#alternatively: the one where baby law keeps suffering | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

five-rivers · 4 years ago

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Now i would like to see prompts of a curious benevolent eldritch being coming to visit Amity Park and coo at the baby eldritch (Danny) and tech him how to access his eldritch powers.

I know this is probably supposed to be about some more traditional and tentacle-y eldritch abomination, but this is essentially what I’m writing Grandfather Clocks as (not to mention assorted other oneshots and everything happening in Mortified). I’m too invested in Lost Time to clearly imagine anyone but Clockwork in the Adult Eldritch Abomination role... at least from a more general prompt like this one.

... on the other hand I now have Vague Ideas (tm) about a full AU where Danny has eldritch abomination powers instead of ghost powers and all the eldritch abominations he’s ‘fighting’ are just coming to play with the baby.

WARNING this is for real written as horror, since it’s from Danny’s perspective.

Time seemed to congeal as the shadow in Danny’s soul stretched backwards. This one had a name. It skittered between the dark and the part of Danny’s mind that still resembled a human’s. He breathed in, slowly, then out, tasting it on his tongue. Once, it had been two.

Finally, it coalesced into something he could actually speak. “Skultech,” he said.

“Relative of Skulker?” asked Tucker. “Or Technus?” He didn’t look at them or at Danny. He had protections, but they weren’t perfect, and he’d already taken a step away from the light.

“Yes,” said Danny, internally translating the vibrations of air into something with meaning and weight.

Skulker. The hunter, fleshless and tireless. A pursuer of the mind more than the body. Almost sporting in his own way. The library with all its labyrinthine but immaterial paths was the best place to lose him.

Technus. A horror that lurked in the depths of the internet, luring in deep-web users and more than a few unluckly click-bait and phishing victims. Technus didn’t kill them, did very little to them, really, but there was a reason there wasn’t a computer club at Casper High anymore.

They had been two. Now they were one. Part of Danny was fascinated. Another was thrilled, happy, as it always was when these dark things manifested themselves in Amity Park.

His shadow stretched, whispering over his features. He could feel curl over the texture of the ground beneath him, grasping at grass and bark and soil as if it were possessed of a thousand thousand tiny fingers. It wanted to open up and play.

(’It,’ Danny said, as if it weren’t him, an extension of himself.)

“What do we do?” asked Sam. She, unlike Tucker, looked directly at him, even half-shrouded in shadow as he was. She always did, even if she averted her gaze from the likes of Skulker and Technus.

Near the beginning, Sam had made the connection between the others, especially ones like Ember, who were as beautiful as the were dark, and cults. She had started a joke about making one for Danny. Over time, it had become less of a joke.

Danny tried to ignore the pleasant buzz of his skin as he imagined a cult attempting to do something as sweet as bind him to their will.

Because, really, he shouldn’t be thinking of something like that as ‘sweet’ at all.

“It’s still Skulker and Technus,” said Danny, even if he had never seen them like this. “I think... the same type of thing should probably work. I distract, Sam gets people out of the way, Tuck, you get the computers at the library ready and tell me when to lead them there?”

“Do you think it’ll really work when it’s both of them?” mumbled Tucker. “I don’t know if I can even do both of the things at once...”

“The alternative is not doing anything,” said Sam, “and considering that they seem to be after Danny...”

Tucker made a face, the glow from his PDA reflecting from his glasses. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try.”

“Remember,” said Danny, “don’t give me the go-ahead until you and everyone else is out.”

“Yeah, I remember, I remember,” he said.

“Go do your thing,” said Sam.

Danny nodded and left the shelter of their hiding place. He did not stand up, or walk, or move. He simply stopped being there and started being in front of Skultech.

From a distance, he probably still looked human.

They fought.

It was hard to describe how they fought, exactly, in human terms, but they did. Right up until one of Skultech’s three-fingered hands wrapped around Danny’s ankle and his shadow vanished.

He, breathing hard and falling, remembered what it was to be human. To be vulnerable. His shadow came back to him, flickering. He came back to himself.

There was a darkness that was himself, and he was so relieved. Why? How often had he wanted this gone? But he was whole, and like that he was half, and-

He’d gotten distracted.

Skultech had surrounded him, a hunting ground strobed with lightning. This kind of fight was an oddity to both Skulker and Technus, this kind of movement, this kind of strategy. Danny began to doubt that his earlier plan would work.

What was a library but another kind of forest?

With only enough warning for his self to wrap around him protectively, Skultech yanked him down into the Dream. The pale seaweed threads of human consciousness gave way to the dark and the other. He fell to the floor of a midnight palace and rolled to his back, coughing up not-water from the idea of his lungs.

Here, said Skultech, in something that wasn’t quite language. The True Voice. Danny had seen people fall to their knees when the others used that. Had seen sane men turn into blind faith worshippers. Had heard lies that became true in the speaking, or near enough that it didn’t matter.

He had never quite managed to speak that way himself, no matter Sam’s cajoling.

Danny managed to open his eyes. He did not come to the Dream often, no matter how much it called to him. Both his halves agreed, here, where every place was also a person, it was dangerous even in the shallows.

The ceiling was covered in layers upon layers of spiderwebs, and he did not like what that meant. Skultech was nowhere to be seen.

He pulled himself up and got to his feet.

The floor beneath him was glass. Beneath that was clockwork, but the gears were galaxies and solar systems, the springs were entropy and enthalpy, and the chains were the laws of physics themselves. Clockwork. It was... It would do, as a name.

The distant sense of amusement was disturbing.

Danny looked around. He needed a way out, a way back up, to where he could leave the Dream.

Why did Skultech bring him here?

Spiderwebs and gears. Symbols of control, of interconnectedness, of carefully laid plans. Was he stuck in a web he couldn’t see?

He spun, slowly, trying to see if he could see any doors or other openings. Something flashing, moving, in the distance caught his eye. His first instinct was to move away, but...

But it was like he was being drawn in. Like he couldn’t turn away. It was a mirror. A window.

It showed him himself. At first, a hundred paces away, just himself, as he was, but then at pace ninety-nine it changed. Mirrors did that, in the Dream. Everything did that, in the dream.

Time sped up. The mirror reflected not just light, but sound and feeling. He could see himself, his shadow, and-

He felt it when all the little Loves that kept him tethered to his humanity snapped, the lives they were anchored to burning up as they met their deaths. He screamed and heard it echoed back to him a thousand times over.

He could not stop walking. He could not stop watching. Ninety steps away.

His shadow in the mirror was wild. Unbound and grieving. Flesh and blood and bone existed, but his two part mind was unbalanced and divided from itself. He sought aid from the only other like himself and received a knife, received Hate to replace love and at seventy-five steps he watched as what he had once been embraced Vlad and devoured him whole, eating and becoming everything that made him him.

The shadow unfurled, hungry and seeking. The memory Love it once had and the Love it had desired for so long driving it onward and outward, the center pulsing like a diseased star. Seventy steps. It had eyes like constellations.

The mirror showed the Dream, now. Veins of sickness wound through the garden of human thought, through the tangled vines and twisted paths. What it found did not satisfy, and it sought more, and more, delving deeper. Sixty steps, then fifty.

It ate at the best of people, of others. The singers fell silent. The doctors could no longer heal. The kind became cruel.

Darkness fell. Then war. The shadow ruled all from its misery.

It was not enough.

Forty steps. It’s eyes met Danny’s. It knew he was here, knew he was watching. It began to speak in its True Voice, and Danny could not cover his ears to keep it out.

It spoke of the things it had done, of the things it would do. Danny watched as it carried out its plans, and even more. It spoke of how it, he, was Danny, and all this destruction, all this suffering was wrought by his own hands. It spoke of Love Danny did not cherish sufficiently, of fragility, of how it was determined to Be rather than Be Not even though its every moment was loneliness and Hatred to the point of agony.

Danny’s ears were bleeding.

Thirty steps.

It spoke of how it would hurt Danny, in particular. How it would rend his shadow, wound so there was no hope for him to escape his fate, even with foreknowledge of it. It spoke of how, with Danny watching, the mirror was a window, was a door it could reach through and Danny saw it reaching.

Saw it reaching out and in and towards now and those that he Loved, those that he cherished and Danny would have pushed himself to run but he couldn’t stop walking.

Twenty steps. It could make itself look like Danny, and even though it was wrong, Danny was wrong too, he was so, so, so, wrong and his wrongness was going to get them killed. It was going to get everyone killed.

They were looking at it, not him, speaking with it, not him. His darkness was covered. With it, these things were like staring at the sun.

It tore away the protections he had so painstakingly layered over those he Loved.

Ten steps.

He saw his parents with a bomb made by their own hands, one that would devastate the Dream for miles around, killing anything that dared to imagine, the culmination of their work. Nine steps. He saw Mr. Lancer writing lesson plans with his own blood, each sentence less English than the last. Eight steps. He saw Sam with the ritual knife, her smile full of blood and sacrifice. Seven steps. He saw Tucker clawing out his eyes, surrounded by computer screens flaring with symbols humans were never meant to use. Six steps. He saw Jazz-

He saw Jazz notice.

Five steps.

He could have wept.

She armed herself with stories and legends and saltwater and truths that made Danny seize and the fact that this thing was not her brother. Four steps.

He watched her confront it.

Three steps.

He watched it toy with her, her machinations only delaying her doom.

Two steps.

He watched it k-

One step.

No!

For the first time, he screamed in his True Voice. His fist snapped out, striking the mirror dead center. It shattered.

Was that enough? Was he in time? He- He couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t- They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t be gone.

He dropped to his knees. The shards of the mirror glittered up at him, calling him. His hand shook as he reached out and picked one up. Slowly, he raised it to his lips. He opened his lips and as soon as the shard was even with his teeth, he bit down, the glass crunching like thunder.

Already, he was reaching for another piece. He swallowed. His hands went out, nails scrabbling along the floor in his hurry. Mirror shard after mirror shard was shoved into his mouth and choked down.

There was something around his neck. With one of his many hands he reached up, feeling up his chest to throat. There was a collar there. It felt like control, like ownership, like Love.

Something liquid dripped from his eye.

Even as he gagged on glass, two of his hands, his human hands, explored the circumference of the metal piece. There were delicate fractal patterns on the surface that had double on the interior. As his fingers pressed down on them, they in turn pressed on the skin of his neck, sending pleasant curls of thought down his limbs.

His questing fingers found the collar’s lead. It was at the same time, like the spider silk above and the clockwork chains below. Flexible. Strong. Indelible. It was as inevitable as gravity that he should Be Loved and Love in return.

He licked the last powdery pieces of mirror off his fingers and his extra arms slowly evaporated back into the Dream as if they never were.

Who would Love him like this? Love him to the point that it manifested in the Dream like this? The answer was all around him, was inside him, as his heart echoed back the Love as best it was able, but he could hardly believe it.

The sound of footsteps on the hard floor jolted him out of his reverie. He looked up and met the red eyes of Clockwork’s avatar.

It had the appearance of a blue-skinned man wearing a cloak and festooned with symbols of time. A few long white hairs peeked from beneath its hood, and a painful-looking scar laid over its eye.

For a moment, Danny was stunned, because this was a true avatar, an extension of Clockwork himself, not a human hollowed out for use as a vessel. For someone as powerful as Clockwork had to be to be so vast in the Dream to bestow such attention on Danny-

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the only thing that rolled off his tongue was blood. Shame crept up his cheeks. He didn’t know if it was his use of his True Voice when destroying the mirror, or consuming all those shards afterwards, but his normal voice was gone.

Shh, soothed Clockwork’s avatar, gloved hands cupping Danny’s cheeks and forcing his lips closed. You need not speak, child. Those who love you will know your intent.

Danny nodded slowly, beginning to feel dazed. He remembered the scenes in the mirror. Remembered what the shadow-him had done. His fingers bent around the lead- it was almost as thick as his wrist- and looked up at Clockwork’s avatar.

Clockwork could strike him down, now, could destroy him so completely that even the merest memory of him was gone, and he would not care, because he would know it was done out of Love.

The lead shivered against his palms and grew.

No need, said Clockwork’s avatar. You have devoured your destiny and become free of it.

That sounded reasonable. The avatar brushed a thumb across Danny’s lips and smiled.

You have given yourself fangs.

Danny blushed again. He hadn’t meant to.

The avatar released Danny’s cheeks to reach for his hands, arranging them in Danny’s lap and rubbing circles into his palms. Then the avatar gently brought Danny’s attention to the door in its chest.

The door was glass. Beyond the glass laid an approximation of a heart made of the same elements as what laid beneath the floor. A metaphor for Clockwork’s heart, Danny guessed, though what laid in the avatar’s chest couldn’t be anywhere near as grand as the real thing.

The avatar nodded, and then leveled a gloved finger at Danny’s own chest. He looked down.

There was a door, there, too.

His breath caught in his throat and he tried to scramble away, some still-human part of him objecting strenuously to whatever was going to happen.

All at once, the whole of Clockwork’s attention turned in on him, and for an infinite moment of time he was held in a perfect embrace. His thought from earlier returned. Anything, and he would not object, because it was done out of Love.

His edges, usually so sharply defined, even in the Dream, went fuzzy, almost blending with his surroundings, those surroundings being Clockwork.

The avatar reached for Danny’s door and opened it. It hurt, but not as much as he thought it would. Within, laid his heart.

The surface, the shape, of it looked human enough. The veins and arteries were all in the right places. The atria and chambers all looked to be the proper sizes. It beat an even rhythm.

But inside it was as black as night and something like a star twinkled in its depth.

It was... odd, how closely it resembled Clockwork’s galaxies while being at the same time so different.

Clockwork’s avatar opened the door to its own chest, pinning it to his cloak, then he reached into Danny’s chest.

There was the pain he had been expecting, radiating from his core to the very tips of his fingers and toes. If he were not held immobile by the sheer force of Clockwork’s regard, he would have arched backwards and screamed.

Methodically, the avatar cut and tied off every one of arteries, veins, and nerves that led from the rest of Danny’s body to his heart. Finally, the heart excised and cradled in its hands, it drew back.

Danny should be dead. The Dream did not follow the same rules as the reality he had been born into, but his mind would not let go of the fact that he had no heart. He should be dead.

The avatar inserted Danny’s heart into its chest, next to its own, and closed its door. Slowly, the image of Danny’s heart faded into metaphor as it sunk down into the deeps to nestle next to Clockwork’s true heart.

Danny understood, then, that from this moment on, Clockwork would decide the direction of his heart, would determine who he Loved and who he Hated. If he should Love or Hate. Danny rather doubted Clockwork would let Danny do anything so damaging as Hate.

I shall keep it safe for you, said the avatar, something more profound behind its words that might have been Clockwork himself, until you are old enough to protect it on your own.

Danny understood, too, that although this promise was not a lie, he would never be old enough to reclaim his heart, no matter how much time passed or how powerful he grew. Clockwork’s Love and protection would keep both him and it safe, young, fragile. How could it do otherwise, when time itself would flow around him? When Love would keep him anchored to one form?

Clockwork’s attention relaxed, then, and Danny could move again, curling around the gaping hole in his chest. The avatar ruffled his hair and, with his other hand, held something out to Danny.

Six paired sets of life and death glimmered against the lavender of the avatar’s glove. Danny recognized them. They belonged to the people he Loved. He had not realized he Loved Mr. Lancer, but he could see now that it was true.

Moving slowly, as if underwater, Danny held his cupped hands beneath the avatar’s. His breath caught as the avatar tipped the lives and deaths into his hands.

So precious. He brought them down to his lap and, with painstaking care, began to peal the deaths away from the lives. Each death he ate, consuming it and breaking it down into nothing. Each life he placed in the hollow that had once housed his heart.

Like this, they would not die, they would not leave him. They would be with him, always, just as he would always Love them.

Exhaustion hit him all at once, and he slumped forward to rest his head on the Avatar’s shoulder. It laughed, lightly, and helped him close the door in his chest. Then, it took a heart-shaped padlock from within its cloak and threaded it into the latch of Danny’s door. The click as the padlock closed echoed off the floor and distant walls.

With a kind of detached curiosity, Danny watched as the edges of the door, latch, padlock and all, melded into his skin and vanished as if they had never been there at all. He knew that he would not be able to find the door again without help, and that, even then, to open the door he would need the padlock’s key. A key he had not yet seen.

But what reason did he have to open his chest? Others might have cause, those who wanted to hurt him, or those that he Loved. This was another protection, another way to keep him safe.

This time you devoured your destiny, said the avatar, petting him. The sick futures have been cut away. Next, we shall remove the presents where you Are Not. After that... The sentence trailed away in a buzz that made Danny’s thoughts go quiet.

The avatar began to do something that could only be described as singing even though neither voice nor sound were involved. It was a lullaby, and Danny felt himself become even heavier and softer than before. He curled into the avatar’s side, feeling small. The pain of his missing heart eased itself into something more bearable. The threads of love that kept him from becoming a monster wound tighter around his limbs and sewed themselves deeper into his skin.

His eyes drifted closed.

When he woke, he was in his bed, in Fentonworks. He blinked several times at his ceiling, and leapt to his feet only to be waylaid by dizziness and static across his eyes. He brought a hand up to his neck, half expecting to feel metal.

He didn’t.

He shifted, pressing two fingers against an artery. No pulse. He switched his grip to his wrist. Nothing.

Right. No heart.

No heart but six lives and-

He stumbled out of his room and started banging wildly on her door. Jazz threw it open and froze.

“It’s really you?” she asked, voice quivering.

Danny opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. It didn’t seem like Jazz really needed a verbal response, because she threw herself at him, enveloping him in a hug.

“I was so scared,” she whispered. “The- the not-you-” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Everyone was dying, and then- and then it was just- It was like a dream. Like it didn’t happen. But you were gone.”

Danny nodded, even though she couldn’t see him.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” she said. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

Her love, so tenuous and slender compared to Clockwork’s, but no less genuine, wound around his wrist. He hugged her back.

If he had been able to speak, he would have said, Me, too.

#danny phantom #ask #answer #prompt fill #eldritch abomination au #prompt #body horror #horror

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valkyriegoddesses · 4 years ago

Text

Thoughts on ACOSF

⚠️ SPOILERY, SO DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK ⚠️

⚔️ the good and the bad, I’ll try to get rid of the bad thoughts first and keep the positive ones for the end but idk where my line of thought would go as I recall and type so here we go

• Nesta’s journey of healing is hers and hers alone. She owes no one in the inner circle anything, they didn’t do her any favors. (Now before I delve into this, I just want to say that I see they (Feyre and Elain only) had good intentions, but I’m going to point out everywhere it went wrong, probably against what they planned, but still it went horribly wrong) She was still suffering all the same after she got her free will stripped from her, the decision made for her by packing her things without informing her or listening to her opinion or trying to have a more lenient approach to the matter, being threatened that her second option is being thrown to the human lands where she could die, being lied to about the consequences of her actions in law, being told she “belongs in the Hewn City”, being told she’s “a pathetic waste of life”, and choosing the place everyone admits they hate going to aka the House of Wind, as her destination to heal. Knowing full well she can’t make the descent down these stairs and would be imprisoned without the power to winnow. And instead of being given her space and time, they push her to talk and interact when all she’s trying to do is have some distance from everyone. Some time to herself, to not feel anything, to control the storm of thoughts raging on the inside. And she’s pushed time and time again to face her trauma and heal RIGHT NOW because apparently, they’re timing her. And she shouldn’t have her emotions on display, when she tells them she doesn’t feel like talking yet she’s forced to interact and socialize. Anyone who’s been forced to interact against their will knows how draining it is. Now imagine this coupled with being triggered by water, and being triggered by fire, which are a daily necessity. And imagine everyone got a decade or more to deal with their trauma and are still not entirely healed, yet your time is up after little over a year. It sucks. And I hate how what triggered them to action wasn’t that she was wasting away to nothing, but the bill. When the bill was high, they drew the line. And I hate how in the narrative, the “conversation” -even though I wouldn’t call it that because only one side was allowed to talk and the other side wasn’t allowed to object- was written in a way that made it about THEIR image, when she’s frequenting taverns. THEIR image, when she doesn’t show up to their parties. THEIR image when the bill for her drinking is high. (They say it’s too much money, as if they don’t have all the riches and they all spend money on things that are absolutely not necessary, and THEY drowned her with gifts, LOADS of gifts, after she sacrificed her power to save her sister, which she didn’t do for payment, but anyway the thought is, they had the money and just like they thought Amren deserves payment for what she did in the war, they should’ve kept the same energy for Nesta because she had no small role in that either). I just think they handled it badly. Not exactly how you’d talk to someone suffering from PTSD, depression and survivor’s guilt. For one, threatening a worse alternative isn’t helpful. Secondly, There were way too many people in that room. More than necessary. Feyre and Elain would’ve been enough AS HER FAMILY (and I’ll get to details on this in a moment). And Feyre was the only decent one handling it as someone who actually was looking for a better outcome and really had the intention to help, someone who wasn’t there just to humiliate. Amren and Rhys were only there to land jabs and poke at her insecurities and bad coping mechanisms. Rhys used his power on her to force her to obey him and we all know how it’s a big NO among them. Many of those in the IC had worse coping mechanisms. But what she was doing was too much for them to handle? She was self-destructing. And she kept her distance. If I told someone I needed my space and they kept poking their head in my business, I sure as hell would lash out. When someone needs space, their privacy should be respected. No matter how long it takes them.

And I don’t see where the problem with her drinking was. She never showed up to events drunk. We never saw her hungover the day after. She was spending some money on drinking yes, but it did not get out of hand. She was also spending money on food and gambling. All in all, not the worst coping mechanism among those who were criticizing her. Not to mention that everyone who criticized her were drinkers as well, and they all slept around during some part of their lives.

Now the problem with the presence of other people in that room, other than Feyre (if Elain didn’t wish to attend and preferred to have some space between her and and Nesta, it’s her choice) anyway, only Feyre’s presence was required. Everyone else there was just an accessory, only adding stress to the atmosphere, forcing Nesta to get on the defensive with the way they slut shamed her, shamed her for drinking, shamed her for not being able to take a bath even though she told Feyre how the water still scares her, etc. I can see Sarah wanted it to look like a “family” intervening. Like some tough love sort of thing. But she failed. Simply because, the IC might be Feyre’s found family and she might take such a talk from them because it would really be tough love. As for Nesta, she doesn’t view them as family. She barely knows them. So for a group of strangers, or let’s say newly acquainted people, to sit around her and point out her every flaw and shame her for every misstep, who wouldn’t lash out at that? It’s enough she’s forced to spend time among them, on holidays she doesn’t really believe in, where they force her to attend but actively ignore her presence and treat her like a ghost. Why make her come if they don’t enjoy her company? It’s just ridiculous. Then when she gets angry from all the pushing and lashes out and it’s entirely her fault. they’re all like “come to our gatherings where we will insult you, nitpick all your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but don’t be offended and seclude yourself, we all took decades to deal with our trauma and killed people while doing it but your coping mechanisms are unhealthy. And your actions are unforgivable because you lash out at us when we shove ourselves down your throat. How can you not like us? Everyone has to like us.” Then she gets thrown away to a war camp, a FUCKING WAR CAMP, while a big part of her trauma is because of war. And instead of dealing with her face-to-face, while being gentle and showing her they’re on her side WITHOUT JUDGEMENT, WITHOUT WINCING AND GLANCES AT EACH OTHER AND INNER CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HER WHERE SHE’S EXCLUDED, they’re like “we’re tired of your shit so here’s a house you can stay in while you sort this out away from our merry little circle, which has its nose up your business anyway. But still, sort it out away from us.” And in that house she became more and more closed off and her healing - and I will die on this hill - her healing DID NOT start until the house came into play which was her own doing. And it kicked off because of Emerie and Gwyn, who both didn’t judge her, didn’t demonize her, didn’t only see the bad in her, but accepted her as she was and loved every part of her. Showed her that she was not a waste of life and there are things to live for. As for the beloved inner circle? Beyond insulting her and her coping mechanisms, They don’t tell her about the weapons SHE made, because pro-colonization Amren doesn’t think it’s wise, that Nesta would use it against the world. (Amren do you hear how stupid you sound?) they always villianize her, assuming she’d be out to take the world and take revenge on everyone who ever glanced her way. They assumed she was bad, they assumed because she was angry, that she would use her power for killing and terrorizing and building an Empire like they all do. When all she wanted to do was listen to music and be around good company who passed her no judgement.

