#and the worst part is she would have been alive for much longer had it not been for her being technically killed

[713-4th-ward-g]

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

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

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

wc: 17.2k

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

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has he been charged for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

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

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

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

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

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

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

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

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

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

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

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

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

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

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got that right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god— what are the odds? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

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

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Rent or own?”

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

“What inspired the move?”

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

“And home is?” 

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

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

“Sources can lie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t tell him—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

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

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

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

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

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

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

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

“You know th—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The profile—” 

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

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

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

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

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

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

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

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

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

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

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

“I can imagine.”

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

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

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

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

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

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

Your eyes open and you frown. 

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

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

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

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

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

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

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

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

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

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

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

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

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Hotch asks. 

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

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

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

“You’re already packed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you go to class today?”

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

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

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

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

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

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

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

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

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

And now… 

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

“Thank you, Garcia.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

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

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

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

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

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

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

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to kill you. 

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

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

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

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

But there’s relief there, too.

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

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

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

“And how long have I been here?” 

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

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

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[wwilsonbarness]

stay?

pairings:  bucky barnes x reader

summary: after one date with Bucky Barnes your life takes a turn for the worst.

warnings: awkward first date (kinda), violence, angst, fluff, sexual assault (warning just in case), kidnapping, sad bucky, sad reader, sadness lol (let me know if i forgot anything pleasee)

word count: 4170

a/n: enjoy :)

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist

Your pinky finger was slowly inching towards his as he walked you up the steps to your door. It had been the perfect evening, starting off with a dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, then a couple games of mini golf followed by cheeseburgers because both of you agreed the portions at “WOZ” were nowhere near enough. You’d met Bucky through one of your friends, and if you were being honest the idea of dating an Avenger was very intimidating but she insisted you would be ‘perfect together’. 

“Thank you for tonight Bucky, I had a really good time.” You’d grown more confident as the night went on but now that the date was ending you were back to your shy self. You didn’t want the night to end and even though you’d only met Bucky a few hours ago you had felt an instant connection. It really felt like how the movies made first dates look. 

“I had a good time too, would..” He stops himself and you can tell he’s feeling nervous, so you smile up at him, silently asking him to continue. You see his shoulders loosen once he sees your smile, “..would you maybe wanna do this aga-..?” 

“Yes.” You answer before he can even finish his sentence. 

“You do?” 

“I do.” You were internally beating yourself up for being so awkward but you couldn’t help but jump at the chance at seeing Bucky again. What you didn’t know that was Bucky was doing the same thing, Steve had always described him as being smooth with the ladies but right now it was like all his flirting skills had completely disappeared. 

“I erm, I better get going, but I’ll call you!” 

“I’ll be waiting!” You cringed at yourself, why did you have to be so awkward? 

“See you doll.” Bucky flashes you a smile - which has become one of your favourite sights in the very short time you’ve known him - before he starts to walk down the steps. You wave to him as he walks away and wait until you can no longer see him before you close your door. 

You drop your bag on the counter, untie your shoes and start to unzip your dress as you walk to your bedroom before a knock at your door stops you. You don’t think twice before going over and opening the knock, the only logical person it could be was Bucky. Right? 

“Back alrea- Oh. Hi?” It wasn’t Bucky, it was a man with short black hair and tattoos and a black hood covering most of his face. “Can I help you?”

“You Y/N Y/L/N?” The man grunts at you in return.

“I am.. Who are you?” As soon as you answer him you regret it, it goes against every piece of advice you’d been given about being safe as a woman in the city. 

“You don’t need to know who I am sweetheart.” Your heartbeat was beginning to speed up now, panic setting in fast. You try to close your door as quickly as you can but his foot stops you. 

He begins to shake his head, “Uh uh, I don’t think so.” he pushes forward and you fall backwards landing on the floor. 

Your eyes were beginning to well up and you were frozen in fear, this was it wasn’t it? You’re gonna die right here. 

“Stop being such a baby jesus fucking christ.” He paced around your apartment a little, his jacket moving slightly which makes the gun he has in the back of his jeans become visible.

“P-Please, you can take anything you want. Just please don’t hurt me” You pleaded to him, hoping somehow there was a tiny part of him that would listen. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” You sighed deeply thinking there was a chance you’d get out of this alive, but if he wasn’t going to hurt you what was he planning to do?

“What do..what do you want from me?” 

“I’m just here to take ya to the big man.” 

You didn’t think you could feel any more scared than you already did, but the mention of “the big man” terrified you. Why were they targeting you? 

“Do me a favour, would ya sweetheart? Stop talking.” He smirked down at you which only made you feel worse, it looked like he was enjoying this. 

You were too scared to say anything else, and he was focusing on his phone instead of you. Part of you was tempted to try and escape but you were still frozen in fear, you had no defence skills and probably wouldn’t get very far and you really didn’t wanna piss this guy off anymore. 

Around 10 minutes pass of you sitting on the floor, wracking your brain to find any reason as to why someone would want to kidnap you. You weren't anything special, and you hadn’t even lived in New York for that long. 

“Get up. He’s ready for ya.” You get to your feet shakily and wait for him to tell you what to do next. 

“Go on then.” He shoves you towards the door, and follows behind you. As you near the door you feel something hard against your back. “Make any noise and I’ll use it.” Shit. You didn’t say anything back, just nodding to show you understood.

After you get into his car he drives for what feels like hours to an underground garage, you tried to memorise the route you went but it was hopeless. You’d never been to this side of the city before. A few minutes walk later and you’re standing outside an office, you assume this is the guy who sent someone to hunt you down. 

The door opens and you get pushed in, stumbling a little before you find your balance. There are two men waiting in there, who look you up and down before smirking. 

“Soldier chooses them well.” The taller one says to his shorter friend. 

“Sure does. Shame he’ll never see her again.” 

Soldier? Are they talking about Bucky? 

“What do you want from me?” You tried to keep your voice calm but you could tell it came out laced with fear. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” The shorter man walks towards you and trials his finger over the edge of your dress. “All you need to worry about is standing here and looking pretty, sweetheart.” 

—----- 

On the other side of the city the soldier in question was sitting discussing ‘the best night of his life’ with Sam, who was silently judging how his friend was acting. 

“And everytime she told me a joke she'd wait a couple seconds before laughing to make sure I found it funny first. And when she laughs her nose scrunches up, it’s so adorable. And everytime i told her she looked nice she’d do this thing where she bites her lip and she can’t look me in the eye. It’s ad-“

“Adorable. I get it, Buck.”

Bucky blushes as he realises how long he’d been speaking about you, but he can’t help it. He’s never met someone like you before and he can’t stop thinking about you since he left your doorstep. 

“How long is an acceptable time before I call her?” Bucky knows Sam is probably sick of hearing about you but he’s Bucky’s favourite (and only) person he feels safe enough to talk to, not that he’d ever tell Sam that. 

Sam looks at the imaginary watch on his wrist before answering. “Not 3 hours Buck.” A frown appears on Bucky’s face to which Sam snickers at. “I thought you were a ladies man.” 

“I was. Things are different now.” Bucky tries to force a smile out but he can’t. His voice grows a lot quieter as he continues. “Do you think she doesn’t want me to call?” 

“Hey, I didn’t say that! The way you’ve described the night, it sounds like she feels the same as you.” 

“Hm. Maybe.” 

“Buck I’m serious, I was just joking before. I’m sure she’s waiting for your call.” 

“So tomorrow?” Bucky asks with his smirk growing again. 

Sam laughs, “Yeah, tomorrow.”

Safe to say Bucky does not wait until tomorrow, actually he doesn’t even make it another hour before texting you.” 

Hey, it’s Bucky! Sorry if this is too soon but I had a really good time tonight. We need a rematch soon! 

He spent a further 2 hours staring at the screen, with every minute that passed that the message was left on ‘delivered’ he picked apart his message more. He finally locks his phone and heads to his room for the night. But not without a lecture from Sam first. “You called her didn’t you?” 

“No!” Bucky rushes to defend himself. “But hypothetically if someone was to text their date 4 hours after the date. How would that look?”

“Bucky! I thought you were waiting until tomorrow.” 

“I tried.” 

“Has she responded?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Is this what ghosting is? Oh god. Am I being ghosted?” 

