and the cup fell from my hand. The cup crashed to the floor and shattered. My fate might have been the same but two large hands caught me, gripping my hips from behind. I looked down to see his long fingers wrapping around my waist, gripping me tightly; my difficulty breathing then had nothing to do with how scared I was.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said softly, still not releasing me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I get it,” I said lightly, attempting to act like I wasn’t going into cardiac arrest because he was touching me. “You’re a very stealthy FBI agent. It was bound to happen.”

He chuckled before his hands pushed my hips so I was twisting around, my legs shifting until I was sitting on the countertop, staring into the same dark eyes I thought about far too often. They weren’t as harsh as they usually were; tonight, they were soft and warm, and they made my pulse race a bit faster.

I moved to get off the counter when the hands that were still on my hips stopped me. “Hang on, let me clean this up first. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Fantastic, I thought, hiding my face in my hands. It seems I was incapable of not making a fool out of myself in front of this man.

He worked quickly while I debated changing my name and fleeing the country; in the next moment, he was standing in front of me again. "What's wrong?"

“Oh, nothing,” I said, not moving my hands. “Just dying of embarrassment.”

Aaron actually laughed at that, moving closer to stand between my thighs, his hands coming to rest on the countertop on either side of my hips. “Why are you embarrassed?”

I dropped my hands then. “Because this is becoming a pattern! First, I fell asleep on your couch, then I almost fell off your counter and cracked my head like an egg.” I bit my lip, shifting under his gaze. “I’m sorry and thank you for catching me.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said softly.

He still had that soft look on his face, but he was smiling too like he was enjoying my embarrassment. He probably is. I had never been this close to him before. I didn’t know his eyes weren’t just one flat color of brown, but that lighter shades of brown whirled throughout. I had never felt the heat of his body before, but now I was so close I could smell him. Why does he have to smell good? I whined internally. If he just stunk, I could get over this.

This was exactly why I tried very hard to stay as far away from him as possible because I lost the ability to think clearly whenever I was with him. I couldn't stop my eyes from moving down to his lips. I was eye level with him from my position on the counter; all I had to do to brush my lips across his was lean forward, so that’s exactly what I did. His body stiffened slightly at the first touch of my lips to his. I pulled back, ready to apologize when his hand wrapped around the back of my head and pulled me back to him. There was nothing soft about this kiss. His free hand gripped my thigh, my hands held on to his shirt, trying to pull him closer. My tongue brushed against his mouth before he sucked on the tip of it, causing me to shudder. He took a step forward as his tongue twirled around mine. I could feel him when he settled against me; he was hard, and I found myself shifting my hips to rub against him.

The shrill ringing of his phone broke us apart suddenly. He was panting, his cheeks were slightly flushed. I thought I heard him let out a “fuck” under his breath as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone.

“Hey Jessica,” he answered.

Now that our moment was broken, I felt very self-conscious. What the fuck did I just do?! He is my boss. He is Jack’s dad. Aaron took a step back and I slid off the counter. This turned out to be a very bad idea on my part; my body brushed down the front of his, causing me to bite my lip to silence the moan that threatened to escape.

“Yeah, I landed a little while ago,” he said as I left the kitchen.

WhatthefuckWhatthefuck. I heard him end the call with Jessica before he quickly walked into the living room. A look of relief washed over his face when he saw me. “I thought you’d try to slip away.”

“I thought about it,” I told him honestly.

“Listen, y/n, about that in the kitchen,” he began.

I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotchner. I don’t know why I did that; I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I was giving him an out because I couldn’t handle hearing the rejection I knew was coming. “I just…I guess we got caught up in the moment? And you’re really tired, I’m sure. I’m so sorry.” I was rambling now. “If you don’t want me to watch Jack anymore-“

“Y/n, no,” he interrupted. “No, this…you’re right, it was just a heat of the moment thing. It happens. I’m sorry I lost myself for a moment.” He cleared his throat, his face still set in softness. “Jack loves you. He doesn’t need to suffer for any more of my mistakes.”

Mistakes. The word hollowed me out and left me cold. I just nodded. “Right,” I said in what I hoped was an even tone. “Just a mistake. I should get going. It’s really late.”

Which is how I found myself driving home at almost 3 in the morning with tears running down my cheeks. A mistake.

--

Things went back to normal after that night. I continued to avoid Aaron Hotchner at all costs and he…did whatever he did. I tried to hide the hurt whenever I did happen to see him, but it was so hard when I could still feel the tingle from his lips on mine.

A few days after the “mistake,” I was babysitting Jack again. He’d went to bed at his normal 8:30 and all was quiet. I decided to do some TA work while I waited for Mr. Hotchner to come home. I was halfway through grading an essay when I heard the first noise come from Jack’s room. Lifting my fingers from the keys of my computer, I waited to see if I heard another sound. I didn’t have to wait long; not even a minute passed before I heard a strained cry. Jumping up, I hurried down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

Cracking the door open I called, “Jack-attack? Are you okay, little man?” I didn’t see him right away; he had hidden under his covers and curled up into a little ball. “Hey, Jack. It’s just y/n.” I sat down on the edge of his bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I saw the lump under the blankets start to move hesitantly before I saw his brown hair peak out of the blanket near his pillow. His eyes were wide and with the light shining in from the hall, I could see tears gleam in them. “Oh, buddy,” I cooed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah…there was a bad man…and my daddy didn’t come save me.”

I felt my breath seize in my chest. Jessica had told me a brief version of what happened to Jack's mother a few years ago. "Jack, you know your dad would always do whatever he had to do to come to save you." I shifted my position on the bed until I was sitting beside him. "He'd never let anything bad happen to you." Jack started inching closer to me. I held out my arms and smiled when he lunged for me; I wrapped him in a tight hug, rubbing circles on his back.

“My dad just isn’t home a lot anymore. He has a lot of work to do,” he mumbled into my shirt.  

“Your dad would be home if he could, Jack.” I couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of my voice. It wasn’t fair to either Jack or his dad that he had to be away so much.

“I know,” the little boy whispered. “I just miss him sometimes.”

“Do you want to call him?” I offered. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

Jack just shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” He turned his face up to look at me. “Will you stay with me?”

I moved so he lay beside me with my left arm still squeezed around him. “Of course, bud.” I scooted down the bed so I was reclining instead of sitting straight up, pulling the cover-up over him again. "Do you want me to read you another story?"  

He just shuffled under his covers, looking at me with the bashful innocence of childhood. “Can you sing to me until I fall asleep?”

I wasn’t the biggest fan of singing in front of people, but how could I turn this little face down? I just nodded. “Do you have any requests?”

“Nope,” he answered with a little grin on his face.

Unfortunately, at that moment every single lullaby I had ever know left my head. I couldn’t think of a single traditional lullaby. So, I decided to improvise. I started singing slower songs I knew, some of them might not have been appropriate for a 7-year-old’s lullaby, but I don’t think Jack cared that much.

He was almost out, drifting on the edge between deep sleep and awake. My arm was still around his shoulder, he was still snuggled to my side. I decided one more song would be enough, which meant I pulled out my second Beatles song of the night.

“Who knows how long I’ve loved you?

You know I love you still.

Will I wait a lonely lifetime?

If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever saw-“

I glanced up, immediately sensing there was someone else in the room. To my horror, Jack’s father was standing in the doorway, staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I swallowed nervously, then I turned to press a kiss against Jack’s soft forehead before I gently detangled myself from him. I straightened my clothes that to my further embarrassment had shifted around because I was laying with a wiggly child, then, attempting to keep my face impassive, I walked to the door, moving around his father as I exited.

Mr. Hotchner walked into the room and checked on his son, while I moved into the living room to gather my things. I wonder if he just left the money by the door, I mused. If he did, I could just make a dash for the door. I mean, if he didn’t, he could always just pay me next time. Sadly, my plans were escape were foiled yet again by the man in question entering the room.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I know he was up past his bedtime. I put him down at 8, but he had a nightmare." I was babbling, not meeting his eyes, my gaze very intently focused on my bag. "He asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep…" I finally looked up, shrugged, and said, "He's very hard to say no to."

“You don’t have to apologize for being nice to my son, y/n,” he said softly. “That’s one of my favorite songs on the White Album, you know.”

I hadn’t known that. “Mr. Hotch-“

He took a step towards me before I finished speaking. “Y/n, please, I can barely handle this as it is. Please call me Aaron.”

I just blinked up at him. “So, ‘Hotch’ is off the table now?”

That had a soft smile curving his lips upward. "That was a limited-time deal. You should have been quicker." I saw his hand rise up slowly, so slowly that I would have had time to move away…but I just couldn’t. He brushed my hair back from my face, his eyes were two pools of black in the dim light, they were swirling with something that made my stomach flutter.

“Aaron,” I breathed, having no idea what I was going to say.

He let out a soft sigh, turning his eyes upwards. When he brought them back down to mine, his hand slid from its place near my ear to cradle the back of my head. His eyes searched mine for a moment before his shoulders dropped slightly. “Fuck it,” he muttered before he leaned down and sealed his lips over mine.

I might have thought this kiss would be questioning or unsure, but there was nothing unsure about it. Aaron kissed me like he was starving for me. His teeth caught my bottom lip and tugged as he pulled away. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he breathed before bringing his lips more firmly against mine.

My hands began to move over his body; one of my hands grabbed his tie and used it to pull him closer to me, the other reached up to brush against the short, soft hair on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t?” I questioned when we broke away for air.

Aaron’s lips moved across my cheek, leaving soft kisses until he reached my ear. “No, sweet girl, it wasn’t.” His mouth moved down to my neck; his kisses turning into bites that were sure to become brushes. I didn’t care, I needed him. My hands moved to his shirt, quickly trying to undo all the buttons.

His hands moved down to the waist of my jeans, deftly flicking the button open before sliding the zipper down. “Is this what you want?” he asked as his hand touched my lower stomach, his fingers brushing over the elastic band of my panties.

“Yes,” I said, still working to free him from his shirt. “I want this so much.”

The fingers of his free hand rose up to tap my chin, forcing my eyes up until I met his gaze. "I want to hear you say my name again." His other hand lifted from my stomach to slide over the flair of my hip until he was gripping my ass. "Whenever I laid in bed that night after I had you pressed against me in my kitchen when I stroked my cock, I thought about you moaning my name.” The hand that was on my chin pulled away, skimming down my body until he was grabbing the other side of my ass. “So, say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Aaron.” So, so much.

His hands moved to the backs of my thighs, then he lifted me up his body, startling me. Jesus Christ, how strong is this guy? I threw my arms around his neck as he started walking us down towards his bedroom. A giggle escaped my lips. “I could have walked, you know.”

We had already entered his room; he tossed me gently on the bed before he turned to close and lock the door. He walked to stand at the side of his bed, his eyes devouring me. “I couldn’t give you a chance to sneak away again, sweet girl.” Aaron pulled off his tie before he finished unbuttoning his shirt, shedding it on the floor.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s hot. I pulled my own shirt over my head, and his body was on top of me before it even left my hands. Aaron's mouth moved down to my collarbones, his hand slipped behind my back to unhook my bra. Once the straps were down my arms, Aaron lifted himself up on his arms to toss it away, his eyes running over my body. "You're so beautiful," he said softly like it wasn't the sweetest compliment I'd ever been paid. He leaned over again, his lips skimming down to my chest before he wrapped his lips around one of my nipples.

“Fuck, Aaron,” I moaned.

He gave my nipple a flick with his tongue before he lifted his head. “Ssh, sweet girl. You have to be quiet. Can you do that?” He kissed his way over to my other breast. “I can’t do this if you won’t be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” I whispered right before I bit my lip to smother my moan at the feeling of his mouth on me. “Maybe.”

His breath puffed against my skin when he laughed at me. My hands threaded through his hair when he brought his face back up to mine. My mouth opened eagerly for him, my tongue slicking over his while I tried to grind my body against him. Aaron was smiling when he broke the kiss, shifting up onto his knees. “Well, I appreciate you trying to be quiet at any rate,” he teased.

My response died in my throat when his fingers yanked my jeans off my legs, bringing my panties with them. I was totally bare in front of him. His eyes raked down my body in a way that would make me self-conscious with anyone else. How could I ever be self-conscious with a man who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world?

But when he started to kiss further down my body, I grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him back up to kiss me. “Aaron,” I whispered.

He pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“You don’t…you don’t have to do…that,” I mumbled, feeling my face heat up.

Aaron braced himself on his arms and stared down at me. Enlightenment dawned on his face a second later. He leaned down to kiss me softly. “Do you not want me to?”

I bit my lip, feeling more flustered. “It’s just…I’ve never…and I know that guys don’t really like-.“ My words were cut off when he placed another kiss to my lips, still incredibly soft, but with more force than before.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't," he said quietly. "But I can assure you, I can't think of anything more I'd rather do than lick your pussy until you cum all over my face." He skimmed his lips over my cheek to my ear. "And once you've come down, I want to slide my cock inside you and feel how soft and wet you are." His kisses moved down to my neck, his mouth sucking on my pulse point. "Then I want to fuck you until you're whimpering against my lips to make you cum again.”

I felt my core throb at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. He lifted his gaze when he got back to my breast, flicking my nipple with his tongue. “Is that what you want too, sweet girl?”

I have never wanted anything more, I thought; but I was so far gone that all I could do was nod.

He gave me a soft smile, moving down the bed further to settle between my thighs, pulling them further apart. I felt a kiss pressed to one thigh, then the other. His hot breath washed over the part of me that was already so wet for him. “You’re beautiful here too,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to my clit. I lifted my hips at the sensation, causing him to chuckle and move his hands to wrap around my thighs, his arms anchoring me in place. A second later I understood why he braced my hips. The second he flattened his tongue and licked the length of my pussy, my hips started moving involuntarily and my fingers tangled in his hair.

I felt a puff of air against me when he laughed again, and it made me smile. I didn’t expect Aaron Hotchner to be fun…or dirty in bed. All thought immediately left my head when he parted me with his tongue, dipping into my entrance before spearing his tongue into me. I felt the vibration when he moaned against me. "You taste so fucking good, y/n," he said, his voice still hushed. Giving my entrance one last lick, he moved up to my clit.

He spent time moving his tongue around me, learning what made me squirm. When he started fluttering his tongue quickly over my clit my hands started tugging on his hair and my thighs tried to snap together.

“Aaron,” I whined, attempting to rock my hips against his mouth.

I think he understood what I needed better than I did. His left hand released my thigh and moved down to my heat, just below his mouth. I felt his fingers brush over me before he pushed on inside me, causing my back to arch off the bed. “Aaron, Aaron, fuck.” He added a second finger, pumping them in a rhythm that complimented the movements of his mouth.

I wasn't prepared for when his lips closed around my clit, sucking lightly, while his fingers started to curl inside of me. “Oh my God," I moaned out, louder than I should have. "Aaron, I'm going to cum." I started pulling on his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he just moaned against me, never slowing his pace. "Aaron, fuck, please. I think…I-I-“

My words broke off as the band inside of me snapped, my pussy clamping down on his fingers and my back arching off of the bed, my mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Aaron slowed his motions, slowly bringing me through the orgasm and back down to Earth. With one final kiss to my thigh, he rose and moved up my body until his face was hovering over mine. His lips were shiny with my arousal, they also looked a little swollen, but more importantly, they were smirking at me.

