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confused-pyramid · 4 months

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Tell Me Some Things Last | s3

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 23.1k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20

a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell

series masterlist

"Excuse me?"

Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."

"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."

She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."

You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.

"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."

She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.

You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.

He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.

The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.

The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.

You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"

Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."

A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"

He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."

"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."

Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."

After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.

You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.

When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.

"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.

"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.

You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."

"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.

Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."

"The first two victims were the same."

A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"

Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."

You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.

"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.

She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."

She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.

"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."

You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.

If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.

***

The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.

"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.

"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."

"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."

That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."

"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.

"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."

"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.

"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."

"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.

JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."

"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."

The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."

"There's been another murder."

***

The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.

You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.

He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

"Two weeks."

You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."

"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.

"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"

He blinks. "Can you say that again?"

You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."

He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.

"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."

His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."

"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.

"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."

You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.

He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.

"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.

"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."

"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"

He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."

***

You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?

You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.

You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.

Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.

You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.

When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."

"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."

You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."

"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."

"Need any help?"

She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."

"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."

"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."

When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.

You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.

You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.

You miss them all.

***

The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.

Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.

Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.

Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.

You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."

"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."

"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."

"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."

He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.

"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."

"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.

You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."

"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."

When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"

"You miss work, don't you."

He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.

You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.

"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.

The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.

"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."

To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.

You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.

"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."

"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.

"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."

She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."

His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."

"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."

They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."

He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.

You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.

This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.

You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.

Jeff Adler

Beloved Son, Husband, Brother

Until we meet again

The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.

He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.

He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.

You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.

You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.

"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."

You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."

***

He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.

When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.

"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"

He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."

"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."

She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."

That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?

"Sorry to interrupt."

Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."

"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.

"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."

"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."

That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."

"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."

She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."

"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.

"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand for one case, so be it."

Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.

"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."

She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."

***

Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.

"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.

"He didn't tell you?"

You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."

But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.

"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."

"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."

You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.

"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."

Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.

He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"

A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"

JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."

Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.

Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.

You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"

"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."

You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."

She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."

You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.

"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.

***

When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."

"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.

He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.

He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.

An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.

"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-

He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."

"Would you have to travel?"

"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."

She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."

***

You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.

"Hello?" It's Haley.

You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.

You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.

"Hey."

He sounds guilty. You can imagine.

"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."

That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."

There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."

Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.

"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.

"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.

"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."

He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."

"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.

"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"

"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.

"All right. Keep me posted."

***

Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.

A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.

"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.

"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.

Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"

Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."

She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."

With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.

You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."

He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.

The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.

After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."

"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."

"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.

She nods. "All the better."

Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering with a federal investigation."

"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."

He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.

Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"

You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.

"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.

Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."

She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."

"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"

You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.

Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.

"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."

***

When he gets home, the lights are off.

"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.

"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."

He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.

***

Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.

He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.

You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.

Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.

Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.

You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."

"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."

You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.

"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."

You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."

***

"You must be the BAU."

A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."

He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."

"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed.

"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"

You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.

"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.

Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."

"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.

"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.

"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.

The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.

"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.

Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."

"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."

"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"

They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.

"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."

Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.

Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"

***

When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.

When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.

"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.

"The trail's 40 miles long."

You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."

"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."

He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.

"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."

"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."

You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."

"Guy had a busy year."

You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."

You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."

"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."

He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."

When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.

"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.

He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."

You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."

You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.

"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.

"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."

***

He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.

They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.

He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.

When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.

When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.

He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.

Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.

He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.

When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."

He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."

He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"

"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."

He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"

You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"

He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."

"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.

"You don't seem closed off to me."

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."

He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.

"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"

"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.

"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.

"Haley left."

Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."

***

You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.

You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.

When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.

That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.

You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.

He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.

"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.

"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."

He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.

You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.

You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.

"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."

"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."

"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."

"Which do you prefer?"

You grin. "Home, of course."

"Of course."

You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.

The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.

It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.

After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.

"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.

"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."

You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"

Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."

"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."

"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?

You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."

"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."

Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."

"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."

You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."

You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.

You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.

"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."

"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."

"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."

"A few shots?" you laugh.

She nods. "Each."

You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.

Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.

You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.

Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.

He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.

He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.

Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.

He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?

"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"

"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."

"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."

He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.

When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.

You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."

He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"

He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."

You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.

You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.

"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."

"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."

Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."

"No, it's not."

He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.

"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."

You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"

"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."

You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.

"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"

"Aaron."

You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.

"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."

"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."

You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.

***

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."

Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.

"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.

"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.

"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."

Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."

Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."

You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"

"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."

You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.

JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.

"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."

He nods. "Right, sorry."

Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."

This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.

"Let's start the briefing."

***

The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.

You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"

Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."

"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."

"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.

"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."

"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."

You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.

"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."

"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."

Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.

"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."

"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."

He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"

You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.

"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."

He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"

You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."

Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."

You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."

"How is your father doing, by the way?"

You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."

"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.

You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."

"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"

You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."

"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."

He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.

"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."

"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."

You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."

He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."

You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.

You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.

***

He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.

He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.

He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.

Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.

A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"

"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"

He nods. "That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

He nods again, not liking where this may be going.

Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."

He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"

"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."

He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"

"I guess you're just not used to sharing."

He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"

"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.

"I won't say anything."

"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"

It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."

"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."

Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.

***

"Hey, Dad."

You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."

"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"

"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."

"Unsub?"

"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."

"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"

"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."

"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."

You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.

You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.

"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."

Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.

***

"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.

"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"

"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."

"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."

"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.

"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.

She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."

"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."

***

The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.

The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.

"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"

You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."

"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."

"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."

Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.

"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.

The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.

"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."

"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."

"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."

His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"

"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.

"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."

"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."

Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."

***

The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.

When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.

You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"

"Y/N...it's Garcia."

You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know."

"I'm on my way."

You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.

"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.

"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."

"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.

"He's not answering his cell."

Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."

He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.

You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?

"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.

He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."

"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.

"I was in church. My phone was off."

"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.

The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.

"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."

When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."

***

Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.

"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.

"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.

"James Colby Baylor."

She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.

"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.

"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."

"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."

"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."

She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."

JJ blinks. "Anything."

"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."

***

The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.

Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.

"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.

You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."

"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.

You snort. "Sleep's overrated."

You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.

Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."

His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."

He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.

"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."

"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."

"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."

He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."

"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."

He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."

"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.

"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."

You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.

"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."

An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."

***

You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.

After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.

"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"

"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."

You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."

"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."

"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."

"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."

"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.

"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"

"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."

You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."

Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."

Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.

"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.

"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."

***

The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.

He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"

"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."

"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.

"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."

He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."

You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."

"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.

All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.

"She said you've been ignoring her calls."

He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.

He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."

"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."

"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."

"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."

You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."

He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"

He nods again. "See you tomorrow."

When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.

When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.

His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.

He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.

***

"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.

"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."

Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.

"Did he eat lunch?"

"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."

"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."

"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."

The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.

You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."

"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.

"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"

Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.

"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."

When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.

The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."

"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."

He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."

"You sure?"

He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.

"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."

He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.

You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."

"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."

You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."

"See you soon."

The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.

A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.

"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.

He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."

"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.

"He doesn't even know me."

You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."

"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.

You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?

"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."

He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."

You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"

"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."

"You never told her what happened?"

He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."

"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."

The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."

"Remember what?"

He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."

***

"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.

"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.

Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."

He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."

"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."

"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."

You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"

"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.

You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."

"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.

"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."

Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."

Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"

"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.

***

You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.

"Yeah, that's him."

JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."

Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."

When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.

"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.

"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.

"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."

She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.

"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."

She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."

You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."

She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.

Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.

***

Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.

Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.

How can you drink this stuff?

It makes me feel sophisticated.

Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.

The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.

You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.

"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"

You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."

He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."

Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.

"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."

That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."

You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"

He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"

"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"

He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"

"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"

You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."

He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"

"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."

"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."

He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.

As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.

"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.

"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.

"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."

You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."

"Either way."

You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.

"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."

You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.

"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"

The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.

His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.

Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.

***

"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."

You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.

"...by always taking the long shot."

Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.

"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."

"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."

"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."

"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."

"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."

And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.

Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."

He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."

His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.

You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.

***

"Five shootings in two weeks."

"It's about time we got the call."

The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."

You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.

"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.

Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.

JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.

***

"Kate."

A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"

He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.

"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.

After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.

The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.

"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.

"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.

"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.

"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"

"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."

JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.

The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.

Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.

"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"

Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."

She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."

You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."

She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."

This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."

"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."

"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."

"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."

***

After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.

When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."

JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."

He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."

"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?

You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."

That makes you frown too.

Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"

JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."

Oh my God.

"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."

"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.

You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."

"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.

He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."

"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.

JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"

"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.

She looks down. "I know."

"Because I understand if you need to take some time."

"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."

"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."

You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.

***

You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.

"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.

She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."

She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."

"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.

Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"

"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."

You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."

He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."

"Screw you."

You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.

***

You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.

"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."

"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."

You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."

"There are no sides here."

You nod. "I know."

"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."

That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"

He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."

You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."

"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."

"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"

You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"

You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."

***

"Emily, what happened?"

You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.

"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."

"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"

Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."

Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.

After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.

You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.

You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.

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newtkive · 5 months

Text

pixels [newt x reader - modern text au]

ch. 1 - the gc birth

in which two online friends navigate a romance through a minecraft groupchat with their stupid friends

or, newt, the quiet, stoic boy, and y/n, the bubbly girl both curse the world for keeping them apart, but at least they can send each other cute emojis and hope the other doesn't notice their blossoming feelings.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

notes: hi :p im very new to writing on tumblr (but ive always been a reader) so pls bare w me! and im trying to revert back to being 14 (im 23 lols..) so im revisiting my old favs including the maze runner/thomas (bc i binged the artful dodger and now im obsessed again). there will be non-text chapters in the future as well, when everyone eventually meets. this will be newt focused so enjoy !! also everyone is like a realistic age from 23 to 28

THE GLADE

[ 7:45 PM ]

alby added minho, y/n, newt, tommy, and gally

alby: Hello, guys.

minho: wtf is this

newt: uhhhh

tommy: hi :3

y/n: so this is why you asked me for my # in private

gally: i didn’t consent to this when i gave you my number

newt: don’t give strange men your number y/n

tommy: oh that’s y/n?

alby: Wait, Newt you had Y/N’s number already??

newt: yea

tommy: o.O

y/n: i gave it to him like two weeks after we met lmao

tommy: SO HE HAD YOUR NUMBER FOR A YEAR AND I DIDNT????

y/n: well he asked and you guys didn’t :p

newt: lmao

minho: ik he smug as fuck rn

not u asking for a girls number lmao simp

newt: stop

y/n: we all talk in discord anyways so i didn’t really think about it

plus you guys are friends irl so idk

it felt kinda weird to insert myself heh

minho: we’ve known you for a year and a half y/n

we play games all the time

call all the time

we even send packages and shit

you’re very much considered our irl friend

y/n: REALLY?? 🥺🥺

tommy: internet friends are real friends 😍❤️

minho: the heart eyes are crazy

but yes dude

newt: of course you’re our close friend. just cuz we live near each other and you’re a bit far away doesn’t mean we don’t adore you

minho: ADORE IS CRAZY LMFAO

but real ig

y/n: AWWWWW YOU GUYS LOVEEE MEEEEEE

hahahahha

HAHAHHAHJFIEKMGOR

I LVOE YOU GIYYYYSSSS IM PUTTING ALL OUR MINECRAFT BEDS TOGETHER LATER

gally: i do not want my bed to be infested by you guys

minho: gally sleeps in the corner

gally: no i dont i sleep in my mansion

y/n: cherry blossom mansion*

gally: and you sleep in a shed

y/n: cherry blossom shed* its pink and that matters.

tommy: love you y/n 😊🥰

y/n: love you tommy <3333

minho: that’s actually nasty stop now

y/n: u mad ur unloved

i love how the gc name is our minecraft town name :((

newt: aw it is

minho: can we talk about why tf this was made when we have a perfectly good discord

alby: I’m done with Discord.

newt: you got your shit hacked didn’t you mate

minho: mate 💀💀

british people so crazy

alby: Yes maybe..

I don’t want to make another.

y/n: or your old ass doesn’t know how to

minho: LMAO REAL

alby: Gonna ignore that. But I am getting too old for it. I have a new promotion at work so that means I won’t have time to play with you guys as much anymore. So I decided to make this groupchat in hopes to talk to you guys more to make up for it :)

minho: every group always has the old head with the job 💀💀

newt: minho admitting he’s jobless

minho: you work at a library be so fr rn

newt: i have an income. you have a room in your grandmas basement. we are not the same.

gally: LMFAOOOOOOO

minho: stfu :////

y/n: AWWWWWWW ALBYYYYYYY

tommy: YAAAY!!!!

im going to text you guys all day

tell you every meal

every thought

every interaction will be meaningful and glorious

newt: you are 24 years old you don’t have to do all that

minho: no fr im turning off my phone if he starts this shit

why not just do it before in the discord ??

tommy: easy access now and i tried before but stopped since no one really replied..

y/n: i say we all do it :D i will too tommy

newt: ok second thought that’s fine

minho: .

gally: that’s wild.

y/n: YAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!! NEWT YOU GO FIRST

newt: first with what

y/n: say what u ate today

newt: didn’t say i’d do it.

tommy: i ate muffin, monster energy drink, and hamburger :3333

you guys next

minho: that’s all you had bro..

y/n: hot cheetos and french fries and coffee :D

minho: ??????? BRO

how are you guys alive

y/n: it's my day off and no class so i just wanna rot in bed and that means no cooking

newt: please eat and drink water.

like for real and document it

y/n: ok wait

there

tommy: yum!

minho: y/n..

newt: cereal does not count

y/n: I DONT HAVE ENERGY TO MAKE ANYTHING OKAY

im a 23 year old broke college student my fridge is bare

newt: alright what do you want?

y/n: wym?

newt: like if you could pick.

minho: that’s so cruel 😭😭 just making her imagine it

i like it go on.

tommy: i want chick fil a

minho: i knew you hate the gays

tommy: I AM THE GAYS?????

y/n: ugh that does sound good

mmmm chickem sandiwh waffle fry I Want that Os mYch

newt: that’s what you would order?

y/n: mmmcm yeahshhhhh

newt: ok

minho: that’s it?

i thought soemthing would happen

tommy: me too

like a spell! magic 🪄

y/n: sigh

my cereal tastes bad now

newt: well it is cocoa puffs.

minho: L cereal

y/n: DTOP SAYING L ITS SO ANNOYITIGJNGGGGG

minho: she so madddd 😂😂 L

newt: you're annoying minho

minho: youre just saying that bc shes saying that

newt: no ive always said it. and i will continue to. youre fucking annoying

minho: who bought you your coffee yesterday

newt: ???

myself

and i paid for yours too

im the one with an income

minho: .

well i didnt think youd remember that well.

newt: it was literally yesterday.

minho: yeah but ur old

newt: IM THE SAME AGE AS YOU

minho: yeah but im 🤗✨ 26 ✨🤗and youre... 26😬😔

tommy: guys stop fighting

newt: we aren't fighting

maybe this gc was a bad idea

tommy: NO!!!!!!!!!

y/n: NOOOO!

tommy: this is like y/n is here w us irl

y/n: awwwwwwwwwwwwwww

minho: no it's not. we would smell a foul stench if she was

y/n: i ahte you sooo bad.

wait there is a knock at my door im scared

newt: answer it

minho: aren't you supposed to say don't open the door for strangers ????

newt: well usually yes

y/n: no im not expecting company

newt: just do it pls

y/n: ok :D

minho: bruh..

i hope she gets robbed and u feel bad forever newt

newt: why would you want that

minho: bc she owes me money

newt: YOU owe ME money

minho: yes but i have a good reason she just wanted robux

tommy: Y/N DONT DO IT!!! I HAVE SEEN DATELINE

y/n: :o....

tommy: Y/N?????????

OH GOD THEY GOT HER

minho: why would she text a silly face if she got got

tommy: clearly its a surprised face

maybe its not her

its like those cut out magazine letters murderers use

y/n: who got me chick fil a!!!!!!!!!!

minho: me

newt: you literally did not

minho: shut up

y/n: newt it was u i see ur name on the receipt

newt: well

y/n: :(

newt: what why are you sad?

minho: im hungry too

y/n: u spent ur money :(

newt: you're hungry are you not?

minho: she's not but i am

y/n: yeah but..

i feel bad you shouldn't have

newt: just eat it or i'll be mad

minho: i think i want red lobster

newt: it's really no big deal y/n

y/n: thank you newt :(((((

newt: you're welcome

go eat and watch ur show or smth

minho: i owuld love to eat and watch a show rn <33 ohhhh im starving

newt: can you shut up

gally: im muting this gc if this means i have to deal with your guys' shit more than usual now.

minho: thank god

newt: good

tommy: good

y/n: good

the food is good too <3

newt: good.

lmk if you want to be tagged!

204 notes · View notes

lowgothree · 3 months

Text

007. ༺ASUNDER༻∘

a/n: okay no one yell at me for this chapter...

summary: after getting unexpectedly left by your roommate, you find yourself in need of a replacement.

contents: reader is kinda going through it, lmao. paige is still stupid. kinda angsty.

previous. next. masterlist.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

what’s more uncomfortable than waking up to a cold bed? especially when it was warm before you fell asleep?

…no, seriously. what?

you pull yourself out of bed, groaning and feeling stupid. you fell asleep on her and she left. slipping on your house shoes, you shuffle out of your room. you walk past paige’s room, doors open and it’s empty.

holy shit, were you snoring or something?

you grab your phone, noticing the time. it’s early. paige doesn’t wake up early on weekends if she doesn’t have to. she especially doesn’t leave the house early on a weekend if she doesn’t have to.

you walk into the living, looking for any signs of paige in the quiet of your shared apartment. there are none.

maybe you kick in your sleep.

you don’t have to let your mind wander for too long before she’s waltzing in through the door, guilt ridden. she doesn’t meet your eyes and you can feel it — that abhorrent feeling that crawls underneath your skin, you can barely stomach it. it’s over.

she meets you halfway and calls you by your name. your name. it makes your palms sweat. she hasn’t said your name since that night on the couch. but she says it now almost like it’s a mutual secret, it’s filled to the brim with shame. she says it again and the sentence that follows it is torturess.

“olivia texted me.”

immediately your whole mood switches. like going from hot to cold. you feel it all over and it’s all consuming. those three words are playing over and over and over again in your head. olivia. texted. me.

“i need closure. i hate how we left things.”

she’s apologetic and it makes you sick. she speaks carefully, as though she’s softly shutting the door on an active massacre. you can’t help but roll your eyes. maybe you should’ve expected this. okay, you definitely should’ve expected this…but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

somehow, you wish she wasn’t looking at you so guilty. it would make it easier to stomach if she didn’t feel anything for you at all. but she does. you know she does. you can see it in her eyes when she looks at you, you can feel it on her palms when they touch you, you can hear it in her voice when she calls you baby. she just won’t admit it. and that hurts way worse. you were enough for her to care for but not enough for it to matter.

so what was the point in arguing or faking content? you’d like to think she knew you well enough to catch you in your lie anyway. so you don’t. you acquiesce.

“good for you.” is all you say before turning on your heels and walking back to your bedroom.

you can hear her, hot on your tail as she lets herself into your bedroom. she steps into your space like she owned it all and that only frustrated you more.

“good for me?” she scoffs, it’s disbelieving and angry. she’s angry at you? you can only marvel at the audacity and it fuels your own distaste even more –– what once was smoke of annoyance is now a blazing fire of anger. “that’s it?”

“what do you want from me? do you want me to cry?”

she flinches at the harshness in your tone but stands her ground despite herself. “i don’t know i just expected you to be more — ” heartbroken. “understanding.”

“how much more understanding could i be? it’s not like we were together or anything, you don’t need my permission to run back to her.” the words are uncomfortable on your tongue and it almost chokes you to speak them.

“i’m not running.”

you just stare at her, trying hard to force yourself not to care about the fact that this is really over. you knew the day would come but you weren’t ready. you aren’t ready.

“just get out of my room, paige.”

and she does with a silent nod of acknowledgment. it kills you again and your eulogy is seconds long, it is the sound of your bedroom door closing.

it’s hard to ignore someone you live with. desperately humbling. you learn their schedule just so you know when you’re free to make yourself a sandwich. the living has become somewhat of an abandoned space as you and paige seem to avoid each other like some sort of disease.

sean, always caring, saw how quickly you were shutting down. you claimed you were only trying to process your emotions but he knew you better than that.

“yeah, no…you’re not doing this.” sean pulled you out of bed before you could start rotting there. “come on, we’re going out. we can get food, see a movie…whatever but i’m not letting you sit here depressed.”

and he didn’t, you’ve been spending practically everyday with sean for the past two weeks.

“you’re just going through the stages of grief right now.” he mumbles at you when you’re crying because you miss her. because you fell for her, hard and fast. because she left you before you had a way to land safely.

“she didn’t die.” you sniffle and it makes sean laugh.

“you’re annoying, you know what i mean.”

and that made you smile, albeit small, but there. you wiped your tears and looked at sean, speaking in an almost defeated tone. “i think i really love her…” is all you say and it’s all you need to say. the two of you sitting in silence for a while before sean starts to take your mind of things.

like going to a concert, which was sean’s suggestion. “yeah my roommate and his boyfriend were gonna go but they’re both sick as shit so he just gave me the tickets…”

“no way…”

“yes way…” you can’t contain your excitement as you hug your friend and he shares your smile.

later that night you and sean go to the concert. by the time it’s over, your voice is sore from singing all night.

“i know this is super shitty but i’m so happy my roommate is sick.” sean sighs happily as both walk out of the building and head to the parking lot.

“seriously.” you smile. “we have to go to another concert soon.”

“don’t worry, i’ll cough on all my roommates things. he’s got a weak immune system.”

“gross, sean.” you laugh anyway before you feel someone bump into you, the collision strong and sudden so much so that it almost knocks you off your feet.

“shit –– sorry.”

you freeze, the voice is familiar. you turn around to confirm your suspicion and sure enough. “ellie?”

“oh hey…” she smiles shyly at you. “it’s been a minute.”

“yeah…” you chuckle lightly, noticing the way she eyes you up and down. “how have you been?”

“no, yeah…i’ve been good.” her voice is low and raspy, just like it used to be. “i, um, i got that car i wanted so…”

“wow…new car and a concert? where’d you get the money for that?” you tease, remembering how terrible of a saver ellie was.

“dude, i actually saved for it.” she nods, looking proud of herself.

“are you sure you’re ellie?”

“seriously, i mean…it was hard but i did it and it paid off.”

you smile. “well, i’m proud.”

“thank you, thank you.” she puts a had to her chest, the sounds of cars driving and people talking and laughing fill the night air as she stands in silence for a while. just staring at you. she looks in your eyes then at your lips then she meets your eyes again. no fucking way she just did the triangle method.

you give sean a look and his eyes widen. “hey, it’s cold as shit. i’m gonna go to the car, just let me know when yall are done and i’ll swing back for you.”

you go to nod but ellie speaks before you can. “no, worries, dude. i’ll get her home safe.”

sean looks at ellie and then back at you. you open up your mouth to speak, to say that it’s fine and ellie doesn’t have to take you home but sean stops you. “yeah, that’s a good idea. just text me?” he winks at you.

your jaw drops slightly as sean walks away. ellie smiles at you and you smile back shyly. “you know…i’ve been thinking about us.”

us? as in you and her? your mouth opens and shuts before you clear your throat and reply. “have you?”

“yeah…” she makes her voice slightly deeper, she’s flirting. “let me take you home…”

you pause, home? where paige is? no thank you…

“i, uh…i’m kinda arguing with my roommate right now.” you sigh, a half truth. “i’ve been staying with sean.”

“no shit, that sucks…” she bites her lip, shifting awkwardly on her feet before she clears her throat. “you can stay with me tonight.”

it’s an invitation. oh, okay. your thoughts of paige not fully subsiding but they’re muted. you know sean hasn’t left yet, he’ll be waiting to see if you text him to swing back for you. you could deny her. you should deny her. but you hesitate. maybe it’s because you missed the attention or maybe you were just tired of feeling so stuck on someone who didn’t care enough for you. maybe part of you wanted to get over paige and felt like this was the only way.

so you don’t deny the offer. you accept with a warm smile. “yeah, i’d like that…”

#rock the boat!#paige bueckers x reader

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ravencoloredroses · 1 year

Text

Left Alone

Nyx x Reader

Summary: While the Inner Circle goes for a night out at Rita’s, Nyx and Y/N stay back home.

Warnings: none :) (let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 990

A/N: I hope you like my first ever post! I don’t really see a lot of Nyx x reader fics on here so I figured this would be a good first for me! It's kinda short because I'm just testing the waters lmao. Please let me know what you think! <3

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

“How many times do you want me to say I’m sorry?” I cry out in between giggles as Nyx climbs on top of me.

“Hhm, probably at least three more.” Nyx laughs as he continues tickling me. “Maybe after that I’ll think about accepting your apology.” He tries his best to hide that beautiful smile.

I squeeze my eyes shut causing a few tears to drip down my cheeks. “Okay, okay! I promise it won’t happen again-”

Nyx kisses away my tears. “You’re damn right it won’t, or else.”

“Or else what?” Nyx and I both whip our heads to the stairs to see his dad and the rest of the Inner Circle staring fondly at us.

“Uh oh Rhys, looks like we walked in on something.” Cassian sends me a wink while Nyx sits us up on the couch.

“Why aren’t you guys ready to leave yet?” Mor asks with hurt in her eyes. They are going out to Rita’s for the night and the plan was for us to join them, but-

“Because they’re not going,” Nesta says, strolling past everyone towards the front door.

“I’m sorry Aunt Mor, but Y/N isn’t feeling well and I need to stay back with them” Nyx looks over at me pleading for me to back him up.

“*cough* *cough* Yeah, I don’t feel so good. Sorry guys.”

“I don’t know what you guys are up to, but I know I don’t like it.” Rhys says with a smirk. He walks over and puts an arm around Feyre. “We’ll only be gone for a couple of hours. Please for the love of the mother, stay here and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do-”

“Woah, don’t give them any ideas” Cassian cuts him off. “Just be sure to use protection. Oh and Y/N, I don’t know if Nyx showed you, but if you scratch right about here on his wing it-”

“OKAY, thank you for that Cas” Azriel butts in before Cassian can finish his demonstration. “But seriously, if you want me to leave a shadow here, I’ll be more than happy to”

“That’s okay uncle Az.” Nyx says as he scoops me up into his lap. “I think we’ll be okay.” After a nod from Rhys and one more wink from Cassian, they finally walk out the door.

“Do I still have to pretend to be sick?” I laugh, looking over at Nyx as soon as the door closes. He shakes his head and smiles at me for a few seconds before he's pushing me off to the side so he can get up. I watch him go up the stairs and disappear down the hallway into his bedroom. A minute later he reappears with a book in his hand.

“How about we read together? I was just about to start this one. Do you want me to read or do you?” He grabs my favorite pillow as he walks back over to the couch.

“Can you? All this talk of me being sick has me feeling sick.”

Nyx throws his head back laughing. “Aw baby, let me take care of you.” He gestures for me to stand and then lays us down. I snuggle myself between his legs with my head on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady drum in my ears as he wraps his wings around me.Nyx clears his throat and flips to the first chapter. “Once upon a time, a very handsome and charming heir of the Night Court-”

“That is not how it starts!” I try to look up to see his face which I can tell is smiling ear to ear.

“How would you know? Have you read this one already?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Twice! Now start over.” Nyx laughs and rubs a soothing hand up my back as he actually begins to read the story. His baritone voice is lulling me to sleep no matter how hard I try to stay awake. It’s not often Nyx and I get time completely to ourselves, so I try to savor every moment that we do.

About an hour into the book, I’m just drifting off as Nyx leans down to drop the book on the floor. He shuffles down lower onto the couch and threads his fingers in my hair. “I love you so much, goodnight my love.” He places a kiss on my cheek and I snuggle more into his chest.

----------

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire existence.” A loud whisper fills my ears.

“Shhhh Cas! Don’t wake them up”

“But Az, look! Tell me that’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire existence. Rhys! Come look at your son and tell me that’s not-”

Nyx places his hand over my ear to muffle the sounds. “Uncle Cas. Please be quiet. I don’t want them to wake up.”

“It’s a little too late for that” I mumble as I peek my eyes open. Cassian is sitting on the couch across from us with his hands on his chin, staring with a now shocked face.

Feyre comes over and pulls Cassian to his feet. “We’re sorry dear. We’ll leave you two alone now.” With that the rest of the crew file up the stairs. Feyre looks back one more time, probably visualizing this scene as a painting. Rhys stops on the bottom stair and a look of fondness flashes in his eyes.

“Dad-”

“Alright, goodnight you two.”

Nyx continues playing with my hair and places a kiss into my hairline. “I’m sorry they woke you up honey.” I hum and kiss the back of his hand in response. Nyx chuckles. “If you want, I can tell you that story about the handsome and charming heir of th-”

“You know what? That’s okay baby, maybe some other time.” I feel Nyx’s chest shaking with laughter.

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

#acotar #nyx acotar #rhysand #feyre #Azriel #Cassian #Nesta #Mor #a court of thorns and roses #fanfic #nyx x reader

458 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 12 days

Note

Mira congrats on your milestone!! I wish I was good at coming up with requests… hmm… do you ever get more ideas for pomegranate ink? Maybe a scene of them much later in the future? I loved that fic so much ☹️ I hope they’re happy and living a super fluffy adorable life after all they went thru 💔 (can you tell I’m still heartbroken over JJK leaks) - @yutaleks

── CLOUDS

Synopsis: A snapshot of your life with Yuta Okkotsu, some time after the events of Pomegranate Ink.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 1.9k

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, kind of angsty, yuta is insecure, yuta is fundamentally different because of what he did for reader, spoilers for the ending of my ultra mega long fic pomegranate ink (which you all should definitely read)

A/N: on this blog we pretend like the jjk manga doesn’t exist and pomegranate ink is canon LMAO 😭 i haven’t thought much about what y/n + yuta’s life after the main story would look like hence why this is so short, but aleks i hope this heals your yuta-loving soul a bit!! ty for requesting and also being like. my first tumblr follower ever i’m pretty sure 🥹🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Yuta was rubbing his eyes again. He did so frequently — it was a new habit he had picked up, ever since that final battle against Sukuna. They itched sometimes, he told you, because they were trying to see something they no longer could.

Ever since he had brought you back to life, Yuta had been a normal human. Like Maki, he couldn’t see curses, but unlike her, he couldn’t even sense them, their presences nor their effects. His movements were dulled and slow, and he was far clumsier than he used to be. You knew it frustrated him, the blindness, the childish tripping over his own feet when he was so used to having a sleek body that possessed the grace of a jungle cat.

It wasn’t just his cursed energy that had been depleted. His strength, too, was all but gone. His hands shook when he tried to hold his katana, and although he once was able to carry you around effortlessly, it was now a struggle for him to lift you even a few inches off of the ground for more than a couple of seconds.

He had given up everything for you. You hadn’t understood the magnitude of it until you saw it in action — he was so prone to downplaying his suffering that you all had dismissed it at first. So what if he couldn’t see curses or use his technique anymore? That only meant he was safer.

But giving up a cursed technique was something unprecedented and new. None of you could have been prepared for what it would do to him. Ieri’s theory was this: because a cursed technique was engraved onto one’s brain and soul, the loss of that energy would immeasurably alter one, had immeasurably altered Yuta, permanently.