“Please for the love of god stop letting Peter teach you modern slang. You’re not being ghosted, it’s late she’s probably just sleeping. Bucky looks at the clock behind Sam and sighs in relief. 

“You’re right. Okay, I’m gonna sleep too.” It was nearing 3am, no wonder you haven't replied to him he thought to himself.

Bucky gets around 4 hours of sleep before he gets woken up by his phone ringing. He answers it without looking at who it is. “You’ve got 3 hours to give me back my brother, or else your girl gets a bullet through her pretty little face.” 

That wakes Bucky up faster than he ever has before. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You heard me, Soldier. Clock’s ticking.” The call ends. 

Bucky freezes for a second trying to gain a little bit of understanding of what the fuck just happened. He pulls on the first piece of clothing he can find and runs towards the common room, hoping to find someone who can help him. Luckily the whole team is there, which is strange, normally the only time that happens is when there’s a mission going on. 

Before Bucky can even begin to explain what’s happening, Fury pipes up. “Barnes, what do you know about a Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Fuck!” This means he wasn’t imagining that phone call. We had one date, literally just last night. What the fuck is going on?” 

Half of the team moves so Bucky can see the big screen, and on it there’s a blown up picture of you, tied to a seat. Your dress is ripped, there’s blood dripping down the side of your face and your eyes are red, as if you’d been crying non stop for hours. Bucky walks slowly towards the screen and stops for a second to take in the picture, and almost instantly his brain switches to fighter mode. 

“What do we know?” 

“Bucky, maybe you should sit this one out.” Sam tries to reason with him, but Bucky doesn’t listen. 

“What the fuck do we know?”

Fury begins to tell Bucky all the information they have. “It seems your girlfriend wa-“

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Bucky wishes that statement wasn’t true, he wishes he could say you were his girl, but after this he was 100% sure that would never be the case.

“Okay.” Nick continues, wary of pissing Bucky off any more. “It seems Ms Y/L/N was taken from her home at around 11.30 last night. Her neighbours report seeing a black Audi sitting outside her apartment before she got home and say it left 30 minutes after you dropped her off. There’s no cameras in the area, her phone was left in her apartment so there is no way of tracking her. And just 30 minutes ago this picture was sent to my email. Along with a threat to her life if Zemo is not released from the raft in 3 hours.” 

Bucky tries to process all the information, you were taken just 30 minutes after he left? Guilt. Zemo has a brother? Anger. They were threatening to kill you? Fear. 

“I got a phone call a few minutes ago, said the same thing. Any leads on who this bastard is?” 

“None. No one is aware of Zemo having a brother.” 

Bucky nods along, “What’s the plan?”  

“You said you got a call? We’ll get tech to try and track it..” Nat suggests, knowing it most likely won’t work but it’s their best bet right now. “..and when they call again at least we’ll be ready to track it.”

“You think they’re gonna be dumb enough to leave a trace?” Bucky snapped at Nat. 

“It’s all we’ve got, Bucky. Look, we know you had some sort of relationship with this girl but you need to stay calm.” 

“I’m trying.” Bucky’s voice breaks a little, showing everyone how he is really feeling.

A couple minutes pass of everyone thinking the same thing but being too afraid to say it, until Fury finally breaks the silence. “There’s no way we can let Zemo out.” 

Bucky knows there’s no logical reason for them to listen to your kidnappers demands, he knows majority of the time they never stick to them, but the thought of you getting hurt anymore was too much to handle. 

“You’re just gonna let her die?” He shouts across the table. 

“Barnes I suggest you calm down or I’ll remove your clearance for this mission.” Bucky nods, knowing the best thing he can do right now is keep as calm as possible, panic will only make things worse. “As I was saying, I’m not willing to release Zemo from the raft, but we can make this brother of his think we are. When he next contacts us, we’ll let him believe we’re following what he is asking of us. Everyone got it?” 

The room fills with a mix of mumbles, mostly consisting of ‘yes sirs’ and ‘got it’s’. Bucky stays silent. He’d finally found a girl he liked and she ends up in this situation, the guilt he was feeling was worse than anything he’d ever felt before, including the years of physical and mental trauma he’s been through. 

Sam’s soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “Buck? You okay?” For the first time since he learned of your danger Bucky’s face softens, and his eyes begin to grow wet. 

“I don’t wanna lose her Sam.” Sam might not understand how Bucky feels this strongly about you in such a short amount of time but one thing he understands is that you are important to Bucky and that means you are important to him.

“We’ll get her back. Come on. Let’s suit up so we’re ready.”

—--

You made the mistake of asking for some water which resulted in you being slapped across the face with the back of a gun and tied up on a rickety old chair .You hadn’t spoken since. You’d accepted that it was just a matter of time before they killed you and part of you just wanted them to get it over with. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop the tears falling down your cheeks and these men did not like that at all.

“Tell me again why we’re keeping her alive? Her crying is starting to get real boring.” One guy asks the other. 

“Just shut her up will ya? I need to call them again” You try so hard to stop yourself from whimpering but the pain from the rope around your hands and the ache in your head hurts so bad and a couple of seconds later a rag is being stuffed in your mouth. 

“Darling.. You get what this means?” He lifts his gun up and trails it along the side of your face. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” You hold your breath, terrified that even a slight movement will make things worse. “Good girl.” His smile, it’s something you don’t think you’ll ever forget if you make it out of here alive. 

The other man dials a number and puts it on speaker. “You got my brother yet?” 

“He’s on his way to us. First we need some proof that Y/N is still alive.” 

The man walks over to you slowly and takes the rag slightly out your mouth. “Tell them sweetheart.” You couldn't answer even if you wanted to, the fear being too much. He whips his gun against your head again making you cry out again. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

“I.. I’m alive.” You had no idea who you were talking to, it was a voice you didn’t recognise but one you’d never forget, maybe, just maybe they’d be the one who saved you.

—---

“I.. I’m alive.” Bucky nearly breaks down right there at the sound of your voice, Sam's hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes gently. 

“Why are you doing this?” Fury asks, he doesn’t really care why, he knows people like these guys have no moral compass but he’s trying to make the call last as long as he can so they can track it. 

“You took my brother away from me, I’m only getting him back.”

“At the cost of an innocent life?” 

“You mean her?” He scoffs. “Can’t be that innocent if she's dating the winter soldier.” Sam can feel Bucky’s shoulders tense under his touch at the mention of his past life. “Stop wasting my time, just get my brother back to me. I’ll send you an address in 1 hour. Be there or the girl dies.” The call ends before Fury can reply.

“We got them!” An agent Bucky doesn’t know shouts up from the back of the room. “Sir, we’ve got them.” 

Bucky immediately makes his way over to where the agent is sitting and tries to read the computer but has no luck, it’s all in code. “Where is she?” 

“Water Crescent Garage, on the other side of the city.” She replies, as she continues typing. “The jet will get you there in 15 minutes.”

“Let’s go.” Bucky’s out of the room before anyone can respond, running through the halls and reaching the jet before anyone else.

“Barnes, I’ll remind you. Stay calm or you’re off.”

“I know. I’m calm” He was most certainly calm. “Can we please just go?” His voice is dripping in desperation, he just wants you safe.

—-------

“Looks like Soldier wants you back, hmm?” The taller guy asks you, knowing you can’t answer him. “Maybe I’ll see what he’s getting every night huh?” He begins to run his fingers over your bare shoulder, nearing your neck and beginning to squeeze slightly. You try to move away but the rope keeps you in place. “This what he likes doing to you? He likes having control? He likes to own you?” He brings his other hand towards the zip on the side of your dress before an alarm stops him. He looks around to the other guy in the room. “Stay with her. I’ll go.”

The other guy grunts in response. Once the taller guy has left he walks towards you, gun in his hand. “You better hope your boyfriend isn’t trying something sweetheart. It won’t end well.” You don’t understand why these guys think you and Bucky were so serious, you’d only had one date. 

You start to hear gunshots in the distance, getting closer and closer to you every second. You were praying the good guys were winning and that they were here to save you. 

A few minutes pass when the door to your room bursts open and none other than Captain America himself walks in. It takes him less than 15 seconds to disarm and knock out the guy who was left with you, although it feels like longer for you. “Buck, I’ve got her.” He walks over to you and removes the cloth in your mouth. 

Bucky was here. “Bucky?” 