I’ll give him that one. Reaching up I cradled his jaw in my hands, bringing his mouth down to mine. I tasted myself on his lips and tongue when he licked into my mouth. Despite the powerful orgasm he had just given me, I was still desperate for him. I broke away from his mouth. “Aaron, I need you.”

He pressed another kiss to my lips before he lifted up and stood at the side of the bed, undoing the buckle of his belt. My eyes were fixed on his movements, watching as he unbuttoned his slacks and slid them down his legs. His cock was a thick pipe outlined in his underwear. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband before he spoke again. "I'll give you everything you need, greedy girl." Aaron pushed his underwear down, his cock springing free before he climbed back on the bed.

He was so much thicker than I expected he would be. I moved my hand down to wrap my fingers around him, pumping his length. He let out a groan and lowered his forehead to mine. “Baby,” he muttered. “I…fuck. I have to get a condom.”

“Aaron,” I whined. “I want to feel you inside me. I’m on birth control. Please?” The thought of anything separating me from this man was abhorrent to me in that moment.

I saw his willpower crumble. “Are you sure?”

So sure. “Please,” I begged lifting my head to kiss him. “I want you to fuck me.”

With a groan that I will remember for the rest of my life, he shifted his hips forwarded, allowing my hands to guide him to my entrance. Aaron kissed me then, slowly and deeply has he started to push inside me. My hand flew away from his cock, both my arms wrapping around his body to pull him closer to me. I felt my nails digging into his back.

Aaron broke our kiss with another soft moan that sounded like my name. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he whispered, pressing deeper inside me. “I knew your pussy would be this fucking tight, this fucking hot, and so fucking soft." He started moving in and out of my pussy, going in a little further each time. “You still have to be quiet, sweet girl.”

“I’m trying,” I moaned, my pussy already starting to flutter around him when he finally pushed all the way inside of me. “Aaron, fucking Christ.” I felt him everywhere, and I somehow still craved more.

He grabbed my thigh, pulling if further up his side, allowing himself to sink deeper inside of me. “I know, sweet girl. I know.” He started a slow pace, pulling almost all the way out of me before slamming back inside me.

My head was thrashing against the pillows, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “Aaron, I need you to fuck me harder. Please.”

He groaned at my words, placing a sloppy kiss to my mouth before pulling back. He pulled one of my legs up until it was over his shoulder, the other still wrapped around his waist, and then he started to move faster inside of me.

I braced one hand against the headboard as he pounded into me. “Oh my god, Aaron,” my voice was a low whimper as I looked down to see his cock sliding in and out of me. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Baby, I want you to reach down and rub your clit for me while I fuck your tight little pussy.” His pace started to speed up as he spoke. “Can you do that for me?” He groaned when I complied, the stimulation to my clit causing my pussy to flutter around him. “Good girl.”

My fingers began to work frantically. “Don’t stop, Aaron. Don’t stop,” I begged. “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweet girl, I can feel you. Your pussy feels so good squeezing around my cock. You’re going to make me cum.” His thrusts were starting to get choppier, one of his hands braced on the top of the headboard while the other held my leg on his shoulder. “Do you want me to cum inside your pretty pussy, sweet girl?” He groaned loudly when my walls clenched around him. “It feels like you like the idea of that, don’t you baby?”

My fingers continued their pace, my head thrashing, my body trembling. “Yes. Fuck, Aaron. Please cum inside of me. Please.”

Aaron felt it first and acted quickly; his hand moved from my leg to cover my mouth. “That’s it, cum for me, baby.”

I thought my orgasm earlier tonight was powerful. It was nothing compared to how I felt when I came around his cock, only to feel him find his own release a moment after.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, y/n,” he breathed, giving a last few jerks inside of my body, pushing against the fluttering aftershocks of my orgasm. He rolled off me, careful not to drop all of his weight on top of me. To my relief, he quickly gathered me in his arm, pulling me against his body, pressing a soft kiss to my sweaty forehead.

My ear was pressed against his chest, allowing me to hear his heartbeat slowdown from its frantic pace and his breathing even out. I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his chest while his hand continued to stroke my back.

“That…that was amazing,” I said, looking up at him. “If I knew you had that in you, I wouldn’t have run out of the room every time I was alone with you.”

He laughed softly, his eyes sparkling. “Well, at least you’ll know for next time.”

My thoughts sobered at his words. Next time

“Hey,” he said, his hand cupping the side of my face. “No, don’t go away. I just got you.” He kissed my forehead again, then the tip of my nose, then both of my eyelids, before he tilted my face up further so he could press a kiss to my lips. “We’ll figure this out. We have to. I care too much about you to let you go.”

“I care about you too,” I replied, snuggling against his chest, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

I was almost asleep when I heard his voice rumble again. “Will you sing Beatles songs to me when I can’t sleep too?” His voice was sleepy and teasing.

I smiled into the darkness, not bothering to open my eyes. “If you want me to, I will.”

--

Permanent Taglist: @rachelxwayne​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace​ @nanocoool​

[katieraven]

sleep is so tough

Summary: your attempt at dealing with losing Bucky is unsuccessful and results in a sleepless night - for several reasons.

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/female reader

Warnings: angst!!, happy ending (because I can't write sad endings for the life of me), a lot of metaphors, thoughts about death, loss and grieving, a tiny description of a panic attack

Word count: 3227

Notes: @babycap you wonderful human! 600 followers is huge and i am very happy about this fic. the prompt was: "I wanna be in your touch / Sleep is so tough" - James Bay, Chew On My Heart and I wrote a lil something that i'm kinda happy with. do enjoy!

love,

katie

It’s the same nightmare. You recognise it from the last three weeks, you’ve been here before. Doesn’t make it easier to shake out of it. You watch him convulse, face torn and twisted somewhere between pain and the desperate attempt to keep his free will. The fight against the venomous words the HYDRA agent hurls at him. They’re like daggers, needles stuck into his brain, rewiring him. And all you can do is watch. You are frozen in place in the torture your subconsciousness puts you through. Again. And again. And again.

You can’t will your eyes to tear away from him. He snarls like a cornered animal at the agents around him. Then the final words. “грузовой вагон“. Freight car. You don’t know Russian, but those ten phrases have been burned into your brain. You could recite them in your sleep.

Bucky stills. He slowly stands up from his crouched position, cold stare fixed onto the speaking agent. “Я готов отвечить“.

You startle awake, the nightmare finally loosening its grasp on your consciousness. Immediately, your hands fly to the other side of the bed. It is cold and empty and your stomach drops when realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

This is not a nightmare. At least not entirely, no. It is a memory. Because you saw the footage. You saw Bucky convulse and bend and snap and straighten. And you saw Steve, heard his scream as Sam pulled him away, forcing him to leave his best friend in the hands of his torturers. Steve knows it was the right thing to do. You do, too. The thought of Bucky being all alone behind enemy lines still makes your breath hitch in your throat, though.

They didn’t want you to see the footage, it wasn’t supposed to be something you get confronted with. But you slipped into the room, originally meaning to talk to Natasha about some software to try out in the next mission. They didn’t notice you entering, eyes trained on a screen, FRIDAY running facial recognition in the background. They kept playing the footage over, and over, and over, and again, looking for any kind of clue as to where they could find him, until your knees gave out under you and you fell with a whimper leaving your throat. Natasha was the first to understand the situation. Steve let out a string of colourful curses you would have never stopped teasing him about, hadn’t you been trying to wrap your mind around what you just saw.

If you had known they were back already, you would have noticed him missing and asked. But you didn’t even know they were back. And then he was gone.

You finally open your eyes. The New York night tints the white ceiling a blueish sort of grey and you feel like someone painted the inside of your heart onto the concrete. A perfect replica. Grey inside. Empty. Broken and alone, left to try and fail to put yourself back together.

Your fingers curl into a fist around the cold and empty bedsheets. They have been empty for three weeks now, and your body has no tears left to give. So you lie there, silent sobs violently breaking free from the void that is your chest. Sometimes you don’t know if your heart is beating, still, and your hands can’t find it in them to check. It wouldn’t be so bad to die, you think. There’s not much keeping you here.

Steve visits every few days. He carries the same hollow look in his eyes, like someone snuffed out the light behind them and carelessly forgot to turn it back on. With the sole difference that he is better at hiding it. It is only when he thinks nobody is watching that the sticky navy blue ink that is grief seeps into his face and turns his eyes empty and his face pale. You don’t mention it.

You know it’s supposed to help, sharing grief. Which is why you open the door when he visits, and don’t turn him away. He needs it, too, you suppose. So you sit on your sofa in front of the tv and watch something stupid and mindless that none of you pay attention to and both of you pretend to find acutely intriguing whenever the other is looking.

It’s all a giant game of pretend. SHIELD is feigning confidence in finding him. Everyone else oozes positivity whenever they talk about the mission. But it’s false, and hollow, and the truth of it sneers at you through translucent optimism.

You turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4:36 a.m. That means you slept an astonishing three hours. That’s two more than yesterday. You’re not afraid of the nightmares anymore. You know they will come. The terror shaking you night after night has become a companion, just as the grief following closely in everything you do. It looms over you at night, hides in the shadows behind the furniture in your living room, joined by Steve’s whenever he’s there.

You were afraid to fall asleep, yes. Pulled two all-nighters in the first days after. By now you have learned to read the signs your body so openly presents you with and you know you will not fall asleep again tonight. So you lie there, hand splayed over the empty right side of the bed, eyes staring through the ceiling.

Fuck, you miss him. It rolls over you unexpectedly and your body seizes, curling up into a fetal position as your obviously alive and beating heart pumps sharp agony through your veins. He is gone. You know, of course, you understood before and this feeling is familiar, but for the first time, it truly settles inside you. Bucky is gone.

The man you imagined a future with, who handed you his broken and bruised heart and trusted you to fix it, is gone. The charming wooden home near the sea you always talked about when his nightmares were too much and too real slowly turns to dust between your grasping fingers. You feel it slip. The bell-like high pitched laughter of a young child evaporating in your mind.

You feel your heart break. There has been a dull ache in your chest for weeks. You’ve gotten used to it, embraced it into your menagerie of demons and ghosts, grief and loss. But it betrays you, right now, as you feel your heart pound against the cage of your ribs, and it burns. You still lie curled into yourself, blanket tangled between your legs. You will explode. You feel it with a new certainty, this will kill you. You breathe in and out, you know you do, but none of the air arrives in your lungs. It leaves you desperately gasping for oxygen.

Until you realise none of it is real. Because your heart is not here in your room with you, your heart lies in the mismatched hands of a broken soldier somewhere between here and the sea. It can’t kill you here, because there is an organ-sized hole in your chest and the coldness of the world tears at your exposed ribcage with icy shrapnel-sharp claws. Does it bleed? If so, you can’t feel the warmth. Blood is warm, right? Bucky always said it is.

You exhale slowly. Will your seizing muscles to relax, to let you go. To your surprise they do, and you inhale again, cold night air. It doesn’t yet escape through the wound in your chest. The hole hasn’t reached your lungs yet. But you know it will consume you, leave no part of you untouched, unbroken, will rip you apart for all your demons to finally feast on what is left of you.

Maybe he will find you first, you muse. Maybe HYDRA will find the last bit of mercy in them and send him after you, to cut his strings. You know you will not fight when he does. It would be a sweet oblivion with his eyes the last thing you see. Grey irises like molten silver when the sunlight hits just right.

Your arms fold against your chest. The skin is whole, not a scratch, no bleeding wound. You know it can’t be true. It is simply your minds way of processing this pain. Your imagination fixed the hole but you know it’s still there, still gaping. You can feel the edges burning where the hole ends and the marred skin starts. But you live. Still this broken body carries you on, one day after another.

You sit up in your sheets, hair plastered against your forehead by the thin film of sweat covering your body. As your back straightens, the metallic clinking of dog tags root you into this reality and you pull them out from under one of Bucky’s black shirts you’re wearing.

“Keep these,” he murmurs and presses something hard into your open palm. You look down and see the two thin pieces of metal piled on top of each other, embossed letters spelling his name, his full name. Your stunned eyes flicker back up into his and you open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you with a finger.

“It’s not like I need them. If I die, this thing” – he gestures to his arm – “will tell everyone who I am. But I want you to have these.”

Your thumb smoothes over the plates, shoving them against each other. “I mean … I won’t complain, but why do you …?”

He shrugs, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “I don’t know, I guess it feels like a part of me stays with you, y’know? A physical part. So that you have something real to hold onto until I’m back.”

It hits you, then, that he’s leaving. He picks the tags up and puts them around your neck and you reach for his hands, fingers closing around his forearms. “Don’t leave me, Bucky. Please, I can’t lose you –“

He puts his hands on either side of your face and kisses your nose, before looking directly at you. “You won’t lose me, you hear? I’ll always be with you. Always.”

But now he’s gone, and you close your fist around the metal tags until they push into your palms, and harder until they cut the delicate skin. You want to be angry at him but you can’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he couldn’t keep his promise.

You steady your breathing. Eyes wander to the red numbers on your alarm. 5:23. No use trying to sleep anymore, you decide, and sit up. Might as well make coffee. Maybe you can get something done today. Clean the laundry up at least, so Steve doesn’t have this awfully concerned look on his face next time he visits.

It takes you a couple of minutes to actually, physically, move. In your mind you’re already in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker with water and watching the coffee slowly dribble into the pot below. It has something therapeutic, one drop at a time. Almost meditative.

But, well, you do have to walk over into the kitchen to reach this point of short-lived meditative oblivion. So you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and your eyes fall onto the covered mirror in the corner. It’s floor-length, and you used to love being able to admire your whole outfit in there without having to stand on your tiptoes.

Like that one time before one of Tony’s extravagant galas, when you tried to get a good look at yourself and the glamourous dress that, as Natasha had pointed out, would look amazing on your figure. She had been right – naturally. But the tiny mirror in your bathroom hadn’t shown the whole thing and so you were leaning over the sink to try and look. Which was exactly the moment Bucky chose to walk into the room, only to promptly wear an affectionately amused smirk on his face, assuring you of your otherworldly beauty (“Oh come on, Buck, don’t mock me – “ “I’m not, you are otherworldly, doll, dazzling even!”) and pointing out that you were in desperate need of a floor-length mirror.

In the first few days of Bucky’s absence, you hung a bedsheet over it because you couldn’t bear the memory. In fact, you can’t recall the last time you actually looked at yourself. With utmost certainty, though, you can say that your skin must be grey and sunken and the darkened circles under your eyes a deeper shade of purple than when you were knee-deep in college finals. God, that time seems ages away. If you hadn’t gone to college then maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation – you would have certainly never ended up at SHIELD. For a second you wish you hadn’t. This pain would not be part of your reality, then.

But then again, you wouldn’t have met him at all. And as much as this, right now, hurts, you wouldn’t trade it with any reality in the universe if it meant not knowing him. Not loving him. Not knowing his deepest, darkest secrets that he only opened up about after one particularly bad nightmare, with his head in your lap, not daring to meet your eyes.

No, if this pain is the price for his love then you will take it. You will let it eat at you until there is nothing left except your hollowed shell of a body because it will have been worth it.