Once, his memory had been nearly photographic. Now, he was forgetful, requiring reminders about birthdays and anniversaries and appointments. He no longer seemed so deadly, either — there had always been a malevolent aura following him, a sort of viciousness to his otherwise-kind demeanor that made him so frightening, but now, he was so unassuming and gentle that it was impossible to imagine anyone cowering from him like they all used to.

His eyes bore the most significant shift. They used to be a blue like poison, sharp and dark and predatory in an uncanny way, but now, they were faded and gray, sensitive to the sun and entirely unable to see the world to which they had once belonged. He blinked a lot more, too, and Ieri suspected he might need glasses in the near future — not to see curses in specific, but just to be able to see at all.

“Stop that,” you said, pulling his hands away from his eyes before he could turn them bloodshot. “Ieri said it’s not good for you.”

“Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut so that the momentary pressure could relieve the discomfort. Resting your palms against his temples, you used your thumbs to soothe over his eyelids, kissing his forehead as you did so. “I’m sorry you have to take care of me. You’re the one who just came back from a mission.”

“It’s okay, Yuta. I don’t mind. It wasn’t a particularly difficult assignment; any curses left have gotten so weak that even an untrained first year could take them on and win. We should finish the clean-up job within the year,” you said.

“I should be out there, too,” he said. “I should be able to help. Maki can do it without a cursed technique, so there’s no reason for me to be like this.”

“Maki has a Heavenly Restriction. It’s a bit different than not having a technique or any cursed energy at all,” you said, as gently as possible. It was difficult for Yuta, who preferred shouldering the world’s burdens on his own, to sit back and watch as the rest of you fought and he stayed behind. Maki, Toge, Yuji…even Noritoshi and Elakshi had returned from their trip abroad to help in your efforts. Every remaining sorcerer had dedicated themselves to the cause, so that you could eradicate the remaining curses and then move on with your lives.

But Yuta Okkotsu was no longer a sorcerer. He was a normal person, and normal people had no place facing off against curses, especially when they could not so much as see them. In this manner, he was weaker than even your mother, who as of late had dedicated herself to running a charity caring for the displaced survivors of the Shibuya and Shinjuku incidents.

“I was the second strongest sorcerer in the world,” he said. “Now I’m nothing. I swore I would always protect you, and I can’t even do that anymore. You’re the one who has to look out for me.”

“You brought me back to life,” you said. “There’s nothing greater that you could do for me than that.”

He wrapped his arms around your midsection, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. It was another new habit of his — now that he could not use cursed signature detection to constantly be aware of your continued existence, he had developed an obsession with feeling your heartbeat, that steady rhythm which reassured him that you were still alive.

“Do you resent me?” he said.

“Why would I resent you?” you said, running your fingers through his silky hair. “Yuta, what could you possibly have done that would make me resent you?”

“When you brought me back to life, you were unchanged. You didn’t become weak; if anything, it made you stronger. It wasn’t like that for me. Don’t you find me pitiful? I couldn’t even resurrect you properly. I had to give up so much to do it. You must find it humorous,” he said. “You must think of me as some half-rate sorcerer.”

“Of course not,” you said. “What you did was ten times as impressive as what I did. I had Rika helping me, and your own natural Reverse Cursed Technique, and of course the heightened emotions which fueled Composition. Beyond that, Composition as a Reverse Cursed Technique was designed for such feats. You had none of those advantages, and yet you still brought me back. That’s not half-rate; that’s the kind of thing that only happens in myths and fairytales.”

Something scalding splashed against your skin, and then you realized that his body was shaking in your embrace. He was sobbing, clinging onto you in a rare display of weakness. Yuta hated falling apart, and he hated falling apart in front of others even more, yet here he was, doing just that. He always told you that he was supposed to be the one that others relied on. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that crumbled, but of course, no one could say strong forever.

“Do you still love me?” he said. If he had held you like this a year ago, then his grip would have crushed you, but now, it was you who had to be careful with your power, with his softer body. “Y/N, do you still love me?”

“Yes, how could you question that?” you said. “I love more than anyone.”

“You loved Yuta Okkotsu,” he whimpered. “Yuta Okkotsu, special-grade sorcerer. Yuta Okkotsu, who was powerful enough to save you from anything. I’m not him anymore. I’m someone else. Someone weak and stupid, who can barely see and whose body always aches.”

“Hey,” you said, holding him at an arm’s length, using the hem of your shirt to dry his tears. “Hey, hey, look at me. Are you looking at me?”

His eyes, the soft color of clouds, settled on you. You weren’t sure what you had done to deserve that kind of trust, that kind of affection or devotion, but you did the best you could with it, holding his face in your hands and squishing his cheeks fondly.

“Yes,” he said.

“I didn’t fall in love with what you have up here,” you said, knocking on his head lightly. “Nor here, nor here.” This was accompanied by pinches on each of his arms. “What I cared about, what I still care about, is this.”

You placed your hand on his heart. He tilted his chin to gaze at it, and you took the moment to flick him, earning you a small whine.

“My heart?” he said.

“Your heart,” you agreed. “In all the world, I don’t think there’s any other that could claim to be its equal, and that’s a fact independent of your cursed technique or your strength. I’ll always love that heart of yours, Yuta. There’s nothing you can do that’ll stop me from doing so. Change your name, change your face, change everything else about you — I’ll recognize it all the same, and I will love it regardless.”

“Do you mean that?” he said.

“I’ve never meant anything more,” you said. “I love you for who you are, not for what you can do.”

“You really, truly are sure of that?” he said.

“How many times do I have to say it? How many words will it take for you to believe me? I love you, Yuta, I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough, or is there something else you’d prefer?” you said.

“There is,” he said. “There’s something else I want you to say.”

“What is it?” you said. “You only need to tell me, and I will.”

“I know I’m not strong or capable anymore. I can’t promise to protect you, and it’ll be more work on your part than anything, so I understand if you don’t want to do it,” he said. “It’s a terrible deal for you.”

“Huh?” you said. He avoided your eyes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, velvet box, opening it and clearing his throat.

“I’m delicate now,” he said. “But if you’ll still have me, even in this condition, then…?”

“Are you proposing?” you said. He nodded shyly.

“I was going to wait to do it until after everything with the curses was resolved, but I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he said. “I guess I kind of got caught up in the moment. I’m sorry.”

I wouldn’t have before, he seemed to be thinking. Before, I would’ve been disciplined enough to deny myself that joy until the perfect moment.

You didn’t want Yuta to ever deny himself anything again, though. He had given you everything so that you could have a second chance at life; it was only fair that you spent the rest of that life with him. It belonged to him already, anyways. Every thump of your heart, every breath in your lungs, every thought in your mind…they were all his.

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “It’s perfect. This is perfect. Everything about it is.”

“Really?” he said dubiously.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, it’s perfect, and yes, I’ll marry you.”

He swallowed, and then slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger, with all the painstaking care of a surgeon. Then he blinked up at you, frowning when tears of your own welled against your lashes.

“Is everything okay?” he said.

“It’s more than okay. I’m happy,” you said. “I’m so happy that I can’t help but weep. I never thought that I could be so lucky.”

You wished that you could tell your younger versions that the two of you would end up like this, that everything would work itself out in the best way that it could, that eventually, you would again find something like happiness. Maybe it was true that you both were different now — Yuta was missing his cursed technique, and you could never again simultaneously heal and fight — but you had made it. Somehow, despite everything, despite all that you had lost, you had made it.

In the end, what more could either of you ask for?

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #reader insert

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moni-logues · 7 months

Text

Kintsugi 12

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 3.2k

Content: little bit of throwing up (alcohol induced)

A/N: thanks to @quarter-life-crisis2 for beta-ing the first part of this! This is now the second time I'm posting this so i have nothing more to say lmao

Chapter Eleven | Masterlist | Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Twelve – Peaches pt.2

You stood outside Yoongi’s front door, pie held carefully in your hands, breathing deeply, taking a moment to try to soothe your nerves. It was outrageous, you thought, that you could be this nervous. It was Yoongi. On the other hand, it was Yoongi. It was not every day that you confessed to harbouring romantic feelings for one of your best friends. It was not every day that you ripped yourself open and placed your fluttering heart before them, hoping, praying that they felt the same.

It was not every day, but it was today.

You squared your shoulders, shuffled the pie so it rested on the palm of one hand, and used the other to key in the entry code.

“I’m here!” you called as you strode in and shut the door behind you.

You could hear and smell cooking from the kitchen, music on low in the background. You kicked off your shoes and took a deep breath. You had run over a hundred different scenarios, a hundred different scenes; sometimes you just kissed him; sometimes you prepared a long, thoughtful speech; sometimes you played it casual; sometimes you told him you loved him; sometimes, even in your thoughts, you chickened out entirely; sometimes he rejected you and sometimes he didn’t. You always cried.

You were still standing in the hallway, staring up at the invisible obstacle in front of you when Yoongi approached, spatula in hand, frown on his face. You tried hard not to notice how cute he was with his apron on, how domestic. You tried to stop your mind flying forward to a future where he cooked all your dinners, or you cooked them together, in the house you shared. You needed to keep a level head.

“Oh,” he said when he saw you. “I thought I heard you come in but then you didn’t appear. Why are you just standing there?”

Good question.

You chuckled awkwardly and walked into the apartment fully, straight to the kitchen where you set down your pie on the counter.

“What’s in it?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s peach and nectarine,” you answered, wondering if he would remember, if he might understand its significance.

“It’s what?”

“Peach and nectarine.”

He looked at you with his eyebrows raised, expectant.

“It’s what?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes; your heart sang. You gave him a huge, dramatic sigh.

“It’s peachtarine pie.”

“Damn fucking straight.”

He was in a good mood. You liked that. That had to bode well, right?

“Do you want a drink?”

Yes, you were offering him his own alcohol in his own house, but you felt like you needed it. You should have had one before you came out but time hadn’t allowed.

“Sure, there’s wine in the fridge.”

Not the sort of drink you had in mind. You checked in his fridge for soju and, finding none, walked around to his drinks cabinet where you deliberated between tequila and vodka, eventually plumping for vodka. Tequila gave party vibes which wasn’t exactly what you were going for. You returned to the kitchen and poured two shots.

“Here.”

You nudged Yoongi – who had turned back to the stove – and handed him the drink.

“Wow, really? Are we celebrating or commiserating something?”

He knocked back the shot anyway and you did the same, cursing Yoongi in your head for not keeping soju – or anything more palatable – in the house.

“Nope. Just because.”

“Ok, party girl.”

He waved the glass out towards you, asking for another, which you gratefully gave, taking one more for yourself, too. That was a little more like it. You felt looser already. A little Dutch courage can go a long way.

“What are you cooking for me?”

You moved from the other side of the counter and stood next to him, peering into the two dolsots bubbling away.

“Haemul sundubu.”

“Yum, thanks.”

“It’s almost done; there’s banchan in the fridge. And the wine I said I actually wanted to drink.”

He grinned down at you and you hip-checked him, moving away to set the table and pour more drinks.

You hadn’t decided when you were going to tell him. You had told yourself that you would show up and you’d just know when was the right moment; you knew now that that was bullshit and you should have come more prepared. The fear of spoiling everything was rapidly creeping up on you; Yoongi was in a good mood and you were having so much fun. You knew the second you opened your mouth to tell him, everything would change. Even if it was what you wanted, what you were hoping for, even if he said everything you most wanted to hear, it would change things. It was the last night of your friendship, for better or for worse. You felt desperately like you had to make the most of the evening, make the most of everything you had right now: the ease, the comfort, the little sparks of something more when he laughed at your jokes, when he smiled at you, when you got to touch him even a little. There would be no going back. So you delayed your jump into the unknown a little longer and it settled your nerves. It put off the moment and you could relax, at least for an hour or two.

The addition of a film after dinner had continued; it was supposed to be your night to pick but you couldn’t focus on making a decision so Yoongi picked one for you. You didn’t care. You weren’t even sure what it was, even though it had been on in front of you for the last hour and a half. You couldn’t have explained the plot if you’d been offered a lottery jackpot for it.

You had your legs thrown over Yoongi, leaning towards him, sitting as you did every time now. He was slouching deep into the corner, his feet on the coffee table, picking idly at the threads of the holes in your jeans as he watched; your heart skipped every time his fingertips brushed the bare skin beneath.

You could almost hear a clock tick as time went by, you still not having said a thing. It was coming. You knew it was coming. You knew you had to say something; you had steeled yourself for this. You had promised yourself you would do it. You had promised everyone: Taehyung, Nina, San. You had made Taehyung go to your apartment and wait on standby, so he could be there with no delay if it was a ‘no’. You had to do this. You were going to do this. And it had to be now.

You reached out and put your hands on his, toying with his fingers. His immediately stilled and there was a twitch that told you he was going to pull them back, out of reach, but you held on. You kept his little finger in your hands, mindlessly fidgeting with it, finding yourself unable to look up at him.

“Yoongi?”

Your face was already hot, your heart already racing. He grunted inquisitively and you felt his eyes move to you.

“Can I ask you something?”

You were still looking at his hands, your stomach doing somersaults; you wished you hadn’t indulged in so much stew now that it was threatening to come back up the way it went down.

“Are you ok?”

You nodded, your throat feeling choked already.

“I, um... Do you ever... think about me?”

You risked a glance up at him; he seemed surprised by your question and then confused. He leant forward, feet on the ground, taking his hand from yours to reach for the control and stop the film. Then he sat back, not slouching this time, and looked down at you again. You focused on your hands.

“I mean,” you continued, before he could answer, “I mean that-… I- sometimes, just recently, I... I think, I have feelings for you.”

Your face burnt so hot, it brought tears to your eyes. You didn’t know what to say next; usually your mouth did all the talking for you but it had dried up. And Yoongi wasn’t saying anything. You tried to speak and nothing but a croak came out so you cleared your throat and gave it another shot. This was not how you had imagined it going; it was supposed to be smoother than this, more confident. You hadn’t expected to be this meek; you weren’t meek. But the weight of this exchange was crushing.

“I just mean that... Recently, I’ve felt... different... and I- I guess I just wondered if maybe you ever felt like... that. About me.”

It took all you had to look up at him, to try to gauge his reaction, see if you could divine what he was thinking through his face. It was closed, impassive, inscrutable in a way that reminded you of when you first met—his silence in that third class, which you had put down to his ex, but he had never actually explained. You felt the same way as you had back then. You were sticky with nervous sweat, hot and flustered. Embarrassed and self-conscious and burning like you’d been skinned alive. The anxiety was rising in you, a panic that said it was going to go sideways, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. That something had already gone wrong. You tried to talk yourself out of it but the longer he stayed quiet, the harder it became.

“Yoongi?” you whispered, the sound barely making it out of your throat, when the seconds felt stretched to minutes.

He wasn’t looking at you; he was staring straight ahead until he gave you a millisecond’s glance and shook his head. You waited, again, for him to say something else, to say anything at all. There was nothing giving him away. You knew him better than this; you could read him; you could sense how he felt. But not now. Not now at a moment when you really needed it.

“No?” you asked when he still said no more.

He was looking down now, not at you but somewhere on the floor. There was pink at the tips of his ears; his cheeks just barely rosy. He shook his head again and cleared his throat.

“No,” he confirmed, just as quiet as you were, his voice just as strained.

“Oh.”

Your attempt to mask the gasp you gave when trying to gulp in air was poor but you couldn’t bear the thought of bursting into tears, here and now. They pooled thick in your eyes and blinking them back only sent them scurrying, falling, streaming down your face in a deluge. You opened and closed your mouth, gaping, fish-like, a few times before you found the composure to reply.

“Ok.” Your voice wavered. “That’s fine. Yeah, ok, friends I guess then.”

You weren’t looking directly at him—there was no way you could—but you saw him, from the corner of your eye, nod, two almost invisible dips of his head. You removed your legs from over his, curling them under you, trying to keep your breathing in check. You didn’t know what to do now. You didn’t understand. You thought about what Namjoon had said, the way he had seemed so confident. Didn’t Namjoon know Yoongi? Surely he wouldn’t have encouraged you if he had known Yoongi didn’t feel the same.

There was a tearing in your chest that felt like collapse. It had been quick at least. But it was sharp. You wiped at your wet face, wishing Yoongi would just say something, anything would do. You felt shut out, iced out, pushed out. Rejected. Which was exactly what you were. In an instant, he had moved a thousand miles away as he stayed sitting next to you on the sofa. You had never felt farther from him than you did at that second. It made your stomach sink like a stone in the sea. It made your hands go weak, incapable of holding a hand even if he’d let you. It made your blood burn with shame like the acid rising in your throat.

Of all your hundreds of scenarios, all the practices you’d run in your head, none of them went like this. You always talked about it, sometimes you even argued, but it was never this. This silence, thick like fog, choking like smog, resting over you. You began to feel smothered, suffocated by it. You couldn’t breathe for fear of falling apart; you had to get out.

Yoongi stayed still, looking at the floor, his fingers worrying a loose thread on his trousers. Did he want you to leave? Did he want you to stay? You couldn’t know and were not able to wait to find out.

“I guess,” you said, when you found the ability to speak without sobbing, “I should just go.”

Yoongi turned to you then, his face for a second wearing a look of panic. He opened his mouth as you stood and you waited for him, gave him a few seconds to tell you to stay, or encourage you to leave. He said nothing. So you walked, with heavy feet and a heavier heart, to the door.

Yoongi followed you, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his fingers twisting around one another. You stooped to put on your shoes and it was only when you were leaning on the door handle that he said anything.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked back at him as you stood in his doorway; you blinked away more tears and you could almost have sworn you saw tears in his eyes, too. You didn’t stop longer to make sure. You turned tail and ran.

You had managed to hold in your sobs in the taxi ride back to your apartment; you couldn’t stop the constant leak of tears from your eyes, but you just about kept a lid on the worst of it. Then you flung open your door and fell to the floor, gasping and choking and barely able to breathe.

Taehyung was by your side in a second, scooping you into his arms, stroking your back, pressing kisses into your hair, letting you make his T-shirt wet and snotty, not saying anything, knowing you weren’t listening anyway.

You couldn’t quite believe it. Not because Yoongi hadn’t wanted you, but because you hadn’t anticipated it going like that. Because you didn’t understand. Because you somehow thought that there would be discussion; you could, now, think of things that you wanted to say, things you wanted to talk about; every thought and idea that had eluded you then flooded back now. You thought of the many ways you had broached the topic in your head and wondered why you did it like that. That wasn’t what you had planned. You hadn’t been clear, had you? Or you hadn’t got your point across? Or maybe you did? You just couldn’t tell. You were, entirely, in disarray.

You also had to ask yourself, did it matter? If Yoongi didn’t feel that way about you, did it matter how he told you? Did it matter what he said or didn’t? Did it matter how you said it? He had clearly known what you meant because he had given you his answer. You had the answer you were looking for—you had the answer to your question, even if it wasn’t the one you had been looking for. The rest was irrelevant.

The emergency treatment for your heartbreak was booze and a lot of it. So much, in fact, that you ended the night with your head in the toilet, that seafood stew finally making its burning way back up, Taehyung standing behind you rubbing your back and making sure your hair was out of the way.

He put you to bed, tucked you up nicely and, at your insistence, curled up next to you, where you clung to him like a koala, desperate to not be alone.

Yoongi stood, gasping, at his door, unable to catch his breath. He was familiar enough with panic attacks to know that this wasn’t one, but he nevertheless sank to the floor and began walking himself through it. He focused on the inhale and the exhale, the counting that accompanied each usually uncomplicated step of breathing. He needed to focus on that. Anything so that he didn’t have to focus on what had just happened.

Panic. That was one word for it. Insanity. That might have been another. Stupidity, certainly. He hadn’t expected it, could not have seen it coming even from a mile off. Nothing had seemed different. You were the same as you ever were; things between the two of you were normal.

And then you asked him that.

And he’d wanted to say yes. He was trying to. He wanted to open up to you and respond in kind and see if maybe something, anything, could have happened.

But he couldn’t. The words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t force them out, couldn’t make himself say it. He could see it all crumbling; as if he had been watching from outside his body, he had seen it. He had seen himself fail, let you down, lie to you.

And he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t understand the gut-wrenching, visceral fear that had gripped him when you spoke, when you looked up at him—timid and shy like he had never seen you before—and asked if he ever thought about you, said that you had feelings for him. Like a pair of icy hands, one on his heart and one around his throat, it took such strong hold of him that he literally felt strangled: couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do a thing that might have led him to happiness.

And then you left. In tears. Because of Yoongi. He wouldn’t forgive himself for that. He probably wouldn’t forgive himself for any of it, but his own pain, he could handle. He was used to that. Causing you pain? Before tonight he would have said it was unthinkable. He would never.

But he had. He had lied; he had rejected you; he had let you run out of his apartment with barely a word said.

He had lost you. That was it. He couldn’t see redemption, couldn’t see a way to walk this back. Not a hurt this big. Not a stupid, pointless, embarrassing lie like this was. It was over.

He couldn’t forgive himself for that either.

He stayed on the floor in the hallway until his legs started screaming for him to move, then a little longer. It wasn’t until Cherry came to chase him into bed that he stood up, walking straight through the apartment to his bedroom, not looking anywhere but straight ahead, not daring to glance at the scene of the crime, the scene of his immodest failure, a scene the very thought of which made him feel sick.

He fell onto his bed and stayed there until Sunday.

Chapter Eleven | Masterlist | Chapter Thirteen

Taglist: @chimmisbae, @idkjustlovingbts @miriamxsworld, @tarahardcore, @simp47koreancrackheads, @xyahrinx, @olyd, @diorh0seokie, @thelilbutifulthings, @acquiescence804

#yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic

134 notes · View notes

alovesongtheywrote · 5 months

Note

Heyyyy I just read Nightmare Academia, and I LOOOOVE IT!!! You're such a talented writer!! 🩷🩷🩷

♥ Summary: I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the fic :D In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, your author presents you a series of vignettes about you and Reid sharing an office. In other words- you and Reid share an office. Shenanigans ensue.

♥ Warnings: none? that i'm aware of?

♥ A/N: heyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeee. sorry this fic took 20 years, lmao. finals hit, im sure you understand. ANYWAY, enjoy the chapter. it's like, 3,000 words, i hope that makes up for it lol

♥ Word Count: 3,336

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

Working out of Spencer’s office was strange. It wasn’t difficult, as one might expect. You did not struggle to exist in the confines of that office- if anything, the opposite was true. Working with Spencer was easy. Being in his space and working by his side was as easy as breathing. Despite the pranks, the general bitchiness, and your lingering guilt after the stabbing incident, you and Spencer were a good team. You could put aside your feelings and get work done when it mattered.

It was all very fucking weird.

That said, when it didn’t matter, absolutely no constructive work could be completed within your office. By inviting you into his space, Spencer had unlocked a new universe of pranks for you. You knew the password to his computer. You had the key to every cabinet. Everything you could ever dream of stealing was within reach.

You behaved accordingly.

Where most normal laptop-havers set their desktop images to pictures of family, friends, and/or big-tittied anime girls, Spencer left his desktop image on the factory setting. It was the same default shit that came with any piece of new tech- but this hunk of metal and wire wasn’t new. He’d had it for years and it was still the same image. Boring. Blank. Impersonal and unrevealing. Honestly, you weren’t sure if Spencer knew he could change the image, but that didn’t really matter. Whether or not he knew, you would take the liberty of changing it for him.

You had to move quickly and strike carefully. Despite being a technophobe, Reid wasn’t the type to leave his shit lying around. You had to wait patiently for an opportunity, and when one arose, you had to make the most of it. Spencer Reid would not have a sweet image of capybaras in an onsen. He would not get a desktop image of sweet sleeping dogs. That motherfucker would not be on the receiving end of anything wholesome or sweet.

You picked an image in advance. You waited patiently- and when the window of opportunity finally swung open late one Tuesday afternoon?

You almost missed it. It wasn’t your fault. When Reid finally got up and left the room, you were a touch busy stealing one of the books off the shelf behind him. By the time you noticed he was gone, you’d already placed some horny chunks of text bound by a tasteful cover in its place.

You could hear his footsteps down the hall. You had to move quickly.

Every inch of your body seemed to crackle with a sort of electricity. Your heart pounded in your chest, urged by the knowledge that you could be caught any second. Your fingers raced over the keyboard as you found your chosen image.

When Reid returned to the room, you were back at the bookshelf, scanning the titles and pretending you hadn’t done anything wrong. It was kind of hard to do when you were staring your smutty novels in the face, but still, you managed.

Your teeth grazed your lip as Spencer stepped into the room. You could hear him place something on his desk, but you refused to look at him. His eyes burned holes in the side of your head, you could feel it-

“Here,” he reached out to you, paper cup in hand, “I got you a coffee.”

“What? How? Why?” You stuttered out, completely failing to hide your shock.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, “Coffee. With money. Because it’s late and you’ve been working all day. You know, the traditional thing to say in this situation is thank you.”

“I- Thank you,” you accepted the coffee, wrapping your hands around it tightly as if you could squeeze out your shame.

He smiled, smug and smarmy. Your shame immediately dissipated. This fucker deserved the cursed bullshit you’d set on his screen.

“You’re welcome, (L/N).”

He turned away from you, switching on his laptop and entering his password. You watched him, silently sipping on your coffee. It was perfect. He’d memorized your coffee order. Of fucking course he had. That didn’t mean anything, right? Spencer could memorize anything, it was all a part of the eidetic memory package. He probably memorized every coffee order of every person he’d ever stood behind in every coffee shop he’d ever been to. The fact that he knew your order meant-

“GOD-” Spencer pushed back from the desk, almost pushing his office chair right into your leg. You looked up, a grin crossing your lips as you saw what had caused his outburst.

A hydra-like creature with a long fleshy body, several long slender necks, and multiple Furby-style faces stared out at you from the glowing screen of Spencer’s computer.

It was the worst thing you could find, a terrible monster from the very depths of the internet- and it had the intended effect! Spencer glared at his screen with horror and confusion, his face contorted by whatever rush of emotion he felt upon seeing the cursed thing in front of him. A sense of euphoric joy spread through your body, burning away all the shame and confusion you felt.

“You really can’t act like an adult for two seconds, can you?”

“Apparently not. Thank you for the coffee?”

Whenever Spencer got on your nerves, you reorganized his files. You hid folder upon folder of paperwork in the wrong place. You switched files with other files on purpose. You didn’t re-label anything- you weren’t a monster- but you did create such a mess that Spencer had to stay late for a few nights. He didn’t mind, really. In messing up his files, you had made a little mystery for him to solve. He liked little mysteries.

Besides, on the nights he had to stay late, you stayed with him.

On the floor.

That wasn’t too uncommon, honestly. Reid’s office didn’t come with two desks- therefore, when one of you needed space, the other usually offered to take the floor as their dominion. Re-arranging files took lots and lots of space, hence, you often found yourself on the ground.

One such late night, you sprawled yourself across the floor and angled your head to get a better view of Reid’s sorting. His eyes darted across the page at a speed that some would call inhuman. (You wouldn’t call it inhuman. You would just call him a speedy boy.) As he flipped through the papers before him, those eyes of his turned to you.

“Hi!” you greeted, “How goes the search?”

“You know you don’t have to stay late, right?”

“I know! But I like watching you work. Besides, the floor is comfortable.”

“I doubt that,” Spencer said, turning back to his sorting, “If you ask me, you’re here because you feel guilty for making me stay late. I told you it’s fine, I-”

“Yeah, you like a paper trail, I know. But I promise, Reid, I do not feel guilty.”

“Then maybe you just enjoy my presence?” He looked back up at you, a shit-eating smirk painted on his face. You wanted to smack it off of him. Or maybe kiss it off of him? However, if you were to kiss it off of him, you would definitely do so with unnecessary aggression. Perhaps violence.

You let out an unconvincing laugh, “That’s ridiculous. Be less ridiculous, Reid.”

“I don’t think I’m being ridiculous. I think you’re in denial, (L/N).”

“Pft, denial. You’re silly. You’re a silly little guy,” you stood up, pulling yourself up and brushing yourself off. You didn’t notice the way Spencer’s eyes followed your every movement, didn’t catch his gaze lingering on the small patch of skin that revealed itself as your shirt rode up.

He almost snapped his neck when you turned back towards the desk. He couldn’t let you catch him staring the way he was.

“My dear, dear Spencer Reid, I do not stay with you because I feel bad for making you work late,” you placed your hands on the desk, “Nor do I stay because I enjoy your presence.”

You pulled yourself up onto the desk, perching atop it. This time, you noticed where Spencer’s gaze went and how it lingered on your thighs. You had never felt more powerful in your life. With a smirk, you reached out and placed two fingers beneath his chin, forcing him to look at you. He took a deep, nervous breath, and you could feel him breathe beneath your fingers.

“So why-” he choked, “Why do you stay here? Just to try and flirt with me?”

“No,” you said, objectively flirting with him, “My darling doctor, I stay here because the floor is really fucking comfortable. And I have work to do.”

His brows drew together as the cutest little pout crossed his face, “I don’t believe you. There’s no way it’s that simple, I am sure you have an ulterior motive.”

You did. You had several. You felt bad for making Spencer work late, and you enjoyed his presence, and above all else, you wanted to make sure he got home safe and un-stabbed. You weren’t gonna let Spencer know about that, though.

“Aw, pretty boy. If I have any ulterior motive, it’s that I get to watch you suffer,” you lied.

With a huff, Spencer pulled his face from your grip and returned his focus to the mess you had made for him. You smiled, but the grin on your face was nothing more than plastic, porcelain, fake material posing as real joy.

“I still don’t believe you.”

Fucker.

“If you want to live in a world of delusion, that’s your decision. All I can do is sit here and watch.”

He smirked, “Wow, (L/N). I never pegged you as a voyeur.”

You responded to his quip like any reasonable mature adult would- you made a little sound and swatted some of the papers off of his desk. Spencer just smiled and let his eyes move to a new paragraph.

You were going to kill that man. Not that night, nor the nights that followed, but you were sure. One of those mother fuckin nights, Reid would meet his end by your hand. Or maybe by your thighs.

Spencer Reid might’ve been a renowned doctor with multiple PhDs, but he still wasn’t smart enough to hide his property from your thieving gremlin hands. Before you had moved into his cozy little office, your acts of petty theft were limited to small things. Mugs, for example. Or books. Now, though, you had access to all his worldly possessions- or at least all the worldly possessions that he kept in his office.

You’d taken his keys a few times. The first time you’d done that, he practically kicked down the office door in a panic. He’d searched the office desperately, throwing papers around and checking every drawer, only stopping when he saw your smiling face.

The most recent time you took his keys, he’d just sighed and stared at you expectantly, his hand open and waiting. You were super tempted to lick him, but you held back. You just gave him back his keys.

Mugs, books, and keys weren’t the end of it, though. You stole chess pieces, office supplies, a desk lamp, and at one point, you nabbed one of Spencer’s fucking degrees. (It was just hanging on the wall, taunting you. You had to take it.)

Your favourite incident of theft, though, was a scarf. During the colder months, Spencer usually wore a purple scarf, but this one was different. He didn’t wear it as frequently- it was long, generally tan with stripes of orange, purple, and green. The wool that made it up was unbelievably soft beneath your fingers. You never wanted to let that scarf go. So you didn’t.

You took it.

And you kept it.

You were cold, your neck was scarfless, and he left a lovely soft scarf right in front of you for you to grab. So you grabbed it. And you wore it. And you looked hot. And you were hot- literally.

It was a good thing that you’d nabbed the scarf when you did. The very next day, the heating system that kept the campus warm during the colder months mysteriously broke down. You came into work expecting the usual warmth only to find that everything was fucking freezing. You were fortunate. You still had the scarf in your bag.