Anyway, getting into some details with each character:

Feyre: I hated Feyre’s “crying over scrambled eggs because my image is destroyed my sister spent so much money on drinking”. And the fact that when telling Nesta she was doing this for her own good, she told her she was embarrassed for her own image in the same breath. But beyond that I was fine with her. I loved her reconcilation with Nesta. I loved that she was one who wanted to give Nesta more time, recognized that she needed her own time. I love them together. I think without everyone’s interference, their reconcilation would’ve happened much faster. They were already making progress before ~some people~ ruined everything and caused Nesta to be closed off again. I don’t hate that Nesta sacrificed her power to save Feyre in the end. She’s her sister and she loves her and this is not the first time she proved this. She would do anything to protect her sisters and she hates herself for the times she misstepped. Even though it wasn’t her fault and there was a full grown man sitting there who conveniently got a redemption arc. What angers me though, is that it was only after this, that the inner circle viewed her as someone who is worth their respect. And made the sacrifice materialistic by drowning Nesta with gifts. She didn’t do it for their acceptance or for their love, or for payment. She did it because her sister needed help. Period. (Sidenote: I’m writing a post where I delve deep into their relationship, which I will eventually post, because I think I reached an understanding about their relationship)

Elain: let me get something out of the way, she has power. She has free will, she’s not a baby. She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need coddling. I hate how the fandom views her as a baby. And she’s constantly infantilized, preventing her from reaching her full potential. Now that that’s out of the way, here are my 2 cents on her, since she wasn’t in this book much: Nesta’s wording was very clear, yet I’ve seen this scene misread all over the timeline. Nesta said “I sat by your side for weeks. Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die. No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.” Nesta’s problem is NOT that Elain wasn’t “there” as in “by her side”. She explicitly stated she needed space. Nesta’s problem was that she stood between Elain and anyone who might tell her to snap out of it and lock her trauma in some dark room in the back of her head. She made sure Elain had her time. While Elain agreed to pack her bags and didn’t prevent them from shipping her away, deciding her time was up. All she wants is time, and Elain didn’t have her back on this. Then we have the fact that Elain slut-shamed Nesta. And then when Nesta comes to the party this time, Elain meets her at the door and her reaction instead of saying hi and leaving it at that or simply ignoring her, is “did Feyre pay you this time?” I’m torn on where to stand on the Elain-Nesta situation, a part of me is disappointed in Elain. I think she should’ve handled this better than anyone else because she was there, she witnessed the trauma happen, Nesta was there for her, they grew up being inseparable the entire time. If anyone should understand her better than anyone else, it’s Elain. So why did she abandon her to everyone’s judgement? And a part of me is like maybe she knew whatever she voted wouldn’t matter because the IC were taking the step anyway, and didn’t want to be there when it happened. Or maybe she’s still dealing with her own trauma in her own way and doesn’t want a confrontation. But I always circle back to the sl*t-shaming and the shaming about the drinking, and then I think about the Solstice scene where as soon as she saw her she was like “did Feyre pay you this time?” And a part of me is angry about the shaming undertone of that too, while some part of me thinks that maybe Elain felt unwanted along with everyone else and that in order for Nesta to meet them, she has to be paid, but we will never know unless we hear it from her.

Rhysand: that piece of shit, misogynist, who used his powers to compel Nesta to obey his orders, pulled rank on her, taunted and threatened her every step of the way and utilized her for his own agenda, and was *surprised* to learn the woman has trauma. Took him being inside her head and unable to wake her up from the nightmare, because the behavior she was exhibiting wasn’t enough. [insert shocked pickatchu meme]. I also would like to add that him playing the protective love interest from his mate’s own sister, WHO COULD’VE HARMED HER IF SHE WANTED TO, but never wanted to because she’s not a bad person, is so cheap. Like- you, the guy who drugged her and made her give you lap dances, are afraid for her sake… from her sister? Who only ever used words as jabs and is generally rude? Or do you feel like you’re overpowered and are trying to fill the void in your toxic masculinity and reassert dominance ?

Cassian: He was patient with her, and probably the healthiest person in the inner circle who dealt with her until she was okay, but he still silently agreed with all the shit that was said about her. Shit she didn’t deserve to be said about her as someone going through trauma. He mocked whatever progress she made on the stairs calling it pathetic in the beginning. He stayed silent when Nesta was stripped of her will, when she was told she belongs in the Court of Nightmares, when her fate was decided for her, when she was being lied to, when she was threatened to be thrown to the humans who would kill her. He made some progress and understood her better with time, but it doesn’t excuse how he stayed silent when she was being mistreated. Specially since he claims her loves her. He also stayed silent as the Inner Circle despised her presence but still used her to reach what they’re plotting for. He progressed, and he got better, I’ll give him that. But still, as someone who claims he loves her the way he does, he shouldn’t have allowed his friends to manipulate and use her in their schemes but then exclude her from everything else, even knowledge about her own power. But I love that he was patient, that he worked to understand her, that he grew to stand up for her. I would argue that they are the healthiest ship written by SJM this far.

Mor: fucking Mor, who experienced trauma, told Nesta she belongs in the court of Nightmares. Where she was abused herself. Knowing women are viewed as objects there, knowing Nesta would recieve abuse there. She said that, wishing abuse on someone who she simply didn’t like and had some quarrels with. They never saw eye to eye and that’s fine. They always had sharp tongues when talking to each other and that’s fine. What’s not fine though, is that THIS of all things, seemed so out of character for Mor. Now, she never knew Nesta was a survivor of SA. But as someone who helps SA victims, she’s the last person I expected such a comment from. It felt very out of character. I hate that this is the Bi character in all of this mess. Of all people, a hypocrite is the Bi person. The LGBTQ community deserves better. I thought about it, and maybe Mor, being like a stranger to Nesta, and seeing her ignore Cassian in front of the Illyrians who already look down on him, made her angry to the point where she just wanted to land a jab and didn’t think her words would mean anything. Maybe all she wanted to do was stand up for Cassian, but what she said was definitely not true and not okay. I wanted her and Nesta to have a talk about it, but also she grew to have decent conversations with her and she helped her when she and Cassian had that fight. So I don’t know, maybe it’s a silent progress between them.

Amren: this one told her she was a waste of life. What a great way to deal with someone who’s suffering from PTSD and depression and having suicidal thoughts, Amren. Tell them they’re a waste of life, enforce every thought they are having as fact, push them to the point where they doubt they should be breathing, and when they’re told they could tumble down a mountain and break their bones while hiking, their first thought would be “good”. Amren deserves a medal, a badge of honor for being the 500+ old woman who has healthy ways of dealing with traumatized people telling them they don’t deserve to live because the thoughts of their power and dealing with controlling that power right now is so overwhelming. Amren, who decided that because Nesta was always angry, she had no right to know that she used her power unknowingly and forged powerful weapons. Amren, who was pushing for colonization throughout this book, was afraid of Nesta misusing her power. Villainizing Nesta’s every thought, as if Nesta wasn’t overwhelmed from the thought of possessing so much power, as if Nesta doesn’t refuse to use her powers and train. As if Nesta is out there hiding as she masters her power to reemerge and turn the world upside down. You’re the one who’s pushing Rhys to colonize other territories and become high king, Amren. Maybe *you* should be locked up in the house of wind for therapy. What hurts most in this is Amren was her friend. She trusted Amren. Amren said that shitty line to her and then lied to her and manipulated her and used her to further Rhys’s agenda. She flopped from telling Feyre that Nesta is immortal and a few years are nothing, and she should be given time. She would not betray her trust, to whatever she turned into in ACOSF. And everyone give SJM a round of pats on the back and an applause for making Amren the wise one here and making Nesta, the traumatized one who was wronged, get on her knees and apologize. I mean- if you thought this apology scene was necessary, then clarification about the fight between them was just as necessary. Or you include neither scene. But deeming the apology important and not the incident? This is some victim blaming on a whole other level.

The House of Wind: The house of wind was honestly one of the best parts of this book. It was Nesta, “Lady Death” as they call her, breathing life into something, and it was gentle, and it was patient, and it was understanding, and it pushed her to be healthier without judging, without throwing insults or slut-shaming. It hated that she didn’t eat? It kept waiting for her until her body gave out and she had to eat. It didn’t like her drinking? It gave her water when she asked for wine. It showed her its darkest part where she found the greatest warmth as well, as if saying don’t be ashamed of your darkness because in it you’ll find light, and it didn’t abandon her or stop responding to her when she was angry. It was actively by her side, without any judgement, only support and pushing her to fix the behaviours without dissing her. and it was everything those people around her weren’t. It was family.

Gwyn: their first meeting wasn’t at all what you would call “friendly”, to a fault by Nesta. Gwyn didn’t even know anything about Nesta, yet she didn’t react with even more anger as ~others~ did, she didn’t fear Nesta, or give a retort, or get angry and lash out at her. She took the blow and was, with all the calm in the world, like fine, you want to tell on me, go tell. And Nesta did go tell on her, then realized by herself how she acted rashly. And later helped Gwyn without being asked to, by swapping the book so Merrill doesn’t scold her. And their friendship grew to the point where Gwyn, a traumatized person who couldn’t dare leave the library, started training with her, was her friend and had conversations with her that didn’t center her trauma or her coping mechanisms being analyzed. She went out of the library for the first time in 2 years when she knew Nesta needed her by her side. She occupied her mind with stories of Valkyries, women being strong and unyielding in a society which didn’t allow it. She took her hand and gave her a purpose in life to work for. Gave her a friend who didn’t judge, a kind face in the maelstorm of judgemental faces. Until she felt like a safe space to Nesta to the point where she spilled all her thoughts, the ones she could only admit to herself, to Gwyn, letting her inside those walls. And when she braced for judgement, she didn’t receive it. Gwyn dealing with someone’s trauma, as someone who’s been through trauma herself, is one of the beautiful corners of this book

Emerie: Another woman with trauma. She sees Nesta enter her store, of course she knows who she is, yet she doesn’t judge her. Nesta asks about making the fatigues warmer, Emerie says she’ll ask, but it’s costly. Nesta says then she can’t afford it, admits that she was cut off, Emerie, as a stranger, doesn’t judge her. She says she could make them anyway and she can pay her as she can. Because no one should feel cold. It’s simple, irrelevant. Nesta wouldn’t freeze to death, she as a stranger has no obligation to help, it’s a simple reasoning. “You shouldn’t feel cold”. It’s enough for her to help Nesta. Something as mundane as feeling cold. She asks her to join her for a meal. And Nesta asks her if she would join the training, which Emerie refuses. and Nesta blurts out that she didn’t take her for a coward. And later, Nesta sends her the herbs she wishes to get which she can’t get often because of her location, and it’s a message of “you too deserve to see what’s best in the world, to go out and experience the beautiful parts and live, not just exist”. So Emerie goes to training with her as well, and they bond over romance novels. Emerie also reaches a point where she opens up about her own trauma, and tells the truth about what she faced and her survival. This girl who is 50-something at least, who has never had friends, living a lonely secluded life, finally found someone who was trustworthy enough to be around and form a bond with. As for the fact that she is a PoC, and the illyrians are portrayed as this group of savages who abuse their women and their women have no say in their lives and futures and how they clip their women’s wings, when wings, wingspan and wingplay heavily imply that wings are erogenous parts of the body and wing clipping seems to be the equivalent of Circumcision, which again so happens to be done by the “PoC savages who abuse their women”, hits a whole lot as fucking racist and xenophobic. PoC deserve a storyline where they’re not viewed as the villains.

Azriel: I loved his relationship with Nesta. He was the best chaperon™️, he never spoke in judgement toward her. There was a silent understanding between them. However, I’m not against him showing his feelings toward Elain or her toward him. It’s fine, if that’s what they both want. I don’t think Lucien is the type to call for a blood duel. He simply brings her presents and attends when invited, he doesn’t force himself on her and keeps his distance. However I did hate that Azriel took the necklace and gave it to Gwyn, as a secondhand. I know his only intention was to make her smile but the necklace wasn’t meant for her. It’s not a trial by error, he can’t just keep trying out with different women every time he fails with one. And I’ll just leave this here.

The elephant in the room: the entire IC is involved in this, them all blaming Nesta, framing her as the wrong person, when she told Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy? I don’t care if she did it while she was angry, her heart was in the right place. She got hurt from them deciding her fate without her involvement, voting on her, not once, but twice, about her fate because she wasn’t fast enough to deal with her trauma, then again when deciding if she should know about what she did with her own power and the weapons. and she showed Feyre what was really at play. Protecting her from what she faced with the Inner Circle. Just because she was angry while doing it does not mean she did it out of spite. She did it to expose them, specially Amren at that point. But I don’t get how it was twisted to “because she wanted to hurt Feyre”. She wasn’t even angry at Feyre. But you all would rather suck up to the Inner Circle than confront the fact that they’re hypocrites and liars with a propaganda. They’re evil. They fear Nesta using her power to seize control of everyone because it’s how THEY are. With all this High King crap. Basically colonization dreams. With how they press rank whenever it suits them, and lie about the law to win arguments. It’s because those who are inherently bad think everyone is bad just like them.

Other Elephants in the room which have been here a long time: the thing with blaming Nesta for not being the breadwinner… I could never get it. Some have money-earning skills, others don’t. She, at the point of her life when she was human, was only trained in dancing and appealing to men socially so she could uplift the family’s social status. She couldn’t hunt. Feyre could. And NEITHER, should’ve been the breadwinner. Nesta was willing to starve to death if it would push her father to do something. Feyre wasn’t willing to wait and starve or watch anyone starve. But it doesn’t mean Nesta was at fault. She was only 3 years older than Feyre. Let’s leave the “the oldest child has to step in for the parents when the parents fail” mentality in the past. It’s ridiculous. Nesta was under no obligation to be the breadwinner. And she suffered self-flagellation regularly for letting Feyre walk out there and hunt. But she literally had no skills that when she thought of something to do, she could only think of selling herself on the streets. The parents were abusive, both of them. Favoring one child over the other and planting rivalry between the siblings. “i love you” means nothing. NOTHING, when there is no action to prove it. And if anything, this book made me realize that Nesta was never okay. She was never in a good place mentally. I mean, I knew, but this book just proved it. Her mother favored her alright, but it was not in a loving way. She simply exploited her to climb the social ladder. She didn’t give her love, she gave her instructions. She enabled the grandmother to beat her, and instill some “harsher punishments” one of which Nesta still holds the scars for. She was called worthless, as a child. Why? Because she made a wrong step in a dance. She was physically and verbally abused, and her mother let it happen. Yet she was the only one who would give Nesta the time of day so Nesta still loved her. As a child, her mother was the only person who showed interest in her and she clung to. However twisted it was, it’s the only love she ever got. The only love she knew. Then she lost her. and later the family also lost their wealth. So all she was taught to do her entire life suddenly became meaningless because she can’t achieve what her mother “trained” her to do. And we know the rest of the story. She never felt at home, not even when her mother lived and she still had that wealth. She admitted as much. She was never fine. She might’ve appeared the part, but it was never true. And since she was so good at masking her emotions, nobody was the wiser.

side note: As for her power being the “bare minimum” now, there better not be a plothole, since Rhysand couldn’t contain merely the “surface of her power” because it was too much. and if that’s all she retained, then it’s good enough for me.

176 notes · View notes

hardskz · 5 years ago

Text

a penny for your thoughts.

pairing — han jisung x female! reader

genre — trope inversion of the soulmate au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff-ish, smut; oral, possessiveness kink, praise kink, safe word, size kink, first time

synopsis — life isn’t easy when you belong to the 1% of the world population that has a soulmate, know who your soulmate is and happen to be utterly in love with said soulmate’s best friend. alternatively, jisung can hear all of your unfiltered thoughts and has heard enough of your horny fantasies to the point where he wants to throw up, so he takes matters in his own hands.

note — i think i’m gonna cry this work is my 11k word BABY i’ve never been THIS invested over a fic. this is purely self-indulgent and an emotional rollercoaster ride if you ask me. this fic is all over the place it’s chaotic and i apologize in advance for many italics you are welcome i hope you CRY and SUFFER with me because completing this bitch was a midlife crisis in itself. that being said, i appreciate any form of constructive criticism so pls go ahead and rip my baby apart sdkjl

“You’re staring again,” Hyunjin notes. Seungmin and Jeongin stifle a burst of laughter while Felix, whose head is resting on Hyunjin’s lap, sends you a look that resembles Candace from Phineas and Ferb whenever she finds her brothers creating some whacky futuristic shit, laughs like a madman and then resumes to call her mother with an ear-splitting MOOOM! because she’s so certain that her brothers are busted this time.

“Am not,” you huff as you tear your eyes away from the guy just sitting a little bit farther away from you, basking in the warm glow of the sun. Today he’s sitting in the perfect angle, giving you the best view on his side profile. His signature cap is perched right on top of his head but even then, you can see how his eyes brighten up and how the corners of his lips tug upwards as he laughs at his friend’s joke.

“You’re a worse case than the Mary Sue protagonist of every romance anime ever.” Seungmin snorts before he playfully nudges your side with his shoe. “Just say you want Seo Changbin to bang you and go.”

“Hey! We have a child present!” Hyunjin chastises, to which Jeongin rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a child. We’re all in fucking college.”

“Fine, not a child then. The baby has been corrupted! Don’t swear, it sounds so wrong coming from you!”

“Shut up. It’s called freedom of speech!”

“It’s ‘shut up Hyung’ to you!”

Felix groans in distress and is probably rethinking his life choices. Seriously, what does Felix, resident hopeless romantic, see in Hyunjin? Sure, he’s good-looking and a great friend when he’s not bitching around or hovering over the nearest trash can after taking too many shots. But a romantic? Please, Hyunjin can’t even eat without making a mess out of his shirt.

“I don’t want him to bang me,” you mutter and receive a collective ‘yeah sure’ look. “Fine, I don’t want him to bang me only. He’s nice,” you retort before your eyes flit back to him for a millisecond. By now, Changbin has put his hands on the grass and is leaning back, enjoying the sunlight while listening halfheartedly to the other guy blabbering.

“And hot. We get it. Now get dicked,” Seungmin deadpans, earning flabbergasted looks from everyone and a smack from Hyunjin.

“Show a little more empathy, you dickwad. She’s whipped.”

“Anyway—“ Felix sits up, earning a pout from Hyunjin but he blatantly ignores it, and directs the conversation back to the previous topic before the other two bump heads, “(y/n), you have his number. You’re not strangers, so why don’t you just make a move?”

You glance at him with horror in your eyes. “What do you expect me to do? Ring him up and ask him to hang out with me because I find him cute?”

“Uh, duh? Last time I checked, that’s how you ask someone out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“New idea.” Seungmin butts in. “Why don’t you ask Han Jisung—“

“No.”

“Agreed.” Hyunjin shoots you a nod of approval before Seungmin can start yet another interrogation about your bitter hatred towards Jisung. Jisung, who happens to be said friend of Changbin that is laughing beside him right now. “He must think he’s so much better than us because he’s hanging out with the senior geniuses of the music production major. Then again, Seo Changbin and Bang Chan are on a different level than us commoners.”

“Speaking of Chan,” you quickly say to steer the conversation away from the personification of everything you hate. “Where is he? It’s so weird seeing the trio incomplete.”

This time, Jeongin chimes in. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Chan and that one language major — you know, the one who collapsed a while back?” When all he’s met with are clueless faces, Jeongin sighs. “Seriously, you guys should keep up with campus news. I swear, everyone and their mothers already know by now. But anyway, they’re soulmates. It’s also the reason why Chan has been pulled out of the boxing team until the end of the semester and had to cancel their training camp as soon as she broke down.”

Felix does a double-take. “But Chan’s the ace of the boxing club!”

“It is what it is.” Jeongin stretches his legs out, shrugging. “What else is to expect when you have the proximity link and need to be around your soulmate within a certain distance unless you want death?”

“Poor guy. Must be a smack in the face for him, now that he’s got a soulmate and happens to have the worst link one could have.” Seungmin says.

“The tattoos are worse though.” Hyunjin fires back. “I mean, you’re literally born with a tattoo of your soulmate’s name and then grow up knowing that you have one? And even if you never meet them, you won’t have better chances with others if you want some romance. Who in their right mind wants to have a lover who’s got someone else’s name tattooed on them since birth?”

“No one.” You chuckle. “Absolutely no one.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you and Jisung would probably be on better terms. He’s sunshine on legs and looks decent from an objective point of view.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe you’re childhood friends and have been neighbors ever since your first shit in your diapers. Perhaps you would be clowned from being inseparable once in a while, but you’d go with it and then shrug it off as if it was nothing.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe that being soulmates doesn’t equal the downfall of two people. Sure, the fact that people are bound to each other and the danger of growing too dependent on that person remains, but it probably won’t be so frowned upon. Probably. Hopefully.

However, as much as you want to twist it, another lifetime is not this lifetime, the reality.

In reality, you and Jisung are only neighbors because the universe has some kind of inexplicable hatred towards you. Seriously, you must’ve done something wrong in your previous life to be punished in this one. And because the universe has sadistic tendencies and loves to make you suffer, the laws of the universe are just as equally fucked up.

The concept of soulmates is a lot of things, but most of all, it’s a mystery. There are endless possibilities for soulmate links, not all of them discovered. And unlike popular belief, soulmates do not have to necessarily share the same link. So voilà, even more fuckery from the universe.

There’s only one reason that justifies your wholehearted, unfiltered hatred towards Han Jisung. Well, only one reason that seems justified in this lifetime.

The tattoo is simple; just fine black characters under your collarbone that are nicely hidden under high-cut shirts.

But the fact that it’s his name tattooed on you since birth remains.

“Let me crash here for the night.”

“No.”

“Let me crash here for the night, please.”

“My answer is still no.”

The exasperation is plastered on Jisung’s face as he tries to keep his temper in check. Truth be told, it’s damn satisfying seeing him wanting to rip your head off but refraining to do so. Perhaps you’re enjoying this more than you expected at one o’clock in the morning. For the past five minutes, Jisung has been asking you to let him stay over for the night. You’d save him out of his misery and help a neighbor out who locked himself out of his apartment at this hour — well, if he wasn’t Han Jisung.

By now, he’s growing more impatient with every further rejection. “Oh come on, all my friends live on the other side of town and you can’t expect me to ask the old grandma next door! At this rate, I’m gonna freeze to death overnight!”

“Then go break a window or something,” you deadpan, ignoring the dramatic hand gestures he’s making to accentuate his words.

“The fuck? I’m not going to break into my own place.”

Not wanting to draw out the pointless conversation any longer, you’re about to slam the door shut when he blocks your action with his foot. “C’mon, just this one night. Please.”

He’s not budging anytime soon. His bullheadedness reminds you of Seungmin, who always tries to get Hyunjin wasted whenever you attend those Greek frat parties. Seungmin, who always succeeds in getting Hyunjin wasted, followed by Hyunjin hugging a bucket for the next few hours as he tries to get over the hangover. With a defeated sigh, you gesture Jisung to come inside and don’t wait for him until he’s taken his shoes off at the entryway.

“Look, I know you don’t like me—“

“Well, ‘don’t like’ is putting it very lightly—” you scoff once he’s caught up to you in the living room. It’s not exactly spacious; the couch takes up most of the room and college assignments are spread all over the minuscule coffee table.

“You could at least treat me like a decent human being.”

That statement is enough to get your ears flaming. You whip your head in his direction, voice getting louder. “How can I when your existence is making my life worse than it already is! And I mean it literally! Just seeing your name whenever I look at myself through the mirror sickens me!”

“Stop acting like you’re the only victim here.” Jisung snaps back in the same manner. If there was a little bit of etiquette in the first place, it has all vanished now. “I’m not having it easier when all I hear from you is the dozen ways you want Changbin to fuck you dumb!”

You freeze.

“Cat got your tongue? It’s already bad enough that you have those kinds of thoughts about my best friend every single day.”

“But I thought— y-you had the proximity link?!” This has to be a joke. A very bad one at that. His proximity link is the very sole reason why you lived next to him. His soulmate link is the only reason why you’ve been stuck together like glue since you could walk.

Jisung taps his foot impatiently, running his hand through his hair. “That’s what I thought too until I started hearing things that nobody said around me. First, it was just a few thoughts every other day, but now you’re like an annoying radio that I can’t switch off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? I would’ve—“

“Stopped fantasizing about Changbin’s dick? And then you would’ve jumped to the next person. I don’t care if you like him or not, it’s none of my business. Changbin’s hot, anyone with eyes can tell. Besides, it’s not like you have a chance anyway…”

You feel your blood boiling at his underlying message and cross your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jisung doesn’t bat an eyelash and says in a mocking tone as if stating the obvious. “No doubt that Changbin will make you feel good. But could you return the favor?”

That’s a low blow. Even for Jisung, that’s a low blow.

“I get that you’ve got a dirty mind. But those are just fantasies. Could you really execute them just the way you had in your head? You don’t even have experience in the first place.”

“If I sucked you off right now, you wouldn’t even be able to speak properly!” God knows what went over you when you countered. At this point, rage has taken over your brain and you don’t even realize what you just said right away. Not that it matters anyway; all you see is red.

Jisung just raises a brow, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “Prove it,” he challenges casually and then flops himself onto the couch, legs spread wide. It’s an open invitation. “Go ahead, make me see reason with your oh so mind-blowing skills.”

The only thing you’re able to do physically is gape at him. He is joking, right? As if he actually means it—

“I knew it. Shameless in your head but too flustered to say it out loud, let alone following up with your bold statements.”

That seals the deal. You’re fuelled by anger and the desire to prove him wrong as you drop on your knees and are on eye level with his crotch. However, your spirit dissolves the longer you silently stare and realize that you have no fucking clue on what to do. Jisung is painfully aware of that too.

