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#everyone is alive and happy and parents and it’s great

hugsandchaos · 10 days

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Real quick, I just want to say that Danny Phantom only being seen during ghost fights is a little funny because imagine there being this ghost kid in your town defending everyone and himself from other ghosts who are almost always bigger than him, but as soon as he notices someone nearby or someone tries to talk to him, he vanishes and runs away. A lot of people think he had social anxiety or something when he was alive, or maybe he’s scared of humans because of ghost hunters, so most people don’t go looking for him.

One day a kid decides to leave a note at a park. The note was for Phantom, thanking him for saving a relative of the kid’s. To everyone’s surprise, Phantom leaves a reply for the next day. Here’s an example.

To Phantom,

Thank you so so so so so much for saving my dad today!!! I was so scared that he was going to get really really hurt, but you saved him!!! Mom and dad both say you don’t like talking to people because there are bad people who want to hurt you, so I’m leaving you this note! I hope you see it! Oh, and my mom and dad say thanks too!! I hope you have an amazing day and stay safe from the bad people!!

From Alex

To Alex,

Your very welcome! Honestly, I was scared your dad was going to get hurt too, but I’m glad to hear he’s doing well now. It’s true, there are bad people, but I’m happy that there are also good people who appreciate me trying to help. Thank you for not trying to find me and instead leaving the note. I appreciate it! Hope you have a great day too!

P.S. Would you mind keeping this letter between you and your parents please? Reading this really warmed my heart core, but I really don’t want to suddenly have a ton of notes all over the park. I might be so busy trying to reply, I probably won’t get any sleep. And yes, some ghosts do need sleep.

From Phantom

#danny phantom #danny fenton #Danny phantom prompt #dp

559 notes · View notes

brighteuphony · 14 days

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Some reunions, like Naruto and Lee, are filled with happy hugs and warm welcomes.

Others...not so much.

Ino and Sakura's reunion...yeah it doesn't go great.

Sakura had been invited back into her mother's estranged family after her accident, but on the way through Tea Country, the caravan had been attacked by bandits/dissidents and Sakura ended up jumping into a river to save herself.

Her body was never found, and she was considered dead. She has an empty grave right beside her mother's and father's in Konoha.

Ino, Naruto and Lee were devastated. Ino, in particular, was inconsolable. She'd just made up with her friend and they'd been struggling to find footing after Sakura's accident, so to get the news of her death crushed Ino.

She'd felt so guilty, fighting over stupid things like boys, all the dumb insults they'd leveled at each other, and her helplessness at Sakura's condition ate at her for a long time. Ino threw herself into the job and she left flowers at Sakura's grave every Sunday for a year (and her parents did it for her when she was on missions) before finally beginning to heal.

To learn that Sakura was alive the entire time, that she didn't care enough to send Ino a single letter...that she just let Ino go through all that heart-wrenching grief is a betrayal that Ino can't suffer. It's like having that wound, only just now scarring over, be torn open and salted.

She spent a year mired in grief, and the next three trying to mend the hole Sakura's death left in her life. And to have all of that history, friendship and grief disrespected... Ino doesn't talk to Sakura for almost 7 months.

As for Sakura, she was in such a depression after her accident, she managed to convince herself that she didn't matter to any of her old friends (especially because it was so awkward and difficult to find common footing with everyone after being honorably discharged). So she made the mistake of assuming no one cared, almost as a method of protecting herself from the consequences of her own decisions.

This bites her in the ass, ofc.

Eventually, they enter a 'cold but civil' relationship when Sakura makes a sincere, heartfelt (and groveling) apology. After that, the walls come down, but their friendship won't ever take the same form as it did before, but maybe that's for the better.

Their new friendship is much stronger.

Once again, thank you so much to everyone for all the amazing asks and the incredibly kind words about this AU!

@evaregia

#naruto #haruno sakura #ino #ino yamanaka #coven!sakura #as if a simple apology is going to erase the YEARS of grief sakura come on girlie #youd be shocked at how people dont like being lied to #especially about things like...u know...ur DEATH #Sakura did have her head up her own ass here for a bit #and absolutely deserved to get rocked for it #also i made the skip 4 years because no one can stop me

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atlabeth · 4 days

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dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

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

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

wc: 17.1k

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

Hotch can barely stay awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has he been charged for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

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

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

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

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

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

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

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

You nod. “He lives with me.”

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

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

And he didn’t even know when she died.

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

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

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

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“...No.”

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got that right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god— what are the odds?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

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

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Rent or own?”

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

“What inspired the move?”

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

“And home is?”

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

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

“Sources can lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t tell him—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

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

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

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

“You know th—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The profile—”

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

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

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

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

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

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

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

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

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

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

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

“I can imagine.”

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

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

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

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

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

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

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

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

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

Your eyes open and you frown.

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

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

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

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

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

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you finally say.

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

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

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

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

No one expected this to happen so soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

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

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

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

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

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

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

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Hotch asks.

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

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you have to deal with this now.

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

“You’re already packed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you go to class today?”

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

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

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

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

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

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

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

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

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

And now…

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

“Thank you, Garcia.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

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

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

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

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

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wake up in the hospital alone.

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

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to kill you.

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

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

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

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

But there’s relief there, too.

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

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

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

“And how long have I been here?”

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

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

“How bad was it?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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svatleena-delvera · 14 days

Note

Hii! i just saw your requests are open and i wanted to make one if thats okay. Can you do an Aiden x reader where the reader dies instead of him? Maybe they pushed him out of the way and the ceiling collapsed on them instead. Thank youu if you do it (￣▽￣)ノ

IM SO HAPPY THERE'S SO MANY REQUEST 😭💚

i had to re-read the comic because i forgot what happened ◉⁠‿⁠◉

Warning's: angst to fluff!

✨as always i don't know much English so if something is wrong correct me✨

All of you are looking for the keys Taylor said y'all kept looking and looking but no avail

" i feel a minor sense of deja Vu" aiden says as he was playing with the knife his holding

"we have 3 minutes left" Logan said as he was looking at his phone i looked at logan then back at looking with Taylor and ben

"Aiden there's a straggler"

"yeah i can hear it running"

You saw him hit the phantom with a knife

"✨got it✨... Hey (name)did you see what i did am i ✨ awesome ✨"

You looked annoyed but then you smiled at him making him melt at you're smile so beautiful

"you did great hon" you said as he smiled back at you"

Ashlyn cringe at your relationship but happy to the both of you but you have two have to stop flirting

Then Ashlyn looked at aiden asking if there are more phantom

"i cant see any- whoa!" The building started to rumble you all fell down the ground when you looked up the ceilings are cracking

"everyone get under something!"

Ashlyn yelled but as you're about to get under the desk you saw aiden and ran towards him

Once you got up to him you pulled him out but you ended up tripping in a rock and fell down you saw aiden getting pulled by ben

Then you black out when another celling fell on you

Ashlyn yelled you're name and went up to you lifting the ceiling that fell on you when she lift it up you're crushed underneath it the rumbling stop then it continues, Taylor lift you up saying

"come on get them under the table!!"

Aiden suddenly came towards them holding you close he was panicking you died you were crushed

For the first time he wanted to be silent and just be with you

"(name)!!"

You were shaking violently while the parents circled around you you arch you're back then stop shaking you're eyes went back to its normal size

You sat down wheezing

"-m fine... don't need.. hospital"

"Aiden??" He was in a panic when he saw you but your alive your talking

He didn't waste no time running up to you hugging you tightly " you died" he said in a shaky voice making you break

"i thought you're gone but you're here your talking I'm still not on the dream right?.."

You hug him close too the others went to give you two space because they know you two were gonna get Smoochies

He kept mumbling something that you do understand you kissed his cheeks

"calm down Aiden I'm here I'm okay" you smiled at him and hugged him he peck your lips then hug you more

Well hope yall like it!!!

Masterlist | about me | rules

#aiden clark x reader #aiden clark #aiden sbg #Aiden school bus graveyard #sbg aiden #sbg aiden x reader #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard

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dragonmama76 · 8 months

Text

Beginnings Part 2

read Part One, and Interlude first. Part 3 is done!.

Eddie was the opposite of calm. He was terrified well beyond rational thought and he had one intention. Survive. By any means necessary. When he jumped out of the boat and pressed the edge of the broken bottle against his attacker’s throat nothing could have stopped him. Except. “Steve, this is Steve!” Steve. Steve who he had wronged. Steve who he had bullied. Steve with the perfect life that maybe wasn’t so perfect. And he stopped.

************

Eddie’s cup runneth over. His public display of dominance had been more than enough to establish a reputation that he was not to be fucked with. He didn’t even need to torment Steve to keep the memory alive, but Eddie continued his menacing glances and subtle jabs nonetheless. Because he could. Because it was fun. It was that feeling you get when you’re five years old and you’ve just completed some kick ass move like jumping off the swing at it’s zenith and you shout to your parents, “Look at me! Look at me!” His own parents had never looked. They had never been there to begin with. But now. Now everyone was looking at what he had done and it felt so fucking good. He couldn’t be too obvious since the basketball team had rallied around Steve, keeping him out of bounds most of the time, but he still found sly little opportunities to flash his knife or murmur a not so subtle threat when Steve came near. It was enough to keep his high feeling fresh.

By the time the school year was over, even local drug dealer Rick Lipton had heard of him. When Eddie decided that manual labor didn’t fit his new image, he proposed they begin a business relationship and Rick was quick to agree. He knew that Eddie could handle himself if there was trouble and having a dealer embedded in the high school made sense. Eddie spent the next two years dealing at school and weekend parties and while he wasn’t exactly accepted, no one messed with him and he only rarely had to display his feral nature to the jocks that ran the school. In the meantime, he convinced the theater teacher to sponsor an after school club for his gang of nerds. Mr. Hughes didn’t know what Dungeons & Dragons was, exactly, but it felt dramatic and he was happy to oblige. If only Eddie put as much energy into his academic responsibilities as he had done with his social life he would have been out of High School in a quick minute. But he was too busy enjoying the life he created for himself to consider the consequences.

Senior year, Steve pulled up to the school in his BMW feeling pretty great for the first time in his high school career. He had an amazing girlfriend, basketball was starting soon, and best of all there would be no more run-ins with Munson. It wasn’t that he was scared of him, exactly. After that day in the cafeteria Freshman year Munson had backed off for the most part. Sure he still glared at him and whispered threats and flashed his stupid knife, but for the most part Steve was able to avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist. It helped that they never had any classes together. And while the freak had managed to be at every house party Steve attended, he preferred alcohol over drugs anyway so they had zero interaction. And beyond that, Steve now knew there were much scarier things in the world than a high school kid with a knife. No, he wasn’t afraid, it was just…a lot. Munson was obviously still a live wire waiting to strike and Steve had to be vigilant. He had put up walls and created a persona of his own to balance out the bully that still dogged him and it took a lot of effort to mask his more vulnerable, sensitive side. Most of his energy went to creating the character of King Steve that everyone now expected and that he hated.. He had done things he regretted, that shit show with Jonathan Byers for example, and he had willingly lost friends in the process, good riddance to Tommy H. and Carol, but he was trying to scale back the arrogant jock attitude and be more himself, especially with Nancy.

His guard was so low that when he sauntered into his first class ready to take on the world Steve was completely blindsided when the freak, himself, pushed past him to grab a seat in the back. Steve could feel the pinpricks of tears forming. He couldn’t do this. Not again. Not when he thought he was finally free. He bolted from the room and straight into the bathroom before anyone could really register he was gone. Shit. Shit shit shit. He was pretty sure someone up there hated him these days. He had fought an other-worldly creature no problem, but it was still Eddie Munson who had the power to make him run. This year was officially going to suck.

Eddie watched Steve run from the classroom and grinned. He still had it, baby. Maybe his second senior year would actually be fun.

Steve’s senior year was anything but fun. Steve graduated. His parents didn’t come. His ex-girlfriend didn’t come. A bunch of middle school kids came and cheered for him and that was nice, but also kind of embarrassing. This was apparently his life now. The brightspot? Eddie Munson’s name wasn’t called. Not that Steve was listening for it. Eddie Munson could go to hell as far as he was concerned. But he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved not to have to share this day with him.

Eddie watched from under the bleachers as Steve Harrington received his diploma along with the rest of his class. Whatever. Fuck him and his perfect hair and his perfect life.

Eddie was definitely pissed to be doing Senior year for the third time, but there were still moments of joy like when he gathered new freshman sheepies. His original group of freshmen had finally graduated without him, but he still had Jeff, Frank, and Gareth and now he was ready to induct a new crew. They were a little wary, and if he didn’t know better he’d say they looked kind of shellshocked, sort of like some of Uncle Wayne’s friends who had been to ‘Nam. With Eddie’s outlandish personality and dramatic welcome they opened up eventually. He liked the curly hair kid, Dustin, the best. God that kid never shut up, though which, depending on the topic, could be annoying.

Right now Eddie was extra annoyed because the topic he wouldn’t shut up about was Steve Fucking Harrington. Was that guy going to haunt him for the rest of his life?

“Eddie, you’d like Steve if you knew him. I asked him and he was kind of weird about it, but he says he didn’t really get to know you in high school and I think that’s a shame because he was bullied really badly and I bet you could have helped him and protected him.”

“What are you talking about, kid? King Steve was never bullied a day in his life.” Eddie scoffed.

“No, he was.” Lucas nodded sagely. “He said that the only reason it didn’t totally destroy him was that he had the basketball team on his side. That’s one of the reasons I’m doing basketball. You got to have people on your side. That’s what Steve says.”

“Steve says,” Eddie mimicked, “Jocks can’t be bullied, they ARE the bullies.”

“That’s not true. I’m not a bully.” Lucas muttered.

“Yeah, well you’re more nerd than jock.”

“Steve’s a nerd too.” Dustin insisted, “He just doesn’t show it, but he watches Star Wars with me all the time and he has a huge collection of Spiderman comics stashed in his bedroom. Even Robin calls him a dingus. Do you know Robin? I think they should date but she says they are platonic with a capital P. I think that’s crap with a capital C. They’ll get their shit together eventually.”

“I….don’t know if I know Robin?” Eddie’s head is starting to spin. “So who bullied King Steve?”

“He won’t say, but it started freshman year. He gave us a big talk before school started about being safe and staying in a group. I guess the kid, like, followed him around and would push him and stuff. And one time he even pulled a knife on him. That’s crazy right? He said he was afraid to go to school for all of freshman year. It’s awful because Steve had, well he wouldn’t want me to say, but he doesn’t have great parents so home sucked and school sucked. I wish you guys had been friends. And then maybe he could have been in Hellfire or something. He’s great with a bat and I bet his character…”

Eddie couldn’t listen anymore. His brain was on overload. Had he really done all that to Steve? Actually caused him pain?

Well. Fuck.

“Roooobin,” Steve whined, “Are you even listening to me?” They were behind the counter at Family Video rewinding tapes while they waited for even one customer to come in to relieve their boredom.