Without another thought, you wrapped it around your neck and curled up into a tiny ball behind the desk.

Spencer was not so fortunate. You see, dear reader, our sweet former FBI agent hadn’t realized his scarf had been kidnapped. Upon returning home the night before, he noted the lack of scarf and assumed that he’d left it in his office. That’s right. The man with the eidetic memory just assumed he’d forgotten something- not just something. The nerdy scarf that he’d spent months working on.

Please forgive him, he’s secretly like, half a himbo. A half himbo in disguise. A halfbo incognito. Anyway.

His assumption left him scarfless, and that morning, Spencer burst into the office, desperate and searching once more. And then, he saw you wearing his scarf. The Doctor Who scarf. The scarf he’d knit himself, the scarf that had spent hours and hours in his hands, that scarf wrapped around your neck. He froze. The panic he had felt in the moments before faded away to nothing.

No. Not nothing. It just faded to a different kind of panic. An, “Oh my god, my cute co-worker is wearing a scarf I made,” type of panic. A, “Holy shit, my mortal enemy is wearing something rope-like that I made around their neck what kind of day IS THIS,” type of panic.

An, “Oh god, oh man, my cute co-worker is wearing something I made around their neck to keep warm in the cold,” kind of panic.

Put another way, Spencer went from one kind of panic to several kinds of panic, all before you looked up from your paperwork to catch his wide-eyed gaze.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you said, reaching up to tuck the scarf tighter around your neck, as if you could hide it with such a simple gesture, “How are you?”

“I-” he stood there for a few moments, staring at you and willing the blush on his cheeks to stop burning. It didn’t. It burned harder. Finally, Spencer choked out something, “Is that my scarf?”

“Perhaps,” you drew out the word, curling further into the chair and away from Spencer, “Why?”

“Well, first and foremost, the temperature is thirteen degrees lower than normal-”

“Did you check the thermostat?” Your words were quiet, mumbled underneath your breath as an expression of genuine confusion rather than a petty, bitchy quip.

“Secondly, my scarf- my scarf that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re wearing now- is missing. At first I thought I misplaced it, but then… well,” he gestured vaguely to you, to the fabric draped around your throat, “I managed to put the pieces together.”

You pulled back further. Spencer just rolled his eyes and stepped into the office. He slapped his hands down on the desk, letting a loud bang echo through the room. He smirked at the tiny squeak that escaped you. Fucker.

“Well?” you asked, voice quiet and hands tight around the scarf, “Care to share, profiler boy?”

He scoffed, though the smile on his lips was genuine, “It wasn’t that difficult. I came to work missing my scarf and the first thing I saw was my scarf wrapped around your neck.”

“Ah. The case solved itself,” you paused, biting the inside of your cheek. Another shiver ran through you, “I suppose you’ll want this back?”

Before you could move to remove the scarf, Spencer held up a hand to stop you, “Keep it. At least, for now. It’s cold, and I’ve got a sweater around here somewhere, and you-”

“Are a sweaterless bitch, yes, that’s an accurate take.”

Spencer choked and spluttered, his pink-toned cheeks burning an even darker red, “I- I wouldn’t put it like that-”

“That’s cool,” you shrugged, unfurling your body from the confines of the office chair, “I put it like that. I am a bitch sans-sweater. Sweaterless bitch.”

He put a hand up to his face, covering his eyes as he whispered a tiny little curse word. You just smirked, pulling the scarf tighter around your neck as you stretched your legs out beneath the desk.

Spencer was pretty sure he was going to combust at this point. You weren’t aware of this- but even so, you still managed to make his day harder.

“So, where did you get this? It’s soft as fuck, I want, like, fifteen of them.”

Somehow, Spencer managed to avoid choking again, “I, uh, I made that.”

The smile that crossed your lips was blinding, “No shit? Fuck. You’re more talented than I thought, Dr. Reid.”

“Thank you?” He paused, awkwardly shuffling into the room and setting up for the day, “So, do you watch Doctor Who?”

“Oh shit,” you looked down at the scarf as it cascaded down your body, “Is this a Doctor Who thing?”

“It’s a replica of the scarf worn by Tom Baker who portrayed the fourth doctor from 1974 to 1981. The original scarf was actually twenty feet long- the woman who made it wasn’t told how long the scarf needed to be, so she used all the yarn she was given. It was only shortened slightly for the show’s production, but overall, the end result was very well loved by- oh,” he cut himself off, “Sorry. I’ll-”

“Wait, why did you stop?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, “Because I’m rambling? And I’m sure you have work to do? And you don’t watch the show, so-”

“Work? Work is boring. Give me the scarf lore.”

“The scarf lore for a show you don’t even watch?”

“Yes! Look, I’ve always taken a more Rocky Horror route when it comes to sci-fi, but I might have to get into Doctor Who because of this.”

“You should!” Spencer lit up, practically glowing with excitement as he took a seat on the desk, “Especially the newer stuff, I think you’d really like what Russell T Davies has to offer as a showrunner.”

“Do you?” you leaned forward, trying not to grin, trying not to show that you were just as excited as he was. You failed, “Tell me more, then.”

He did. The two of you whiled away that morning, ignoring the cold in exchange for an impromptu lecture about British television.

A few hallways away, Professor Belker (the head of the criminology department) sat at her desk. Before her, in two chairs, sat professors Peters and Evans.

“So…” Evans began, rubbing his arms as a weak defence against the cold.

“So,” Belker agreed. None of them needed to state what they were agreeing upon. Peters stated it anyway.

“Spencer and (Y/N) are fucking, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“It’s practically a guarantee at this point. You don’t share an office with your mortal enemy unless you and that enemy are having… relations.”

“Wow, ‘mortal enemy.’ That’s intense, Belker,” Evans’ eyes got wide.

“It is. I’m quoting them directly,” Belker replied, her body weighed down in a way that told the other profs that she had heard that quote a million times.

“Well, it was a good move to shut the heat off. I saw (Y/N) with Spencer’s scarf, so…” Peters gave a large and unsubtle wink.

“I didn’t shut the heat off. I thought about it, but-”

“It couldn’t have been you, Belk,” Evans interrupted, “I saw the preliminary report. The power shut off in the middle of the night.”

“Huh. That’s odd.”

“Odd indeed.”

A few more hallways away, a book fell off one of the many shelves in your office. Your office. The haunted office. The ghost was getting her way, and lord help anyone who tried to stop her.

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, @currentfications, @ilse235, @emagen, @foolishwaitersblog if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

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bibbykins · 11 months

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Moonlight Reign Ch. 5

A/N: Lmao hi! I'm back and this chapter is sorta boring but trust the process! Hopefully next chapter will be much sooner! Basically I post a chapter once I have the following one or two done~ Please enjoy and send asks and all that! I keep meaning to make a banner for this series, and one day I will have one!! As usual everyone thank @rapline-heaux my wonderful beta reader who read this months ago lmaooo

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yandere Mafia! BTS x Reader

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, poly relationship, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mafia activities, crime, manipulation, crying, trauma, sensory flashbacks, murder, pining, past abuse, past neglect, familial issues, academic neglect, Taehyung and Jimin being mean, abandonment

By the time Jungkook returned to his apartment, all six of his lovers were seated around his dining table, waiting for him. The men looked at the youngest with an aura of moderate annoyance. They hated tardiness, and Jungkook could only imagine the story he spun about you.

“How are you going to be late to the emergency meeting you called?” Jin asked, sighing as he checked his nails impatiently.

“Go on, tell em where you were.” Taehyung snipped, but Yoongi clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Don’t bother, he already whined about it.” Namjoon sighed out.

Jungkook snorted, “Yeah, I can tell by the way Jimin looks pissed too.” The MMA fighter bristled at this but sighed, crossing his arms.

“I’ll never understand what you guys have against her.” Hoseok rolled his eyes, “How is she, dare I ask?” He sarcastically spoke, “According to Tae she’s the Devil incarnate.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes at this, landing on the man in question to send him a glare, “Did he tell you how much of an asshole he was?”

“Funnily enough, he neglected to mention his behavior.” Yoongi spoke, not breaking his eye contact with Taehyung who shrunk in his seat a bit, “I also will never understand why she gets under both of your skin so much.” He looked to JImin who shifted in his seat, “None of our trysts have ever gotten to you both.”

“She’s different.” Taehyung snarled bitterly. No one said it, but the sentiment was there. You were different because Jungkook kept going back to you. You were different because instead of making him worse and leaving them to pick up the pieces, you made him… better. You helped him come from the depths of rock bottom in a way none of them had been capable of doing due to their own internal battles, and it weighed on the two men in a way that guilt could never fully encapsulate.

“Anyways.” Jungkook spoke, plopping down next to Yoongi who sat at the head of the table, “I’m sure everyone here wants to know why I called you here?” He asked, and the men looked on expectantly. It was rare for Jungkook to call these meetings, especially so close to the anniversary date. Truthfully, he was surprised that they were all even able to attend in the first place, but it was all fate after all, at least in his eyes, “Well, I have just given us the best anniversary gift yet.” The men in the room perked up noticeably.

“Did Byungjoo seriously give you something useful?” Jimin asked curiously, “I thought I was supposed to go in tomorrow because he’s not talking about the old man’s whereabouts?” He looked to Namjoon whose gaze stayed fixed on Jungkook.

“Yeah… you told me he wasn’t squealing?” The CEO asked suspiciously.

“And he didn’t, not about Byungyeol.” Jungkook confirmed, “But he did mention something… about the girl.” Yoongi’s back was pin straight as the younger man spoke.

“Isn’t she dead?” Hoseok asked, making Yoongi’s jaw set.

“Hey, we don’t know that for sure,” Jin argued for the sake of the second oldest who waited for Jungkook to continue with bated breath.

“Oh come on.” Taehyung huffed out, “That fire–”

“Enough.” Yoongi grit out, “Let him finish.”

Jungkook smiled a bit, all too eager to finally have you out in the open, “She’s alive.” The room went still as he continued, “He gave me her name, and I had to check it out to make sure he wasn’t lying but… I found her.”

“No way.” Jimin gasped, turning to the older man who had a lump in his throat, “What did you wanna do with her, boss?” The title was a bit sarcastic, “She sharing the same fate as Byungjoo?”

“No.” Jungkook and Yoongi spoke in unison, making the two look at each other curiously. Everyone in the room knew Yoongi had a certain fixation on finding the green girl, especially as they were preparing for the fall of the Moon group, but they weren’t sure why. The only person who really knew had been Jin who remained as tight-lipped as ever about the topic.

Yoongi cleared his throat to break some of the tension, “No, I don’t think I plan to kill her.” He spoke cooly, but Jungkook’s jaw set at the mere possibility.

“None of us will be killing or harming her.” Jungkook proclaimed, making the two bosses in the room glared at him.

“That’s not your call to make, JK.” Namjoon reminded him, but he shook his head in defiance.

“Why do you even care?” Jin asked curiously.

Taehyung watched with squinted eyes as he studied the scene before him. Jungkook never once cared about who lived or died. Hell, he hated attending most meetings. It didn’t make sense why he’d care about some random girl he didn’t know–

Oh.

Rage bubbled in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach as the puzzle pieces clicked into place, “It’s because she’s been right next door this whole time, isn’t it?” He piped up, and Jungkook’s glare at him deepened, “She’s fucking dea–” Taehyung stood and Jimin followed suit.

“Sit down.” Yoongi hissed, and the men had no other choice but to listen as he turned to the maknae, “Is that true?”

Jungkook pursed his lips and let out a short laugh, “And I had no fucking clue,” He admitted, and Namjoon wanted to bang his head on the table. All of the men knew that Jungkook wouldn’t lie about this kind of thing, not when it meant so much to Yoongi, but still–

“How could you be so careless–”

“We all thought she was dead!” Jungkook defended himself, and Yoongi remained quiet, “None of us knew her name, how she looked, hell, we didn’t even know her real age, evidently.” He sighed, “She didn’t even know about me.”

“What?” Hoseok chimed in, “You’re telling me this is all a coincidence?” He asked incredulously, but Jungkook stood his ground.

“The reason I’ve been so off these days?” He offered, and his boyfriends stiffened, “She saw Namjoon on the news as Bangtan Corp’s CEO, and she… I mean, she’s not an idiot. She added two and two together.” He bitterly admitted, “Our one rule was shattered, so we agreed to go our separate ways but…”

Jin scrunched his brows as he took it in, “You couldn’t let her go, could you?” He asked, and the implications made the men in the room feel ill. Jungkook, the man who could have multiple one-night stands in a night without feeling an ounce of affection for them, couldn’t let you, his friend, walk out of his life, “Jungkook you…”

“She was all I had during…” He trailed off, and the other men could fill in the blanks, “We found each other at our lowest, and now I see why she was so skittish at first it…” He sighed, “It was fate, I see that now.”

“Fate?!” Taehyung guffawed, “She was playing you!”

“How?!” He challenged, raising his voice back, “It’s been years and she’s never once asked me for anything!”

“Everyone calm down, okay?” Hoseok tried to mediate, “Look, I agree with Jungkook, there’s no way she knew or was playing him.” He defended and Jimin scoffed, “I’m serious. I was the one who watched her those days, alright?”

“Byungjoo had no idea I even knew her.” Jungkook mentioned, “I didn’t tell him I did, obviously. He just… immediately gave me her name and her phone number.” He said, but sighed, “She got a new phone the day after she saw Namjoon on the news, you know.” He admitted, “I know now Byungjoo called her that day and she freaked out, now I know why.”

“Freaked out?” Yoongi asked, expression unreadable.

“Why would she freak out if her uncle called?” Namjoon asked, the Moon family was supposed to be tight-knit.

“She’s…” Jungkook tried to find the word, “I don’t think she was raised how we thought at all, hyung.” He admitted, and it made the older man’s stomach churn, “I think we need to reevaluate everything we thought we knew about the Moon family.” Whispers in the Underworld spoke of a spoiled yet deadly princess who got everything she wanted at the snap of a finger. You were supposed to have been pampered to a nauseating degree.

“Why don’t we ask her ourselves?” Jimin bitterly added, unbelieving that you could be anything other than what they’d been told.

“Fine.” Jungkook surprisingly agreed, “But not tonight.”

“What are we even going to do with her?” Jin asked finally, “If we’re not going to kill her then what?” He felt the need to add, “We can’t let her run. Obviously, she was planning to.”

“We hire her.” Yoongi announced and all of the men except Namjoon looked at him in surprise.

“Just like that?” Hoseok chuckled, “Very well then.”

“What use do we have for her?” Jimin hissed just as Taehyung stood.

“You’re joking.” Taehyung seethed, “Hire her to what? Stab us in the back?”

“I haven’t heard anything to suggest she has any allegiance to her family.” Namjoon reasoned, “And she is a nurse, has been Jungkook’s very own for a while now.” He added with a tinge of bitterness, “It only makes sense that–”

“No way in hell am I going to the green girl prodigy killer to heal me.” Taehyung scoffed.

“Then don’t.” Yoongi clipped, making the man scowl further, “But if you need to, she is our new nurse, effective immediately.”

Hoseok, utterly amused, beamed a bit at this, “And no more coming to me to patch you up anymore.” He added, making Taehyung click his tongue, “I’m no good at it and it makes me have to cut into our supply.” He defended. Hoseok had some medical training, he had to in order to be the knowledgeable pharmacist he was now, but he didn’t like using it.

“And who’s going to tell her?” Jin asked, seemingly unphased by the night’s events, but he seldom was.

“I will.” Yoongi proclaimed, “I’ll speak with her tomorrow and lay out the terms after we hammer them out tonight.” Jungkook stiffened at the idea of the other members seeing you, but it was unavoidable. All he really cared about was the fact that your heart would remain beating and you would be relatively free.

Jimin glared at Jungkook, “What did you two talk about over there?” He asked.

Jungkook stiffened at the memory of just moments ago before returning his lover’s harsh gaze, “Have something you wanna say?”

“Interesting that Jungkook gets to keep his toy.” Taehyung spat, making the man in question snarl before Jimin had a chance to say anything.

“She is not a toy.” Yoongi hissed to everyone’s surprise. He cleared his throat, letting the heat melt from his body, “She is now a vital member of the group and should be treated as such.” This made Jungkook smile.

—

“...And then you tie it like this.” Eunhwa explained, tying the know just above the tip of your gash, “These are poligecaprone sutures, best for general tissue repair, like this.” She was so dutiful in her words, you almost envied how well-spoken she was. Eunhwa was a new instructor since the last one stopped showing up, and you didn’t have it in you to worry when she was so rotten. So far, Eunhwa was quite kind, but she made a displeased face at your wound, and you wondered if she blamed you for it. Father did, after all. He always said you had no business being as clumsy as you were.

Nevertheless, you watched the needle enter your skin and the knot she tied carefully as you nodded, ten-year-old mouth trying to form the word in silence as you did the next suture, the pattern being interrupted, “Pol–” You cut yourself off, looking at Eunhwa with surprise at the fact that you made a noise. You knew the rules, you knew legacies don’t speak unless they have something useful to say.

You gulped, waiting for admonishment or a behavior report to be made and handed to your uncle, but instead, she smiled, “Do you want help sounding it out?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” You whispered out.

A brief moment of sadness, an emotion you couldn’t identify yet, flashed on her face before she dutifully guided you through the word.

You completed the knot and she checked your work with a nod, “Very good.” She mused before her eyes flicked to yours, “Did it hurt? Your father suggested I not give you numbing cream, but if it hurt too bad I can try to convince him.” She offered, but you shook your head. She looked at you quizzically, “It didn’t hurt?” You shook your head again. It hadn’t hurt more than anything else you’d taken, “You don’t want me to talk to him?”

You swallowed, left with no other choice but to talk, “I can take it. I must.” You echoed his words, “It’s my job.” You solemnly spoke and Eunhwa paused for a moment, before nodding.

“Very well.” She spoke softly, “I won’t talk to him, then. Just, speak freely around me, okay?” She asked, “I won’t tell, I promise.”

You nodded, unable to say that you didn’t know how to speak freely.

—

If sleep found you, it certainly didn’t feel like it. Your eyes opened, and it felt like a mere blink. Nevertheless, the sun was slowly beginning to light the sky. The world was still turning for you, for now. You wondered how long you could keep that up.

It wasn’t going to be long now before the devil was coming to collect your soul in the form of one of the Bangtan men, so you decided to use your last moment to speak to the only other person who ever cared what you had to say.

The line rang only twice before she picked up, and before she could say anything you spoke, “It’s over.” You breathed, “They found me.”

“What?” Eunhwa asked, and you could hear a door close, “No, that can’t be–”

For the first time in your life, you cut her off, “It’s okay.” You breathed out shakily, “I lived a bit.” You wanted to say you were ready to die, but you weren’t. You weren’t and the fact made you envious of your past self. A puppet with no concept of a life to live can’t fear death.

“No you didn’t.” She seethed, making your jaw clench. She was right. Your life had just barely started. You still had so much to learn and so many things to do that were now evaporating right before your eyes, “Are you sure they’re going to kill you?” She asked, and your brows scrunched.

“They’ve been looking for me this long.” You pointed out, “Why would they keep me alive? Even if Jungkook were to plead my case.”

“Why would they kill you though?” Her voice was too hopeful for you, but you let her speak anyway, “Why would they kill someone they’ve been pursuing this hard?”

“Eunhwa–” You were cut off by a sharp knock on the door that made your stomach fall, “Thank you.”

“Don’t talk like that.” She hissed, but you could hear the quiver in her voice, “I-I’m going to make a few calls and–” The knock on your door pounded louder this time, and you smiled sadly.

“I have to go.” You simply said before hanging up. You took a deep breath before approaching the door. You figured death was best faced without thought. You had spoken to the one person from your past life that would miss you, and that was enough.

The doorknob was unbelievably cold in your hand as you opened it. You didn’t realize you were looking down until you were left to stare at the fanciest pair of dress shoes you’d seen in a while. Finally, you looked up to face the man before you, and it was like time stopped for a moment. Something about his sharp eyes was eerily familiar, and it nearly gave you a headache trying to think about it.

Yoongi on the other hand, found himself blown away by you. Finally, after years of searching and clawing his way through unwritten records of the underground, here you were. Right under his nose this whole time. How many times had he passed you in the elevator or in the mail room? You were beautiful, stunning even, so how could he have missed you for this long? He watched you drink him in with knitted brows and a brief flash of recognition nearly made him jump back. Could you truly recognize him, even after all you went through since?

“Do… Do I know you?” You asked, and Yoongi smiled. You could see the melancholy dripping from the expression, making you feel even more uneased, “Are you here to kill me?” You asked, voice smaller than you hoped but you supposed it wasn’t going to matter much pretty soon.

“Quite the opposite.” He quickly corrected you. Yoongi couldn’t kill you even if he wanted to. You may not be able to recognize him, but he’d know your face anywhere. It was his one comfort for a long time until it was ripped from him, “May I come in?” He raised a brow and you shrugged.

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.” You mumbled under your breath before walking to your couch.

Yoongi shut the door behind him, studying your form. Even in this despaired state, you were full of more life than he’d ever seen before. A smidge of jealousy boiled in his blood at the realization Jungkook got to see you laugh and act aloof like a friend would this whole time. He shook it off, sitting on the armchair next to the evidently second-hand furniture you sat on, “Needless to say, I am involved with Bangtan.” You nodded, eyes clouded with a million different emotions, “I am Min Yoongi, one of the seven bosses.” You sat on the couch next to the chair, never taking your eyes off of him.

“I don’t recognize you like I do Namjoon.” You spoke, studying his face further.

He flashed you a tight smile, heart panging from hearing you say you don’t recognize him, “I’m in charge of running our underground operations and appearances.” He explained and your mouth formed a small O for a moment.

“Wait.” You spoke, studying him further, “Min…” His surname stuck to your lips for a reason you couldn’t place, “I know that name I…” You bit your lip, you prided yourself on remembering faces and placing them just as well, but something about him clouded that ability, “Did I…”

“No, I don’t have a vendetta against you.” He shook his head, and you scrunched your brows, “I do against your father and uncle, but you’ve done nothing to harm me.” He spoke, “It’s why we plan to let you live.”

“And not them.” You finished for him, heart dropping a bit when he nodded. You knew you should’ve been more upset hearing that your father and uncle were to be murdered, but you didn’t care too much if you were being honest. It wasn’t as if they would’ve felt any different if the roles were reversed, even if the child in you was mourning them.

However, Yoongi was unnerved by your lack of reaction, “Does that upset you?” He asked, genuinely unable to tell.

“Not really, no.” You spoke honestly, not wanting to nor trained in the art of lying all that well, “So I get to live?” The glimmer of hope in your eyes squeezed at his chest in a way that made him shift a bit.

“In exchange for something else.” He confirmed, and your body went stiff as you waited for him to continue, “Your time and knowledge.”

You sighed. Fuck, you were screwed if he needed you to know anything of use, but most importantly, you were tired, “If you think I’m at all still connected to the Underworld…”

“No, no.” He stopped you short, and you looked at him quizzically, “I would’ve found you long ago if you were.” You nodded, and his confidence was all you needed in order to see him for what he was. He was the man who triggered the downfall of your family. You wanted to hate him for it, but you couldn’t, not really, “We all agreed to hire you on as our new nurse” Your breath hitched at his words, mind swimming with a million different things, “We will compensate you for your time and stock whatever supplies you need. You will also have our protection.”

You nodded, but you could hardly believe it, “Who will be my patients?” You asked.

“The seven of us.” He didn’t need to elaborate much further than that, “The lower echelons have their own designated medical services.” He explained, and you were a little impressed by it it all. Your father’s organization was not nearly this… well, organized. You and Eunhwa were the primary medical services for the upper echelons and the lower members had to fend for themselves.

“And can I still have my current job?” You asked, and you breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded.

“Yes, it’s best that way.” He confirmed, “If any of us need you during your work hours, we will make sure to tell you beforehand so we can coordinate that in a way that doesn’t look suspicious.” He said, but it all sounded too good to be true.

You fixed a sharp look on him, “What else?”

He sighed, “Tomorrow, we plan to have you come forward.” You had to grip the couch to stop your bones from turning to jelly at the fear that burned you from the inside, “Without revealing your identity fully, of course.” He quickly added, but it did nothing to ease you, and something about your evident panic made him feel sick, “We plan to have you announce your intent to bring your father and uncle to justice. It may draw the old man out.” He leaned forward, trying to catch your panicked gaze that’d been darting across the room, “All you have to do is record a voice line tonight, include something that only you would know, and send it to me.” He said, and it slowed your heart a mere fraction, “We will take care of the rest.”

“How will you explain this to the public?” You asked, but he simply shook his head, “They’re going to demand my head I bet.” You were a cold-hearted killer. You knew that the few people that did hear of you firsthand had seldom good to say. Who even knew what your father publicized about you? You stayed away from the news because you didn’t need to know.

“How scared you are right now tells me that the public will never have been so happy to be wrong about someone.” He mused, and your brows scrunched in confusion, “You were supposed to be some prissy spoiled heiress who killed when she bribed to.”

“Bribed? Spoiled?” You balked, shaking your head, “That–” You didn’t even know what those words really meant until you met Jungkook, “How did–”

“Your father controlled the narrative for a long time.” He spoke, words heavier than he knew, “He won’t now.” He spoke as if it were so simple, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but be honest about what kind of man he and Byungjoo were.” He chuckled, no amusement behind it, “Taehyung will be by in a bit to take your statement and give you the contract.” He stood, and you wanted to complain about Taehyung being the one to do it. However, you held your tongue, only nodding, obedient as ever and you hated it. But what choice did you have?

“Yes, sir.” You sighed, and the silent submission made Yoongi feel disgusted with himself.

“No need for that.” He shook his head, making you look up at him in confusion, “Please, just call me Yoongi.” His plea was a little too noticeable, but you nodded anyway, “I’m not your father nor your uncle.” He said softly, but that was only something you would believe when you saw it for yourself, “Were they…” He stopped, trying to think of how to ask such a thing, “You really weren’t spoiled or sheltered, were you?” He asked, already knowing just by how you looked away.

“No, not in the way you think.” You breathed, “I was an employee more than anything.” You murmured, embarrassed for some reason, “I see that now more than ever.”

“I see.” He simply said, “And Jungkook…” You stiffened at the mention, “Has he been good to you?” He asked against his better judgment. This wasn’t his business, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

You nodded, and he felt his shoulders relax, “No one had ever been so kind to me.” You refrained from cursing him for bringing the Underworld back to your door. Not only were you unsure how angry you were, you doubted his boyfriend would fancy hearing it.

“Good.” He simply said before taking his leave.

—

“Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here,” Taehyung said when you opened the door to reveal him and Jungkook��s favorite MMA fighter, Park Jimin, at his side. You didn’t even have the energy to be surprised as he regarded you with as much hatred as Taehyung held, “So let’s get this over with.” He pushed past you to enter your apartment. Namjoon trailed behind them, at least having the decorum to nod at you.

You thought about introducing yourself to Jimin, but decided against it at his glare, “Right.” You simply breathed.

“First, here’s the contract.” Jimin shoved the paper toward you as you read through it. You may not have been the best speaker or the best writer, but you could sure as hell read. Reading was all you could do for a long time. When you signed your name, his nose scrunched, “You write like a grade-schooler.” He spoke, and it pricked at your deepest shame. You had only been writing for the most part for five years.

The pen snapped in your hand, but you paid no attention to the ink that spilled onto your skin, “Fuck you.” You hissed, taking him aback for a moment.

“Watch it.” Taehyung snapped, pausing as he set up the equipment.

“I don’t talk back unless spoken to.” You snarled, moving to wash the ink off, “I don’t need this from either of you, especially not tonight.” You sat at the table, waiting for him to position the mic, “So let’s just get this over with, I have work tomorrow.”

“Everyone relax.” Namjoon finally spoke, “We can be adults about this.” He glared at the three of you, before letting his gaze land on you, “I’m going to ask you questions, and you respond accordingly.” You nodded.

“Okay, Ms. Moon, I say as this is not your real last name, please address your father Byungyeol.” He spoke into the mic. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. What the hell was there to say? You had laid it all out to him five years ago. You had shown true and genuine weakness, real desperation, and he didn’t hesitate in turning his back to you.

You looked at Namjoon, expression totally lost and much more vulnerable than you wanted. Something about the way you looked like a puppy tugged at his heartstrings a bit in a way he didn’t understand, “What? Don’t wanna disparage your precious dad?” Taehyung taunted, snapping the CEO from his trance.

Your eyes snapped to him in a sharp glare, “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know one thing about me?” You seethed, but he looked less than convinced.

“Look, just pretend he was rotten and mean and you’re scared of him.” Jimin spoke to you as if you were a child, and it only made you angrier, “You should be used to lying, come on princess.”

“Enough!” Namjoon silenced the two men, “If you upset her it’ll show in her statement.” He spoke, as cold as ever, “Behave.” He ordered before looking to you, “Now, tell me is Byungyeol a good man?”

“No.” You spoke, immediately, and you were both disappointed when he waited for you to elaborate and you had nothing to say. You didn’t know how to do this, and it pissed you off. Jungkook knew how to keep you talking all the time, and so did Eunhwa, but outside of them, you were a mere soundboard. Namjoon could see the frustration on your face, and it unsettled him.

Why were you having such a hard time talking? He looked around the room to see his lovers glaring harshly down at you and figured maybe that was the reason. He sighed, “How is she supposed to feel comfortable saying anything with you two looking at her like that?” He asked, shaking his head, “Bring Jungkook or Hoseok in.” He waved them off with a sigh.

“No, it’s fine.” You grit out, the pride in you swelling, “They can think what they want to.” You didn’t even dignify them with a glare, “Again.” You nodded at Namjoon who finally broke his disbelieving look at you with a sigh.

“Okay.” He fixed his tie despite this whole thing only being audio, but you supposed it just made sense he was constantly aware of his appearance, “Let’s try a different approach.” He announced, “Just talk directly to your father.” He said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “Tell him to turn himself in and be sure to mention something only you would know. Do the same with your uncle for the sake of optics.” He ordered and you wanted to say you weren’t sure if your father committed his actions towards you to memory. Odds are many of those days and nights tattooed in your memory weren’t out of the ordinary for him, as mundane as brushing his teeth. However, you shut your mouth. It wasn’t your problem if it didn’t work.

You nodded and he gestured for you to start after Taehyung clicked the record button, “Father, I…” You took a deep breath as you tapped on your thigh mindlessly, “I think it’s time to atone for your sins.” Your words were shaky, “Remember? We don’t show fear, and you shouldn’t now.” The words were heavy on your tongue, “You told me that you find me in three years… that we would be a normal family after I begged you not to leave me alone, all by myself in a world I never got to see.” You wanted to choke on your father’s false promise, “It’s been five years since that day, and I’ve grown up a lot since then. I understand now more than ever how wrong you were about so much, and I have solemnly accepted the consequences of my actions under your guidance.” Your leg began bouncing as you spoke, “It’s time for you and uncle to do the same.” You tried to think of anything else to say, but it was all you had, so you looked at Namjoon, “Good?”

His eyes were clouded, and you were unable to make out how exactly he felt. However, one thing remained that was clear, he was undeniably skeptical of you. That was fine, you didn’t need his trust, you just needed your heart to be beating, “Yeah, that’ll do for now.” He nodded to Jimin and Taehyung, “If he doesn’t come forward, we may need more.” You nodded, and that was thankfully enough for him.

“You can let yourselves out.” You sighed, “I’m exhausted, so goodnight.” You didn’t bother to wait for a response as you turned on your heel and shut your bedroom door behind you.