“I’m more terrified than turned on seeing your angry face.” He lets out an exasperated sigh before he pulls you up and directs you to sit on his lap. “Obviously it’s not working when neither of us is in the mood. You gotta get in the mood first,” he mutters, hands settling on your hips.

The look in his eyes is more composed now, but you can tell he’s being observant. As if you have clues written all over your face, he keeps you under his stern gaze. Then his eyes droop lower to your lips and he slowly leans forward.

Not even a second later, you firmly plant your hands on his shoulder and push him back. “No lips.”

If Jisung is judgemental about your sudden stunt, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anything else, your royal majesty?”

You’re too tired to react to his mockery and roll your eyes. “No marks.”

“I can work with that,” he mumbles more to himself rather to you. Then he leans forward again and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Surprised by his actions and new to the unfamiliar sensation, you tense up. Jisung seems to take notice of that too.

“Relax,” he orders, rubbing circles on your hips to help you loosen up.

Well, that’s easier said than done. It’s already bad enough that you’re gradually exposing yourself as the complete amateur you are, and out of all people who could’ve been the first to do any form of sexual advances on you, it just had to be Jisung. Perhaps you shouldn’t have rejected that one kid in high school who was the only one who ever had a crush on you. Even if that kid wasn’t your type and not a serious commitment anyway, maybe you would’ve at least some sort of experience with dick.

“A-ah—“ your breath hitches when he nips on the patch below your earlobe. He smiles against your skin as if he just made some scientific discovery and swipes his tongue on the same spot, eager to make you squirm. Not wanting to slip up anymore, you clamp your mouth shut with a hand.

“Let me hear you, baby. Just relax, I got you.” When the fuck did his voice start to sound lower and raspier? Where did ‘baby’ come from? All rationality and resistance leave your body when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

The cologne of musk lingers strong on him, almost intoxicating even, and you can’t form a cohesive thought anymore. The only things you are painfully aware of are an arm forcing your chest flush against his and his hot breath all over your neck.

You’re so far gone that you fail to notice that you’ve started grinding on his lap. Jisung moans softly into your neck as he encourages you to move with his hands.

“On your knees, baby,” he whispers after a while. A rush of disappointment runs through your veins once he detaches his lips from you and slides you off his lap, but all of that is forgotten once you see the prominent bulge in his pants.

Right. There’s a reason why you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Jisung urges you to touch him with a simple nudge. “C’mon, baby. Take it off.”

You don’t waste time discarding his sweatpants. Just when you’re about to tug his underwear off, you notice the wet patch on the fabric. A surge of mischief washes over you as you boldly cupped his hard-on over his boxers, causing an obscenely loud moan from him.

He flinches, definitely not expecting that brashness from you, and throws his head back. “S-stop teasing me already and take that goddamn thing off or God help me what I’m going to do if you push my buttons.”

That. That was a threat. That dealt much more damage to you than you like to admit.

As much as you want to watch him break and see if he’d make his threats come true, you decide against your feelings and hook your fingers under the waistband and tug the fabric down in one swift motion. A groan leaves Jisung as his cock, fully hard and leaking precum, is exposed to the cold air. He’s certainly above average; on the longer side probably, and you’re conflicted on whether to think fuck, I want him in my mouth right now or fuck, how on earth is that supposed to fit into my mouth?!

You don’t get far with your inner conflict when a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and slowly urges you closer. The next thing you know, something is tapping your lips and before you fully register it, the tip of Jisung’s cock lies heavy on your tongue.

You carefully look up and meet Jisung’s hooded eyes. His shirt has ridden up a bit and flashes just a little bit of his toned stomach. That’s just enough of an indicator to see that Jisung is holding himself back, in case his irregular breathing hasn’t been a dead giveaway.

Jisung opens his mouth, about to say something, when you give an experimental suck on his dick. “Do something— f-fuck, a little more, baby.”

That’s enough to build your confidence up. You slowly take in more of his dick, sucking carefully and making sure to cover your teeth. The rest that doesn’t fit in your mouth is barely covered with your hands, and you messily try to coordinate your hands, switching between rubbing the base of his dick to cupping his balls.

“Mmh, use more pressure,” Jisung whispers, not trusting the stability of his voice when you fondle with his balls. A groan leaves him when you suck harder on his cock and switch back to swirling your tongue around. For a total beginner, you are holding yourself up better than he expected. Fuck.

“Focus on the tip fir— hhh- aa-ah...” His brain blacks out for a moment when you swirl your tongue around his tip and dare an experimental hum, the vibrations going straight down to his dick. The grip on your hair loosens, but it’s still firm enough to experience a sharp tug. “You’re doing good baby. So good.”

The combination of his sounds, the decent taste of precum on your tongue and the way his adam’s apple bops is enough to send you into sensory overload. You notice the way Jisung tenses his thighs, as to keep them still. You’re about to pull out completely to prevent your drool from getting on your face. However, before you get the chance to complain, he forces his length back on you that it grazes the back of your throat, nearly making you choke.

“Fuck, I— I’m gonna— s-soon—“ he hisses and you take it as a sign to speed up. At this point, your jaw hurts and a mixture of drool and precum drips down your chin. It’s borderline disgusting if you think about it, but the delectable sounds leaving Jisung compensates for it.

He sharply tugs on your hair, ordering you to pull off, but you slap his hand away. “I’m going to spill in your mouth if you don’t pull off right now—“ Jisung chokes on his words when you interrupt him with a hum as if to say so what? It doesn’t help that you’re looking up at him with teary eyes and a lot of conviction, even though you’re visibly struggling to keep half of his dick in your mouth.

When he cums, it’s accompanied but drawn out moans, and you forcing yourself to swallow the horrible texture. It’s not horrible per se, but you’d gladly refuse to swallow a second time if you were given the choice.

Jisung looks down at you with flushed cheeks and is about to wipe off the drool or cum or whatever liquid is staining your bottom lip, but you quickly block his hand. “I’ll clean up by myself.”

For a minuscule second, he looks defeated; he looks borderline disappointed, but before you can pinpoint his feelings for sure, his expression changes. “But what about you?” he asks, eyes raking down your body and stopping at the waistband of your pants.

“I’ll deal with it on my own.” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. All of sudden, you find it hard to breathe in the room as the realization settles into your brain. You just sucked off Jisung. Jisung, out of all fucking people.

“You sure?” Your eyes flit to him who looks like he’s been observing you the entire time. His breathing has calmed down, his lips look a little bit plumper than before and his hair sticks out in all different directions. Looking at his current state makes you feel sick, and your undying hatred for him starts growing again. It’s your fault that he looks so fucked out and—

Why the fuck did you even do that?

“Yes. Now stop asking before I change my mind and kick you out.”

Before he can have the last word, you turn on your heels and rush into your bedroom, ignoring the fact that your underwear is practically drenched.

You wake up to the smell of pancakes emerging from the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast?” Jisung throws you a questioning look and then plates the last batch of pancakes from the pan. “It’s the least I can do after you were friendly enough to let me crash on the couch.”

Your eyes wander to the countertop to the two plates stacked with pancakes. Jisung finishes up the second plate and hands it out to you.

You stare dumbly at the plate. It’s too early for your brain to mouth filter to work, so the first thing you spit out is, “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

“Are you fucking serious—“ Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, mutters something inaudible under his breath before he puts on the fakest smile he can muster. “I can take a bite if you really insist.”

“Give me that plate.” You point to the other plate on the counter. Presentation-wise, it looks the same as the one Jisung is offering you, minus the visible steam.

“There. Wanna switch again or can I finally eat?” he scoffs when you walk past him to get cutlery and sit at the dining table; it’s essentially a round wooden table where one of the legs is about to break. Two plates and a pitcher at most take up the entire surface. You really should consider buying a new table, but you have better things to spend on rather than that.

From your peripheral vision, you see Jisung rolling his eyes. Perhaps you were making an entire unnecessary circus, critically cutting through the pancake and inspecting each and every side before stuffing it in your mouth. But again, in your defense, it’s too early in the morning to show basic etiquette towards him out of all people.

You have to admit that visually, the pancakes look good. What you didn’t expect were the pancakes to taste just how they look. It looks like you couldn’t contain your surprise in you, judging by the amused smirk that finds its way onto Jisung’s face as he claims the chair across from you.

“As if you could actually cook,” you splutter because there’s no fucking way you are giving him that satisfaction of the day.

However, it seems to bemuse him even more. “You literally eat this every day and know the recipe by heart. With the excessive number of times you recite the ingredients a day, obviously, something got stuck in my brain,” he explains while cutting through his own portion.

The rest of breakfast is spent in silence. You both finish at the same time and while you’re washing the dishes, he’s stayed put in the chair, mindlessly checking something on his phone.

“You didn’t have to cook, you know. You could’ve just left.” you start. It’s already awkward enough that he’s still here. Bloody hell, you should’ve just waited with the plates and ushered him out of your place instead of just getting away as fast as possible from the table. Now that you think about it, this was probably the only time you two were somewhat amicable at such proximity. (Even if you didn’t talk at all. Still, it’s progress.)

He drops his phone on the table with a soft ‘bang’. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, I was starving too.”

“In other words, you’re taking advantage of my fridge?”

“Exactly.”

Just as you’re drying your hands, he’s about to leave. “I’ll get going, lecture’s starting in a few. And, uh, thanks for letting me stay here.”

You just shoot him a weird look. “You already thanked me once. How often do you wanna repeat yourself?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Fine, next time I’ll just leave without a word then.”

It’s when he’s finally out of the door that his last words sink in.

“Yo, I have pics of sweaty Changbin in a jersey. How much do you wanna pay for those gems?”

You nearly choke on air. “What the fuck?” Really, that’s the only appropriate reaction.

“Hyunjin, this needs more context.” Felix looks like he’s seriously second-guessing his taste in men before shaking it off with a sigh and elaborates. “He’s been trying to find out some scoop about Chan for the campus blog and caught him in his angry boxer mode and Changbin was also there assisting him. Hey, did you know that Chan doesn’t tape his hands before punching the bag? Fuck, that’s so intimidating but so hot at the same time—“

“Yah! I’m your boyfriend! How can you say that in front of me?!”

Changbin. Changbin in a jersey. Changbin in a jersey and drenched in sweat. And Hyunjin seriously has HQ pictures of that Changbin.

It really, absolutely shouldn’t have been the first thing that crossed your mind, but the idea of that Changbin — bonus if he still has anger pent up in him — barging into your place and instantly throwing you on the bed—

“I’m not a perverted creep who’s gonna buy pictures of him that he doesn’t even know exist. Besides, isn’t that a violation of his rights? He never consented to those pics. This is college, you’re only working for the campus blog, not fucking Dispatch.” you deadpan.

“So you don’t even want to take a sneak peek at a picture?”

“No.”

You barely stepped a foot into your apartment when Jisung storms out of his own place and stops in front of you. “You fucking liar.”

“Excuse me? What the— hmph!”

The next thing you know, Jisung forces his way into your hallway, slams the door shut and crowds you against it. His face is invading your personal space, eyes enraged and jaw locked. Even though his anger is far from justified as you haven’t glanced at him ever since he stayed over, a tiny part of you believes that you pissed him off for good. It's not the first time you witness him angry. However, it's the first time you witness him look as if someone murdered his family and was trying to get revenge.

“I thought you took care of it yourself!”

“Took care of what?”

“Did you already forget that I can read your mind?!”

You scrunch your nose, trying to connect the dots in his words. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there’s no point in trying. A frustrated groan leaves you. “Why are you getting so riled up? I just breathed and you stormed into my place!”

“‘Bullshit. You weren’t just breathing,” he snaps, and you flinch when his hand lands a few inches beside your face with a loud pang. “You were thinking of Changbin again! And I mean that in the thousand sex positions and locations you want him to bang you kind of thinking! And also—“

“Also what?”

“I know you’ve been pent up for days. Seriously, why don’t you just get off like every other sane human being?”

His brutal delivery leaves you flabbergasted. How the fuck does he know that? No. No. No. He doesn’t know. He can’t. Just because he can read your mind doesn’t mean that you didn’t pleasure yourself after giving him that blowjob. Jisung’s probably bluffing — he has to be bluffing.

“W-why should I answer you?” you stutter. Suddenly the walls look much more interesting. When was the last time you painted the walls? Maybe it’s time to switch things up—

“Are you really about to get all cocky with me? Give me a break.” Jisung chews on his bottom lip after little deliberation. “You wanna know why? Because one of my best friends is going through a hard time that can utterly destroy his entire future thanks to the fucking universe! If that isn’t stressful as it is, I also see and hear all kinds of things you want Changbin to do to you. And your fantasies are also affecting me.”

You stare at him as if he sprouted eight new legs. “So you’ve also been…?”

“Sexually frustrated? Fuck yes. And it’s all your fault. So take responsibility and do something against it before I do.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“So what if I am?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine once you meet his stone-cold gaze. Frustration is displayed all over his features, from his labored breaths to the raised brow. He’s not playing mind games this time, he’s actually frustrated.

There are a billion red flags, a billion blinking signs saying NO DON’T YOU EVEN THINK OF DOING THIS! DON’T BE A FUCKING IDIOT in your mind. There are so many countless reasons why you should listen to your head, but the way Jisung is lusting after you is terrifyingly attractive.

You don’t trust your voice to respond verbally. Instead, you look down at your trembling hand and tug at the hem of his shirt. It’s just then when you also realize that your thighs are clenched. Fuck.

Jisung takes the hint. In the blink of an eye, he’s yanking you to your room, kicks the door shut with a loud ‘thud’, and manhandles you on the bed. You’re too stunned to react, and gulp when he hovers over you and strips off his jacket, leaving him in a white shirt that doesn’t hide his toned arms.

“Use the color system, alright? Green when everything is alright, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop for good?” he asks.

“I know what the color system is,” you mutter, tearing your eyes away from him.

“That’s not an answer to my question.” he presses.

“Fine, color system it is. There! Happy? Now get on with it—“

Jisung pins your wrists above your head vigorously. “You don’t call the shots here. I do.”

Your stomach swoops. You really should’ve listened to your brain. This Jisung isn’t comparable with the Jisung you sucked off a few days ago. That Jisung was cocky — he’s always cocky, what are you even saying — but he still gave you room to breathe. This Jisung is downright scary.

“Good thing for you, I know exactly what you want me to do—” he starts sinisterly as his thigh settles firmly between your legs, pressing up against your clothed core. You suddenly regret wearing a skirt. “—and trust me baby, even if I couldn’t read your mind, I would do all those things because that’s what I plan on doing to you regardless.”

The look he gives you should be illegal. He shouldn’t be in the position to look down at you, as if he’s the king and has free reign over the consequences you are about to bear. Your head suddenly feels dizzy, and it’s way too hot in the room. It’s as if your bedroom has morphed into some vacuum as you’re desperately trying to breathe. Your system ceases to function once he presses his thigh even harder on your cunt, and all you manage to make is a pathetic whimper.

A menacing grin makes its way to his face. He’s clearly thriving on this ego-boost and continues to grind his thigh on you until your hips start to sway along. It seems like you found your voice again once he leans down and nibbles on your neck. Your moans are barely audible at first, but they slowly turn into drawn out mewls and labored breaths.

Your eyes snap open when he suddenly retreats his thigh and holds your hip in a vice grip, stopping you from moving. “W-what the fuck? Why did you stop?”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Huh?” You squint at him. “But you can read my mind!”

“I want you to say it out loud.”

There’s no way in the universe that you’ll do that. You’ll gladly wipe off that shit-eating grin out of his face whether he likes it or not, but with his hold on your wrists, that is deemed impossible.

You should say something out loud though. Yellow. That would save you from the humiliation. You could regain at least an ounce of control, not feel so pathetic anymore. It’s a simple word, just two syllables, six letters. The tables can be turned to your advantage. It’s easy.

You don’t.

“You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You can’t say all those filthy thoughts in your head out loud because you’re ashamed, huh? Not when you love feeling so powerless, subject to anything I do to you. Face it baby, just admit that you’re a needy little bitch who wants to get off on my fingers so bad, and I’ll give you what you want,” Jisung growls in between hot, wet kisses he leaves on your neck.

“I—“ you whimper after some difficulties, “I’m your needy little bitch w-who wants to get off on your fingers.”

Jisung’s head pipes up, his face just hovering a couple of inches away from yours. With that little distance between you, you know it’s not a trick of the light and that his eyes are blown up with hunger, hunger, and more hunger. "Not just any bitch, but mine? Do you like it when I call you mine?"

You nod. From there on, it’s a chain reaction.

He wastes no time slipping his fingers past your panties, mindlessly trailing along your folds. You throw your head back in pleasure, bucking your hips into his touch. A cry leaves you the moment he slips a finger inside you, his thumb simultaneously flicking your clit. It’s sensory overload, rendering your rationality to a standstill.

Your utter downfall is marked once Jisung adds a second finger, never slowing down. He groans at the way you clench around him like a maniac, and the sounds he makes send jolts all over your body. You’re writhing under his grasp at this point, overstimulated by everything yet at the same time, you feel your arousal slowly fading.

“Does my baby feel good? Are you close?” Jisung asks, nipping on your earlobe.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

The pit in your stomach grows. You’ve never experienced claustrophobia, but right now, it’s like everything’s suffocating you. “A-as in I don’t fucking know!” you exclaim shakily.

Jisung stops his movements. The weight on your wrists is lifted, and he looks at you, face unreadable. “(y/n), color. What’s your color?”

“Green. It’s just...” your trail off, avoiding his eyes.

“Just...?”

“I’ve never come before,” you confess in defeat. You really can’t believe that Jisung out of all people is the one to make the call of judgment. “I mean it! I’ve tried getting myself off but I never managed to... so cut me some fucking slack because I’m trying my best here and am still new to everything!”

Jisung stays silent. He stares at you in… confusion? disbelief? You really have no clue how to read his expression. Something negative for sure, though. He’s Satan’s spawn, for fuck’s sake. He’s probably thinking twice about going down on you, thinking about the gravity of a mistake he’s dealing with this time. He just has no clue how to articulate his irritation—

“You’re so cute, fucking hell,” he whispers.

You do a double-take. What? What did he say?

A small chuckle escapes his lips. As if he doesn’t mind. Wait. He doesn’t mind. “I’ll take good care of you. Trust me on this,” he says.

“That’s a little late coming from you, your fingers are literally up my vagi— h-ha-aah—“

“Just shut up and let me do the work.” Jisung rolls his eyes as he works you up again, fingers moving at a slower pace this time. Within minutes, he’s reduced you into a panting, stuttering mess. “You look so tiny and helpless underneath me. How adorable,” he coos, to which you just whine.

“Yeah? You like it when I call you tiny? Like it when your tight cunt already feels stuffed with just two fingers? Maybe we should stretch it to a third one, think you can handle that?” he presses on. That’s when he rams his fingers into a particular spot, making you arch your back. A knowing smile makes its way onto his lips. “Found it.”

“N-no, fuck— t-too much—” you babble, but he continues to abuse your sweet spot without remorse.

An unfamiliar pressure builds up in your abdomen, threatening to burst. Your whines grow louder, breaths shallower. You squeeze your eyes shut as you thrust your hips into his hand, desperate for more friction. “Jisung, I think I’m gonna—”

“Oh no, not like this,” he growls. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to look at me when you cum. So you’ll remember that it was me who made you cum for the first time. It’s me who’s making you feel good.”

That is easier said than done. You manage to open your eyes, though with a lot of difficulties. Scratch that, your eyes are barely open. Jisung is a blurry image, and you’re unable to register everything he says, the sound of his fingers squelching in your heat blaring in your ears.

You deem it fucking impossible to keep your eyes open when your orgasm hits you hard, body spasming from the sensation. But you keep on trying, keep forcing to set your eyes on him.

It’s all worth it though when the reward you get is a proud smile on his face, as well as streams of praises coming from his mouth.

It’s a continuous pattern that goes as follows:

1. You spend your days glued to your friends.

2. At least one of them (usually, it’s Seungmin) preaches how you should get your shit together and ask Changbin out.

3. Somehow, Changbin manages to leave a strong presence in your fantasies and you end up daydreaming about a scenario that stars him, you and a bed (if you’re feeling more daring, any other kind of surface or object he could pound you into.)

4. Jisung notices and forces the horniness out of your system.

5. You tell yourself that it’s the last time Jisung has such control over you.

And then the cycle repeats.

But here’s the thing: you find yourself doing no. 5 you with less conviction the more it happens. No. 5 is a formality at this point. You don’t know when you went the wrong path, but are you really in a position to complain? Jisung is good with you, he’s good with his fingers, even better with his mouth.

But then there’s this side of Jisung after he’s ruined you. He knows what you want to eat after you’re all cleaned up, knows what show you want to watch, knows if you want to just drop dead in bed or need someone to force you to finish your uni assignments. In short: Jisung is good. If you ever said that out loud and someone caught wind of it, they might assume that you liked him.

But Changbin. You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin—

You like Changbin, right?

“You’ve been looking at me as if I had the word CLOWN written over my forehead. Do I have something on my face or what?” you cross your arms and are met with your friends quickly averting their eyes from you.

Felix is the first one to break the silence. “Is that a new dress?”

“Not really. I recently found it when I cleared out my closet and decided to give it one more try. Why—“ you pause, and your expression turns grim once it dawns on you. “I look ridiculous in this, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“No!”

“You look like a clown.”

“Seungmin-Hyung, did you really just???”

If your crippling self-esteem hadn’t reached its all-time low before, then it definitely did now. “Geez, thanks,” you deadpan.

Jeongin is panicking, trying to provide some damage control as Felix snaps at Hyunjin and Seungmin. “Nobody cares about your two cents!”

“Well, but she asked for our opinion!”

“Nobody cares about your honest two cents!”

“Let’s just have lunch at the burger place and talk about this later, Hyung!”

You’re still dazed, chuckling dryly like those cartoon characters usually do when their soul leaves their body after someone dragged them. The entire situation is downright sad to witness. Is this a sign that your period is coming soon? That’s it! That probably explains why you’re acting so uncharacteristically sensitive today—

“The dress suits you, (y/n). You should wear it more often,” Changbin says.

“Hah?” you flinch and you’re sure your soul actually left your body when you turn to face Changbin smiling genuinely at you. Out of your periphery, you see Jisung and Chan behind him, but that’s not the point.

What? The? Fuck? Did he really just? Did Changbin just… compliment you?

You don’t realize how long you’ve dumbly stared at him until Jeongin nudges you. “Uhhhh, thanks!” you squeak out, cringing at how your voice just went up by an octave. You can feel Jeongin facepalming internally at your response, but you don’t blame him; you’d most likely do the same.

Changbin just smiles before he turns away to get to his next class, tugging Jisung and Chan with him.

Nevermind. Wearing this dress was the best decision you’ve made in your entire college career. The way you suddenly beam almost gives Felix whiplash — it’s obvious in the way he stares at you as if he ended up watching a comedy instead of the melodrama he was expecting. Hyunjin seems just as flabberghasted, Jeongin is still cringing from the secondhand embarrassment, and Seungmin just grins.

“Ah, so lover boy is the reason, I see.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh my god, just shut up, Seungmin.”

Jisung is eating you out with such fervor that has you sobbing and thrashing around. He’s merciless in every literal sense, keeping your hips planted on the couch with his hands to the point where veins are bulging out, and lapping up your juices with his tongue, continuing even though you already came. He only pulls away, lips glistening in your release, once you tug on his hair despite his orders to not do that.

“Already spent now? But baby, we just started.” he pouts. “Or is it because it’s me? Would you defy if Changbin was the one eating you out?”

You stare at him with blown out eyes. Why the fuck is he bringing up Changbin now? The words hang heavy in your throat and are threatening to burst, but the death stare he delivers stops you from doing so.

Something’s not right.

“Don’t tell me... you’re wet again because I just mentioned Changbin. Changbin this, Changbin that, huh? It’s always only Changbin, Changbin, Changbin. And I thought I was doing you good all along,” he rages, making you flinch. He can be terrifying when he wants to be, but this time, he seems completely out of it. “You know what? I’m fucking done with holding back. You’re mine, got it?”

With that, he dives back into your cunt, sucking harshly on your clit as he slides a finger in you. You try to pry him off, but his weight is restraining you to the sofa.

“Jisung, it hurts— ouch—“ Panic starts to rise in you when he finally detaches himself from your nub, but instead, moves down to your thighs and starts sucking on the skin with a force much harder than you’re used from him. “What are you doing? S-stop—!”

“You’re mine, you’re supposed to be mine. I am literally written on your skin. So why can’t you just wish to be with me? Do I have to mark you up so that you’ll finally get it?”

It hurts. It hurts. Once you feel teeth on your skin, you burst into tears. “Red, Jisung, red!”

As if it was the spell to break the cast, Jisung finally snaps out of it. His features break once his eyes meet yours. Regret sticks onto him like a second skin, and he slightly moves his hand in an attempt to reach out to you. Your muscles react faster though, and you instinctively pull your legs towards yourself and shy away from him. The way his face drops by another layer of remorse tugs at your heartstrings, but the impending fear overpowers everything else you’re feeling.