You walk past the covered mirror and open the door, bare feet against the cold kitchen floor. You go to reach for the coffee maker when something registers with you. Something out of place, a slight inconsistency in your regulated, never-changing surroundings. You barely see it in your periphery.

Your movements still and your head slowly turns toward what is undoubtedly someone sitting in your living room. The moonlight glints on his left shoulder and you realise, within the smallest fractions of a second, who it is.

The hollow excuse for a heart that sits in your chest sputters and stills, before springing back into action twice as fast. He came back.

A steady stillness settles over you as you understand the situation. They sent him. Loose ends and all. Yet you’re not afraid, this death will be quick and quiet. It gives you an odd sensation of peace, to know that his will be the last face you see – even if it is the Winter Soldier’s face. But they’re still Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s okay”, you whisper.

His intent gaze never leaves you as you slowly, deliberately walk towards him, step by step. You know that Bucky is in there, too, and you need him to understand that you accept this. That it is not his fault. That you are ready to die if it is at his hands.

There is an unusual uncertainty in the Soldier’s eyes. You have seen footage of him, cold expression, a sort of stone-hearted efficiency about his movements, never a step too much. He has not moved yet. You feel every bit of skin on your feet connecting to the wooden floor as you move towards him, slowly, but steadily. If this is how you are meant to go, then you will.

You’re only three feet away from him as you stop. His eyes followed you all the way there. Now they start to flicker over your face, your body, confusion slowly but definitely showing in the crinkles on his forehead. He opens his mouth and you hold your breath.

“I –“, it comes out croaky, like he hasn’t used his voice in forever, so he clears his throat and starts again.

“I know you.”

Your lungs deflate, shakily. He hasn’t killed you yet. If he hasn’t killed you yet, why is he here? The Winter Soldier doesn’t hesitate. The uncertainty in his face sparks something deep, deep inside of you that you thought dead by now. Hope.

His eyes find their way back to your face and he is searching it now, not the stoic, cold mask of the Winter Soldier. You don’t dare speak. The fingers of his left hand flex with an electric whirr.

“I know you, but …” he trails off.

His right fist opens, fingers seemingly involuntarily reaching out. You step closer and lower yourself down, bare knees on the wood flooring, eyes not leaving his.

“I remember you.”

His voice is steadier now, more confident that he does, in fact, know you. That there is something inside his brain, something more than just the Soldier. More than just the missions. Just the trigger.

His hand, the real one, reaches towards your face and you close your eyes upon contact, a shaky breath leaving your lips. His index and middle finger trail across your cheekbone. Follow the curve of your lips. Trace your eyebrows. Your eyes flicker open and your breath gets caught in your throat because there he is, there he is, his eyes his own.

“Bucky –“

His name leaves your lips, a choked sob partially escaping. He blinks. Still, his eyes are his own. His lips part and then he whispers your name and you are certain this is a dream. A change of pace from the violent nightmares of late, but still a dream, because this can’t be true. How could it be.

But the hardwood floor is rough against your knees and his hand is warm against your cheek and he is there. He slides off the chair onto the ground before you and you feel hot tears spill from your open, disbelieving eyes. His other hand reaches for your face and then he’s holding you there, so unbelievably gentle, his eyes tortured and lined in purple but undeniably his own.

“You came back”, is the first real thing you say to him.

His thumb smoothes over the dark bruise under your eye, proof of sleepless nights and tired days.

“I’m so sorry”, is the first thing he says to you in his own voice.

You close your eyes, lids pushing tears over the edge and you let them drip down onto your bare thighs as you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips.

“There is nothing you need to be sorry about. None of this was your fault.”

“I – you’re hurt”, he states, matter-of-factly, and your eyes open again.

You try and put everything into your eyes, everything you feel, the hope, the relief, the love. Most of all the love.

“But you’re back. That’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

His grey irises swim with regret and pain and fear and yet you see love in them. You gently touch your forehead to his and he sighs, eyelids fluttering closed.

“I love you, and you’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

The cold seeps into your body from the floor, your knees scraping against the hardwood. Neither of you dares to move, the calm of the situation too delicate, neither sure if this is real or just a particularly cruel dream. But it is too beautiful to disturb and so both of you remain where you are, hands gently touching the other. Thankful for this moment of peace.

**

Forgot my taglist consisting of one wonderful person: @mannien

[charliedawn]

Pennywise 1990 X Reader X Pennywise 2017 "The Joke's On You" part 1

Part 2: https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/648205835225415680/the-jokes-on-them-part-2

"Ssssooooo..Why clowns ?"

Both of them look at you with a frown of incomprehension on their faces..

" Because of the fear."

They answer at the same time. Funny, its the first time you see them act so..alike. You mean, of course, they are big scary child-eating monsters..But they never seemed to be agreeing on anything, so when you ask the question, their looks and answers are so similar that it makes you think of another question.

" Also..Are you like brothers or something ? Related ? Father and son, or that can't happen with your kind ? You just eat children and do not produce them ?"

Penny, the tall ginger clown only crouches like a frog while the other one only looks at him with disgust.

" Yeah..Right..As if I would ever be related to that one..Nah. We're just hunting together now..Normally, he would not wake up at the same time as me, so we wouldn't really meet. But the idiot messed up his schedule while overstaying in order to kill some dumb kids and he woke up the same time I did !"

He glares at Penny who doesn't seem concerned at all by the way the other one is describing the situation. Even though it's quite offensive..The older one continues and looks at me with a repulsive snare at the idea.

" We don't produce children. Although, we never tried. We are mostly made of pure fear materialized only by the decaying flesh of our victims..We're supposed to be impossible to kill and we don't even know when we were born nor where. But, I remember that the first time I saw a human, many centuries ago, people mostly called us "Wendigos".."

You open your eyes wide in surprise at the news.

"Wendigos ?! So, that means you were humans before ?!"

The young one snickers and his yellow eyes glare at me.

" Humans ?! Ah ! What a joke ! They cry, love, betray, they only crawl on an endless path until they become old, ugly and die. This is why we eat them..They are of no use..They are dancing on a ball of dirt that they squeezed so much that it has no more to give..And you know what is the most ironic ? Is that they prefer to blind themselves more than face the truth..There is no beauty or originality in humans..Doves fly, dogs bark, dears run and even dolphins are more intelligent than you..Now tell me, why would the world need you, when we have the exact same talents in every animal that comes with the letter D ? I didn't even have to go out of my favorite letter to find every good thing you've ever done in animals that are not destroying their own habitat. What makes you so special ? What makes you think that you deserve living when all you do is destroy and hide the truth ?!"

It is the most you have ever heard Penny speak and even Pennywise seems shocked by his sudden outburst. Penny is so close to you that you can see his anger reflecting in his eyes. You try to not let fear show but, it's hard. You gulp and look at the ground in shame. He was right..What did you bring that no other living being ever did ? Humans were parasites and he smirks before returning at his crouching position.

" That's what I thought."

He whispers and Pennywise smiles almost proudly before hitting him in the back a little too hard since Penny growls.

" Wow. Didn't know you had it in you ! In all honesty, I never even thought about why I eat humans..I mean, we both know that human and animal food taste the same..But, for some reason, I always hated humans..Never really knew why and never cared enough to ask !"

He answers with a grin.

You frown then gasp in horror which both of them seem to notice since they turn their heads towards you in frightening synchronization.

" Wait ! Does that mean..You chose to eat humans ?! That you can perfectly live without their meat and just eat like normal people?!"

Pennywise answers with a grin.

" Come on..You should have figured it out by now..We don't really care about what we're eating, as long as it has flesh and fear : which animals and humans both have in common. But, as he said before, why choose them over you ?"

He looks at you up and down before adding with a large grin.

" Now that I think about it, if it wasn't for your rare quality of blood, you would already be a past meal.."

You shiver and he bursts out laughing.

Yeah..You remember..The only thing that kept you alive was you blood type..O- was, from what you had understood, sweeter ? Like some kind of cake or candy..This is why they wanted to keep you alive.."Saving best for last" as they had said.

Ah ! How lucky am I ?! You think.

You sigh and turn the other way to face anything else but the two clowns. At that moment, your foot hits something. You look down at the ground and are surprised to see some pencils. You glance behind you, but the other two don't seem to care about you anymore..for now. You get the pencils and look around for a surface to try them on and when you've finally decided, you walk towards it. You stop and close your eyes to visualise what you want to draw..Then, inspiration hits you and it's like your hands are dancing on the hard surface. You're so concentrated that you don't even notice the two creatures stopping whatever they were doing to look at you with confusion written all over their faces. You continue and seconds, minutes, hours pass. The two clowns, curious of what you are doing, now stand next to you silently, as to not break your concentration. They just look at your drawing from each side of you, their eyes wide, surprised and unable to find words to describe it. You are breathless, exhausted, but don't want to stop. If it was the last thing you would do, then let it be beautiful..Even if the only living things that would ever see it would be two nightmarish clowns that didn't give two shits about art or expression of oneself. When you finish, you are surprised to find two gloved hands on you drawing..You look at each side of yourself and see the two clowns, weirdly still and their eyes glued to your work. For a moment, you almost laugh at their, surprisingly, childish faces. They look like your young Art and Crafts students that you teach, always awed by whatever you would do.

But, what makes you smile the most, is that the first reaction they had was to touch it with their hands, as if the drawing had called them in. You sometimes had students like that, that could only understand Art by touching it. This is why whenever you would bring one of your works, you told the kids to do the first thing that came to their mind with it (as long as it wasn't tearing it apart or painting on it of course) Everyone had different reactions. Some liked to look from a far, some liked a closer angle and, as you had witnessed, some preferred touching it..But, what surprises you next is your own reaction. You grab one of the pencils and trace the shadow of your own hand on your drawing, as a proof. Then, you gently take Penny's hand that looks almost frightened by your touch, but he lets you hold onto his hand and do the same thing that you just did with your own. He giggles slightly as the pencil lightly "tickles" him and, to your surprise, his claws get out. He wants to retract them, nearly in shame, but you make it clear that it doesn't bother you while tracing the contour of his claws as well. When you are finished with him, you turn towards the older one that had already taken his hand off with a snicker.

" If it is a trick to impress us, it will not work, your hocus-pocus will not stop us from eating you..Anyway, I'm sure you have a knife hidden somewhere and only wait for me to let my guard down to stab me in the back."

You only answer with a sad smile of silent resolve while reaching for his hand.

" No trick. No hocus-pocus. No knife. Only me, your hand and a way to make you remember that, for a minute, I managed to make you feel something else than anger, hate or hurt.."

He frowns, visibly hesitant, before finally giving in with a childish grumble.

You finally trace his fingers on your colorful drawing, mixing the color of the rainbow and the greyish color that composed the colors of their suits. And, at the middle, all those colors forming one gigantic tree, that tree being your own personal touch..A tree that, maybe, will learn Penny that, even though humans destroy, they also create and Pennywise that, even though he lost any hopes concerning humanity, the particularity of the humans, the thing that makes them truly special are their hope. Because, even if animals are better than you in every aspect, they do not hope..And they do not have the imagination to create any other outcomes than eat or be eaten. This is maybe why the two clowns seem much more appreciative of those creatures than the humans ? Because they are much easier to understand ? You smile proudly at your little discovery. Like this tree, humans are made of so many different colors that it is difficult to find a pattern..Both of them said that they hated Humanity, but if it is true then..

" I may have understood why you chose to be clowns.."

They turn towards you : Penny with a side smile and Pennywise with an arked eyebrow.

" Oh ? And why is that ? You're gonna tell us that it's because we liked making people laugh when we were "humans" ?!"

The older one says, putting humans between brackets mockingly while the other one is cackling behind him. You smile again and shake your head while they come down to a sitting position; one on his favorite worn out leather chair and the other one on the dirty floor. They both look up at you expectantly, as if they are expecting you to read them a bedtime story..

" Well..I don't think it is about the form in itself, it is more about the colors and the fact that it symbolizes things that you never had when you were "humans".."

You say between brackets as to imitate Pennywise that is looking at you with another one of his signature mocking smile.

" What are you talking about ?! I am funny ! The funniest in town if you ask me !"

He says proudly, while Penny only rolls his eyes at his comment.

You shake your head again with a smile and even answer with a little laugh.

" No. Not that. You feed only from fear..Correct ?"

They both nod in unison and then, you ask a question that they had never even asked themselves before.

" Why only fear ?"

They want to answer that it is obvious, that it is stupid to even ask. But they have to admit it at the end, they do not know themselves. After a while, you answer for them.

" You do not feed on fear. But on faith."

They frown and Pennywise asks, confused.

" What do you mean ?"

You try to find words to explain your thinking and finally sigh, as it is no easy task.

" You feed on the only thing that you do not have, and that humans are the only ones to possess..Our faith and beliefs. We believe that there are monsters under our beds, then you take their appearance. In fact, I don't even know if you can transform in anything else than scary things, can you ?"

They look at each other before looking back at you and Penny is the first one to answer you.

" We never tried..and what for even ?"

You smile and get up, dusting your knees.

" Humans are afraid, but what they fear the most is losing their most cherished things. Try with me. Try to guess my most cherished thing on Earth.."

The two clowns seem interested by the idea and you can feel them trying to find your most precious memories. They already know your biggest fear..And in all honesty, after having seen it so many times, you aren't that scared of insects anymore. Now, let's see if they are as powerful as they say they are..

Penny transforms into a puppy and you smile tenderly while extending your arms in order to take him in your arms. But then, another head appears, then another, then another..

He returns to his normal appearance, almost as out of breath as you were before.

" I..I can't..stay in this form very long."

You nod understandingly and then, turn towards the oldest that only shrugs at the odd reaction of the young one. Pennywise seems to look at you with a little bit more seriousness, his hand scratching his chin in silent observation. You know that he is trying to figure you out and is taking the dare to heart. And, suddenly, his smile widens and his eyes brighten as he has a sudden epiphany and you frown in worry. What did he see ? Suddenly, he gets up and slowly walks towards you with a weird crooked smile, looking more smug than usual.

" If I have learned something about your kind is that you have one thing that you always bring up.."

You frown in incomprehension, what does he mean ? Suddenly, Penny smiles creepily and you shiver, he must have understood some kind of hidden message because you sure as hell didn't get the memo ! You smile awkwardly, your pulse racing and cold sweat start to form on your skin. Whatever he has in mind..You sure as Hell didn't know what it is, and that scares you more than anything..Pennywise backs you up against the wall of your drawing and smirks.

" I..I think we played enough..I'm tired..We can maybe continue tomorrow..?"

You ask, your heartbeats quickening and both clowns looking at you with bright yellow eyes. However, suddenly, both of them shout at the same time.

" Money !"

" Food !"

You open your eyes wide at Pennywise that gets out some coins from his pocket and you then turn towards Penny that just shouted food like it was some kind of good answer at a test. Tears start building up at the corner of your eyes and you sigh in relief before biting your lips shut, trying to contain your laughter.

Penny frowns at your expression and says in a small, almost childish, voice.

" Wasn't the point of the game to say one of the things you cherish the most ? Don't you cherish food ? Why are you crying ? Did I win ?!"

Suddenly, you start laughing uncontrollably and Pennywise answers him in a really angry voice.