Namjoon opened his mouth to mention that they didn’t have a key, but you didn’t seem to care anyway. He sighed, a mix of conflicting emotions swirling in his chest as Taehyung packed up.

“She’s the worst.” Tarhyung grumbled under his breath as Jimin curtly nodded. Namjoon rolled his eyes, knowing the two men well enough to see when they felt a twinge of regret. It was obvious at least some of what they heard about you was incorrect– if your statement was to be believed, that is.

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

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friedbaekhyunandeggso · 1 year

Text

found you - ch. 4

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! booksmart! sheltered! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only babes, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, chokehold, pet names (kitten), gaslighting, manipulation, manhandling, parental abuse (verbal & physical), physical assault (jus a wee bit gruesome), mentions of blood, size kink, begging, hyperventilation/panic attack, lots of toxic 'couple' arguing, sexual assault, psychotic break, downplaying trauma (kinda)

word count/plot: [8.6k] ara catches gojo's attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins...

a/n: hiii a lot of you have prolly been looking forward to this happening so it here it is (this'll make sense after u read it) but basically shii goes down (when does it not). Anyway there were multiple times where I personally wanted to throw a boulder at Gojo bc he pisses me off LMAO and yet I still write him the way I do (smh). Anyway ik this chapter is short compared to the others so don't b upset :,) hopefully the next chapter (whenever I finish writing it) is longer. enjoyy..

ch. 1 , ch. 2 [ part 1 | part 2 ] , ch. 3 , chapter 4 , ch. 5

Everyone knew they were together now. It didn’t even take a day for news to hit the school like wildfire. She hated it—every fucking second of it because people looked at her so much more now. Not only boys but girls.

She hated the way girls looked at her. As if she were so fucking lucky whenever Gojo walked beside her in the halls. Then there were the other girls-like half of the cheerleading squad-who eyed her like she was a dead rat walking.

She supposed she couldn’t blame them-they we’re all Karina’s lackeys in a sense. And Karina was delusionally infatuated with Gojo in every sense of the word-and, unfortunately for her, everyone knew it.

Everyone also knew that Karina was a bitch. Ara had expected some sort of reaction from her but-to her surprise (and great relief)-the other girl didn’t even look at her. Even when her girlfriends were around and would purposely give her the stankest looks known to mankind whenever she passed-Karina never spared her glance.

And Ara wanted to know why.

Ara didn’t know much about her and Gojo’s relationship, other than it had been more of a friends with benefits thing. But from what Millie told her eons ago-she faintly remembered it being an on and off thing that lasted a while.

She technically could ask Millie for more details, but she knew it would get back to Gojo and the last thing she wanted was him knowing that she was snooping around in his past. It would bother her for two reasons. One, it was sure to bring him an uncanny amount of joy that she was even curious and secondly, she wasn’t doing it because she was ‘jealous’ or whatever he would think.

She was doing it to see how he treated her. Shoko had said that Gojo didn’t date before her but she had no idea how he’d treated girls in the past-if it was anything like how he treated her then maybe.. maybe they could help each other.

She knew it was a big reach—a risk even. It meant disregarding the rumors of Karina being obsessed with him, but Ara took rumors with a grain of salt anyway. Besides, if there was anything she knew about Gojo, she knew he could manipulate anything. He could manipulate a rock if he wanted to.

Ara just needed the chance to speak to her alone-to encourage some honesty-and the perfect opportunity presented itself just now.

She closed her gym locker and swung her bag over her shoulder. She turned around-intending to head out the locker room only to freeze when she heard another locker door shut close not too far away.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw it was Karina-none of her other friends with her. Ara slowly scanned the rest of the locker room, it seemed they were the last ones here.

Ara slowly approached her, gripping the strap of her tote bag nervously.

She cleared her throat, “Hi.”

Karina glanced towards her, immediately double-taking when she saw her.

Karina was undoubtedly pretty-it was obvious in every aspect of her. Her posture, her voice, her style. They all wore uniforms but bags were all up to the student's discretion-and she always had the latest designer purse on her shoulder and a fresh face of makeup on every morning.

The girl had recently dyed her hair dark. Ara could only speculate why because her loosely waved, light blonde hair was rather iconic but-after an up-close view, Ara decided she liked the black hair better.

Karina’s brown eyes widened, “H-hi.”

Ara immediately felt a bit better-at not having gotten completely ignored-but quickly gathered herself, “Ah, um-I know this is a bit out of the blue but I.. could you tell me how Gojo was like when he was with you?”

She saw something flash through her eyes, “Did he talk about me?”

“No.”

Katrina blinked, “Did he cheat?”

Ara’s brows furrowed, “No..”

Karina stared at her for a long moment, “You're just asking.. just to ask?”

Ara shifted slightly-trying to get a read on the girl but her poker face was pretty good, “I just-I wanted to know if he..” she had no idea how to phrase herself discreetly, “-he treated you well.”

“Treated me well?” Karina repeated.

Ara suddenly regretted speaking to her. The girl was good at deflecting her questions. She couldn’t pinpoint if she was deferring her questions because she wanted her to bring up his psychotic behavior first or if it was because he hadn’t done anything to her.

She decided her next question would clarify-

“If he let you date him, would you still date him?”

Karina flushed, her mouth partially opening and closing multiple times-as if unsure how to answer.

Suddenly the locker room door swung open and both girls glanced over. It was her friends-and they looked just as astonished to see them interacting.

The other girls quickly crowded them, indiscreetly trying to communicate with Karina with their eyes.

Karina fumbled with her words, “Um-how about we talk about this at my spot tonight? Just come to my party.”

She saw one of her cheer friends turn to look at Karina in shock.

Ara hesitated, “Um..”

Karina snapped her fingers, “Your friends with Millie right? She’s invited, just come with her. See you!”

She watched as Karina waved her fingers, dismissing her. Ara paused, before deciding to play into whatever front she was putting up-if it even was a front.

Ara slowly stepped back, “Sure..”

She readjusted her bag over shoulder before heading out the locker room—feeling all the girls' eyes on her back like lasers.

Ara walked out of her last class of the day. The second she stepped out the door, she flinched when she saw Gojo waiting outside with his arms crossed.

She continued walking and he easily stepped into stride with her.

“Araa,” his tone whiny, “You should at least greet me with a kiss or hug.”

“You had both this morning.”

He smirked, “True,”

He threw his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to nuzzle his face into her cheek, “But that was this morning.”

He kissed her cheek, “You got anythin’ to tell me?”

She tensed slightly, “Like?”

She felt him grin against her cheek, “Like you talked to Karina, and she invited you to her party.”

Fuckin’ hell—she couldn’t keep her mouth shut for one second?

“Why’d you talk to her?” She could hear the undercurrent of amusement in his tone.

“Is there something wrong with me talking to her?” she quickly deflected.

He shrugged, “Not really. You jus forgot to tell her your not goin’-she’s tellin’ everyone you're comin’ to her party.”

“I’m not?”

She felt him glance down at her, “Of course you're not.”

She didn’t dare meet his eyes, “I kinda wanted to go with Millie.”

He dropped his arm from around her shoulder, ‘tsk’-ing her, “That’s not how it works, sweets.”

She finally glanced up at him. They stood outside the school’s main entrance, which was a little ways away from where the buses were parked.

“We go to parties together or no one goes.” He tilted his head, “I have practice late tonight, remember?”

She hadn’t forgotten. She hadn’t forgotten about his little rule regarding parties either-not after he stated it in front of all his friends at Shoko’s party that one night. She never planned to drink again after that.

He ruffled her hair, “I’ll make it up to you this weekend.”

She swallowed—trying to keep her voice as innocent as possible, “I really can’t go with my friend?”

His blue eyes widened imperceptibly. She couldn’t tell if he was shocked by her pushback or by her even expressing a morsel of interest in a party-she hoped it was the latter.

He scanned her face expressionlessly, “That’s correct.” There was no humor in his tone.

She hated the feeling that settled in her gut. It was the same thing she felt whenever she asked her father for things and he’d say no. Except it wouldn’t always ever just be a ‘no’-it would be worse, depending on his mood.

It didn’t matter how simple or burden free the request was. If it wasn’t related to school, he didn’t want to hear it. So she stopped asking. She barely asked him for things-unless it was necessity or school related.

And this, this was no different. She was asking for permission and something about that left an incredibly bitter taste in her mouth.

So much so, she couldn’t keep the lighthearted tone she intended, “It’s just a party.” she bit out.

His crystalline eyes sharpened imperceptibly, “I’m aware.” his tone was oddly light, before taking a step towards her.

She immediately stepped back-her growing fear twisting into anger as she spit, “Can’t you trust Millie to stalk me in your place?”

He took another step towards her, this time his tone crisp, “You’re not going.”

Her response died on her tongue when she saw the buses beginning to depart behind him. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him she had to go, his hand clasped around her throat-forcing her eyes to him.

“Did you hear me?” his tone completely deadpan. He tilted his head, “You’re not going.”

She gasped, staring between his bright eyes before grasping his wrist at her throat, “I-I have to go, the buses are-“

His fingers twitched around her throat-he leaned closer to her, “You’re not going.”

He stared intently into her wide eyes, “Do you understand?”

She swallowed before nodding.

He slowly looked her up and down, “I want to hear you say it.”

Her voice came out shaky, “I-I won’t go…Toru.”

He loved that stupid nickname ever since she said it when she was drunk. She hoped it’d make him let her go, she truly couldn’t miss the bus.

He was quiet for what felt like a long moment before a slight chuckle escaped him.

He released her neck, “I’ll see you at home, kitten.”

She touched her neck the second he let go. Merely nodding in response before running towards her bus.

She stared at the clothes she laid out on her bed. It was a simple brown zip up hoodie and boyfriend jeans. It wasn’t your typical party attire but she could care less about that. She was only going for information, not for a good time.

She already told Millie that she wasn’t going only so Gojo didn’t find out—since she apparently reported everything little thing to him for no fucking reason. But it didn’t matter, because Millie already sent her Karina’s address earlier.

She’d call a taxi service, that way she could use her spare cash. She couldn’t call an uber because her Dad would see it on her bank statement. God knows how he would react to that.

She glanced at the digital clock on her desk. 8:39 pm.

Gojo didn’t get back from basketball practice till 10 pm. An hour was all she needed. Just in and out of Karina’s place.

Her Dad already thought she was asleep. She’d also stuffed extra clothes underneath her blanket in a human-ish shape to make it look as if she were sleeping there in case he checked.

Everything should be fine. Her hands unclenched and clenched into a fist repeatedly. Everything’s fine.

She couldn’t help but feel nervy. The last time she snuck out by herself was in middle school and her Dad had given her a black eye.

She prayed this was worth it. She couldn’t help but question it-Karina didn’t look like Gojo did anything to her, but how does anyone look like they’ve been assaulted?

She herself had never seen Gojo and Karina talk before so she could only hope that the rumors surrounding Karina being infatuated with him were false. Possibly fabricated by Gojo to keep himself in the clear. Maybe he had something on her to blackmail her with in case she tried to snitch.

She raked a hand through her hair, unease swirling in her gut. She needed to calm down. If her thoughts didn’t slow down she was bound to hyperventilate.

She exhaled shakily. Just wash your face, change and call the driving service.

She opened her eyes and went to the attached bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and immediately felt better. She patted her face with a towel while walking back into her room.

The towel immediately slipped from her fingers onto the floor.

Gojo stood in her room, his back to her. His hand hovered over her clothes on the bed before shoving them all to the floor. She flinched.

He turned around-revealing the front of his built stature in the black compression t-shirt he wore. His platinum hair was stringy-damp, as if he’d just showered.

The second his diamond blue eyes met hers, fear charged every atom in the air. She stopped breathing.

“Why’d you take these clothes out, Ara?”

She stared at his expressionless face, unable to come up with a single word. The silence felt so loud.

Suddenly, he was laughing-his laugh was nowhere near kind. The room felt colder. She wished he would stop.

He rubbed his chin, “I couldn’t stop thinking of it, y’know. The face you made when I said you couldn’t go-“

He chuckled once more, “I kept thinking about it all practice, but she wouldn’t lie to me—you’d never lie to me, right Ara?”

She was speechless.

He shook his head, smiling sardonically to himself, “I thought I was goin’ crazy. I told Coach I had to leave for a family emergency—family emergency.”

He was full-on laughing now, maniacally.

She covered her mouth with her hand, “Stop, Gojo, stop-“

“I should stop?” he snapped, completely deadpan, “You fuckin’ lied to me.”

He took a step towards her and her hand immediately flew up between them.

“Don’t come near me.” she instinctively demanded.

His eyes lit up, “What’re you gonna do, stop me?”

Her heart rate went up when he took another step towards her. She immediately scurried back.

“It’s just a party.”

“I don’t care.” He didn’t stop moving towards her.

Her fear-stricken mind came up with something-to gaslight him, “Why are you being like this? Is it because of Karina?”

That made him stop-confusion flickering within his eyes.

She immediately continued, “You still care about her don’t you? That’s why you don’t want us to meet.” She slowly moved around the room, keeping her back to the wall as she subtly headed towards her nightstand.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Karina.” he spit out.

The first drawer of her nightstand had a flashlight, maybe she could use it to hit him.

“Y-you’re lying.”

Suddenly she froze, realizing she was cornered. She couldn’t make it to her nightstand without crossing him.

No. no. no.

He stepped towards her, only an arms length away.

He tilted his head, “I’m not a liar. You are. You lied to me.”

She froze, holding eye contact with him for a moment before darting past him to her bed. She scurried atop it, her fingers clasping around the nightstand drawer handle only for her leg to suddenly get dragged.

She was dragged further onto the bed and flipped over. Just as a scream ripped from her throat, a firm hand cupped her mouth. He was over her, an untamed glint to his azure eyes.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, “You’re crazy. You’re fucking crazy.” she cried quietly into his hand.

His hand over her mouth tightened. His eyes blazing, “I am. For you-I am.”

He pressed his forehead against her temple, forcing her face aside into the bed. His voice ragged, “You make me like this.”

Suddenly the doorknob rattled and he disappeared from atop her.

Her eyes widened as she shot up on the bed. The door swung open a second after Gojo stood behind it-the door keeping him hidden.

Her father stood in the doorway. She didn’t have to look at him too long to know he was mad.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Her hands trembled as she fisted the bedsheets. Her voice wavered, “Baba?”

He walked further into the room, holding up a partly crumpled piece of paper-due to how tightly he was holding it.

“Why the hell did I get an email with this picture?”

He threw the paper at her-making her flinch. She picked up the paper from the bed with shaky hands. The paper was a printout of an email. The email account it was sent from looked like a spam one-with more numbers than letters-but it showcased a big picture of an assignment she got an ‘89’ on.

It was the lowest score she’d ever received in her life and it happened on an assignment she did last week. She thought she had gotten away with it-

“EIGHTY NINE?!!!” her father yelled.

She flinched, immediately crying, “I’m sorry, Baba. I’m sorry. It won’t happen aga-“

“Again? Why would it happen again?!” his voice suddenly rose, “I DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BE A DUMB LIL BITCH LIKE YOUR MOTHER!!!!”

Suddenly he grabbed her by the hair and pulled his hand back to slap her. She felt the heat of his palm a hair’s breadth away from her cheek.

She squeezed her eyes shut, readying herself for impact only for her father’s hand in her hair to disappear. A loud crash ensued.

She gasped, eyes flashing open to see her Father on the floor. His eyes wide in shock as Gojo stepped over him.

Before her Father could even speak, Gojo sat over him and his hands didn’t stop. Blood splattered across the floor.

“GOJO!!” she screamed, as deafening sounds of brutality ensued. She stumbled up to her feet-her body felt like it was made of jelly with how unbalanced she was.

His hands moved so fast she couldn’t even see them, they were simply a blur of red over her Father’s face. The gruesome sound of bone cracking echoed within the room.

She couldn’t hear her own voice as she screamed, “GOJO, STOP!!!!! STOP-STOP!!!!!!!”

He didn’t stop.

She jumped onto his back-sobbing. Her arms slid around his shoulders, trying to hold him back but he was so strong. Her frail arms did nothing. Instead her small body shook with each lethal blow he unleashed on her Father's beaten body.

“SATORU!! STOP! STOPPPP, GOJO-STOP!” she cried in his ear, gripping his shoulders tight as she screamed- “IF YOU LOVE ME, YOU’LL STOP!!!”

Suddenly, his body went still—eerily still. She felt the muscles in his body tense in her hold. All the forcefulness running rampant within him coming to a complete halt.

She felt him lean into her slightly, his breaths shallow as he looked down. He looked down at her shaky arms around him. He reached up slightly to touch her-his fingers barely skimming her forearm when she wrenched herself away.

His hand was wet.

She stared at her forearm in horror. There was a streak of blood. Her Father’s blood.

She shoved Gojo, too panicked to care. “Get off him! Get off-“

He complied, standing up smoothly with his hands cradled to his chest. They were covered in blood.

She gaped the second she saw her Father. His face was covered with shiny, deep-red blood, the white of his half-open eyes the only other color. His forehead and cheeks swollen with welts. His nose was indistinguishable-a complete bloodied mush that continuously poured more and more red. His jaw hung open at an awkward angle.

She screamed, scrambling off her Father’s body while covering her mouth.

“WHAT DID YOU DO-Wh-what did you.. do..” she broke down-sobbing-before crawling to her Father’s side.

She didn’t care about the blood getting all over her as she hyperventilated. She pushed wildly at her Father’s limp chest—“BABA!! Baba-“ she sobbed, “Baba, wake up. WAKE UP!!”

“He’s not dead.”

She froze. Gojo’s eerily calm voice was the equivalent of dumping a bucket of ice-water over her.

She immediately stood up, facing him. Her gaze didn’t waver as she slowly walked up to him. He was emotionless, his bright blue eyes never leaving her.

She shoved him, he didn’t budge.

“Why did you do that.” she asked, completely deadpan.

He didn’t answer.

She shoved his chest again, “WHY DID YOU DO THAT!”

This time she didn’t stop-her small fists hitting his chest erratically while he stood completely still. Her hits had no coordination, no impact on him. She sobbed through gritted teeth.

“Enough.”

He grabbed her elbows, his fingers digging deep enough to hurt. She flinched, only to yelp and fall to her knees when she saw his hands.

They were drenched in blood-upto his elbows. They dripped at his sides as she hunched over before him, breathing unevenly.

“I’ll handle this.” his voice was faint to her ears.

He dialed a number.

Ara stared outside the wide glass windows. She could see so much of Los Angeles from here. The world looked so big. People looked like tiny dots moving below.

Her gaze flickered to the window's reflection, noticing the nurse leave.

She turned around and faced the vast executive suite. She didn’t even know hospitals had luxe suites. This room was on one of the top floors of the building as well—which made the window-side view all the more daunting.

She walked over to her father’s bedside. His face was covered in bandages as he lay eerily still. He would survive, that was all that mattered-and he’d never have to worry about a single thing.

Gojo made sure of that.

The alibi was that a robber came through her bedroom window and she’d yelled for her Father-who immediately went to her room to deal with the intruder but got beat instead. And Gojo happened to be the young billionaire scion driving by who’d overheard her screams and ran in to help. The robber-conveniently-being gone by the time he got there.

And-of course-Gojo being the kind soul he was, immediately got her father transferred to the most renowned hospital in California. She was pretty sure Kim Kardashian gave birth to one of her children here.

The alibi was well fleshed out but she couldn’t help but question if her father would remember something. Gojo-kindly-reminded her that even if he did remember, it wouldn't make a difference because by the time he woke up the case would be closed. Two uninjured witness statements would be considered more viable than his injury muddled recollection of the incident anyway, if he were to report it—according to Gojo.

She hadn’t even been concerned about her Dad reporting any discrepancy in his memory anyway, but the fact that Gojo brought that up first only made her more aware of how well versed Gojo was in law enforcement proceedings. She didn’t even want to know how or why—All she knew was that his efficiency with this matter revealed how he wasn’t a novice to these kinds of things.

She didn’t want to think about what else he’d gotten swept under the rug.

She stared at her Dad’s limp hand—merely grateful he was alive. The doctors had realigned his jaw and saved as much of his nose as they could. The welts and bruising along his face would go away with time.

There was a chance her Dad’s mobility could get affected by the brain injury that had incurred. The surgery had gone well so the chance of permanent damage was low but if he hadn't gotten the high quality care at the speed he had, his chances would've been very different.

Her Mom still hadn’t answered any of her calls. She supposed that was expected.

She reached out, her fingers shaky as she contemplated holding her father’s hand for a moment.

But image after image of those same hands hurting her flitted through her mind. The impact that single part of his body had on her mental health, confidence and life… It made her want to cry.

She withdrew her hand, blinking rigorously before walking out into the hallway that led into a wide ceiling, hotel-like common room. It was so silent-the only sound being the hum of her father’s patient monitor. Gojo had booked out the entire floor.

She walked towards a set of double doors and pushed them open. Gojo sat in the modernly furnished room, hunched against the couch as he faced the TV-despite it being off. He had enough decency to let her be alone with her Father it seemed.

His blue eyes flickered towards her when she entered. He leaned forward in his seat-posture still slumped as he raked a hand through his platinum hair. They’d been at the hospital all night and this was the first she’d spoken to him since her Father’s operation a few hours ago.

She didn’t even know what to think when she looked at him.

He looked up at her, something in his turquoise eyes seemed to waver, “I’m sorry.”

She froze in her stance, “..What?”

He spoke a bit fast, “I-I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know your Dad was like that-Millie told me he was strict about your grades so I jus thought he’d ground you or some shit-”

She blinked, an undercurrent of agitation in her voice, “What are you talking about?”

“—You never told me. If you told me he was like that..“ he drifted off before shaking his head subtly.

Her brows furrowed, “You would’ve what? What, huh?”

He was silent, his countenance somewhat conflicted.

“Killed him?” she mocked.

His bright eyes met her in an instant, “If you let me, yes.”

She stared at him-completely stupefied. He hadn’t hesitated for a second.

She scowled, “How can you even say that? That’s my father-my father!”

He stood up-a crazed quality to his eyes as he spoke, “You didn’t see your face, Ara. You looked so..“ his eyes drifted off elsewhere, as if envisioning it, “..so scared. And he was jus being so fuckin’ rude to you-I couldn’t jus—I had to—“

She stared at him in complete disbelief-unable to keep the anger from her tone, “You didn’t have to do anything!”

He stepped towards her, “I did it for you. I told you-all of your problems are mine.”

Tears swam in her eyes, “No they aren’t, Gojo! They aren’t.”

“They are,” he insisted.

She stepped back-voice shaky, “I would never want you to kill my father.”

“You’ve thought about it though, haven’t you? Even in passing-you’ve had to, at least once-“

“No,” she whispered.

“How much easier life would be if he was just dead.”

“NO!” her shaky hands were fists at her sides.

He laughed dryly, plopping back down onto the couch, “It’s okay, Ara. It’s okay to think those things...”

He lay his head back on the couch's headrest, “I already told you, there’s no line I won’t cross. Jus say the word and he won’t be an issue again.”

Her eyes widened in horror.

He lifted his head to peek at her before sighing, ”Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that. You want him gone. Admit it.”

“I don’t.” she gritted out.

“I know you.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Suddenly he was out of his seat, walking towards her. He was so fast she barely had time to move backwards. Her back hit the wall and she gasped–fear rendering her frozen when she realized she was cornered.

His hand slipped around her throat as he spoke-his voice barely above a whisper, “I do know you, Ara. I’m the only one who knows you.”

She felt tears touch her eyes. Her throat tightened underneath his fingers, swallowing down the low sob that threatened to spill past her lips.

His thumb caressed her racing pulse before slowly lowering his hand. His fingertips skimmed over her collarbones as he rested his palm atop her chest. His hand felt cold against her skin.

His voice was soft, “Why are you protecting him?”

She closed her eyes, inadvertently holding her breath. His palm pressed further into her chest–making her erratic heartbeat pump faster.

“And don’t say cuz he’s your Dad,” he spat, “He still hurt you.”

She flinched.

She felt his hair tickle her forehead. He was closer now. The air felt more weighted.

“Do you love him?” he asked, ever so quietly.

The question felt like a punch to her gut. Did she love him? She didn’t know. She never thought about it before. All she knew was one thing…

Her eyes fluttered open, finally looking at him. He was so close—too close.

“I-I don’t want him to die.” she choked out.

His sky-blue eyes slowly ran down her face, taking in her every feature. His eyes latched onto the tear that slipped out of the corner of her eye.

He cupped her face, “Relax, kitten. I’m not gonna kill him.”

She was trembling so bad, she didn’t know how to stop. He stroked the sides of her face lovingly.

“I know I almost did but I stopped, didn’t I? I stopped.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to contain the urge to cry. He drew her close, pulling her into a hug–trying to quell her trembling.

His hands ran through her hair comfortingly, “I still don’t regret hitting him.”

She was too caught up in her emotions to fully register his words.

He continued stroking her back, “Only thing I regret is sending the email.”

She froze.

He drew her closer against his chest, “I only meant to stall you. I figured you might try—“

She tried to shove herself out of his grasp, “YOU sent that email?!”

His grip around her didn’t budge, “Ara-"

She miraculously managed to slip out of his grasp.

She shoved him back-simultaneously staggering backwards as she did so, “What the FUCK is wrong with you?”

His eyes never left hers, “I didn’t know your Dad-“

“You think that makes it any better?!” she shouted in disbelief-too angry to think. Her Dad would’ve been completely uninvolved and unharmed if he hadn’t sent that stupid email. “Why do you always have to take things so far?”

His brows furrowed-tone crisp, “Because you don’t listen to me.”

“So?” she spat, “So?”

At his silence, she continued-her voice gradually rising, “Am I not allowed to disagree with you? Am I not allowed to make my own decisions? Am I not a human being?!”

His eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t stop—all of her frustration was pouring out now.

“I’m tired. I’m sick and goddamn tired of people trying to tell me what I can and can’t do and I’m sick of getting hurt everytime. Everyone I know hurts me. Everyone!”

“I don’t hurt you.”

She stared at him before a soft, delirious, laugh slipped past her lips, “Are you kidding?”

He stared at her, expressionless.

“You don’t think you hurt me?” she questioned.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Not in the way your Dad has.”

Her eyes widened, “No, but you do worse! Your always with me-you try to control me a-and y-you touch me-“

His blue eyes flashed with something indescribable, yet his tone remained calm, “You like it when I touch you.”

“No!” she yelled, “No, I don’t. I cry every time we fuck, Gojo-how is that normal?”

The corner of his lip tugged upward, “That’s cuz you're still not used to my size.”

She stared at him in shock-filled contempt, “You're insane.”

He waved his hand in the air, “Normal. Insane. You keep throwing these words around—who gives a shit?”

“I GIVE A SHIT,” she yelled, “I GIVE A SHIT BECAUSE ITS AFFECTING ME!”

Suddenly he was right in front of her-his hands grabbing her throat—forcing her to look up at him.

“Well-maybe-if you wanted something normal so damn bad you should’ve answered me the first time I talked to you. I would’ve given you flowers, dates—the whole charade. I can still do the same, but it’s not the same now—is it?”

She was too angry to be scared. She stared up at him with so much anger as she spit back, “I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t want to. Don’t you get it?!”

She grabbed his hands at her throat, “I never wanted you.”

She watched his intricate eyes widen and she swore she saw her life flash before her eyes. But instead his eyes softened—his white lashes fluttering open and close before the crease between his brow deepened.

His fingers around her throat tightened, “You need me.” he whispered, and something about his whisper scared her more than her Father’s yelling ever did.

She fought to keep her voice even, “W-we never should’ve started, Satoru.”

He was frozen, as if stricken. Something in his light blue eyes seemed to fade as his expression darkened, “I don’t believe that.”

She ignored the chill that went down her spine at his words. She grabbed his wrists, attempting to pry his hands off her.

“Believe it.” she spat-channeling all her anger to keep the blaring alarms of fear and crawling paranoia at bay. Her voice was tight with venom as she spoke, “We’re over.”

Suddenly his eyes sharpened-any conflict or barely restrained anger slipping off of his face in an instant. His gaze was so sharp-so magnetic-she felt like he was harming her despite not feeling a thing.

His fingers around her throat were loose and his posture was lax-he was merely standing over her, looking down to face her. Nothing was technically off, but she knew what she felt.

She knew what strength he had stored within every part of his tall frame. How each limb of his body didn’t lack the uncanny amount of solidity he had. She felt it every time she was with him, whenever she spoke a bit too honestly—whenever she dodged his touch—how easily the mood could shift because of her shortcomings. How easily the invisible lines could be crossed.

It was like a mouse in a trap—squealing wildly against its restraints, beady eyes staring helplessly at its captor.

Except her captor didn’t want to kill her.

He tilted his head, “We’re over?”

She was so still, she wasn't sure if she was even breathing. His eyes dropped to his hand at her throat. She wondered if he could feel her flighty pulse.

She fought to keep her voice even, “We’re over.”

Suddenly his lips were on her-kissing her so hard that any breath she’d been holding came rushing back at full speed. She gasped, unable to refuse his lips-his tongue-as he held her by the throat. His hold unrelenting.

Her hands pulled at his wrists to no avail—until his grip loosened. She shoved herself away from him, moving so fast that she fell to the floor—a couple feet away from him.

He watched her breathe shakily before him, on her knees—just the way he liked.

He took a step toward her, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. She didn’t bother looking up at him.

“You need me, Ara-you need me.”

She felt him go on one knee before her and quickly turned her face aside. She couldn’t look at him.

He gently moved her hair out of her face as she trembled.

“I’ll wait for you.” he murmured.

He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger before standing up. He left the room without looking back.

He didn’t come back to the hospital after that. It was radio silence. Not one text. Not one call. Not one single word.

She almost didn’t believe it. It felt too good to be true. It nearly felt like everything went back to the way it was before her rank was announced–except for his lingering stares.

She always felt it-that odd nagging sensation-before letting her eyes follow it. He would confirm her instincts everytime her eyes landed on his unnaturally blue ones. It didn’t matter if he was just passing by on the other side of the hall or if he was gazing past Geto’s locker to watch her walk into homeroom—she always knew when he was looking at her.

At first, it would leave her startled but gradually she chose not to think about it-as long as he stayed away from her, nothing mattered. Even if the whole school thought he mattered—

Everyone noticed it the first day. He didn’t enter the school with her or meet her in between classes to shower her with kisses or obnoxious hugs. By the time last period came around, half of the school had asked her if they had broken up. All she would respond with was, “Stay out of my business.”

She hated every second of dealing with that. Especially when all she could think about was her Dad. If she wasn’t at school, she was at the hospital. She took the bus back and forth until a meek, suit-clad boy near her age approached her and told her that he was assigned as her personal driver. She told him she had no idea what he was talking about. He went on to explain that his service was pre-paid for and handed her his business card. His name is Ijichi Kiyotaka.

There was an emblem on the back of the business card that she later googled—apparently it was the Gojo family symbol. She didn’t think those still existed.

At first she stubbornly took the bus until Ijichi ran up to her at the bus stop when it was raining. He begged her to use him since he was bored out of his mind-his only job was to be at her convenience, even if that meant following her by car in order to be more accessible to her. She was startled at first before deciding to humor his desperate confession due to the bad weather. She never intended to use it again until she realized the private car took less than half of the time the bus did.

She wondered why Gojo felt courteous enough to leave such a thing for her to use—maybe he felt bad or maybe he knew she’d need it since he wouldn’t be around to drive her everywhere. Or maybe this was his way of keeping tabs on her-not that he needed to since her phone glitched every time she tried to turn off ‘location sharing’ with him. Of course, the bastard tampered with her phone.