“Hey Y/N, I’m here to help okay?” He begins to untie the rope around your hands, careful to not hurt you. “Bucky’s on his way. It’s over.” 

As Sam was untying your feet Bucky runs into the room and rushes over to you. His heart breaks when he sees you upclose. Your cheeks that were so rosy just last night were now white as a ghost, your lips once red were now blue and bruised, the sparkle he had just seen hours ago in your eyes was now replaced with fear.

You stand up with the help of Sam and look towards Bucky. 

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Sam, call the doc, let her know we’re coming.” Bucky's eyes are moving around your body, scouting out every injury he can find and taking note of it.

The only thing you can bring yourself to say is thank you, your lip wobbles as you say it and your voice is shaky with each word but Bucky understands. “Tha.. Thank you for saving me.” 

He slowly reaches out to hold you against him, giving you enough time to tell him to stop if you want to. He wraps his arm around you, carefully avoiding anywhere that looks injured. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why they came after you. I promise as soon as I found out what was happening I started looking for you. I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head, he doesn't owe you an apology, none of this was his fault. The motion only makes you feel nauseous, and you feel as if you might throw up if you move anymore. “I can’t. I can’t.. I feel sick.” Bucky stops as soon as you ask. 

“Can I carry you?”

“Please.” You were embarrassed to be feeling this weak but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He just seemed sad. 

—---

After you get seen by the avenger’s doctor and prescribed some pretty strong painkillers you finally arrive home. Bucky tried to get you to stay in for longer, he was worried you would be feeling worse once the shock had worn off but you insisted on coming home. You needed to be in your own space. 

“I’ll make you some food, you wanna get changed out of those?” You weren’t really hungry but you couldn't bring yourself to say no. You did want to badly get changed out of the clothes Natasha had lent you, they were very tight. 

“Thank you.” 

Bucky wanted to tell you to stop thanking him, you should be angry at him and it was killing him that you were treating him with so much kindness after everything you’d been through at his fault.

Bucky makes you a sandwich, knowing you probably wouldn't be too hungry. “It’s just to get some food in you. Some water too.” He said as he handed you a plate and glass of water. 

The next words that left Bucky’s mouth were ones he’d never wanted to say but it didn’t feel right staying with you after what he’d put you through. “Do you need anything else before I go?” 

You nearly choke as you swallow that bite. He gets down to his knee and looks up at you. “You okay?” You immediately start crying, not even trying to hide it. “Hey, what's wrong?” You hadn’t been apart from Bucky since he found you, and now that he was leaving you felt so scared again.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” His heart breaks again at how soft your voice comes out, almost as if you were afraid to speak.

He wants nothing more than to stay with you, keep you safe but he feels that with every second he spends with you the more you'll be at risk. 

“Is there anyone I can call to stay with you?” 

“Could you?” You almost whisper to him. 

“What was that?” He asks softly. 

“Could you stay?” 

“You really want me to?” 

“I do.” 

He almost, almost says yes before he remembers how you looked when he found you in that room. He stands up and backs away a little. “I don’t think I should.” 

You try to stand up and walk towards him but get a bit dizzy as you do, grabbing onto his arm for balance. “Why not?” 

“Doll, sit down.” He guides you gently back onto the couch. “It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“No Bucky, that’s not true. I really like you Bucky, and whilst this may not have been the second date we had in mind, I don’t want to lose you. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same.”

“I never said I didn't feel the same way, I just.. I just can't put you in any more danger.”

“The way I see it, you saved me from danger. And I know now that you’ll always be there to save me. Please stay?” He nods. 

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

[itsmrshamilton]

Last Goodbye (2) | LH44

summary: the aftermath of the car accident

a/n: i had plans to make this a longer series, but idk what happened.

Part 1

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Lewis looked at the police officer in panic. He was desperately trying to process what he was seeing but also trying to block out the worst parts at the same time. Nothing felt real. None of this could be real.

"Sir? I'm asking you to stand behind the line with the rest of the crowd while we sort this out." The officer firmly grasped his shoulder with one hand and gestured to the growing audience behind the police tape with the other in an attempt to guide Lewis there. But he wasn't moving. "Sir?"

"I- that. Uh- I." His tongue felt so heavy in his mouth as he tried to pronounce sentences that his brain hadn't yet formed. He cleared his throat softly before turning to look the officer in the eyes. The cop immediately softened with sympathy when he met the driver's tear-filled gaze.

"That's my ... girlfriend's car." He whispered. "That's -" And he broke down, sobbing into his hands and trembling against the police officer's body. Cameras beyond the police tape flashed wildly. The officer reached for his hand-held radio and muttered into it. A second later, he received a reply through the static noise. He sighed softly before patting Lewis on the back in consolation but also to get his attention.

"Mr Hamilton, we only have one body at the scene that needs to identified but it is male. We have a female being treated at one of the ambulances." He watched as Lewis reacted slowly to his words.

"She's alive?" He whispered.

"She is but I've received word that she's in horrible shape. I'll only take you over if you think you can stand to see the crash site up close."

Lewis stood frozen.

"Mr Hamilton?" The driver looked up. "I can drive you to the hospital instead. You can see her after she's been treated." The cop was gentle in his explanation as he tried to understand what the man in front of him was going through. Lewis' wet face had paled greatly, and his eyes were red from crying.

"Uh, yes. Yes. Uh- I'll go with her." He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "I want to go with her to the hospital. Please."

The officer nodded then picked up his radio to ask for a replacement for his position. He then guided Lewis further into the crash site and in the direction of an ambulance. Upon arrival, he did some more mumbling to another officer, who then led them to the doors of the ambulance.

"Here we go, Mr Hamilton. I think you should let them look over you to treat potential shock, okay?" The policeman wanted to reassure the driver and tell him that everything would be okay, but he'd seen how much blood there was in what was left of woman's car and he didn't want to create false hope.

Lewis nodded in gratitude but barely spared a glance when the man walked away. In the ambulance lay a woman on the stretcher, surrounded by a few paramedics frantically working on and around her. Bloody rags and bandages were messily gathered in a pile under the stretcher. The rapid beeping sounds from the heart rate monitor forced him into a panicked trance. The run here, the sight of her car, the pile of rags - it was all too much for him. He couldn't feel any part of his body except for his chest which began to tighten painfully. He couldn't catch his breath, or focus his vision, or control the trembles wracking his body. There was darkness in the edges of his vision that kept growing, moving closer and trying to shut out the light. He suddenly felt very tired and considered letting it do so. The little bit of light he could see was hurting his head anyways - stabbing at his temples in quick continuous motion. He wanted to see Y/n. He wanted to ride with her to the hospital and promise that everything would be okay. But he was so very tired and the pain in his chest was slowly ebbing away.

"Sir? Sir, are you alright? Are you- shit! Davis, I need another stretcher here now!"

The eratic beeping that sent him into a spiral now soothed him into a senseless sleep.

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Y/n's body felt lighter than it had ever been. And she was floating in a pool of darkness. She hoped this was one of those weird sleep paralysis moments. There were no thoughts, no feelings, no sense of direction. No bliss, either. Just nothingness for a long time. Later on came the pain. Deep disconfort paired with a great stinging everywhere. She tried to move in order to relieve herself of the pain but found that the earlier floating sensation was because she couldn't move at all. She strained and strained til she gave up and whined in defeat. The whine came out louder than she expected and startled her before she realised that she could make sounds to wake up Lewis so he could help wake her from this sleepy state. She proceeded to whine loudly for a minute or two before the pain began to subside, and she felt herself slipping under. The nothingness overtook her once more. The next time she was aware of her floating state, she tried to open her eyes or move her hands, anything to reassure her that she was real and alive. This couldn't be the afterlife. She couldn't stay here forever. As her attempts to move went on, the pain returned once more but this time it was a subdued throbbing which she could handle. So she gave up and let herself float in the nothingness.

Minutes, hours, days, an eternity passed. She didnt know what was happening to her but she now knew this wasn't sleep paralysis. She couldn't put together too many thoughts though because nothing seemed to hold its form in her mind. Except for the pain. Which only grew as time went on til she could handle it no more and went to whine in protest when she heard something. A muffled sound floating with her in the nothingness. She strained to move towards it, using every muscle she could feel. The sound stopped immediately and she nearly screamed in fear and protest. It couldn't leave her here. She had to get to it, maybe then she could leave this dark hell. The muffled sound started up again but much louder and accompanied by more sounds. She stayed still this time in hopes that she wouldn't scare them away and they'd instead find her. Nothing. They stayed where they were and began to buzz softly til they went silent. She went to whine in defeat but felt sleep overcome her and end any attempts to reach back out to the sounds.