“I AM listening, Steve,” she reasoned, “But I think you’re letting your jockish prejudices get in the way of rational thought. Hellfire is just a group of nerds who role play and I know Eddie can look all scary and intimidating, but he’s totally not a bad guy. We were in band together last year and he’s honestly just a big goofball. Yeah, he’s loud and okay, a drug dealer, but I know for sure that he doesn’t sell to underclassmen so you don’t have to worry about that. The kids are fine with him.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Steve glowered, “And…well, I’m afraid that if he knows the kids are associated with me that he’ll, like, take it out on them.”

“Why? What did you do to him?” Robin glared and Steve knew she thought there was some bullshit King Steve incident in their past and all of a sudden it was too much. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her how weak he had been, but also this was ROBIN and he couldn’t stand the idea that she thought of him that way.

“NOTHING!” he burst out, “I did NOTHING to him EVER.” And suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Tears pooled in his eyes and it felt like something was going to burst out of his chest, like that gross Sigourney Weaver film Robin had made him watch. He sank to his knees and pressed his hands to his eyes.

“Okay. You’re okay, Steve.” Robin hunched over him. She placed a firm hand on his chest, “I've got you. Breathe with me. In and out. You’re safe. I’m here and you’re safe.”

Steve managed some gasping breaths and could feel his heart rate coming down. Right. This was Robin, his soulmate, he could tell her and she would understand. “It started the first day of freshman year…”

Eddie didn’t end Hellfire early, even though he felt nauseous and increasingly distracted. He owed it to the group as their DM to see it through so he pushed his feelings aside and let the kids get through a tough battle before calling it a night. “Okay, that’s it for now. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Y'all got rides lined up?”

“Yeah, we’re getting picked up,” muttered Mike, “He’s probably already out there waiting.” “Alright then, chariots may wait no longer. Scram!” Eddie hurried everyone out the door and quickly cleaned up the papers and books sprawled on the table. As he made his way out he could hear the kids chattering away about the most recent developments in the campaign and as he burst through the gym door he heard a sharp whistle. “Can we please let’s go before your parents kill me for missing your curfew? I’ve been out here forever waiting for you guys to be done.” Eddie knew that voice. He looked up straight into the eyes of Steve Harrington. He was dressed in his regular polo and jeans, hair perfect as always, leaning confidently on the hood of his BMW, but as Eddie caught his eye he saw the boy flinch and round his shoulders. Christ Almighty. What had Eddie done?

Eddie didn’t even remember driving home. He was at school in his van and then he was fully dressed in his bed. Over and over his mind replayed the events of the last four years. He wasn’t a stranger to reminiscing about his days as the Freak who humbled the King, but this time he tried to remember that Steve was a flesh and blood person, a kid, really, like Dustin or Mike or Lucas. A kid with real feelings and problems who, maybe, didn’t deserve to get picked on for entertainment. And wasn’t that the thing. Eddie had never stopped to consider that what he was doing might have been just as bad, or even worse, than what had been done to him. Maybe Harrington had deserved it? By his junior year he certainly seemed like a real asshole. But also, Eddie never really remembered seeing Steve initiate any of the prickish behaviors his sports ball friends liked to engage in. Now that he thought about it, he remembered a few times where Steve hung back and helped pick up dropped books and papers or check that a kid was okay after having been tripped in the hall. Eddie groaned. This wasn’t the first time he’d messed up in his life, but it felt like the most important.

Eddie didn’t get out of bed for three days. His uncle tried to coax him out with favorite meals and rented movies, but Eddie couldn’t face him. Uncle Wayne still thought Eddie was a good person and that was decidedly untrue. On day three he decided that he needed a new plan. He wasn’t even sure of the ultimate goal but he knew that step one would be making sure that Steve was okay.

“Robin,” Steve hissed. “He’s out there again.” Steve was staring out the front window of Family Video trying to look like he wasn’t staring out the window at the man casually leaning on a telephone pole across the street. He knew it sounded crazy, but he was pretty sure that Eddie Munson was stalking him. It was nothing he could prove because it was always in public but increasingly when he was out and about he would feel eyes on him and when he turned to look, Eddie would be there. Yeah, alright, he was always doing something totally normal like buying groceries or having a smoke. And sure, Eddie never approached him or glared at him the way he did when they were in school which, honestly felt weird. And even weirder, a couple of times when Eddie noticed Steve noticing Eddie, he had smiled abashedly and fluttered his fingers in a little wave. If Steve had to define it, he would have to say that Eddie was 'reverse bullying' him. Was that even a thing? Maybe he was just fattening him up with his pretty smiles and doe eyes like a lamb being fed before he was slaughtered. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Robin gave Steve a sympathetic shrug. She had been appropriately outraged when he had given her the details of his run-ins with Eddie but it was still hard for her to see him as anything other than the loud funny guy from band. “Just ignore him. He lives in this town just like us so you’re bound to see him now and again. And, so far at least, he’s been good to the kids. Maybe try to let it go? And speaking of band, did I tell you what Vickie did yesterday?....” Steve turned away from the window to concentrate on Robin’s latest installment of the life of her crush. Let it go. Okay. He could try.

Eddie watched as Steve turned away. He had learned a lot from watching him these past months. Steve was kind to cashiers, patient when he was rung up incorrectly, and flirty in a dorky kind of way that never paid off. He was always carting Eddie’s Hellfire kids places like the arcade or the diner or the mall two towns over and it seemed like he did it out of the goodness of his heart. He was a hard worker, staying late at work to clean thoroughly and lock up. He was a good friend to Buckley, dancing with her and running around when the store was empty. Eddie could see why Dustin thought they were more than just friends. From the outside, Steve seemed to be just fine, but Eddie watched and he saw more. When he thought no one was paying attention, Steve looked sad. He flinched at loud noises. And at night he went home to an empty house where, Eddie knew, he had to be lonely. Eddie wasn’t so naive as to think all Steve’s problems stemmed from a stupid kid in high school who wouldn't leave him alone, but Eddie felt responsible for adding to his pain. He felt lost, except for one thing. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of Steve with Robin or Dustin and his face would light up with the most painfully beautiful smile. It was like looking into the face of the sun after a long rain and Eddie couldn’t catch his breath gazing at him. “I see you Steve Harrington and I will do whatever it takes to keep you smiling. I goddamn swear it."

———————-

More to come. Tell me what you think!!

Taglist: @goodolefashionedloverboi @background-noise-headache @phirex22 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lilpomelito @thaliaisalesbian @liesatemyocean @seilahtitania32 @nightmareglitter @writtenbyancientskeletonhats @dammitjim02 @newagemyth @slaalgumacoisayay @batxsignalsx @beawritingbooks @vacantwatchers @hallucinatedjosten @i-less-than-threee-you @bookworm0690 @dino-nuggets-posts @a-gae-af-racoon @my-chemical-sexuality-crisis @whalesharksart @uses-of-anger @epiclazershark @anaibis @kakashimeansplan @that-agender-from-pluto @novelnovella @jackiemonroe5512 @emly03 @shoujo-goddess @zaphodkilledthespeedforce @what-is-life-but-an-empty-void @riverofrainbows @pottenloved247 @strangersteddierthings @a-little-unsteddie

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #the party #ongoing #angst #no happy ending yet #but it's coming...i think

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harleehazbinfics · 2 months

Text

A day off without you.

A/N: i missed my goobers

--- Cannibal Chef!Reader m.list

You never took any days off, especially when you loved being by Alastor's side. So, what was the point if you took a break when you won't see him? Today however, you were left in the hotel without Alastor. When Charlie saw him leave the hotel without you tailing behind him, this left Charlie with a chance to kidnap you.

"Come on! Let's go to Lu Lu Laaaand!~" she sang wearing a duck hat and waving a yellow flag around.

You tilted your head unable to comprehend the situation while all the others just sighed and shrugged following her lead, pretty used to Charlie aggressively suggesting exercises that would help them 'get along better' however, nowadays they didn't mind it, they pretty much enjoyed each other's company, except for you.

You never really minded them. You always stuck by Alastor's side besides when he talks to them that's the only times you get to interact with them. So, taking the opportunity Charlie brought you along with them.

"Are you sure we should bring cannibal bitch over here?" Angel whispered leaning down on Charlie while you inspected the little hat and eventually putting it on your head with a derpy look in your face.

"Of course! We never really had the chance to talk to them since they're basically glued to Alastor all the time. I want everyone to get to know each other and get along," Charlie explained feeling sorry for you that you never got to experience any relationships aside from what you had with him.

Angel merely shrugs and replies, "You're the boss."

"Ooh! Ooh! (y/n)! Let's go on that!" Nifty excitedly points at the rollercoaster while her other handheld yours, like a little kid with their parent.

"Oh! That's a great idea! Angel why don't you sit next with (y/n) while I sit with Nifty?" Charlie asks holding Nifty by the armpits while the little goofball smiled.

Both of you shrug indifferently as you got on the ride, going on a steady pace to the top.

"Have you ever ridden one of these before?" Angel tries to start a conversation almost awkwardly.

You shook your head not even smiling like you used to when you're with Alastor, and answered in a monotone voice, "No, I'm always with Sir Alastor so I don't really have a chance to. Even when I was alive I was always cooking or playing around with Yuta."

He only looked at you sadly, compared to him you were clearly much younger when you died and spent majority in hell bowing to someone's will even if you were willing. You never had freedom to do something for yourself.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when the ride finally started as you both plummeted from a grand height increasing his adrenaline. With many twists and turns, and lots of excited screaming from him and the back, he turns to you and sees eyes filled with interest and fascination.

On wobbly legs all of you chattered excitedly as you got done from the ride. Angel looks at you to see the excited look on your eyes and a small blush on your cheek from the thrill.

"How was it, doll?" he asks with a grin.

"It was... fun," you reply with a little smile and flushed cheeks.

He purses his lips from disbelief that he saw a genuine smile on your face. He thought that you could only smile if you were given the attention you wanted or when you kill people. But you were still young afterall.

The other also saw this exchange and couldn't help but be happy for you. So, they took you on more rides and made you wear more duck themed clothes and had wonderful times together where they saw you break into a smile or laugh multiple times.

By the time you arrive back at the hotel, Alastor waited for everyone by the balcony drinking coffee by himself.

He sees you from the distance laughing and talking to Angel and Husk sharing jokes and stories from the trip with one another. He smiles candidly seeing you enjoying yourself, however he couldn't help but feel somewhat annoyed that you were giving a smile that wasn't for him.

But he'll let it slide for now.

"Sir Alastor! I brought you some gifts from our trip!" you yell from below him waving your hand enthusiastically.

"Did you enjoy yourself, (y/n)-dear?" he asks appearing before you.

"Yes! I had lots of fun with everyone!" you smile genuinely making the group feel like the trip was worth it after all, ending in a happier note.

mini explaination here why i made reader this way: reader was a culinary student that pretty much dedicated their life pleasing other people that they thought that was the only way for them to be happy (e.i. laugh, smile, etc). that's why they poured their hours on Yuta and Alastor to feel validated. so i wanted them to have a connection with Angel since he's the only one who canonically has siblings, and i wanted them to form that bond for probably future chapters. that and i want to reader to have a chance at a real family, when their's abused them and all. that's all thankkkkssss (also they just hate Vox lmao, probably shift between she and they from here)

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 1 year

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Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand)

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: It was Steve's fault you got hurt last time, and it's Steve's fault again this time, too.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, mentions of being sick, blood, mentions of s3 events, lots and lots of crying

Word Count: 4409

Notes: Hello everyone I kinda poured my heart and soul into this pls enjoy

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Next Chapter!

July 5th, 1985 - 4:05 am

Steve had already decided what he was going to tell his parents about the state of his face. He was at a party, he’d say, and got into a fight with some drunk asshole who was hitting on you a little too hard. He tried to tell him to fuck off, but the guy got mad and threw the first punch. Steve won, of course.

A semi-believable story that involved zero Soviet torture doctors.

You’d made it out of the night without any black eyes or broken noses, but there was a sizable gash peeking out from under your hairline. The blood that had dripped from your temple down to your neck had been wiped away by one of the EMT’s, so the cut was really only visible if you already knew it was there. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant stitches, thankfully, but that did very little to quell Steve’s incessant worry. He didn’t like the way your whole body was trembling. Or the way your tights were ripped.

It took hours for the two of you to be able to go home, made longer by the mountains of contracts and NDA’s you were forced to sign. Steve had already gotten the super secret security rundown twice before. “You’ll probably end up with a good chunk of hush money, at least,” he had joked with you. “All of us did.”

You trailed behind Steve like a lost puppy as he unlocked his front door. He was just happy that you were alive at all.

You, for whatever reason, hadn’t made it into the same interrogation room as Robin and Steve. You weren’t there when Dustin and Erica arrived to get them, and you were nowhere to be seen during the big fight. Steve hadn’t even realized that you weren’t with them until whatever he’d been injected with was out of his system, but he was plunged into an ice cold panic the moment that he did. He begged Hopper to let him go back and look for you, though the idea got shot down immediately (‘Because clearly, you did so great down there the first time!’). Funnily enough, it was actually Murray, of all people, who found you first. He said you were about two seconds away from breaking his nose, if not for the fact that you were chained to the steel bench built into the wall.

The house was empty. Steve’s parents were spending the holiday weekend with his aunt and uncle two states away; thankfully, Steve hadn’t been dragged along this time. He always thought his dad’s brother was a creep anyway. Your parents were across the street, most likely sleeping soundly at the thought that their daughter was just out at a house party like a regular 18 year old. Of course, nothing about any of this was regular.

Steve’s usual post-saving-of-world routine was to down two doses of ibuprofen, take the hottest shower known to man, and sleep for a day, and there was definitely a part of him that wanted to do just that, but you were still hovering behind him like a ghost. Steve clicked on the lamp on the table next to the sofa as the two of you entered the living room.

“Sit, okay?” he told you. “I’ll find you some pajamas or something.”

You nodded to him, sullen and shaky, and lowered yourself into the pristine couch. It was cream colored and satiny, like it was designed to be easy to stain, and Steve had never actually been allowed to sit on it when he was little.

His whole body ached, but he trudged up the stairs anyway. He ducked into his own room to quickly strip off his decidedly disgusting uniform and put on a too-big sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before picking out something for you. Steve came back down to find you wincing as you slowly pulled off your shoes.

“Jesus,” Steve remarked at the state of the white socks that slouched around your ankles over your tights. The backs were drenched in angry red, spread all the way around the heel and down the sides, and the nylon of your tights had big holes worn through that exposed just how ripped up the skin of your heels had become.

“I decided to put on new shoes this morning,” you sighed. “Hadn’t broken them in yet.”

While humiliating, he and Robin’s Scoops uniforms were actually pretty comfortable. The sneakers Steve had worn to work that day had held up wonderfully to all the walking (and running for his life) that he’d had to do all night, but you worked at one of the fancy department stores. You couldn’t wear sneakers or comfortable shorts, you had to wear smart, grown up clothes. You’d been running around all night in a pair of brand new, shiny black mary-janes and a skirt. It made Steve feel just a little bit sick to his stomach to think about.