She wasn’t the least bit surprised. But what had left her shell shocked was when the nurse first took off her father’s bandages. His entire face looked different. His nose reconstructed, subtle dents along his now bald head—it seemed the doctors could only salvage so much.

He didn’t move for a few weeks. The nurse and her took turns propping him up and feeding him meals. It always made her uneasy whenever it was her turn to feed him. Her father had never looked this vulnerable in her life.

Around the third week, he started to talk again. At first it was one word responses, then a string of words and then-after a couple days-full sentences came back to him.

But he was different-different from before. He was.. lighter-as if some type of weight had been lifted. He didn’t remember anything about the incident, and wasn’t the least bit angry when she recounted the details of the ‘alibi’ to him.

He was even kind to the nurses. Offering them smiles when they told him it was a miracle that his speech and mobility were returning at the rate they were. She’d never seen him smile in her whole life.

After several weeks of physical therapy, her father was back on his feet. They went back home after two months at the hospital.

It felt so weird to be back home. She hadn’t been home since the incident. Her father still remained oddly nice. He was still somewhat bed bound due to not being clear to work yet.

She wasn’t used to seeing him home this often, but it wasn’t as much of a nightmare as she thought it would be. In fact, he seemed to look forward to greeting her whenever she came back from school.

His newfound kindness was so absurd to her she couldn’t believe it. It felt like a front. She almost wondered if her dad had gotten swapped out—especially after he took her hand once and thanked her.

She couldn’t help but stare at him after he said that. The only thing she could say was ‘for what’ and his response was a quiet ‘everything’.

She cried so hard in her room that night.

Two nights later, the peace ended.

The sound of something shattering echoed throughout the house.

Ara awoke with a jolt, her eyes instinctively going to the window before flitting to her bedroom door. It had come from further down the hallway.

She stepped out of her room to see her Father’s office room door left ajar. She slowly walked up to his door before shakily grasping the doorknob.

“Baba?” she asked before opening the door completely.

Her father was on his knees beside his desk. A broken mirror at his feet. His fingers were bloody.

He stood up, his hands out in front of himself, “What did you do to me, Ara?”

She stared at her father, shell-shocked.

His voice was hoarse as he ran his hands over his face, “This isn’t my face. THIS ISN'T MY FACE!”

He began to grab things off his desk and throw them across the room. She ducked.

“THIS ISN'T MY FACE. THIS ISN'T MY FACE. THIS ISN'T MY FACE. THIS ISN'T MY FACE. THIS ISNT MY FUCKING FACE!”

She was crying while holding her arms over her head.

Suddenly her father’s voice came from above her. He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look up.

“DO YOU SEE MY FACE? DO YOU SEE IT, ARA?”

She stared at him through tear stained eyes—trembling, “Y-yes.” she whispered.

“DOES IT LOOK LIKE YOUR BABA? HMM?”

She flinched. The slight scars along the sides of his face hadn’t completely healed and the indentations were there to stay. His nose was different but it was the best the doctors could do. He’d already seen his face unbandaged before so she couldn’t imagine why he was acting like this now.

He snarled, his grip around her hair tightening, “And don’t fuckin’ lie..”

She inhaled shakily. Anxiety made her throat tight. There was no right answer.

She lightly grabbed the wrist of his hand at her hair, “Baba, please, let go-“

Suddenly something flashed in eyes and he yanked her hair-making her yelp, “Who was that white haired boy? Hmm, WHO?”

Her eyes widened.

He yanked her hair once more, making her cry out, “I know he was in your room first. He was there before me.”

His grip on her hair was hurting her, “B-baba! Please-“

He shook her, “Did you send him to attack me? You hate me that much? HMM?”

She was kicked to the floor. She cried out when her shoulder collided into the hardwood.

“You HATE YOUR BABA THAT MUCH!” he bellowed.

She cried, curling into a ball as she knew-she knew-what was coming. It seemed her father hadn’t changed after all.

She closed her eyes the instant the kicking ensued.

He swung the door open and shoved her out. Her legs were too weak to stay upright as she stumbled, before falling to her knees on the porch. She sobbed.

“GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE!”

He kicked her, forcing her off the porch. She caught herself a second before her head connected with the asphalt.

She weakly stood up, “Baba, please-don’t do this-“

He bounded in her direction and she immediately scrambled backwards.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN!” He yelled while pointing at her.

She watched him retreat to the house and slam the door through tear stained eyes. The windy night air only made her eyes more watery.

She crumpled to her knees, crying into her hands. Why? Why? Why?

She was so tired. So tired.

Of course his kindness only lasted so long.

She grabbed the duffel bag from underneath her bed. She limped to her closet before stuffing as many clothes as she could within.

She winced when she heard things getting thrown downstairs. It seems he was still in the midst of his episode. Her heart thumped wildly in her ears-the only thought going through her head was to move fast.

She quickly went to her bathroom, grabbing a few necessities before her hand accidentally knocked into her toothbrush stand. It hit the floor with a loud crash.

She gasped. Oh no.

Suddenly all the ruckus going on downstairs went completely quiet. Shit.

She was frozen in shock until she heard the sound of someone bounding up the steps. Adrenaline shot through her veins as she tossed her half full duffel bag over her shoulder and ran towards the window-ignoring all the pain within her body as she scrambled out the way she came.

Just as she slipped out she heard her father burst into her room, yelling insults of every kind.

“YOU STUPID BITCH! YA THOUGHT YOU COULD COME BACK, HUH? HOW FUCKIN’ DARE YOU!!”

She flinched as she sped walked across the lawn-unable to run due to the pain her father’s cold hands and brutal kicks had inflicted.

She heard her father’s voice clearer now. He must’ve spotted her out of the window.

“YOU USELESS LIL SLUT-JUS LIKE YOUR GODDAMN MOTHER!! IF I SEE YOU AGAIN I’M THROWING YOU IN A MENTAL ASYLUM, YA HEAR ME?!!! DON’T EVER COME BACK! DON'T EVER COME BACK!!!”

She grit her teeth, forcing herself to not look back as his yelling grew more irrational. She moved as fast she could, half walking-half limping further down the street. She didn’t look back.

The night was dark. The only light keeping her company were the streetlights along the road but it wasn’t enough. It was still too dark for comfort. No stars, no clouds-her eyes couldn’t get used to it.

She nearly dropped her phone when a car zoomed by.

“Can yo-ou hear me?” Millie’s voice crackled through the phone. Her phone service was acting up.

“Yes, yes. I can.” Ara cleared her throat-trying to dispel the croakiness of her voice, “Millie, please. I-I’m begging you. Just sneak me in this once-please.”

“Ara, you know I would but I’m already grounded. If my parents find out I snuck you in they would actually kill me. Like legit-they’d freak out.”

Ara squeezed her eyes shut-trying not to cry, “Millie, please, I-“ her voice cracked as she whispered, “I have nowhere else to go.”

She hated begging so much, and yet it’s all she seemed to do.

Millie was quiet for a second, “Are you sure you can’t like-sneak into your basement or something? Hopefully your dad will have cooled off by morning.”

That would’ve been a great idea if her basement wasn’t only accessible from the garage. Her Dad had multiple cameras and motion detectors installed around the garage. I don’t know what he’ll do if he sees me..

Ara tried to keep her voice steady, “He said he didn’t want to see me again.”

“Yeah, but parents say crap all the time. I’m sure he didn’t mean it-“

“He did.” she deadpanned. Her Father never said those words before, nor had he ever physically kicked her out. She’d seen the violence in his eyes, the spitefulness in his words—it was different. He was ready to hurt her if she came back.

“You really think so?”

Her father’s ferocious expression flashed within her mind and she flinched, resisting the urge to sob. Would anyone ever believe her?

Her voice was faint, “Yeah.”

“Shit-“ Millie was suddenly cut off when a womanly voice came from her end.

“Millie! Who the heck are you calling this late? Gimme that-“

Suddenly the phone line was cut, leaving the dull beeping sound behind.

He paced beside the main entrance. The sound of his dress shoes clacking against the spotless floor echoed throughout the foyer.

Suddenly a feminine voice arose from behind him.

“Sir, your Uncle requests to speak with you.”

He snapped his head around to see a maid outstretching the phone to him with both hands.

The corner of his lip twitched in annoyance, “Just end it. I already told him I left and won’t be back for the rest of the night.”

The maid knew better than to question it-even if colorful words of dismay arose from the other end of the phone. In all honesty, he hadn’t told his Uncle that he wouldn’t be back but was it really that much of a concern? The soirée was boring as shit anyway. Too many old people.

The second he got Ijichi’s call nothing else mattered anyway.

He peered out the bullet proof glass doors when he saw headlights flash past. It was hard to see clearly due to the downpour but he immediately recognized the all black Rolls Royce that pulled up to the entryway.

A subtle grin tugged at the corner of his lip as he sauntered backward a couple steps. He leaned against the stone and marble centerpiece of the dual staircase foyer. The excitement simmering in his veins was unmatched.

Just as he crossed his arms, the double doors were pushed open—revealing her.

Any thoughts about posing left him the second his eyes landed on her. He’d never felt so awake—so drawn to someone.

He was up and off his perch within seconds. He walked up to her, pacing his long legs to move steadily despite everything in his body telling him otherwise. He wanted to rush to her.

He stopped right in front of her. She still hadn’t stepped inside yet.

She was completely drenched-from head to toe. Her clothes stuck to her skin. Droplets of water slipped down the waist length tendrils of her hair. The edges of her pretty lips were raw and reddened-she always had such a bad habit of gnawing at them, didn’t she? Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy as she stared up at him.

She looked so.. lost.

He exhaled silently. His fingers twitched at his sides-the heedy urge to touch her returning at a thousandfold.

Why’d she have to look so pretty when she cries?

He couldn’t tell if the droplets of water caught between her lashes were rain or tears but it didn’t matter. She was here.

She came to him.

She needed him.

He peered down at her before tilting his head, “Hi kitten.” His voice ever so soft.

He saw her eyes widen before her bottom lip quivered. She fell into him and he instantly caught her trembling frame. He drew her close to his chest, hugging her tightly as she sobbed against him. Her tiny hands fisted his dress-shirt, clutching onto him-she didn’t want him to let go.

The rush that coursed through him was incomprehensible. It went straight to his head as he smoothed down her wet hair. His arm around her waist tightened impossibly. He never wanted to let her go.

Her touch was terribly sweet—overwhelmingly so. It’d been the most agonizing two months of his life without her.

Wherever her delicate body met his, warmth surged underneath his skin—like a craving being satiated. It felt so right. Her with him like this. It was perfect. She was perfect.

And she was his.

They both knew it now. The second she stepped onto his doorstep she must’ve known.

She could cry all she wanted in his arms now, if that soothed her. It’d be the last time she cried over anything meaningless anyway. All of her tears would be his alone from now on. He’d never let anything hurt her again.

Precious things ought to be cared for, after all.

a/n: hi thanks for reading this crazy ish bc honestly idk how anyone does LMAO but i want to apologize if the way some things were worded/the grammar is off bc i feel like i've been off my writing game. i haven't been reading a lot in my personal life and that usually helps me format things better :,) i need to get back to reading asap. anyway, if anyone is curious here's the house inspo for gojo's place -> https://imagelocations.com/mansion-31

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jasntodds · 7 months

Text

Petrichor [13]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 19,197

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, hurt/comfort (i know!!), manipulation (canon), gaslighting, jason being drugged against his will (canon), description of scars (jason has autopsy scars because i said so), mentions of the roof scene, mentions of gore?, mentions of death, mentions of withdrawal, self-deprecating thoughts (jason tried to walk off of a roof and titans never mentioned that again so we're going back to that mindset for him for just a second, there's no attempt or anything, just his thoughts), violence, blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of drug addiction (canon), drug use (canon)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: I was writing the warnings and wow lmao poor Jason. I can't wait to write him a happy ending lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Maybe going back to the manor would be in your best interest. You could go there and lock yourself in your room, throw your technology against a wall and call it all good enough. No temptation to turn back around, no temptation to pick up the phones and hit redial, and demand it’s a mistake and you take it all back. It would be easier to go to the manor and tell Gar what happened because maybe Gar would tell you it was the wrong decision and none of you can give up on Jason. But, none of this has been easy so you don’t go to the manor. Instead, you go back to the Excellent Gotham, going up to the roof through the back where the crime unit doesn’t see you.

You ditch your phone and your necklace on the roof, figuring all of it will be safe for an hour. You hide everything under the radiator unit before you head back down and back to your bike. Then you drive to the one person who will not be so understanding of this entire mess but deserves an answer. And deserves to know what’s going on, just in case.

“Hey.” Molly greets, standing in her doorway.

Her hand rests on the doorframe, blocking you from inside while she wears a sowl. You look to your feet and then back to Molly, knowing this is going to be difficult. You're thinking your own guilt might fall into the air and suffocate you like carbon monoxide poisoning. Maybe that’d be less painful.

“I need to talk to you.” You state softly, tugging your sleeves over your blood-stained hands.

Molly scoffs, shaking her head as she keeps her hand on the door. It’s unbelievable. She knows Jason dying was horrible. It’s worse that you had to be the one to find him mangled and bloody. But, Molly cleaned his blood out of your suit and off of your hands. She cleaned his blood off of the bathroom floor that night all by herself. It was Molly that got you into bed with tear-stained cheeks and the smell of iron radiating off of you. It was Molly that had to take care of you instead of grieving for her friend. Molly didn’t see what you did but she didn’t have to because the blood across the entire bathroom and your traumatized demeanor told her everything and it was fucking traumatizing for her, too. Molly still tried to be there for you and you do what you always do. You run away from everything that hurts. That left Molly alone to deal with the loss of one of her best friends. Alone.

“You’ve been ignoring me for a week and now you want to talk?” Molly spits back. “I lost—“

“It’s about Jason.” You cut her off because you know you've been a shitty friend. You know. Molly hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she shakes her head. “You can yell at me all you want and you can slam the door in my face but I bet you didn’t replace your locks so I can just break in anyway.”

“Seriously?” Molly asks, unamused.

You shrug softly, sucking in a deep breath. “It’s important. I know, alright?” You gesture your arms out. “Just…let me fucking--”

“Is that blood?” Molly asks, seeing your hands.

You look down, blood staining your hands yet again. Your hands are shaking and you didn’t even realize it. When did they start shaking? Have they been shaking the whole time? When did the blood dry anyway? It feels chalky on your hands and it makes you grimace, shaking your head quickly.

“Uh…yeah.” You nod and you see Molly’s face soften. You swear you don’t deserve sympathy. “It’s not mine. It is why I’m here though.” You say softly. “Not Jason's either, to clarify.”

Molly raises a brow at the last remark, knowing it can’t be Jason’s on account of him being dead. But, she’s watching you shift your weight on your heels and your hands shake at your sides. Molly might be mad but she is also intrigued with what this could have to do with Jason and at the end of the day, she is worried about you. She knows your body count is up to four but she knows you would say it’s five. And that’s always concerning. So, she lets out a sigh and moves her hand, stepping aside so you can enter the apartment.

“I’m mad at you. But, fine. Say whatever it is.” Molly crosses her arms over her chest as the two of you stand in her kitchen.

“I’m sorry, okay? You were looking out for me and I just….couldn’t deal with it. I’m sorry for yelling and being mean. I know, I know you lost him, too. And I’m sorry.” You swallow thickly. “I just…” You shrug in defeat. If you're going to get Molly to listen to you, you need to tell her why you did it. “I think I thought I didn’t deserve your help, okay? Maybe that’s what it was. Like…” You pause, looking up to the ceiling. “Uh, ya know? I, uh, I couldn’t look out for Jason when he really needed it so I didn’t fucking deserve it. I don’t know. But I’m fucking sorry because you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know.” Molly nods, softly as her brows furrow. As mad and as hurt as she is, she never wants you to feel like you don’t deserve help. No one should feel that way and it wasn’t even your fault. “Why would you think you don’t deserve help?”

You grit your teeth. “Oh, well, that’s part of what I get to tell you.” You roll your eyes. “He just…” You chew the inside of your cheek. “He has saved my life more than once and…I couldn’t fucking save him. And I should have seen it and I didn’t. I should have been there for him and I wasn’t…not in the way he clearly needed. He did….so much for me without ever knowing it, I think and I just…couldn’t repay him. So…I took it out on you and Gar and Dick and everyone. And I’m just really fucking sorry.” Your voice cracks.

There’s a fear creeping into the back of your head and for a reason you don’t quite understand, you think about the anti-fear drug. It would be easier to have this conversation if you had it. But you don’t. You have to suck it up and it sucks. It’s making you think you were too hard on Jason for making and taking the drug in the first place. You snapped and went after him and maybe you were too hard on him because he was suffering and he wanted a way out without taking a way out. He just wanted help and to be Robin. It’s all he ever wanted, to be fearless so he can do the one thing everyone thought he was best at. You think about the drug because all you want right now is to stop running from everything that hurts and that scares you so you can stop hurting other people. The people that care about you. Maybe you were too hard on Jason for it.

“And I’m sorry for ignoring you. I did what I always do. I know. And I’m sorry. And some shit fucking happened and it just…got so fucking messy and I’d have to lie to you and I couldn’t do that. But…” Your rambling pauses. “I have to tell you because it’s not fucking fair to you and uh…I’m just…scared and tired of keeping secrets. But you can’t tell anyone.”

Molly lets out a breath as she watches you tug your sleeves down over the ligature scars. They’re fading, slowly. But they are fading and it doesn’t excuse you for being a shitty friend but…this can’t be easy. Molly puts herself in your shoes. You're uprooted from the only thing you've ever known and then tortured and given powers. Molly knows you always hated the idea of having powers. It was always good for other people but no thanks for you. Now you're stuck with them and not even by accident or by your own doing but by your abuser. You're then thrown into being a vigilante. Something you never quite understood why someone would do. Why risk your life for other people who don’t give a fuck about you? And then Jason. It’s not right but… things haven’t been easy.

“Okay.” Molly nods softly. “But, you need to get help for your own shit, okay? It’s not fair to me, you’re right.”

You nod quickly. “Trust me, already thought about that.” You scoff. You should have followed in Jason’s shoes. You should have taken Bruce’s advice and just talked to Leslie.

“Okay so…what’s going on?” Molly asks as she uncrosses her arms, resting one hand on her hip.

“Jason’s alive.” You spit the words out so fast Molly nearly misses them.

“That’s not funny.” Molly shakes her head but her voice lacks any and all venom.

“Yeah.” You scoff. “That’s what I said but he is. Long story, not mine to tell. But he’s alive. He’s Red Hood.” You explain, keeping it short.

Molly nods her head once, realizing that’s why Red Hood dropped Deigo off. That’s how he even knew about the missing kids. It’s because Red Hood is Jason. That explains a lot while also explaining almost nothing.

You nod softly. “Yeah, he killed Pete Hawkins.” Sam states as if you could see Molly putting pieces together.

“And you knew?” Molly asks as you watch her eyes start to glass over.

“He asked me not to fucking tell anyone and I told him he had to tell you and Gar because you’d both hate me if you guys knew I knew and didn’t say anything.” You shake your head and while that’s true, that does not stop the guilt from turning your stomach. “But shit is hitting the fan and…I don't know when he plans to tell you and I’m tired of keeping his secrets.”

Molly’s brows furrow as she’s taken aback by everything. Jason is alive and comes back as a crime lord. That’s already weird but now you're standing here saying you're tired of keeping his secrets. You're nothing if not loyal to the people you love and Jason is very high up on that list of people.

“Okay, hold on.” Molly closes her eyes for a second as she tries to process everything. “So, he’s alive but he doesn’t want anyone to know? Instead, he decides to become Red Hood? And now you’re suddenly not on his side? What the hell is going on?”

You gesture your hands, waving them slightly with the roll of your eyes. “Mr. Drake was shot today, hit on Excellent Gotham.”

“Is he okay?” Molly rushes. “Why…wait. Jason…didn’t?”

“Uh….I don’t know. Tim’s gonna text me but uh, yeah it was Jason.” You suck in a breath and you decide you're just going to tell the story as quickly and as plainly as possible. It’s going a bit numb anyway. “Some sort of threat to Tim because Jason is working with Scarecrow to make an anti-fear drug. Jason left the formula and it was coded. I figured it out, Jason figured out that I had to go to Tim. I only even went to Tim thinking Jason wouldn’t think I would do that. But, of course he did because he knew I’d never be able to look you in the eye and not tell you he’s alive. So, yeah.”

Molly blinks a few times as the room falls silent. When you said it was about Jason, you really could have prepared her a little more for this. What the hell is going on and how is Molly supposed to just take all of this in? There’s a small part of her that wonders if this is just a fever dream.

“Can…can I wash my hands while you digest that?” You ask after a few seconds of silence.

“Yeah…” Molly points to the kitchen sink while you walk over. “Why the hell are you so calm?”

“Probably shock.” You mutter. “Oh, and let me give you a rundown of everything that’s happened, literally this week. Jason’s alive so Dick and me dug up his grave. Fun. All of the Titans got mad at me and basically turned on me for knowing he’s alive. Ya know whatever. Then I remade the drug, got high, me and Jason then fought each other cause I went to confront him. While I was there, he was putting a bomb in Hank’s chest. I failed, blah blah blah, we all failed. Hank blew up. Me and Dick kidnapped Crane, then fought Jason again. They almost shot me so I fought both of them, then Babs got Dick shot. Then Excellent Gotham got shot up while I was inside and I killed 3 more people because Jason gave them the drug.” You say casually, the water almost overcoming your voice.

“There’s so much to unpack there.” Molly mutters softly and decides maybe she should sit down. She needs to figure out which part of that she wants to dive into first.

“Oh, yeah, it’s been a very eventful week. At this point, I think this is just my life. You know that little stuff I’ve been telling you about what happened?” You ask.

You told Molly bits and pieces of what happened to you, specifically over the last couple of years. But, you've also been very careful to avoid anything that could ever out any of anyone's vigilante alter egos. You've been very careful not to give anything too detailed away about what happened to Jason in San Francisco. You always kept a lot of the details to yourself, partially to keep secrets about everyone but also to spare Molly horrifying details. But, in order for Molly to understand everything that's led Jason here, she has to know the whole story. In every detail.

“Neglecting every important detail that would make your stories make sense, yes.” Molly quips.

“Right, well, you know Deathstroke?” You question and Molly nods slowly, already hating where this is going. “Well, when we got hurt together, yeah, it’s because Deathstroke and Dr. Light kidnapped us and then tortured us. Some vendetta against Dick. And uh, you know Jason’s limp he has sometimes? Yeah, Deathstroke dug the tracker out of his leg. Dropped us from a skyscraper, Conner saved Jason when he fell. Dick pulled me in. So, ya know, oh, the powers! Jerry, abusive fuck, yeah that’s all him.” You say with the nod of your head.

“You were both kidnapped by Deathstroke?” Molly asks, earning another nod. "And Jerry gave you powers?"

"Well, experimented on to give me powers to give himself powers, yes." You nod your head, chewing the inside of your cheek. "Not really relevant right now, but I figured I'd throw that in there."

You suck in a deep breath before you explain the story of Deathstroke to Molly. And the events that followed, this time in excruciating detail. Everything between being hit and Jason being choked. The two of you trying to defend the other only for it to be useless. You explain everything that happened outside of the skyscraper and then your talk in the bathroom that, up until this moment, has been just between you and Jason. Then you tell her about Jason walking out to the roof. You tell Molly every detail.

“That explains a lot.” Molly nods. “I knew he was different. I knew something bad happened over there but…” Molly's heart aches and she really wishes Jason could have told her or talked to her about it. She isn't sure she could have helped, but she would have tried.

“Yeah…” You nod your head.

“Why are you telling me now?” Molly shakes her head in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. I just…you asked why I’m so calm and I just think it’s my life now. And I think you should know. I think you need to know the whole story in order to understand any of it. It’s bigger than Bruce taking Robin away from him. You have to know the story and you’re the only one that doesn’t.” You shrug softly.

“Right, okay, yeah. That makes sense.” Molly nods her head before she decides to switch back to something else you said. Molly takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Wait, hold you, you made a fucking drug and then took it?!”

You glance at her as you shrug and then look back to the water. Everyone is so upset about that part of the story. “Yes. I’m fine. It was fine. Ya know, it wasn’t like…I didn’t die.”

“You’re an idiot.” Molly groans as she holds the bridge of her nose while you dry your hands.

“I’ve been told.” You nod your head as you lean against the counter, keeping the paper towels in your hands.

“I have so many questions.” Molly rests her elbow on the table. “Why is Jason working with Scarecrow? I mean, are you sure?” Molly isn’t sure why she asked. You and Dick literally kidnapped him, so you have to be sure but she just finds it so hard to believe.

“Oh, we are positive.” You let out a sigh. “Robin can’t be scared.” You grit your teeth, the anger bubbling back in your stomach like mixing pop rocks and pop. “It’s…Bruce made Jason feel like he was only ever good enough as Robin. And he made him and Dick sign a fucking contract about not being scared or something. I don’t even know. So, Jason gets fucking PTSD from Deathstroke because Dick got Deathstroke’s son fucking killed and Bruce sends him to therapy and then for some fucking reason, decides to just….take it away. Robin can’t be scared so Jason got immediate help, I fucking guess.” You sneer and you're still so mad at Bruce.

So much of this is on him and he just left. He left Gotham in the hands of the Titans as if they weren’t busy with their own shit. He leaves and Jason’s back but he wouldn’t know because he’s unreachable. His own son is back from the damn dead and he doesn’t even know. His other son is being hunted down and again, he doesn’t even know. Dick lost Jason, too but it was all about Bruice even though Bruce is the one who could have prevented this. He could have made Jason see he didn’t need to be Robin. He could have killed the Joker sooner. He could have just let him be Robin. There were options and Bruce always chose the worst one. You all let Jason down, but at least you and the other Titans are here unlike Bruce.

“Why…I mean…” Molly sucks in a breath, trying desperately to understand Jason. “So, he makes an anti-fear drug and I’m assuming it’s the opposite of the fear gas?” Molly asks while you nod. “So, he’s just…not scared.” Molly rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t feel anything else, does he? I mean…it’s why we can’t live without our adrenaline glands.”

You nod, walking over to the trash can to toss out the paper towels. “Yeah, it’s a little more complicated than that but yeah. It, uh, it’s like it gets rid of hesitance, ya know? And then you just….do whatever seems fun and it thrives off of anger. It doesn’t matter what you do either as long as you’re fighting. That’s how we fought. Neither of us really…tried. But, we did anyway and that’s why. So, uh, yeah. But, um….I think Crane is withholding it. It looked like he was going through withdrawal tonight.” You explain as you chew the inside of your cheek.

“He was actually there while Excellent Gotham was hit?” Hurt consumes Molly's voice as her brows raise.

“Yeah, outside. He didn’t know I was there. He didn’t see me, I guess but that doesn’t matter.”

Molly watches you carefully and as much as Molly wants to believe you're here out of the kindness of your heart to let her know about Jason, she also knows that is not the case. Everything is hitting the fan. You're friends with Tim and you both could have died. Jason is targeting the Titans. Gar is Jason’s friend, too. Jason knows you're always at Excellent Gotham. If he’s willing to target them, who else is he willing to target? You would not be standing here confessing everything if you weren’t scared and if something else didn’t happen.

Molly scolds your name as you walk over, taking a seat across from her. “Why are you really here? You didn’t come because I deserved to know. I know you.”

You shift in your seat. “If he shows up here, calls you, texts you, I need you to call me, Dick, and Gar, okay? Don’t let him in. I don’t think he’ll come after you because you’re his friend, too but…I also never imagined he’d ever target the Drakes.”

“He’ll know you came here.” Molly gestures a hand toward you, eyes darting to where the necklace normally sits.

“Ditched my phone and necklace.” You state. “I’m going back for everything when I’m done here and I don’t actually think that’s how he knew about Tim. I don’t think he’s tracking me or anything but yeah, I wasn’t taking that risk.”

“So, I just…call you guys?”

You nod. “Yeah, keep him here or on the phone until we show up. I’ll text you their numbers when I grab my phone. I just…want you to know. And uh, don’t…don’t go out of your way to contact him, please, okay? I really, really, want you left out of it. Crane is fucking insane. And I know he’s gotten into Jason’s head so Jason’s been trying to kill Dick. I think if Bruce were here he’d be going after him, too. I don’t know if the hit on Excellent Gotham was all Jason or Crane. I don’t know. The more people involved, the more people Crane can weaponize Jason against.”

Molly takes everything in and she’s starting to grow worried for Jason. If Jason is targeting the Titans, of all people, where is that going to leave him? Even if all of this is Crane and the drug, what’s going to happen to him? You're sitting here confessing everything to her which means, to some degree, you've lost hope in him. And that’s not something Molly ever imagined happening. Is there only one way for this to end?

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Molly asks quietly.

You shrug. “I don’t know.” Your eyes start to water. “I hope he uh, stops taking the drug entirely and uh…then he comes home but I don’t know.” You sniffle softly, biting down your own tears.

If Jason doesn’t stop taking the drug and he keeps working with Crane, that only leaves two options. Lock him up in Arkham or kill him. Not that anyone wants to do the second option, it’s just that Jason will force it. He won’t go out quietly or easily. It’ll be a fight to the death and you know that and you hate the idea of it. You think about everything you could possibly do to take the drug away. The only other thing is to try and kidnap him but, given your history, that just seems fucked up. You don’t want him kidnapped or in Arkham or dead. All you can do is hope he snaps out of it.

Molly nods softly before tilting her head to the right slightly. You're looking down at the table, tugging your sleeves over your hands. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head softly before looking up at Molly. “I, uh, I ended things tonight.” You state as you watch Molly’s frown grow deeper. “And, I don’t mean it, I think we can get him back but, uh…I told him I gave up on him and I…regret it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Molly says and she knows it’s bad for you to even say it. You're usually careful with your words when you're angry. “Have you tried everything else? To get him back?”

“Everything. I’ve tried talking to him and fighting him and yelling and we tried to trap him. I tried defending him and…yeah.” You nod, the lump growing in your throat once more. “But…I promised him I’d never be like everyone else and I stood there and I did it anyway. I don’t fucking mean it but I just…he could have gotten me and Tim killed. His dad might die. It’s not really Jason but it’s just…I just regret it. He’d never do that to me.” There’s a crack in your voice as your eyes start to burn and turn a haunting shade of red.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Molly says sternly. “You can’t keep every promise you make. Jason has always been bull-headed. I’ve known him for years. If Jason is good at something, it’s pushing people away.”

“Yeah, I know. His self-preservation is just self-destruction in disguise. But...”

“No, fuck that. You just said he blew up Hank. He’s trying to kill Dick and he could have killed you more than once. He died and instead of coming back home to you or even crashing here for some reason, he became Red Hood. And that’s fucked up. I love Jason but what he’s doing is wrong and maybe he needs to hit rock bottom alone for it to make sense to him. You defend him against everyone and everything no matter what he does. Did you ever stop to think that the Deathstroke situation was his fault? You and Gar went along with the plan but Jason wanted to prove himself so you agreed. It was his fault. Sure, Dick had a hand in it and so did Rose and the other Titans. But it was Jason who didn’t listen. It was Jason who thought he was better than a group of Titans. It was Jason that got you both dropped from a skyscraper. But, you come back and you take the blame for some reason. Why? Because you didn’t tell him no? So? I met Gar and I don’t think Gar would have told him no with or without you. So, if it’s your fault, it’s Gar’s fault but you won’t say it’s Gar’s fault. It’s Jason’s.”