The buzzing was back, and so were the muffled noises. They were right next to her, right above her, right behind her. It was overwhelming, but she was grateful to be pulled out of her forced sleep. The bright light was bothering her, though - she froze as she registered her thoughts. Tentatively, she went to open her eyes. The ceiling lights were way too bright, so she blinked a couple of times, then turned her head to the side to adjust to the rest of the room. As she did so, she became aware of something lodged in her mouth and down her throat. In a panicked state, she cried out and went to grab at it as a loud beeping sound rang out in time with her quicky pulse. Just as she reached the plastic device on her mouth, a hand grabbed onto hers and stopped it.

"Y/n." She turned to her other side and met Lewis' wild eyes that were beginning to fill with tears.

She felt hers begin to mirror his in relief. Finally this nightmare could end.

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He wanted so desperately to pull her close and shield her from any more harm. But he was afraid of the injuries she currently had. Her body was wrecked, and he flinched slightly every time he looked at her. Green and yellow bruises all over, scabs on every surface, bandages covered the areas they'd shaved to stitch on her head, she sported the nastiest black eye he'd ever seen. Split lip beneath the feeding tube and broken ribs beneath her hospital gown. His heart had broken each time she took a faint ragged breath or whined softly in discomfort.

He snapped back to attention when she began sobbing as well as she could around the plastic that ran down her throat. He turned his grip on her hand to a soft grasp so he could bring it to his lips for a very soft kiss. His other hand moved to wipe her tears away in the same gentle manner

"Y/n, love. I'm so glad you're awake. You're okay. You're okay." His voice cracked in dispair.

She moved to pull the device from her face once more but he stopped her again.

"Hold on, hold on. That's a feeding tube. Let me call the nurses to get it out, okay? Just a second, love."

He got up to press the call button beside her bed multiple times. Her position in the ICU meant that they'd get attention quicker than expected. A minute later a few nurses came rushing in to assess and assist. He sat down to hold her hand as they removed emergency equipment, ran quick tests on her and switched her IV bag contents. During the entire ordeal she was quiet and hesitant. Moving slowly due to pain, answering only when she couldn't nod or shake her head in reply, squeezing his hand when they replaced plasters and ointment. Towards the end the nurse opened her file to update them.

"Ms L/n, we are pleased to say that you are recovering well. There is no significant brain damage besides a concussion. No internal bleeding, and we expect no long-term effects. The 4 broken ribs will take a lot of time to heal. The brusing will only require creams, and the stitches on your head and arms are holding up well. Any questions, dear?"

Y/n hesitated, then shook her head slightly to avoid more throbbing pain. The nurse nodded. "We'll move you to a recovery ward tomorrow for further monitoring." She moved to the door, "Mr Hamilton, I'll take you up on that promise now. Call us if you need us to set up the bathroom."

Lewis, smiled softly. "Thank you, Viv."

He turned to Y/n and she lifted a bruised brow at him in questioning. "What promise?" Her hoarse voice was music to his ears. Like a choir from heaven after the painful silence he's had in the past weeks.

"Uh, when we got here, I didn't want to leave your side for days so they made me promise to shower the second you woke up. And here you are. Awake, finally."

She slowly lifted an arm to cup his face in sympathy. She could now see that he hadn't bathed in a while. Nor slept. His braids were disheveled and dry, dark circles under his eyes, an overgrown beard, and mustache. He looked nothing like the Lewis she knew. He looked sicker than he did when he actually was sick. She felt her heart sink as she thought of how stressed he must have been all this time.

"Let's go then." She whispered.

"Go? Where?"

"To the bathroom. You run a bath and we can sit and talk about everything. I'll help you wash and redo your braids." She stroked his face as it crumpled up in confusion.

"No, Y/n. You need to stay here and rest. I'll shower when you sleep tonight."

"Lewis, you took care of me while I slept for a long time. I'm tired of sleeping. Please let me look after you this one time." She insisted. He shook his head. "Please Lew, please." She pressed kisses to his hands. "Please."

She felt bad that he had spent days at her bedside, worried sick about her. She really wanted to find out what happened after the accident but first she wanted her boyfriend to relax a bit. "Please, Lewis. It'll make me feel better too."

He sighed in defeat and leaned in to kiss her temple, but as he got closer, he felt his stomach churn at the close-up of her shiny purple skin. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips there. The guilt was eating him, but he was in desperate need of a hot bath. "Okay, wait here while I run it."

Minutes later Lewis was in the tub and she sat in wheelchair beside the tub. She refused to get in because she knew he'd focus on not touching or hurting instead of relaxing.

He was lazily playing with the hospital loofah while she rubbed the hospital shampoo into his hair. She didn't have the strength to unbraid then rebraid it yet so she settled for a good scrubbing, rinsing and moisturising session. He was a little grumpy about giving in to her now but she knew he'd feel better after this.

"How long have I been out?" She asked softly.

His soapy shoulders slumped. "Two weeks and a half. Today is Wednesday and the accident was-"

"On Saturday. Yeah, I remember that."

"Do you remember anything else? How it happened?" He turned to look up at her. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"I remember leaving the house then it's blank. I woke up in the ambulance in excruciating pain. I called for you, I was scared. Then I guess I gained partial consciousness sometime these past days."

His eyebrows met in concern. "Really? The doctor said the pain meds would keep you under so you could heal without experiencing the first few weeks of pain."

"It wasn't horrible," she was quick to reassure him. "It was like floating in a pool with a blindfold on. I felt nothing but I did hear sounds."

"Yeah? They told me to keep talking to you. Your parents flew in to see you as well. We were worried you would -" he sniffled. "I couldn't live with myself, you know, if you died. I should have driven with you earlier that day. You would have avoided that car accident, and you'd be okay. Your car was completely totaled, Y/n. Completely."

She stopped massaging his scalp and lifted his chin so he could into her eyes. She would lean over and hug him if she had the strength to.

"It's not your fault. You went to work like normal. You couldn't have predicted that that would be the day something terrible happened. I'm more than grateful that you're here with me now, after it's all occurred. " She gripped his unruly beard tighter when she realised he wasn't convinced.

"Lewis, it was not your fault. Repeat that back to me." She demanded. He raised his eyebrows at her in slight disagreement. "Repeat. It."

"It was not my fault." He mumbled out.

"Yes, again."

"It was not my fault."

"Yes. One more time."

He sighed in annoyance but the hint of a smirk made her stare him down in mock annoyance as well.

"It was not my fault." He said firmly.

"I love you, Lewis Hamilton."

"And I love you, Y/n L/n."

She smiled sweetly and instructed him to bend his neck so she rinse the soap off his hair. He obliged, and she finished her tasks slowly before wheeling herself back to her cot so he could have the space to get dressed. The pain from sitting upright to help with broken ribs was excruciating now. She was struggling to breathe properly, but she didn't want Lewis to worry more now that she had managed to calm him down.

"Want help?" Came his soft voice from the bathroom doorway. He was clad in a hoodie, sweatpants, and dirty running shoes. The beard was gone but his long braids were tied back into a bun.

"Goodness, what would the fans of LHFW say if they saw you in this look! Sweatpants in public??" She joked. He smiled softly in amusement before sauntering over to lift her out of the chair. The feeling of his arms lifting and wrapping around her body made her blush.

"Watch your IV. Okay."

She winced when he set her down on the bed and moved the pillows behind her. "Oh, fuck. Sorry love, how bad is it?" He quickly straightened up in panic, but his hands hovered above her head and abdomen, not sure where to start.

"Lew, I'm perfect. Sit down." She instructed, reaching for his hand.

He wasn't convinced, so he stayed standing.

"Alright, fine. My ribs hurt from sitting up, but the pain is fading, I promise!"

His brown eyes were filled with worry, and his eyebrows furrowed. He reluctantly pulled the guest chair closer to her and sat down. He brushed his hand against her remaining short curls. Her purple eyelids lowered with his movements.

"You can sleep now, love." He whispered.