“What’s going on? What went over you?” you ask.

Jisung’s breath is shaky. He feverishly opens his mouth several times, but no sound is coming out. He’s struggling to find the right words, maybe trying to find a somewhat reasonable justification for his behavior. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh. “I can’t do this anymore without having feelings—” his voice is weak and vulnerable and you’ve never witnessed him break down like this before, “—I like you. I like you the way you like Changbin. I just...”

Silence.

“Leave,” you whisper, but in this silence, your voice rings out loud and clear. This is… too much weight for your heart to carry.

Jisung complies. He grabs his belongings from the floor, slips on his shirt, and leaves with his head hung low. His footsteps grow more and more distant, but then he stops.

“Are you really in love with Changbin?” His voice cracks.

You don’t muster up the courage to face him. “Just read my mind.”

It’s silent again. Too overwhelming. You’re waiting for yet another outburst of him, waiting for his “I want you to say it out loud”, because that’s how the conversation always goes.

The last thing you hear is the front door falling in its lock with a soft click.

You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin you like—

You like him, right?

Things have changed.

You and Jisung haven’t crossed paths ever since, not even passed each other by in the hallways. It’s weird since you’ve grown used to seeing him every day outside of your apartment complex. You’ve never really acknowledged each other’s presence with a wave or something in the sorts; it was just a second where your eyes met, and then your days went on.

That being said, you run into Changbin quite frequently. If you ever exchanged words, it’s nothing more than friendly small talk and the one or other compliment about his music. Talking to Changbin is nice; he makes you smile.

You know a little bit more about Changbin now, like his favorite ice cream flavor or the fact that he has a pokemon plushie named Gyu. It’s cute, and you chuckle when you think about how you’d pay good money for that information a few weeks ago.

Changbin is nice, and there’s nothing more to the story.

The chaotic quartett you call your friends however, doesn’t seem to buy it. They are loud and nosey and have eyes, so it was set in stone that they’d tease you about it sooner or later. It’s all fun and games, and you played along with it at first, because that’s how you guys are. But as time went on, when the banter became so repetitive and blown out of proportion to the point where they have made clowning you about your small interactions with Changbin the pinnacle of their entertainment, you’ve begun to be fed up by it.

“Will you finally stop bringing him up in an indecent manner every single lunch break? Or even better, stop bringing him up altogether?” You snap, which shocks everyone at the table because you never snap.

Nobody has time to react as you quickly stomp away to grab some fresh air. You mutter out every curse under the sun, not intending to let your anger take over you this much. You’ve only made it past the door when Felix catches up to you, placing a hand over your shoulder.

“(y/n), what’s the matter? Clearly, something’s bothering you. And I know it’s not because of just Seungmin.” Concern is woven in his smooth voice.

You have to admit, it was a smart and calculated move from your friends to send Felix your way. He’s always been the compassionate one out of your little friend group. Like a pillar, he’s the one who keeps you all grounded (and he’s the one to drive your asses back home after the wild Alpha Beta Gamma frat parties).

“I don’t like Changbin that way, I realized. So it’d be very much appreciated if you asses didn’t allude to that every time,” you huff.

Felix sends you an understanding smile. “We can work that out. You know that Hyunjin and Seungmin in particular can be insensitive and sometimes don’t realize they’ve taken things too far..”

“Fine, but that’s not the main thing that’s eating me up alive, Felix.” you sigh. The words seem to flow out of your mouth like a waterfall. “I’ve realized I’ve never really liked Changbin. Okay, fine, he was just a crush I had but I don’t like him.”

He nods slowly, his brain processing your ramble. “So you like someone else.”

“Yes. And I don’t know how to fix it because we got into a huge fight.”

“Talk to them. That’s the only thing left to do.” His response is immediate, and he says it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Every relationship has its ups and downs, and if you want to be committed, you have to fight for it. If you were made for one another, you’ll make it.”

The last part makes you laugh internally. If only he knew.

“Let me guess, you expect me to barge into his place to sort things out,” you say.

Felix gives you the look of judgment. “I mean, you could also show some human decency and text him in advance so he’s also prepared. But that works fine too.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never been to Jisung’s apartment. That’s about to change when you knock on his door sometime in the evening, shortly after sunset.

Jisung’s face immediately drops once he opens the door. “What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, drenched in regret.

It’s not that his appearance has reached rock bottom. He still takes good care of himself; however, you pick up the dark circles under his eyes and his complexion seems a little paler. Not sickeningly pale, but in a sense that he hasn’t seen the light of day for a few consecutive days.

You shift your weight on one leg and fiddle with your fingers. “Can we talk?”

Jisung gulps. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbles after a moment of hesitation before inviting you in.

“I’ve thought a long time about this. Everything, really,” you start awkwardly as soon as you’re both standing stiffly in his living room. “I, um…”

You cringe inwardly as your voice trails off. Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. Even wrote down the entire speech. Then threw the draft away, only to compose a new one. And then again and again and again. After what felt like an eternity, you had polished your final speech and memorized it from top to bottom, even making sure that your flow sounded natural. But now that this is the real deal, your mind goes blank. Of course, of fucking course, your illiterate brain had to give up on you in the situation that mattered the most.

Jisung purses his lips. “Do you want something to drink first? No need to rush—”

“I don’t like Changbin!” you blurt out. Jisung stares at you in confusion. “I mean, I used to like Changbin — I still do, he’s a nice guy! Don’t get me wrong — but that’s all he is. He’s… nice. I like him, as a friendly guy. I had a crush on him, but now it’s just, uh, like. Platonic! Yeah, platonic.”

Despite him nodding slowly, you know that he is still lost. You would be too if you were on the receiving end of this painfully clumsy delivery.

You give yourself a mental slap as you take a deep breath. It can’t get any worse than this. Definitely impossible. You’ve already proven to him how bad your public speaking skills are. Might as well get over it with the bluntest words. “I miss you. And not because of the sexual things we did, but everything else. I miss you coming over, miss the movie night, and all that. I miss you, Jisung.”

He stares at you silently. Your eyes search his face for any sign of emotion, and for one too many times, Jisung is impossible to read. Okay, perhaps you did manage to tell him what you wanted to tell him even worse than whatever the fuck your initial attempt was.

But then his blank armor cracks. Little by little, his eyes soften, disbelief and remorse on display for you to see. Jisung is looking at you as if his world has fallen apart even more. He’s looking at you as if he’s clinging to the last threads of reason, trying to make sense of the situation. He’s looking at you with eyes that could hold stars behind them, stars that were supposed to burn out yet shine brighter than the universe.

“How can you say that? I hurt you. I made you cry! I was being a selfish asshole who put out his anger on you!” he exclaims, voice breaking towards the end. Pain clouds his red eyes, and he’s fighting to keep the tears at bay.

You slowly prod closer to him, testing the waters. He doesn’t react once, not even when you stand directly in front of him. Not even when you gently place your hands on a shoulder each. Not until you say, “It’s alright. I’m alright. No hard feelings.”

That’s his breaking point. Tears stream down his face, while quiet hiccups jump out of his throat. “How can you be so nice to me?” His sobs are muffled as he eases into your touch, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, clinging onto you as if you’re his lifeline.

The answer is simple, you say to yourself, as you thread a hand in his hair. “We’re soulmates.”

The weight of the words hangs in the air, shattering the previous tension and all the worries in your heart. It’s liberating, finally being able to say it out loud without feeling like an abnormality for saying those words with happiness. You’re soulmates. You’re soulmates, and that’s okay.

Jisung’s sobs resound throughout the room, and so do his countless, tiny yeah, we are’s. You need a moment before you register the wetness on your face. It feels like an eternity standing in his warm embrace, even after there are no more tears left to cry.

“Can I kiss you?” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but Jisung catches it. two fingers gently lift your chin so that you’re facing him. You almost melt when your eyes meet, his gaze filled with adoration that makes you want to burst at the seams.

“Yeah. I’d love that.” Jisung smiles.

It costs you your willpower to tear your eyes away from him before they flutter down to his lips. Despite his bottom lip being a little cracked, they look inviting and you wonder what they taste like. You expect him to nudge you, expect him to tell you to hurry up and do something because you’re pretty sure you’re staring at his lips for far too long.

He doesn’t. The grip on your chin is loose as if to tell you to take your time and go at your own pace. But the longer you wait, the more reluctance builds up. It’s a lot of power he’s given you; hell, it’s the first time he hands the reigns to you.

“Can you… uhm… I’ve never done this before, so yeah…” you look at him with a crooked smile.

The breathless chuckle that leaves him sounds like music to your ears. Jisung moves his hand to the back of your neck before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is short and sweet, but that alone suffices to make the butterflies in your stomach burst. The faint taste of coke lingers on him, and before you know it, you’re kissing again. Jisung’s lips are like an addiction, reeling you back in for another one. Somewhere along the way, the kisses change. Innocent presses of lips are long forgotten, replaced by teeth playfully tugging on your bottom lip, and Jisung kissing you deeper to the point where he steals all oxygen out of your lungs.

Your hands slide down his chest, tugging on his shirt. Startled by your bold actions, he pulls away, but you catch him back into another liplock that leaves the two of you breathless. All you can think of clearly is Jisung Jisung Jisung—

This time he forces himself away from you. Gasping for air, he places his forehead on yours. “If we go farther than this, then I don’t know if I can control myself.” His warning is barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t,” you whisper back.

That’s all the reassurance he needs before leading you to his bedroom, all the whilst latching onto your lips once more. He doesn’t let go of you until your back hits the soft mattress and he’s on top of you. Warm, slightly calloused hands trail from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt.

“Color?”

“Green,” you respond, smiling up at him. The sun has long vanished at the horizon, replaced by the dim moon and stars. Despite only a little light surging past the blinds into the room, you can see Jisung’s features crystal clear. The endearing smile is cast into the back of your mind, so is the delicacy in his touch, fingertips lightly grazing your skin as he sheds all your clothes off until you’re left in your underwear. After hearing your complaints, he discards his own clothes with an amused glint in his eyes.

Jisung takes his time pounding every single detail of your features into his memory. His hands roam all over your body, inciting goosebumps. You lean into his touch with a sigh and flit your gaze to him once he stops on a particular spot.

The look on his face is unreadable, but the hesitation in his voice speaks for itself. “Does this bug you?” he asks, uncertainty laced in it as he runs his finger over each character of his name that’s inked under your collarbone. You shake your head with a hum that turns into a soft moan once he leaves kisses on the spots his finger burned before, one for each letter. Eventually, his actions spiral out to sucking lovebites and rutting his bulge against your heat, enticing louder whines out of you. Your vision morphs into blurriness as you move your hips in sync with his, locking your arms around his neck to pull him even closer to you.

“(y/n), baby…” Jisung heaves for air, “Is it okay if I…?.”

“Please,” you mewl, “want you inside me.” Your desperation must’ve shone through your tone, as Jisung presses a loving kiss on your forehead before he reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

In books and movies, this is the part where the virgin would reach peak nervousness. Too many fears would be inhabiting their mind; the fear of pain, fear of not fulfilling their partner’s needs, fear of the entire situation, essentially. Whatever they depict in those books and movies, it doesn’t match up with the warmth and want pumping in your veins. Even after Jisung slipped your and his underwear off and slid the condom on his leaking cock, there’s no sign of fear bubbling in you. It’s rather the opposite; you nudge him to finally slide into you.

“So impatient,” he tuts playfully, and because he can’t help being a bit sadistic, he teases your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock. Tears begin to form in your eyes from the frustration of clenching around nothing. You feel like crying for good once he slowly pushes into you. The stretch feels unfamiliar and completely different than what you’re used to from his fingers, but it’s not unpleasant as you throw your head back. While you’re adjusting to his girth, Jisung observes your every expression, faltering whenever you scrunch your eyes shut.

“You still there?” he asks in hushed tones, caressing your cheek.

In awe about his concern, you nod. “I’m fine. It’s just… new. I’ve never done this, but I guess you already figured that out.” It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and then you give him the green light to continue.

The way Jisung has your hands firmly against the bed lacks the usual roughness; he isn’t gripping your wrists as if he’s about to cut off your blood circulation. This time, he has intertwined his fingers with yours as if he doesn’t ever want to let go of you. A firework of colors and stars is all you see as he thrusts into slow and deep and with all the passion he has to offer. His lips don’t leave space for a breather either; he kisses you with so much fervor that it swallows your heart up whole. At that instant, you realize that he’s claimed your heart and isn’t going to give that up any time soon. You don’t mind, because you know that you’ve committed the same crime.

It’s not long after until you feel the orgasm building up. Jisung brings one hand down to flick your clit, and just like that, you unravel beneath him. His own release follows suit, a muffled groan coming from his lips as he spills into the condom.

It’s quiet for a moment, no words spoken between you except for harsh breathing. Eventually, Jisung slides his softening dick out of you and disappears for a moment to clean up, returning with a damp towel for you to freshen up a little, as well as a glass of water.

“I think I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you say after you gulped down the drink in one go, voice devoid of emotion. A laugh leaves Jisung. The way you deliver it is so casual as if he didn’t just have his dick in you minutes before. “Also, isn’t this the part where we should cuddle?”

“So bossy, your royal majesty.” He even takes a bow before he climbs back on the bed, pulling the covers over your bodies, and scooting up to you. He says something else, but you don’t register what exactly. All you care about is being wrapped in his warm embrace. The stench of sweat isn’t prominent on him anymore. Instead, it’s a huge cloud of Axe overpowering your senses. You would complain, but you’re too blissed out to bother.

Jisung must’ve noticed at a certain point that you’ve wandered to daydream paradise. “You’ve been quiet for a while. A penny for your thoughts.”

“But you can read my mind.”

“I want you to say it out loud.” His answer comes like a shot while his hand is brushing through your hair. “That, and your thoughts are too jumbled and my head is going to malfunction if I try to decode everything running in your head right now.”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards. “I’m just thinking about how we did everything in the wrong order. It’s just now that we kissed, before that I only sucked you off or something. We’re so fucked up.”

“If you word it that way, we definitely didn’t follow the book.” Jisung laughs in agreement. The vibrations from his chest causes you to bubble up in warmth.

“I don’t mind, though. That’s not the point. I’m happy.” You don’t have to look up to know that his eyes lit up. “Jisung, I’m happy that you’re mine.”

The hold around your waist tightens, and you feel a soft kiss being pressed on top of your head. “And I’m happy that you’re mine.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you probably wouldn’t have to go through these struggles. Society would normalize having someone that completes you. You wouldn’t go through countless stages of denial, countless stages of frustration, and countless stages of doubt.

In another lifetime, another universe, you potentially could’ve been on even worse terms. Just like in those cyberpunk movies, maybe you two would be enemies, one fighting alongside the government, the other assisting the villain who tries to overthrow the system. Star-crossed lovers, that’s what you two would be dubbed as.

In another lifetime, another univer—

No need to fantasize about what could be. The only lifetime that matters is this lifetime, this universe, your reality. In reality, people like you live in hiding. In reality, society is doubtful towards people with soulmates. In reality, people like you are destined for a tragedy. It’s taken you a long time to wrap it around your head.

That’s alright though. You’re alright. You’ll always be alright. The universe might have not played in your favor in this lifetime, but you still found each other. Perhaps, the universe will be more forgiving towards you in your next lifetime. Or the one after. Who knows? Whatever happens, at least you know you have one person you’re bound to meet wherever you are, whenever you are. One person who won’t ever let go of you. One person you won’t ever let go of.

“Yeah, I’m yours.”

#i'm never writing a oneshot again this is too stressful for my heart #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #stray kids dark hours #dom!jisung #sub!reader #jijiri.txt #smut.mine #i winged the ending so pls go easy on me dlskjflkjsa

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writerwithfluffysocks · 4 years ago

Text

BB Fic Rec List

Remember to kudos, like, favorite and review! Authors love that love and support for their work!

Most of these fics are rated T or M so if you're underage or that's not your thing then these probably won't be for you. Fics are broken down into categories to make it easier and each states number of chapters, rating and word count. Enjoy!

CANON FICS

A Dream Within a Dream by BlindAssassinUK (M, 25 chapters, 125k words)

Booth struggles to recover from his brain surgery and with Sweets' assessment that his feelings for Bones aren't real. As if this wasn't enough to keep our favourite FBI agent busy, a serial killer comes to town. Mostly written in tandem with Season 5.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5392047/1/A-Dream-Within-a-Dream

A Lotta Heart by nelliesbones (M, 10 chapters, 18k words)

"Bones, she believes in the system." Except that she didn't. Not completely. Not anymore... This is a story about a woman protecting her family. A story about the man who loves her. Spoilerfree, warm-hearted and M for a reason.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8186135/1/A-Lotta-Heart

An Aggregation of Maladjusted Companions by Jazzyproz (M, 43 chapters, 250k words)

Suffering from a declining solve rate following their returns to DC, Booth and Brennan are forced to attend a team-building convention. Neither of them think they need the workshops or exercises, but it's apparent to everyone around them that if they don't do something, the whole team will soon be falling apart. Can they fix their broken partnership?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11132403/1/An-Aggregation-of-Maladjusted-Companions

An Unexpected Outcome by BB-loverr (M, 5 chapters, 8k)

Before she could do anything Booth had her pinned. He made sure most of his weight was on his elbows so he wasn't crushing her. Someone is after Bones & Booth is protecting her. Set in early season 5

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5590619/1/An-Unexpected-Outcome

Becoming One by nelliesbones (M, 21 chapters, 83k)

He is handsome, she is beautiful, and somewhere in between… they have made a baby. Warm-hearted and M for a reason. Slightly spoiler-y AN's, the story itself is spoilerfree.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7012130/1/Becoming-One

By Any Means Necessary by Heather Wyatt (M, 45 chapters, 433k, DARKER FIC)

When an overseas trip for Brennan leaves her in terrible danger, Booth does what is necessary to save her - even if what he is forced to do has the potential to drive her away from him forever. Set in season 5, pre-100th; Inspired by the movie "Taken".

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11549096/1/By-Any-Means-Necessary

Can You Save Her, Agent Booth? by Jazzyproz (M, 62 chapters, 464k)

Booth receives a disturbing text in the middle of the night aboout Bones - will he be able to find her in time? Or will he lose her forever? Will this guy really kill her, or is it just a bluff?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7723263/1/Can-You-Save-Her-Agent-Booth

Coitus by willgirl (M, 5 chapters, 4k)

After a date, Brennan finds herself unexpectedly at Booth's door. B&B, Rated M for Smut!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4126515/1/Coitus

First a Dream by Firstadream (M, 17 chapters, 53k)

"I don't want you to move on..." Post 5x16 story. What should've happened between Booth and Brennan.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5900783/1/First-A-Dream

For You, I’d Bleed Myself Dry by coffeehelps (M, 1 chapter, 11k)

The night that Booth took a bullet for Brennan in front of that karaoke stage was forever ingrained in Brennan's mind. Every year, on the anniversary of that night, Brennan experiences those volatile feelings all over again… and they help her realize just how much Booth means to her.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13382298/1/for-you-i-d-bleed-myself-dry

Learning to Fly by Shelly (T, 3 chapters, 8k)

It was never his intention to hurt her. And, yet, she was sitting on the edge of the tub, his bathrobe consuming her small frame, tears cascading down her cheeks. He didn't know how to fix this. Post "The End in the Beginning."

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5231358/1/Learning-to-Fly

Recklessness and Repercussions by Nothing But Bones (M, 7 chapters, 29k)

Booth overhears one of his colleagues crudely reliving an intimate rendezvous with Brennan, and his ill-conceived reaction threatens to end their partnership on a permanent basis, leaving their emotions running dangerously high.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4605409/1/Recklessness-Repercussions

This Secret Dance by ALottaHeart (M, 14 chapters, 43k)

But this secret dance, it goes on. This. This is for them, between them, and they're not ready to share that with the world. Not yet. They've waited too long. Booth/Brennan. Spoilers for 100th episode.

CASE FICS

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6062651/1/This-Secret-Dance

Bone of Contention by Mochi-girl (M, 15 chapters, 33k)

During a murder investigation, a man from Brennan's past returns, and spins her relationship with Booth in a new direction.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5558981/1/Bone-of-Contention

Case File 2010c by lexeb (M, 1 chapter, 40k)

Booth and Bones face their worst case to date. Will our duo catch their man? Dark themes and imagery. Note rating. Written as an episode. Most characters appear.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5789374/1/Case-File-2010C

Crimson Catastrophe by Dangereux (M, 5 chapters, 24k)

Booth and Brennan work a case that pushes them both to their limits, and into each other's arms.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5929308/1/Crimson-Catastrophe

Fear and Faith by Some1tookmyname (M, 35 chapters, 59k)

When a suspicious note is discovered in an unexpected place, Booth and Brennan fight against an unknown enemy to protect the life they've built together.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7981371/1/Fear-and-Faith

Getting Clean by blc (M, 1 chapter, 11k)

Brennan feels soiled after catching a serial killer. Booth helps her get clean again. Long Angst/Romance

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4621793/1/Getting-Clean

Hearts in Overdrive by Christi Whitson (M, 22 chapters, 136k)

After stumbling upon the suspicious deaths of two men from Brennan's past, she is determined to learn the truth about how they died. Booth and Brennan deal with the emotional fallout of their discoveries as the events of S3 unfold.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12190876/1/Hearts-in-Overdrive

The Effects of the Fan by gatewatcher (T, 1 chapter, 9k)

Someone is stalking Brennan. Will Booth be able to keep her safe? What will the effects be from his attempt?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12568373/1/The-Effects-of-the-Fan

The Gentleman in the Club by TheModernLeper (M, 11 chapters, 10k)

The team tracks a serial killer to a popular night club. With Brennan as bait, can Booth and the team keep her from becoming his next victim?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4764864/1/The-Gentleman-in-the-Club

The Remains in the Rain by forensicsfan (T, 45 chapters, 70k)

What starts out as a trip to Seattle to promote Brennan's latest book turns into much more as secrets surface in flood waters and Booth and Brennan find that a few of their own secrets surface in the process.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3934573/1/The-Remains-in-the-Rain

The Two in One in the Park by ShaViva (T, 17 chapters, 80k)

Brennan and Booth are called in to investigate the remains of two victims arranged to portray a killer's twisted vision of a romantic forever. As they close in on the culprit they find themselves closing in on each other as well. AU early season 6. B&B

AU FICS

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6054481/1/The-Two-in-One-in-the-Park

All My Yesterdays by cardiogod (M, 36 chapters, 134k)

Booth has been taught since early childhood that a wise man builds his house on rock, not sand, but it isn't until the ground starts shifting under him that he realizes he never learned how to tell them apart.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7801702/1/All-My-Yesterdays

Burdens Which Allow Us To Fly by Mis Chi Evous (T, 1 chapter, 9k)

An alternate universe, where Brennan's parents are both killed, and Russ is in the Army with Booth. A study in how some things are meant to be.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6290511/1/Burdens-Which-Allow-Us-To-Fly

Desert Storm by Alonzo Anonymouse (M, 12 chapters, 13k)

Operation Desert Storm: Sergeant Seeley Booth was captured and tortured. His first assignment back is to stand guard over an Anthropology professor and his grad students, sent to identify bodies. One of those students is Temperance Brennan.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6032735/1/Desert-Storm

Hostile Takeover by F.H. Blake (M, 22 chapters, 70k)

Booth is a billionaire businessman hell-bent on buying Bones' club, The Lab. Bones is hell-bent on keeping Booth as far away from her club as possible. The two worlds collide one night over too many shots, and Booth and Bones soon realise that enemies don't constantly want to rip each other's clothes off.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12538952/1/Hostile-Takeover

Killing Two Birds by dmnky (M, 34 chapters, 171k)

After six months in Maluku, Brennan is summoned to Afghanistan to identify remains from a military helicopter crash and assist Sgt. Maj. Booth in investigating the cause of it.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7710873/1/Killing-Two-Birds

The Couple in the Alternate Universe by perscribo (M, 12 chapters, 22k)

Booth and Brennan are not who we know them to be. One is on the right side of the law and the other isn't. Their love story under conflicting circumstances.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12583235/1/The-Couple-in-the-Alternate-Universe

His by Athena Alexandria (T, 40 chapters, 99k)

AU. Post The Critic in the Cabernet. Booth struggles with his decision to let Brennan raise their child alone after she uses his sperm to get pregnant.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6660822/1/His

The Opportunity by BtrixMcG (M, 8 chapters, 49k)

AU: Seeley Booth is the CEO of a prominent communications company and one of the most powerful men in the industry. Temperance Brennan is a brilliant young analyst who comes into his employ and gets far more than she bargained for.