Molly isn’t going to let you beat yourself up over this again. You telling Jason you're done and you're giving up, that’s a huge thing. And Molly knows it. Molly would love to believe there is another way. Jason doesn’t handle abandonment well but if you're doing it, there is no other option. Jason needs to understand, in some way, that he can’t just take a drug and make everything okay again. That’s not how it works and it hurts people. He’s hurting himself and he’s hurting everyone else who cares about him. Maybe Jason needs to feel alone to get it.

“Okay, yeah, maybe. But, I just…what if this is worse, Molly? What then?” You sniffle. “What if…ya know? I don’t want it to get him killed again.”

“He’s going to get himself killed again regardless and you’re going to blame yourself for it no matter what you do.” Molly says harshly. “You’ve tried everything else, try this. If it doesn’t work, then you tried.”

“That’s not good enough!” You stand up, slamming your hands on the table. “Just trying isn’t fucking good enough! It has to fucking work!” There's a squeak to your voice as if your vocal cords are finally giving out.

“No!” Molly yells back. “Sometimes, things just aren’t enough, no matter how hard we try. That’s just how it is.” Molly shakes her head.

"Yeah, but it should still be enough. It just has to be. It has to be...worth it." Your voice grows desperate.

"It's always worth it. It's always worth it to try. Do you think Jason regrets trying with Catherine? Do you blame Jason for Catherine dying?"

"What? No, of course not." You scoff.

"Exactly. Because he tried. He didn't let her overdose. He could have. He could have let her starve, too but he didn't. He loves his mom and she tried, too. But, you know how addiction is. Jason's trying wasn't enough to save her and she died. Catherine trying to be a parent wasn't enough and it lead Jason to the streets and shitty foster homes. But, that doesn't mean their effort wasn't worth it. Bruce tried, as much as you hate him, he tried and it got Jason killed and Dick a mess. I tried and you still took off." Molly shakes her head. "Dick has tried with all of you and you're killing people and losing your mind, Jason is a drug addict working for Scarecrow, Gar is trying to pick everyone off the floor, Hank blew up, Jericho got killed, Dawn is gone. That doesn't mean his effort was wasted or useless."

You let out a breath and maybe Molly makes a point. There is a point in trying. It might work but you would never know unless you try. Putting in the effort is worth it but it's really hard to swallow when you feel so guilty about it. And what if it's not enough this time? Where is that supposed to leave you and Jason? All you want is him to be home and happy and healthy and safe.

“What do we do when it’s not enough? How do people even come back from that though?”

"Then we try something else." Molly answers simply. "And we keep trying. You giving up might be enough because if you give up, I’ll side with you and he knows that. So, will Gar. So, will the Titans. He’ll be alone. You’re the last living person that would ever give up on him and you’re his last chance at climbing out of the hole he dug himself. Maybe it is enough but you’re never going to know if you pick up your phone and call him.”

You nod your head quickly. “I know. It’s just...I wish I would have just been enough to keep him...out of this. Like...that my validation was enough and love for him was. Or yours and Gar's. I just hope you're right and trying this way is enough. I don't--”

“No.” Molly protests. “And you are enough. Don’t let his bullshit make you ever think that you’re not. You are. And he fucking tried with you, too. I have never seen him try in a way that he did with you. So, it was always enough for him. But, sometimes, being enough isn’t the problem. It’s bigger than you and me and Gar. You’re enough. And he tried. And you tried. And I’m betting he’s still trying in his own Jason way because if not, you’d be dead. And we both know it. So, he’s still trying so you try this way. You tell him you give up and then you figure something else out. You have never known how to quit anything in your entire life. I mean, you would just ghost people because you can’t quit a damn relationship.”

“Okay, that went from inspiring to mean. Thanks.” You quip. "I didn't ghost people." You mutter through a huff.

Molly narrows her eyes, offering you an accusatory look. "Yeah, you did." Molly argues. "But, you didn't ghost him, you actually ended things tonight because you’re still trying.” Molly pleads with you. “That is you trying and that is what’s important. And you don’t mean it. So, what are you gonna do?”

“Wait, I guess.” You shrug. “Try to figure out what else they could have planned. Work on the inside.” You suck in a breath, Molly waiting for another idea. "Bruce has a cure for the fear gas on the Batcomputer, maybe we can work on a cure for this one. Or just destroy the batch Crane is making while also finding a way to just take him out. Take him out with the drug and Jason has no choice then." You ramble, just tossing out the first things that come to your head.

“Exactly. He thinks you’re giving up but you’re not. You’re trying to find another way to save him. Don’t beat yourself up for it. But, then if he calls me, I’m going to talk to him not because you told me to but because I don’t want him mixed up in this shit either.” Molly sucks in a breath. “The one thing that has always worked with Jason is just having someone who listens.”

“I know. Shit sucks.” You let out a deep sigh. "Hope it works."

“We’ll get him back. You’re not alone in this either.” Molly offers a soft smile. “Then, you two can sort your shit out and give each other a fair shot at this. It’ll all work out.”

“That’s really optimistic.”

“I believe in you and I believe in Jason.”

You offer a soft smile. “Thanks.” You sniffle softly. “You should talk to Gar, you two got this whole optimism thing going. Could be like motivational speakers or some shit.”

“You’re hilarious.” Sarcasm fills Molly's voice this time.

“I’m an idiot and hilarious. Mulit-facidet.”

“Right.” Molly rolls her eyes. “How was he though? I mean…after you told him?”

“He gave me this look once, uh, the day we got together and uh….he asked me what was so bad about him.” You shake your head. “I mean, I wanted to burst into tears with the look he gave me and the way he said it. It just….fuck Bruce, man.” You scoff. “And fuck me I guess because he gave me that same damn look tonight. You can be as optimistic as you want, but I don’t he’s going to forgive me for it.”

“I told him once that it was you.” Molly states. “You were it for him and he was it for you. It was just the two of you but you’re both stupid and stubborn. You guys were together the next day.” Molly’s eyes widen. “I still think that’s true.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one he told he was alive. He could have told me when he brought Diego back but he didn’t. He told you. He could have dragged you into the Crane stuff but he didn’t. I don’t think for a second, he did it to be an asshole or to push you away and I don’t think you believe he did that either. And that day, outside the house, he knew exactly what to do. Your hands were glowing and he didn’t even hesitate like he knew you’d never hurt him. Because Jason is forgiving. Stubborn and self-destructive, but forgiving.”

You remember your first night in Gotham and how casual he was but he seemed so happy and excited. You don't think you ever saw him smile so much before. And you think about how you almost kissed him that night because he was being Jason, annoying and yet somehow charming. You think he wanted to kiss you, too. You remember how you both were happy then. You both were happy before and you think about the day you blurted out that you loved him. It was the start and end of everything. You remember how he kissed you with everything in him that day as if he couldn't fathom being loved for just being Jason Todd. And you remember how happy he was. Happy and loved and safe. You wonder if there's a pit somewhere that can send you both back to those moments.

“Yeah, I hope you’re right.” You offer a sad smile. “Really miss him.”

“We’ll get him back.” Molly smiles softly.

“Thanks." You clear your throat. "Uh, I gotta head out but thank you. I’m still gonna keep my distance a bit just in case but if something happens, call me and same thing if anything with Jason happens.”

“Of course.” Molly offers a reassuring nod.

“I’m still sorry.” You scrunch your nose.

“I know.” Molly scoffs. “I forgive you. Just work on your shit after this is over.”

“You got it.” You roll your eyes before you head out.

You head back to Excellent Gotham to grab your things before you head back to the manor. Once back at the manor, you find Gar and the two of you sit down to discuss the night. You explain everything to him, what happened at Excellent Gotham, Mr. Drake, Tim, Molly, and Jason. You explain it all just trying to keep him informed and then you say you don’t want to be involved in the whole thing anymore. Maybe it’s safer for everyone if you aren’t involved. Dick is already painting a big enough target on everyone, you don’t want to contribute to that. So, the two of you talk back and forth well into the night, Gar just trying his best to be there for you but he tells you almost the same thing that Molly said. Besides agreeing with giving up. He knows you didn’t tell him that to give up literally, but he is worried it’ll send Jason further over the edge. He doesn’t say that but he doesn’t tell you it’s all going to be okay either. So, you both just sit and talk until you fall asleep.

The following day, everyone is gathered in the Batcave around the Batcomputer. Dick is explaining that Jason and Crane are putting the drug on the streets and last night was a just a trial. You broke the news to Dick when you woke up and right about now, you're regretting it, Dick says none of you can look at Red Hood as Jason anymore. Not when they're distributing the drug to innocent people on the streets.

"Is that really fair?" You ask as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Yes." Dick answers sternly. "You know what he's done and what he's doing. You took the drug. Do you want other people—"

"That's not what I'm saying." You sigh. "Look, it didn't turn me into a killer. Or some shit. And I'm not like.....normal. So, Jason has to be in there, off the drug. Like all of these people."

"But we can't view him like that. It'll cloud our judgment. Right now, he is Red Hood and him and Crane need to be stopped. If you don't want to be involved, I understand."

"I thought you were done anyway?" Gar asks, still a little bitter about the conversation from the night before.

He tries to be there for you but he really doesn't agree with you giving up and not wanting to help. They need you because you're the only one that has ever been able to get through to Jason. And without you, who's going to convince Dick not to kill him? Or Kory? They're both tired of this and Gar doesn't stand a chance arguing with them. You, on the other hand, will argue and fight to the death if that's what it takes.

"I am." You snip. "I'm just saying." You roll your shoulders. "I fucking told you, he was worried and scared last night. Crane is withholding it from him. So, maybe we give him a day or something to come around, let the drug flush itself out. I was fine the next day but Jason's been taking it, probably, nonstop for a week. Erasing who is, I don't think that's gonna help." You narrow your eyes. "Unless, you have other plans than bringing him home."

"He's had plenty of chances to come home." Kory says, putting a hand on her hip.

"I thought you were against innocent people getting hurt?" Dick questions.

"Alright, if you wanna argue about morals and shit, go find Bruce." You scoff. "Whatever." You put your hands up in defeat, knowing there's no changing their minds this time. You don't even know why you're here.

Dick continues to explain he's going to use an illegal computer while Kory and Blackfire have someone else to take care of, leaving you, Gar, and Conner to themselves.

"What are you going to do when we find Jason?" Gar asks as Conner excuses himself to grab food for him and Krypto.

"Well, I guess nothing, Gar." You shake your head, a snip in your voice as you spin slowly in your chair at the Batcomputer.

"He depends on us and you're just giving up." Gar protests.

"He almost fucking shot me and he almost killed Jack!" You yell as the guilt and regret continue to chew away at your bones. "He didn't pull the damn trigger but he already knew what they were gonna do."

"But it wasn't him." Gar's voice goes quiet but still holds the same annoyance.

"Yeah, but he's going to have to deal with his own consequences. He woke up one day and decided he didn't want to be scared anymore and went to fucking Crane. That was Jason Todd's decision. Before Red Hood. He needs to deal with it." You grit your teeth and it sucks.

It all just sucks and Gar is really making the whole thing worse. You don't expect him to side with you all the time, that's fine. But, it'd be really nice if he would just accept this. Molly did and Molly agrees. It is torture not picking up the phone and calling Jason. You just wish Gar could see that.

"He was desperate." Gar defends and you don't know why he's being so stubborn about it.

"So was I." You say softly. "But I didn't go to a psychopath for help. He has to deal with it." You say quietly. "Why are you so..." You wave your hands around slightly, raising a brow at him. "I don't know, defensive about it?"

"The whole team is just falling apart." Gar shrugs. "And Dick doesn't seem like he really wants to try to help Jason anymore."

"I know." You roll your chair over to Gar's before putting your hands on his shoulders. "It's hard but you keep your optimism. I'm not gonna let Dick or Kory kill him. I might not stand a chance but they'll have to go through me if that's what it's going to lead to. You know I don't even mean it. But I can't just take it back. You know I can't. I've tried everything else, Gar." You let out a sigh, dropping your hands from Gar's shoulders. "I'm gonna go to the hospital and check on Tim. I owe him that since I can't tell him anything else." You stand up and start to walk off. "Let me know if something happens though, please. I do care. I just....can't, Gar. It hurts."

"Can I come?" Gar asks with the scrunch of his nose, scratching the back of his head.

"Actually, yeah." You nod your head and offer him a soft smile. "That'd be really nice." You jerk your head towards the hallway. "Come on, I'll drive."

Jason shows up at the old ice cream factory where Crane's been having the anti-fear drug cooked. With the anti-fear drug making its way through Jason's system over the past few hours, he's still feeling a little confident as he walks in for another inhaler, even if it feels like there's a weight tugging at his chest. Technically, disturbing the drug worked which means he was right. He's just actively trying to forget about what happened after. He tries to focus solely on being the one in charge now. He is not replaceable or expendable and he's hoping Crane sees that now. He just destroyed the last good thing in his life for this plan and the second the drug wears off, he's consumed with regret and guilt. If that doesn't show dedication, what else does?

And Crane seems to be fine with it. He doesn't seem angry or upset. And that, for some reason, is making Jason feel uneasy. Bruce and Dick would be pissed and would be screaming at him, even if he were right. But, Crane is just saying he understands and he's not like Bruce. He forgives him for betraying him. Something seems off but Jason isn't going to push to find out what's going on. That just seems like pushing his luck. So, he plucks an inhaler from the table and hits it.

But, there's something wrong.

It burns. His throat feels like it's blistering from the inside out. His lungs feel like they're going to spasm right out of his chest. Jason starts coughing, asking Crane what's in the inhaler as his legs grow weak. It's hard to breathe and despite the drug he just took two hours ago, he's starting to panic. The last time it was hard to breathe like this, he died. He died. He died. He died and it was brutal and terrifying. He can't breathe and why can't he breathe? What did Crane give him? Why would Crane do this to him? Is Crane really going to kill him?

Jason's head spins as his limbs grow weak making him fall to the floor, trying to grip the table to stabilize himself. But, he falls anyway and his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might go into cardiac arrest. Everything spins and fades in and out of blurry and full focus. He can't fucking breathe and everything is heavy. It's heavy and his eyes are heavy and then it all goes black.

You and Gar make it to the hospital and spend a few hours hanging out with Tim who's grateful for the company. The good news is that his dad is going to be just fine and they're talking about releasing him as early as tomorrow. The bullet didn't hit anything major which is pure luck. But, he's thankful to have someone to talk to and keep him company anyway even if a part of him is still a little bitter about the whole ordeal, as he should be.

But, then Gar gets a text from Dick. They know where Jason and Crane are. They're getting together to shut them down and bring them in. Dick, specifically, doesn't want you there. Given everything that's happened, he doesn't want you involved anymore. Either you'll be a target or you're going to flip. If this ends poorly, you'll be a problem with bringing Jason and Crane in. It's in everyone's best interest if you stay out of it this time.

"Sorry, uh...I have to go." Gar says quietly.

You eye him and you know. "Dick?"

"Yeah." Gar nods his head. "He's gonna come get me so you can stay here."

"Ahh." You nod once, your heart sinking. You're staying out of it anyway but if Dick wants Gar back and is coming for him, that means maybe they found them. Some part of you still wants to be there just in case something happens. But, you can't very well go argue with Dick outside of a hospital entrance about going to fight Red Hood and Scarecrow, so you just suck in a breath. "Um...can...can you just...ya know?"

Gar hesitates and he thinks for a second. If it came down to picking between Dick, Kory, Conner, and Blackfire or Jason, who would he pick? The Titans are his family but so is Jason and he doesn't want to bury another friend. He doesn't want to bury him again. Gar thinks about it and he's thinking if it came to it, maybe he would stand in front of Jason just to make sure Dick didn't kill him because he would do the same for Dick. And Jason would do the same for him.

"I'll do everything I can and I'll call you." Gar says. "Promise."

"Thanks, Gar." You offer a sad smile.

"Of course." Gar smiles back before looking to Tim. "Nice meeting you, dude. Glad your dad is okay." Gar says with a smile.

"Thanks, yeah, you, too." Tim nods his head as the two of them say their goodbyes and Gar heads out. Your eyes linger on the exit, finding it hard to just sit here. What if you saying you're giving up gives the Titans some right of passage to kill him? What then? "What? You're not gonna go?"

You shake your head. "No, I, uh, I thought I'd hang out with you a little longer. It's probably just some bullshit anyway." You shift in your seat with the roll of your eyes.

"Jason almost gets my dad killed and now you're not going to be involved?" Tim questions, a bit of hurt and anger in his voice.

"You're not gonna quit are you?" You question him with a slight grimace.

"Nope." Tim shakes his head.

"I broke up with him, not my business." You shake your head. "And that's if it's about Jason. Not sure why it would be but ya know." You roll your shoulders, almost giving up on keeping this whole thing a secret from Tim, too.

"Right." Tim scoffs.

"Look," You face him in defeat. "You want me to tell you things I don't know about," Your eyes widen, a hint for him to shut up about it. "But you also won't trust me. I'm just asking you to trust me, okay?"

"Will you ever tell me?" Tim asks carefully.

If you were being honest, you think you can trust Tim to keep it all a secret. He could be on forums and showing everything he has to news outlets about Bruce being Batman and Dick being Robin and Nightwing. If he wanted to tell everyone, he could and enough people would believe him. But, he keeps it to himself besides to you because you're a Titan. So, you think maybe you'll tell him at some point when everything calms down. It's all a little dangerous right now but maybe one day you will.

"Maybe." You shrug. "But, you have got to fucking trust me."

"Alright, fine." Tim gives you a soft but triumphant smile. He's won enough for now and you know it.

That seems to be enough for Tim to drop it for now as the two of you go back to talking about everything that's not vigilante-related for once.

Jason finally starts to come to, his head heavy and throbbing. His eyes are burning as if he has the worst cold he's ever had and his vision is blurry, coming into focus a little slower than usual. His wrists are duct taped to the arms of a chair and his limbs feel too weak to even fight. He tugs just once but it's useless. He's been trained for this. He escaped that time with Deathstroke easily because it was in the training and duct tape is easy to escape from. But, he can't and the real drug has worn off. Tears start to brim his eyes and he has never felt more alone than he does right now.

He thought he could trust Crane. Him and Crane are supposed to be in this together. He said they had the same view of the city. But then Crane poisoned him. Why would he do that to him? Jason trusted him and Crane poisoned him. He knows he went behind Crane's back but Jason never did anything to hurt Crane yet Jason's the one duct taped to a chair and drugged. Jason swallows the hard lump in his throat and he should have just stayed in line.

He did it again.

He fucked it all up. He just had to go off and do his own thing with targeting Excellent Gotham, giving the drug to those random guys behind Crane's back. It's the same story over and over again, he just can't help himself and Jason wonders what the fuck is so wrong with him that he can't just stay in line. People trust him and then he pushes them away and he betrays them and he goes off on his own. Why does he always do this? It's all his fault and he trusted Crane. He really did. And he feels so alone.

Crane was the last person Jason thought he had that he could trust. Jason burned every single bridge he had with the Titans. Kory is going to be pissed and is going to take Dick's side, especially after Hank. Dawn would never trust him after what he did. Conner doesn't know him well enough. Jason has tried to kill Dick. After what happened last night with you, Jason doesn't even think Gar would help him. He's all alone. He's alone and he hates being this alone. He has no one and his mind is clear for the first time in a week. He is fucking terrified and filled with shame and regret and remorse and everything is hitting him so hard he just wants to scream. He hates it.

You were right. He does regret it. He regrets all of it. He shouldn't have gone to Crane. He shouldn't have killed Hank. He shouldn't have targeted Dick. He never should have fought you or went after the Drake's. Everything he's done, he is regretting and there's nothing he can do about it. But he remembers you saying he can call Dick. Dick is his brother. He tried to kill him but maybe you're right. You would never tell him to call Dick if you didn't know for sure. Because even when you give up, Jason knows you wouldn't risk him getting killed. He has to get out of here but he's weak and tired.

"I pity you, Jason." Crane says, but his voice is foggy as if he were down a long and distant tunnel. "You were reckless and you were impatient last night. And you act out of fear, not out of strength. You see, you're still afraid of Dick Grayson. And I failed you. I failed you as a teacher. But here's today's lesson. You know how I broke Batman? It wasn't with fear, it was with patience. I'm going to show you that you don't need to go running around Gotham, trying to destroy the Titans, you can just sit back and watch as the Titans destroy themselves."

Jason remains silent, unsure how he's even supposed to argue or if he can. It was Crane's idea to destroy the Titans anyway. Jason has just been so mad at them and felt abandoned he thought Crane was right but now he's not so sure. He can't be sure anymore. It all feels like lies. He's sobering up and everything feels like it was a lie. Just to use him.

"That's how we're going to take care of that...unpleasant girl of yours." Crane puts his hands behind his back, standing as if he owns the entire world. Jason's jaw clenches, his eyes focusing on Crane. "Patience. You wouldn't do it but you don't have to." Crane offers a kind smile and it makes Jason's skin crawl. "You see, your little act last night I'm sure really bothered her, right? You could have gotten her killed and her little friend. She has nowhere to go now, besides to the Titans and as the Titans crumble, so will she."

"That's not part of the plan." Jason chokes out, finding the energy to argue this point. "You said we'd leave her out of it."

Crane promised him from the beginning they would keep you out of it as long as you didn't side with the Titans. And you technically, did not do that. You've only been on Jason's side, just using Dick as a way to try and help him. Crane promised they would leave you out of it and you could join their side if you wanted to. Jason's getting the idea that was just a lie, too just to get him to cooperate with whatever Crane wanted to do.

"Did I?" Crane asks. "I don't think I ever said that. But," Crane sucks in a breath, leaning down to be eye-to-eye with Jason. "She threatened to kill me. She even beat me up." Crane almost sounds pitiful and hurt. "I told you, Jason. She's not on your side and she never was. Now. You can sit back and watch her destroy herself." Crane leans up, walking to the window to watch the workers.

You already gave up on him. You and him are done. There is no coming back from last night. But the panic still floods Jason's system because he knows, despite everything his mind has ever conditioned him to think, it was the hardest thing you had to do. He knows you tried to do everything besides that and he loves you anyway. He loves you anyway and he dragged you into this. He put you right in the middle of him and your friends. Your family that you tried to have. He did that to you.

Last night you said all Jason has done since coming back is hurt you, and you're right. He never meant to. He never dreamed of it hurting you but he did and now he's terrified it just got that much worse for you. You deserve better and Jason has no idea how he's supposed to get out of this.

Crane has to let him go eventually. Crane will need Jason for something and he can warn you. You told him not to contact you or Gar but maybe this will be an exception because you have to know. And maybe he can take your advice for fucking once and just call Dick. Because Crane just drugged him and is holding him hostage. Maybe he never could trust him.

It's quiet on the way back to the Manor. It's as if no one really knows what to say or how to say it. Sure, the fight went just fine just like it usually does. They make a really good team and Blackfire is a good addition to the team. But, they didn't get Crane and they didn't get Jason. Instead, Crane and Jason are in the wind but Crane was also holding Jason hostage. Something happened that led Crane to do that and Gar is the one sitting here wondering what they're going to do about it and who the hell is going to be the one to break it to you. It was Dick's bright idea for you not to come along and maybe if you would have, you could have gotten Jason. Maybe if they had one more person it would have went differently. The team is divided and Gar hates it.

"Who's gonna tell her about Jason?" Gar asks and they walk through the Batcave.

The other Titans turn to look at him, glancing between each other before landing on Dick. It's not Conner or Blackfire's place to say anything, it's not their job. That's all Kory and Dick but Dick doesn't seem like he's going to be the one to say anything. You can say you're done all you want but Dick knows if they tell you, you'll go off the rails looking for Jason. It could get you killed, Jason killed, and you could kill Crane. Even if you do find them, what's to stop Crane from kidnapping you, too? Crane clearly has a way to do it if he can do it to Jason. And what if it's a trap? What if Jason isn't being held captive but it's a way to get the Titans to a different location? Telling you seems like it might just be a bad idea and in your best interest for your own safety.

"We don't have to tell her." Dick says.

Gar's eyes nearly bulge out of his head. "Seriously, dude?" Gar scoffs. "It's Jason. She's going to be pissed if she finds out and we didn't tell her."

"She decided she doesn't want any part of this anymore and I think that's for the best. If we tell her, we don't know what she'll do. We still need Crane." Dick argues, keeping it short.

"Screw that, man." Gar groans. "He took Jason and we know he did. There was proof of it back there. If something happens to him, she's gonna never forgive any of us. Let her decide if she wants back in."

"He's right, Gar. She's been a little bit of loose canon lately." Kory offers kindly.

Gar is also tired of the secrets. All keeping secrets from each other has done is get them hurt. That's all it's done and now they want to keep this huge thing from you? That's insane. You have every right to know and he doesn't understand why they would want to keep it from you. Maybe you'll explode but it's not like anyone else is going to go save Jason. What if he actually is in danger?

"Because of everything that's happened!" Gar defends, tossing his arms out to his sides. "If you guys were in her shoes, you'd probably be loose canons, too! I mean, Dick has been going off on his own most of the time. Bruce even snapped. And we just have to pretend like everything is normal?"

"I mean..." Conner chimes in. "She didn't tell us he was alive."

"Yeah, and that sucked but she was scared for his life. It sucks but at least I get it. And it was one day! What is keeping this from her going to do?"

Dick crosses his arms and he's really missing the days where the only problems he had were Jason and you pulling some dumb prank just to harass him. "Do you think she'll sit back and let us handle it or do you think she's going to take it into her own hands?"

Gar knows you will. It's Jason but Gar also knows that if it were him, you would do the same thing. The only reason you didn't come after him by yourself with CADMUS is because you didn't know how to and it was CADMUS not just one person. But, Gar also got the story about you being the driving force to make sure you all saved him, regardless of what was happening to Dick. Gar was the first priority. You're going to take this into your own hands but at this point, Gar is ready to jump right in with you. Jason came to save him.

"I know." Gar shrugs. "But what if she doesn't? What if she asks for help this time? We just don't even give her the option?"

"That could get her killed. It's for her own protection." Kory says.

"Well, that sucks." Gar snaps. "Keeping secrets from each other doesn't keep any of us safe." Gar scoffs as he goes to leave.

Now he knows how you feel. Arguing with them is exhausting. They won't even listen. It's either whatever they want to do or nothing. That's normally fine. Gar normally agrees and Dick and Kory usually do know better but not this time. This time it's wrong, for your own protection or not.

"Gar." Dick calls.

Gar turns around quickly, a look of defeat on his face. "If she asks, I'm not gonna lie." Gar shrugs his shoulders before he turns away and heads upstairs.

Gar finds you in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for food. He wonders if this is what it felt like when you knew Jason was alive. His stomach feels like it might fall right to his feet, heavy with guilt. He wonders if you were also mad at him for asking you to keep it a secret because Gar's mad at Dick and Kory. It really fucking sucks and Gar wonders how the hell you even manage to keep everything a secret. He's been standing here for just a few seconds and he already wants to snap and spill everything. Maybe that's why you've been a bit off, because this just sucks and it's heavy.

You pop your head out from behind the cabinet door, a granola bar sticking out of your mouth, feeling someone had entered the kitchen. "Hey." You greet as you pluck the bar from your mouth.

"What are you doing?" Gar questions.

"Looking for food. Hospital food sucks." You say softly. "I guess." You mutter quietly as you pluck a box of Mac and cheese from the cabinet, a displeased look on your face.

"Don't you like that?" Gar asks, entering further into the kitchen.

"Yeah," You sigh. "Just not feeling it but I don't wanna go through the effort of making anything else or looking." You look at the box and back to Gar. "Is there real milk in this?"

"Uh, yeah." Gar chuckles, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. "Why?"

"Could have made it with the vegan butter and oat milk if you wanted some but never mind, I guess." You sigh, moving to the cabinet with the pots. But the room goes oddly silent, making you look back at Gar. He's just standing there, watching you. "What happened?" You ask as you turn around, leaning against the counter.

Gar shifts his weight on his feet. "What makes you think something happened?" Gar asks softly.

"You have a look and you're quiet. You didn't point out Bruce probably has vegan Mac and cheese somewhere or Dick probably pick some up for you." You explain. "I can always tell with you and Jason when something's wrong."

You watch as Gar looks to the ground and you're terrified what's going to come out of his mouth. Jason can't be dead again because Gar probably would be crying right now but he's not and his eyes aren't red which means he isn't sucking it up for your sake. The other Titans are probably fine because Gar wouldn't be so hesitant to tell you if something happened to them. So, you have to assume it has to do with Jason and there's a small part of you that thinks the Titans won this time and they sent Jason to Arkham instead of bringing him home. You swear you'll lose it if that's what happened.

"Um..." Gar scratches the back of his neck as he looks back to you. "Can you promise not to freak out?"

"I can't promise that." You shake your head as you brace for whatever bullshit Gar is gonna say next. "Jason, right? Something happened?"

Gar nods softly. "By the time we got to the office where Crane and Jason were, they were gone. But, we think Crane had Jason duct taped to a chair and took him with him."

You blink a few times and you swear you just forgot how to breathe. Not again. This cannot possibly be happening again.

"C-crane...you-I mean...you guys think C-Crane kidnapped him?" You sputter.

Gar nods. "Yeah."

Jason said you're the one with a habit of getting kidnapped but so far, you're both two to two here. And you hate it. Why the fuck would Crane need to kidnap him in the first place? If they're working together, then Crane has no reason to. Unless Jason is actually turning on him. In which case, it just got really dangerous to be Jason Todd.

"Do you know where they went?" You ask, trying to keep your voice level.

"No." Gar answers shamefully.

You offer a large nod as your appetite vanishes. You push from the counter, leaving the box and pot on the counter. "Thanks for telling me." You say as you walk up to Gar. "You guys aren't going to look for him, are you? And Dick said not to tell me, right?"

Gar nods once more, letting out a deep breath. "Dick thinks it could be a trap and yeah, he's worried what you'll do."

"Got it." You let out a scoff with a bitter chuckle.

All you can hear is Tim in the back of your head about how you're supposed to be a hero. Well, so is Dick. You think that word is starting to lose its fucking meaning because what kind of hero just lets a psychopath kidnap someone? You know it's more complicated than that but they're brothers and Jason was kidnapped. Again. It was fine the first time, but what? Round two and he's on his own? Is that how it is?

"You're gonna go, aren't you?" Gar asks.

"Yeah, and if Dick's gotta fucking problem with it, he'll have to go through me. I'm not letting Crane kidnap Jason and hold him fucking hostage. I don't care." You shake your head, venom shooting through your words.

There's a bit of relief that fills Gar's chest. Maybe Dick is right and it's a trap but what if it's not? Deathstroke and Dr. Light could have been a trap, it kind of was. But, Dick went anyway to save Jason and you. Trap or not, you all should be trying to find Jason and help him just in case it's not a trap.

"Can, uh, can I help?" Gar asks, making you do a double take.

Gar tends to do what Dick asks, especially since the whole Deathstroke thing and you both accidentally losing Conner for a day. You kind of figured he wouldn't try to really stop you because that would be useless but you thought maybe he'd offer some voice of reason. The last thing you ever expected was Gar to ask if he could help, despite Dick's wishes.

"Huh?" You hum, eyes wide. "What?"

"He's my friend, too." Gar shrugs. "And he came to save me. I wanna help find him." Gar lets out a breath, eyes hopeful you'll let him help.

"Yeah, uh...I mean...it could be a trap. I mean...are you sure? Dick is gonna be pissed." You furrow your brows, still eying him with confusion.