“Fuck,” Steve huffed out. “Alright, hold on. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

Steve bandaged up your ankles, carefully cleaning the wounds with the softest cloth he could find and cursing himself when you made a noise at the pain.

God, this was all his fault.

“You can take the room next to mine, if you want,” Steve said after you’d changed. “My parents won’t be home until Monday, so we won’t have to worry about them at all.”

“Okay,” you said, voice mouseish. You’d been to Steve’s house a million times before; you grew up across the street, the only other person his age in a neighborhood full of elderly couples and houses for sale. Even before Steve de-assholed, you’d still sneak out of the house to come drink stolen beers on the roof of his garage on the nights when he couldn’t stand to sleep.

That being said, ‘welcoming’ was not really a word you’d use to describe the Harrington household. The guest room next to Steve’s was, similar to the living room, untouched and pristine. Perfectly made bed, easily palettable decor, somehow devoid of dust despite the fact that it was clear no one had used the room in a very long time. The bed had a pink comforter, a dusty-rose kind of color.

The two of you had only been apart for an hour, maybe less, before Steve heard a knock on his bedroom door. He opened it to find your teary eyes on the other side.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Steve asked. He couldn’t either.

“I can’t-” you stuttered out. “I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

Steve knew the feeling.

He stepped out of the doorway to make room for you to come in. The pair of you stood too close to one another in the middle of his room in heavy, suffocating silence.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

“Don’t be,” you replied. You stepped forward and pressed your forehead against his shoulder.

“I am, though. I got you wrapped up in this fucking mess,” Steve said as he wrapped you up in a hug. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m the one who wanted to help you guys. I could’a just gone home, but I chose to stay. You didn’t do that, I did.”

“I still think you deserve to be mad at me.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, with Steve above your head wishing he could go back in time and fix all of this before it had the chance to get back to you.

“They told me you were dead,” you admitted through the quiet.

“What?”

“After they pulled me away,” you explained. “You and Robin, they told me you were both dead.”

“Oh, my god,” Steve huffed out. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry.”

You muttered his name into his collar bone, and Steve pulled away just enough to be able to look at you. You were crying now, but so was he, and fuck, he wanted to kiss you. Kiss all of the tears away, and pull all of the horrible, fucked up things that had happened to you out of your memory, and as you stood looking at him, Steve realized that you had gotten the memo.

You leaned up and kissed him, so incredibly soft, making sure to be careful of his split lip. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut as his hands came to meet the junction of your jawline and neck.

You pulled away from him first, tears still silently spilling from your eyes, and he touched his forehead to yours.

“I’m really happy you’re not dead.”

February, 1989

Steve was entirely zoned out behind the counter at Family Video when the shrill ring of the phone broke through his trance

“Thank you for calling your local Family Video. My name is Steve, how can I help you today?” Steve regurgitated the same spiel as he does every time he picks up the phone.

“What time do you get off work tonight?” you asked him. Steve knew your voice in an instant, and even through the crackle of the phone, he could hear that something was wrong.

“Eight. Why?” Steve inquired.

“I need you to come over,” you said. “It’s an emergency.”

Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Should I be calling Hopper?” he asked you. If something. . . upside down-ish was happening again, he was gonna lose his shit.

“No, nothing like that,” you clarified, and Steve let out a silent breath of relief. “It’s an entirely non-supernatural emergency.”

“Do you want me to come over now? I’m the boss-man. I can leave whenever I want,” Steve joked. He was trying his damnedest to hear your laugh come from the other end of the line.

“You’re a shift lead, Steve.”

“Yeah. Boss-man.”

There was only silence on the line for a moment.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, is all,” you explained, and it made Steve's heart ache just a touch.

“It’s fine, I won't,” Steve said to placate your worry. “Twenty minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you said, though you didn’t sound thrilled. It made Steve worry even more as he hung up the phone.

Steve knew the two of you were wildly codependent on each other. Believe him, Robin had been reminding him constantly over the past year since she’d caught the two of you in a house party bathroom.

The fact that the pair of you hadn’t actually made it official yet, despite the fact that you’d been sleeping with each other with relative consistency for three and half years, definitely didn’t help matters at all.

‘You are in love with her,’ Robin loved to point out. ‘And pretending to not be in love with her while also sleeping together is going to destroy your brain!’

She was right, of course. It absolutely was destroying his brain, but if he had to pick between having a destroyed brain but also having you, or not having a destroyed brain but also not having you, he’d pick a destroyed brain anyday. Even if he thought (knew) you didn’t necessarily feel the same way he did.

Steve parked his car in the empty space next to yours in your apartment building’s lot. He knew the code to the building’s door by heart now, and he’d had a spare key to your apartment for the last six months.

He let himself in, making sure to lock the door behind him once he was inside, and saw you shaking like a leaf on the couch.

Steve paused for a moment before he dropped his car keys onto the little table by the door. He was instantly plunged into crisis-management mode.

In recent years, Steve had become quite familiar with crisis management mode; put all the feelings to the side, and deal with the situation at hand. Was it healthy to stub out all of the mushy shit like that? No, probably not, but emotional healing was a lot easier to do when he didn’t have the threat of interdimensional horror hanging over his head.

Though, over the phone, you had promised him there was no interdimensional horror at the moment.

He toed off his shoes and rounded the coffee table to crouch in front of you. Your eyes followed his every movement, wide and glassy and enough to make Steve’s rib cage feel like it was about to cave in. He took your hands in his.

“What happened?” he asked you.

You shut your eyes, forcing more tears down the slope of your cheek. A small, quiet sob escaped your lips as you dipped your forehead onto Steve’s shoulder. He brought a hand up to graze over the back of your head, holding you close to him.

You were tougher than you looked, always had been. That wasn’t to say that Steve ever thought you were weak, but you were timid and quiet. Shy since birth, you never really stood out to Steve as a fighter until he saw you crack a Russian soldier over the back of the head with his own gun. You’d had a fire in your eyes that could’ve rivaled Nancy’s that night, before you had all been separated from one another. That fire was decidedly missing right now, though. Your tears seemed to have extinguished it.

“Hey, hey. Tell me what’s going on, yeah?” Steve asked.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered into his neck. You sounded small and, more pressingly, fucking terrified. Steve did his best to place a hand on either side of your face and pull back to get a good look at you, though you clearly didn’t want to be pulled away from your spot tucked into the collar of his crew-neck.

“Sorry for what, baby?” Pet names had previously been reserved for dirty-talk purposes only, but you’d started calling him ‘handsome’ a few months back as a joke (which quickly became much less of a joke), and now that rule had been thrown out the window. One more blurry boundary line in your relationship. “I wanna help, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Steve,” you murmured.

“You’re scaring me,” Steve told you, and it was true. “Is it something with your mom? Did she call?”

“No. She won’t. You know she won’t.”

“Then what’s happening? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this upset, and I will do everything I can to help, but-”

“I’m pregnant.”

You whispered it and Steve swore he felt his heart stop.

“What?” he whispered back. Surely you didn’t mean it. Surely he had to have misheard you.

“I’m pregnant.”

Definitely hadn’t misheard you, then.

“You-” It felt a bit like his brain had been replaced by cotton balls. “How sure are you?”

“Uhm, I took a test here, and it came back positive, but the box said that you can get false results sometimes, so I waited a couple days and took another one, but then that said the same thing,” you rambled. “So then, I went to that clinic on Poplar and got a blood test, and they called me earlier today and said that that one was positive, too.”

“Very sure,” Steve said in response to your onslaught.

You only nodded in agreement.

Steve could hear the drip drip drip of your leaky kitchen sink, the sound of your cat batting around his favorite toy mouse, your neighbors downstairs fighting like they did most nights. He could hear your ragged breathing, and the beginnings of your quiet sobs, and his own heartbeat in his ears. He didn’t know what to say to you, how to get you to calm down, and he didn’t think he had the mental capacity to figure it out right now, so he didn’t say anything at all. You stayed quiet too, tucked away in your own little world of the smell of Steve’s cologne and the soft of his hair.

Steve was about two seconds away from completely shutting down when your pitiful voice sliced through the silence.

“Steve, I don’t know what to do.”

That kicked his brain back into gear.

“That’s okay,” he said from his spot on the floor. His emotions get tucked underneath the floorboards so he can deal with yours first. “It’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”

And you two stayed there, you on your couch and him with his back pressed against the hard edge of your coffee table, for a good long while. Your sniffles had graduated to full on bawling and you were clinging to him like he was a liferaft. You were petrified. His head was swimming and he felt a little bit like his heart might explode, but he wasn’t about to let you know that.

Logically, the next step would be to talk about. . . all of it. What you wanted to do, and what that would look like, and all of it, but you weren’t able to get a word in. Even though Steve knew it was what needed to happen next, the thought of actually having to face the music made him feel sick.

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” Steve said into your hair. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

You just sort of fell limp against him once you had run out of tears. Steve’s back was starting to cramp up from being squished against the table, and when he moved to plant himself onto the sofa next to you, you stayed adhered to his side.

“Steve, I don’t-”

“I know. It’s okay.” I don’t know what to do had become your mantra of the evening. Steve was in the exact same boat, though, and the best idea he’d had all night was distraction, so distraction it would be. He paused for a moment before asking you, “are you hungry?”

You tilted your gaze to him, looking confused.

“How ‘bout I go and get us something to eat from that diner you like, and we can watch a movie or something. Then we can talk about it in the morning, yeah?” Steve suggested. You didn’t seem all that on board with the idea, though. “Is that okay?”

“I can’t keep anything down,” you explained after a moment.

Oh, yeah. People get sick when they're pregnant. Steve hadn’t really thought about that part yet.

“Right. Well, have you tried at all today?” he inquired. You shook your head.

“Not since last night.”

Great. You’re already terrified and now you can’t even eat.

“Look, I’ll get you a grilled cheese, and an extra large Sprite for your stomach in case the sandwich doesn’t work out, and I’ll stay here with you all night,” Steve said.

“Okay,” you said with a nod and a sad smile. You seemed to understand what he was doing, though you showed no signs of protest. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve said as he got up and slipped his feet back into his shoes. He scooped up his keys and shot you a smile before opening the door. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You nodded, giving him the green light to leave. He half-jogged down the stairwell and out into the parking lot, and he barely made it into the driver’s seat before he started crying.

Guilt settled in his chest in an instant at the thought, but the first thing that popped into his head when he was finally alone was that his dad was going to fucking kill him. And not just in a figurative, ‘oh no I scratched the car, dad’s gonna kill me’ kind of way; his father was going to pick up a weapon and actually kill him. Then, Hopper was gonna kill him after his dad did. You two weren’t even actually dating; how was he going to explain any of this? ‘Hey, dad! I accidentally knocked up my not-quite-girlfriend/best friend with benefits!’ That’ll go over splendidly. That’s two people added to the list of people who wanted to kill him.

What was going to happen next, then? He was having difficulty figuring out the answer.

Whatever you wanted to do, obviously, but you didn’t know what that was, and yeah, he was scared shitless, but you were beyond terrified. Scared in a way Steve had never seen you before. That made him feel about a million times worse.

‘Cause he was still just a shitty kid, who still lived with his shitty parents and worked a shitty job, and even with his shitty promotion, he still made a shitty wage. A shitty wage that definitely wouldn’t be enough to raise a kid, and-

He was spiraling, he could feel it, and he’d never been more grateful to see the glowing neon of an OPEN sign in his life.

He parked the car. He got out of the car. He opened the door to the restaurant. He walked up to the counter and a girl he used to know from high school took his to-go order. If he remembered correctly, she was a tattoo apprentice.

“You alright?” possible-tattoo-apprentice ask Steve after ringing in the food. “You seem a little, I don’t know, freaked out.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied with a tight lipped smile and curt nod. “Yeah, no. I’m good.”

She looked right through his lie, but moved on to a couple of older men sitting at the counter with coffee refills anyway.

Steve, in the ten minutes it took for the food to come out, stood leaning against the wall in utter silence. In that silence, he allowed himself to live in what was probably an irresponsible thought; the one where the two of you actually did have a kid, and a house, and maybe a dog if he’s lucky. Something that maybe was a lot less far off in the future than he thought. Steve used to want kids, when he was younger. Maybe it was just the fact that he’d had every single stereotype of the American dream shoved down his throat his whole life, but he really had wanted it at one point. That was before everything, though. Before the monsters, and the chaos, and all the awful shit he’d roped you into. Before it all came back, and then came back again, again, again. Any dream of a family had been stubbed out by the fear that it could all one day be ripped apart.

Despite that, despite the fact that he knew every single reason that it could never happen like the back of his goddamn hand, he did nothing to try and save himself from drowning in the fantasy. The image of you holding his baby made his chest go tight and he wanted it more than anything in the world, but fuck, what happens if everything goes to shit again? He had done a pretty awful job at keeping you away from it the first few times, you had the nightmares to prove it, so how could he possibly protect his kid from it, too?

The food came out and he was rocked back into reality.

He left the restaurant, stopping on the way back to your apartment at a 7/11 for the Sprite he had promised. He grabbed some anti-nausea medicine too, but it wasn’t until he got into the car that he realized there was a big warning on the back of the box: ‘Do not take if you are pregnant or breastfeeding.’

Awesome.

He did his best to scrub any evidence of tears out of his eyes in the rearview mirror, and got out of the car.

You were waiting for him on the couch, just as you had been when he had left. You smiled at him when he walked through the door, still the sad self pitying kind, but a smile nonetheless.

“I come bearing grilled cheese,” he said as he placed the bag on the coffee table. The joke didn’t land.

“You were crying?” you asked once you were able to get a good look at him, the shake in your voice back once again. Clearly he hadn’t done a good enough job in the rear view.

“N-no, no. I wasn’t, I-”

“You were,” you interrupted him, and Steve knew better than to try and deny it. You looked like you were about to start crying again, too, and Steve could feel the twist of the knife in his side. He rounded the table to sit next to you, and you drew yourself into him in an instant. Tucked into his arms, you did start crying again (how you had any tears left, Steve didn’t know) and just barely whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey. No sorries, okay?” he said. You wouldn’t look up at him, just shook your head. “Look, if we’re gonna blame anybody, it should probably be me, right?”

Thankfully, that line was enough to finally bubble a laugh out of your chest.

“I’m serious!” Steve took the joke and ran with it in a desperate attempt to lift your spirits even in the slightest. “I mean, it was my, y’know. . . fluids.”

“Oh, gross, dude!” you exclaimed, playfully slapping his shoulder as you sat up straight. “Don’t say it like that!”

“That’s just biology, babe.”

“I know that, I just don’t want to have to think about your fluids when I’m trying to eat,” you quipped at him as you pulled the styrofoam boxes out of the bag on the table, opening the first of the two and passing it his way. It seemed like you were feeling better, and even if you were faking it, Steve would take it.

“Hey,” Steve called to you through the quiet chatter of the TV after a moment. You turned your face to meet his and the moment his eyes locked on to yours, it seemed like every word he had wanted to say to you had slipped out of his mind. Your voice reeled them all back in, though.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you wanna do, okay?” he stuttered out. He was pretty sure he might start crying again.