COLLEGE/HIGH SCHOOL AU FICS

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6582371/1/The-Opportunity

Follow You Down by ButterflyWhisperer (T, 26 chapters, 85k)

The year is 1989 and our favorite group of crime fighters meet 16 years prior to 2005. Temperance Brennan is a lonely foster kid that just moved to D.C while Seeley Booth is battling demons from his past. What happens when this unlikely pair of teenagers & their friends end up trying to solve a murder their favorite teacher was framed for? And will love blossom?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10640406/1/Follow-You-Down

Healing Two Souls by cmol8806 (M, 43 chapters, 146k)

Temperance Brennan is almost eighteen and entering her last foster home after barely surviving her last one. Seeley Booth is just returned from war, with new nightmares. What happens when they meet?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6867582/1/Healing-Two-Souls

Purak: A Less Cheesy Way of Saying You Complete Me by boothaddict77 (T, 35 chapters, 163k)

14-year-old Tempe Brennan, recently abandoned by her parents, moves into a new home with her brother and his friend. Of course, the young man they will be sharing a roof with is none other than Seeley Booth.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7764189/1/Purak-A-Less-Cheesy-Way-of-Saying-You-Complete-Me

White Knight by LordLanceahlot (M, 17 chapters, 52k)

Temperance 'I-don't-know-what-that-means' Brennan. At a fraternity party. Drinking heavily and being mauled by some punk frat boys. Booth scowled at the thought. His freaking forensics tutor. Time to go play white knight.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5785872/1/White-Knight

Beginning of Forever by JulesSC (M, 37 chapters, 301k)

Chicago, 1988. Tempe, 14 year old foster child. Seeley, 16 year old jaded junior. Can these two help each other and change each other's lives?

SMUT HEAVY FICS

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6346762/1/Beginning-of-Forever

Any Way She Wants It by sleeplessinatlanta (M, 7 chapters, 33k)

When Booth's prodding makes Brennan snap and reveal the extent of her frustrations, he offers to help her out. He thinks, he can handle it, but nothing is ever that simple.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6343873/1/Any-Way-She-Wants-It

Bad Excuses by Pereybere (M, 4 chapters, 7k)

Brennan and Booth are using work stress as an excuse to get naughty.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4134057/1/Bad-Excuses

Breaking All The Rules Tonight by sleeplessinatlanta (M, 25 chapters, 57k)

Brennan tells Booth she has a sex date and he doesn't take it very well. He's determined to show her why she should be his.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5303079/1/Breaking-all-the-Rules-Tonight

Silent Surrender by sleeplessinatlanta (M, 25 chapters, 27k)

Brennan shows up at Booth's house needing only one thing: him. One silent night could never be enough but it's months later and they still find themselves going crazy at night and pretending during the day. How much longer can they keep silent?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5398682/1/Silent-Surrender

Exercise in Self Restraint by sleeplessinatlanta (M, 8 chapters, 30k)

B&B are in an established relationship and Brennan has a naughty proposal for Booth which involves tons of frustration.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5617523/1/Exercise-in-Self-Restraint

Fighting Words by sleeplessinatlanta (M, 26 chapters, 71k)

Collection of one-shots. Some heated words, an argument, and tons of B/B hotness.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5448139/1/Fighting-Words

Hours by Dispatch22705 (M, 25 chapters, 47k)

A look at 24 different sexy times between Booth and Brennan. One post for every hour.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7506156/1/Hours

Colors by Dispatch22705 (M, 12 chapters, 50k)

12 separate one shots: each one based on a color idea.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5845810/1/Colors

Rooftops and Invitations by Space77 (M, 5 chapters, 17k)

You can’t stop thinking about him, you can’t stop looking at him. So do something about it.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4516879/1/Rooftops-and-Invitations

Talk to Me by SSJL (M, 31 chapters, 118k)

All he wanted was a moment of honesty from her. All she wanted was to be able to give him this.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3458085/1/Talk-to-Me

Morning, Nooner and Night by Dispatch22705 (M, 1 chapter, 9k)

A 'one shot' so to speak, of a few firsts between Booth and Brennan. He made love to her in the morning, had sex with her at noon and broke a few laws with her at night.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7239541/1/Morning-Nooner-and-Night

Only Between Us by sleeplessinatlanta (M, 100 chapters, 142k)

Collection of one-shots, some really short, others longer. Some funny, some angsty, some sweet. But ALL should be steamy/sexy/sweet. ALL revolving around B/B and their smoking hot dynamic.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5329849/1/Only-Between-Us

Alphabet by OrigamiFlower (M, 15 chapters, 22k)

A whole load of one shots of Booth and Brennan dedicated to the Alphabet.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6088489/1/Alphabet

Alphabet Recurrences by Dr Madness (M, 25 chapters, 51k)

The Alphabet means a lot to Booth and Brennan. It captures every single romantic, hot, steamy and dirty moment between them.

ONE-SHOT FICS

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5666368/1/Alphabet-recurrences

A Family Business by nelliesbones (M, 14 chapters, 20k)

A story of one-shots and scenes around the beautiful and highly anticipated season seven of Bones.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7449862/1/A-Family-Business

An Epic Before Bed by eitoph (T, 1 chapter, 3k)

She's written this life and she's lived this life, and now she knows which one she prefers. 4.26/6.22/6.23 and how they all fit together.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7037787/1/An-Epic-Before-Bed

Anything by CupcakeBean (M, 1 chapter, 3k)

“I’ve flown across the country, pulled strings, broken the law, risked my career, risked my life, *lost* my life - all for her." Booth and Brennan realize how much they mean to each other and give in to their attraction.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4961754/1/Anything

Don’t Mess With Booth by Aisho9 (T, 1 chapter, 2k)

Caught in the middle of someone else's battle, Brennan is hurt. The perp is in hot water enough, but now he's got a pissed off Booth to deal with, too.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5869658/1/Don-t-Mess-With-The-Booth

Ferocious Love by rhyme time (M, 1 chapter, 1k)

Booth is feeling possessive of his wife.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9789714/1/Ferocious-Love

Lies and Life by Tadpole24 (T, 1 chapter, 1k)

“I’m not this person who can’t tell if it’s reality or fantasy and I’m not this person who shows up on someone’s door step, crying at 3 am. This is something Bren would do, not something Bones would.”

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5693685/1/Lies-and-Life

Pray for George who offends Booth and Brennan by Hannah Taylor1 (M, 1 chapter, 6k)

A cautionary tale for those who would cross Booth and his lady love.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5890044/1/Pray-for-George-who-offends-Booth-and-Brennan

The Finally in the Holding by carol204 (M, 1 chapter, 5k)

Booth appears in Brennan's house on a rainy night with unresolved issues. She's pushed him too far and now they've reached their breaking point.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6630976/1/The-Finally-to-the-Holding

The Standard by RositaLG (M, 1 chapter, 1k)

"Tell me again." He said, his voice strained with anger and his jaw ticking in restraint. "Tell me that you don't need me."

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7421321/1/The-Standard

We Belong Together by Dispatch22705 (M, 1 chapter, 5k)

While Booth is away, Brennan goes to a crime scene. Booth is furious when he finds out. When he calls her on it, it's in a place he wouldn't have expected, but is all so familiar to both of them. Angsty, angry sex but with a resolved B&B ending in bed

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5846725/1/We-Belong-Together

You With Me by mia101 (M, 1 chapter, 3k)

Takes place after Booth's fight in Vegas. Brennan is tending his injuries and recalling how it felt to watch him fight, wondering what it would be like if she were the kind of woman she's been pretending to be.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4224265/1/You-With-Me

328 notes · View notes

builder051 · 3 years ago

Note

Family dinner, festival season, and mimosas if you please.

Ugh, so help me dog, I let this run from a fun Q&A to, like, an explanation of the inner workings of my household/relationship to an autobiographical fact/fiction narrative of my personal life explaining one aspect of my tense relationship with my parents. I know it took me a million years. I am so sorry. To my defense, I've been doing some social/emotional work/access/journaling, so feelings have been sort of spilling all over the place. Please heed the following warnings: alcohol talk/alcohol abuse/alcoholism, family tension, probable mixup of Deaf/deaf and D/deaf family/person in context.

Family dinner

We've suffered through both (I think), though I may be mixing up my young adulthood with my parents with time with my in-laws. Given current circumstances, where I'm drinking pink tea all day, eating, like, a bite out of DD's toast (yes, in the 'ha,ha, now you have a crooked sandwich' way of doing things. But yes, it's a joke. And yes, she forgives me.) Avoiding family dinner in the sense of disinviting our 7 household members and all our go-bags, wheelchairs, etc makes things so much easier. However, my in-laws are some of the kindes, most understanding people I've grown to know, and they're usually standing by to wait if anyone needs help standing up, or offer alternative drinks to be sure everyone's taken care of. We don't have get-togethers more than I'd say... 4 times a year? And usually around the kids' birthdays instead of actual holidays. That regularity and distance in bewteen is quite comfortable, in my opinion.

Festival season kickoff

Oooooh, Yeah!

(Let me back this up a sec and explain why we the exceptional introverts are quite so excited about tour bus chasing...). We're deaf; DD rather more (and for more years) than I am/have been. This might be obvious, but getting recorded music to be high enough quality (which, iTunes/googleplay/etc, usually can provide with either clean 'new' tracks or older 'remastered' ones) isn't always easy. Like, a scratched record can sound "vintage" and "so cool" to some, but I lose notes and lyrics, so I'm left confused. The Beach Boys provide a good example. I can't tell whether "She-e-ry, Sherry, baby, She-e-ry" has the "Sherry" stretched into 3 syllables of the same note, just with a sort of glottic stop between them , or if the middle one goes down slightly. I'm pretty stupid when it comes to L/R headphones, too, especially if it's a radio drama that's supposed to have it play as if you're sitting at the table with the detective on one side and the suspect on the other...My bluetooth-enabled hearing aids have made things sooo much easier within the last year. However, the Deaf community has rather taken ownership of the uncontrollable joy and wild (usually completely clean) drug-ish high that sticks around after taking part in such an arousing event.

Hearing loud, live music... it's just amazing. You all know the theories behind a drum skin vibrating after it is struck, and that sending out waves of vibrations through the air that further push on into sound waves that we perceive in the little satellite dishes (or the plastic and metal wiring inside the satellite dishes) attached to the sides of our heads. Whether or not the brain can take in or process this information, or whether or not the biological components are there to begin with, our skin can vibrate to a run of guitar notes. Loose cheek flaps make for tiny tooth taps that seem to hold the rhythm, even if you've never heard the song before in your life. Big bass drum beats remind the heart to keep beating, and the melody works off the harmony in a vein so natural that it evens out a tightly held chest into an exercise of self sustenance: in one lung. Out the other. Reverse. And repeat.

When I was a hearing person (sometime before starting college), I didn't understand the appeal of live music. I'd seen enough boy bands fail at Times Square tv recordings because of wind feedback and lack of autotune. I'm now proud to say that I understand the abject stupidity of signing a contract to sing an awful arrangement of something kitschy to begin with, atop a skyscraper in ~90% odds of miserable weather, during the live recording of which you'll almost certainly need to sneeze, and the cameraman will, in all grace, spot Ryan Seacrest slipping his digits into the crease of Mariah Carey's thigh-high boot.

All this to say, there's a HUGE difference between New Year's Rockin' Eve and, say, a death metal band echoing back over and over again from every corner of the hockey arena, and silence refusing to abound till long after the blue flashing lights dim to grey. Or the final note of everyone's favorite song still echoing on and off the concrete barricades that guide the under-flowing river behind the concert venue, surely taking the melodic voices and quavering guitar notes several miles onward, mixing only gently with the colossal mountain of collapsing, palm-splitting gratitude.

A couple years ago, we went to Bunbury (we were chasing Greta Van Fleet), and had an amazing time wandering the festival. We somehow got "randomly chosen" to meet Shaed backstage, which was super cool, and we picked up a lot of merch and junk visiting the retailers. We visited the Rockstar Energy Drink pavillion about 20 times to get free cans of soda, and nobody was checking for double dippers. For musicians, we saw Blue October, Dashboard Confessional, Shaed, AWOLNation, and ofc, Greta. It was among the most amazing experiences I've ever had in my life. We've seen Breaking Benjamin at Riverbend (triple cast with Three days Grace and Chevelle). For Christmas 2019, right before I got uber sick, I took DD to Bad Wolves, Three Days Grace, and FFDP. We TRIED to go see Disturbed (w/Bad Wolves opening), but they cancelled in the midst of COVID and we were refunded; they never rescheduled the tour. We've also, randomly, seen Bad Wolves perform as a main act in this tiny little local dive bar. For 2022, the only event we've attended is a triple-header of Bad Wolves, Hollywood Undead, and Papa Roach. This upcoming season, there aren't actually any festivals on the books that are running that have stringent enough safety checks in place to make us feel good about attending. But, the big music centers in the next town over (such as the one where we saw Papa Roach) did an amazing screening process and handled handicapped seating really well, so we're happy to head there for more future events. On the schedule between May and December, we're off to Breaking Benjamin, Greta Van Fleet, and FFDP. All repeat tours, but all have proven themselves to be AMAZING.

Mimosa

Well, to follow the question quite literally, I'm more off alcohol than on, at least at the moment. My doctor's forms ask me, oh, twice a week or so what my drinking habits are (relate to # of drinks per week: frequently, sometimes, rarely, never). Like, how does that even work out? I usually use the verbiage "Once in a blue moon" or "Once a week or less frequently" or "if we ever decide to sit on the patio and have a party (which actually describes our, erm, green stuff smoking habits, which actually only differentiates from our drinking habits by 'is it cold outside? Sandy, stick your hand outside? Puffy-breath is fun; climbing the stairs to get a coat is not."

My parents were... "average/good" kids to young adults (remember, legal age at that point was 18, but there were some rules that still needed to be minded, such as my Mom's Christian college campus and my Dad's induction into and related house-moving onto the local Air Force unit.) With that general setup, they had, like, 4 years of playing around like outgrown college kids except that there was no legal recourse/graduation withholding/demotion/etc. for casual sex, combined financial planning, etc.

Anyhow, they joined the great brigade of married military couplets by 1990, and were assigned overseas. Beyond placement in an obscure location where, let's face it, Icelanders drink kind of a lot. Think 'Thor,' but with levels. You can buy Gull Beer, which is basically the equivalent of Bud Lite, at the corner store, where it's treated somewhat like caffeinated soda. Anyone who seems "responsible" enough to handle drinking it (such as, anyone who rode their own bicycle for their shopping trip) is allowed to buy it with no ID/age check necessary. My best guess is... young teenager-ish? Secondary school? Up to great bearded elderly adulthood, of course.

To find any other kind of alcoholic beverage on the island, you have to either go to a restaurant/bar, a grocery store with an attached liquor store, or a free-standing liquor store. You will be ID'd on the spot, before you so much as reach for the door handle. (Or maybe that's just a rule for me, since I'm not a very big person, nor a a very, uh, old? mature? looking person. Last time I was over there it was my birthday, and I was turning 21. Legal drinking/buying age in Iceland is 20. I think, since I've been about 14 years old, I've looked somewhat nebulously 14-30 years old, depending heavily upon what sunglasses/hats/tshirts/suits and ties/etc. I happen to be wearing at the time.) So, anyway, I'm telling you this because for my entire time in Iceland for my last visit, i was of age, and I tasted a bunch of different kinds of beer, which, to me, all taste kind of, meh. I do really like Gull Beer, though, because it kind of tastes like club soda with a side of hops.

Climb back into the way-back machine, to my parents' assignment at Keflavik, which they seemed to take as an ugly wasteland, instead of a gorgeous place full of opportunities to explore natural wonder. IDK if it was them, or the people they hung around, but the constand liquor backstock became a thing.

From as far back as I can remember, (and I lived a bizarre childhood, where, though my parents were married and supposedly cohabitating, my dad was "away" (meaning-deployed to a war zone, generally Kuwait) for work for more than 10 months out of the year for more than the first four years of my life. So, around the time I was 5 and entering kindergarten, I had learned that there was this strange moustached man hanging around who would say 'yes' if I asked him if I could eat Chex Mix. (My mom usually said 'no.').

For reasons unbeknownst to me, I was not terrified when he took me in the shower with him and washed me like a little Air Force staff sergeant, making an unknottable mess with my baby-fine hair as he tried washing it with Dial Gold from a bar. My autistic father probably thought he was doing the right thing. My autistic self was only sensitive to the visual of my lion's mane in the mirror, and screaming for my mom brought her and a glass of fragrant shiraz cabernet into the bathroom. "You know where we keep it," she'd grumble as she dug the Static Guard out of the cabinet and sprayed it on a hairbrush.

Nothing on this planet smells like Arm & Hammer Static Guard. Best close-to I can try to describe is... If you're really snotty and try gargling with salt water with 1/2 intent to kill the bacteria back there and 1/2 intent to gag yourself and make the ropy goopy egg-white looking/feeling slime detach from your uvula to populate the sink drain instead--- There will be backwash. It will be watery, salty, and have some interplay of stale bodily fluid--less sour than bile, yet stronger than watery nose drip. Something disgustingly... pretzel-y?The brown and tan bits sticking out like a sick compilation of chicken bones under the thick yellowy globules of infected snot, which, to play out the analogy, could easily represent the gobs of chicken fat that boil to the top of the soup pot, just waiting to be strained out.

I've never tried to eat Static Guard. Shiraz Cabernet, though, has been on offer since, oh... first grade? A dribble at the bottom of a juice glass poured out, then placed by my seat at dinner, reflected in the shadow of my Mom's full, shapely cup.

Then free sips offered, once a night at least, as long as I didn't ask. Didn't pry. Actually, I didn't know that for sure. I'd find the tune of honey-cherry sweetness, about as pleasant as a cough drop, then carefully lick my lips to shade them with burgundy, which, to my middle-childhood brain, seemed the only other use for such a deeply stained beverage. Perhaps that's how my Barbie dolls did it, dressing in outfits from the picnic collection; beaming at me with luscious grins as I pinned their hats into place. The mish-mosh of accessories slipped awkwardly into the undersized pink basket: stemmed punch cups, a cranberry tinted wine bottle, labeled with yellow grapes and nonsensical text. Then the plates, cloth napkins which refused to fold, beach towels (in absence of a proper picnic blanket), and the little plastic dog that had been misshapen in the mold and fell over each time I tried balancing it on the flat platform beneath its feet. I plopped the whole lot into the cracked tupperware representing the outrigger canoe, and swept the whole scene to the back end of the living room couch so my dolls could be giddy and kiss each other without anyone else seeing.

At some point, I turned 18. It was long past the day when my dolls entered permanent storage at the top of the closet. My mom's daily habits changed, too. She learned of places where a smiling photo and a new credit card (oh, and a pesky annual price-offsetting fee) could get her out of the house a little less, and leave her at home with a little more.

Black Box shiraz cabernet costs a couple fewer pennies per ounce than it's usual bottom-of-the-barrel comparison, Yellowtail. At least the latter has the somewhat-attractive Kangaroo to stare you down every time you pour another glass. Black Box keeps going and going until pffft-bubble-spit- that's all. You're supposed to be happy with your 1/3 cup. Or raise brows to the ceiling and lean in to skim the bubble crust off with your teeth to keep down the close call.

But if you're my mother, saving pennies is the name of the game. Saving pennies so you can always afford one to spare. Use trickery designed to fall in step with the drunk mind, leaving no mess, no mind, and no fault. How many glasses? Why only one. Perhaps filled six times over, but... A new box opened? Now I certainly don't recall doing that. There is more cardboard, though. Poking out the top of the neighbor's recycling. I saw it when I walked to the top of the street to check the community notice board. There have been so many dead birds in the street lately...

When I was of age, I took her up on her offer a few times. A full glass. Afternoon niblets. Chatter. Professional sports on television. Even glazed with liquid warmth, she'd give me a disparaging glance when I changed the channel to figure skating. I took my drink to my lips and sipped through my teeth. I didn't know how to tell her that I didn't know how to score football. And if I couldn't say that, I couldn't possibly ask how she could do it red faced and with eyes bleary beyond the point of short-term memory.

My next sip tasted of vinegar. It's something that happens sometimes, when wine is made in large batches and incorrectly stored. Perhaps there was a bubble of air at the top of the barrel. Oh, for fuck's sake, Black Box isn't a barrel wine. Everyone knows that. There's probably an accumulation of rust on one leg of the aerating contraption. A dead caterpillar stuck to the inside lid of the canning vault. I brought my glass down to sniff it for eau de caterpillar, my stomach going immediately to knots.

There's a hollow crash from outside, and every nerve in my body jumps. A can of Heineken rolls across the concrete patio, my dad two or three stumbling steps behind. A handful of crunchy green leaves blow in the same general direction, so it's hard to tell who, if anyone, is at fault. My dad over-reaches, and his knee gets caught in the excess fabric of sleeve hanging below his armpit. He grounds himself, shaking his head, then snatches the can. He rises slowly, bowed a little to check out the chalk-like marks criss-crossing the papery, old-man skin that's starting to take over his legs. He rolls his eyes, then, as if to show who's really in charge, he crushes the can and feeds its newly narrowed body into a space among the decorative loops and swirls in the garden wall behind the disobedient tomato plants.

Satisfied that safety, at least, has been achieved out there, I look toward my Mom again. One arm cushions her head on the arm of her chair, and the other lazily grasps her wine glass, which has but a drop left. Not enough to taste. But probably enough to stain.

I carefully slip the stem from between her fingers. My mom wakes with a start. She looks at the television, which has stalled out as the local broadcast network moves through the shows on the lineup. NFL playoff coverage is over. It's time for the National News.

"Who won?" My mom looks at me, somewhat aggressively, as if I'm her secretary, and the report she requested is both late and deficient.

"Um. purple helmets," I say. "I think."

My mom purses her purplish lips. "Who are they?"

I have to cast around through the connect-4 of my mentally accessible trivia facts--The university of the place of the guy with the hair... Guardians of the Galaxy, except not really--they only team up for Thanos... My mother doesn't know who Thanos is; she fell off around Civil War...

"Uh..." My voice is there before my brain. "Vikings?"

"What conference?"

Fuck do I know. "Minnesota?"

"That doesn't help."

"You mean, like, east or west? That one's in the middle."

"Did you put away my cup?"

"Kind of. Everything's in the sink." I stand up and make to go. "Text you in the morning?"

"Wait!" my mom seems genuinely concerned. "You can't go. You can't drink and drive."

"Good idea." I heft the chip bag on the table. I don't remember when they came out of the cupboard, but it was certainly after my glass retreated to the sink. There are approximately 5 left. Perfect. I'll have them for dinner. While they show the figure skating highlights on the national news. "You stay right there." I dig out my keys and head down the hall. "Bye, Mom."

She still looks befuddled. I open the front door, then quickly squeeze out past the screen without letting in a pesky moth. I wave. My mom waves. "Don't let in a moth..."she trails off in a yawn.

"Sure." The cat's asleep about six feet down the hallway, twitching his toes as he plays out some kind of hunting and pouncing dream. He wouldn't know what to do with a moth. Run around and yell at it, probably. Same as my mom.

My dad would probably try to build some kind of moth-trapping contraption involving plywood, car was sponges, maybe a handsaw, a flyswatter (you know, for the stick side only), and a bucket balanced atop a stepladder. He'd get it through the doorway of the garage and start assembling it in the laundry room before my mom (or the cat) pulled out a magnifying glass and started an investigation. Then, unable to talk him down, either (or both) would turn to plan 2: call in the son.

"Hi, mom," I'd say. Then I'd patiently listen to her story. Probably getting clearer information from the mew's in the background. Then I'd take a deep breath and get started on spitting out some hard truths.

"I hate to break it to you guys," I'd say. "But, you're getting old. It's the big 6-0 this year. Most people book a cruise, not a hospital bed. And not one in the unit for folks who've broken their necks over homemade butterfly nets."

"We're not THAT old," I imagine them saying, trying to stay calm whilst doing furious mental mathematics (for they're still not great at switching apps while the mobile phone is on a call, nor can they recognize the calculator icon from the quick access menu. They were, most unfortunately, then generation of teachers who told us students we'd never be walking around with calculators in our pockets, so it's hit them with an even larger surprise.)

"Well, your choices are your choices, I guess." I'd take a deep breath and screw up my eyes, preparing to end the call stat if necessary. "Just... please don't be drunk when you try out your invention."

"Don't worry, honey--" my mom would say.

"We know what we're doing--" my dad would follow.

"That's the only way we know how to do anything." I can practically see my mom's saccharine grin. "We've been drunk for our entire adult lives."

2 notes · View notes

stevetonyweekly · 4 years ago

Text

Reader Recs - SteveTony Weekly

It’s the end of the month and that means y’all get things you’ve been reading recently!

***Indicate something I’ve read and enjoyed.

~*~

Here’s to Las Vegas by iam93percentstardust (Alternate Universe/1.5k)

The day after Steve gets married, he wakes up in a Las Vegas hotel with a ring on his finger and Tony Stark snuggled up beside him.

Down in lonesome town by resurrectedhippo (Endgame Fix-it/79k)

“Why do I always find my way back to you?”

Maybe he didn’t necessarily return to Steve, but fate is a funny little thing, and after living a life of loss, Steve wants something that’s his to keep. Tony deserves a love that’s unrestrained. Steve thinks he’ll erupt with it.