"I know." Gar nods. "But, I don't want you doing this alone either in case it is a trap or something happens like last time. I just wanna help. We can't let Crane hold him hostage."

You nod quickly, figuring maybe it would be nice to not do this completely alone. "Okay, but, can you stay here? I might have to do some stuff you don't like and if it is a trap, we might be fucked." You say and Gar is about to protest. "No, no, I have an idea. Follow me." You gesture for him to follow you as you walk past him.

You and Gar walk to Jason's room, you shutting and locking the door behind you. You go to one of Jason's hiding spots and grab the tablet. You always put it back, exactly where he kept it, just in case. You unlock the tablet and go to the software used to track your necklace. The tracking device is only synced with his tablet and his phone since you hated the idea of Bruce being able to track you. Jason was always fine.

"Here." You hand it over, showing a green blinking dot right on top of Wayne Manor. "You track me. My phone is synced to the Batcomputer. I'll text you every hour on the hour. If I miss, you call and if I don't call back in thirty seconds, get Dick. Something went wrong."

"Why do you know about this and just why?" Gar asks, confused as to what's even going on. "Why can't I go with?"

"Because Jason is a shithead who was lying to me before he died. I know where all of his hiding spots are and he knows where all of mine are. I, apparently, am the one with a habit of being kidnapped but I didn't want Bruce involved. Jason swore he'd always come find me." You shrug casually. "So, you track me and then we know where he is. And then maybe we tell Dick where they're hiding out. See, everyone wins. If you're with me and we both get kidnapped then Crane has all three of us and Dick and Kory won't know where to go. I need someone here, just in case." You explain quickly.

It's not a lie, it's true. You've put some thought into the vigilante life after all of this is sorted out, hoping things go back to some form of normal. It's dangerous to be out there as a team and alone. It's dangerous both ways and it's dangerous to have people know but, you think it might be worse for you to be alone out there and no one know where you are or what you're doing. Having someone be eyes and ears behind a screen seems like it might be helpful, especially if something goes wrong.

"Right, okay, yeah." Gar nods and this isn't really what he meant by helping but you have a point. At least this way, if something happens, it's not the three of you stuck in a bad situation with no one knowing where you are. At least they'll know where to find you and Jason. "You're gonna call if things start looking bad, right?" Gar asks as you remain silent, moving your eyes from the left to the right before landing back on Gar. "Dr. Light? Deathstroke?" Gar presses, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Fine." You nod your head quickly. "If it starts looking like it might go even a little south, I'll call you. But, I don't even know if I'll be able to find him."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I know a few people I can grab, try to get some intell on where Red Hood and Crane would go. Someone knows and they'll start talking."

Gar lets out a sigh, deciding it's best he doesn't know what you're going to do to them. Maybe him staying back is a good idea if you think that's the only way to find him. If anyone is gonna know how to work around Gothamites, it'll be you.

"They in Batcave?" You ask as you head for the door.

"Yeah."

"Great." You suck in a breath. "Okay, I'm going to get my suit and find him. If he asks, you can tell Dick you're helping but try not to show him, please. He'll come after me and probably fuck it up. If Crane has him hostage, I can get through to Jason."

"Are you going to bring him back?" Gar asks, a bit of hope in his eyes.

"Not if he doesn't ask." You shake your head. "If Crane had to duct tape him to a chair that means Jason isn't siding with him as much anymore. While I feel guilty and I hate myself for last night," You shake your head. "Maybe that does have something to do with it." You start the walk to the Batcave. "He has to make the decision on his own. As much as it fucking sucks." You scoff. "Okay, I'll be back later. Every hour." You nod once before you dart behind the grandfather clock.

You walk right over to the display with your suit, ripping the case open as you grab Dick's and Kory's attention. If they want to work this alone and not save him, fine. But that's not you and they're not stopping you.

"Where are you going?" Kory asks.

You spin around and you shrug your shoulders sadly. "To save Jason." You answer simply.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Kory asks and they really should have known Gar was going to tell you immediately.

"You're staying here. We don't--"

"I don't care." You roll your eyes as you cut Dick off. "Do you really want to tell me to just...let Crane kidnap him? Me? Of all people?" You ask.

"It could be a trap." Dick argues and he's also tired of this back and forth. He's never met anyone so hardheaded. Why can't you just listen? Just once?

"Yeah, maybe." You shrug softly. "And that's a risk I am willing to take because I give a fuck about him." You snip right back. It almost feels like you're arguing with your parents.

"You could get hurt or worse." Kory states. "For all we know, this is what Crane and Jason want."

"It's not safe." Dick says. "We can't risk it. You don't know what you'll be walking into."

"I don't fucking care if I get hurt!" Your voice cracks with frustration. "That's part of the job! Getting hurt to keep people, innocent strangers safe. You think I'm not gonna risk getting a little hurt to save someone I actually care about? I love him anyway and I'm going to save him." You let out a bitter scoff. "You know, Tim said something to me last night. I didn't tell him shit, don't worry. But, he said that I'm supposed to be a hero." You shake your head. "And he's fucking right, ya know? It's just complicated but look at you guys. We're supposed to be heroes! And you're all just gonna...sit back? Let whatever happens, happen? No, fuck that. I did that last time and we see what fucking happened."

"We aren't sitting back." Dick says sternly. "We've been trying to bring home this whole time but he clearly, doesn't want that. He dug his hole and he has to deal with it. He made his choice."

"I'm not going back and forth about it anymore. Just...what is it? I mean, Deathstroke, was it just that you felt you had our blood on your hands? So, you were obligated to do something? And now that Jason's kidnapping doesn't have shit to do with you, your hands are clean? Is that what this is? Why not try to fucking save him?! You know Crane. Crane could have snapped and then...what? That's just it. One less body to deal with."

"Hey!" Kory scolds. "You know that is not what this is. We all have given Jason a fair chance but Dick's right he made his choice. He knows how bad Crane can be."

"That doesn't make it okay." You say quietly. "I made a promise to him and I broke one of those. I'm not breaking another one tonight. He is not Robin anymore so if Crane wants to go after him, he gets to deal with me and if you have such a fucking problem with that, I guess you can try to stop me but I'm going." You turn back around, grabbing your suit before you slam the case closed. "I was wrong about what I said about trying. Sometimes, it isn't enough. But, at least I'm fucking trying. Unlike you guys."

Dick lets out an exasperated sigh. "You don't know when to quit do you?"

You shake your head, the corner of your mouth perking up. "Not when it comes to people I happen to like." You spin around, suit in hand and you head off to change and leave.

"You know, she handled that well actually." Kory says softly. "All things considered."

"Yeah." Dick scoffs. "That's the worrying part."

You head off on the bike once you're suited up. You get to Crime Alley figuring that might be your best bet for any type of answer. You use your phone to look into the men you killed last night and see what their ties could be to Red Hood and Scarecrow. Their files don't have too much but they are a few notes about people the three of them used to run with so you figure you can start there. Someone knows where Red Hood and Scarecrow would be. This is Gotham and they're in the drug trade.

You track one of the men down, following him carefully from the rooftops and waiting for the right moment to confront him. The whole rooftop thing might have actually been a good idea, you will give Bruce that one. You wait until an alley with almost no lighting comes up. So, you take your opportunity to get down from the rooftops and beat him to the alley. Just as he approaches, you yank him into the alleyway, slamming him against the wet brick as hard as you can.

"Where is Red Hood?" You seethe, your teeth grinding under your mask,

The man looks down at you as your arm is pressed against his throat. "How the fuck would I know?"

You pull back just enough to shove him against the wall, this time his head bangs against the wet bricks. "Bullshit. You know where he's hiding out. Him and Scarecrow, fucking spill."

"Fuck you." He spits.

You do not have time for this. You're done arguing and going back and forth with people. All he has to do is give up a name or a place. It's not that hard. So, you pull out a knife and hold it right to his jugular.

"Do you wanna end up like your friends? It's all pretty easy to make happen." You press the tip of the knife into his skin, just enough to break skin and blood starts leaking down his neck.

His eyes widen, filled with panic. "I don't know!"

"Bullshit!" You yell back, doing your best to refrain from pressing the knife further into his neck. "Red Hood was able to get your friends which means there has to be some sort of connection. Tell me where he is."

"I don't know!" The man's voice is panicked. "Jeremiah! Word is he has an in with Red Hood and Scarecrow for whatever they're cooking."

"And where the fuck would he be?" You almost mock him. A name is fine but come on.

"Robinson Park!" He yells back, the panic leaking from his pores. "He's been dealing there."

"Thank you." You pat the man's cheek. "Was that so fucking hard?" You scoff, dropping the man. "Seriously, get your shit together and do something more productive." You roll your eyes as you shoot the grappling hook to the rooftop, leaving the man alone in the alley.

You reach Robinson Park and give Gar a quick text to let him know everything is fine. Then, you make your way inside of the park to look for this Jeremiah guy. You were able to figure out what he looks like thanks to him and the guy you just grabbed having been busted for dealing just a few months ago.

It doesn't take you too long to find him near a bridge. That's where you sneak up behind him and grab him, slamming him against the cement just as you did with the previous guy. You're hoping he'll be willing to spill a little quick but you're also betting you're not going to get that lucky tonight.

"Red Hood. Where is he?" You ask with fire in your words.

Jeremiah laughs. "You think I'm gonna tell you? You're a fucking bat--"

You yank your fist back and punch him in the face. He spits blood out by your boots, looking back at you with fury. "I am not a fucking bat." You say through gritted teeth. "I will burn you alive limb by fucking limb until you spill where Red Hood is."

"Yeah? And uh, what makes you think I even know?" He gives you this grin that makes you want to scream.

"Word is you have an in for the drug him and Scarecrow are putting on the streets. I assume it was a test run last night. Unless, you're full of shit just trying to get some weird ass respect." You quip, tilting your head to the right.

"I'm not telling you shit." He scoffs.

"You know, Red Hood decapitated six men, right? Of some of Gotham's most notorious families in the business. Yeah, I can be worse. And I will start with you." You tug your glove off with your other hand, still keeping pressure on his neck. You show the neon green so bright it illuminates your face. Jeremiah watches you before you touch a finger to his face, he lets out a horrendous scream, echoing through the tunnel under the bridge. "Every limb but I won't kill you. I'll let infection set in and that can kill you. Tell me where the fuck he is!"

Jeremiah lets out a sigh, gritting his teeth. "There's that old ice cream factory. They were cooking there."

"They're not there. Titans showed up tonight. Where else would they go?"

"Aren't you a fucking Titan?" He sneers.

"Does it really seem like I'm a Titan?" You narrow your eyes at him.

"There's the old Wellington pump station. Heard they had a hookup there." Jeremiah says reluctantly. "I don't fucking know anything else."

"Thank you." You let go of him as he falls to the ground. "You know, you should also get your shit together. I know you deal to kids. Stop or I will actually kill you. Leave kids the out of it." You roll your eyes, earning yourself a confused look as you walk out of the tunnel.

Once you get back to your bike, you head right to the pump station. The drive feels like it takes an eternity when it only takes twenty minutes. You're growing more anxious as more time goes by. You don't know how long Crane has had him tied up for or what he's doing to even keep Jason tied up. Jason should be able to get out of duct tape. So, you worry as every minute passes by.

The closer you get to the building, the more you start to remember what it was like the night he died. The drive and how it was freezing but you didn't even notice because you were so panicked. You were going to save him but you were too late. Every second from the phone call to Molly until you passed out is embedded into the deepest parts of your mind, tattooed and stitched as cruel reminders of the world you live in sometimes. You can't forget but you're trying to save Jason again and it's like you're thrown back into that night all over again.

It can't end like that again.

It can't.

When you get to the pump station, you park far off in the old parking lot before making your way to the back of the building. You use your grappling hook to get to the roof where you find a skylight looking into the building. That's when you spot Jason, now tied to a chair. Crane is walking around, throwing his hands around dramatically but there seems to be a pep in his step, as if he's happy or excited about something. You roll your eyes. He's so fucking insane.

A part of you does question if this is a trap. Jason is faster and stronger than Crane. Jason should have been able to escape. He has all of the training and he can easily take Crane. It doesn't even look like Crane is armed but you know Jason is. It doesn't make a lot of sense but you're watching carefully and Jason doesn't even seem to be partaking in whatever nonsense Crane is on about. So, you brush the thought of it being a trap away and think maybe Crane drugged him. That would explain everything. Trap or not, you're getting into this building and you're grabbing Jason.

You try to look at everything surrounding them and the drum barrels on the catwalk. All you need to do is distract Crane long enough to get Jason free. That's the point. It's not so much a rescue mission as it is just getting him free. If you can get him free and he can walk, he can escape Crane if it comes to that. Then, you spot an alarm sitting far off on the back wall and you have an idea.

"Hey, you at the Batcomputer?" You whisper into the phone.

"Uh...yeah, yeah, why? What's up?" Gar wheels himself closer to the keyboard, looking at the screens.

"Crane has Jason tied up. I'm at a pump station but I can see an alarm of some sort, not a fire alarm. Is there any way to like...trigger it from where you are?" You ask.

"I can try, hold on." Gar says as he starts typing away.

"Or trigger anything to distract Crane so I can grab Jason."

"How long do you need?"

"Three minutes, tops." You keep watch as Jason's head nods softly as if he's trying to stay awake and failing miserably.

"Okay, yeah, there's an alarm system that's still active in the building. I can set it off but as soon as Crane disables it, that'll be it. So, you have to be quick." Gar explains, getting into the building's security system.

"Okay, yeah. Quick, got it." You nod your head. "Ready when you are."

"Hang up and I'll trigger it. Text me when you get somewhere safe."

"Of course, thank you." You say softly before you hang up.

You grab a knife from your belt and start working on the lock to the skylight. Luckily, this was a part of Jason's training. Lock-picking. Of course it was. As soon as you have the lock picked and the window ready to be opened, you hear the blaring of an alarm.

Jason and Crane both jump, looking around as the noise echoes and bounces off of the walls. Crane looks to grow more and more annoyed before he storms off and that's when you make your move. You open the window, using the grappling hook to lower yourself down as quickly as possible.

Once your feet touch solid ground, you yank the hook loose and run to Jason, immediately bending down to be face-to-face with him. His pupils are blown and he's barely awake but his eyes widen just a little, trying to make you out. It's blurry but he swears it's you. That can't be right. Why the hell would you come?

You swear you find yourself hating Crane more and more by the second. You shake your head and grab a knife, cutting Jason's hands free before you come to his face again.

"Jay? Can you walk?" You ask quietly, just loud enough so he can hear you above the alarm. But all Jason does is stare at you and he just can't believe you're really in front of him right now. Maybe he's hallucinating. "Jay?" You place your hands on his cheeks. "Hey, can you walk?"

It's you. You came.

Jason nods weakly and he thinks he might burst at the seams. He thought he was alone.

"Come on." You help him up.

Jason's arm rests over your shoulders as the two of you head to the exit, opposite the way Crane went. Jason's footing is a little unsteady but he tries his best while you keep him stable, one arm wrapped around him and the other holding his arm around your shoulders.

The entire walk to your bike has Jason's head spinning, both from the high and the confusion of you showing up in the first place. You broke up with him and you gave up on him. His head might be foggy and he might be out of it right now, but he knows that happened. And yet you're here anyway. Not Dick or Kory or Gar. It's you who showed up. Maybe you shouldn't have but you did. And even in this state, Jason thinks maybe it was still a hard decision, given what happened last night...and the last time you found him. But, you showed up anyway and he does not deserve that.

Every part of you wants to explode like a volcano. It wasn't fucking a trap. Crane drugged him and tied him up so he couldn't fucking leave. That's what happened. Dick and Kory, they were wrong. They were fine letting Jason suffer over a what if situation. You just grabbed him without any damn problems. All you needed was a little help from Gar. it was fine. It went fine but who knows what Crane's plan for the rest of the night was. This could have gone so much worse for him and Dick and Kory just didn't care. They didn't care enough to try.

And then there's Crane. It just drives you insane. Jason got himself wrapped up in this but he doesn't deserve to be drugged and held hostage. You swear people in general don't really don't deserve it. But, now it's happened to Jason and you think maybe you shouldn't leave him again. Every part of you doesn't want to leave him again.

"Can you hold on?" You ask as you reach your bike.

"Uh..." Jason sucks in a breath before he nods. "Yeah, got it." He mutters, his words slurring together slightly.

"Where do you wanna go?" You ask, biting down your own hope that he'll say the manor.

Jason's heart rate spikes for a quick second with the question and for that split second, he almost spits out manor. But, that second is just that, a second. He can't go back. Not like this. Not now. If they want to turn him in, he can't run or defend himself and he's not putting you in that position anymore. So, he tells you another hideout he has and you just nod, all hopes of bringing him back fading away.

"I'll go slow." You say softly as you get on the bike first, Jason wobbly getting on behind you.

You bend uncomfortably around, popping the spare helmet on his head. You slide the face shield down before turning back around and grabbing his arms to wrap around you. Once your own helmet is on, you take off, leaving the pump station in the rearview mirrors.

When you reach the hideout, you help Jason inside and upstairs with his directions. You reach the room that contains a mattress, an old broken dresser, and a few lamps scattered about the floor. You help Jason over to the bed and help him to sit down.

Jason sits with his knees bent, feet planted on the floor and his eyes locked on you. He just can't believe this is real. He still thinks he might be hallucinating or maybe he's just having a really vivid dream.

"Are you okay?" You ask as you kneel in front of him, resting your hands on his knees but Jason's head sways. "Jay?"

Everything hurts and it's spinning. And his chest hurts, the lump in his throat hurts. Every piece of his body is aching and burning and heavy, exhausted. But, you're here, right in front of him. You broke up with him last night and you gave up but you're right in front of him and he is so thankful. Why are you here? He doesn't deserve it.

Jason reaches forward, tugging your mask off of your face as if just to make sure it's you. "You came." His brows pull together as if he's in pain.

Your heart breaks at the surprise and tenderness of his voice. He really thought you wouldn't? You know what you said but...does he think it's that easy?

"I'll always come to save you." You whisper, your eyes watering as they scan over his face.

Jason can feel his bottom lip start to quiver. He really fucked it all up and he's high and it's the worst high of his life. It all sucks and you're here and he doesn't know why. He wants to take it all back. He wants to turn back time and take everything back. He wants to go back to that day in your room when you were the one that told him loving him is the easiest thing you'd ever done because he knows that isn't true anymore. And it is breaking him.

"But you..." Jason chokes on his own words. "You said you were fucking done and--"

"Doesn't matter." You shake your head, cutting him off. You search his face until his eyes meet yours. Jason thinks you've never looked sadder. "If someone's going to hurt you or kidnap you, they're gonna have to deal with me." Your voice is candid but there's a weight of heartbreak etched in every syllable.

He doesn't deserve it and Crane betrayed him and hurt him. Another person he trusted hurt him and yeah, he went behind Crane's back first but did he deserve this? And you're the one still offering him kindness through everything. He could have gotten you killed, twice, and you're sitting in front of him with sad but kind eyes and Jason hates who he's becoming.

Jason sucks in a shaky breath and there's a part of him that can't do it anymore. He can't deal with the heaviness or the way his chest feels like it's going to collapse in on itself. He can't deal with the spinning or the numbness or any of it. His head bows forward slowly until his forehead lands on your shoulder. Tears start to fall from his eyes and everything around him is fucked up and a mess and it's all his fault. Why did he do this? What has he become? Was he better off dead?

Maybe he was better off dead.

Your teeth grit together as you hear him sniffle and feel him shake. Hitting rock bottom shouldn't be like this because it's him. If only he knew that he always deserved better and believed it. Maybe if he was treated better from the beginning. Maybe if trying would have just been enough the first time around.

"Jay." You whisper, hearing a soft cry come from Jason's throat. "It's okay." You say softly, moving away just enough to get him to pick his head up. You shake your head at him, brows knitted together. "It's okay." You say again but this time you move closer and pull him into a hug and that's when Jason finally breaks entirely.

He's hurt so many people. And for what? He can feel the itch of withdrawal and the migraine kicking in. He wants to peel his skin off of his bones but his chest hurts and he doesn't think he can breathe. He sucks in a breath but all that comes from it is a cough and a cry. He wraps his arms around you and he feels you hug him tighter. Why are you doing this? He doesn't deserve it. Why did you even save him? Maybe he shouldn't be saved. Maybe Joker had it right the first time. Hank would be alive. Tim's dad would be okay. You wouldn't be mixed up in this. Dick wouldn't have been shot. Maybe it would be better if he had just stayed dead.

It feels that way anyway.

It's like a pull he can feel in the marrow of his bones, The betrayal to fate. He has no business being alive and he can feel it. Maybe that's how it should be. He was never very good at being good anyway and if he's no good, what's the point? He's more fucked up than he ever was before. Why does he bother trying? He should just be alone, it's what he deserves.

But, there's this voice in the back of his head that says maybe it's just the high this time. Whatever Crane has him on maybe it's messing with his head, maybe it's that and the betrayal of the night. Maybe it's the withdrawal. Maybe it's just a mix of everything.

So, he pulls away and your hands come to his face and it's like an instinct. There's no effort in you showing up and caring about him because you just do. And it's right now with your thumbs, rubbing the warm tears away that Jason starts to wonder if this is unconditional. There were always conditions to people loving him and he thought maybe yours was just that he was three for you, or maybe Crane was right about you using him. Maybe it was just that you felt obligated to him because of Deathstroke. But, he almost got you killed and you fought and he killed Hank and you're sitting in front of him, helping him as if it is the easiest thing you've ever done. You just do it and maybe that's unconditional, even when someone says they give up.

Jason's breath is shallow and ragged and he just can't breathe. He wants to remember what it feels like to breathe again. To breathe effortlessly.

"Hard to breathe." Jason mutters, tears slowly falling down his cheeks.

You nod your head before you rest your forehead against his. Your eyes close and you just sit like that. Jason's eyes close a few seconds later and he always wonders how you know what to do and say. No one ever did. Not like this. But, you do this and the act of you being there, in this moment, without even saying a word, gets Jason to suck in a full breath for the first time tonight. His tears start to slow down and the brutal thoughts about himself start to grow quiet. The only sound he can hear is his own breathing and the cars passing outside. He never thought silence could be so comforting.

You aren't sure if this night changes anything. Maybe he'll go right back to Crane but maybe he won't. Maybe tonight and last night stacked on top of each other is enough to get Jason back on solid ground. Maybe he's tired of drowning. You're hoping he's tired of it. And even if not, for tonight, you're going to let yourself believe he is. Because he was the one kidnapped and held hostage and betrayed. He was the one left alone and the only people willing to help him were you and Gar. Maybe letting him hit rock bottom was a good enough idea, but maybe you aren't willing to follow through with it. Not if it leads him here. There has to be another way.

There is always another way.

You pull away once Jason's breathing seems to be back to normal. "You okay?" You whisper, Jason seeing your own eyes turning a light shade of pink.

"I'm so fucking sorry." Jason coughs out. "For fucking everything."

"I know." You nod your head quickly, brows pulling together.

"No," Jason spits and he hates how his mouth feels like he's tried to swallow thirty cotton balls. "You don't fucking deserve it. None of you do. I'm so sorry." Jason's voice is pleading and begging and you wish you could take out of your own heart and replace it with his just to ease some of his pain.

"Jay, you're high. We can talk about it later, okay?" You nod your head. "Come on, let's get you to bed, okay? You gotta sleep it off. I don't know what he gave you." Your hands slide off of his face and back to his knees.

You would love to discuss this now but you're not sure how much of this he'll even remember when the high wears off. If you're going to talk, you want him to be sober. This isn't actually his fault this time but you still want him to be sober.

Jason nods his head, feeling more defeated than he already was. He's thinking you really mean it. You really are done and you really are giving up on him. You were just there so Crane didn't go too far and kill him. And he wants to take it all back.

"Hey, I promise, okay?" You nod your head softly, seeing the deflated look on his face. "We can talk tomorrow if you still want to, promise." You offer a subtle but reassuring smile and that seems to do the trick.

Jason nods softly again and accepts it. He's exhausted anyway and maybe him spuing apology after apology like this isn't going to get either of you anymore. Maybe you're right. He just hopes you mean it.

"Want help?" You ask.

Jason shakes his head, tugging his jacket off sloppily before telling you his spare clothes are in the broken dresser in the corner. You grab him a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from the drawer before moving back over to him. Jason struggles more and more trying to get the hoodie off, his limbs failing him as he grows defeated and exhausted. The breaking really used up all of his remaining energy.

"Lemme help." You rest the clothes beside him before you tug the hoodie off gently.

You help him take the armor off next, leaving him in a black tank top. And that's when you see two scars peaking out of the very edges of the tank top on his chest. Your heart plummets remembering exactly what he looked like after the autopsy. His face was mangled and pale, blood long cleaned off of his body and the stitches trailing from his chest down his abdomen. You wonder why those didn't heal but the marks on his face did. But, your heart breaks because now he's permanently marked with what happened to him. He'll never be able to forget it anyway, but now he has a physical reminder and that's just not fair. At least he can probably dye his hair if he wants but there's nothing to do about the scars.

Why did it have to happen to him?

You glance to his face, his eyes drooping and then you look at the white streak of hair. Jason said he thinks it's lame and you wonder what he thinks of the scars. You think he probably hates those, too. Another reminder. And you want to say something but what the hell are you supposed to say? Yeah, sorry Bruce had an autopsy performed? Didn't think you'd come back from the dead? That's ridiculous. But, you also can feel his stare falling back on you and he starts to shift. Not saying anything, that's always an option with him. You don't have to.

So, you don't. Instead, you just trace over them because that's what you always do to his scars. And Jason thinks he might cry again. He hates those fucking scars. The white streak he can deal with, but those scars? Why did Bruce even have it done? Was it not fucking obvious what the cause of death was? He was brutally murdered by a crowbar to the face, something he'll never forget, and now he has fucking autopsy scars. Those are a little hard to explain. At least if he had crowbar scars, they could be explained by a mugging. The white streak is just a choice. Autopsy scars? There's no normal explanation for those. But, then you run your thumbs over the scars anyway as if they're any other scar and Jason wants to combust. He thinks he might burst into flames right under your fingertips.

You offer a small but kind smile before you help him take his boots off. And something about him not refusing your help this time is kind of reassuring for once. Usually, Jason would be telling you he can do it himself and he's fine but now he's just quiet. A part of that is concerning but him letting you help without protest is nice and maybe he's coming around. Maybe he is off the drug.

Once Jason is out of his Red Hood gear, you help him get the other hoodie and pants on before Jason finally lays down. His head spins but his back starts to cramp in just the right way that starts to feel good. And all he wants to do is sleep this whole thing off.

You offer him a sad smile, resting your hand on his cheek. "Okay, I'm gonna head out. Call Dick if you change your mind and you wanna come home." You whisper before you go to stand up.

You don't really intend to leave. You figure you'll just go downstairs until he wakes up and then you can go from there. You don't want to overstep by staying here with him if he's not going to ask. At the end of the day, he's out of it and it's not really your place right now. Even if the very thought of leaving him alone makes you want to burst into tears.

Jason doesn't even think before he grabs your hand as you pull it away from his cheek. You haven't even gotten up. Your other hand is on your knee to help yourself up and you're looking at Jason, one brow raised and waiting. He doesn't want to be alone. Not this time. Just for tonight, he can't be alone.

"Can you stay...please?" Jason lets go of your hand, eyes looking up you, sad and pitiful.

It's like a knife is shoved through your ribs and right into your heart. How the hell could you ever say no to that? Jason Todd rarely asks people to stay and you already left him once. You're not doing it again. There will be another way because this? This isn't it. This is torture for him and for you and there is another way. You're not leaving him alone so you nod.

"Okay." You nod your head and Jason moves over. You sit down, moving the pillow up against the wall so you can lean against the wall comfortably. "You can lay down." You say softly, gesturing to your lap. "I can play with your hair until you fall asleep."

Jason eyes up you, barely keeping his eyes open but there's a warmth that consumes his chest this time. "Thanks for everything." He has no idea how he'll ever be able to repay you. But, he is so thankful you're here and that he's not alone.

"You and me." You say right back as Jason lays his head down in your lap.

Tears prick his eyes as they close because it's still you and him. Somehow, against all odds, it's the two you. He does not deserve it but he's thankful and he loves you. His head is pounding and throbbing, dizzy and foggy but he finds himself thinking maybe he's done with Crane. After everything tonight and having you still show up, maybe you're right. You've tried to save him this whole time but all he's done is push. You stayed for him, at the very least, maybe he can try to stay for you and then himself. Even if it's too late to salvage anything between you.

Your fingers tangle through the white streak of hair, lightly rubbing his scalp and you think this feels normal. Some part of this feels normal and maybe you're starting to hope it can go back to normal if he comes back to the manor. Maybe he can forgive you. You forgive him. You forgave him the second you saw the look of withdrawal on his face. You forgave him for everything else the second your own high wore off. Maybe if he calls Dick, if he's really off of the drug, maybe it can go to normal and maybe Molly's right. Maybe you can find a way back.

You plead for you and Jason to be able to find your way back.

It doesn't take long for the exhaustion to take over and send Jason into a deep sleep. You can always tell when he really falls asleep because his leg twitches and then his entire body relaxes as if it's the only time he can really breathe. It's as if being awake is just too hard sometimes so when sleep does take over, his entire body just collapses on itself. You desperately wish it weren't so hard for him. It's not really your job anymore, but if there were a way to make it easier for him, you'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Hey." You whisper into the phone, your hand still running through Jason's hair.

"Is everything okay?" Gar asks quickly.

"We've been worried." Kory adds in and you figure you're on speaker and you wonder when Gar decided to loop them in.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Crane drugged him. He's asleep now." You watch the white fall over your fingers and then through them. His arm is draped lazily over your legs but keeping you in place and you wonder if it still feels safe like this for him. It does for you.

"He's asleep?" Dick questions and you think there might even be a softness to his voice.

"Yes." You answer back. "Whatever Crane drugged him with was enough to subdue him and now he's tired. So, he's asleep."

"Is that what he told you?" Dick asks and you just roll your eyes.

"No, but I could tell given he was tied to a chair and I had to help him walk. He was drugged." You mutter sternly, trying to keep your voice down.

"Is he okay?" Kory asks and you can hear the worry in her voice.

You keep your eyes on him and it's the same answer. It's always the same answer and you really, really hope one day it'll change.

"No." You answer. "He's not. But I got him."

Gar can hear the bitterness mixing with heartbreak in your tone. He's relieved you were able to get Jason and setting off the alarms works. He's a little surprised it worked since the three of you together don't seem to have the best of luck. But, you have Jason now and he knows you fought with Dick and Kory before leaving, about them not helping. Gar isn't sure you're going to be so willing to come back, especially if you're getting through to Jason.

"You're not coming back, are you?" Gar asks.

You swallow thickly. "No, I gotta stay. I can't leave him like this. But, I'll be back tomorrow."

"Did he tell you anything before he passed out?" Dick asks.

"He said he was really sorry but he, uh, he was really upset and drugged so I said we'd talk later. Then, he asked if I could stay. Um...I think maybe, he'll come around when he wakes up so if he calls you, Dick, you better answer and let him come home, okay?" Your words should be stern but instead, they're desperate and aching.

"Okay." Dick agrees simply, not willing to go back and forth this time. "Did you kill anyone tonight?"

"No, " You scoff. "I let them off with a warning for helping me."