She tried to open her dark eyes, but they were too heavy and her aching body sank further into the mattress. But some part of her didn't want to go down without a fight. "I don't want to go back to the nothingness."

His voice sounded slightly confused when he reassured her that he would be right here to pull her out of the nothingness in a few hours. With that, she fell fast asleep.

He kissed her hand and reached for his phone to text everyone that she was okay and beginning a long recovery. Kind and lovely messages began to pour in, filling Lewis with great warmth. He had been worried sick about Y/n's health. Waking up confused in his own hospital room after fainting, he bargained and pleaded with nurses to let him see her. Then he spent every single waking hour with her. Only taking breaks to use the bathroom. He spoke to her every day, massaged her swollen and bruised feet, unbraided her bloody braids. His heart lept in his chest every time she twitched or whined but then sank to his feet when she didn't wake up afterward. It had been a long three weeks.

He sunk into his chair with a long sigh, still holding onto her hand. He was drained, hungry and dehydrated.

But most of all, he was incredibly grateful that he went through all of that and didn't have to say goodbye to the love of his life.

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a/n: guys, i kept trying to end the story and it didnt want to end. But somehow, it still sounds a bit rushed at the end. 🫤 baie dankie to all those who requested a part 2.

Thank you for reading! Be sure to interact so I stay motivated to keep writing🤠 do not copy, reproduce, or alter my work in any way onto another platform.

@pickingupmymercedes @rageshots @jajouska @strengthandstay @velentine @mrssainzhamilton @melalsworld

[corralinesage]

Portrait of a wounded heart (1/8)

Summary:

You attend a live figure drawing class with the intention of falling in love with your favorite hobby again, instead you set your sights on something entirely different.

Lesbian fall romance for those in need ;)

‼️This work has been posted to ao3 as well and you can find the complete book there if you don’t wanna wait for the updates here!

18+ toward the end, read at your own risk⚠️

CHAPTER 1 Obsession, digression

You had been putting off signing up for a live figure drawing course for the entirety of your summer break when you had had all the time in the world to really get into studying anatomy with various different mediums, but inspiration and motivation had been very sparse for longer than just a few weeks or months. You didn’t really care anymore. You had lost what was perhaps the most important part of creating, you’d lost your passion toward art, the very same passion that you had kept alive since childhood. You knew you should’ve kept practicing, should’ve put more effort, more love, into the part of your life that kept you mentally nourished, but you just couldn’t seem to get over the artistic block that held you back. So, as a result you had made the decision to take part in a quick art course at your university to really push yourself out of your comfort zone. It might have either been the best or the worst idea you had had in a while, but there was no telling until you would enter the classroom and get to work.

You heard a loud honk through your earbuds, something that seemed to be more than frequent during rush hour, the sound blending in with the music that you were blasting into your mind to keep it quiet as you hurried across the street in case the honk was directed at you specifically. You tossed your empty takeout cup of coffee into the nearest bin you could find, tugging your coat tighter around you to shield yourself from the aggressive wind that made you shiver violently as you walked down the dark and busy street to find the university building that offered night classes to anyone who paid an excessive amount of money. You couldn’t really tell why you had decided to spend so much on a month-long course, but you could no longer withdraw your payment which left you no other choice but to go.

The door to the building you were heading for opened, a tall woman stepping outside, scrunching her nose at the humidity in the air, her hair dancing in the wind as she walked down the steps and disappeared out of your sight. You pulled on the handle of that same door, finding yourself inside an ancient building that had a rather striking, old-fashioned interior, the academic decor of bookshelves and plaster statues gaining your attention immediately. You had never been inside it before because your studies were mostly located on the opposite side of campus, but you managed to locate your classroom with only mild difficulty, feeling nervous butterflies in your abdomen, the odd sensation fluttering through you in waves of discomfort. You kind of wanted to leave, backtracking in your plans of reawakening the creative part of your mind. You could bring it back to life in the comfort of your own bedroom, the easels and assortments of charcoal pieces suddenly feeling more than intimidating by the minute as other artists slowly filled the room with their presence. None of them had even touched a single pencil or a piece of paper, yet you felt intimidated, like you had already failed before even getting the chance to prove your skills. You bit the inside of your lip, fiddling with a raw piece of coal, unintentionally staining your fingers black with the unrefined drawing tool. You felt like you couldn’t draw at all, like you had been shoved into a room filled with Michelangelos and Van Gohs who would all notice your incompetence before you had even been assigned a task.

Your anxiety flattened your mood rather effectively, the teacher’s words going right past you as she introduced herself, telling the class about her history with the university. You briefly wondered if you should have paid more attention to her because you were paying to be there after all, but you failed to keep your ears open and eyes on her, so you began to shade in the corner of the paper with no further purpose than to kill time, patiently waiting for the teacher to give you something to do. She rambled on for quite a while before asking the class to draw a quick five-minute sketch from memory of a person golfing, reminding everyone to focus on the line of action that often defined movement in drawings. You hated the prompt. You had never drawn a person golfing because nobody wanted to see that. Golf? Golf was for old people, but you began to draw random strokes on the paper anyway without even knowing what pose you were going for. You tried to see a golfing person through your mind’s eye, but apparently that part of your brain was out of use. You just couldn’t figure it out, the time limit only adding on to the pressure you felt.

You came into the conclusion that the exercise sucked. You stared at your sketch of a lanky golfer holding up a golf club, deciding that the figure was unintelligible and looked stiff in its unnatural position. You wanted to rip the paper into shreds but allowed the teacher to give you a second prompt without you making a scene in the corner of the large classroom. You hated that you had no way of finding references for what you were drawing, but you guessed it to be some sort of teaching method that would allow you to see your faulty way of thinking, as well as encourage you to actually learn anatomy that would eventually grant you the skill of drawing from memory. The subsequent prompt the teacher gave you went in from one ear and came right out the other, leaving you to ponder what it had been for the next five minutes while others sketched said figure. You pretended to do something with your easel and piece of lead to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the enthusiastic students as they worked on their sketches. With no prompt to follow, you zoned out completely, your eyes falling out of focus, freezing you into place as you sat still on your small stool. You barely even registered the teacher’s timer going off somewhere in the background, your body remaining in the same position for the next fifteen minutes as the teacher explained the meaning behind the first exercise and moved on to introducing a second one. Your mind was empty and full at the same time. You were stuck, stuck both physically and mentally, a sense of despair clawing at your chest for the wasted opportunity. You should have been happy, excited, eager to learn more, eager to give yourself what you needed, but you just couldn’t. You were too overwhelmed, too nervous to even give your creative side a chance, so you just sat, staring ahead. What finally drew you out of your troubled mind was the plain door to your left that opened suddenly, the gentle sound alerting you of an entering presence that caught you completely off guard in the state of comfort that you had found in the lonely corner of the classroom. You watched as a red-headed woman wearing a white robe slipped through the door. She gave you a polite smile as she shut the door behind her, walking over to the teacher who had a bright smile on her face.

“Here’s your model”, she announced in that overly sweet tone of hers, clearly ecstatic about the exercise. There was something about the way she spoke that made you not want to listen to a single word she said, but the remarkably beautiful woman who she was introducing to everyone seemed to be enough to hold your attention. “I want to go over the appropriate etiquette one more time so that there is no confusion”, the teacher said a bit more sternly. “There will be no photographing the model. There’ll be no touching, no talking, no commenting on appearances. Her safety and comfort come first which means you’re not allowed to make any kind of contact with her unless she initiates it”, the teacher reiterated, your eyes lingering on the model’s soft features, her striking red hair styled into loose curls that reached past her shoulders. “If I see so much as a glimpse of a phone or some other photographing device you’ll be thrown out of class and charged a fine. And finally –you would think this goes without saying, but apparently not– you’re not allowed to ask her out on a date or ask for her phone number. She is here to model and that is it”, the teacher asserted, brushing her hand down the model’s back, discreetly guiding her toward the center of the room where a tall stool stood. “Now… shall we get started?”