“Right. Yeah.” Your smile faded in an instant at the reminder of the situation.

“And whatever that, y’know, looks like,” Steve continues. “I’ll be right next to you, holding your hand the whole time.”

You give him a pitiful, heart crushing smile, and the pair of you didn’t bring it up again all night.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things imagines #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x f!reader

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amelee23 · 11 months

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I didn't accidentally love you | Hwang Hyunjin

Genre: Hopelessly romantic fluff, angst, poetry, a little comedy

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x gender neutral reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: reader is an insecure poet, heartbreak, bad self esteem, poetry clubs, Hyunjin is dripping charisma, shameless flirting, reader thinks hyun is a jerk for like a second, reader.exe stops working multiple times, reader gets shy, i just HAD to be funny at the end OKAY

Synopsys: Your friends forced you to become part of a poetry club, and when you receive a task to write a poem about sadness, you realize you accidentally write it about Hyunjin, the guy you had a crush on and tried to forget about. And he finds out.

A/N: I promised @astraystayyh to write this, here you go sugar <3

Artists have many moments of weakness.

Those moments when you start to question your craft, whether you're even worthy of being called an 'artist' or you're just a fleeting talent that is going to wash away with time, just like the hobby or interest of a preschooler. You inquire if you're worthy staining pages with ink, using the words of the dictionary just to feel the high of belonging - the high of doing show and tell with your emotions like it's a new toy your parents gifted you; or you should just remain a consumer, and observe the beauty that lies in others, the beauty others can create. Could your craft ever rise to all these expectations?

But what else is there to life, if not making art?

Perhaps you've always been clinically insane, but you've only truly felt alive when you felt the beauty of the world - dark and bright alike - conveyed through you in the form of poetry and words, sent by the angels above for a mere human to toy with. So you pick up the pencil again.

The paper before you is blank, and you're frankly uncomfortable in the position you are in, notebook on your thighs, back curved over the page as if you're shielding unwritten words from the sun itself to not read them. But you've always felt more at ease writing outside, under the natural light of the sky, with the clouds passing by carelessly, like they don't have doubts about their worth like a human would. But the stares of the students passing by are not exactly comfortable. You take a breath and urge yourself to focus; they don't care about what you're doing, they're just heading to their classes, living their lives (hopefully) with that same hunger you have for art, for their chosen subjects.

You face your paper again and remember the prompt you were given - writing a poem involving the feeling of sadness - that you're supposed to hand over to the club in a couple of days. Insecurities and procrastination led you to keep putting it off, but the dread of a deadline has always been a great motivation for humanity. Your friends urged you towards this, to join the poetry club of your university - it's a small, non-profit club put together by a bunch of random art and literature students. It's so non-profit in fact, that it barely has any funding at all. They had to fight tooth and nail to be allowed to host the club meetings every week in the sculpting room - and that, late in the day, when the cleaning staff unlocks the doors for their cleaning sweep. You sit on awkward, stained chairs, and make sure to raise your feet up one by one to not stand in the way of the mop and brooms. But the club members would withstand anything, and would pretty much commit homicide to keep the club running. One more reason why, when faced with the passion and fighting spirit your club mates have, you wonder if you even have a space with them. You had to be shoved - one could say even blackmailed - by your friends to take the step forward and join, so you could be able to share your craft with others. You were perfectly happy letting your poems stack up in endless notebooks on top of your dusty bookcase. You didn't feel the need to share them, per se - but everyone else insisted it would have been a crime to keep them to yourself selfishly like that.

Sadness, sadness. You need to embody sadness for this prompt. You look around for inspiration, but there is no sad sight to see. The sky is clear, in colors of baby blue and soft whites, the branches of the green, young trees are barely even swaying in the wind, and there's college students laughing all around. Has anything sad happened in your life lately? Not really, nothing to inspire poems at least. Not that you are bursting at the seams with happiness, but you believed no one really is. There's a lot going on behind the cover of every human passing by, and even if all you can feel is the slight shoulder brush of a stranger, you do know those shoulders carry as much, if not even more weight than yours.

That's it. You start writing, and word by word they flow, one line, two lines until you have seven of them - you even managed to rhyme! It's not much, but it's honest work. Since there is no one close by, you begin to read the poem out loud softly. Hearing what you wrote always helps you perfect the rhymes, the punctuation and change around words if they sound too awkward. After erasing, rewriting and erasing again just to end up redoing the whole last two lines, you finally thought it was good enough.

---

Here and now, I must take a vow:

You'll never hear me confess, that in the depths of my weary chest

Underneath the smile I wore, there's a sadness in my soul;

Nothing's wrong - it's my biggest lie, hiding a muffled cry

Just behind a giggle and a laugh, acting is my biggest craft;

I loved you - but heard the ticking of the clock and thought

No more. It's time I stopped and gave you up.

---

You smile, because for a split second you actually think your poem sounds really good. But then, the insecurities crash on top of you again. Your club mates are probably writing long, heart-wrenching poems that are going to make you cry when you read them. Your idea will surely seem shallow and rushed in comparison to theirs. With a sigh, you wish to be able to just give yourself this one. Tell yourself you did good enough by trying and move on - brush it off and think progressively, that your next poem is going to be even better than this one. But you don't truly feel that way, so you begin to beautify the first letter of every line with calligraphic letters to overcompensate for the lack of skill you feel you have. The capital H at the beginning of the first line, the capital Y at the beginning of the second line and so on; you turn them into beautiful, aesthetic calligraphy as much to your ability. In the end, you just think you've made a mess, and that there is simply too much ink on the page now.

---

Here and now, I must take a vow:

You'll never hear me confess, that in the depths of my weary chest

Underneath the smile I wore, there's a sadness in my soul;

Nothing's wrong - it's my biggest lie, hiding a muffled cry

Just behind a giggle and a laugh, acting is my biggest craft;

I loved you - but heard the ticking of the clock and thought

No more. It's time I stopped and gave you up.

---

Oh no.

Your eyes open wide and you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The first letter of every single line, from top to bottom, spell HYUNJIN. The name of the boy you swore to yourself you've moved on from.

Hyunjin, who spoke about life as if it was art itself and spoke about art as if it was life itself.

Hyunjin, with the calm and warm voice - quiet and observant and yet, from the ocean in his eyes, bathed in a soft moonlight, it always seemed like his mind was in faraway lands, dreaming, humming, sighing before a field of lilies in the middle of the night.

Hyunjin, who seemed like through every song he listened to and sang, every poem he read and wrote, every painting he saw and painted, he dicovered all the secrets the universe had. As if human life was a melancholic, nostalgic memory to him, life experiencing itself all over again - he seemed so kind, so unfazed, so utterly in love with existence.

Hyunjin, who read every single one of your poems and told you he'd never allow you to leave the club. He was always so warm, you could hardly believe he wasn't doing it out of habit, spreading his magical touch over the wounds in your heart just like he would with anyone else. But it wasn't his fault you always questioned your worth.

Hyunjin, with whom you've fallen in love with gravely. For every smile he showed around you, for every squeal-like laugh he gifted you, for every time he held your hand gently to calm your nerves, you added one more day to the delusion of hanging on to him.

Hyunjin, who was merely a pipe dream.

He is the co-leader of the poetry club you're in. That's why you've always considered his compliments and encouragements to be just him doing his job - and yet they continued to fuel that foolish fire of yours for far too long. You never confessed to him, of course. But there would be nothing wrong with you two dating, from an ethical point of view. This is just a poetry club ran by students, it's not like having a crush on your boss. But still, the title of co-leader put him above you in a way you couldn't describe. Maybe it's the fact that he has more experience in art. Maybe it's the fact that he's more skillful. Maybe it's the fact that he's taught you many techniques and actually became a figure to rely on. Therefore he was still above you in a way, and so was the leader.

The leader of the club, she resembled Hyunjin in an almost eerie way. People do say, someone who is beautiful on the inside will always radiate beauty on the outside, too. That was a clear description of both of them. She too, was a romantic and an artist, she had a feather light laugh, star like freckles dusting her face, and eyes that could hold galaxies. She was the end of Hyunjin's sentences and the beginning of his thoughts. They made an incredible pair and their teamwork was impeccable as leaders. They weren't dating, but your heart kept telling you, that one day they will. It would be simply impossible for two souls so perfectly woven for each other to simply separate and go their different ways. And yet, you still foolishly had fallen for Hyunjin and every single week, the pain in your chest grew.

Oh, it hurt. It shouldn't have, really. You were just a newcomer being silly and they were fit for a lifetime. You had no chance nor the courage to hope and dream a miracle would land you in Hyunjin's loving arms. She wasn't to blame, he wasn't to blame, your pain was fully your fault. You fell in love and you had to fix it. So you made an oath with yourself to let it go, get those heavy rocks off of your lungs and allow yourself to breathe. There will be other boys in your life. They will not be Hyunjin, but other boys will exist.

You thought you were done with the tears, with the heartache and the love-sick poems. But it seemed you did have one more poem left in you, and it bubbled to the surface.

If the sun wasn't that bright, you wouldn't even have noticed the shadow of someone looming over you. You heard a melodic hum above your head and when you looked up, your heart dropped.

"What do we have here?" He teased, snatching your notebook right out of your hands. You couldn't even react in time, he was already standing up before you, reading the contents of your poem. His lips hung slightly open and he let out a gasp, and you really thought poetry was perhaps the only way to describe the look on his face. You watched his eyes travel the page, his chest deflating very rarely as if he was holding his breath. He looked surprised, but it wasn't an anxious type of bewilderment, nor an excited one either. He was looking at your notebook as if it was some sort of mythical creature, something that shouldn't possibly exist-

And then his eyes found yours. They wrecked you from the inside out, a brown so blown out, so dark, unalike what you've seen before. There was no more serene skies and calm seas in his eyes, there was a storm, a hurricane - a complete blackout. He looked frightened. Maybe he was in fact, still shaken by the secrets of the universe. Maybe humans are not supposed to know what mythological creatures actually look like. Maybe denying their existence would be easier on the collective-

"I can explain!" You jump up from the bench you were seated on. "That was an accident - it's not what it looks like!" He's not listening to you. His mind has gone to those faraway lands again, and he's dreaming while he glances at the page. You move to take the notebook away from him, but he raises it above his head. He's too tall to reach, so you don't even try.

"Well." He speaks, softly, anxiously, awkwardly. He softly lowers the notebook, but he holds it tight to his chest. He won't let you take it back. "I think now it's only fair I dedicate my poetry to you as well." Now it's your turn to remain with your mouth agape. You're blinking at him, and you don't realize you're looking at him exactly the same way he looked at you a minute ago. You're both scared and yet in marvel, and he takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, but it gets stuck in your throat. You can't breathe, your stomach is tense, and a shiver is shaking the fingers of your hands. His eyes are transfixed on yours, and he moves even closer, he's too close - and he asks for permission. "If you'll allow me?"

He's asking you to become his muse.

But you couldn't answer him even if you wanted to. It's embarrassing, but the only thing you can muster is a whimper.

He continues to stare at your face, until slowly and gradually a smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he lets out a giggle. He waves a hand in front of your face and cocks an eyebrow, in an attempt to bring you out of your daze. You're so confused you could die.

Was the last few minutes just a joke? Was he just mocking you-? He must have been. Nothing is as good as it seems, and Hwang Hyunjin couldn't be any different. Maybe he was just a self centered jerk under the dreamy romantic aura he carried. It would be easier to start hating him than to continue helplessly liking him, right?

You barely register Hyunjin putting your spiral notebook down on the bench to gently rip out the page with the poem. He folds the page in two and then hands you your notebook back.

"As the co-leader of the club, I reject your entry. You must write another poem, I'm confiscating this one." You cock your head. What is he saying? Is this still, all part of the joke?

"What- what are you- what are you gonna do with it?" You manage to spew out a sentence, not that it was the most important question to ask. Hyunjin raises his shoulders.

"Put it on my wall? Tape it in my journal? I'll find a place." He answers nonchalantly. You see his eyebrows dance on his face as he thinks for a second, then his expression tells you he got an idea. "Or... I could give it back to you... If you visit the seashore with me."

You side eye him and furrow your brows. "To do what?" He raises his shoulders again.

"I need inspiration for all of the poems I'm gonna start writing about you." He's calm, almost too calm as he says it, and he begins to smile once more as he watches your mouth hang open again.

"Are you making fun of me?" You finally ask, and Hyunjin looks downright offended. He raises his eyebrows, and comically cranes his neck back, pointing a finger at himself and then at you.

"ME? Make fun of YOU? Why? I'm... asking you out on a date..." And you're somehow supposed to process that information without finding a million excuses why this shouldn't be happening and wouldn't be happening. But it is happening.

"So you're not joking?"

"No?" He replies shaking his head.

"You're being serious."

"Yeah.." He replies, this time nodding his head.

"Seriously?" He laughs, finding you adorable.

"Seriously." Suddenly, the situations is a little too real and too much to take. Your hopelessly romantic and yet heavily insecure brain almost ruined a moment you could have only dreamt about, and you almost thought Hyunjin was a jerk. You hide your face in your hands and let out a muffled whine. Hyunjin is extremely amused, and feeling a little playful, he comes closer and cocks his head close to your face. You can't see him, but you peek through your fingers when you hear him speak again. "So is that a yes?" You watch glimpses of his face between your fingers and nod back at him. "Great then!" His face is so bright, and you can't hide your eyes from his anymore. Today, you saw how his eyes looked with a storm in them, but now they look different once more - like a sunrise above a beach, it's all so golden and full of life, sweet like honey and rich like gold. Warmth spreads through your chest, and he places a hand gently on your arm. His thumb caresses your bicep for a few seconds. "I'll text you the details."

You feel drunk, as his touch leaves your body but still lingers. He walks away to his next class, but he turns around briefly to remind you of your task.

"And don't forget you have to write a new poem until Thursday!" He waives the page he stole from you between his fingers and laughs his ass off at the exasperated sigh you give in return and the angry squint and pout.

You're pretty sure he didn't believe you when you said that poem was an accident. And he never will, even when you try to explain it to him on your first date. And on the second date you swear it wasn't on purpose, and on the third date you tell him for just how long you've liked him and how you tried to let him go. And on the fourth date he tells you he knows your poem wasn't an accident no matter what you think or say. And on the fifth, you agree with him.

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 5 months

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All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed Pt. 2

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, Homelander being a stalker, innocent reader, naive reader, Homelander being a basic menace, some uncomfortable parts, dubcon, secrets, manipulation, grooming (feel like that's what Homelander is doing), age gap, power imbalance, there will be one more part after this then i think i'm gonna wrap up this little story

Words: 3472

Summary: Starlight unravels the secrets which Homelander and Vought so desperately wanted to keep in the dark.

Part 1

Annie was still reeling from the events of yesterday. She'd barely stepped foot into her apartment before a Vought assistant was scrambling to reach her. They inform Annie about the dinner being held that night to introduce a Seven-Trainee. This only further raised the hairs of alarm on the back of her neck.