" No! You didn't, big dummy! The game was transform, not yelling the answer at the top of you lungs like an idiot!"

Penny frowns and crosses his arms while pouting. But you answer through each giggle.

" You're wrong! Both of you!"

They look at you with wide eyes before growling.

" Then, what is the answer ?! "

Pennywise yells, frustrated and you answer.

" Love ! We value love ! Family, friends.."

Penny frowns and scoffs.

" Well, you're funny ! How do you transform into something you don't even know ?!"

You gasp, this is why he couldn't stay in the form of a puppy ! He didn't know how they truly acted towards affection ! You could have almost felt sorry for them if it didn't mean alerting their fear senses for food..But, you could try to find a way to get them to learn more about the true meaning of love. 

Pennywise lets you go and sighs in defeat while turning towards Penny.

" Boy ! You don't have to transform into love ! You just had to take the appearance of something she wanted to love, dumbass ! Like I don't know, a human she know ?!"

You suddenly open your arms wide and they both look at you with widened eyes.

" What the heck are you doing ?"

Pennywise asks with a scowl and Penny only frowns, his eyes diverting on strange angles. You try not to think about the fact that you're going to try to hug two interdimensional demons and just wrap your arms around them. At first, you really thought one of them was going to shred you to pieces, but they become as still as statues.

" This is what humans call a hug. It's super effective and it is the first thing in affection."

Penny is still as a rock, and you even ask yourself if he is even breathing..Before remembering that he surely doesn't even have a heart. Pennywise is the first one to move and gets you off harshly. His eyes are of a wild red color and he looks in pain. He clutches his heart and growls animalistically at you. He then runs towards the exit and glances at you one last time.

" I am hungry. I'm going hunting..Penny, keep an eye on her ! If she even moves a muscle, eat her."

Penny seems to get back from his shock and only nods quietly.

When Pennywise is gone, your focus comes back on Penny that, you had noticed, had taken more distance between himself and you after your attempt at affection. As if he was..scared ? You try to approach him, talk or even apologize, but he only growls warningly at you and shows you his really sharp teethes..making you reconsider.

You tried to make them look at humanity from a different perspective, like at your drawing, but looks like nothing could be done..You'd die here. Anyway, the joke's on you since you were the one who thought you could change them..Silly you. Monsters will always remain monsters..Hope ? Who are you kidding ?! You lost that the moment you ended up in that damned sewer ! You start crying and, for some reason, your sobs catch the attention of Penny. He looks at you, then at his pile of toys, then back at you. He then begins climbing it and that makes you wonder what he is doing ? Is he leaving you ? Eat a rotten piece of child ? You have no time to wonder more as he quickly gets back on the ground and, with measured steps, approaches you with the same wariness as a wild animal. He then throws you something and gets back into his corner with a piece of a child's leg in his other hand.

He starts chomping on it and you look at what he threw at you..A music box ? You look at him quizzically and, after swallowing, he answers your silent question.

" Don't read anything into it. Your tears make me uncomfortable, so I got you something to keep you from doing that..If I eat you now, Pennywise would be angry at me for not sharing, and I have had enough of his loud voice for one day. Now, make this thing work. I want to listen to it, it has a nice sound and you have nothing else to do.."

You stay still for a moment before smiling softly at him.

" Sure..Thanks.."

You start playing the little music box and are surprised to see that it is the moonlight sonata of Beethoven..A beautiful music that invades the whole sewer with its melody echoing on the walls. You smile widely, at least something to remind you of the outside world.

Outside, Pennywise has his mind set on finding his next meal, but, suddenly stops in the forest and, weirdly enough, hears the song..Then, the pang in his chest that he felt before comes back and he can suddenly hear the words that an idiotic turtle called Maturin once told him before dying..

" Just because you bury something, that doesn’t mean it stops existing, Robert Gray. You can hide your heart, but someone will one day dig far enough to find it.."

Robert Gray..It had been such a long time that he had heard this name. At the time, he had only laughed mockingly at the old senile turtle..But now..Even Bob had felt it. No..Not Bob..Penny. They had chosen to never speak of those disgusting human names again. But then, she had showed up..They could eat her, never talk about it again, continue hunting children and living until the end of the world..She was human..They both knew that, she would grow old..tired..cumbersome and then die. But then, something else that the bothersome turtle had said comes back in his mind. One time, Pennywise had dared ask why the turtle loved humanity so much ? And he had answered something strange that Pennywise had not expected.

" Humanity has only scratched the surface of its real potential. Someday, you will understand why Humanity is so important, Robert.."

" My name is Pennywise ! The destroyer ! The eater of Worlds ! I have no sympathy for humans ! Whoever they are or whatever they do !"

He kept telling himself that, trying to convince himself but then..Why can't he believe his own words ? What was bothering him ?! Why did he feel this way after only talking for a few days to a simple human ?! Or..was it the tree ? The tree she had drawn ? Yes, there should have been some kind of trick behind it ?! She had tricked them as he had firstly assumed ! But then, why did he feel so out of control ? As if he was wrong ? Did the words of the turtle, for once, really made sense ? He closes his eyes and sighs before punching a tree and making it fall..No ! He wouldn't allow it ! He wouldn't allow the old turtle to make a fool out of him even after death ! He was going to kill her ! And that was a promise ! He was not going to let her question everything anymore ! He would shut her up ! No more idiotic questions: no more opportunities to manipulate his feelings ! Yes ! That would be it ! The idea of going hunting out of his head, he walks back to the sewer with a determined smirk. Yeah..We'll see who'll be the fool at the end..Maturin..

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm First Interlude: Electricity in the Springs

Kung Lao x Reader

Look, I don't even think these fit into the actual timeline of the story? But it was fun to write. An imagine that still fits in this Oncoming Storm universe! Will post Liu Kang here in a second. AND ALSO I could not make them kiss before they kiss in the actual story, so again, I'm only kind of sorry for the torture! Lol.

Part 1 of The Oncoming Storm Second Interlude: Steam (Liu Kang x Reader)

The training session had been rough that afternoon. You felt you’d more than earned a trip to the springs after how exhausting it had been. Besides, your inky arcana kept leaving you soaked. The only time you truly felt clean after a fight like that was when you got to bask in the springs. You understood why Liu was constantly covered in soot now. It was easier to function as a mess than to go out of your way to the springs. Worse than that, the springs were a time suck. You’d come down there and fall asleep or get carried away listening to stories told to you by the monks that frequented them.

That day was no different. You made your way to the springs, towel wrapped around you securely, and you joined a group of female monks who had invited you to sit with them. You listened to them speak about their day animatedly and then sat in comfortable silence while they continued to talk amongst themselves. You tended to check out when you were no longer included but had caught them talking about you several times.

Their gossip was never a bad thing, but they did enjoy teasing you for the company you preferred to keep. The fiery Liu Kang and handful that was Kung Lao. The monks jostled you awake and then bowed respectfully and said they had to take their leave. You were fine with that. There wouldn’t be anyone else in the springs but you and you would bask in the warmth of its waters and the emptiness of its walls.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed in the water and resigned that you would likely fall asleep for the afternoon. It almost always happened every time you came down there. Why did you resist the siren call of the relaxing water? You had no idea. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you resisted a great many things those days. Perhaps it was out of habit, perhaps out of guilt. Who knew? The human psyche was complicated and you had no aspirations of figuring it out.

Footsteps were followed by a familiar energy but before you’d sat up and opened your eyes, Kung Lao had leapt into the water and a great wave of bubbling warm water soaked over you in a wave. You fell over with a laugh. Upon correcting yourself, you were met with a face full of water. Kung Lao was splashing you, a grin on his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” You laughed, wiping your hand over your face. He splashed you again as if to make a point, though what the hell that point was you had no idea. You splashed him back as he made to speak and he coughed, spitting out water. You chuckled and swam a little away from him in case he retaliated.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he considered his options. “Oh, now you’re in trouble.”

“What? You started it!” You swam further away, making your way into the next pool but Kung Lao pushed into the water and the wave that it resulted in knocked you back into the water. You yelped and barely caught your breath before being submerged. He offered a hand to pull you back up and you smacked his arm then splashed him in the face. You coughed up water and then splashed him a second time for good measure.

“I didn’t mean to drown you!” Despite his insistence he was still laughing, so much so that his face had turned red.

“It’s not that funny, Lao.”

“It’s pretty funny, Y/N.” He purposely called you by your full name almost constantly. You’d thought it started as him teasing you when they were kids but now it was kind of sweet. He was the only one who did it. Even Liu Kang called you by the shortened form of your name. Kung Lao settled next to you but you scooted a cautious foot away from him. He laughed and purposely closed the gap between you again. “Hey!” He objected when you pushed him away again.

“I don’t trust you for a single second.” You accused and he seemed to think your words over before nodding.

“That’s fair.”

“You came in here very… chaotic. You do know that people come here to relax, right?” You gestured toward the water.

“What people? It’s just you. Figured you could use some action.” Kung Lao rested comfortably, arms outstretched on either side of him, taking up an impressive amount of space for one man. That was when you realized that Kung Lao was completely naked and your expression must have changed so severely to alarm that he’d noticed. “What? It says clothing optional on the door. The towels get all heavy and saggy.”

“You are a mess of a human being.”

“Oh? And you like me, so what does that say about you?” He laughed, pointing an accusatory finger toward you.

“I’m deeply flawed, obviously.”

“You’re defensive, is what you are. Always have been.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval then closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. He’d gone from hyper and attacking you with water to relaxing as though he’d been there all afternoon.

“Remember when I was that comfortable?”

“You need to learn to relax, Y/N.”

“I was relaxing, Kung Lao!” You splashed at him and he wiped his face free of water.

“Come on. Relax with me!”

“You are such an antagonist.”

“Sue me for having a little fun.” He stuck his tongue out at you then closed his eyes and relaxed again. You settled a bit away from him, sinking further into the water and avoiding looking at him. When he didn’t tease you further, you finally relaxed and closed your eyes. You heard the movement in the water but didn’t think much of it. When you opened your eyes, Kung Lao was crouched in the water before you, watching you.

“…you okay?” You asked curiously. He nodded and took your hands, pulling you further into the water with him. You leaned your head back with a whine and he laughed as he kept pulling. You allowed him to do so and he took you further into the pool until they were treading water. “You just can’t let me relax. That’s it. I’ve figured it out.”

“Tell me that this isn’t relaxing.”

“…it is.” You averted your gaze but agreed.

“What’s with the look?” He urged you to spin in the water with him and you laughed.

“I’m tired. You’re so needy right now.” He wasn’t usually like this. Well, he did have a fondness for pestering you but usually it was less pulling you around and more teasing.

“No reason.” He lied, right to your face! You saw it in his eyes. “Are you really bothered by me?”

“No.” You shrugged. “It is fun to give you a hard time though.” He laughed and splashed you lightly again. “So help me, Kung Lao…”

Much to your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close in a hug. You stiffened up at first, expecting to be dunked but his arms instead were comforting. He didn’t seem willing to let you go so you relented. Sometimes fighting with him was impossible anyway. And who were you to argue with him? His arms were strong, surrounding you, and offered you a deep security and indescribable warmth that was far beyond that of the springs.

“I’m really glad that you’re here, Y/N.” His voice was different then. The usual lilt of teasing was gone and it was deep and serene, a rare seriousness beyond his usual playfulness. There was a special place in your heart for Kung Lao. A hole that only he could fill, a hole you hadn’t realized was there until you’d been reunited with him.

“Me too, Kung Lao.” You watched the corner of his lip curl into a smile, fixated entirely on his lips. His hands brushed slowly over your back and then he rested his chin in your hair, offering the top of your head a kiss. You placed your hands against his chest and basked in the comfort he brought you. You leaned back up with every intention of telling him you were going to fall asleep and drown if you stayed there but found him watching you. The look in his eyes was so serious that you weren’t sure how to process it.

You pushed some of his messy hair away from his face. He took your hand and rested it on his strong jaw. That was your Kung Lao. All grown up and one hell of a man. Your fingers crept over his jaw and down his neck, eyes following your fingers. He tilted your chin back up, closer to him. His lips brushed just barely against yours and he hesitated, as if unsure that you would reciprocate. You would have, but that moment of hesitation was enough for you to wonder if either of you were ready for that.

You smiled and placed your other hand on his other cheek. Then with a yell, you leaned back and shoved him underwater, jumping up to do so. Then you swam backwards and away from him. When he popped back up and shook out his short, wild hair with a spray, he stared at you in disbelief. Then his smile returned, as if he understood why you’d done what you had done. You shared a knowing look.

“I’m going to get you back, Y/N. Just you wait for next time.” He swam to the other side of the springs and climbed atop the stone. You sunk into the water and turned away because there he was, naked, and making his way to the locker room. You stole a look when you were sure he wasn’t watching you. He had the cutest little butt, good god.

You sunk further into the water with a sigh. Placing your fingers to your lips, you swore you could feel the residual touch of just that gentle brush of his lips. It filled you with confused butterflies. There was no relaxing after that, so you made your way out of the springs.

[pretty-face-breaker]

WIJ Prompt: Sleep

CW. creepy whumper, pet names, implied murder, blood stains, forced to get rid of evidence for a killer, past consensual torture, coercive relationship

@whumpmasinjuly

Timeline: A few months before Hayko escapes

— At its corner, the desk clock read 2:00 am. 

The light of the lamp fell on his hand as he wrote, eyes skipping the document before he turned the page to give the pen a healthy shake. Then, it was from the top again with the court file number, judicial centre, applicant. Down until his hand hung off of the desk. He seemed to only breathe once a page.

He had been dealing with paperwork for the past few hours but for Hayko, filling in blanks was like second nature as riding a bike might be for someone. Just as they would know when to lift their hips for an oncoming bump, he knew where to push the nib hard enough that the ink wouldn’t swipe and smear the space. By muscle memory, he crossed every t and dotted each i but ensured, as each page filled up, to go back and check. 

Two empty fruit bar wrappers sat near him beside an empty mug - all he had eaten since the single boiled egg and tea in the morning - which wasn’t his proudest meal plan but there was work to be done for next week. Crisis had struck. One of the cartel’s major benefactors was on trial for embezzlement. 

He wanted to laugh.  

Hayko sighed, letting the fountain pen click down before stretching up to the ceiling and then back. The exercise was useful when he needed a reminder that he had bones that weren’t made for crouching over a desk for hours at a time.  

“Good morning.” 

The seat almost toppled back as Hayko flinched and darted his eyes to the doorway of the other man’s room. “Jesus, you scared me, Nick.” He stood up quickly, fingers leaning on the desk for support when his head suddenly began to spin and his vision blacked out for a moment. 

Looking at his figure in the doorway, they suddenly felt colder.

“Working late again, busy bee? You should be asleep.” Nick wasn’t moving from the doorway, just leaning on one shoulder and just out of the perimeter that the light would allow him to be seen. It was all too dark to tell, but Hayko felt like he was smiling.

He smiled nervously in response, dragging his hands closer to him. “Always.” They held a long look under the benevolent layer of darkness before Nick ripped it away by stepping forward, then again until the yellow light of the desk lamp crawled up to his face. When Hayko saw his face, he was silently surprised at having guessed correctly that he was smiling.