Dick gains a soft smile. He didn't want you to go. He was really concerned for your safety, for all of the Titans' safety. But, you didn't kill anyone and you were right about Jason. You got him free and brought him somewhere safe, with just a little help from Gar. You had a plan of some sort and a backup just in case it was a trap. Dick hopes Jason realizes one day how lucky he is to have someone who's willing to learn from past mistakes and forgive and forget so easily. Not many people are willing to do that. And Dick is proud.

"Good work." Dick says. "Both of you." You can't see it but he offers Gar a simple nod.

You're still a little mad but it is nice to hear you did good for once. Bruce wasn't very much of a positive reinforcement kind of person. Jason always said you were doing a good job but it was different and that's when you finally get it.

Molly and Gar were right. It was never about you being enough for him because it's different. Your validation is important but you weren't the one who gave him the suit. You weren't the one that took him in. Jason always knew you were doing good and you're good at being a vigilante but hearing it from Dick, means something different.

It's like you expect Jason to think you're good because he loves you and that's the thing. Of course, you always believed in him because you love him. That was never the issue. Dick's been doing this for over ten years. Bruce even longer. And Dick was the one who said you could be a Titan. It was Dick that introduced you to it. Like Bruce introducing Jason to it. It's different hearing it from the person who believed in you. It never had anything to do with you.

"Thank you." You say softly, a soft smile on your lips. "I'm gonna go. Thanks for letting me do this and not following me." You say. "I'll be back tomorrow." You sigh before you hang up, resting your phone on the floor beside the mattress before you rest your head against the wall, closing your eyes.

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preciouslandmermaid · 7 months

Text

like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.

Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.

You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.

You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.

You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.

So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.

There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.

You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.

You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.

He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.

The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...

It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.

He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.

He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.

He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”

“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”

“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.

“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”

“Do you think Falcone is involved?”

You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”

Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.

“What’s your plan?” He asks.

“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.

“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”

“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”

You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”

He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.

He says, “I’ll go alone.”

“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”

“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.

“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”

“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”

He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.

“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”

“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.

Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.

You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.

The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.

The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.

“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.

“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”

“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.

Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.

Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.

“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”

You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.

You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”

His eyes glimmer, “I did.”

“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”

“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.

Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”

“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”

You smile. “The first one is free.”

His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.

“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”

“You’re here for more than that.”

You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.

“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.

“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”

Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...

Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.

“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”

He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”

You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.

You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”

Good. His office will be clear to search.

“That’s too bad.”

Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”

Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.

“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.

An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.

He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.

“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”

“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”

You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”

The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.

You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.

“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”

Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”

“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”

You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”

He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

“Jessica Haywood?”

“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”

Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.

He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”

“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”

Bruce grunts.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.

“Mostly.”

Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.

On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”

“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”

His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”

You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.

“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”

Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”

“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.

“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”

Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.

Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.

Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?

You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.

“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.

“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”

Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?

“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.

There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?

A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.

Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”

“Chief Psychiatrist.”

You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.

He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“Holy shit!” you breathe.

The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.

“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!

You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’

“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”

“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.

“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”

Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?

“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.

“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”

You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”

“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.

You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”

Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.

Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.

And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.

The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.

However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.

Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.

You click away from the news article.

Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.

You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.

The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.

You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.

It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.

Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.

And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.

“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”

He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.

His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.

“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.

He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.

“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.

“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.

Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”

“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”

“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”

Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.

“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.

Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.

You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.

The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.

You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.

“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”

You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.

“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”

Bruce shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.

“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.

He rasps, “Don’t.”

You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.

“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.

His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.

His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.

“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.

“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”

Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.

“Right here?” You guess.

“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.

Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.

He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.

“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”

He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.

“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”

He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.

He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.

He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.

“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”

“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”

“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.

“Ohh, a surprise.”

“Mm.”

He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.

“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”

He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”

Always a goddamn gentleman!

He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.

Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.

You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.

Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.

“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”

“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.

He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.

His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.

These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.

Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.

He says, “stay with me.”

“W-what?”

“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”

You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.

“We’re having this conversation now?”

“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”

“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”

Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”

You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.

You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.

You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.

You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.

The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.

You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…

You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.

You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.

After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’

You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.

Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!

You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.

It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.

Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.

“Are you Batman?”

Bruce sits up.

“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”

He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.

His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.

“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”

“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.

He sighs.

“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”

“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.

“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.

He finally says, “yes.”

“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”

“Both.”

You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”

Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”

“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”

He stares at you and his lips part in awe.

“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.

He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”

“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”

Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”

You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #happy halloween #battinson imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #dc fic #the batman fic #bruce wayne x you #battinson x you #fic: from above gotham glows #kinktober 2022

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creedslove · 1 year

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DESERVE IT - PART THIRTEEN

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: some insight on your relationship with Javi, where everything is going perfectly, until his secret with Los Pepes is out

Warnings: fluff, but the like the level of fluff is too much it will probably make you OD on fluff, smut (nipple play, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie), a little bit of dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy talk, a little bit of angst

A/N: besties... Where do I start? I don't even know, I've been writing this chapter for two days and it's made me feel so many things, I was so emotional and so into it, like i felt i was buried deep in the story because more than once I ended up writing my own name when I was talking about reader lmao, this has happened so many times during this story... Anyway, I'll continue my considerations on my second author's note at the end of this chapter so there won't be any spoilers, I just hope you guys enjoy this huge dose of domestic!Javi as much as I did 🩷

• PART ONE TO TWELVE ON MY MASTERLIST

6.3k words (I got carried away, sorry)

You felt yourself waking up slowly at the same time you tried focusing back into your sleep. You didn't want to wake up just yet, the blankets over your body felt so comfortably warm, the mattress underneath giving you the complete relaxation you craved as you buried your face in the pillow and tried returning to the dream you were having.

You didn't remember much about it, but you did remember you were in a big house, you didn't know where exactly, but at the same time everything seemed familiar.

You walked through the hallways of it, taking in all the details that were so different and yet so known to you, picture frames on the wall, that passed by as a blur though you had the feeling you'd seen them many times.

You followed your instincts, going down the hallway and finding the kitchen, immediately a small little girl rushed to you, hugging you as tight as she could and giggled "mommy!!!!" she squealed happily and pointed at the counter, where Javi was standing, placing the dough inside the small, star-shaped baking pans "daddy and I are making cookies!!!" The little girl you quickly learned was none other than your daughter informed you with the happiest smile on earth.

Javi smiled too, leaving the cookies on the counter and walked to you, kissing your lips gently and caressing your stomach, that much to your surprise was round with a baby bump "we missed you and our big boy too" he told you and held your hand, taking it to his mouth and pecking it as well, just as you could see a wedding band around your finger.

Your heart raced and you thought air was lacking from your lungs when you immediately got up and looked around, rubbing your eyes and looking for any traces of the scenario you were just experiencing.

You gasped as it had been such a real dream, but now that you realized you were finally awake, you could tell the images were already fading. Suddenly, the house didn't seem so familiar anymore, you didn't remember any longer what shape the cookies were, and the little girl's face was nothing but a fog, and god, it hurt because she was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Your heart clenched at the realization she was just a product of your memory and you would never see her again. It was so upsetting to realize that and you wished you had the ability to draw, at least you could maybe try to get a picture of her pretty face. You were clueless to why that particular dream made such an impact on you, distractedly thinking of it as you jumped startled when you felt a hand brushing against your hair.

"You okay cariño?" Javi asked you, staring into your eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed and watched as you looked at him with the confused fog of sleep. You then nodded, smiling gently at him

"Yeah, I just had a weird dream, that's all…" you bit your lips and ran your hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tight. You took a deep breath, inhaling Javi's post shaving cream's scent and closing your eyes at how warm he was against you. It always soothed you to have him so close to you.

Javi on the other hand didn't actually get why you were clinging so tight to him, you were whimpering in your sleep and he worried you were having nightmares about him. He knew how much you've been worrying about him and his connection with Los Pepes now that Pablo's situation was getting unbearable and he felt both guilty and concerned that he was putting you under unnecessary stress.

"It's okay princesa, I'm here… your breakfast is ready" he whispered to you and kissed your neck gently. He smiled at you, loving your sleepy face and cupping your cheek, you laughed softly

"You know what? I was just having a dream about a very domestic Javier Peña and now I wake up to you making me breakfast?" You raised your eyebrow and got off bed, stretching your body and not bothering getting dressed at all.

The way you moved your naked body caught Javier's attention immediately and whatever thought he might have had in his mind just disappeared and everything went blank. He didn't have any other reaction but get up and follow you, his hand on your hips as he tried pulling you to him,

"Don't be a bitch, mi amor, I always make you breakfast" he purred, kissing your shoulder but groaned as you got into the bathroom and locked the door. He sighed and went back to the kitchen table, knowing you would only return after your shower and much to his disappointment, fully clothed.

He poured himself a cup of coffee as he thought of the morning routine the two of you established. You had been officially dating for a little over a month now, after nearly a year of playing a cat and mouse game and Javi would be lying if he said that was the happiest he'd ever been. He just loved to have someone to come back home to, someone he could actually talk to, be affectionate with, someone who understood him and didn't demand things he couldn't give. It was different this time, all the times he'd been in a relationship he was often frustrated, or uncomfortable or feeling suffocated, but now? Javier Peña was a house cat who loved waking up early to make his girlfriend pancakes even if he pretended the pancakes were for him.

He just loved waking up to you all tangled around him, your smell on his sheets, his pillows, your hair all over his face, he didn't care. He liked waking up next to you, he liked seeing you smile at your breakfast plate ready for you, he liked how great you smelled after coming out of your shower, if there was something he didn't like, however, was how you teased him every single morning by leaving bed naked and walking past him, knowing how much he wanted to touch you, but then, you would leave your morning shower and sit right on his lap, and that could lead to many other things.

Even if the two of you would arrive late at work almost on a daily basis, it was still worthy. You hadn't actually announced your relationship to anyone, but people figured it out eventually, the first ones being obviously Connie and Murphy, and you actually liked it, especially after you and Connie started hanging out more when the boys were out at work, and that led the four of you to some double date nights, and it was nice. You liked that coziness of the situation, how the four of you could act like friends and forget about work while sharing a nice meal and some drinks.

And of course, that bitch you called Colleen walked on you and Javi making out during your lunch break and made it public to everyone else. At that point, Pablo Escobar himself probably knew you were banging each other.

What he didn't know - and no one, really did it - was that you and Javi weren't just banging. You were dating, for real, because you two were in love, you were in love for real but it was actually best no one cared for these details, it was none of their business at all, it was the part of your relationship that was only about you and Javi and you two were happy like that.

You finally exited the bathroom, only one of Javi's work shirts over your body. You loved how he eye fucked you whenever you wore any of his clothes.

You pretended you hadn't noticed it and walked to him, ignoring your own chair and sat on his lap

"Buenos días, agent Peña" you said and watched his frown. He wasn't agent Peña to you, he was Javi, your Javi. You pecked his lips and quickly sat straight, pulling your plate of pancakes and dug into it with a big bite.

Javi wasn't a great cook, in fact, he was terrible, but there was something about his morning pancakes you just loved. Nothing tasted better to you than them, just to think he made them for you, it was enough to make you drool for it.

His arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he sighed "do we really have to go to Murphy's tonight?" He mumbled and nuzzled your neck, making you squirm softly at the sudden shiver

"Yes Javi, I already told Connie we're going, besides, it's lasagna night and you know no one makes that better than I do…" you said and tilted your head to the side, so he could have better access to your neck.

You closed your eyes as his mustache tickled your skin, before his lips got closer and you whimper. Your hand went for the side of his head, fingers tangling into his hair as you pressed him against you a little more.

"Why? You don't wanna go?" You asked feeling suddenly so bothered to be still and moved your hips unconsciously. You felt him shrug against you

"I just wanted to stay with you tonight… but fine" he said in a low voice and then frowned "I can't fucking believe you took the shirt I was going to wear to work today! I gotta see Messina" he said though he felt a pit of guilt at that last part. It was a lie, he wasn't seeing Messina, he was going to see Judy, the head of Los Pepes, but he often hid that from you. He knew it made you anxious and worried, and he didn't want to ruin another day for you. Besides, he was sure nothing bad would happen, he would go over her place, listen to that bitch's claims and return to the office as if nothing had happened.

You chuckled and shrugged "well, your shirt was lying there, and you are shirtless now… I figured if you wanted to wear it, you should have claimed it first" you laughed.

His mind snapped back from the concern about his later meeting and smirked, you were such a little tease.

"Ay princesa, eres tan dulce…" he said as his hands went up and unbuttoned the shirt, one by one, opening them slowly and letting your breasts spill out of it "... Pero también eres mi puta" he whispered against your skin and quickly massaged your breasts. His fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching them gently as his big hand ran it's way down your stomach, obviously finding you completely bare.

"Fuck, Y/N… you didn't even bother putting on clothes… are you trying to kill me? Or is it just your way to beg me to fuck you, cariño? Uh? You like to be such a filthy slut for me, don't you? You like when people call you Javi's puta, don't you?" He whispered into your ear while you only whimpered.

His right hand found your warmth between your legs, cupping it softly, feeling as you parted your legs with no resistance so he could touch you. His left hand ran up again, wrapping around your neck, holding you in a firm grip

"Come on, use your words, I asked you a question.."

"Yes…" you whimpered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I like when people call me your puta, Javi…"

He only groaned into your ear, at the same time his hand sank deeper towards your core, being welcomed by your slippery slit, always so sinfully wet for him. Javi's long fingers parted your lips, the wetness already coating their tips as he moved them up and down, finding your clit and applying pressure to it. He could feel how your ass rubbed against his crotch, his shirt being barely able to cover it for you. His rough jeans burning softly, in a tempting torture, your body responding to his immediately, his touches always descending you to madness at how well he knew you, how well he could manipulate your pleasure. There was never a lover like Javier in your life, and there would be another one. Good thing you didn't plan on leaving him, because if you ever did, you knew you were doomed.

You threw your head back at the same time his fingers went further into your pussy hole, you gushed over his hand, feeling the pleasure build up, he could play you like a fucking doll, no wonder he called you muñequita, you were completely his to be played with and you loved it.

He removed his fingers off you, the disappointed whimper that came out of your lips was a lot louder than you intended, which made him chuckle.

His left hand went for your chin, holding it in place as you obediently opened your mouth to welcome his coated fingers. You sucked on them, licking them clean and watched as Javi finished unbuttoning the shirt, finally revealing your entire naked body "here's what we're gonna do, cariño, you'll be a good girl for me, got it? You'll lift your hips and you'll sit down on me nice and slowly, eating your breakfast while I'm shoved balls deep inside of you, got it amor? You know you can do it, mariposa…" he teased, helping you lift yourself up, waiting as Javi opened his jeans and freed his hard cock. Then, he helped you lower yourself on him, moaning at how your slippery walls clenched around his girth. You, on the other hand, called his name, every time he got inside of you, felt like the first time. You were so drunk in his cock, but it was more than that, you were drunk in love and you couldn't even hide.

You tried moving your hips, but his hands held you in place, not allowing you to make any moves. He meant it when he said you would have your breakfast while he was buried deep inside of you, however, you couldn't bring yourself to actually eat anything, not when you had that aching need of being touched, of bouncing up and down onto his cock, it was too much for you. You asked Javier for mercy, tried to explain how much you needed him, and though he tried not showing how his cock twitched each time you purposely clenched your cunt around him, he wanted you to be a good little puta for him.

Javi handed you some fruit he kept on the table though they were never eaten in the morning, but it didn't matter. He got some grapes, taking one to your mouth, your clit twitched at the same time he gently rubbed it against your lips, before finally allowing you to chew on the sweet grape. Repeating the steps with the remaining others he had in hands.

And only when you were finished with them, Javi's palms went for your hips, gripping them and helping you to move. Now, he was tired of waiting, he was twitching inside of you and he helped you up and down faster and faster, only stopping when you had come for him and he finally spilled his thick load deep inside of you.

You relaxed your back against his chest, feeling tired but happy, also very thankful to remember it was your day off. You had plans of maybe cleaning up the apartment a little bit, as you often spent more time at his place than yours, but after he rocked your little world during the most important meal of the day, you figured it wouldn't hurt to maybe go back to bed and take a quick nap. You just wished you could drag him back with you, you hated to have to say goodbye in the morning like that. Not when you wanted to rest your body against your boyfriend's and fall asleep in his arms.

"You're amazing, princesa" Javi praised you and once more sank his face into the crook of your neck. You still had him inside of you, though you could feel him softening. Javier inhaled your scent again, he never got enough of how good you smelled and if it were up to him, he would spend the rest of his day… no, the rest of his days like that.

And after that feverish, erotic need for each other, he was back to being your sweet Javi. This was another thing you loved about your relationship: the hunger you had for each other wasn't just sexual, though it represented a big part of it, the hunger you felt was physical, emotional and sentimental.

You smiled and turned your head to him, kissing his lips, your heart was nothing but a puddle of love at that moment.

Javi's hands went for your shoulders, sliding down the shirt off your body and helping you get up. As much as he hated it, it was time to go to work, so he had to face his morning torture, which was leave the safehouse you had built together and go outside and face reality. It just didn't feel worse because he knew that at the end of the day, you would be there, waiting for him.

You went to the bedroom and returned fully dressed, this time wearing your own clothes and smiled as he put on the shirt that just a few minutes before was still on your body. Javi could even pretend to be impatient about you stealing his clothes, but the moment he put his shirt on and saw it smelled just like you, he smiled. It was one good thing to get him through the day.

You walked Javi to the door and kissed his lips goodbye, reminding him you loved him and couldn't wait until he was safely back home.

You got under the blankets and sighed happily, thinking of your life and how good things were at that moment. A part of you was still skeptical, not believing things would work out for you and Javi, you sometimes worried he would grow tired of you, maybe he would fall into old habits, the temptation of having to get information from the women he often did, but you immediately shook these thoughts off and reminded yourself that wouldn't happen, because you trusted him, you showed him he was worth of love, he was worth of having a life with, that he was a good man, who deserved a partner to support and love him no matter what, and that man, in return, was at your feet. Connie's words, not yours.

But you felt it, you felt Javi cared about you, you felt he cherished you, he longed for you, you just felt he loved you, and that always made your heart flutter. You were lucky to have each other, no one believed Javier could have a connection with someone like he did with you, maybe, at some point after meeting him, you wouldn't have believed it either, but there you were, being his, just as he was yours.

You took his pillow and sniffed it, loving his to sink deep into his scent and smiled, you thought of the weird dream you had had, recognizing the elements of it, as everyday things you talked about. The place you were was clearly the ranch he lately had been telling you so much about. It was the place he was born and grew up, owned by his dad and some day in the future, it would be his. As far as Javier had told you, his dad didn't have a lot of money, but life was good in the ranch, and after he retired from the DEA, he would be able to provide you in case you didn't want to get a job.

You had jokingly discussed that, like you always did, like the very first time he suggested moving into the ranch and leaving Colombia behind. You sensed there was some truth to his words, but you didn't want to read too much into it, these were huge plans, and you were still pretty recent, even if you were so drunk in love.

He had talked about baby Peña a couple of times too, both times you two ended up laughing, as it was clearly just some amusing daydream, some inside joke that was part of your make-believe future together.

The only time this joke got a little out of hand was about after a month you two made it official and you had to leave your desk several times during the morning to throw up. You just couldn't keep anything inside, and during your lunch break, when you were sat at Javi's desk, sipping some water, looking pale and sweaty, Steve chuckled at the two of you "seems like baby Peña is on its way" he said and made both you and Javier stare at each other in shock and annoyance. You were nearly passing away out of dehydration and he was insinuating you were pregnant. Neither you or Javi said anything, but you could tell the nervousness in his actions. It hadn't even crossed your mind, and probably it hadn't crossed his either, you knew you weren't pregnant, it was just food poisoning, not your first in Colombia and definitely not your last one, but still, it felt like Murphy's comment threw some kind of tension towards the two of you.

That night, after Javi got tired of hearing you throw up to the tenth time, he drove you to the hospital, hating to see you sick. He had to wait by the reception and when you exited the doctor's office with a prescription, he raised his eyebrow.

"So… baby Peña?"

"Baby Peña happens to be last night's fish you insisted on having for lunch" you told him, showing him the prescription to the few meds the doctor recommended you.

The two of you laughed together, deep inside, you knew a baby wasn't exactly a possibility. Well, technically, it was. You were on birth control, but contraception could fail like anything else in the world, but at that moment it just felt like it wasn't a possibility, you two weren't there yet, you hadn't even discussed the possibility of getting there, but it didn't matter anymore, it had just been a misunderstanding.

Javier stared into your eyes for a while, he opened his mouth ready to say something, but he quickly changed his mind. He wanted to have said he would be by your side if you were actually pregnant, he wanted to have told you he would take care of you and your baby, but instead, he just rolled his eyes

"Steve's really a dick"

So that was why your dream puzzled you, even if the baby talk was present in your life, a baby was just a blurry idea, but seeing an actual child, a little girl and feeling her wrapping her little arms around you and calling you mommy, brought a warmth to your heart you just couldn't explain. It felt so honest, so beautiful and so pure. You figured it wouldn't hurt to just dream of it, no one needed to know about it, not even Javi, not now, it wasn't the right time.

You shot your eyes open when you were hit by the sudden realization of where you'd seen the pictures that appeared in your dream. If you remembered correctly, they were scattered on the walls of the hallway you walked through and you knew you had seen them before. They were all pictures of Javier's family. You knew he kept them in a box somewhere in his wardrobe, you'd seen them briefly when he was looking for some extra ammo for his gun but couldn't find exactly where they were. He didn't exactly show you the pictures but he didn't hide them either and a suffocating feeling of curiosity began growing in your chest. What if you got the box and watched the pictures? He wouldn't get upset, would he? Well, for starters, you didn't even need to tell him you went snooping through his stuff.

Sure, they were personal stuff and you would probably be upset if he did the same to you, but it was not like you were trying to find something to frame on him, or steal anything, you wanted to take a look at the pictures and that was all. After all, it was just a weird coincidence they happened to randomly appear in your dream.

You decided to just go for it, it wouldn't be too big of a deal, you would leave everything organized afterwards so if Javi needed to check anything there, he wouldn't even notice.

You got off bed, folding the blankets and leaving everything organized, just like you and your boyfriend liked it.

Boyfriend.

It still made you chuckle at times.

You didn't take much longer to find the box Javi kept his personal things, it was just in the bottom of the wardrobe, under a couple of folded bedspreads Javier had but usually never used. It wasn't a big box, but it was heavy and you would be lying if you said you weren't excited and curious to dig into Javier's memory box. Sitting comfortably on the floor, you crossed your legs and removed the lid, taking a peek inside and saw the many pictures you recognized from your dream.

You carefully took them and watched them, taking your time as you were so entertained by it. There were pictures of his father at his young age, his mom, whom he never spoke a lot about, but when he did, it was always with so much love and admiration. She was truly beautiful and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Javier had taken his mother's eyes.

A picture of them on their wedding day, another one where his dad had his hand around his wife's pregnant bump. And the next picture made you squeal out loud, you gushed and couldn't help but acting like a silly little girl when you saw a picture of baby Javier Peña. It was the original, naked bum, baby Peña! You thought you would die of love at the picture of Javi as a baby, he was so adorable and yes, he's always had the stray puppy's eyes. You were loving each passing second of that activity. You went through all the pictures of Javier's childhood, he was such a cute boy, his hair was a lot lighter back then, and his smile was always bright, funny to think he would become a grumpy DEA agent just a few decades later.

You saw some other pictures of his extended family and another one of his group of friends. You could tell it was his friend group from highschool, mostly because he had his arm wrapped around the waist of a blond beauty. You rolled your eyes at the realization it was Lorraine, probably from the time they still dated. You knew it was kind of stupid, but you still felt a sting of jealousy. You hadn't even met her, and if you did, you would probably sympathize with her, you two had been through very similar things in life and Javier had broken her heart in a horrible way. Even if he had apologized to her, after all the years, it was still a real bad situation. If you ever met her, chances were she would hate him for having Javier and not the other way around. Besides, Javi had left her at the altar, if he ever regretted breaking things up, he could have gone after her, but he didn't, he was with you, he just kept a picture of his friends, it wasn't like he kept a picture of his ex and himself.

You felt a little shy for being jealous for a moment as you put the photographs back in place when your hand accidentally hit a smaller box. You frowned curiously and took it realizing it was a jewelry box. You opened it and found a beautiful ring inside, the one you immediately recognized it as his mother's ring.

You knew he had inherited the ring so one day he would give it to the woman he loved and had plans to spend his life with. No wonder Lorraine got the ring when they got engaged, you remembered when Javi had a few drinks one night and told you between laughter she got so pissed off she refused to return him his mother's ring, and the only reason they managed to recover it was because Chucho had to personally go to her house and have an honest chat with her dad, who then, made her return the ring.

You didn't know Chucho trusted his son with the ring again and you didn't know he had brought it to Colombia.

Then suddenly, a thought occurred to you. Would you ever get his mother's ring?

You didn't know, but it was time you stopped snooping around his things, so you took one last time at the beautiful golden band, adorned with a gorgeou red gem. It was simple, but so heartfelt. You smiled at yourself and placed everything back into place.

•••

"Fuck this, I'm out!" Javier said angrily as he stared at Judy's cynical face. He was done working with those people, they were as bad as Pablo Escobar. They were a cartel, who brought as many problems as Escobar did, just because their power wasn't as extent as their common enemy, they were still criminals. They were a cartel, they produced, sold and profited from drugs, they killed people everyday, good and bad people and they only acted upon Pablo, because they wanted to take his place in the drug cartel chain. When you use a plague to exterminate another one, it doesn't mean they aren't plagues anymore.

Judy on the other hand just laughed as she nodded at her sicario, who immediately grabbed Javier and shoved it against the couch

"I think it's too late for that, what would people say if they knew a DEA agent had an agreement with Los Pepes? Do you think the american press would be pleased?" She asked calmly taking a sip of her drink and watching as Javier stared at her.

"Besides, we know you have a girlfriend, you make a cute couple, I'm sure you as an agent would do whatever it takes you to protect her, wouldn't you? Of course, Los Pepes would never do anything to her, but we can't assure Pablo's sicarios wouldn't… you know what I mean, Mr.Peña?"

Javi went pale at the mention of you, which didn't go unnoticed by Judy who chuckled and shook her head "I'm just joking, agent Peña, you know how family is important to me, and I would never risk anyone who matters to my alleys… as long as they remain my alleys" she said.

Javier understood it perfectly and calmed down, nodding at her as they continued their meeting. He wanted to grab his gun and shoot her in the face, he figured he would be able to take down the men in the room but then, it would only take the men who stood outside maybe thirty second or less before they could burst in and shoot him to death.

It wasn't worthy, he wanted to go home at night, he wanted to go home to you. He wanted to leave that place, go back home, find you and forget about the world, about everything else. He wanted to keep you safe, he wanted to hop on a plane with you, take you to Laredo and initiate his retiring plan, but he couldn't. He was too deep in it and could only hope Judy kept her mouth shut until they captured Escobar and Javi could find something else to do with his life.

He was just worn out, stress pouring through every single pore of his body and he just needed to get home to you, he needed you. Javi knew that was probably not healthy, not once in his life he had such a deep need for a woman, but he wasn't in the mood to fight that off. He groaned as he remembered you would have dinner at Steve's, checking his watch and seeing you were probably there yet, but at least that'd give him time to shower, cool down and try to get Judy and her threats out of his mind.

He walked into his building and distractedly looked for his keys in his jacket pocket. He knew they had to be there, but for whatever reason he was taking long to find them, he didn't see when Steve approached him and only felt when the other agent shoved him against the wall. Javier frowned pissed off and his first reaction was to fight back, even if it was his friend, he didn't hesitate before backhanding Steve just as hard "what the fuck man?" He groaned at the other agent.

"I should be the one asking you, Javi. What the actual fuck? You had a meeting with Judy Moncada?"

Steve saw the way Javi widened his eyes at his words and couldn't help but laugh at how stupid he looked

"You really thought you would be working with Los Pepes and no one would find out? You thought I wouldn't find out?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for Javier to get his key, so they could talk inside.

Steve sat through the whole explanation Javier gave him. It didn't matter if it made sense or if he seemed to be right at some level, he didn't agree with that. They'd been discussing the actions of the death squad through their latest meetings with the CIA and some people insisted the problem was getting bigger and bigger. He could tell Javi was in deep shit, the kind of shit he couldn't just break free, because if Los Pepes didn't try to kill him and that was a long shot, he would certainly face legal actions from the US government.

"What about Y/N? Does she know?" Steve asked and couldn't help but feel disappointed as his partner nodded, confirming the information "I bet she's fucking proud of you, Peña" he groaned, but Javier immediately frowned.

"You can bet your ass she's prouder of me than Connie is of you, at least Y/N doesn't run away when shit gets worse" he spat completely in the defensive and though Murphy's blood boiled, he knew it was a stupid idea to bring the misses into the fight. Both you and Connie were not to blame if both of them were a mess.

"You know, the girls are upstairs now, they're probably laughing as they share a bottle of wine and talking about our dicks or the fact we are both morons…" Steve said "just let's have dinner with them and pretend nothing happened and we deal with that in the morning" Steve sighed and stared at his partner until Javier nodded in agreement.

When you saw Steve entering the apartment alone, you frowned softly "where's Javi?" You tilted your head, curious to know why he wasn't there yet, and not hiding how eager you were to see him.

"He's showering, he should be here soon" he simply said and pecked Connie's lips.

You could tell something was bothering Murphy, but you didn't actually think it was your place to worry about that at all. Instead, you finished assembling the final layers of the lasagna before putting it in the oven.

Another ten minutes passed, before Javi finally walked through the door. He had just got off shower, you could tell by the way his hair was still humid. He glanced at Steve with certain anger, and you were sure something went on between them, bur before you could actually worry about it, Javier's arms immediately snaked around your waist, he placed a kiss to your neck, as you had your back to him, while you washed some dishes in the sink.

"I missed you princesa" he whispered against your ear and made your heart turn into a puddle of love. You had been away from him less than twenty four hours and yet, it felt too long.

You turned around and smiled big, the same smile that made Javier's poor heart skip a beat. Kissing him immediately as you wrapped your arms around his neck. If it were up to you, you would have just ditched dinner and went back to your place, or his place, or even his Jeep, you didn't care, so you could be just the two of you together.

But Olivia's soft tugs on your pants made you break the kiss. You looked down at her and chuckled as she extended her little arms to you so you gladly picked her up, nuzzling her cheek and making her giggle. She looked at Javier curiously and gripped his hand tight.

"See princess? That's uncle Javi!! Do you like him? He's handsome isn't he?" You cooed at her, who gave you both a sweet smile and continued holding his hand with her tiny one.

At that moment, nothing in the world disturbed Javier, no cartels, no violence, no uncertain future in your job due to his poor decisions, because all he could think of when he saw you holding that little princess in your arms, was the only thing he was sure, the only thing he was proud of and the only part of the future he knew it was certain: his future with you and the family you two you build together.

_____

A/N: okay besties, so I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter because I honestly loved it! It was one of the chapters it felt like I was under a spell, everything was just flowing and I was so into the story, like my heart was melting and beating so fast just to imagine the scenes, it was like I could watch them before my eyes, I don't know how to explain but it felt special to me. I was also really dying for some domestic javi but i wasn't sure I was going to be able to write it, and then suddenly it all came to me. I just love how in love Javi is with reader, it soothes my heart. I like to see the strong bond they have and i just wish javier peña was real 😭 also, smut wasn't planned for this part at all, but it just felt so right, so erotic and so beautiful I had to add it to the story. I hope you all liked it and pls let me know what you besties think 🩷 💬

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