Worst of all was that you nor anyone else saw a problem with this. Maeve wore her mask well and kept her thoughts to herself though their conversation was till fresh. Maeve really wanted to ignore how odd it was.

Maeve rose her glass with everyone else, a smile plastered across her face. And you, you were beyond happy; unaware of the wolf that paraded beside you. Annie could barely stomach her meal, forcing down bits of lamb but the richness of it soured immediately on her tongue.

Thankfully once everyone seemed to finish, the group parted ways with you and Homelander walking away together side by side.

That night was hard to sleep, even after calling Hughie and telling him all about it. He'd said that him and the Boys would look into it. See what they could find on you. That did help enough to lull Annie to sleep.

Reality was there in the Seven's conference room though, cheerfully beaming up at Annie.

"Good morning Starlight!" You chirp, the mug in your hand is put down forgotten by her entrance. Homelander is taking slow sips of his coffee, watching their interaction like a hawk. Annie didn't have to look at him to know that. She could feel the drilling of his piercing blue eyes. The eyes of a sociopath.

She puts on her best face, similar to the ones she wore when meeting fans. "How was your first night in the Tower?"

"It was great!" Really, it had been a great night. Probably the best one in your life. After the delicious dinner Homelander took you out around the city, giving you an aerial tour. Then he got ice cream for the two of you to enjoy back on Vought Tower's roof. You listened to the urban music it made at night. Honking of cars, sizzling of food, the chatter of people; the city was so alive. Your nights at home were spent quietly.

The warmth that Homelander made you feel took you by surprise. From the moment he showed up at your house, you felt an immediate connection. Like the two of you meeting was fated, written in the stars. In a short amount of time, Homelander had embedded himself in you. Last night all you could think about was spending the next day with him and the rest of the Seven. He gave you comfort in a way your parents never did. They loved you sure but they never really understood you. They were fearful when you started flying. You didn't even want to remember the conniption your father had when you'd accidentally fried an expensive painting with your lasers. To them your powers were somewhat of a burden, not something to revel in.

Yesterday you'd used your powers more than you have in your entire life. Homelander encouraged you.

A bit of a cliche, you already felt yourself really falling in love with him. You'd already been fairly attracted to him to begin with. When you saw him on tv, he was your ideal of the perfect man. Well spoken, handsome, chivalrous- everything you thought your future partner would be. He ticked off all of those boxes.

Chances though that he reciprocated such feelings so soon was low. He must see you as still a child. The age difference didn't help either.

"She'll be shadowing me today." Homelander tells Starlight as she stops by the breakfast buffet that was set up for the Seven. Her hand lingers on the cup of coffee she'd poured herself. "Just to get an idea of what we do on a daily basis."

She raises her brows. "You're taking her out on the field so soon?"

It's obvious that Homelander doesn't like Starlight questioning his choices when it comes to you.

You cheerfully nod. You memorized the schedule Homelander had given to you a few moments before Starlight had entered the conference room. Holding out the sheet of paper to her, she takes it and looks it over.

Starlight doesn't remove her eyes from the paper. "Don't you think she'd benefit from shadowing myself or Maeve one of these days? It looks like she's mainly going to be with you and Black Noir."

He keeps his tight lipped smile. "I'm giving her the basics. Once she's advancing to my satisfaction she can work with you and Queen Maeve. For now I want to be hands on with her training. After all, anyone would kill to be taught by America's number one hero." Homelander's smile that he gives you sends your tummy in a flurry.

Taking everything in you to maintain a professional appearance, you hide your blush by taking a sip of your coffee. You didn't want Starlight to see you obviously simping for him. That would be embarrassing. You wanted to be taken seriously during your time here. This was a once in a life time opportunity that you didn't want to squander. You planned on absorbing everything you learn during your time with the Seven. Maybe one day. . . you'd be able to join their ranks. Wasn't that every little supe's dream?

Starlight was actually happy to see Black Noir and Maeve walk in, A-Train trailing behind them; his eyes glued to his phone.

You straighten in your seat, showing them that you understood the great privilege it was to be there with them. Your heart raced being around so many big names.

You listen attentively as the Seven get down to morning business.

The next few days are spent integrating yourself into the lifestyle and schedule of the Seven. Homelander took control of your training in the beginning, but he had other priorities that pulled him away from you. Much to both of your chagrin. He handed you off to Maeve during his busy hours. Unlike Homelander, Maeve isn't quite as warm. She's a tough teacher. Even when you walk around with her in public she keeps everything professional. She holds herself perfectly which you catch yourself trying to replicate. Maeve had you learning the different districts of New York. Important to understand the diversity in each and the crime statistics that reflected upon it.

"You need to know the streets like the back of your hand. Especially when criminals try to run. They'll do whatever it takes to shake you from their trail." Maeve explains. "Since you can fly, it'll be especially important for you to memorize an aerial map too."

You diligently studied any and all maps you could get ahold of. Even went as far as spreading all of them out around your apartment.

Problems came at the prospect of Maeve sparring with you. With someone like Maeve it was necessary to take care to not use the full capacity of your powers on her. She wasn't completely indestructible, unlike you and Homelander. Physical training would have to wait until Homelander's schedule freed up.

He texts you as you wait for him in Vought's state of the art gym. The both of you make plans after training to hang out.

Finding yourself internally swooning, you shake your head free of any thoughts of that ilk. You wanted to remain professional. He's just being friendly and must know that you might be missing your family.

And it was weird that you hadn't received any calls or texts from either your mom or your dad. When you'd attempted to contact them yourself they never answer. Your messages go unreturned.

You'd thought about paying an actual visit with this concerning behavior. They'd gone from helicopter parents to ghost quiet. Your schedule was just so busy. Maybe you'd take the time to ask Homelander if you could take time off to go.

When Starlight shows up, gym bag hanging off of her shoulder, she's pleasantly surprised to find you alone in the locker room. "Hey! I feel like I haven't seen you in a while."

She was still in her supe outfit but lacked her long lashes that she wore to public events and patrol. Still she was so pretty.

"I've been shadowing Queen Maeve during the day. And then training in the afternoons whenever Homelander's available. I tried sparring with Queen Maeve, but even when I tried not to punch so hard. . ." You rub your knuckles. Even when you held back you still sent Queen Maeve a couple of feet away before she steadies herself to get back up. Really, it was you who insisted to train with Homelander after that. You knew nothing you did would seriously hurt him.

Pressing her lips together, Starlight suggests "You know, I may not look it,, but I'm pretty tough." She offers you a tentative smile. "If you want to try sparring with me? I don't have much to do today."

"Really?"

"Sure! You're supposed to be learning from all of us, right?"

You enthusiastically nod and close your locker door before you hop to your feet. "Okay! Guess I should get a warm up in before Homelander gets here."

Both of you laugh as you exit the lockers side by side. It was odd when you remember that Starlight is only a year or two older than you. She carries herself with such confidence. Each stride she takes is strong. Every block she makes, calculated. She'd only been in the Seven for little more than a year and she fit in so easily.

As much as you idolized Homelander, you loved Starlight. Even after Vought decided to change her supe uniform to something more scandalous. From the first photoshoots she'd done in her new outfit, there was a look of contempt that shadowed her eyes. Clear that this change wasn't her decision. Whatever Vought was trying to make her out to be, Starlight would remain herself. She was still the bad ass girl that gave you hope that you could one day join the Seven officially.

Starlight proved to be a competent sparring partner. Dodging any of your offensive attacks. You had to move quick around her. She was fast, even impressing you.

Neither of you noticed when Homelander strolls into the gym where supes honed their skills. You don't see the twitching of his jaw or the haughty way he folds his arms in front of his expansive chest. His eyes are particularly glued to Starlight, the interloper. It was one thing letting you follow and learn from Maeve. Homelander didn't trust Starlight one bit. He'd always felt something off about her. She just felt fake to him. And he didn't like how her expression had become hostile when he introduced you. Like he was doing something wrong by bringing you to the Tower. He wonders if she knew the truth about you.

A trickle of sweat was rolling down the side of your face when you finally turn to where Homelander was standing. "Oh! Hey Homelander!" You use the front of your tank top to wipe your face.

He forces his iciness to melt just enough so that he could return your bright smile while still shooting Starlight eyes that could only mean 'watch yourself'. "I thought you didn't feel comfortable physically training with anyone but me?" Homelander puts on a tone of faux hurt.

"Starlight assured me that she's sturdier than she looks. And she was right! Plus she's fast and I hardly landed any serious blows to her." Confidence made your smile widen and Homelander felt that familiar clenching in his chest. How precious and perfect you were to him. Starlight threatened that. She could be a bad influence on you. He could already see you dressing in a skimpy outfit like Starlight wore. And while he wouldn't mind seeing that, he would mind everyone else's penetrating gaze. That was something he couldn't risk.

"You almost got me a few times." She chuckles in return, already feeling the both of you were becoming actual friends.

"Well," Homelander inserts himself between you two "thank you for warming her up, but I'm here now. I'll take over."

Starlight's smile waver, her dark eyes hardening toward the leader of the Seven. "Of course." Her warmth returns when she addresses you. "We should do that again. I had fun."

You felt like you could explode. "Y-yeah! I had fun too. I'll see you later!" You didn't have many friends, at least not organic friends that you made yourself.

Yeah, your friendship with Starlight was definitely not Homelander approved.

The entire time it takes Starlight to leave the gym, Homelander's glare didn't move from her back. He didn't like her around his sister one bit.

"Alright!" Your cheerful hum brings him back to you. "Now I can really go all out. You ready?"

Corner of his mouth curling up into one of affection. He'd put a pin in it, wait until later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy being around you and having you beam up at him like he was your own personal deity. Your main god whom you would always rely on.

With Homelander distracted, Starlight takes the opportunity to slink out of the Tower and to the Boys' hideout. Her gray hoodie covers her signature gold hair. Hopefully that and her ripped pants would deter anyone from her identity. What she was doing was not only stupid but dangerous. For her, for Hughie, even for Butcher who wasn't exactly her favorite person.

"Annie! I was about to call you." Hughie immediately opens the door once he spies her through the peephole. "That girl-"

Annie holds her breath, waiting for what information they'd scrounged up.

"Another fuckin' supe." Butcher steals Hughie's opportunity as his heavy gaze lands on Annie.

She blinks and turns to Hughie. "What's he talking about?"

Hughie ruefully glances at Butcher before finishing what he was going to say earlier "That girl is Homelander's sister."

"That's. . ." The air in her lungs was stolen for her as it sunk in. Homelander's predatory claim of her, his hovering. But did you even know? It didn't seem likely.

Sitting her down, Hughie goes on to divulge more of Vought's dirty secrets that they tried to bury. A lot of hard work went into finding anything about you. All they had to go off of was your name. Any lead they managed to get was followed up. It was a wonder that they ever came upon the truth of your origin.

Staring at the blotchy piece of paper that Frenchie handed her, Annie felt her mouth go completely dry. The page was weathered, an old copy that held stains on the surface. Some words were so faded that they were intelligible.

John [the Homelander] failure uncontrollable neutralize

Lack of normal childhood had greatly damaged the psyche of Homelander. The problem lay in the fact that Homelander was indestructible. There was no known way to seriously maim him.

That was where the conception of you was truly developed. You would be raised entirely different than how Homelander was. That was Vought's mistake.

This was a tightly held secret. No one was meant to know about it. It sounded like Stan Edgar and his gaggle of scientists did everything they possibly could to ensure that you being related to Homelander would never come out.

"I guess with the truth of Ryan, he must have grown even more suspicious and found the information himself." quietly mused Hughie.

"Where did you get this document?" Annie forces her eyes up to him.

That has Butcher scoffing "What's it to you?"

Hughie intercedes. "We broke into Vogelbaum's home. Wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do. He was one of the scientist in charge of Homelander when he was growing up."

Worriedly chewing on her bottom lip, Annie closes her eyes to replay all of Homelander's interactions with you. Something still wasn't right. Why didn't you know? And why hadn't Homelander told you yet?

All of those questions plague her trip back to the Tower. It was never a good idea for her to be gone for too long. Others might grow suspicious of her outings.

She shouldn't be poking her nose deeper into Vought's business. But she couldn't let you be influenced by someone like Homelander. He was lying to you like he was lying to the rest of the world about how much of a good person he was. He wasn't golden. He was tarnished and distorted. And by how you gaze at him, Annie worries that you'd be all too willing to be corrupted by him. Eventually Homelander will show his true colors. When he does it will be too late for you to back out. He won't let you. Annie could see your future unfold before her. How you'd be stuck in the Seven similar to everyone else, including herself.

Slipping back in easily, Annie had to shed her sweatshirt and pants to dawn her Starlight uniform. Well, it felt more like a costume to her now. Losing all meaning when she discovered the Seven were not as honorable as she'd first imagined.

You'd done so well during your training, Homelander deemed it only right that you get a special treat: a special viewing of the new Vought supe movie. Better was that it would be screened in Vought's private theatre that was only accessible for the higher ups in the company. For tonight, he'd call in a favor to reserve the whole room just for you. Gourmet treats would be included and anything else you wanted.

Going back to your room to shower and change, you show up in a comfortable pair of yoga pants and an old graphic tee. You're about to put on a lightweight jacket until you catch the buzzing of your phone.

Hope that it's your mom and or dad, you rush to where your phone was charging only to be disappointed. Just a useless app notification.

You try not to let it get to you but it was already nearing a month since you got there and you hadn't spoken to your parents once. Weighing the phone in your hand, you contemplate trying to call them again. Mind changing when you notice the time. You replace your morose mood to one of giddiness and slip your phone into the pocket of your yoga pants.

You were a little surprised to see him still in his uniform and partially embarrassed for yourself. Maybe you should have dressed up a little bit more?

Homelander didn't appear to mind. In fact his smile grew.

"Should I go back and change?"

"No, you're perfect. Just the way you are." His smile disarms any concern you may have previously had. "In fact I feel overdressed."

"Next time we'll have to coordinate outfit aesthetics." You chuckle and follow him in. The theatre was no yet darkened. This wasn't like any screening room you'd been in before. Each seat was the size of a couch that were capable of reclining. Except for the two of you, the room was completely empty.

Seeing Homelander in such a setting was a bit weird. Homelander was doing something as normal as sitting down and watching a movie was bizarre. He even used the reclining button for his own seat.

Before the movie started, he calls in for food and drinks be brought to the both of you.

Once you were in possession of your snacks, the room darkens and the screen comes to life.

You like when Homelander becomes your personal commentator. He tells you behind the scenes bloopers that others would not be privy to on the special features. Both of you are loud and don't care when you laugh or talk. Honestly you didn't pay much attention to the movie. You were more entertained with talking to Homelander and spending time with him.

The feeling was mutual. Homelander had never felt as carefree as he did when he was with you. Your laugh was a beautiful one that he wanted to hear all the time.

And with you looking at him with eyes that shine lightening strike blue from the light of the movie, he really couldn't hold himself back. He removes one of his red gloves and moves it to tenderly brush against your cheek, asking without using his words for your lips.