Then, he saw his shirt. 

Nick must have noticed the immobile terror in his face because he chuckled. It rumbled in his ear, signalling a little involuntary shiver up the man’s back. “Don’t worry, doll. It’s not mine.” 

His fingertips were chilled against the desk now as Hayko kept his eyes locked on the bloodstains, of which there were plenty, clotting near the buttons at the waist, splattered across his sleeves, and painting a grimly neat stripe up to his collar. The glaring light of the bulb brought out their faint redness but mostly, it looked like Nick had painted the shirt black. 

“Th-... then whose?” He’d been meaning to ask. Hayko breaths mellowed as Nick began sliding off his watch and walking over. When it was off, he dropped it behind him with a thunk that made him blink. Right on the court order, too, he thought.

He should have been asleep by now. He should have gone to bed before he got home because then, he wouldn’t have to be dealing with him in the late hours. Nick was different at night, less human, and not in his humanity but his general appearance.  

Nick’s hands travelled to his waistband and plucked the dress shirt from his pants, not hesitating to start immediately unbuttoning. For courtesy, he turned at an angle to the bed next to the desk, facing the headboard as he took off the stained shirt. His chest was splattered with fainter spots of blood. Those would be easier missed and Hayko was glad they were. 

He finally found enough courage to bring his hands fully to his sides but not enough to look at him as he undressed, not out of disgust of the bloodstains but out of awkwardness. Never really figuring out where to look any time Nick undressed in front of him - although he probably would prefer it to be at him - Hayko let his eyes wander to the floor. 

“Is that all you ate today?” Nick was looking at the empty wrappers and mug, skipping the pile of paperwork entirely in a way that made Hayko redden a little for the mess.

He anxiously scraped the tiny crack in the floorboard made by his chair. “Yeah, um... ‘didn’t have much time for much else.” While technically not true, he thought, it wasn’t that he had the appetite for anything more either. With the recent heat-wave that had overwhelmed the city, he could hardly remember to eat without Nick being the one to remind him. Like they were god damn married.

The man pulled his tie loose then swooped both off, tsking in disapproval as he hung them over his arm and faced Hayko. “You need to seriously take care of yourself, love,” he chided with a hint of warmth. “You have work, sure, but not eating?” 

He found it harder to stare at the floor with Nick looking directly at him now. “Wasn’t hungry,” he mumbled, frustrated with the nagging while he stood there covered in a litre of fucking blood. 

It seemed strange to him, even this far into this veil of a romantic relationship, that Nick insisted on playing concerned spouse and talking down to him in that voice thick with adoration. He hated it. But mostly, he hated how it tricked him every time, for a few moments, to believing that the concern was genuine. 

That if Nick wanted to, he wouldn’t just break him in two for a quick, sadistic fix. 

“What if I hire a chef, hm?” Hayko’s eyes travelled uneasily up to his, avoiding the body not out of embarrassment or modesty but the light bruising, the little scratches at his shoulders that indicated there had been a struggle. 

He swallowed down the image of his victim clawing from below so he wouldn’t accidentally imagine his own face to fill in the blank.

“A nice one, family friend even, so you don’t starve yourself cooped up in my bedroom all day with your papers.” 

“Your papers,” Hayko reminded him carefully. It was annoying when he couldn’t at least pretend to remember that he was his employer. But Nick just chuckled before handing him the shirt, tie draped over. His fingernails were black with blood. 

“Do me a favour?” 

The dried, metallic smell overwhelmed him and he swallowed as the scent lingered, reminding him of the uncharacteristically pleasant evening a few nights ago, how the stench had replaced the man’s sage cologne as he had looked over Hayko’s bare back. Looked over the cuts there and decided to open a few up again as he shivered and bit back whimpers. 

He closed his eyes a moment, reliving the painful buzz his mind had been in, too clouded by chanting of more, more, more to say anything coherent until Nick had finished and planted a kiss on his neck and woken him up. Memories like those and how close they happened to each other sometimes made Hayko forget the nature of how he even got here but if he was honest in the moment, that one evening had...almost made it count. 

Hayko gasped back to reality, snatching the shirt before Nick could snap at him. “Sure, yeah, I-I’ll throw it away.” 

“Don’t throw it away, silly,” Nick interrupted as he turned to his bathroom. “Clean it. I like that shirt a lot, you know, you’ve seen me wear it to lots of those end-of-the-month parties Don Miguel likes to organize for us.” 

Hayko seemed at a loss for just what to do with the bloodstained clothing in his hand when he noticed that it wasn’t just stained but bathed in life. The combination seemed heavier in his hand than any of his shirt’s ever had. He thought, with a stirring and morbid curiosity, just which of his fucked up methods Nick had used to squeeze the breath out of the-

“Did you hear me?” 

He should have been asleep, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with this tonight.

“Nick-... I don’t think-” He stammered and motioned to the red cluster. “There’s too much… I don’t think I can, um, actually clean it with the amount of blood.” Waiting in silence for a response, Hayko unfolded the shirt by the shoulders, as if he hadn’t already seen the wreck. “Plus, a lot of it is dried. How long ago did you?...”

Sighing, Nick stopped and tilted his head. “You know I’ve got a couple of those enzyme detergents in the left cabinet of the other washroom. Multiple, actually, so fill up the sink and leave it.” 

And with that, Nick nodded at him which was cue that it was time to stop asking questions.

When he stumbled through the living room, he noticed it was pitch black where Nick hadn’t even spared the bar lights to make his way to the bedroom. Only further proof that the man was a born predator, Hayko thought grimly. 

He searched blindly for the light and squinted upon flicking it on. Nick may not have convinced him with the criticism of his diet but Hayko was starting to pay attention to the poor lighting he usually worked under. 

The left cabinet revealed the detergents. Hayko took them out, one by one, and stacked them on the sink before opening the faucet. He took note to plug it before it filled up and shut the warm dial. The colder the better Nick had mentioned off-hand once on a night similar to this one, where Hayko had watched him scrubbing a shirt in the sink from the hallway, pretending the water wasn’t turning pink between his fingers.

He breathed once, the sharp smell of chemical piercing his nose, and sprinkled it in. The shirt went in next and then the tie and all he could do was stare at it, infatuated. He had watched a man come home from killing someone, taken his clothes, and stuck the evidence in heavy-duty detergent.

He was a fucking lawyer. 

He didn’t sign up for this. 

Where had the time gone for it to have gone this far, to be involved like this with a psychopath? Going from tied up in his god damn basement to playing boyfriend? 

Sure, it had been a stupid mistake on his part but it was a mistake, all he had wanted was to live, and one verbal contract later, now watched blood merge with water.

The blood stained dress shirt stared back up at him disapprovingly. It probably thought he deserved it, Hayko thought faintly and the sudden rush of nausea almost made him double over and wretch into the sink.

The clock ate the time with ticks, and all Hayko did was stare at the shirt in the sink. Until he heard a rustle from behind. The man had probably finished washing up and just in time, too. “You should’ve been asleep.” 

Nick was right, always right. 

Tagging: @doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp

Ask to be added/removed!

[sweetsubharry]

do you have any friends to lovers au full of fluffy?

Yes I do!! It is a favourite of mine so be warned there’s 36 fics in this rec!! Isn’t friends to lovers fluff just the best??  💖

Please stay safe and read the tags!!

It's A Start by Magiic_Shop

“This is dangerous, love,” Louis smirked, his lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder blade.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Because,” Louis’ smirk grew into a smile, “I might never want to let you go.”

Harry shifted against Louis, reaching up to cover Louis’ hand on his stomach with his own, “Then don’t.”

--

Or, the one where Harry can't sleep at night, and because of that, neither can Louis. Louis thinks it could be the start of something.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

One Plus One Is Also One (Sometimes) by justgotowisharder

“Dear Mrs. Sissy,” Anne read out loud and Harry only wanted the ground to swallow him up, “you asked me to write about my hero but I don’t have a hero, I have a superhero. Superheroes are better and have superpowers. My superhero is Louis Tomlinson.”

(Or the one where Louis Tomlinson isn’t really a superhero, but he’ll always do everything on his power to protect his baby Harry)

Love You But I Gotta Let Go by FallingLikeThis

Harry’s father is never going to be satisfied with anything that he does. But maybe that’s okay when his best friend is there, always cheering him on anyway.

Prompt 947: The despair of ever living up to his standards.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to. 

Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home by goodgirlfaith (boomersoonerash)

Five times Louis Proposes to Harry and the one time he doesn't.

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

Burning Skies by emeraldharry 

They both watched as ice and fire danced across their palms, hypnotized by the small things they could do with their powers. Snowflakes swirled around each other as the mist twisted about like a small tornado, while the fire in Louis' hands swayed and twirled gracefully—bright and warm and beautiful.Before, Harry couldn't even think of touching him with the fear of turning his skin to ice. Now, he knew that Louis wasn't some ordinary human to shy away from. Louis was bright, fiery flames, a body of powerful waves of heat. Louis was everything he was not, his polar opposite, but it was all the more reason that they fit together just right.or[Mutant au: Harry likes to think he's normal. Except, normal boys don't freeze everything they touch. Louis thinks he's perfect just the way he is and shows him just that. Zayn is a telekinetic, Liam is a rising YouTube star, and Niall is the best human best friend there is.]

I see the love light in your eyes by larrycaring

For as long as Harry can remember, Louis has always been his best friend.

There are a few constant things in Harry’s life: his family, this town he’s grown up in, and Louis.

He had his other friends, of course, but Louis had always been and still was the person that Harry was closest to. Maybe it was due to the fact that they live next to each other, and that, since the first night they’d talked, when he and Louis shared a conversation on their conjoining roofs, they instantly hit off, and a friendship developed. Or maybe it was that Louis was always so cheeky, almost the opposite of Harry, but it complimented Harry’s slow and thoughtful way of life perfectly. Either way, it just kind of happened.

or an AU where Louis and Harry are very much in love. Featuring football & late night rendezvous.

you fit me better than my favourite sweater by brightbluelou

Harry didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, and he definitely didn't mean to get pregnant. Despite that, it’s probably still the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And after that, well. It just kept getting better.

or; the one where Harry and Louis are friends-with-benefits and Harry unexpectedly gets pregnant. Harry never wants to stop getting pregnant after that, but Louis thinks seven kids is probably enough.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

My Only Sunshine by DontLetHimGo

Harry and Louis have known each other since the start of everything.

When Harry is only a few weeks old, and Louis is two, the older boy is immediately intrigued by the little person in the carry cot. Jay knows that it will be difficult to keep her son away from her best friend's little boy.

baby, hold on to my heart by icaarusfalls

Here was the dilemma: Louis and Harry were out with their mates window shopping because there was nothing else to do and Louis brought an antique ring, hoping to pawn it off to get some quick cash. It was a small, old thing, all rusted and gold, but it had its charm. The owner didn't take it because of the minuscule crack down the middle of the jewel, so Louis just shrugged and handed it to Harry without a thought.

—•—

Louis gives Harry a ring as a joke, but Harry starts wearing the ring everywhere he goes.

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates.

It's the Sun In Your Eyes by Bearandleonardwrite

Harry's not the best with relationships. Then he finds Louis.

(Basically; Harry's insecure and hurt, but Louis loves him anyways and knows how to help.)

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Stop Making Tired Excuses by midnightskies

Louis hates many things; cold tea, countdown, tuesdays, and university, but most of all he absolutely, categorically despises Eric Davidson, current boyfriend of Harry Styles. 

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

waiting on the sun by midnights

A third year counselor at Camp Weehawken, Louis just wants to get through the summer without accidentally professing his love to Harry during movie night.

ft. night swimming, lots of cuddles, and even more fluff.

Right From the Start (You Know I Got You) by FallingLikeThis

Louis grows up protecting Harry. Harry loves him for it.

Let Me Give You My Life by midnightskies

Gemma has one rule for Louis while he stays with her family at Christmas; not to hook up with her little brother, so of course that's the one thing Louis does.

deep in my heart i know there's only you by ballsdeepinjesus

"Will you do it?” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean closer just to hear him. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, not knowing what Harry means. “Would you donate for me?”

Louis is dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you just asked if I’d donate my sperm. Can you repeat yourself?”

[harry and louis are best friends who engage in some platonic baby-making. very platonic.]

You Are The View by larryftnoctrl

Louis is running out on time for his photography assignment and Harry looks lovely in red. It only made sense.

the most beautiful thing by sunflowergolden

“Well, I came prepared of course. I actually have a full on suit with me.”He had to be joking. “Lou, you have to be joking. There’s no way you took a full on suit with you all the way from the States.”“I was raised right, H. You never know when you’re going to need it, so you take it with you. In case a cute boy asks you out.”or, the one where louis and harry have been friends for a while, but they live 5.404 miles away from each other, and louis goes to stay with harry for a week

Take Me As I Am by lovelarry10

“Suppressant? But… why would I need a suppressant? Alphas don’t take suppressants.”

“You’re right, they don’t.”

****

Secrets. Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Self-discovery.

Alpha. Omega. How far will they go to hide the truth?

don't call me baby by 28sunflowers

A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5

Uni AU. Sometimes, Louis poses as Harry’s boyfriend. It doesn’t mean anything. Really.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic by larrycaring

Call him hopelessly romantic, but Harry was convinced Louis was the one for him. He had never really believed in love at first sight until his special person had come along and stolen his heart. And really, as soon as he had first met Louis on the train, Harry had felt something. Their love, at first sight, had started when they had met, and it had never ended since they had found each other. Harry hadn’t known it back then, of course, but even during his first encounter with Louis, he had felt that fluttering feeling from deep down inside, when Louis had first smiled at him. It had been like gravity had moved, and nothing had mattered more than him.

or even in a magical world, Louis and Harry's love is the most magical and beautiful thing in the world, Zayn is the smart Ravenclaw who falls for his best friend, Liam's true feelings are revealed and Niall is Niall.

or my first Larry Hogwarts AU that I just had to write.

Close your eyes (and let the word paint a thousand pictures) by larrycaring

They were attached at the hip as soon as they met on the Hogwarts Express. They became good friends within the first week of school, and from that day on, Harry just kind of snuck his way right into Louis’ heart. It’s just his charming side, his genuine and caring personality, his stupid puns (and now pick-up lines) that make Louis laugh his ass off, and his bravery and determination. His endless support and loyalty, his friendship… Everything about him, Louis loves. Merlin’s beard, he’s truly gone for him. And he doesn’t know how to tell Harry.

or another Hogwarts AU where Harry thinks it’s a good idea to use cheesy pick-up lines to reveal his feelings to Louis.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

A Real Work of Art by lululawrence

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

wanna taste your heart, don't interfere by orphan_account

Harry still remembers how unsure he felt when he first told Louis, how self-conscious he was. Louis had been nothing but understanding and kind, though, reassuring him that nothing’s going to change between them, that they’re still best friends regardless of sex. Harry had been mostly relieved at that, because he really doesn’t want to lose Louis as a friend over this, but another part of him had been a bit sad because… well, because nothing changed between them. Or rather, there is change, but it’s completely one-sided as far as Harry can tell.

This change being him not getting enough of the way Louis smells. He just can’t help it, is the thing, unable to stop himself from trying to subtly press his nose against the fabric of Louis’ shirt by his shoulders. He still smells like faint cologne and sweat, which is enough to make Harry start feeling slightly dizzy.