The model exuded confidence, she knew what she was doing, how to act, her captivating exterior letting you know that she had posed more than a couple of times before. She dropped her gown to the floor, your eyes suddenly nailed to your fresh sheet of paper. You couldn’t look at her, it felt too disrespectful. You couldn’t understand why because you’d seen naked women before, you had seen multiple naked people in your lifetime, yet suddenly it made your cheeks heat from embarrassment, your stomach swarming with butterflies. She was too pretty to be looked at, too enchanting, but deep down you knew you were beyond curious. You wanted to see more of her beauty, suddenly reminded of why you always gravitated toward figure studies specifically, and why you had chosen the course in the first place. You loved anatomy, and more explicitly female anatomy. You treated the female physique with a certain reverence, appreciative of both its capabilities as well as aesthetics. You felt a spark of excitement within you, allowing yourself to be intrigued by what was to come, but you also knew that it wasn’t just the artist in you that wanted to see her, wanted to witness the extent of her charming looks. You felt like everyone was looking at you, judging you for exhibiting homosexual tendencies. You shut your eyes, wincing at your reeling mind before gathering yourself, preparing to take a look at your subject as the teacher gave some more insight on the exercise.

“I want you to draw her in ten seconds, and ten seconds exactly, no more, no less. You’re going to produce me a loose sketch. Make it as loose and wild as possible, but make sure it still lets the viewer know that the subject is human. Utilize light strokes, curves and circles. Remember, the human body has no straight lines. There’s always a slight curve”, the teacher instructed, walking back and forth in the classroom, observing everyone to make sure no one was falling behind. You picked up an HB-lead pencil, whittling the tip with a utility knife to get your desired lead sharpness for drawing. “Ready?” You heard the teacher’s voice, preparing yourself to take a look at your model. So what, she was pretty? You drew pretty people all the time. “Three, two, one, go!” The teacher cheered with so much enthusiasm it sounded like she was commentating a sports event.

You peeked your head from behind the board propped up on the easel, your eyes landing on your model only to find her staring right back at you. Holy fuck. Your face flushed. Out of all the directions she could have been looking at she had chosen yours. She sat on the stool, her right foot supported by the beam that connected the legs of the chair at the bottom, left foot up on the edge of the seat. Her arms hugged her bent leg loosely, the position hiding her bare breasts from most angles. Her head was slightly tilted to the side to give her pose a sense of casualness, her natural color-palette and dominating presence begging for you to find any kind of assortment of pigments that you could utilize to replicate the soft hues of her complexion. There was no other way to capture her beauty, her poise, her hair, her skin, her eyes, her lips. You just stared at her, unable to move as the sound of charcoal on paper filled the room, the rest of the students putting admirable effort into their sketches, whereas you just stared. You could not pull your eyes away, you simply could not, the woman holding your gaze with impressive consistency. Her eyes were so intense, so green and warm even though the shade of green was on the cooler side. She had a mole on her cheek and a slight pout to her lips, the very last seconds of your time spent on observing the gorgeous shape of her round nose.

“Time!”

The corner of the woman’s mouth quirked up in a small smirk as your eyes widened. There was not a single line on your paper, not one, not even an accidental smudge of lead, and she knew it. She had seen you stare at her for every single second of the assigned time. You pulled back, forcing yourself to take a glance at the teacher who was looking over everyone’s work. Shit. You gripped your pencil, quickly drawing an oval shape to represent the model’s bent up leg, drawing a messy circle for her head, and a couple loose lines for the rest of her limbs. It was poor, but it wasn’t supposed to be good anyway, your hand leaving the paper when your teacher walked to your side, eyeing your plain sketch.

“Good job everyone!” She congratulated rather vaguely, moving back to the middle of the class where the students could see her. “I want you to draw the same pose again, but this time I’m giving you thirty seconds. Make it more detailed, take it a step further. You’ll be surprised by how much the extra twenty seconds will affect your work”, she said encouragingly, glancing down at the timer in her hand. “Is everyone ready?” After receiving affirmative nods and a couple verbal responses she pressed the button to start the timer again. “Go!”

Your gaze returned to the model, her eyes still on you. It was ridiculous. Why did she have to look at you? You were going to get nothing done in a class you paid a fortune to be in. You sighed in defeat, allowing your eyes to drop down to her body, trying your best to keep your cool as you studied her toned legs for a moment before going back to your sheet of paper. You reproduced the ten-second sketch, defining the shapes a little more, pulling back a bit to place your pencil in front of you, measuring the length of her limbs by looking at her through your dominant eye only to get accurate proportions. Once you got the sketch going and found a way to direct your attention to the sheet of paper, drawing became significantly easier, allowing you to get over your initial feeling of being flustered, but when the chair and limbs were done and you moved on to her torso and head, you felt your mind blank again. There she was, looking at you, staring at you with those steadfast eyes, unmoving like a carefully chiseled marble statue. Something made her unique, made her different from the other people you had drawn in your lifetime. She was so incredibly captivating that you felt like it couldn’t possibly be replicated through any art medium. You were positive that not even the highest quality camera could capture her energy, her entity, quite right.

You spent more time looking than drawing, but you didn’t mind it in the slightest, and neither did your teacher as long as you were drawing something and putting at least a bit of effort into it. You continued the exercise, the teacher increasing the time limit with each round, the model’s pose remaining the same for the rest of the two-hour class. You were sure you could have drawn her in your dreams from how many sketches you had made of her, but you didn’t feel satisfied. You wanted to be able to capture her perfectly, you wanted a fresh sheet of paper and thirty hours to create a piece of art that would match her regal composure. She deserved more than messy lines and quick sketches. She deserved better materials. She deserved a canvas, the richest paints you could find, an atelier with the most perfect natural lighting. She deserved a real artist, someone who could do justice to her beauty.

You felt like you couldn’t get a single sketch right. Objectively they were good, and there was nothing wrong with them, but to you they didn’t feel right. Time and time again you failed to bring out that same sense of awe and admiration that she awoke in you when you looked at her. Your sketches were flat, void of the thrill you felt whenever your eyes locked with hers. You weren’t sure if you were even skilled enough to capture such a feeling, but you were willing to try, vehemently sketching away every single time your teacher set a new timer for the next round. It bothered you that you felt rushed by the time limit. You wanted to draw in peace, constantly getting fixated on different details on her body or face. You couldn’t focus on her as a whole because every small curve and arch of her body demanded your undivided attention. You couldn’t just look over the small freckle on her calf, or the ivory of her thighs, or her auburn curls, or the purple shade of her nail beds as she slowly grew colder over time, her lack of clothing making her hairs stand on end. You felt the urge to walk over to her and drape the robe back over her body, despite how unbothered she seemed by the low temperature.

“Time! What have you guys noticed so far?” The teacher inquired in genuine curiosity as she started walking again, eager to observe everyone’s work. You couldn’t think of an answer, no, your eyes straying back to the model, once more allowed to watch her without having to draw. You had moved your small stool to the side a bit, the model noting that she could see you fully in your new set up. Her gaze flicked down your body for just a split second to see all of you before her eyes were back on yours, the model maintaining her pose meticulously. You felt your body burn up when her lips pursed the slightest bit, threatening to curve into a smile, her eyes turning almost playful.

“You… um, Y/L/N, right? What have you learned?” The teacher asked suddenly, walking beside you to see your sketches. She clearly had impeccable name memory. Your eyes widened, the model scrunching her nose discreetly as if apologetic for the situation you had found yourself in.

“Yeah, uhh…” You simply could not think, struggling to form a single word in your brain that had been caught off guard by your teacher’s inquiry, anxiety creeping up your neck to squeeze your throat. “Lots”, you mumbled, glancing at the model, which turned out to be a mistake because she was biting down on her lower lip to keep herself from laughing at your poor answer. “You can go a long way with just… shapes”, you elaborated, the teacher seeming to accept your answer, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, precisely! I want you to look at your subject and draw shapes”, she began, her words clearly aimed at the entire class, her attention no longer on you or your work. “We often overcomplicate things by focusing on what they are instead of the shapes that build up the whole picture”, she explained, your attention going back to the model, your teacher’s voice fading into oblivion.

You weren’t sure whether it was all in your head or not, but you felt like there was tension between you and the woman in front of you, a connection. It almost made you feel like it was just the two of you in the classroom. Maybe it was because she was looking at you and you only, or because you were being delusional and a hopeless romantic who caved at the very thought of being the object of someone’s observation. You wished you could have spoken to her, could have somehow confirmed whether you were crazy or not, but it wasn’t allowed. You weren’t allowed to contact her in any way which caused a sudden wave of sorrow to go through you. Something about her made you want to get to know her, your predicament striking you as rather unfortunate because you didn’t feel that way about a lot of people. You couldn’t remember the last time you had even cared to waste a single thought on someone who you didn’t know. You glanced at the model again, trying to give her a small smile, wanting to give her some kind of signal of communication, but your smile was shy, so shy in fact that it probably didn’t look like a smile at all. You almost didn’t dare to look if she reacted to it, but to your utter surprise she returned your smile, the look in her eyes shifting the slightest bit. It was like she could smile through her eyes.