From that single point of contact, your entire body is set aflame. Your breath lodged in your throat as you realize what is about to happen. To show your consent you tilt your face up and allow him access.

Homelander doesn't waste a second in closing the gap.

Taglist:

@the-maladaptive-daydreamers

@demodemo909

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #the boys series #homelander fic #homelander fanfiction #the boys homelander x reader #homelander x reader #the boys fanfiction #the boys fandom #the boys fanfic #homelander #the boys homelander #the boys homelander fanfiction #the boys homelander fanfic #tw dark content #the boys

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rubyreduji · 4 months

Text

Apple of My Eye — xmh

summary: minghao’s arrival to auradon changes your life as you know it, and not just because he’s the son of the woman who poisoned your mother

tags: fluff, descendants au, child of snow white reader, reader is shorter than minghao wc: 2.4k an: happy birthday mika @toruro :333 i love you so much pls enjoy bc i think i rewrote this maybe 7 times no joke an 2: this fic takes place in the same universe as “good to be bad” which features gyu, wonu, and child of hades reader. you don’t really have to read it to read this one, but it would be cool if you did!

From the moment you were born, it was made clear that you were always going to be second. Whether in your parents’ eyes or the citizens or even other kids. Nothing you could do would amount to your brother.

Joshua was athletic, charismatic, handsome, the future King of Charmington. Every kid in Auradon was drawn to him. You were just the little sister.

Joshua could never do wrong, or at least your parents thought so. You on the other hand, had everything about you nitpicked. You had to be the perfect daughter so you could one day find a suitor for you to marry. That led to long days of you in lessons about etiquette while Joshua would run around the castle with Seungcheol and Seokmin, not caring about what kind of disturbances they caused. At the time it didn’t bother you, you wanted to do anything to please your parents.

After you started school, it was hard for you to make friends, and eventually you just gave up, submitting to being the outcast of the class. It didn’t help that your brother would go around and pick on you to all of his friends just for a few laughs.

Years went by and you were still doing your best just to be a good daughter. In class you were still an outcast, with people either whispering behind your back or scoffing at you when you walked past. It wasn’t until you started to attend Auradon Prep that you realized how useless it all was.

No matter how prim and proper and perfect you are, you’ll never be anything in anyone’s eyes as long as Joshua is alive. You think about all those years you tried to make everyone happy, to be the best you could be, only for it to amount to nothing.

Maybe that’s why you were so drawn to Minghao. His subtle kindness and gruff but charming presence. It makes you laugh to know that if you told the little girl you used to be that later in life she’s going to fall in love with the son of her parents’ sworn enemy, she’d probably cry.

Right now though, you’re completely sure you’d follow Minghao to the end of the world.

When you were little, your parents used to sit in your living room in front of the fireplace and tell you and Joshua the great story of their love. You’ve heard it a million times, not just from your parents but also your seven uncles.

When the proclamation was made that the villain kids would be coming to Auradon, your parents were scandalized. When they found out that one of them was the child of the Evil Queen, they were outraged. They were fearful for what would happen to you and (mostly) Joshua.

They told you to steer clear of any of the VKs as their parents will have raised them to be just like them. That they will be cruel and ill-mannered and up to no good. That nothing could come off the isle without it being tainted by the evil kept within.

When you were little, you were always told that the Evil Queen is a jealous old woman and vile of heart. Though that may be the case, you’re not sure you should view her son as the same. Not everyone is their parents. When you think about the first time you and Minghao met, you know there’s no doubt about it.

You were walking down the hallway when you caught sight of him a few feet ahead of you. You recognized him from the press release about the proclamation. Minghao, son of the Evil Queen. Your eyes were drawn to his dark blue hair and thick leather jacket. You were completely stopped in your tracks, too entranced by the deep scowl on his face. Unfortunately because you stopped walking, you were easily run over.

“Get out of the way,” the person growled as they shoved you, causing you to drop your books.

“S-sorry,” you squeaked out. You bent down to pick up your books, only to hear a new voice.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re walking?” You looked up to see Minghao looming over the person who ran into you. They cowered away. “No need to be a dick. Pick the fucking books up.”

They nodded and scrambled to grab your books, hastily passing them back to you before they ran off. You stared down at the book before redirecting your gaze to the tall boy in front of you. You bowed to him.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, I’m uh…used to it,” you trailed off at the end, unsure of why you were explaining that to him.

He also looked slightly uncomfortable at the fact. Or maybe it was because you bowed to him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. No reason to pick on innocent people.” With that he stalked off and your sudden interest in him ignited tenfold.

Ever since that day you and Minghao kept having small run-ins. Almost like fate was pulling you two together. Before you knew it you two were spending all your time together. You were easily captured by his outlook on the world. You’ve never met someone so fair and level headed as Minghao. You’ve learned so much from him.

You finally had a friend. He helped you discover who you really are, and he did everything in his power to protect you. Slowly your friendship developed into more until you found yourself with butterflies in your stomach every time he talked to you.

You remember the day he finally made the first move. You weren’t even sure that Minghao liked you like that until you were sitting in his dorm, helping him with his math homework, when he leaned over and kissed you. You swear your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. After that things were a little clunky, but you two figured it out.

Dating Minghao opened up a whole new realm of possibilities. You feel strong with him. You feel like you can do anything. Maybe that’s why you put so much faith in him when he comes to you with his plan.

“Snowflake,” Minghao starts, his nickname for you still flustering you slightly, “I need you to trust me, okay?”

“Hao…what’s this about?” You two are sitting in his dorm room, sitting on his bed. He asked you earlier if you would meet him, as there was something important he needed to talk to you about.

There’s a grim look on Minghao’s face as he looks at you. He struggles with his words for a moment before finding what he wants to say. “You know I care about you a lot and that I would do anything to make you happy and protected.”

Minghao stops for a moment and you nod at him. He takes another deep breath.

“You and I, we don’t belong here. Nobody here will ever respect us or any of the other VKs, and something needs to be done about it. I want to do something about it.” There’s a fire in Minghao’s words as he talks. “Everything that I’ve seen and heard and experienced since I stepped foot in Auradon is bullshit and it was fine when it was just me, but they way they treat you as well? It’s unacceptable.”

“Hao,” you interject, “just tell me what you’re talking about. I promise, I trust you more than anyone else.”

Minghao reaches forward and grabs your hands in his. He squeezes tight. “They need to be taught a lesson. Nothing will change if we don’t make the change.” You squeeze his hands back, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve been talking with some of the other VKs…we’re thinking about overthrowing the crown.” You suck in a breath. “I know it’s a lot and that it’s a risk but-”

You cut Minghao off, letting go of his hands to cup his face. You lean in and kiss him gently. When you pull away you rest your forehead against his. “I trust you Hao, and I will stand by you through anything. If this is the path you decide to take, I’m right here with you.”

“Are you sure? Your parents and-”

“No one has ever treated me the way you do. You’re the best thing to happen to me, Minghao.”

“I love you,” Minghao whispers, just loud enough to hear. Your heart does a skip.

“I love you too,” you tell him back, the first time either of you have said it. “I believe what you’re doing is what has to be done.”

You think of every wrongdoing of the citizens of Auradon, about how unfair they have been all these years. You think about the new world you can make. You know this is the right choice.

Minghao wants you to stay out of the planning process, as to not incriminate you in case anything happens. That unfortunately leaves you with quite a bit of free time on your hands. You’re walking back to your dorm from the library when you’re suddenly stopped by someone grabbing you. You yelp in surprise as you’re whipped around to come face to face with your brother.

Joshua grips onto your arm tightly and you try to break free but he just holds on tighter. If you’re being honest you’re shocked he’s even interacting with you, as he gave up on that years ago.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to stop,” Joshua hisses.

“Joshua, let me go!”

“I know you’re up to something with the son of the Evil Queen. Do you know what Mom and Dad would think if they found out? If you keep it up you’re going to get in trouble, either with him, or them.”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Well maybe you should listen.”

“She said let go.” Joshua’s grip loosens slightly at the intrusion and you’re able to break free.

You and your brother both look to the side to see Minghao standing there. Though Joshua and Minghao are the same height, it seems like Minghao looms over him. There’s a dark look on his face as he glares daggers into your brother. Relief washes over you at the sight of your boyfriend coming to your rescue.

“You,” Joshua hisses. “Stay away from my little sister.”

“No, I think you should stay away.” Minghao steps forward, subtly putting his body between yours and Joshua’s.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I know that you’re no good. If you hurt her I swear I’ll-”

“It seems like you’re the only one here who’s hurt her.” Minghao gestures to where you’re rubbing your arm from where Joshua gripped you too tight. “You’re selfish and pathetic. You don’t really care about her and you never have, don’t try to act all high and mighty now.”

“Just wait, you’re going to get it,” Joshua growls before stalking off.

Minghao doesn’t bother responding, instead he turns towards you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Hurry up with the plans, okay?” You stare up and Minghao and he just nods, ready to set the world on fire for you if he has to.

“Are you scared?” You ask Minghao as you two lay in your bed one night. Your roommate is visiting her parents and you take the opportunity to spend the night with your boyfriend without having to worry about Jun on the other side of the room.

“Petrified,” Minghao whispers. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

“I promise,” you giggle, pressing a soft peck to his cheek.

“I’m scared, but then I think about you and why I’m doing this to begin with, and I know everything will work out.”

“Everyone says you’re so scary,” you tell him, “but I think you’re just a giant sap.”

“Only for you, Snowflake.”

“I really hope this works,” you whisper, changing the tone of the conversation.

“It will. I’ll make sure of it, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It won’t be. We’re going to change the world and then you and I will be able to live in peace.”

“We’ll have our happily ever after?” There's a teasing grin on Minghao’s face and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Yes. We will.” Minghao just giggles and leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back, putting all of your unsaid words behind it.

Minghao has changed your life, and you could never repay him for what he’s done for you, what he’s going to do for you. You know you don’t have to pay him back though, because loving him is enough. You don’t want to think about what your life would have become if Minghao didn’t come to Auradon. When you were little your parents told you about fate and how the right people will always come into your life. Laying here with Minghao, you think they may have gotten at least one thing right.

“Are you ready?” Minghao asks as he reaches down to hold your hand tight. You nod and squeeze his hand back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you stand outside of the Museum of Cultural History, about to enact your plan to change the rest of your lives.

“You’ll be able to go back after this,” Minghao tells you. You look up at him and smile.

“Good.”

Around you stands the other VKs, and for some reason the son of Hercules, Mingyu (you’ll have plenty of time to question that later). The sight warms your heart. You don’t think you’ve ever felt more safe with a group of people before. A few months ago you never had friends, and now here you are, ready to change the world with a group of villain kids. Your parents would have a heart attack if they could see you now.

“Whatever happens,” Minghao tells you, “I love you.”

You pull him down for a final kiss before you enter the museum. “I love you too.”

You take a moment to just stare at him. His soft blue hair falling over his eyes as he’s wrapped up in his jacket. He looks just like he did the first day you met him, yet everything has changed so much. You smile when you think about how you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

No one has ever loved you as much as Minghao has. Not your parents or your brother or anyone else. Minghao is willing to risk everything, just make you happy. You will always be his number one priority. The thought makes your heart swell, and you know there will never be someone who means as much to as you as Minghao does.

“Okay,” you tell him, “let’s do this.”

Minghao nods and signals to the others and just like that you’re all in action. Your heart beats hard in your chest as you follow behind Minghao, ready for him to lead you to whatever good thing is next to come.

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#minghao #xu minghao #the8 #minghao fluff #minghao fanfic #minghao x reader #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #rru.writes #rru.fics #★ sfw

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kitchenisking · 4 months

Text

It's January and the new year has started! I hope everyone had a great new year and that 2024 bring only good things our way! and please remember to leave a kudos and some love in the comments to our amazing writers in this amazing fandom! love you guys😘

Children's Tales by artemis69 - (Rating: G, Words: 4,690, sterek)

Be careful, little girl.

Don’t go causing troubles in Beacon Hills, little girl, because the Hales live there.

Keep away from Beacon Hills, little girl, or the Hales will destroy you.

-- Or: In a world where the Hales are alive and the protectors of the town of Beacon Hills, the humans politely fake ignorance of their not-really-human status, and they all live happily ever after.

Then Kate comes in.

Well.

Tries to.

in the waiting room by CoraRochester, ravenclawkward - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 29,753, sterek)

“So, uh,” Stiles said, peeling the crust away from his toast. It was barely darkened, smeared thickly with butter and orange marmalade, just like he always liked it. “I have tattoos, which is weird, because I’m like, clinically terrified of needles. Swooning, fainting, the whole nine yards.”

That made the corner of Derek’s mouth lift into something like a small smile before it quickly smoothed out flat and neutral again. “I know,” Derek said, lifting up his fork. Stiles looked at the back of Derek’s hand and saw it was dark with ink—an elaborate full moon, stark on Derek’s skin. “I did them.”

…

In which Stiles has amnesia and falls in love with his husband all over again.

Sweet Tooth by Spikedluv - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 24,866, sterek)

Derek Hale had returned to Beacon Hills and the ice cream place was reopening. “Best. Day. Ever,” Stiles told Scott.

Lessons in Humanity by exclamation - (Rating: Mature, Words: 40,234, sterek)

Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human... and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.

Happiness is Effortless by clotpolesonly - (Rating: G, Words: 5,210, sterek)

Derek just wanted an excuse to run out on his date. A very public fight with the fiance he didn't know he had is not exactly what he was expecting, but he'll take it.

come with me by buckysharons - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2,657, sterek)

Derek turns his head to the loft door, messily shoving whatever he could into the large bag. He’d rearrange everything on his property in New York. In another loft, but one much nicer, one cleaned with his parents money.

There’s a slam of a door, a slam filled with so much anger it makes Derek jump, alarmed.

“You’re leaving?” Stiles roars. He’s not angry, no. He’s hurt. Derek could sense it on him and he had no idea why.

He puts on the brooding mask he always seemed to have on, but this time was different. Stiles could see right through him. Though something tells Derek that Stiles has been able to see through it for a while now.

“Why are you leaving?” Stiles continues, giving Derek no room for him to explain himself. He demands an answer. Like he’s done everything to deserve it.

Which he has.

“I can’t stay,” Derek says vaguely, swallowing.

Stiles didn’t- he couldn’t take that.

Next To You (You Tell Me What To Do) by mercury_caduceus - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,175, sterek)

"Derek had barely noticed that he was still kneeling in a foot of water. His knees were sore and he was freezing but none of that mattered. Not now. Not when Boyd’s lifeless body was laying in front of him, his blood still on Derek’s hands. Cora was sobbing and clinging to Boyd, making his heart break even more. He hadn’t thought that was possible, Boyd had become one of his best friends and now he had killed him. He closed his eyes, he couldn’t keep looking at the body laying in front of him. Stiles hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart, but he knew he was about to snap." ---- Stiles helps Derek after Boyd dies.

After the Smoke Clears by sffan - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,062, sterek)

Stiles needs a peaceful space. Derek gives him what he needs.