Love is messy, not easy, and takes work.

Maybe love feels like rage.

But maybe love could just be jumping off a rocky mountain and smiling anyway.

After the universe is restored, Steve is lost without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a misty blue lake. Across the bridge is Tony Stark’s new workshop.

This is not a drill by Sabrecmc (A/B/O/23K)

“Can I—can I see him? I mean meet him. Uh…welcome him to the team?” Tony clarified, probably not very well, he knew.

“Well…there’s a bit of an issue with that,” Fury said, and Tony figured this was where Fury got to whatever it was that had really forced his hand and made him call Tony in, knowing how much the man detested having to do so. “You see, well. He was suspended in the ice for nearly seventy years,” Fury began. Tony nodded along, because he could do math.

“I’m sure he has a lot of adjusting to do—“ Tony started.

“Seventy years,” Fury repeated, cutting Tony off and leaning back in his chair and making it rock slightly. “Of no suppressants.”

“Oh,” Tony managed to choke out past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Oh.”

***you think you only know me when you turn on the light by sineala (MCU/ 13K)

This wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Tony was supposed to be going on a date with Steve, not bleeding to death in the middle of Macy's on 34th Street because he'd been magically shanked by a sorcerer who didn't even have the decency to obey the goddamn laws of physics.

***bodyguard for the day by navaan (Identity Porn/11K)

Tony gets kidnapped from his Stark Industries office. Steve gets taken with him. But AIM doesn't know they've mistaken Captain America for a simple security guy – and nobody knows Tony is Iron Man... Life is complicated.

Bridge over troubled waters by vorkosigan (Endgame Divergent/5.8k)

After Thanos is defeated, Tony throws a party, like one does. Steve is there, and Tony thinks it's an awesome idea to seduce him, for old times' sake. Things get... complicated.

Scratching Posts and Love by talesofsuspense (Canon Divergent/7.6k)

There’s a million reasons he can’t and shouldn’t get a pet, but his therapist apparently thinks they’re all just bad excuses and tells him as much.

your slightest look by stardating (Alternate Universe/4k)

Romance novels said that love was not supposed to be about suffering, or some other poetic lie. Clearly, none of those authors ever spent their days coughing up bouquets.

***Tony stark vs the heteronormative agenda by sweatervest (MCU/11K)

Nat leans her hip against the table and folds her arms. “Short of making out in public, I don’t think anyone will make the jump to ‘they’re dating.’”

Steve glances at her and then over at Tony.

Nat follows Steve’s gaze. “You did make out in public.”

“Steve never got his Time’s Square victory kiss,” Tony protests.

Or, five times the general public was determined to believe Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were just close friends, and the time Tony made sure they knew otherwise.

Three weeks from tuesday by thedevilchicken (Alternate Universe/2k)

Tony's pretty sure Steve was joking when he proposed. He's pretty sure it's all just because Spider-Man can't let a good joke drop. But he's determined to find out.

***dear to me by sylvalum (Comics/5.7k)

Tony has made peace with the fact that Steve will never love him back, except then a half-asleep Steve tells him that he loves him, swiftly launching Tony’s third existential crisis this month.

And the Avengers have a baby now, which is shaping up to be the fourth.

#stevetony weekly #stevetony fic recs #stevetony #fic recs #stony #superhusbands #steve rogers #tony stark

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hotchley · 4 years ago

Text

aaron

summary: “some of us grow up to catch them.”

ssa hotchner. former prosecutor. unit chief of the behavioural analysis unit. best shot in the whole of the quantico building. dad to jack and his entire team.

aaron hotchner. just a boy, trying to make it through the day.

(alternatively known as the backstory, the moments between, and the hotch episode we never got)

read chapter one here!

chapter two: the moments in between

trigger warnings for this chapter : minor character deaths, death of a parent, implied/referenced child abuse, court cases involving a not guilty verdict to a charge of abuse, arson, references to cancer, references to the death of a child, vomit/sickness, references to self-harm and suicide, stabbing, canon-typical violence, blood, implied/reference drug addiction, references to domestic violence (this is between hotch's parents)

Aaron Hotchner was a lawyer full of contradictions.

He had graduated at the top of his class, but he never once referenced his own father’s abilities when he started practicing. And instead of becoming a defence lawyer- a role that would have led to him holding a position of power within weeks- he became a criminal prosecutor.

He claimed it was what called to him.

In reality, it was because he refused to let anything else be tainted by the memory of his father. He remembered the nights where his father would come home and talk about the horrible things his clients had done. He remembered how he had laughed and said he would be able to make all of those things go away with a few words. He remembered how his stomach had tightened at the injustice of it all.

But he wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. He was an adult. He was as close to happy as he could be when he spent his days looking at photos of people who had lives, and hopes, and dreams that were cut short. When an ordinary day at work meant putting some bad people behind bars whilst he was forced to let others go free.

When he was in court, he was amazing. He was cold and emotionless. People genuinely believed he had no emotions, that there was nothing that could faze him. Killers and abusers would hurl insults at him, defence lawyers would pull random laws from nowhere and he would take it. He would think on his feet and come up with something. But then there were sudden moments where he would look so vulnerable. Like when he spoke to a child, a young woman, the family that thought they hadn’t done anything to save their loved one.

The only time he would smile was when the blonde woman in his life would appear. Sometimes it was with lunch, dressed semi-casually, hair slightly messy and pen on her face from whatever it was she was doing. Other times it would be in a pretty dress. Those would be the days where he would look mildly terrified for a moment, before grinning and leading her out the office. On the bad days where they would be forced to come in on a weekend, she would come in with her own work and keep him company.

Haley had gone into teaching. High school history, although she always helped with the various productions held. She was a natural with the kids, always doing her best to be understanding and helpful, instead of confrontational and harsh. Despite this, there were still nights where she would come home, not saying anything. Those nights, Aaron would wrap his arms around her and let her cry about the injustice of the system.

Those were the nights he remembered just how lucky he was that she had taken a chance on him, unlike everyone else, who had left him to suffer. He didn’t want to think about where he would’ve been without her. Or if he would’ve even been anywhere on this earth.

So their lives weren’t perfect, and he woke up screaming some nights, but they were good. They both had stable jobs in the same area, which meant they could eat dinner together and fall asleep in each other’s arms every night. Haley liked linking their hands together so she could look at their wedding rings.

The wedding had been small, more for her parents than anyone else. He still didn’t believe he was worth loving. She had always dreamt of a wedding, but with Aaron none of that seemed to matter. What mattered was him being around. Her parents however, weren’t having any of it and even offered to pay for the wedding if that was the problem.

Haley had very kindly told them to keep their money. If her and Aaron were to get married, they would do it the way they wanted to, with their savings and their budget.

In the end, the wedding had been a compromise. Haley’s entire family, all of her high school friends and sorority sisters were invited, and everyone but Meredith attended. Aaron’s mother and brother came, as well as some of his friends from law school, but the list of people he actually wanted there was even shorter than Haley’s. She refused a seating plan for that exact reason.

After they cut the cake, they managed to sneak away for a few minutes. The wedding had been outdoors. They could see the stars. And when Aaron looked at her, he fell in love all over again. He could hear the music faintly, and so he had offered his hand and they had danced, feeling like they were seventeen all over again. That night, there had been no darkness inside him. Only joy.

And as one of his favourite authors, Joseph Campbell, had written: find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.

But when you saw the things he did, it was difficult to find a place where joy could survive. And even when it was there, it was temporary. Because no matter what he, and everyone else in the district attorney’s office did, the evil never stopped. There was always somebody else getting hurt. Another victim not being believed. A lawyer quitting because they couldn’t keep looking at the worst of humanity and surviving.

Aaron’s own last case haunted him years after he joined the FBI.

He had been on edge for a while. Christmas had come and gone. With it, the never-ending questions from various colleagues and family members about when he was next coming home. When was Haley going to have a baby? Were they even trying for a child? Was Aaron having some difficulties? Or worst of all, when was he going to let go of his grand delusions and silly ideas and settle down as a defence lawyer?

Returning to his real home- the apartment him and Haley resided in, that had come to life with their little knick-knacks- had been a relief. She wasn’t fond of going home and seeing everyone that had failed Aaron, but she loved her family and friends. Aaron could never get away fast enough. She respected that. It was why they worked.

The new year came, and with it, new cases.

Aaron wasn’t trying to bring a killer to justice with only the evidence from the crime scenes and the testimony of families. He was trying to save an innocent child and make sure the only monsters in their life were the ones imaginary ones under the bed, instead of the father they said was abusing him and his mother.

It was like looking in a mirror. An innocent child finally snapping and telling the police the truth about their home life. But where Aaron had been mocked and told to stop being a liar, the police had listened. Gathered the evidence. They had done their job. Now it was time for Aaron to do his.

He poured over the files for hours. He found every piece of evidence he could. He would not fail this child. Not the same way he had been. He would find the truth behind every hospital visit, between every tear they had ever shed and he would make sure that the old bastard’s wife and son never had to be scared for their lives ever again.

Aaron was going to do what nobody ever did for him.

It was a week before the trial. New evidence had been located. It was all important, obviously, but there was something they were missing. Something Aaron knew would make all the difference to their case. He just needed to find out.

His phone lit up. Sean was calling him. He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t be dealing with his younger brother’s complaints in that moment. And he certainly couldn’t be lending him any more money. Him and Haley were saving for a mortgage. Then they would have a real home. Somewhere to call their own.

Somewhere to eventually raise their own children.

Sean tried to call him two more times. And Aaron declined two more times. It was a bit strange that he was phoning so consecutively, but it was probably nothing. No, not probably, definitely. It always was.

He turned back to the files, making sure his phone was on silent. When the clock ticked to six, he hurriedly locked majority of the files away in his cabinet and put the ones that had just come through into his briefcase. Haley had planned a nice evening for the two of them. But if- when- he woke up in the early hours of the morning, at least he could do something productive.

There were two more missed calls from Sean. Aaron made a mental note to phone him when he got home.

“Give me fifteen minutes to shower and then I’m yours, I promise,” he said as he entered their living room, shoes already neatly put away on the porch.

There were two packed bags on the couch. Haley was sat, wearing a black dress, hands in her lap, landline next to her. Her head was bent, but her body was shaking as tears slipped down her cheek, dampening the fabric.

Aaron felt bile rising in the back of his throat as he knelt in front of her. “Baby,” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“Baby, what happened? Just tell me, it’s okay.”

“Your mom’s gone,” she said.

“What?” Aaron whispered.

“I’m so sorry Aaron. I am so- that wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you. It’s just- Sean said she was admitted to the hospital earlier, and she passed away about an hour ago. They phoned here because you didn’t answer your cell phone. I tried to explain everything, really, but they wouldn’t let me speak and-”

“She’s really gone,” Aaron said.

Haley embraced him, awkwardly wrapping her arms around his neck as he sobbed, the knowledge still not sinking in, but the emptiness in his heart was threatening to overwhelm him entirely. They sat like that for what may have been hours or minutes as his body shook. Only when his tears turned to hiccups did Haley pull away, gently wiping away his tears with the sleeve of her dress.

“You should shower. There’s nothing else you can do now,” she said.

Aaron shook his head. Haley stood and led him to the bathtub.

“All you need to do is keep your head up for me, okay?”

The shower had no effect on him. Haley helped him dress. He felt like a small child, needing someone’s assistance to button his shirt up. But he couldn’t make his body cooperate with him. He couldn’t do anything, still in shock that she was gone.

Haley put the bags in the boot. Aaron got in the passenger side. He spent the journey staring out the window. When the buildings became more familiar, he closed his eyes, not opening them until they reached Haley’s old home. He turned to her in confusion.

“Sean is staying with a friend tonight. Going back to that house is not something you need to do today. My parents already said we could stay with them.”

Of course they did. Because everyone must’ve already known that his mother died. His mother had died and he hadn’t been there because he’d ignored his brother’s phone calls. What kind of person did that make him?

Haley no longer had the key. She rang the doorbell, one arm still wrapped around him as they awkwardly stood outside. Hotch remembered the first time he had gone to her house for dinner. It had been after his father passed away. He’d spent the entire meal feeling uncomfortable. Like the Brooks’ weren’t going to approve of him.

Her mother had hugged him, cradling the back of his head, whispering her condolences, both for what had been lost and for what the town had failed to do. Roy Brooks had shaken his hand, saying that anyone would be proud to call him their son. Jessica had dragged him to one side and said they’d all known about Haley sneaking him in during the night, but nobody knew what to say.

When he got home, he crawled into bed and sobbed. For the first time, somebody loved him unconditionally.

It was her mother that answered the door. When she saw who it was, she ushered them in. Aaron remembered at the last moment that he was supposed to take his shoes off. Haley led him to the living room.

Roy embraced him. “You’re freezing,” he whispered. “Darling, put some tea on. Aaron, how are you feeling?”

He shook his head. He did not deserve kindness. Not in this moment.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to talk. Just drink some tea and then got some sleep. Haley’s old bedroom has been set up for the two of you. And we’ll both be here if you need anything. The next few days are going to be draining for both of you, so please, don’t hesitate in asking for any kind of support.”

“Thank you Papa,” Haley said, rubbing her husband’s back.

Aaron tried to smile, but it was forced and uncomfortable.

Roy was the one who drove him to the funeral home. Haley had offered, but she had already driven them from their apartment, which had tired her out because she hated driving, so Aaron had declined, having every intention to bear the burden alone. But as he was slipping his shoes on, Roy had emerged, saying nobody should have go alone.

Sean was waiting outside for the two of them, eyes red, biting his nails. When Aaron looked at him, he couldn’t even imagine him as the eighteen-year-old about to go to college that he was. When Aaron looked at his little brother, he just saw the little boy who didn’t understand that their dad wasn’t coming home. Only this time, there were no comforting lies to give him. He understood everything. Including Aaron’s failure.

“How could you?” Sean whispered the moment he saw his brother.

Aaron looked down.

“She was in the hospital, constantly asking where you were. She didn’t care that I was there. She just wanted to know where her precious baby was, and I had to keep lying and say that you were coming when in reality, I had no fucking clue where you were. It was not supposed to be me holding her hand. It was supposed to be you. But you weren’t there, and so you have no right to turn up, now looking all sad and pathetic.”

Michael Hotchner had not been right about much. But he had been right about one thing. Aaron Hotchner was his mirror. Sean Hotchner was his son.

“Sean Hotchner. That is enough. You do not get to disrespect your brother or your mother like that. Go inside, and do not create another scene,” Roy snapped.

When Sean departed, he turned to Aaron, who was shaking.

“Son?”

“He’s right,” Aaron whispered. “I should have been there. He- Sean phoned me and I didn’t answer because I thought it was stupid and I had this case and- I failed her.”

“Look at me. It’s not your fault. It was her time to go, and you cannot spend the rest of your life blaming yourself. Sean is angry and grieving, and he doesn’t mean a single word of what he said. You’re a good man, doing a good job and you make my daughter happy. Don’t ever forget that. Okay?”

Aaron nodded, not truly believing him. He followed Sean into the funeral home, where they spent the next few hours in a tense, uncomfortable silence. Aaron wanted to comfort his brother, but he didn’t know how. Not when Sean stood as far away from him as possible.

The funeral was a day later. Once again, Haley held his hand until the priest called him up to say a few words. Aaron managed to make it through his eulogy with minimal tears, but the moment he was back beside his wife, he turned away from the grave, letting the tears fall.

The people were silently judging him for what he had failed to do. Roy glared at everyone that dared tried to voice these opinions. They were wrong. Aaron hadn’t failed anyone. He’d gotten there the moment he was supposed to, and if those people were even half as religious as they liked to claim they were, they would know that.

“You take as long as you need,” Haley whispered, when everyone else, even Sean had departed.

Aaron nodded, holding the flowers he’d grabbed from the car to his chest like a baby. He watched as Haley left, going to sit in the car to give him the space he needed. He’d told them all to drive home, that the walk would do him some good. He watched on unsteady legs as the car faded from view.

And then he fell to his knees, sobbing, one hand pressed to his mouth to stop too much noise from escaping, the other blindly feeling around for the flowers left by Sean. Their mother had hated roses- somehow, she always managed to prick her finger on the thorns. The only reason they had ever been in the house was because on the days where people would come round, his father would turn up with a bouquet of them, and she would dutifully smile and accept them.

Aaron moved the roses so they were hidden by all the other flowers they had left. And then he put his own small bouquet of carnations right where the headstone would go.

“Mama, I am so sorry,” he whispered.

And then he walked away, unable to stand the sight of the grave anymore.

The defence ripped him and his witnesses to shreds.

The verdict was not guilty.

The child was sent home.

“You promised me,” they sobbed as their father stood with an easy smirk on his face.

He was sick the moment he got home. Haley didn’t say a word. She just showed him an advert for the FBI that had been posted through the letterbox. When he stared at her, she smiled. Said that she had married Aaron Hotchner the man, not Mr Hotchner the prosecutor.

Two weeks later, he was enrolling in the FBI Academy.

Six months later and he was Agent Hotchner. He liked that. It was his own, and nobody would ever associate the title with his father. He could be his own person.

Then David Rossi gave him the nickname of Hotch and he couldn’t be happier. It would’ve made his mother smile. And his father turn in his grave at the utter shame of his good name being reduced down to something so mundane.

But being a profiler was tough. Every case meant dealing with the very worst of humanity. And even among the worst, there was a hierarchy. Some cases were just more disgusting, more scary and more scarring than others. A few cases reminded him that profilers were all just a step away from becoming unsubs themselves. That the line could and would blur before any of them even realised.

Vincent Perrotta left him vulnerable. Physically and emotionally. Jason had told him to loosen his tie and undo his top button, but Aaron needed the reassuring pressure of both things at his neck in order to maintain some kind of illusion of control in spite of the damage done by the wire.

He didn’t open up to unsubs. One of the most important parts of conducting an interrogation was to make them think you understood them without giving away anything about yourself. And most of the time, he was good at doing that. He pretended to understand the hatred of children, pretended to agree with them when they claimed that all women were just manipulative bitches and he pretended to find it amusing when they thought that the person doing the act was right.

The key word was pretend.

He wasn’t pretending when he looked Perrotta in the eye and told him the one thing that only Haley and Dave were aware of. Had it been any other time, it would’ve been funny. His own team didn’t know what his father had done to him, but this serial killer did, and it was all because he’d slipped up and said us instead of them.

Hotch had never been so thankful there was a bathroom on the same floor as his office that nobody ever used. The moment Perrotta turned away, the realisation that his crimes had never been inevitable causing more distress than the murder of the woman had, Hotch had bolted.

He hadn’t eaten since the incident in the night. It hurt to swallow. Which meant despite the minutes he spent retching over the toilet seat, hands trembling because how many times had he looked in the mirror and seen the exact same look that he’d witnessed on Perrotta, nothing came out.

Morgan was stood by the door.

“I know we have a no profiling rule.”

“Then follow it.”

“Reid’s doing your paperwork. He’s surprisingly good at forging your handwriting and I’m not sure I want to know why. That means all you need to do is sign it. Go home.”

“You’re not my superior Morgan,” Hotch snapped.

Morgan didn’t even blink. “I know. But you won’t write me up for insubordination. There’s no reason for you to be here, but there is every reason for you to be at home.”

Their relationship was a strange one. They trusted each other as agents- it was the only way they were able to go out in the field- but not as individuals. But then every once in a while, Derek would do something like this and Hotch would wonder if it was his way of saying that he did indeed care.

He was right though. There was every reason for him to be at home.

The living room light was off, so he immediately headed upstairs. Jack was asleep in his crib. Hotch felt uneasy in the nursery. Both he and Haley knew this was their forever home, which was why they had a nursery- it could be Jack’s bedroom until he moved out- but after Karl Arnold, he wasn’t sure how he felt about not being able to see him in the night.

“He won’t wake up if you hold him,” Haley said from the doorway.

“You should be asleep,” he replied, feeling guilty that he must have woken her.

“No, I shouldn’t. What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

She shrugged. “I know you.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to burden you. You already put up with enough from me.”

She crept closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he was transported back to the bathroom, only now the scars on his back had healed but not faded and more, both visible and hidden, covered his body because profiling always damaged people.

“You’re not burdening me. I’m asking.”

“Serial killer. His dad abused him and his mom. I accidentally told him that some of us grow up to catch them. But Hales, the look on his face. It was like he finally realised that everything he did had been because of him, not because of his father and I just, I sympathised. What kind of person does that make me?”

“A good one.”

“I saw myself in him. The person I might have become if you hadn’t saved me,” he confessed, still watching his son.

Haley’s grip loosened. He realised what he had said.

“Aaron that wasn’t me. You saved yourself. You got out and you decided you were going to break the cycle. That was you. I just helped you along the way. Hey, look at me.”

He turned, tears in his eyes. Haley smiled, still as bright and good as the day they met. She took his hands and lifted them to her lips, placing a soft kiss to them before leaning past him and lifting Jack up. The baby stirred slightly, but did not wake, even when Haley handed him to Aaron.

“You won’t hurt him. Or me. You will never be like the people that you hunt down. I will die before that ever happens,” she said. There was such raw passion in her voice that the tears finally fell.

Haley would die before he hurt someone. And he had made a vow to her father the day they married that he would keep her safe, and a second the day he joined the FBI that if Haley were to die, it would not be because of his job.

“Thank you,” he whispered, putting Jack down so he could press a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world for her to do. Because to her it was. She just wished he could understand that.

He didn’t know how to say the words. Not in the way that she needed. So instead he smiled, took one last look at his baby and walked away. He pretended to be fine because Haley shouldn’t have to worry about her. In reality, the moment she fell asleep, he went and checked the locks. Again.

The darkness shouldn’t have been able to creep in, but it did. It always did.

“I hope Morgan wasn’t too rough with you,” Gideon said, taking the seat opposite him.

Hotch looked at him. Gideon gave him that smile that never seemed to be aimed at him anymore. He sighed, fiddling with the pen he’d placed on the paperwork he hadn’t touched since boarding the jet. Talking to Abby’s son had been more painful than he’d expected, but somebody needed to do it. It was the least they could do for him.

“I’ve handled worse,” he replied.

Gideon hmmed at that. “That doesn’t mean you have to. I made you some tea. Herbal. Apparently it’s calming. You should drink it.”

Hotch stared at the mug like it was going to poison him. Then he carried on staring out the window. It was dark, and there wasn’t really much to see, but he couldn’t keep looking at the sympathy on Jason’s face. It made him feel sick. He wasn’t the one that had lost a father that day. He had just gotten too close, again, despite constantly telling everyone that wasn’t something they could do.

It was impossible to get the image of him burning to death out of his mind. Whilst he wanted to believe Abby’s death had been swift and painless, much like his own father’s heart attack, he knew that was impossible. He’d seen enough burn victims to know it took time for that happen. He wondered if, in those final moments, Abby regretted his decision.

“Hotch there was nothing we could have done to save him,” Gideon said gently. He wished Dave was still there. He would know what to say, what to do. Gideon had never had that relationship with Aaron. He liked to think he had that relationship with Spencer, but Aaron was different. He didn’t understand him.

“I should have stopped him. He should have had more time. If only so he could look at his son and tell him what was going on.”

Gideon tilted his head to the side. “Spencer mentioned that you had gone to see the family. Why didn’t you send JJ? She is our media liaison, that’s her job description, not yours.”

“JJ wouldn’t have understood. I had to go. It had to be me.” Hotch didn’t really know why he was telling Gideon any of this.

“It was your penance, wasn’t it? You think it’s your fault that he died, so you decided to make the fallout your responsibility. Hotch, you’re the Unit Chief now. The team look to you. You can’t tell them to do one thing and then do the exact opposite.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be SSA Hotchner, or even Hotch. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be Aaron, because even though Haley and Dave- the only people that used his first name- had always treated it like something precious, the ghost of his father made him think the only way it could be said was with disdain.

Even with his eyes closed, he knew Jason was watching him. He opened his eyes and turned slightly, watching the other members of the team. JJ and Emily were laughing at something that Morgan was saying. Reid was smiling. Hotch felt relieved. It had been far too long since Reid had smiled, and he knew he was the one to blame.

Jason followed his gaze. “They’ve all come so far, haven’t they? One day, they won’t even need us.”

That startled Hotch. His eyes met Gideon’s and he realised his mistake immediately.

“I see. It wasn’t just Abby you saw yourself in. It was his son. That’s why you went. You were compensating.”

“Please don’t profile me,” he whispered, knowing it was useless.

“I’m not. Now I know I’m no David Rossi or Haley Brooks, but I am here. However much you may not agree, I am.”

It was useless to say that he didn’t think that. Because he did, and it was written in the hesitance of his decisions. Of his constant watching. Of the pile of paperwork in his office that was meant to be Jason’s.

“I wanted- needed- to know who it was that my father had been having an affair because everyone, including my own mother, had known. But then he was diagnosed with cancer and all of that became irrelevant. I never got my answers, and it still hurts, even now.”