(harry presents as an omega, louis is his alpha best friend, and there are hidden feelings that just get harder to control.)

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

this is a wip but it is updated regularly, almost finished, and I highly recommend it!!

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 14

II.III

Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, violence, rape (pretty canon typical descriptions), mention of PTSD, description of PTSD symptoms

Song(s): “when was it over?” by Sasha Sloan ft. Sam Hunt

Aaron Hotchner is a man who has always been accustomed to loneliness. Not that he lacks in company, all his time is split between work with his team and his son. But he has no one to share himself with. He has no one to open up to. To just say whatever he’s thinking out loud.

He’s grown used to needing to bury his emotions deep inside of him. Feeling everything all at once has become too painful. He needs to be solid and ever-present in his son’s life. He needs to be strong for his team. Though he tells them all, ‘it’s okay to lose it sometimes,’ he will never allow himself to lose it again in front of them. He wishes he could act emotionally, the way Morgan and JJ and Reid do. He wishes he could break down every once in a while without everyone thinking differently of him. But what kind of leader would that make him?

He’s a man who has a deep respect for the chain of command. He understands the need for structure and rules and protocol, yet at the same time, he wonders how much easier his life would be if he just broke the rules a little bit. What if he had taken that deal with Foyet? Maybe, just maybe, Haley would still be alive. Jack could have his mother in his life.

He’s acutely aware of the fact that as a leader he must put others' needs before his own. He follows protocol for a reason. He knows that Morgan sees him a little bit like a dictator. A stubborn, hard ass. Maybe even a little bit of a bully. But he doesn’t follow the protocol or the rules to be difficult. He does it because most of those rules are in place to keep people safe. To keep his team safe.

He’s plenty comfortable with this personality he has to put on. He’s accustomed to this role. He is comfortable in it. The problem is you. You come from the time in his life before all this. Before the shift. You remind him just how much fun you can have by breaking the rules. You remind him of giving in to his emotions. You remind him of feeling. Feeling anything. Feeling everything.

Whatever he once felt for you, it’s not lingering around. It’s been eight years. He doesn’t still harbor feelings for you. He’s had his great love. Haley. Haley was his great love. He’s not sure that his heart has the capacity for any more love, and if it does, he owes it to Jack to give him all the love in the world. The kid has lost enough.

It’s not that he wants you back in any capacity, but he feels this urge to explain himself to you. He knows doesn’t have to explain himself to you. He’s your boss. It would be best to keep everything professional. That’s what he’s been trying to do. He’s been doing a pretty great job at keeping everything bottled up. Not just keeping what he wants to say to you tucked away, but everything he feels— has been feeling— since he lost Haley a few months ago, tucked away.

But when you turned to look at him and asked how he was so okay, that little voice in his head was urging him to spill it all to you. To tell you everything. Tell you how much he cared for you. How much he still cares for you. He wants the best for you. He always has.

You had the potential to be his great love. The feelings were there, but back then he didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know what it meant to give your everything to someone. To bare your soul to someone. He did know, however, that you would’ve given him all of you. No matter the cost to you, you were willing to give him all of yourself. He didn’t know much, but he knew that was unfair to you. He knew he had to put a stop to it because you gave him everything and he gave you nothing.

He wanted the best for you. He was incapable of being the best for you. You deserved better than him, and he was not able to be better. That’s on him. He knows that. That’s no one’s fault but his own. You deserve an explanation better than what he gave you.

He doesn’t want you back, but he has been finding new levels of beauty within you. Within this new you, that he’s just meeting for the first time. You’re not a completely different person. The things he once found himself falling for, your wit, your intelligence, your smile, your humor, they’re all still there. Yet there’s so much new to discover, that he can’t help but find himself being drawn into you all over again.

You’re much more confident. You stand your ground. He knows that he is to blame for that. He showed you what it was like to have someone walk all over you. You have this air of wisdom that has clearly come about with age and experience.

There’s something deeply tragic within your eyes. They were once so bright and full of hope in the world. He can tell that the spark has died. Maybe it’s something he resonates with, a loss of belief in the good in people, that has him gravitating towards you all over again. He knows you’ve been through a fair share of tragedies. So has he.

Whoever said opposites attract applies to relationships was dead wrong. There’s nothing more appealing to Hotch than someone who completely understands him. Someone who completely understands his motivations, his mind, his feelings. Yet he believes he will never be able to open himself up to love again.

But you seem to give him hope. You might be just what he needs. He has this intuition that if he opened up to you, you would understand him. You would simply listen to him. You’ve always been good at listening. Maybe you’ve always been the right person for him. Maybe this is the second chance for the two of you.

Hotch visibly shakes his head, as if attempting to shake the thoughts from his head in the way a swimmer shakes their head to free the water from their ears. Every thought of you feels like a betrayal of his love for Haley. A betrayal of what he had with her. One look at the clock convinces Hotch he should be getting home. It’s long past Jack’s bedtime but that doesn’t mean he can’t be there when the kid wakes up. They’ll spend the weekend together, doing something Jack loves.

Hotch looks down at the stack of unfinished case files. He still has to check over the team’s work from the past week and he’s very quickly falling behind the more his mind seems to want to focus on you. He’s going to have to do a lot of paperwork this weekend. That’s not new for him.

He digs around his pockets for his personal cell, getting ready to text Jessica that he’s on his way home. She’s probably already asleep, but a text can’t hurt. The sound of his work cell ringing fills his body with a deep sense of grief and guilt. Guilty for not seeing his son more often, guilty for tearing JJ away from time with her family, guilty for forcing Garcia to see more of the worst of humanity, guilty of depriving Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss of sleep, guilty of depriving Rossi of his weekends, guilty of forcing you to spend any more time with him.

He reaches for the phone, “Hotchner.”

————

You don't get stuck in place. The instinct to call Hotch and tell him what’s going on has to be suppressed. You can’t tell him. The threat of the letter seems real. The picture is enough evidence of that. It’s not a picture of him at work, or on a case. It’s personal. He’s walking out of the coffee shop. A coffee shop you assume is close to where he lives. Close to his son. Close to a wife? A girlfriend? His son’s mother? You still haven’t heard the details of that whole situation.

It’s something you’re not sure you want to hear anyway. At first, you feel pathetic. For god's sake, you’re still hung up on this man from eight years ago? Get a grip.

But you’ve come to realize you’re not hung up on him. It’s not about the love you felt for him. It’s not a feeling of still being in love with him. It’s not about rage. It’s not about holding a stupid grudge. Yeah, he broke your heart. It was the worst relationship you’ve ever been in. But none of this is about love or rage. It’s about the way he made you feel. This feeling of worthlessness. A feeling that you can’t— won’t ever forget. A feeling you plan to avoid at all costs for the rest of your life.

You turn the photograph over in your fingers a few times. You don’t want anything to happen to Hotch. You’re not sure how you feel towards him. But you know this much is true: you want to keep him and his family safe. You have a sinking feeling that you know exactly who is behind the threat. It’s always been a possibility that he survived, no remains were recovered among the rubble. You’re quick to get to work.

You walk to your bedroom, flipping on the light in the closet and pulling out some of the remaining storage boxes you have yet to unpack. Your eyes fall on the safe in the back of the closet. Pushing everything out of your way, you crouch down, turn the dial and pull a box out. You walk by the door, checking the locks again. He knows where you live.

You open the small box, removing the manilla folder from inside. You pull out the contents: a photocopy of the incident report. The date on the top is just over a year ago. You haven’t looked at the photos since the accident. Your therapist warned against it, telling you it would likely trigger an episode. She wasn’t wrong. The anxious feeling builds in the pit of your stomach, nausea washing over you as you look through each of the photos.

There has to be something here. Something to tell you how he survived, why he did it, why he’s back. You find the transcripts of each of your calls with him. You think about how much easier this would be to decode with the help of the team. Reid would find some specific markers in the language he used when talking to you that would help demonstrate his obsession with you and why it took nearly a year for him to make contact again.

You set up a small workstation on your kitchen table, spreading all the information out. You tape the note and the photo up on the wall. You’re on your own for this one. Speaking to anyone, about anything, would be too risky. You’re not willing to risk Hotch’s life.

One thing is certain, you’re not getting much sleep tonight. You place a defensive hand on your gun holster that you haven’t taken off. You walk to the window lifting it up to study the fire escape. You see no one outside and squeeze through the open window back inside. You close the window, double-checking the lock. You place a small glass on the edge of the window, so that if someone does open it to break in, the glass will fall, alerting you of an intruder.

You never turn your back to the door as you work. The gun stays close to your side. You make a cup of coffee to keep you awake. Your profiling skills are getting better by the day, but you still know that you’re not well enough equipped to handle this all on your own. You pull the profiling handbooks off the shelf. You open Rossi’s books, poring over the words, again and again, noting anything you think might help you, noting any statistics.

It’s nearly two in the morning when your phone rings, startling you. You’re on edge. You reach for it, looking at the caller on the screen. “Agent Hotchner?”

“The team is meeting in an hour on the jet. It’s an emergency.” As much as you wish it didn’t, his deep stern voice soothes your anxiety ever so slightly. It’s nice to hear that he’s okay. He’s safe for now.

“Okay. See you then, Sir,” As you say it, you realize that the trains don’t run at this hour. You have no way of getting into the office or to the airstrip for that matter, “Hotch?” You say quickly before he can hang up. His name slips from your lips. You don’t mean to call him that.

“Yes? Something wrong?”

“I would just call another team member but I assume you haven’t left the office yet… I uh,” You’re embarrassed. Do you really want Hotch to see the shit apartment you live in? Do you really want him to know you don’t own a car? “I don’t have any way of getting into the office or to the airstrip. Usually, I take the train but… they don’t run at this hour.”

There’s silence on the other line for a second. For a moment you think the service has gone dead. You open your mouth but just as you’re about to ask him if he’s still there he speaks up, “Send me your address. I’ll come and pick you up.” This time, you freeze in place. You half expected him to say he would send Anderson or a car service, but the gesture isn’t surprising for Hotch.

At least not surprising for the Hotch you seem to be meeting all over again. Not all the traces of who he was long ago are gone but there are so many new layers to him you find yourself discovering. He’s immensely regimented. He follows rules. He respects authority. He’s the most giving leader you’ve ever seen. He manages to balance the right amount of rigidness and emotional detachment from the job while still acknowledging that his team is inherently composed of human people. People who deal with emotions and grapple with a myriad of different flaws and obstacles to their success. He always knows the right thing to say to each person.

You know that despite tearing his head off a few hours ago, Hotch is still the type of leader to drop everything to help you. If that means picking you up at 3 AM so that you don’t run into the possible dangers of taking a taxi cab this late, then he’s going to pick you up.

It’s equally unsurprising when you hear a buzz through the intercom to let him inside the building and up the stairs. Hotch doesn’t half-ass anything. If he’s going to pick you up, he’s going to come directly to your door instead of sitting outside in the car waiting for you.

You buzz him up, looking around at the disarray you have managed to cause. The case files are scattered across the kitchen table. The picture of him from outside the coffee shop still hangs on your wall. You don’t have time to hide it all. You know Hotch would never force himself inside your apartment, but you worry about what the consequences would be if Hotch found out about the note.

His knock at the door is firm, pulling your attention away from the photo and all the case notes. You shove a few of the case files into your bag and rush to the door. “One second!” You call yanking a jacket off a hanger in your closet and hurriedly sliding your boots on. You wince a little, your feet sore from wearing the shoes the entire day at work but you fight through it and open the door just enough for you to squeeze out without letting Hotch glance into your apartment. He gives you a weird look but doesn’t attempt to look around you into your apartment. “You didn’t have to come to pick me up, you could’ve sent a car or something.”

Hotch shakes his head. “Do you always take the train?” He reaches down, taking your go-bag from your hand, carrying it down the stairs of your apartment for you. You appreciate the gesture yet resent it all at the same time because of who it’s coming from.

“I didn’t need a car while in New York. Public transit got me everywhere. Now that I’ve moved here, I’ve started saving up for a car.” As soon as you step out of your building, Hotch instinctively moves to stand behind you, looking both ways around the empty early morning streets. He has your back as if he’s keeping a lookout.

Nice to know that the shitty living situation you have is not going unnoticed by him. He puts your go-bag into the back and opens the side door for you. Then something happens. As he opens the door for you, his hand drifts to your lower back, gently guiding you into the car. That’s when you feel it. A warmth that spreads throughout your body from where he touched you. You’re quick to move away from his touch and the expert profiler that Hotch is, immediately sense that he’s put you on edge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” He rushes out and averts his eyes from yours, moving around to the other side of the car. You reply with a curt nod as if to tell him that it’s okay but not to do it again. Or do you want him to do it again?

The only thing you’ve felt for the past year is numb. And when you aren’t numb, you’re angry. Not at Hotch, just at the world, at yourself, at the FBI, at the way your life has turned out. So the warm fluttery feeling stirring around your stomach is comforting. It’s comforting to be reminded you can truly feel something, yet this isn’t the kind of something you want to feel right now.

There’s a moment of silence as Hotch starts to drive the two of you to the office.

“What—”

“I—”

Both you and Hotch start speaking at the same time. You fumble over your words as Hotch speaks up, “You go first.”

“What’s the emergency case?” You look over the lines in Hotch’s face and his side profile as he drives. Hotch presses his lips into a thin line and tilts his head down a little, wringing his hands around the wheel.

“It’ll be better to explain to the whole team but if I’m honest… it’s not good.” He sighs and looks over at you. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it, switching his focus between you and the road.

“You were saying something?” It’s so dark in the car that you can barely make out his features. The only time you can clearly see him is when you drive past a street light, which illuminates the whole car. He doesn’t immediately answer you. You watch as he seems to run over things in his head like he’s preparing his words before he says them.

The car pulls to a stop at a red light right outside the FBI building. Hotch finally looks over at you, “I’m sorry.” The bright red light on the side of his face somehow seems to soften his features and the way his voice is soft, hushed almost, keeping the conversation trapped in the car between the two of you, “For being so callous with you earlier and for pushing you to talk and for…” The light changes to green. Like a switch, he focuses on the road again.

“For?” You raise a brow, unable to pull your eyes away from him. He’s utterly enchanting. Aging has done something wonderful to his features. The lines next to his eyes tell you that though it doesn’t seem like he does now, he did at one point do a lot of smiling.

“For hurting you. I am truly sorry,” He breathes out. It’s relieving to hear him finally say the words. To finally own up to what he did. You always thought about this moment, when he finally apologizes for everything. You thought it would feel much better. You always pictured you would look him in the face and scoff lightly, acting as if you had gone on to so much bigger and better things than he ever expected from you.

But right now, you don’t want to be pompous. You feel no urge to throw the apology back into his face. You almost, almost, feel bad for him. It never slips your mind how beaten down Hotch looks. You’re sure you don’t look your best right now, running on minimal hours of sleep over the past few days, but from the minute you started this job, he looked exhausted. Exhausted from what? That’s what you want to figure out. You have this strong urge to reach over and take Hotch’s hand as if you’re the one apologizing to him, not the other way around.