“Thank you for today. I’m looking forward to seeing you all next week!” The teacher’s voice drew you back into reality. You blinked your eyes, nearly flinching when the model moved suddenly, the effect very similar to that of a moving statue, the woman getting off the stool to pick up her robe, sliding it on to fight the cold of the classroom as the other students cleaned up after themselves, loud rustling of paper sounding in the air. You couldn’t move, still far too occupied by her energy, your eyes lingering on her, and then all of a sudden, she was closer. She was walking closer to you. She came to a stop in front of you, taking a good look at your sheet of paper filled with sketches of various levels of effort. She glanced down at you on your seat, pursing her lips to hide her smile.

“You’re very talented”, she said quietly, her voice low and smooth, not something you had expected, but it suited her perfectly. You didn’t know what to say or do, looking up at her with your lips parted, searching for words, but you didn’t have to figure out anything to say because she turned around and walked away, disappearing through the door that was on your left.

You exited the class in a haze, so deep inside your mind that you didn’t even realize it was dark and raining outside. The wind blew in your face, wetting your hair and skin as thoroughly as possible, your fingers doing their best to untangle your earbuds as you walked down the street, dodging a couple pedestrians who you nearly ran into on the narrow sidewalk. A man hit you with his shoulder, not far from pushing you into a pole in his hurry to avoid the rain. You would’ve thought that New Yorkers would have been used to the rain, but apparently you were wrong. Yet the normally irritating encounter didn’t manage to ruin your mood, not when you had someone who tended to steal your attention time and time again with her red hair, and sweet voice. You kept replaying her words in your mind, trying to remember the tone of her voice as accurately as possible, but you could already feel it slipping away from you despite your efforts. It frustrated you. You needed to know more about her, hear more of her voice, anything at all really. You wanted more, unable to shake her from your mind as you hurried down a staircase to catch the subway that had just come to a stop and was opening its doors to new passengers. You picked up your pace, running along the platform and slipping inside the train.

The memory of the model would not leave you alone, your mind returning to the way she had smiled at you, the way those impossibly green eyes had looked at you for minutes on end. She was there when you went to bed, when you woke up the next morning, when you rode the subway to the university, when you sat in class. You wished to draw her again, noticing your notebooks slowly fill up with quick sketches of that same pose that was forever going to be ingrained into your muscle memory. However, you struggled to remember the smaller details, none of your sketches resembling her enough, a growing frustration alerting you of its presence. You had to get it right, you had to see her again.

You were sitting in a lecture hall, shading in the muscles of her thighs absentmindedly as your professor spoke about the significance of Victorian literature. You liked your professor, finding her voice soothing, which often ended up being deceitful because it made you zone out without you even trying, her calm way of speaking allowing you to focus all your attention on the sketch in front of you. The model was beautiful, she was so beautiful even in your inaccurate sketch. You sighed quietly, tilting your head as you tapped your pencil against the sketchbook. You wondered what her name was, how old she was, what she did for a living. She looked like someone with an elegant name like Eleanor, or Francesca, or Antoinette, well, maybe not that fancy, but something along those lines. Maybe Anastasia or Madeleine. She looked older than you for sure, but certainly not too old for you. You liked older. Maybe she was somewhere between thirty and thirty-five, and possibly a full-time model. Although it didn’t seem to quite fit her. In your head she was not exactly a model by occupation which made you ponder how she had ended up in your classroom. She was athletic and worked out, that was for sure, her defined forearms and calves flashing through your mind. There was so much you didn’t know, so much room for possibility, room for you to make assumptions, the ambiguity allowing you to see whatever you desired. She was a blank canvas, a mystery for you to uncover.

An entire week’s worth of lectures went to waste as you daydreamed about your next art class in the hopes of seeing her again. You had far too much time on your hands to let your imagination run wild during lectures, every minute spent sketching as you thought about her. You thought about drawing her, painting her, holding her hand, your fantasies advancing to scenarios outside of art class to silly things like her waiting for you at campus, the autumn wind fluffing up her curls, a cup of coffee in her hand. You imagined the way she would smile at you, those pillowy lips sipping on her drink as she watched you do your homework at the library. You had decided that she liked pumpkin spice lattes with extra syrup and whipped cream on top. You thought that she looked like someone with an office of some sorts and maybe a nice flat in Brooklyn. You imagined that she wore classy clothes with an occasional odd piece that didn’t always fit her style. Of course you didn’t know because you had only ever seen her naked. The thought made you blush, an urge to hide away taking over you as your gaze met your professor’s. Hopefully she couldn’t read your mind. Her eyes flitted down to the sketchbook on your table, but she didn’t say a word despite seeing you do anything but focus on what she was talking about. You felt mortified, but only for a split second because then you were already dreaming of the way she would cup your face and pull you in by your waist to plant her lips on yours, and then before you could control your mind her fingers were buried deep inside you, her tongue licking into your mouth. Your entire body was lit on fire in mere seconds, your tight jeans only amplifying the arousal you felt pool between your legs. Oh, crap. You had a crush.

You weren’t one to flirt with women, you weren’t one to spend time around people, but for her you could’ve made an exception. You didn’t have crushes, you didn’t daydream, you weren’t a lover girl, yet slowly, you were becoming one, your mind consumed by a woman you knew nothing about. You couldn’t understand it. It was so unlike you to have silly crushes like that, but you couldn’t deny it. She was on your mind day and night, visiting you in your dreams. You loved and hated the feeling, finding joy in the thrill of liking someone, yet at the same time it was agonizing to know that it would never actualize into anything real. You were struck by an intense wave of affection, the subject of your admiration having no clue about any of it, which was both a relief and a disappointment to you.

A week rolled by on its own, bringing a sense of anticipation with it. You had patiently waited for your second art class in the hopes of seeing your newfound muse again, beyond thrilled that the agonizing wait was over. You said goodbye to one of your only friends at the university, heading to the beautiful, old building you had entered for the first time a week ago. You located your classroom with ease that time around, pumped full of excitement as you set everything up according to your teacher’s instructions, trying to remain patient as you waited for the class to begin. You were thrilled to create, to draw, to lose yourself in your work –in her– much like what you had been doing the previous week of school. You just needed to see her again, you needed to refresh your memory, even if you wouldn’t be allowed to talk to her. It didn’t even matter because you had gained your spark back, found passion, found something artistic to direct your energy toward. You had finally found a reason to create again, your heart longing for that consistent flow of inspiration, that high of creation, success, that state of mediation. You waited with the utmost patience for your teacher to bring out your model, but to your utter disappointment, she never showed up. She wasn’t there. Instead, you got a male model and an exercise for practicing color theory, which normally would have been greatly appreciated, but you just couldn’t get past the heaviness in your chest. Every time the teacher came to check on your work and tell you that your colors were looking sad you felt like crying. You wanted to ask her if she could bring your model back, but you knew you couldn’t even mention the woman without coming off as weird and unprofessional, so you bit back your sorrow, your wounded heart bleeding onto the canvas in dull, muddy colors that made the lively, young man sad and hollow.

When you finally escaped the classroom at the end of the night you burst into tears. You felt so desolate, like you had been abandoned, left alone, which was of course more than ridiculous because she didn’t even know your name. She wasn’t in your life, she was merely a person who you had crossed paths with, yet for some reason it hurt so much. It hurt unbelievably much considering you had never been anything at all, not even acquaintances, but the lost possibility of something more seemed to linger in your mind as you rounded the corner and entered a coffee shop to escape the frigid wind of September, in search of something that could provide comfort to your depressed mind. You got yourself a warm drink and a fat muffin, finding a seat in the corner of the cafe where you could cry in peace, looking out the window at the wet streets that glistened under the streetlamps as the rough wind whipped the leaves off the defenseless trees.

More chapters to come!