Nobody, not even Haley, knew about that. She obviously had her suspicions, and she knew about his lack of closure, but he had never properly told her.

Jason wasn’t saying anything. Hotch looked at him and saw that the other man was looking past him, not at him. He followed his gaze, and realised he was looking at Spencer. He swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled as Derek ruffled his hair.

He turned back, and saw that Jason was watching Spencer with the soft smile he had never managed to evoke. He blinked back tears. He missed Dave. He wanted Dave because Dave would know what to say to stop him feeling like such crap. Jason didn’t. Because Jason loved Spencer more than he loved Aaron, and Aaron couldn’t even fathom resenting either of them for that because it wasn’t either of their faults.

It was just a fact of life. But that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when instead of replying, Gideon stood and went over to the other members of the team, intently listening to whatever it was Spencer was saying.

Haley would tell him to phone Dave. But he couldn’t disrupt his book tour like that. Instead, he kept staring out the window, trying to forget how beautiful the flames had looked against the darkness of the night or how deep down, he almost wished it had been him in there.

It was too close to the line between profiler and unsub.

He bottled up his emotions and hoped that Jason would stay. If not for him, then for Spencer. Because he couldn’t be that person. He was barely that person for Jack.

Jason did not stay. Neither did Haley. They both reached their breaking points and then Hotch pushed them too far.

Deep down, he knew the moment where they both decided they couldn’t take it anymore, the moment where they finally admitted to themselves that they deserved better and they took the steps to get there.

He just never expected they would happen on the same day. He supposed he’d bought that upon himself though. It was him that had said Jason was okay to return to work, for the purely selfish reason that he couldn’t do it alone even though he knew Gideon needed more time. It was him that had left on the case because Morgan had asked him to, even though Haley had asked him not to.

What kind of marriage was that? He didn’t know who had phoned. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know but there was no guarantee that Haley was having an affair. To suggest that she was would be cruel. It would only be because he didn’t want to have to take accountability for his part in the breakdown of their marriage.

It did take two to tango.

But where Jason took a piece of Spencer’s heart, Haley took the reason Hotch had never been able to stop hunting down monsters.

Morgan told him they would survive without Gideon. Hotch knew they would, but he wasn’t sure he could. Gideon’s departure, as much as he didn’t want to seem narcissistic, would reflect on him. He hadn’t saved him. He hadn’t been able to save his marriage- because Haley had done all she had and it had been his turn- and now the unsub’s last words were haunting his memory.

He had always taken pride in the fact that he was a difficult man to profile. A face schooled into a cautious look of neutrality, suits that hid the fact that he never seemed to have an appetite anymore. The only thing that ever gave away his nerves was the small hand thing he had never been able to stop doing.

For his own profession to be used against him in such a way, so soon after he had failed to save so many people- the six agents in Boston, Elle, Jason, Haley- was disarming. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do. Normally, he would’ve gone to the home where Haley would have left a light on for him. He would’ve watched his son sleep and just stared at him in awe. He would’ve pressed a kiss to Haley’s forehead before climbing into their bed and seeking her warmth. Maybe, if it had been too late to go home, he would’ve taken Jason to the piano night down at the bar.

But Haley had taken her warmth and the thing that made their house a home with her. All the rooms would be dark when he got back. Jack’s room would be empty. Their bed would be cold.

He hadn’t slept alone since college. It hurt, to wake up in the morning and not see Haley’s hair, messy and knotted.

He just didn’t want to be alone, but who was he supposed to tell?

“Reid. I’ll drop you home. It’s been a long few days,” he said.

Everyone else had left. Reid looked up with wide eyes. He looked so painfully young, and Hotch felt a slight pain in his stomach. What was this job doing to him? Spencer deserved better than sleepless nights and painful memories that would never be forgotten. Hotch guessed that one day, Spencer would be added to the list of people he had failed to save.

In some ways, he already was.

“I can go myself,” Spencer mumbled.

“Reid. Let me do this. Please,” Hotch said.

Spencer nodded. “Okay.”

They left, the car far too silent for either of them to be comfortable. Hotch wanted to debate something intellectual, if only to soothe Spencer’s nerves, but the words classic narcissist still left a bitter taste in his mouth. And his mind had gone completely blank regarding anything else.

“We’ve driven past the turning. The route that you’re now going down would mean that getting to my apartment would take an hour extra.”

Hotch kept his eyes on the road, subtly checking that the car doors were locked. “You’re coming home with me. I don’t think you should go home alone.”

Reid turned to face him properly. “I don’t need you to treat me like a child. I get enough of that from everyone else. Gideon left me with a letter, just like my dad. He’s not going to come back and rationally, I have to accept that, because refusal to do so won’t change anything.”

“Maybe. But you should know better than anyone that we can’t control our brains.”

He realised the moment the words left his mouth that it wasn’t the right thing to say, and he immediately regretted them. What Reid thought he was trying to imply was definitely not what he was, but the words had come out wrong and now Reid was going to hate him too.

“I do. Know that. Don’t need you reminding me.”

He sounded just like Jack. Hotch swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry, that came out badly. What I meant was that you’re allowed to feel like you’re being irrational. Missing Gideon is a valid emotion, regardless of the way he left us. You. I meant you.”

They were stuck at a red light.

“Hotch, why haven’t you transferred?” Reid asked suddenly.

He shifted slightly. “My reason for doing it is no longer a thing.”

Reid frowned, and Hotch hit the gas.

“Oh,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Is it our fault?”

Hotch shook his head. “Haley and I made our decisions. It was never anyone else’s problem, and it is most certainly not your fault.”

Reid wasn’t convinced.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” he blurted out. “That’s why I’m taking you to the house. Because I can’t be alone and I need to feel like I’m doing something to help someone otherwise, what is the point in all of this?”

“This is about what the unsub said, isn’t it?”

They hadn’t had a conversation like this in so long. Not since before Hankel, his brain supplied.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I failed to help Elle. I failed to help you, and Jason and Haley and god knows who else,” he said.

Spencer looked at him, chin tilted “You said: Haley and I made our decisions. It was never anyone else’s problem, and it is most certainly not your fault. How is this any different?”

Hotch sighed. “I had a responsibility to the other members of my team because I am meant to be their leader. You, on the other hand, are still just a kid, who has no connection whatsoever to my marriage.”

“I may be young, but I am in no way a child. And no, I didn’t have any connection to your marriage but I still don’t get your point. Elle and Gideon made their decisions of their own free will and there is nothing anyone could’ve done to stop them because when somebody is that determined to do something, they will always find a way.”

They’d pulled into the driveway. Hotch still hadn’t adjusted to the curtains still being open, for everyone to see and it took a moment to adjust to the darkness. The porch light hadn’t been on for a while, yet it was still a shock to the system. Haley’s light was just another thing he had taken for granted.

“When did you get so smart?” Hotch whispered. In some ways, he felt like he had watched as Spencer had grown from the new agent, doubting his worth and his abilities, to the slightly more confident that he had a family man that was now sat next to him. He hoped Spencer never lost his softness, or the things that made him the person he was, for there was nothing sadder.

“Hotch, I’ve always been smart. When Gideon returned after Boston, you introduced me as your expert on everything and then I told the man we were interviewing that I have an IQ of 187.”

“Never change Spencer.”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

There was a short silence.

“Would you stay the night?” Hotch asked.

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“It is. But I want this to be your decision. If you’d rather be alone, then I will take you to your apartment and we’ll never speak about it again.”

They sat for a few minutes, and Hotch resisted the urge to tell Spencer to hurry up.

“I think I’ll stay the night,” he finally decided, voice small.

Hotch breathed a sigh of relief, not even caring that the house was still littered with small traces of Haley and the life they had spent together.

The two of them ate in relative silence, and then Hotch set them both up in the living room. He wanted- needed- to keep an eye on Spencer, but he told him that when Haley and him bought their first apartment and started living together, they would camp out in the living room because there was nobody to tell them not to.

He left out the part where it was also because Aaron had never really been allowed to sit wherever he wanted and do whatever he felt like.

There was some old documentary about the Russian Revolution in the background. Spencer had fallen asleep, his head in Hotch’s lap. Without even realising, Hotch had started stroking his hair, much like he used to do for Jack.

The light in the living room was on, and not once did Spencer wake. Hotch made them both breakfast- pancakes, because the look of joy when he said he probably had all the ingredients was not one he wanted to destroy- and Spencer gave him a genuine smile.

Neither of them spoke of it again, but Hotch felt a little lighter. A little bit more like the Aaron Haley had fallen in love with again. Maybe he couldn’t save everyone, but he saved Spencer, and even if it was only a little, and well after he should’ve, at least he had done it.

That would be enough to keep the darkness out, if only for a little bit.

Megan Kane died and Aaron- not Hotch, because Hotch would say that you can’t take cases personally, no matter how much you wanted to, held her hand. He held her hand as she said thank you for staying and not leaving. He didn’t have the words to tell her that he didn’t walk away for selfish reasons. Because he couldn’t have her considering him to be the same as the other men she’d killed.

Not after everything she’d done. The chip was safely tucked away in his pocket, just waiting to be passed on.

Even when her chest stopped rising, he refused to let go, only doing so when the police kicked the already open door to her room in, guns raised. When they stepped onto the balcony, he dropped her hand, watching as it fell limply. He didn’t know how long he had been sat there, but it was long enough for the body to go cold.

“Agent Hotchner. We need you to provide a statement. You were the only person present when she died,” the lead detective said.

Aaron stood, suddenly so angry at everything and everyone. “She took the pills and gave me the card. And then she asked me to stay so I did. Then she died. What more do you need than that?”

He didn’t want to tell them what she’d said. It was stupid, but it felt private.

He stormed out the room before they could respond and stepped into the elevator with a heavy heart.

Both Dave and Emily tried to make him feel better the whole way home. It was all to no avail. Their attempts to comfort him went over like a lead balloon. The only indication he’d even heard them was the slight clench of his jaw and his adamant stare out the window, his report on the table, only the first sentence written. When Dave tried to crack a joke, Hotch glared and he backed off.

Emily sat by him. Whilst her general presence usually never failed to make him feel a little better, it was just irritating him. He didn’t want to talk to any of them. He didn’t want them walking on eggshells. He wanted them to just leave him.

But then he felt bad. Because the one person he wanted had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want anything to do with his job, and the rest were just trying to be there for him and that should’ve been enough for him.

When they got to the office, he did something he’d only done a few times before. He put the files on his desk and then he exited it. He needed to see his son. He needed to go to his real home- because now Haley was living in the house, it felt like a home again.

Haley had responded to his message about coming by with a simple: Ok. He still felt wrong profiling her, so he didn’t.

She had changed the locks. He didn’t have the key. And so he was stood there, awkwardly waiting for her to open the door whilst he rubbed circles with his thumb over the spot where his wedding ring had previously been. The tan line had all but faded. He felt pathetic for still reaching for it sometimes.

She opened the door. “There’s a birthday party that he’s been excited about for- you’re wearing a case suit.”

“I’m- what?”

She frowned. “Why are you wearing a case suit?”

“A case suit?”

“Yes. There are suits that you would only ever wear when you were on a case because they could be washed a lot more easily, and if you got blood on them, well you weren’t attached to them. How were you not aware of this?”

“I guess it was a subconscious thing. Look, we just landed but I-” he saw Jack peeking his head around the door.

On reflex, he crouched down. He remembered how he had felt when he was younger and his father would come storming in, towering over him, terrifying and threatening. He never wanted Jack to feel like that. And so he knelt down, burying his head in Jack’s neck for a moment before letting go.

“Hi buddy. How are you feeling?”

Jack stopped smiling. “I accidentally made mommy annoyed because I drew on the wall. But then she said that sometimes people feel bad emotions and that’s okay, you just need to be good about it. And then once we cleaned it up, she said that I’m not a bad kid, I just did a wrong thing.”

Hotch felt tears prick the back of his eyes. Haley was so good. Too good.

“She’s right. One act doesn’t determine who you are,” he said, voice cracking.

“Jack, mommy and daddy need to go and talk in the kitchen, so just stay in the living room, okay?”

Jack nodded.

Hotch followed Haley, noticing the last photo that was taken of the three of them before the divorce- although at the time nobody knew- was still stuck to the fridge.

“Tell me what happened,” she whispered.

Aaron turned away. “That’s not your job anymore.”

“Baby,” she said.

He closed his eyes. When was the last time somebody had called him that?

“I know what I said then. Trust me, there’s no way I could ever forget. But I was wrong. This is who you are. And I never should’ve asked you to change. I think the divorce was the best thing for both of us, because it was needed. But I still love you. And I know you won’t tell the team. So tell me.”

And he did. He told her everything. “The worst part is, she was right. I should be here every week, but Jack’s lucky if I’m here every fortnight. Haley, I always said I didn’t want to become a father because of how he hurt me. What kind of father am I if Jack is going to say the same thing?”

For a while Haley did not speak. They were just stood, a good six feet between them. And then she threw her arms around him. The force of her touch threw him off balance. When was the last time anyone had actually touched him? If he was struggling to remember, then it must’ve been far too long.

The smell of her shampoo felt like coming home and before he knew what was happening, he could taste the salt of his tears.

She stroked his hair and he relaxed into the touch, despite all the knots. He had always hated brushing his hair but loved when Haley would run her hands through it. She messed it up as he sobbed into her shoulder, and not for the first time, she wondered how many more times he could stare into the depths of depravity and come back whole.

Although, she thought to herself bitterly, he’d never been given the chance to be whole in the first place.

At some point, they’d started sitting on the kitchen floor. She was still playing with his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

“You don’t need to be. And I will spend the rest of my life convincing you of that.”

Aaron looked at her with such love in his eyes that she could not resist the urge to press a soft kiss to his forehead before tugging him closer.

“Sleep here. I’ll take Jack to the party, and you can rest. Do that paperwork that’s in your office. And maybe tomorrow, we can all go for ice cream.”

His eyes widened. They were so soft and warm that Haley had never understood how he managed to glare at anyone. Apart from the people that had offered their sympathies at his father’s funeral, despite fully well knowing the truth.

“Really?”

“Yeah Aaron. Really. Now go upstairs and rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She was, and it was like she had burst into his life in an explosion of light all over again.

Then George Foyet took that light and snuffed it out.

Haley once said she would die before Aaron hurt another person the way his father had hurt him. She said it because her death was so unlikely. It was an event that they knew would one day occur, but they never really thought about it. Though it was morbid, Aaron’s death was the one they had to prepare for. He was the one charging after dangerous criminals on a weekly basis. Haley was teaching.

Nothing bad was ever supposed to happen to her because he had promised, with everything he was, that he would keep her safe and that the horrors of his job would never touch her.

But he hadn’t been quick enough.

And now she was dead.

George Foyet had surrendered. He had surrendered willingly and without coercion, but Hotch hadn’t listened. He had carried on, even though his duty was to stop. To carry out a lawful arrest. But he hadn’t. He had carried on hitting a man that would not have been able to defend himself. Deep down he knew that was unfair to say. Foyet was taunting him by saying he was giving up.

Still, his knuckles ached. Morgan had pulled him off the body and he hadn’t been able to look. He couldn’t do it. So many things had already been destroyed by him. There was already so much blood on his hands, if he looked at Foyet he would never recover.

He was worse than his father. At least his father was a human. At least his father had never touched Sean. His father had never- to his knowledge- even attempted to beat his mother to death. But he had. He had beaten a man to death, and the worst part was, he would do it all again.

He would do it again because at least Jack was alive. Scared and confused, but alive. Hotch knew that if Jack had been the one to die, then he wouldn’t be here. He would’ve let Foyet kill him and vanish, as selfish as it was, because a life without his son was not one he wanted to live. After he found Haley, he knew he needed to consider the worst scenario: that Jack had not understood.

When Foyet told him that he would find Jack and show him his dead parents, something in him found the strength to survive. If Foyet was saying he would find Jack, then that would mean that he hadn’t already done so. Which meant Jack must’ve understood and was just waiting for his dad to come find him.

It was when Jack told him about how he had worked the case that the knowledge that Haley was dead hit him like a tonne of bricks. The first time he had found him, Jack had ran out and told his Mom what him and Daddy were doing together. Haley had smiled fondly before coming into the room, staring out the window instead of the desk.

Hotch had told her it was just a budget report. She looked down and did indeed see the budget sheet. But under that was the profile for a man who had recently lost his wife and was going after blonde mothers that resembled her.

There was blood all over his shirt and hands. Jack didn’t need to see that. The part of his brain not occupied with Haley knew that JJ was the best person for him to be with. She was good with children and had dealt with enough children of victims to know what to say and what to avoid.

Victims. Because that was what Haley had become. A victim of a serial killer and it was all his fault.

If he had just been quicker. If he had taken the deal. If he had transferred when Haley asked him to. They probably would have still ended up divorcing, but she would be alive. Jack would have a real parent. One that could look at him without turning away. Haley’s blood was on his hands, and every time he looked at Jack, he saw her. Because Jack had his mother’s light hair and kind eyes.

The day Aaron died- and god that couldn’t come fast enough- would be the day that the last piece of his father finally left the earth.

Haley’s hair was dark. That was the first thing he noticed when he saw her, lying on the ground. He’d heard people say that when someone died, you could kid yourself into thinking that they were just sleeping because they would look so peaceful.

Haley’s mouth was a thin line. She smiled when she was sleeping. Her clothes were not the ones she would have picked herself. Her eyes were still open. Aaron hated that she died alone and afraid. That should’ve been him. And her hair was dark. He cursed himself for being surprised. Of course it was dark. She’d gone into WitSec.

It just felt like a visual representation of everything he’d taken from her. Her light and innocence had been destroyed and it was all his fault. He hadn’t even told her Sam Kassmeyer was dead, which was such a stupid thing to fixate on, but anything to take away from the fact that she was gone.

When he pulled her limp, unmoving body towards him, needing to feel her against him one more time, she was still a little warm and he almost vomited right there. How close had they been that she wasn’t cold? He didn’t let go till Emily gently touched her shoulder, leading him away from the body.

The team were shielding him from the various people that had responded to the scene and if he had more energy, he would say thank you. But he was tired. And his hands hurt so much. They were still trembling.

Jack leant into his touch like it was nothing and Hotch marvelled at the fact that he seemed to adjust like it was nothing. He knew it was because he didn’t understand, but after everything that had been lost that day- two lives, a piece of Aaron, a place that was once home, the brightest light he’d ever met, Jack’s chance for a normal life- it felt like a win.

Before he knew it, the funeral was being held. He’d planned his eulogy, writing it whilst watching Jack because he couldn’t sleep without seeing the steady rise and fall of his son’s chest. There were a hundred different copies in the bin. How was he supposed to get up in front of everyone that looked to him and expected him to lead, and talk about Haley had made him feel safe?

Attending Haley’s funeral hurt more than either of his parents had. He wasn’t sure if that made him a terrible person. But when his father had died, he’d been relieved. Not happy, but maybe a little grateful. And when his mother had died, Haley had been stood next to him, her grip on his hand grounding him.

This time, she was the one in the ground. And the only person grounding him was a little boy, so much like Sean- not quite understanding, but aware enough to know the person they loved wasn’t coming home.

He held it together through his speech. Jessica gave him a soft smile before she took his place, reciting her own eulogy. Haley’s mother wasn’t able to attend because she was too unwell so her father recited both their speeches, voice cracking and tears streaming down his face.

It showed just how broken he was. No self-respecting Southern man would ever be able to shed tears that freely.

“Thank you for saying something,” Jessica said to him when they were all sat down. The team were far away enough to not hear, and he suspected that was why she had finally spoken to him.

“Jessie, this is all my fault. It was the least I could do. And I promise, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. To all of you.”

She let out a watery laugh. “Jessie. It’s been so long since you’ve called me that. Aar, I don’t blame you. I can’t. Because you did everything you could. I know that. And I heard you up there. You loved her. But you didn’t kill her. In fact, she’d kill me if I suggested such a thing. So forgive yourself. The rest of us have.”

“Jessica, why would you say something like that?” Roy shouted.

Jess flinched, unaware that her father had overheard everything.

Aaron shrunk down in his seat, unable to meet Roy’s eyes.

“You got my daughter killed. I trusted you. Even when nobody else did, when everybody said only bad things happened where Aaron Hotchner got involved, I trusted you. And when those people blamed you for what happened to your mother, I defended you. Because I knew you were a good man that would keep my daughter safe.”

“Dad, now is not the time,” Jessica said quietly.

“Yes it is! Yes. It is. My baby is dead, and it is all your fault. You promised me this would never happen. You swore. When your marriage died, I thought to myself: these things happen. They were young when they fell in love, perhaps they just grew up. But this- everything that has happened today? That’s on you. This is your fault. I wish it was you in the ground!”

Hotch flinched. “Roy, I-”

“It’s Mr Brooks to you now Hotchner. I treated you like a son. I- Haley did everything for you. Why weren’t you fast enough?”

And wasn’t that the million dollar question? Why had he not been fast enough?

“Dad, I know you are angry, but Aaron is not the person to be taking it out on! Just because he’s here and it is convenient does not make it right. Haley loved him until the very last moment. Shouldn’t that be enough to be good to him?”

Aaron just wanted everyone to stop shouting.

“She didn’t love him at the very last moment! How could she, after everything he put her through?”

“It is Hotchner going on the gravestone, not Brooks,” Jessica snapped.

Both Roy and Aaron stared at her. Neither of them had known about that, and she immediately paled, as though she’d revealed something she wasn’t meant to.

“What?” Roy spat.

“Haley called mom in the middle of the night in a panic. Said that if, somehow, this Foyet managed to find them, or if something happened, she wanted Hotchner to be on her gravestone because she loved Aaron.”

Roy’s hands were clenched at his sides and Aaron swallowed, subconsciously bracing himself for the blow that never came.

“I won’t do that to you. Ever. You may not be my son anymore, but I still would not harm you.”

Hotch exhaled, but Roy walked away before he could say anything. And the team got called away on a case.

“Did she really say that?” he asked Jessica, when it was just the two of them and their mugs of coffee. Jack had gone to sleep.

Jessica tore her gaze away from the carpet. Derek had done an incredible job of making it seem like nothing happened, but she now knew better and the thought of what had gone down made her sick. She wished she could convince Aaron to move, but she knew it would never work.

“Jess?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. She did. I was going to say something to you earlier but it completely slipped my mind. I hope that’s okay with you.”

He nodded. Of course it would be okay with him. Whatever Haley had wanted from him, he would give her. It would be too little too late, but it would still be something. Maybe it would lead to Roy’s forgiveness.

It was that line of reasoning that led to him almost accepting retirement, because what else was he meant to do? But then Jessica had offered to take Jack, saying it was the least she could do and that it wouldn’t be any trouble and he had been confused.

The gravestone hadn’t been placed yet, but he still knew where she was buried. That surprised him, because now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really remember the actual funeral. He just remembered Roy’s words. Aaron found himself talking to the air in a way he never had before, and by the time Dave found him, he’d made his decision.

Jack needed a father that could teach him how to move on and be happy. Aaron needed the team to be happy. Jessica had given her blessing, and maybe it was psychological, but everything felt a little warmer after he told his best friend that Haley already knew.

It didn’t mean he was confident that he was making the right choice. It was ridiculous, but he was terrified of how the team would respond. What if they thought he was making the wrong choice?

But on his first day in the office, they all treated him normally. Like nothing had changed. And for that, he was grateful. Emily was- as always- the only one aside from Dave with the self-destructive streak to make a comment.

Although it wasn’t the one he’d been expecting.

“I’m glad you came back,” she told him as he packed up his things to go.

There was a look in her eyes that told him she was being genuine. Her approval, deep down, meant more to him than everyone else’s, including Dave. For her to come in and say that she was happy he was there and leading the team meant more to him than he would ever be able to say. It also showed how far they had come. She had gone from insulting him every other sentence to wanting him around. He had gone from not trusting her to only being able to tell her the truth about what had really happened in his apartment.

“Thank you for letting me,” he said. If she had wanted it, she could have taken his job, no question. She wouldn’t- Derek was obviously the next Unit Chief- but she could have.

She smiled. “You keep us all safe, Aaron. How could I not?”

Emily’s hair was dark. As were her eyes. And there was a darkness that surrounded her in a similar way to him. He wasn’t sure where it came from. But she had learnt to live with hers. She had turned it into something beautiful that made people love her.

Perhaps he could do the same. Perhaps the darkness was something to welcome, not fear.

Emily Prentiss died, alone and cold, three times in one night. She died once when she told Derek Morgan to let her go because she genuinely believed Ian Doyle was still there, just waiting to hurt the people that had become her family. She flatlined in the ambulance, and Aaron had to watch as they frantically tried to revive her.

They succeeded in doing so, but at what cost?

She died a third time when Hotch had to make the decision as to whether or not she stayed. He wanted to scream at the bureau and say that it couldn’t be left to him because it was Emily’s life and if she wanted to stay and fight then she should.