You don’t touch him but only force another nod, “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. It was unprofessional of me.”

Hotch laughs softly, opening the car door and getting both of your go-bags from the back seat, “Nothing about this whole situation is professional.” His breathy laugh brings a smile to your face. Did Aaron Hotchner just make a joke?

You both walk in silence into the building, flashing your badges at the night guard, who recognizes the both of you from when you left earlier in the night. The two insomniacs of the BAU. Both too proud to admit to the demons haunting them when they close their eyes, chalking up their late nights to an excessive amount of work.

Any friendly, playful attitude that Hotch had in the car with you dissipates as soon as you step onto the BAU floor. You can feel him tense up, standing a little taller. His face sinks into that unmistakable frown. You smile at the team as you step into the conference room, ignoring the screwed-up confused glance Rossi gives at the fact that you and Hotch enter the room at the same time.

“Hotch, what’s the emergency?” Morgan asks, standing to make himself a cup of coffee.

Hotch walks to the front of the round table by the monitor, “Columbus PD just contacted us about two recent murders.”

“Okay?” Prentiss glances up at him, “Why does it necessitate immediate BAU assistance?”

“They entered the information into the database and came up with a match, to the case we just closed.” He reaches for the remote to turn on the monitor, “Two college-aged girls on Ohio State’s campus were stabbed to death,” He clicks through the photos.

“The mutilation of their hands,” Rossi nods, almost knowingly.

“Did we get the wrong guy? Has he crossed into a different state to avoid connecting him to Indiana? Columbus, Ohio and Bloomington, Indiana can’t be that far apart. ” Prentiss points out gesturing with the pen in her hands.

“228 miles apart to be precise,” Reid interjects.

“But how is that possible? Everett Wilson, we arrested him, he’s detained, awaiting trial as we speak.” You shake your head. “He confessed to the crimes.”

“The rate of false confession is much higher than you might think,” Reid leans forward in his chair, sitting up straighter as he does, “27 percent of people accused of homicide give false confessions. That number skyrockets to a hefty 81 percent when you isolate it just to people with intellectual disabilities and/or mental illness accused of homicide.”

“So we either have a copycat or we caught the wrong guy,” JJ deduces, sounding altogether defeated.

“That’s what Columbus PD needs us to figure out.” Hotch nods, “I think our time will best be spent split between Ohio and Indiana.”

“Indiana?” You look up from your tablet.

“Someone has to interview Wilson,” Rossi fills in the gaps.

Hotch confirms with another small nod, “We’ll fly into Ohio. I think two of us should drive to Indiana to interview Wilson for a few days. Wheels up.”

———————

Hotch reaches forward, turning down the brightness on his laptop, attempting not to disturb his coworkers, who are currently attempting to get a little bit of sleep during the short flight to Ohio. There are only two other sources of light on the jet. One comes from Dave’s tablet. He’s looking over the details of the case again. The other is from the opposite side of the jet. You have the overhead light on, your eyes scanning quickly over the pages of a novel.

Hotch finds himself distracted from the work in front of him by you. You let out a long yawn. The overhead lighting is not doing your under-eye bags any favors. He wonders how long it’s been since you’ve slept. Really slept. A full night of uninterrupted sleep.

He thinks of the neighborhood you live in. He thinks of the apartment complex. He worries about your safety, living alone in a place like that. Do you live alone? The way you slinked out of the door, barely opening it, not allowing him a view inside, makes him think you were shielding someone from him, hiding someone from his eye line.

Or maybe you were just worried about his wandering judgmental eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if you made every attempt to keep your personal details completely secret from him. He knows he has no right to that information, but he can’t keep the curiosity at bay. No matter what the reason, your secretive behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by him.

You pull your feet up under you in the chair. He watches as you shiver slightly, reaching up to turn off the air vent above you. He feels an urge to offer you his jacket that sits on the seat across from him. He doesn’t, but he wants to. It’s a strange compulsion. Is it possible these urges to care for you, keep you safe that were put to rest eight years ago are still ingrained in him?

He needs to control himself, to remain composed and professional. He knows you don’t want anything to do with him. That much is clear from the way you moved when his hand landed on your lower back. He didn’t even consciously intend to touch you. He just opened the door to be polite. As you got in, he instinctively placed his hand on your back to help guide you into the car. It gave him that feeling again. The small sparks at the contact. The same small sparks from just over a week ago when he welcomed you to the team.

His eyes are lingering on you too long. Dave slides into the seat across from him, cutting off his clear line of sight. Rossi notices that Hotch’s focus is not on the laptop in front of him.

“So you’re going to Indiana to interview Wilson?” Rossi nods, leans forward on the table, folding his hands.

Hotch lowers the screen of his laptop, darkening the jet and shielding his features from Rossi’s profiling gaze, “He’s expecting higher-ups from the FBI. He’s not going to talk unless we fuel his ego. Make him feel important enough that I want to come and talk to him.”

“You know he’s not going to give you everything you need just with you there.” Rossi’s mouth forms a thin line as he shakes his head, “You need to throw him off. You need some behavioral cues as well.”

“I know that,” Hotch sighs, rubbing his fingers together on top of the table. “Prentiss is an intimidating female presence. I think she can elicit the right responses from him.”

Rossi pauses and glances off to the side at Emily who has fallen asleep, leaning her head against the closed jet window, “Emily has a lot of experience. She’ll be good.” He glances back at Hotch. Hotch knows what he’s leading to. It’s a fact Hotch is not oblivious to in the slightest. He knows exactly who the best partner for the interrogation will be. He knows exactly which team member will make Wilson the most uncomfortable.

Hotch shakes his head, “She’s not an option, Dave. She needs more profiling experience with the team.”

“She’s the youngest on the team. She’s not far behind Prentiss in age but she could easily pass for a student. That’s exactly his type,” Rossi argues, “I know there’s something going on between the two of you, but you can’t let that get in the way of this case.”

Hotch keeps his voice hushed so you can’t hear them, “Dave, I can’t do that. What if she breaks down? What if something happens to her?”

“What’s going to happen with you there?”

“To get what we need out of him we need to let him say everything he wants to say. We need to see his honest reaction to a challenging female presence. I don’t think she’ll be able to remain composed,” Hotch argues back with Dave, realizing his voice has raised a few decibels. He shoots a look at you, making sure you haven’t caught any part of the conversation.

“You think she won’t be able to remain composed… or you won’t?” Rossi points out. The old man is always capable of seeing right through Hotch. He goes silent and Rossi finally sits back in his chair, a smug smirk on his face, “There’s always something about your first.” He teases.

“Stop,” Hotch practically cuts him off, “There’s nothing between us.”

That smirk never leaves Rossi’s face. The lights flick on in the jet. Hotch feels the jet start to make an attempt to land. He knows what has to happen when you finally land, yet he is dreading it more than anything.

————

The team rouses from sleep as you land. You close your book, not having made much progress on it, your mind focused on the way Hotch’s eyes kept darting over to you. The shift between the two of you has rattled you. Maybe getting some of the feelings out there in the open has permitted a change in dynamic.

You were honest with him. He was honest with you. You didn’t necessarily want to hear any of his side of the story, but he answered your questions. There’s no doubt in your mind that he told the truth. Unit chief Aaron Hotchner is brutally honest, almost too honest. There’s a callousness to his honesty. He knows that truth can hurt, but sometimes you just need to hear it.

Sometimes you think it’s fate that has brought you back together. Destiny, maybe. But you’ve never believed in fate nor in destiny. You like to think you have some form of autonomy and you get to dictate how your life runs. The problem with not believing in destiny is that there’s no higher power or greater being to blame when your own reckless and stupid decisions end up hurting the people you love.

“Agent Y/L/N and I will drive to Indiana to interview Wilson. I’ve already made the necessary hotel arrangements. The rest of you will run the investigation from the Columbus PD headquarters. We’ll keep you updated and join in on the investigation by tomorrow.” Hotch nods and your head shoots up to look at him. He couldn’t have told you that earlier?

As soon as you step off the jet, there are three SUVs waiting for you. Hotch leads you to one, once again taking your bag from your grip and putting it in the back.

You find yourselves in the same position as just a few hours earlier, Hotch at the wheel, you in the passenger's seat, except this time, the sun is just rising as you start the three-hour drive to Indiana.

“Have you gotten any sleep tonight?” He looks over your face for the split second that he’s able to take his eyes off the road.

You nod, lying, “I got some sleep before you called us all in.”

He hesitates, wringing his hands around the steering wheel. He’s always been fidgety with his hands. When he’s not driving, he still does that little finger rubbing thing at his side. Sometimes he twirls a pencil in his fingers when he’s thinking. He’ll rub his hands over his face or continually place them on his forehead, rubbing at his skin a little. When he drives, he rubs his hands over the steering wheel. It’s even more obvious when he’s thinking. He’s debating whether or not to call you out on the lie.

He clearly decides against it, “Get some sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you up to brief you before we get to the detention center.” And that’s the last thing he says to you for a while. You would reach for your book, to soothe your anxiety, but Hotch put the go-bags in the trunk.

Most of the drive is spent in silence until you’re about 20 minutes out from the prison. You attempted to get some rest but the fact that you’re about to practically be bait for a serial killer isn’t really the most calming pre-nap thought.

Hotch begins to brief you, “Wilson has an ego. He’s a narcissist. This is a game to him. He’ll turn every question back to you or me as another question. He’s going to try and trip me up. Tell me that I’ve gotten something wrong about him.”

You nod and Hotch continues, “Then he’s going to turn all of his attention on you. You’re a young, attractive, successful woman.” You try to ignore the small warmth in your stomach when he says the word attractive, “You’re his exact victim type. He’ll hate you, but he’s also going to want to impress you.”

“That’s why you picked me,” You reach for your tablet, looking over the details from Wilson’s case. You wrote the case report, yet you still want to feel as prepared as possible.

“It’s likely he remembers both of us from his arrest. He’s going to want to describe to you in graphic detail every violent thing he did to those women. How he planned to kill them, how he followed them, how he felt killing them.” Hotch’s voice is steady but you see a slight sheen on the steering wheel from his clammy hands. He’s nervous. Does he not trust you to do a good job? Does he think you’re going to screw up?

“To freak me out?” You glance out at the window as you pull down a long windy road towards the detention center.

“To have control over you. To draw you into his fantasy. Don’t let him know it gets to you. Remain charming with him. Don’t get antagonistic with him. It’ll cause him to shut down.” Hotch pulls to the guard tower, flashing them his credentials. You reach for your own and do the same. The gates open, letting Hotch drive through and into the lot.

“He’s still awaiting trial but he’ll be in handcuffs. I won’t let them uncuff him when he’s alone with you,” Hotch parks the SUV.

“Alone?” You have to admit the thought terrifies you.

“He’s going to want to tell you more without me there,” Hotch turns off the engine. You see a guard exiting the front doors, walking towards you two. You give another wary nod and reach for the car door.

Hotch reaches for your arm, grabbing it gently. Your first name slips from his lips as he does. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s just enough to stop you from getting out, “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You look down at his hand on your arm, the feeling sending tingles all the way through your shoulder and down your back. He tracks your gaze and removes his hand, “And if it ever is too much and you feel overwhelmed, you just leave. It’s okay to need to take a breath. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Your shaking voice gives you away. You open the car door and extend a hand to introduce yourself to the detention officer. He leads both you and Hotch inside. You take off your gun holster and Hotch does the same for both of his guns.

A loud buzz signifies that the door is unlocked for you two to enter the center. Two armed guards lead you and Hotch down rows of cells holding prisoners that are all awaiting trial. A few of them call out, hollering and catcalling as you walk by. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around your body to shield yourself from them.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” Hotch speaks up from beside you. “He’s going to want to see the crime scene photos.”

“We can’t show him,” You argue. “We’re not here to give him a gift.”

“We need him to cooperate with us.” The next door is locked and you both stand there waiting for it to open. You finally catch a glimpse of him. His face is furrowed into that stern interrogation look of his, but his eyes are warm as they look at you, “You don’t have to do this.”

Another loud buzz. The guards push open the door. “Yes, I do.”

You step into the interrogation room. Everett Wilson stands to greet you. “Aaron Hotchner,” He smirks and just his smile sends a shiver through your body. That’s when his cold, steely eyes turn to you, “And you… I remember you.” He grins, speaking your name in a much more dulcet tone than he uttered Hotch’s. “I would shake your hand but,” He lifts his shackled wrists.

“Sit down,” Hotch is solid, unmoving. The way he speaks almost terrifies you. He slams a file down in front of Wilson.

“I assume you’re here because of my wonderful admirer,” He snickers and reaches for the file.

You place a palm on top of it, dragging it away from him, almost teasingly. You open it up, but keep it shielded from view, “You already have admirers?”

“Did one of those exclusive interviews with a newspaper,” Wilson nods his eyes running over you at a slow pace, as if he’s attempting to savor every last inch of your appearance, “The letters are already pouring in.”

You know he’s lying. He’s exaggerating the truth already, just like Hotch said he would. He’s only been detained for about 10 days. There’s no way he’s gotten that much attention in such a short period of time. You also remember Hotch told you to play into his ego as much as possible. “I’m not surprised. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit fascinated by you.” You raise your voice a few tones, letting a small smile grow on your face.

Immediate disgust at your actions fills you. You’re flirting… with a man who brutally stabbed multiple women.

“It’s not possible that you know who is committing these crimes,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the tension between you and Wilson. Wilson doesn’t bother to look away from your eyes as Hotch speaks. You want to tear yourself away from his chilling gaze, but it's almost as if you’re having a standoff and you don’t like to lose or give up.

“It isn’t?” He finally breaks eye contact. He’s questioning Hotch, just as expected. “And how are you so sure of that, Agent Hotchner?”

“You haven’t had any visitors,” He argues, “And according to the guards, very little correspondence.”

“And you don’t believe this imitation could’ve reached out to me?” He tuts and shakes his head, condescension oozing from every inch of the man, “So frequently incorrect, Aaron,” He turns to look at you again, “But how could anyone focus on anything when working alongside such a beautiful, young woman?”

You’re not sure how to act. Do you smile? Do you nod? Do you scoff? What you want to do more than anything is reach across the table, grab him by the neck and slam him up against the wall, demanding answers, “Can we see these letters?”

“No.”

“No?” You ask incredulously, glancing at Hotch for guidance.

“Not until I see those photos and confirm it’s my acquaintance from the letter,” He nods at the file you have trapped under your arms.

Hotch reaches an arm across you for the file but you stand up from the chair, picking the file up, “A word?” You mutter, looking down at Hotch. He nods and stands, following you out.

“If you can’t handle this just step away,” Hotch starts and reaches again for the file once you’re outside the room.

You move it out of his grip, “No I can handle it just fine. I just… this feels like a reward for him. I want him to give us more before we give it up.”

“What else are you expecting from him?” He crosses his arms across his chest.

“I want to know why. Why those girls? Why the hands? If we can identify the differences between his murders and these, we can figure out where the motivation stems from for these. “

Hotch hesitates, “Okay but if—”

“I’m fine. I’m not going to lose it. I can handle this,” You roll your eyes. You appreciate his consideration, but it’s starting to feel less like he cares about you and more like he doesn’t have faith in you to be able to do this.