Alchemy of Attraction by ravenclawkward, wanderingeyre - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 15,893, sterek)

Once the table is set up, Stiles picks up the box and starts pulling out beakers, a hot plate, some Erlenmeyer flasks, a bunsen burner, and a bunch of other equipment and laying them out on the table. The last things to come out of the box are sealed containers with labels.

Derek is starting to get a very bad feeling about this.

Frogs? by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 10,694, sterek)

“Catching frogs? This far into the pack lands? I’ll give you five seconds to tell me the truth before I rip your throat out. What is it that you want?”

“YOU! Alright?! I want you!”

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #ficrec #fanfic #kitcheniskingficrecs

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ki-irke · 1 year

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Reader dated Derek in high school and got pregnant. She didn’t find out until after he left for college years later her daughter/son ends up in Seattle grace and mark know or knew

Derek shepherd x fem reader

You left me

Paring: Derek Shepherd x fem!reader

Summary: If you knew, that the father of your daughter is one of the surgeons at Seattle Grace, you would force her to choose another hospital.

Words: 1054

A/N: Sydney is a name for your daughter. I tried, okay?

You had a weird feeling that something was going to happen today.

Your daughter was going to be an intern at Seattle Grace, and it was her important day. Of course, you were a supportive mutter. She was dreaming about being a doctor, so you couldn't stop her.

A long time ago, you wanted to be a doctor too. And you find this man, named Derek, who had a similar dream to you.

You met in your biology lesson in high school. The teacher ordered a change of seats for the start of the new school year, and so Derek Shepherd became your good classmate. You were sitting in the back of the class, so you could chat a lot.

First, you become good friends. You werestudying together, sometimes you were meeting at lunch.

Then, you become somewhat like best friends. You started meeting at home and going out.together, going to a party together.

And finally, you become a classy couple.

Everyone liked you, and they cheered for you. You were happy. Everything was great; you were planning a future together, looking for college and some cute apartments.

And then he just left.

"What do you mean he left?" you asked Mrs. Shepherd, standing with her in their kitchen. She sighed and wiped her tear-stained cheeks. Mr. Shepherd was standing next to her, slowly drinking his alcohol, but he was visibly sad too.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." She passed me the note that Derek left.

'I'm leaving for college. DW about me. Tell y/n that I'm sorry.'

"How could he?" I started, but I stopped and just cried. Mrs. Shepherd moved to me and hugged me, letting me cry. Soon Mr. Shepherd came to us, and we were all just sitting in their kitchen, crying about their son.

And then it started.

Morning sickness, mood swings, and tiredness.

Pregnancy took you by surprise. You didn't want to be a single mom, but you kept the baby.

It was the only thing that kept you alive.

Your parents and Derek's parents helped you out, so you could give birth to a beautiful girl. And because of her, you let go of your medical dream.

And now you were sitting at home, feeling more anxious by the second. Your best friend, Bonnie, was sitting with you. You met her at a "course' for single moms. And it immediately clicked. Her son and your daughter are nowstarting their work as interns at Seattle Grace.

"Something is off, Bonnie," you said, sipping your tee.

"It's because your baby girl didn't text or call you yet." She smirked, looking at you.

"Don't make fun of me. They are at work, and you know how hospitals are."

"Yup. Craaazy," you nooded. "You want something stronger than a tee?"

"You know what? Fuck it," you said, loosening your hair. "Gimmie some beer or whiskey."

"And now it's getting better!"

You are much calmer now. You weren't drunk,

but alcohol kind of calmed you. And you have this amazing idea to come to Seattle Grace and talk to your friends. You knew Bailey, Cally, and most importantly, your other best friend, Mark. He knew you in high school and also knew about your kid. But still, he hadn't told Derek.

"So how's Sydney on her first day?" You asked while giving Mark his coffee.

"She's doing great. Make some new friends, you know."

"That's good. I was kind of scared, to be honest," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. "All morning, I had this weird feeling that something was going to happen."

"Maybe I know what it is," Mark said, stopping in his tracks. "Just don't be mad, okay?"

"Just tell me what it is, Mark."

"Soo," he started, looking at something behind my back. "Derek is here. And now I am taking your daughter."

"He's what?" I asked, a smile dropping from my face. I quickly turned around, just to see that Sydney was really talking to Derek. "He knows?"

"God, no, I'm not like that," he answered loudly, which made Derek turn around. He sent Mark a small smile. Sydney finally noticed me, and when she did, her smile grew bigger. She didn't say a word to Shepherd; she just ran to us.

"Hi mom, hi Mark," I smiled to her.

"Coffee?" She nodded, so I gave her my cup. "Jeez, you look good in that."

Sydney laughed. Derek slowly came to us but didn't say anything. I talked with her for a minute. Well, mostly she was talking. It was good seeing your kid this happy. But then her pager went on, and she sent me a sad look.

"Go, Sydney. You're at work, remember?" I asked, smiling. She nodded and kissed my check, then ran off.

And then there were just you three. You looked at Mark first and then at Derek, and you immediately knew that he recognized you.

"I think someone needs me right now," says Mark, trying to leave. "Yup, definitely someone needs one. Bye, Y/N!" He said he was quickly moving away from us.

"So, hi," Derek said, sending you one of his charming smiles.

"Your smile doesn't work on me anymore. Not after you left me," I said. He said this and ran his hand through his hair.

"Look, I'm sorry—" He started, but I was too angry to let him talk.

"Don't sorry, Derek, you left me with—" You paused. "You left me! We were supposed to go to college together, to get married, and to have a family together, but you just left me and didn't even say goodbye." You said that, feeling the tears in your eyes.

"Y/N, I—" He sighed. "Sydney. She's mine, right?"

"She would be, if you hadn't left me." You said it quietly, rubbing your eyes to wipe away the few tears that had fallen.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm really sorry." He moved and hugged me tightly. "I know it was hard for you, but please, just give me one chance to try to fix this."

"You can't fix it." You said you were moving away from him. "But I can give you one chance. Just one." You added it, making him smile. Still, you smiled slightly.

"Thank God." He moved and kissed your forehead. "I'll fix this, I promise. I'll make a proper family with you".

Maybe his charming smile was still working for you.

#greys anatomy #greys anatomy imagine #derek shepherd x reader #derek shepherd imagine #derek shepard #derek shepherd

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harasharaved · 7 months

Text

Jason Todd Fics - September 2023

Fics I recommend with a focus on or POV of Jason Todd. Masterpost can be found here.

Key: Has a ship or romantic plot, unfinished, multi-chapter, one-shot

NOTE: some of these do require an AO3 Account to read.

Whisper Closely in My Ear by Kangarou

The words went in one ear, rattled around like bees, before ramming out the other. The doctor was sitting painfully close, only two feet away. The tone of voice implied he was talking louder, not quite a yell but something nearly there; it sounded like a whisper to Jason. So quiet, with every third word unintelligible, except for that first phrase: "Mr Wayne, I'm afraid you're profoundly deaf." --- Jason is profoundly deaf. He learns to cope with it.

An AU in which Jason is deaf. This is one of my favorite Jason fics. I often find myself coming back to it. Its a great character study, introspective and has that delicious kind of hurt you just want to sit with for a while, with a helping dollop of comfort.

Children Will Listen by Parker Avenue

Jason Todd is good at extortion. He's what the adults call a snoop - nobody paid attention to the little kid with the big ears. Without even realizing, adults would hand him the keys to getting what he needed. Jason knew how to collect information, because adults found information valuable. And it was. It was free, easy to get, and easy to carry, so long as he kept his head clear and his facts straight. Jason had information Batman could use. He knew it. He had thought it over all day, sitting on that moldy couch, eating stale saltines. Batman would definitely be interested in the information Jason had. Batman had become scary again, like the old stories Jason used to hear the goons in the area tell. Breaking bones, just barely keeping people alive. Batman didn’t kill, no, but sometimes? Sometimes living was worse, maybe. Jason stayed crouched behind that dumpster, silent, because he simply couldn’t decide if Batman was far gone enough to make a kid wish he was dead. (Jason Todd knows how to get what he wants, and Batman tries to lure him to safety.)

Okay I will admit, my biggest weakness is fics about street kid Jason. Slow adoption got me good. Anyways, this one isn't finished but I love the way the pacing takes its time. Co-parents Bruce and Selina is never a con either!

Stargazer by LemonadeGarden

Jason Todd is seriously injured during patrol one night, and is forced to stay at the manor to recuperate until his injuries are healed. To pass the time, he makes a list of things he never got to do before he died. Except there's one small problem: most of them involve Bruce, and Jason doesn't really think Bruce cares all that much about him anymore. This is a story about how wrong he is, but I made it sad anyway.

I'm sure everyone and their mother has rec'd this fic, but I'm doing it anyways because I love it deeply. If you haven't read it, this is your sign!

Glow in the Dark Stars by essspressso (stylesmakethefight)

“I’m being serious, asshat,” Jason hisses, swatting his hands away from his face. “You have to tell me what year it is.” Nightwing crosses his arms a little petulantly. “It’s 2017. Happy?” Jason freezes, breath catching in his throat. 2017. Five years ago. He was…he was fifteen. “Shit,” he murmurs. He’s going to eviscerate Tim. Or: Red Hood Jason and 15-year-old Jason swap timelines, landing one week before 15-year-old Jason is supposed to die.

Time travel trope + Jason Todd's tragic ass life = amazing fics. Feelings, prepare to be felt! LOTS of Angst. You might even shed a tear. Wonderful fic!

Too Much Fucking Salt by Pez_The_Platypus

A rural housewife instinctively understood the law of quantity into quality. Add a pinch of salt to a soup and it tasted better; add one pinch too many and you ruined the batch. Jason had been in limbo for a year and a half, trusting things would get better even though everything just seemed to be getting worse. It was something small that set him off, but really, it was an accumulation of a lot of things that led to this. He was going to kill the Joker.

A one shot, but a LONG one. This one is very sad, heavy, and bittersweet. Its not Bruce or Dick "bashing", it provides a pretty well rounded and human description of them, which is to say they are not angels. Still, if you love pondering the tragedy of Jason Todd and themes of coping with trauma and the inherent grating sensation of trying to heal, this is a great fic for you.

YOU MUST KNOW LIFE TO KNOW DECAY by orpheusaki

Bruce starts, eyes glaring down at the city and unwilling to look anywhere else, especially in Jason's direction, "You always… hated the rain." Jason's breath gets caught in his throat. (For as long as Jason can remember, it's always been raining.)

Jason angst and character study rooted in comic-accuracy. Great short read!

This Kind of Weather by r_astra

Jason’s at school when his mom dies, and that’s the only reason any of it happens. If he’d been home, if he’d been with her, he would’ve been in the wind before anyone else even knew. Even if they looked, no one ever would’ve found him. He’d have taken to the sewers if that’s what it took, man-eating crocodile guy and all.

Yes, another Jason Todd adoption fic, one in which he does not steal the tires. I have a type and I'm limiting myself to only 2 of the many I love. This one does not have much of a focus at all on the Bat-side of things, just a story of Jason finding a home, much older than in the comics.

A Straight Blade by Sparkypants

"What happened to your face?" Bruce asks, reaching his hand for Jason's jaw. "You're bleeding." Jason bristles, cheeks turning pink. "I cut myself shaving." He says, and wipes at the cut with the cuff of his hoody. Damian makes a clicking noise with his tongue, "I'm amazed you haven't taken your own head off." He snarks. Jason shoves his chair away from the table, temper flaring. "Well it's not like anyone ever taught me, is it." He hisses. He's five years late, but Bruce finally teaches Jason how to shave.

Quick one-shot with feelings. Great little read I often find myself revisiting.

Growing Like a Breeze by WhaleofaTime

April 27th isn't anyone's favorite date, but it's somehow worse than usual today when Bruce gets his car stolen. It's nice of Red Hood to come to his rescue. Nicer even that Jason keeps him company afterwards.

One of those fics that explains everything about why Jason and Bruce's dynamic and relationship is so magnetic to read about. They both suck at feelings and yet make me feel SO MUCH.

#Jason Todd #DC #batfam #dc comics #fic recs #I have a lot more but i think this is enough for one post #Sarah's Bullshit #this is way more fun than all the work I'm meant to be doing right now.#please enjoy! tell me if theres one you really like bc i am always down to yell about fics!

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wangxianficrecs · 4 months

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Rewind 2023 - Part IV

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2023

It's time for the last post of our Rewind 2023. There are still a few stories left that were published this year that deserve a shout-out and I hope you will shower them with love as well. I'll also make sure to make a Masterpost for all Rewind 2023 posts, so that it's more convenient to find them.

Part I

Part II

Part III

~*~

watch your anger

by loosingletters (@loosingmoreletters)

T, 1k, Cangse Sanren | Kay's Rec

Summary: Watch your anger, her master used to say, never reprimanding Cangse Sanren for her temper tantrums, mainly reminding her of what she stood to lose if she gave in. Cangse Sanren survives. Wei Changze does not.

~*~

Day 1: Dad!Xian

by UseMyMuse (@museywrites)

G, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of Xiantober 2023

Summary: Wei Ying is a tired single parent, but a good cup of coffee and a handsome, flirty stranger leads to a happy future

~*~

Day 4: Ghost!Xian

by UseMyMuse (@museywrites)

T, 5k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of Xiantober 2023

Summary: Wei Ying died at the age of 10, but miraculously the little boy Lan Wangji from down the street was able to see him. They become an unlikely pair and form an unbreakable friendship. Things seem fine until a hostile presence shakes Wei Ying to his ghostly core.

~*~

waiting for us

by sunflowersfield

T, 3k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Ying is in the middle of cooking dinner when Lan Zhan walks into the apartment on Friday night. As soon as the door opens, Wei Ying drops his knife onto the counter with a clatter, abandoning his recipe so that he can throw his arms around Lan Zhan and pull him close. “You’re here!” he exclaims, grinning when he feels Lan Zhan’s arms curl around his waist. “I am here,” Lan Zhan replies in his steady, calming voice, and Wei Ying’s smile grows wider. Or: Wei Ying and Lan Zhan attend different colleges, but they spend every weekend together.

~*~

Snapping The Banjo

by Anonymous

M, 8k, Wangxian & Xuanli | Kay's Rec

Summary: “A-Jie…” Jiang Cheng pushes. “I broke my husband’s penis during sex.” One quick in-out breath as Yanli raises her chin high, pivots sharply on her heel and marches back off towards the building. Wei Ying opens his mouth. Jiang Cheng slowly raises a hand to silence him, expression on his face as if he had been slapped with a wet fish. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan's date night has gone wrong. Then, Jiang Yanli calls to ask her brothers for a ride to the hospital. Jiang Yanli's date night has gone very wrong.

~*~

Just a Little Wound

by meyari

T, 4k, Wangxian | Mojo's Rec

Summary: Raising a child is sometimes a challenge, especially when you’re confronted with a little boy who has no idea whatsoever why it’s not appropriate to stab people who are rude.

~*~

a better world

by ilip13 (@ilip13)

G, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: It’s been a year, today. A year of wearing a borrowed body, and all of a sudden, Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel like getting up and getting on with his day. * Some days are not great and that's okay.