But they would interpret his screaming and pleading as weakness. They would use it to deem him incapable of impartiality and then he would never know what happened. So instead of crying the way he wanted to, he kept his face neutral and argued all the reasons that Agent Prentiss- not Emily, not now- needed to be sent away and saved.

They went for it, and the prosecutor within him should have been proud. But it wasn’t. He was just tired.

Emily did not know that he had been in the ambulance and seen her die. She didn’t know that she had told him, whilst she was fading in and out of consciousness, about the darkness that she had seen and the chill that had come over her when she realised that she was dying or that he knew she wanted to believe in a better ending.

But Aaron did. It was why he found it so difficult to tell her what was happening. But he was already asking too much of JJ. JJ who was supposed to be a liaison for the state department and nothing more. But there was a haunted look in her eyes, and he so desperately wanted to comfort her, but there just wasn’t time.

He needed to save Emily before it was too late. Or maybe it already was too late. Maybe she would have survived if his own darkness hadn’t joined hers. Maybe if he’d been quicker in getting JJ or working out what had happened.

The moment he saw his own smiling face staring up at him, he should have known what was happening. But he hadn’t. And now yet another person’s blood was on his hands. When would it end? When would the people he loved stop being hurt by a darkness that should have only ever destroyed him?

His father once said the only thing he was good at was destroying beautiful things. Aaron had so desperately wanted to prove him wrong that he only succeeded in proving him right. Emily Prentiss had once been beautiful and good. One of the strongest and most resilient women he knew.

Hotch wasn’t stupid. He saw the way JJ looked at her. That was the other reason he had to be the one to tell her. Because he had seen Jason in the aftermath of the Boston bombing and Elle after she shot the rapist. He knew what Spencer’s anger and Derek’s fear looked like. He had seen the worst of each of his team members and never faltered because their darkness was nothing compared to his.

The Emily laying on that bed, broken and damaged beyond what any normal person should have been able to survive, was not the Emily they knew and Hotch was not going to let it be the Emily that JJ would remember. He would let JJ go with her to Paris because she would be stronger then.

That would be the Emily she would remember.

“Emily? Can you hear me?” he asked as quietly as he could.

She turned slightly, but even that small movement seemed to cause her pain. She opened her mouth to speak and winced.

“Don’t talk. You’re still too weak to do that. I just, I need to tell you what’s going to happen, okay? Because a lot of things are going to change and I want you to know exactly how this is going to play out.”

His hands were shoved in his pockets. One of them needed to be strong and pretend that everything was going to be okay, and it sure as hell couldn’t be her. But she saw and tried to motion to him. He shook his head. Soon she would be leaving him, and he did not want to remember her touch as being cold and almost lifeless. He wanted to remember her touch as being warm and comforting.

Without looking at her, he told her how they were sending her to Paris. His voice did not tremble and he did not break but he couldn’t face her when he was done talking. Instead, he stared at the floor and focused on the white tiles.

“I hate you,” she whispered. “How can you do this to me? I do not want to be sent to Paris whilst everyone else tries to deal with this.”

“Em. I’m trying to do the right thing,” he pleaded. He couldn’t have her hating him. Not after everything that had happened between them, and certainly not everything they had both done to gain the others trust.

“The right thing would have been to let me die,” she hissed.

He closed his eyes and it was only a few days earlier. He had told Clyde Easter that if anything happened to her, he would destroy him. The knowledge that he could do it without even flinching should have terrified him, but it didn’t. In some morbid way, it relaxed him.

When he turned his back, the knowledge that he had disarmed the other man bought him more joy than it should have, and again he was reminded of how thin the line between profiler and unsub really was.

“Mr Hotchner,” Clyde had called out.

Hotch had frozen, hands clenched at his side. How many years had it been since someone last called him that? And yet he still couldn’t hear the title without thinking of his father. He was an adult now, the man shouldn’t have held that influence over him but he was still terrified and he hated himself for it.

He’d turned, just enough so he could see Clyde’s face.

“I did my part. If she dies, that’s on you.”

And it was. It was all his fault. She had trusted him to keep them safe, but he had failed. Again. He had destroyed her, just like he had destroyed so many other good people. He didn’t deserve to be a coward anymore, so he looked up and met her eyes.

Weak and damaged as she was, she still managed to glare with a hatred he had only ever seen once. When she had been a college student, arguing with her mother. And he’d been both terrified and relieved to see that she could be so ruthless. Terrified because to him, she was just a girl and she shouldn’t have known how to hate like that, but relieved because he wasn’t the only one with such potential for darkness inside.

He left without another word. JJ had comforted Reid and Garcia because he had been too busy throwing up the single bite of sandwich he’d managed to choke down. And he knew something had happened to her whilst she was working for the Pentagon. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stay.

It was why he let her take Emily to Paris. He didn’t tell her what Emily had said to him. He just told her to ask if she could remember anything from the hospital. He spent the entire time waiting for her to respond. He was talking to Dave when there was a text from JJ. All it said was she doesn’t remember anything she said.

And it became slightly easier to breathe.

The funeral was difficult.

First thing in the morning, he had dropped Jack off with Jessica. Jack did not know it was a funeral that his father was attending, and so he was quite content to just sit in the living room and play with his toys whilst Aaron and Jessica stood in the hallway, talking in hushed whispers.

“Don’t you think he should go?” she had asked.

Hotch shook his head. “No. He already went to Haley’s. I can’t take him to Emily’s.”

“But he should be able to say goodbye to her.”

“Jessie, please. I can’t tell you why, but he can’t go to the funeral and I swear, as soon as I can, I will tell you everything but he just- I need him to not be there.”

She stared at him. “Aaron, you never need to beg for anything from me. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Jessica didn’t understand that him and JJ were the only one that knew the coffin was empty. It was the second coffin in a year that Aaron was forced to stand beside. When did it end? When would the members of his team stop losing the people they loved?

Ashley Seaver was a child and he never should have let her stay on the team after that first case. She was meant to be a training agent, who was supposed to believe that her job would make a difference and protect people from a life like the one she had been forced to live. And yet here she was, stood at the grave of a team member whilst the rest fell apart. Hotch wanted her to remain good and hopeful, but he just didn’t know how to do that.

In some ways, he resented JJ. She was able to go back to the Pentagon and get away from the looks of her coworkers. She didn’t have to look out of her office and see the empty table that had once been Emily’s, nor did she have to go through the drawers of her desk and decide what would be kept and what would be thrown.

Aaron ended up keeping everything in a box at his apartment because he didn’t have the heart to throw anything away. Not when Emily wasn’t really dead, even though her photo was still hung up outside.

He needed to talk to someone, but there was nobody. So, he ran off to Afghanistan for three months working on a project he didn’t fully understand or see the point in. The guilt at leaving his team and Jack only slightly overshadowed the relief he had that nobody looked at him and seeked comfort. They just needed him to do a job.

Everybody else had grieved losing Emily. JJ had her closure for making sure she was settled in Paris, and from what Hotch could understand, she had been pushing the boundary as much as she could regarding the no communication rule. The team had each other, but he had nobody.

Then Ian Doyle died, and Emily Prentiss came back to them, but he didn’t come back to the team. Not really. For Derek was able to forgive Emily for what she did because the relief he felt at her return was enough to overpower his anger at her. Dave had suspected the whole time. Spencer was just glad that he hadn’t lost someone else, and that JJ had also been returned to them.

They could forgive JJ because it had never been her decision to leave them. They could forgive Emily because of everything she had been through and because she had no say in what was done to her.

It was Hotch that had failed to stop the move from happening. It was him that had made the decision to fake Emily’s death and not tell the team. He had chosen to leave them, and his son, for the summer. Yes, it was unfair to blame him, and it was likely his hands had been tied, but they were angry. They needed someone to direct that anger towards.

Every time they snapped at JJ or Emily, it felt like kicking a puppy for they would just look so hurt and upset that they immediately wanted to apologise. But if they shouted at Aaron, he would just take it. He wouldn’t argue or defend himself. He just took it, the ghosts behind his eyes not ones they could acknowledge in the moment.

He maintained his façade and pretended everything was okay because if he wasn’t okay, the team would have no use for him and he would become dispensable and there would be nothing left for him. Except for Jack. But he wasn’t sure how much he wanted Jack to see him. Since Emily’s return, his nightmares had gotten worse and he woke up screaming more times than he cared to admit.

And then one night, when Jack was staying with his cousins and grandfather, the nightmares got so bad that he barely managed to make it to the bathroom before he was vomiting up the meagre dinner he’d eaten.

When there was nothing left, he leant against the bathtub and sobbed. His own team hated him and there was nothing he could do because they were right. He didn’t trust them and he had fucked up so badly there was no redemption for him.

Jessica hadn’t been able to sleep. She had let herself into the apartment to see how Aaron was because there was a pit in her stomach, like something was terribly wrong.

“Aaron?” she called out.

There was no response, which on the one hand could have been a good thing because it would mean he was sleeping, but it could also mean he was refusing to speak to anyone. She wasn’t an idiot. When Emily had come to see Jack after that hearing thing because she needed something good, Aaron told her the truth. And then lied by saying he was fine after carrying that burden around himself.

The bedroom was empty. She told herself it didn’t mean anything, that he could just be in the shower or getting a glass of water. She crept along to the bathroom. Inside, he was vomiting and she knew it would eventually turn into sobs.

Without considering what she was doing, she dialled Derek Morgan’s number. He’d given it to her at the funeral and asked her to keep him safe. She had done her job as his sister, and now it was time for his team to their job as his family.

“Jessica?”

“Aaron’s sick and I think it’s your fault,” she said without thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, no, not like that. I just- he’s being sick and I know that it’s because he’s been bottling everything up since the funeral which wasn’t really a funeral but oh, you know what I mean. I just- nothing I do will make him feel better. He needs you. All of you.”

On the other side of the line, Derek scoffed. “Jessica, Hotch is strong. Are you sure he’s not just got food poisoning or something?”

“I don’t think he’s eaten enough for that to happen.”

“Look Jessica, I’ll get the team together but I don’t know what you want us to do. Hotch made his decisions, and we can’t forgive him at the drop of a hat. We all need time to process.”

“Derek! He lost his wife to this job, are you really going to stand by as he loses himself trying to save all of you? I have never asked for anything from any of you, but Aaron needs you now. He’s just too scared of rejection to admit it.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Morgan hung up and Jessica sighed.

“Jessie?” Aaron called out.

“Hey Aaron. What happened?” she asked, acting like nothing had happened.

“I don’t feel good,” he whispered.

She pressed a hand to his stomach. Damn him and his emotional constipation that meant all of his pain manifested physically.

“I know. I know. But it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. I’ll get you cleaned up and then you’re going to eat something.”

He nodded and let her move him around as she pleased. The weight he had lost made her cringe. The last time he had looked so weak, he was seventeen and his father was dying of lung cancer.

The team all arrived at the same time, all in their pyjamas.

Aaron saw them and turned away. “Jessie, what are they doing here?”

“You need them Aaron. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need them.”

He shook his head as the medication Jessica had made him take after weeks of avoidance caused his filter to vanish and fuzziness as to what he was doing. “Don’t deserve them.”

“Yeah you do man. I’m sorry for how I was acting. I know you trust us and I never thought about how everything must have made you feel because I was angry,” Derek said.

Hotch shook his head, tears running down his cheeks.

“Can I hug you?” Derek asked.

Hotch didn’t respond, so Derek sat in front of him instead. “You’re forgiven Hotch. I promise.”

Hotch just stared but relaxed ever so slightly and didn’t protest when the other members of the team gave him small smiles or hugged him.

And the next day, they spoke to him, not as a boss, but as their friend. For the first time in a while, he felt like he was back where he belonged. Things weren’t perfect- they never were- but he no longer felt like the villain in his own story.

He felt like he was worthy of a small amount of love, which meant the darkness had not won. Not completely.

There were cases that were difficult. There were cases that made him want to quit, or curl into a ball and forget about how the outside world existed and was constantly hurt innocent people that didn’t deserve it. And there were cases that he knew would haunt him until the day he died.

Watching Jimmy lose his fight, the one thing that kept him going, just so he would be able to see his son one last time was something he would keep seeing every time he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about how he was the first one to realise that was what he wanted.

The team had all been waiting in various places, and he knew it wasn’t really what he was supposed to be doing, but when he looked into the man’s eyes, he saw a desperate father. And he thought of Jack. If it were Jack, he would do whatever it took to see him one last time. He deserved to see his son. And his son deserved a father.

Because when he looked at Jimmy he did not see the unsub his team had been after. He saw a broken and damaged man that was doing what it took to survive. Under normal circumstances, he’d been frightened by that but so much had happened that he almost felt desensitised when it came to relating to unsubs. His hands still went cold at the sight of every crime scene he visited. The bureau therapist would say the fact that he clung to that feeling both at home and in the field was unhealthy, but the bureau therapist had also deemed Jason, Elle, Spencer, himself and Emily fit for work after their respective ordeals.

“This isn’t a trick is it? Because you’re a federal agent, this isn’t your job,” he said.

“I’m a father first. And your son is holding on so he can say goodbye to you. I’m not so heartless that I would deprive you of a goodbye.”

He pressed a hand to his mouth. “He’s really going to- I can’t even bring myself to say the word. Am I a horrible person for not being here sooner?”

Hotch still blamed himself for not being there when his mother died. “No. No you did your best and you cannot think like that. I promise, when it came to your son, you have done nothing wrong. I’ll give you some privacy.” He hated to add the second part but he had to. “And I don’t want to, but you must understand-”

“I broke the law and you need to arrest me. I know. That’s fine. Everything will be fine because you have let me say goodbye to my baby.”

Aaron watched them through the window, a single tear coursing down his cheek as that was all he would allow himself until he made it home.

Sometimes, it was not the cases that made him question the reason behind doing any of this, but these moments where there was nothing that anyone could have done. They spent so much time putting bad guys away, and for what? The universe to just throw other tragedies in people’s faces.

Ryan closed his eyes at the same time that Aaron looked away. The raw grief both parents were feeling was something personal. He already felt like an intruder. He saw the man comfort his wife, who’s sobs had died down to silent tears as she placed a final kiss to her boy’s forehead.

They comforted each other.

Aaron wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t saved Jack from George Foyet. If he would still be alive now, or if he would have just let Foyet kill him because a life without Jack was not one he was capable of surviving. He wondered if Haley had survived instead, would they have been able to comfort each other, or would she blame him for the loss of her son? If Jack hadn’t survived, Hotch did not want to think of what his response would have been because the darkness of it scared him.

No parent should ever have to bury their child, and no child should ever have to be that strong for their parent. He admired Ryan for holding on for as long as he did, but he shouldn’t have had to. He should have been playing games with the other children and worrying about his favourite cartoon characters, not how many breaths he had left.

He stood outside for longer than he should have and he was gentler with the handcuffs than he ever remembered being. The last words he whispered were an apology that Jimmy did not want. Before he returned to the hotel, he stopped to see his wife.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “And if I knew what to say, I would. But I don’t so please, just, find a reason to hold on. Anything.”

“Agent Hotchner, you gave my son the one thing he wanted. A chance to say goodbye to both his parents. That has to be enough for now.” She hugged him and was polite enough to not comment on how his own body shook with the tears he was unable to repress.

He gave her his card, and then he left her, alone, to process her losses.

On board the jet, he sat slightly apart from the rest of them, which they all took as their cue to leave him alone. Emily Prentiss had never liked listening to him, and so she took the seat opposite him. Hotch had to smile. That was the woman he knew. Not the one that was overcompensating for everything.

“I made you a cup of tea,” she said to him.

Hotch looked down at the mug and grimaced slightly.

“Jason did the same thing after the case with the serial arsonist. Do you remember? He was trying to get me to open up about how I related to the unsub.”

“Did you?”

Hotch shook his head, then hesitated. “Well, I suppose I did a little. He wasn’t really paying attention.”

Emily made a non-committal sound at that. “Look I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

He shook his head. “No. I can’t. Ryan just- he didn’t even look like Jack, but when I saw him, I just- they were a normal couple. They didn’t deserve to lose him like that.”

“Nobody deserves to lose someone they love that much like that. But they do. And we can’t stop that. What we can do is stop the bad guys who hurt other people and we do, whenever we can. Please don’t beat yourself up over this.”

He understood what she was saying, but he couldn’t accept it. Haley had been too good for him, and he deserved to have everything good taken from him because he hadn’t been able to save her when it had been his fault that she was forced into that situation.

She smirked. “And Rossi may have mentioned a woman making her way into your life. Beth is it?”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. And it is just a bike ride.”

“You should go. Even if nothing happens, training is better with a partner. And you won’t be betraying Haley. Or Jack. If this thing works out, it will be because Beth understands that Jack doesn’t want or need another mom.”

Hotch looked at her with soft eyes. “Yeah. Maybe I should go.”

He did, and it was such a success that they ended up going on more than one date. She was excited to meet Jack, and they both loved each other. Even the team, who were always weary of potential partners, seemed to accept her as one of their own.

It momentarily convinced him that love could survive the horrors of their job.

The sound of the gun that Diane Turner shot herself and Maeve Donovan with sounded louder than even the three shots he had heard over the phone when George Foyet took Haley from him. His ear started ringing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex close hers and lower her gun.

What had been thinking? Alex had already lost a son, and every case put the one she had just found at risk. Even now, she had the sense to look away. He was still holding his gun like there was something he could do.

Before he was aware of his actions, he had dropped it. Something that he always told people not to do, especially if the safety was off because you just couldn’t guarantee anything. The sound it made as it hit the ground was still nothing compared to Spencer’s sobbing.

Reid was on his knees, eyes closed as though that would stop him from seeing Maeve’s dead body, both her and Diane’s forming a pool around them. It would be another funeral for him to attend. It wasn’t fair. Reid was still just a kid compared to the rest of them, he didn’t deserve to see all the things he had been subjected to.

Hotch knelt beside him. “Reid?” he whispered, keeping his voice as soft as quiet as he could.

Reid shook his head. “It’s my fault. I should’ve done something. There were so many different endings to this series of events and at least half of them involved Maeve living and me dying, which is something everyone could have learnt to live with.”

“Spencer. That isn’t true,” he said, a lot more firmly.

Spencer’s sobs had calmed to hiccups. “It wasn’t supposed to be her.”

“I know,” he said, and he wrapped his arms around him. He felt Reid go limp against him as more sobs wracked his body. Reid was resting his head on Hotch’s shoulder and on instinct, he felt himself stroke the younger one’s hair, the same way he did to Jack when the little one couldn’t sleep.

He knew that grief caused people to go numb. When Reid pulled away, he kept one hand on his arm to stop him from being an idiot. Only Alex was still there, hovering by the side lines. The others had gone to stop the police from coming in too soon. They were giving Spencer the space to process.

Hotch wished they hadn’t. Jason and Emily were the ones that Reid turned to when he needed something. And if not them, then Derek and maybe JJ. But Jason and Emily were gone and Derek and JJ were dealing with other things.

And he was the only one who’s partner had ever been murdered by an unsub. He just didn’t know how to provide comfort. He didn’t know how he was supposed to tell Spencer that everything was going to be fun and he would recover because the truth was that he would never be the same. Aaron still wasn’t the same. It wasn’t possible, but sometimes his lower torso still ached the same way it had when Foyet first pushed the knife in. He wouldn’t lie to Spencer, but he couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I need- I never got to hold her. I need to hold her. Hotch let me go! I need to hold her, just once. Just once so I can remember her.”

The last time Hotch touched Haley, she was barely warm, but still lifeless. It overshadowed every single casual touch they’d shared since they were seventeen and it was all he could ever think of when he remembered her. He would give anything to forget the last time he held her.

Perhaps one day he would. But Spencer had an eidetic memory.

“I can’t let you do that,” he said.

Spencer shoved him. He wasn’t strong enough to knock him over, but Hotch hadn’t been expecting it and he lost his balance slightly. They both looked down at Reid’s hands. Reid looked at them like he couldn’t believe they were part of his body. Hotch looked down at how pure they were.

Reid had killed unsubs when it was the only way to save other people, but he was still innocent in so many other ways. He’d never hit the table to intimidate a suspect because that was Hotch’s job. He was the one that played bad cop, whilst they trusted Reid to successfully empathise.

Reid had never killed a man with their bare hands.

Hotch momentarily let go of Reid, and Reid tried to use that opportunity to grab Maeve’s hand. But Hotch was quicker, and before Spencer knew what was going on, Hotch had grabbed both his wrists and was holding them in front of his chest.

Both their eyes shone with tears.

“Let me go,” Spencer begged.

“No. Spencer listen to me. You don’t want your one and only memory of her touch to be when she couldn’t respond. You know better than me that she is going to be unresponsive. You won’t be able to kid yourself into thinking that she did indeed clasp your hand. Her perfume will be tinged with the stench of blood and she will be cold. Remember Maeve as the woman that made you smile. That was warm and bright. Not like this.”

Spencer relaxed against him, the tears falling. Hotch pulled him closer, holding him tight. At some point, Alex crept forward and gave the two of them a hug. She told them they needed to go. Reid shook his head. Between the two of them, they managed to get him down the stairs.

“I want to go to my apartment,” Reid stated after they took his statement. Hotch had sat with him the whole time. Reid’s monotony scared him and he wondered if the look on the officer’s face was the same as the one that been on Strauss’ after he spoke about Foyet.

“Spence,” JJ said, reaching for him.

“My apartment. Please. Hotch?”

Hotch knew why Reid had asked for it to be him. Because if he declined, Reid could come after him. Say that when Haley died, leaving behind a young son whose memories of his father were patchy and disrupted, Hotch had refused to stay with anyone. Instead, he had sat in the darkness of his apartment in case the monsters from Jack’s dreams came to life once more.

“If you need anything,” he said with a sigh, because he was the only one that understood.

Spencer nodded. But Hotch knew he wouldn’t.

They drove in silence. Hotch itched to say something but what? He understood what it was like to lose the one person that made your life better, but at the end of the day, he hadn’t been there. He had heard it over the phone. Spencer would see the images every time he closed his eyes.

“Would you like me to come up with you?” he asked.

Reid shook his head, exited the car but did not close the door.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t quick enough,” Hotch mumbled.

Reid’s pause meant he heard him. His lack of response meant he didn’t have any words of comfort that would not be lies. Perhaps that hurt more than Jessica’s sad smile when he got him and distractedly ruffled Jack’s hair, unable to focus on what he was saying properly.

He’d made the right decision in not letting Spencer touch the body. He knew he had. It didn’t stop him from wrapping Jack up in the coat Haley had picked and going to her grave. He knew Jack was missing his mom, so the trip served a dual purpose.

Jack liked to lay flowers at the graves that didn’t have any because- in his words- it would mean everyone would be as happy as his mommy was. As he did that, Hotch spoke.

“I didn’t let him touch her. I need to convince myself that was the right thing, but what if it wasn’t? I have years of touches to hold onto. He had never met her before then. What if one day, he wakes up and resents me because he can’t even imagine what she feels like?”

If Haley were alive, she would rub his shoulder and tell him he was a good man that needed to stop doubting every decision he made because he knew his team better than they knew themselves and that Reid would never hate him.

Be annoyed at him for specific things he did and lash out because he was in the wrong, yes. But hate him? Never.

Only Haley wasn’t alive. Hotch sighed, called Jack over and hesitated slightly when Jack held his hand out. Hours before, he had been holding a gun, ready to fire. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now another piece of Spencer had been lost to the abyss.

When Spencer didn’t return to work immediately, he was relieved. At least he was taking the time he needed to grieve and recover instead of rushing back and never dealing with the pain until it got so bad he could hardly breathe without holding back a sob.

He turned up on their case. Everyone else was excited to see him, because it meant he was alive. Hotch wasn’t so sure. Reid had never known anything other than the BAU, and that was partially his fault for not putting his foot down and telling Gideon the kid needed more experience before working as a profiler.

But there were people that needed saving, so he let it go.

And then he heard Spencer tell Dave how he wasn’t sleeping because he kept seeing Maeve asking him to dance but he had never been able to touch her. It was like a punch to the gut. Spencer had never touched Maeve because Hotch had told him not to, and now he was paying the price.

He didn’t hear Dave’s response. He used that moment to tell Alex he needed the bathroom. She seemed slightly taken aback but shifted out the way for him.

When Spencer came in after that, he seemed peaceful. He had danced with Maeve. Now, even though it wasn’t real, he had his closure because he’d been able to touch her, which was all he had wanted. Maybe it had something to do with being touch-starved.

Hotch thought of Haley. What would he give to see her one last time? Just to say he was sorry?

He was telling the team about a missing girl, but it was getting harder to breathe, and he couldn’t make out what the screen in front of him was displaying.

Before he knew what was happening, the world around him was going black and the frantic shouts of his team were not enough to bring him back.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her.

“Haley?” he whispered.

She looked beautiful. Her dress shone, and her hair was the same blonde it had been the day she’d gone into witness protection. She looked like the girl that had exploded into his life and taught him how to say I love you. That had taught him the meaning of light and who had changed his life forever.

“Hi baby,” she said with a grin.

He smiled. His light had come back to him.

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