You step back into the room, this time, alone. “Uncuff him,” You nod at the guards. They look to each other, then to you again and you nod. Wilson stands so they can remove the shackles from his wrists. He lets out a contented sigh once they’re removed and rolls his wrists around a little to loosen them up.

“Ready to show me what we’re dealing with?” He cracks his knuckles, almost threateningly.

“Not just yet,” You emphasize placing your hand flat on the file, holding it close. You talk a lot with your hands, “You see, I don’t get you. Or maybe I do. That’s the problem. Those women, what drew you to them? Was it their beauty? Or was it their age? You took pride in preying on younger women. You’ve always had a preference for them haven’t you?”

Wilson maintains that smug look on his face, but you notice that his eyes dart6 down to your hands often.

“That’s why your first run-in with the law was with your wildly underage girlfriend. Isn’t that right? Statutory rape. That will put a real damper on your career goals, won’t it?” You tsk softly, “Poor Amanda Reinhardt.”

“I loved her. We were in love. It was her parents’ fault,” He argues. You can tell his anger level is rising.

“I think your defense went something along the lines of this,” You open the file, pulling out some of the notes from Wilson’s history, “It was her fault. She was always teasing me, ruining me with those looks. With the way her hair smelled and the way her hands felt on my body.’ You remember saying that?” His jaw tightens as you recite the words back to him. “You didn’t love her. You grew to hate her. Her accusations ruined your career.”

“She loved me back. I swear she did.” His tone gets sharper.

“So when you killed those women, you really were thinking of killing Amanda, weren’t you?” You push him, finally sliding the file across the table to him. You open it, turning to one of the photos of the newest victims.

“It’s not right,” He growls, “He didn’t do it right!” He slams a fist down on top of the file. You jump back a little. Wilson reaches forward flipping to the next photo, “Not right!” He yells and you start to grow fearful of him. His anger level is quickly rising. You have hit a nerve. He shoves the file back across the table, the papers and photos scattering around as he does. “You don’t know! You don’t! You’re ruining everything!” He lunges towards you but before he can reach you the guards grab him by the shoulders. At the same time, two hands reach and grab your shoulders, yanking you out of his reach.

It’s Hotch. Hotch is pulling you away from him, placing his body between you and Wilson. “We’re done here.” He replies firmly.

Just as you turn to leave and follow Hotch out, Wilson yells one last thing at the two of you, “He’s just getting started! This is far from over for you, Y/N!” Ice water down your back as you hear it. Could the copy cat be connected to the note and photo you received? But this is all too up close and personal. The man who haunts your past never got up close and personal with his victims. Bombs. That was always it. Distance from the victims. This can’t be connected to him.

It takes you a second to realize Hotch is calling your name. He places a hand on your shoulder, which seems to draw your attention back to him, “Are you okay? I told you to step out if you needed to.”

“I’m fine.” You reply curtly.

“What was he saying in there at the end? Do you know who this copycat is?” You follow him back down the halls of cells, towards the exit, and out into the air. You take a few long deep breaths. Hotch repeats your name firmly.

“I don’t know what he was talking about. I think he was just trying to get under my skin,” You shake your head. “Something in those photos set him off. It’s clearly a copycat, and it’s clearly not someone who bothered to get to know Wilson’s original motivations.”

“But why are they doing it? To get his attention? To get him released?” Hotch walks with you back to the SUV.

You look down at your watch and realize just how long you and Hotch have been at this. What felt like minutes in there with him was really hours. “God I indulged him.” You mutter under your breath.

“It’s part of the job,” Hotch starts the engine, “We should get back to the hotel. You can get some rest. We’ll leave for Ohio in the morning.”

You sit in silence, running over the whole interaction in your head. You leaned towards him. You smiled back at him. You even laughed at him. You got valuable answers, but what did you lose in the process? Your dignity? Your self-respect? “I don’t think the copycat is even doing it for Wilson. I think he’s doing it for us. To get our attention. To get the FBI involved.”

“You think this unsub has some sort of personal connection to the BAU?” Hotch pulls into the hotel and parks the car.

“It’s the best explanation.” You meet his gaze.

“I shouldn’t have let you go to talk to him.” Hotch lets out and you feel frustration rising in you.

“Will you stop treating me like I’m incapable of handling this?” You open the door and step out, reaching for your bag in the back.

Hotch follows close behind you into the hotel. The man at the front has already checked you in and hands Hotch two hotel room cards. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. I just think you’ve been through a traumatic experience. It’s okay to be fragile after what you’ve been through.”

You push the elevator button with quite a bit of force. “With all due respect, you don’t even know half of what I’ve been through.”

The doors open and you step inside, Hotch right on your heels. You’re praying that someone else will come running, telling you to hold the doors, so that Hotch doesn’t continue this conversation, but the doors close with ease, leaving the two of you alone. “I know I’m the last person you’d confide in, but everybody needs to lose it sometimes.” You reach forward pushing the emergency stop button, “What are you—”

“Do you want me to lose it?” You question him, “Because you act like you actually want to see me lose it like you’re encouraging it.”

“I just care about you. You’re a part of my team,” Hotch speaks as if his line of logic is the simplest, most normal thing in the world. As if there isn’t a whole life you two lived together years ago.

“Because if you want me to lose it, make a scene, blow up on you, I can do that,” You chuckle bitterly. “Sometimes it really feels like you’re trying to push me to the edge and see how strong I am. How long I hold on before I lose it.”

Hotch doesn’t reply right away. You reach forward and release the elevator, feeling it lurch as it starts climbing the floors again. The elevator only rises four more floors before Hotch reaches forward and stops the elevator again.

“Would that help you? To lose it? To let it all out and yell and scream at me? Would that make you feel better?” His voice is eerily level. “Because if you need me to be your punching bag, I’ll do that.”

He’s telling you the elevator is like neutral territory for the two of you, again. Whatever you say in here won’t leave. You can’t look him in the eyes. You don’t start the elevator again. “I look at you and I don’t see you. I just feel the air disappear from my lungs. I feel pain. In my chest, in my head. I feel sick.”

You take a pause. Hotch doesn’t react. He’s giving you the opportunity to let it all out. To tell him everything you’re thinking. “I’ve tried to imagine how my life would’ve been without you in it. I could, and I felt so much better. The problem is no matter how good it felt to picture life without you, I still wouldn’t choose it over a life with you in it. I hate you, yet I don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

Another long pause. Neither of you moves from your spot in the elevator. You keep your eyes trained on the closed elevator doors. "The worst part of this whole fucking situation is that after all these years, you still manage to have a hold on every decision I make."

“What are you talking about?” He’s giving you an opening. He can tell that something is wrong. Something is off about you. He can tell that this frantic, paranoid energy you’re radiating isn’t because of your past with him. It’s something else. That picture, that note, it’s put you on edge. He noticed from the moment he picked you up at your apartment. You can’t tell him about the letter. You tell him and you risk his life.

You reach for the elevator button, bringing it to life once more. It rises the last few floors to the floor with your and Hotch’s hotel rooms.

“Have a good night, Hotch,” You huff out a breath, stepping off the elevator and walking down the halls to find your room. You desperately want to collapse on the bed and sleep until morning. It’s only late afternoon at this point, but you’re so emotionally drained you just might actually get some sleep.

You open your door, tossing your bag onto the chair in the corner of the room. You draw the curtains, quickly stripping off your clothes, muscles aching for a hot shower. What you want more than anything is a drink, but you know Hotch would have your ass if he found out you were drinking while technically on the job.

You walk to the bathroom, turning the shower all the way to hot. The bathroom fills up with steam and you stand around in it, letting yourself get the slightest bit light-headed in the steam. You step into the shower, hoping to scrub away the disgust you have for yourself after today.

You’re not sure how long you’re in the shower, but at some point, you sit on the tiled floor. You let tears well up in your eyes. You don’t know why you’re crying but it just sort of happens. It’s just so much. It’s all so much. This life, this job. It’s so hard.

Your therapist’s voice rings through your head. Your interpersonal skills will take a hit. You’re going to be more irritable. Easily angered. Easily provoked. Almost like angry outbursts triggered by almost nothing. You think about how quickly you turned on a dime, snapping at Hotch in the elevator. You’ll feel like you can’t trust anyone. You’ll have days where you feel nothing at all, just numb. You might have overwhelming waves of sadness or guilt. Your tears start to merge with the soapy water flowing down your cheeks and all over your body. You might struggle to sleep. Sleep deprivation will aggravate the other symptoms.

The steam is so thick in the bathroom you can’t see your hands in front of your face. The glass is completely foggy. You can barely breathe. Your eyelids are drooping closed with exhaustion, so you haul yourself up off the floor and turn off the water. You reach for the towel wrapping it around your body gently.

You walk back into your room but freeze in place when you see a note delicately placed on top of your go-bag. It’s a small white envelope. The front of it has the same writing as the one delivered to your apartment.

He was in your room. Just now. He got into your room. You fumble around for your gun, looking around the tiny hotel room, still only wrapped in a towel. You swing open the closet doors, frantically aiming your gun. You see a breeze from the balcony, blowing the curtains back and forth. You creep slowly towards them and yank the curtains open, stepping out onto your balcony, seeing no one out there.

The envelope is still sitting on top of your bag. You turn back into the room and open it, still dripping water everywhere as you do. Another photo. Another note. This time, the photo is of Penelope and Derek. They look like they’re leaving a movie theatre. Morgan’s arm is wrapped tightly around Garcia’s shoulders. You pick up the note:

Ready to follow my rules? Rule 1: Play nice with Aaron Hotchner. He’s an expert profiler. He’s going to catch on to those mood swings of yours. Enough with the hot and cold with him.

Nausea grows in the pit of your stomach. He’s been watching you. He was in this hotel. He might still be in this hotel. He knows about your fights with Hotch. How?

You keep your gun close by your side even when you settle into the bed. You leave all the lights on. You check the locks on the door and the sliding glass doors every hour. All hope for sleep slips through your fingers.

You and Hotch travel the three hours back to Ohio the next morning in complete silence. You don’t mention the second note. He can tell you didn’t sleep. You don’t care. Your mind is hyperfocused on that stupid fucking note. Now it’s clear the man taunting you has eyes on Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan. They’re all in danger.

The main problem is with the copycat case. The case goes cold. You all stick around Columbus, Ohio for another two days. No new murders. No new leads. Nothing. You have nothing to profile. All the components of the profile seem to be leading to dead ends. Rossi explains that it’s one of the most frustrating parts of the job. Sometimes what you need to solve the case is another body, but another one never comes. It’s a good thing in retrospect, but it means that the team has failed.

You’re not much help to the team the two days you spend grasping at straws because you’ve retreated so far into yourself you barely speak. You do what Hotch asks of you but he notices your change in behavior. Then you realize you’re supposed to be normal. Play nice with Aaron Hotchner.

By day three, the team has decided there’s nothing more you can do. You have to return to Quantico. From the energy of the entire team on the jet, you can tell you all feel as if you’ve failed. It doesn’t seem like the team is used to unsolved cases. Everyone is frustrated and tired and angry.

One by one, the team starts to fall asleep, all thoroughly exhausted from the past two days. You eye the seat across from Hotch, the only bright place left on the plane. He has the overhead light on as he works on his laptop. You keep your book clutched tight against your chest and sit across from him.

He only looks up to smile at you before diving back into his work. You’ve never had a problem existing in silence with Hotch. Until now. There’s so much that’s happened between you. Yet like always, it’s not about the things that you said to him a few days ago. It’s about whatever isn’t being said. And at this moment, across from him, pretending to read, you can tell there’s so much he’s not saying. You look up at him to find he’s looking right back at you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, not sure if you really want the answer.

“Something you said the other day. It’s sticking with me,” He tilts his head down a little, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You said you hate me.”

“Oh,” Did you mean it? You don’t know. You don’t think you’ve ever hated Hotch. You could never hate him.

“It’s sticking with me because,” Aaron takes a slow deep breath, closing his laptop like he’s preparing himself for what he’s about to explain to you. What he’s about to discuss is going to hurt more than both of you can comprehend in that moment. “Because,” He’s loosened his tie, letting it hang crookedly around his neck, “If you’re going to hate me, I need you to see all of me before you do.”

So he tells you everything. He tells you about Foyet and Haley and the events of the past two years of his life. He starts with the deal Shaughnessy made with The Boston Reaper all those years ago. He goes over the case, in detail, describing the process that led them to Foyet. He describes Foyet’s escape from prison. He didn’t stop searching for him after that. Every free minute in the day, he dedicated to tracking anything and everything he could to find Foyet. But he had gone underground.

Then he gets to his attack. The details start to fade out from there. “That’s when—” Hotch pauses as he speaks. He averts his eyes from yours, taking a second to breathe. He presses his lips into a firm line. It’s hard for him to get the words out, “When he attacked me in my home.”

He doesn’t tell you much, besides the fact that Foyet stabbed him and dropped him off at the ER. As Hotch talks, you just simply sit there and listen. You feel your heart sinking further into your stomach. Your first impressions were correct. The man in front of you is a man who has been through a world of hurt. You could see it in his eyes that first day on the job. He’s deeply broken.

You feel bad for him. It doesn’t take away from the hurt he caused you in the past, but you find yourself starting to understand this current Aaron Hotchner more and more with each word out of his mouth.

You don’t know how you feel about Aaron Hotchner. You don’t know what the future of your relationship with him holds, a fact you remind yourself of constantly. But when he starts to talk about the attack, you see him closing off. You can see him suppressing just how traumatic and painful it all was. He glosses over the details, but just the look on his face makes you want to reach for his hand. You want to hold it, show him that you’re listening to him. You care about what he’s saying.

You resist the urge and resign yourself to attempting to demonstrate just how intently you’re listening to him. He explains how Foyet killed Haley while she was on the phone with him. He was too late. He couldn’t save her. Jack was unharmed. He’s not sure Jack fully understands what happened yet. He’s still not really old enough to understand that his mom isn’t ever coming back.

It’s ill-timed, but you can’t help but feel the pain in your chest as he continues to talk about Haley. He was deeply in love with her. She was his person. His one true love. She was able to show him true love. You feel intensely disappointed. You weren’t enough for him to change, but Haley was. He explains that he met her in high school and they separated a few years later as he pursued his career. They were reunited not long after he quit his teaching position. Right when he started his job in the FBI.

Now she’s gone. His true love, ripped away from him, all because of his job. “I lost her to the job twice.”

“I’m sorry,” Is all you can manage to get out after he stops talking.

“What are you sorry for? It wasn’t your fault,” He has to clear his throat a little, his voice getting caught in the back of his throat. You swear his eyes have glossed over with tears.

“For bringing her up the other day. That was cruel of me.” Your voice is small. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so weak, so emotional.

“You didn’t know.” He waves his hand, dismissing your apology.

“Still. I’m sorry,” You pause, “Also I’m sorry for wishing a horrible life on you.”

“When did you do that?” He scrunches his brows up, confused.

You bite back a smile, “Oh just uh… eight years ago?”

Then something beautiful happens. Aaron Hotchner lets out a full-bodied, amazingly childish laugh. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for the two of you after all.

Chapter 15: II.IV →

Tag list: @wanniiieeee​ @art-and-thoughts​ @enjoymyloves​ @flipperpenguins​