~*~

At the end of all things

by Entityx

M, 6k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of the MDZS Mini Remix for Tired Adults™

Summary: Lan Wangji is aware that he is not the only one who is left haunted by constant bloodshed. Everyone has changed over the course of the Sunshot Campaign. However the one who underwent the most drastic change was undeniable. It's subtle- he's still friendly and boisterous with members of his sect. But he is not truly open anymore. Gone is the optimistic boy who radiated sincerity with every word. Instead he is replaced with a hollow imitation, with a smile cracked at the edges, and a laugh that is too hollow to fool anyone.

~*~

What Lies Beneath These Hallowed Woods

by meekome (@meekkome)

M, WIP, 19k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: The shadows are alive. Writhing and twisting around him, creeping over him, between his fingers, around his throat, curious and hungry. The dirt beneath is black like dried blood, which makes the shards and fragments of bones half-buried around him easy to see, white and glimmering unnaturally bright in the gloom. Then something looks at him, from behind the shadows, and Wei Wuxian flinches at the weight of its attention. “Who are you?” Wei Wuxian says, voice echoing strangely as the silence stretches and the resentment nips at his skin, held back by this thing he cannot see. You do not have a name for what I am, it finally says. Wei Wuxian sucks in a slow breath. “What are you, then?” The trees bend and snap in a sudden breeze and the ghosts around him spin and whine, and Wei Wuxian is horrified to realize it is laughing. Shall I let you see, little cultivator? Doing so has driven more humans mad than the number of bones that sleep beneath your feet. But Wei Wuxian has never been good at ignoring knowledge, no matter the consequences, and he does not look away.

~*~

an inch away from more (than just friends)

by occultings (microcomets) (@microcomets)

E, 15k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of WLW Wangxian Week 2023

Summary: “What do you think about,” Wei Ying said aloud, before she could stop herself, before she could even think twice about the repercussions. “When you.” She finally found Lan Zhan’s eyes, molten in the low light, and swallowed in a tiny, audible gulp. “You know.” On Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s gaze didn’t waver even a fraction. “Giving head,” she said. Wei Ying was certain she’d misheard. “Getting head?” “No,” said Lan Zhan. — After a surprise party gone awry, Wei Ying surprises herself.

~*~

💙 The loudest silence

by barisan (@barisan-no)

T, 15k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of the MDZS Mini Remix for Tired Adults™

Summary: In almost two decades of peace and with a whole generation who has not known differently, it is hard for those who sit above such dangers to fear a banal death. In a lifetime of not knowing what it means to be truly and utterly alone in such a world, it is hard to understand it is often a sentence. Or, a remix of our beloved post-cql WWX whump

~*~

The lavender handkerchief

by barisan (@barisan-no)

Not rated, 1k, Lan Qiren & Wei Wuxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian’s time on the streets left a deeper wound on his mind. Lan Qiren finds him having a panic attack after being triggered during his punishment.

~*~

Song of the River Rain

by MajiLovePrincess

E, 9k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of the MDZS Reverse Big Bang: 2023

Summary: “Jiaoren,” the man breathes, his voice soft and his golden eyes wide. Those strange eyes dart over Wei Wuxian’s sharp ears and nails before lingering on the bloody red of his tail. “Human,” Wei Wuxian sneers. “You should have fled when you had the chance.” ... When he wakes from his winter sleep, Wei Wuxian attempts to drive a farmer from his territory. He falls in love, instead. Lan Zhan's mysterious past does not do them the courtesy of staying buried.

~*~

Fit for Purpose

by Deastar (@youhideastar)

E, 18k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian is given clean clothes, and as much food as he wants, and a blanket. He still doesn’t know what a beta is. But he knows he is one, now. And he knows that that’s the reason he has these wonderful things. When Wei Wuxian was a little boy, Jiang Fengmian brought him home to Lotus Pier; when Yu Ziyuan learned the boy was a beta, she allowed him to stay. 30 years later, a resurrected Wei Wuxian hangs around Cloud Recesses and waits to wear out his welcome.

~*~

💙 all is bright

by sunflowersfield

T, 4k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Ying has slept in many different places. He has curled up on a park bench or a tiny cot in a room full of strangers. But somehow, he has never shared a bed with someone he cares about. He is realizing, now, as the sound machine fills his room with the pitter-patter of gentle rain, that he cares about Lan Zhan. Or: Wei Ying moves into his first apartment. His new neighbor helps him turn it into a home.

~*~

Your Shelter

by cosmicmilktea

T, WIP, 2k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of the MDZS Mini Remix for Tired Adults™

Summary: “There is no need for sorry,” Lan-gege had told him, what seemed like such a long time ago, “Robes can be cleaned.” But a soiled robe in Lotus Pier means lashes on his back and a night of kneeling in the ancestral hall, even if Jiang Cheng and all the other disciples also came back with mud and reeds painting their robes. A soiled robe means hearing baba and mama's names spoken in malice and ridicule. It means a gentle chiding from shijie as she pats his head and offers him a bowl of warm soup, which only made him miss the warmth of Xian-gege's safe embrace. His back hurts, and his knees ache from kneeling so long. Beneath his robes, Lan-gege's ribbon presses close to his heart, and it reminds him how he had felt so safe with the two men. How baba and mama had also made him feel safe even without the shelter of gilded walls and roofs. He longs to be that safe again, the longing building and building in the too-small confines of his chest until Wei Ying can not hold it in any longer. He runs.

~*~

We Meet at the Thousandth Step

by Admiranda (@ladypfenix), Rynne (@rynne)

T, WIP, 142k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: As they both go wherever the chaos might be, Lan Wangji and rogue cultivator Wei Wuxian, eldest child of the famous Cangse-sanren, find their paths converging. Soon they'll discover in each other the perfect partner for night hunting...and beyond.

~*~

12 Hours In Hell and Paradise (Or: Lan Zhan’s Distinguished Guide to Seasonal Depression)

by demonicsalad (@santonali)

T, 4k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Ying (1:01PM): brb putting lobotomy on my 2024 goals list Lan Zhan (1:02PM): Wei Ying. Wei Ying (1:02PM): [screenshot attached] Wei Ying (1:03PM): did i fucking stutter Or: of tears, tea, rotting, and long-overdue realizations

~*~

pale shadows of forgotten names

by Chrononautical (@chrononautintraining)

T, 56k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: To protect the Wen, Wei Wuxian throws himself on the mercy of the Lan Sect. To protect Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji marries him. To protect them all, Lan Xichen orders the Yiling Laozu's seclusion in the Jingshi. But the Jingshi had another occupant in the past. One who lingers on, furious to think that history might repeat.

~*~

Cuties and Questions

by WiseDawn13 (@wisedawn13)

T, 6k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: “Suibian?” a deep voice says suddenly, catching his attention. Wei Ying opens his eyes to look at who approached and promptly finds himself without breath at the sight of the man in front of him. After all these years he shouldn’t recognize him so easily, but Wei Ying would never be able to forget those eyes. “Oh!” Wen Ning squeaks. “You are familiar with Suibian?” Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan nods to Wen Ning. “I am. Are you the creator of Yiling Cuties?” “Ah? Oh, no. No, that would be him,” Wen Ning replies, somewhat flustered. It takes far too long for Wei Ying to realize that Wen Ning just diverted Lan Zhan’s attention to him because suddenly those golden brown eyes are staring directly into his soul and it hurts more than he would have expected. OR Wei Ying and Lan Zhan lost touch when Wei Ying's family moved away when they were kids. Wei Ying moves back to his hometown years later, meeting the man he once knew as his best friend.

~*~

💙 A New Dynasty

by One_eyed_God (@oneeyedoctogod)

T, Series, WIP, 76k, Background Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian is well-known as a trouble-maker, someone who likes jokes and chaos. He promptly proves this by disappearing without a trace from the Cloud Recesses, in the middle of the Lectures. But when war is on the horizon and tensions boil over, can his actions really be summarized as a simple prank? Or, the unbelievable story of Wei Wuxian, time traveller, told from everyone's point of view but his.

~*~

Christmas Eve at Number 16

by liulans (@liulans)

T, 9k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Lan Wangji considers that for a moment, squaring Wei Wuxian up. And then he says, “You are asking– if I would like to spend Christmas with you?” “It doesn't have to be, like, Christmassy,” he reminds him. “We can just hang out. Maybe you can come over tomorrow evening, and I'll have you back in your apartment before midnight. And then on Christmas day, I'll bring you an apple for luck, and that can be that.” “Okay.” Lan Wangji says, after a moment of brow-furrowing contemplation. “...Okay?” “I will see you tomorrow. I will– spend Christmas with you.” --- [Prompt: Character A can’t travel to see their family on Christmas, so they invite their grumpy loner neighbour Character B.]

~*~

Cleaning & Courtship

by Winxhelina (@winxhelina)

T, 13k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: It all started with some offhand comment Jin Zixun had made about Wei Wuxian's father having been a servant. About how he should stick to that and not aim for places not meant for him. Wei Wuxian had been at a party at the time with Nie Huaisang and unlikely as it had been, Lan Wangji had been there too. Wei Wuxian had complained about money and that had seemingly inspired the comment from a man, who, Wei Wuxian was sure, had never worked a day in his life. Lan Wangji had stared at Jin Zixun so hard Wei Wuxian thought he might actually drop dead. Somehow, two months later, Wei Wuxian actually finds himself cleaning rich people’s houses. There are very few cultivators wiling to clean houses for other cultivators, but there is demand for it. You can't hire a regular maid to dust and clean your ancient artefacts, even just sword maintenance is a whole area of expertise that civilians aren't qualified to do. In which Wei Wuxian accidentally ends up cleaning his long-time friend's house and Lan Zhan's room harbours a secret.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

#wangxian fic rec #wangxianficrecs #rewind 2023 #mdzs #the untamed #wangxian #fandom event #long post #Kay's Rec #Kay's Favorite #The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #MDZS #Mo Dao Zu Shi

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veenxys · 1 year

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「JJK Characters at the start of the relationship vs when they’re comfortable」

⤷ Gojou

he doesn’t change much; he is always unabashedly himself, and very into you, and he makes it very clear how attractive and interesting you are to him. he likes to share everything with you (even the smallest things, like a birthmark he recently discovered and what it reminds him of), and he won’t shut up. something about you makes him come alive. it makes him so comfortable, so clingy, so happy, he just can’t contain himself. the only change is how serious he gets with you; buys an engagement ring, wants to live with you, wants to be a pet parent, wants his friends to refer to you (jokingly but also semi-seriously) as his wife/husband because he can’t see a future without you, and he wants them to see you as the permanent fixture in his life as he sees you.

⤷ Itadori

he is can be the typical perfect boyfriend at first; lively, seductive, cheesy, and with a little ego. he has cliché encounters and jokes with a bright smile, and he never fails to make you laugh (or cringe, which makes him laugh, and you can’t help but laugh along). it has homemade dinners and fluffy candles and all the romance you could wish for. when he is more comfortable, he is more true to himself. he shares secret jokes and smiles, stolen kisses that take your breath away, secrets and fears shared with love and compassion. and he spends his nights at home, wrapped in each other’s arms as he opens up to you, and only to you. when he’s comfortable, he considers you his home, plans a future with you, and makes sure you always know how serious he is about you, and how completely in love he is.

⤷ Fushiguro

at first, he’s softspoken, and you would think you’re not dating him with how nervous he gets around you, it’s like he still has an unrequited crush on you. asks if he can kiss you, or hold your hand, slurs and mumbles his words when he asks for a hug or you to cuddle him. when he gets more comfortable, he still asks for consent with everything intimate, but more confidently, and you know it’s just out of respect for you and your autonomy. and as he gets to learn you better, he becomes your rock and you become his. hugs whenever he can wrap his arms around you, a soft smile on his face the whole time. cooking dinner for you, doing your laundry, and acts of service as a love language until he’s brave enough to say it out loud. never shuts up, tells you anything and everything on his mind.

⤷ Nobara

at first she may seem fearless, courageous and strong-willed. she always knows how to handle situations no matter what, and always makes you feel safe as she threatens anyone who dares to look at you strangely. everyone who knows her thinks she’s strong all the time and she’s proud of it, but after a while, you get to see her differently. she’ll try to keep up the facade for a long time, but you’d catch her crying in the bathroom or when she thinks you’re already asleep; she doesn’t admit it at first, but you know when she needs help. and after consoling her, she realizes that you are her home and that she doesn’t need to lie to you. she then becomes more considerate, sensitive, and loving. she’s not good at showing love through big things, but just hugs, holding hands and even the way she looks at you is enough to realize how silly and in love she is with you.

⤷ Maki

like nobara, she maintains a facade for everyone around her; but with you she becomes different. after seeing you being you with her, without fear and without lies, she feels comfortable enough to be herself with you as well. she is funnier, cute, and loving; always showing how much she loves and appreciates you through words or small gestures that mean the world to both of you. she is a great listener and is always ready to help you face any situation; she is your safe haven and is very happy to know that, and even happier to know that you are hers.

⤷ Geto

he doesn’t change much, he just opens up a little more for you. at first, he flirts with you a lot, looking at you with heart in his eyes, sighing when you pass by him, and doing everything possible and impossible for you to fall in love with him too. after you guys start dating, he remains the same; fun and loving, friendly but also sarcastic, and above all; completely in love with you. he lets you discover every little universe inside him as he lays on your lap and tells you everything that comes to his mind while you stroke his hair. he lets you into his life with the intention of making you stay forever. he tells you about his past knowing you are his future.

⤷ Nanami

in the beginning he is very perfect; so perfect it makes you believe he’s not real. he doesn’t show it, but he cares a lot about whether or not you’ll like him; he is quiet and tends to listen more, and always gives the best advice and answers. he also can be a bit harsh at first, afraid of saying something wrong or embarrassing; so at first, you might think that maybe he doesn’t have a sense of humor or doesn’t understand your jokes. even though he looks serious, his palms are sweaty as he intertwines his fingers with yours, and he grimaces if you comment. the more comfortable he is, the more perfect he is, but in his own way; letting you see him in his goofy, playful, tired states where he laughs at everything and gets hysterical. he likes to take care of you, always taking you out to eat or shopping, and absolutely spoils you. the more comfortable he is, the more clingy he will be, and the happier he is when he is held in your arms, making him feel loved and cared for. he’s a lot more open, too, and he tells you things he thought he’d never feel comfortable enough to say to anyone.

⤷ Toji

he doesn’t change much, to be honest. starts off arrogant and confident, and hides his vulnerability. takes you on perfect dates to impress you; says everything he thinks about as a way to bond and learn your opinions and ideas on everything. as he gets more comfortable, he’s more open, sweet, and honest than he was at first, and he allows himself to relax, to stop from trying to be so perfect and cocky. dates are more staying at home in his arms, and he allows for a comfortable silence where you savor each other’s presence. the biggest change as he gets more comfortable is the way he introduces you to those who are important to him - instead of “this is my partner”, it’s “this is the person i love”, and the silent implication of a future together is always there.

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