[chigirisprincess]

. ☆ ͡ ݂ The Antler Queen’s Reverie

Feat. Natalie Scatorccio

⊹ Details. 18+ only minors dni, dni if you’re not sapphic, afab reader, canon divergence, set in the wilderness at s2 finale, cheating (emotional and physical in nat and travis' relationship), discussions of cannibalism, allusion’s to cannibalism, mentions of canon character death, allusions to compulsory heterosexuality, blood consumption, biting (til it bleeds), reader is described as being able to have viable bruises, reader is described as having fingers carded in their hair, making out, scissoring, love as consumption. ⊹ Runtime. 4.5k ⊹ Note. Natalie is canonically eighteen by the season two ending and her actress is nearly twenty-three, peace and love she is above age, don’t like don’t read! If you do read I hope you enjoy <3

Travis sleeps in front of the dying hearth, warmed by the still hot embers and the feeling of a full belly. It’s pleasantly lavish, even when his back will inevitably grow frigid with goosebumps beneath the thick plaid blanket that covers him because he is assuaged. It’ll last him the next few days, perhaps even a week if he’s lucky, before they’ll have to tap into their reserves and Travis will be reminded of why his plate is filled with more than belt-soaked soup. For now, he rests easily, for the first time in the ten months they’ve been trapped. Sleep comes to him before his head even reaches the lumpy pillow that used to be Laura Lee’s– it no longer smells of the vanilla perfume she wore until the day she died, only Lottie missed the scent or even noticed.

Natalie sleeps comfortably in Dead Cabin Guy's bed, nestled behind a shoddily built pine wood door. Coach Scott has disappeared but no one voiced concern if they had any left for the man. Nat takes the opportunity to relish the modicum of privacy the room provides. If Shauna could hole herself up in the attic the moment Lottie was well enough to lay with her acolytes, then Natalie could give her body the much-needed reprieve and sleep somewhere either than the uneven floorboards of the cabin.

It’s quiet, too quiet without Van’s snoring, the crackling fire, and the sounds of creaking wood as Mari tosses and turns to get comfortable. The Wilderness was already suffocatingly silent, in the warm months it wasn’t so bad. The woods were alive, the June bugs buzzed and the trees swayed in the breeze. It was easy then to pretend the sounds of wildlife were no different from the constant thrum of the trailer park she lived in a lifetime ago. She’d learn that in the winter months, the mountains of snow that blanketed the greenery shut everything else out. They could yell but their voices would bounce back at them and be swallowed up just as quickly as it was uttered. 

Natalie found herself staring up at the thick wooden slats that made up the roof, eyes heavy and wet with unshed tears. There was nothing to distract her idle mind as it replayed the events of the day. They looped in her mind like a broken VHS tape. Jackie’s necklace burned against the column of her throat but she couldn’t bring herself to take it off, it wouldn’t make her forget the feeling of a dull blade pressed against her skin by shaky hands or the way bitter wind whipped across her cheeks as she ran. 

The worst part, the thing that kept her mind racing and her body unable to settle into a restful sleep was her lack of regret. Guilt didn’t eat away at her stomach the way it was supposed to. When she thought of the fear that filled Coach Ben’s eyes and how his expression crumbled when she confessed her sins to him, Natalie felt nothing. She should have felt sick, she should have been consumed with such grief that it killed her but Natalie felt nothing of the sort. The tears that sat idle in her eyes weren’t for Javi but they should have been. They were for her. 

Her head snapped towards the door, the sound of the floorboards groaning under the weight of someone made her heart race more than it should. In the dim light that bled through the thin space between the door and the floor, Natalie could see a pair of feet. They hovered nervously, shuffling around without any real intention of coming in.

Natalie learned at a young age to tiptoe and glide around without making a sound. It was better to make herself invisible than to risk the wrath of her father who more often than not was in some drunken stupor. Whoever is behind the door doesn’t scuttle away as she approaches until Natalie tears the door open and a shrill gasp fills the otherwise silent cabin. 

It’s you.

Your lips settle into an apologetic smile, backlit by the warm glow of the dwindling fire you look angelic. The comforting blend of oranges and yellow that danced across your skin could have made Natalie forget how terrified she was when you looked at her like a starved lion gazes upon a gazelle.

Ten months ago you and Natalie were best friends. In definition and in the eyes of the team. Natalie never had a best friend, Kevyn was the closest she’d ever come but it was different than when she was with you. Now, Natalie wasn’t sure. 

That was in the before. 

Before the crash, before they feasted upon human flesh, before they had become grievous creatures who ceaselessly craved.

Natalie whispers your name, her neck craning to peer over your shoulder. The group rests well. Their chests rise and fall evenly from beneath their fur pelts and moth-bitten blankets. Lottie manages a peaceful expression despite the bruises and scabs that still mar her skin.

“Is something wrong?” Natalie asks, her frostbitten hands wringing together nervously.

You avoid her inquisitive eyes, your chin bashfully pressing against your chest, “Can I come in?” You question, the tip of your worn sneakers dig into the floor as you nervously twist your foot back and forth.

She wordlessly steps back, her arm extending outward to usher you forward. The muscles in her legs ache the longer she stands and her chest still hurts but it doesn’t take all of her energy to move like it did the day before. You follow her timidly, the door clicking shut behind you.

The sparse amount of moonlight let in by the tiny window obscures your face from Natalie but she can see you holding something out to her.

“I thought you might be cold,” you whisper, it’s a blanket, the one you had brought with you from home, “Since the door was closed and there’s no fire pit in here.”

Your sincerity was startling. Natalie’s chest clenched and another round of tears threatened to spill past her eyes. She was never one to cry and never this often but she hated how small she felt. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Daring to step closer, you press your blanket against Natalie’s chest, silently willing her to take it from you. She stands numb before you, her hands hung limply by her sides, “Won’t you be cold?” Her voice comes out louder than she intends for it to and she cringes at the sound.

You wordlessly shrug your shoulders. The clothing you packed wasn’t made for the Canadian winter but for the Seattle spring. The thin leggings you wore beneath your soccer shorts weren’t enough to stave off the chill, neither were the leg warmers you made out of Jackie’s shirt. You’d get sick if you went to sleep with nothing but the others body heat and hearth to keep you warm.

“I’ll be fine, I have others,” you say as you go to grab one of her hands.

Your touch burns but it’s not unpleasant. It’s the sort of simmering heat she wishes she felt when Travis took her hand in his earlier than night but, Natalie would chalk it up to being too buzzed on adrenaline to feel anything other than her heart rattling her rib cage. She expects you to shove the blanket into her outstretched fingers and scurry back to bed. You don’t leave, instead, you thread your fingers into hers. The gesture is tender, ten months ago she might have scoffed and asked if you were starting to get soft on her. Now Natalie just stared haplessly at you, torn between running away and tugging you closer. 

It’d be nice to be held, sleep wasn’t coming to her. None of this felt real, her new position or their fealty towards her. Would she not be cast aside just as Lottie had should one of the others rise up as she had? When rations ran out like they always did they’d hunt again, she could just as easily become the prey once more. Her heart raced erratically at the thought but she couldn’t seek the comfort she craved from Travis, not when it was her fault that Javi was flayed to be feasted upon.

“Nat?”

Natalie blinks blankly, her focus snapping back to you, “Sorry,” she quickly muttered, grabbing the spare blanket from your hands, “Uhm, thanks for this.”

“Are you okay, Nat?”

It is a stupid question and you know it. You were not so far removed from societal convention to be deluded that placing a crown atop Natalie’s head soothed the pain that made a home in the soft spaces between her bones. No one had asked her how she felt, if she was unharmed, they were too ravenous to think of anything other than the desperate gnawing that twisted their stomachs inside out. She couldn’t blame them, the prospect of flesh ground beneath her molars had Natalie salivating.

Shrugging her shoulders, Natalie turned to her bed. It was rather small and lumpy, one of the springs poked through the surface of the mattress but it was big enough that the two of you could lay down together comfortably.

“I’m fine,” she croaks, brushing a few strands of her brittle hair away from her face, “But, do you think you could lay down with me? It’s too quiet in here, I can’t sleep.”

This was not a moment of weakness, Natalie never needed anyone before and she never would. It was simply a test, one to see just how devout Lottie’s acolytes would be to their new queen. That was how Natalie rationalized the unwanted tug of loneliness that pulled her toward you.

You appeared surprised, but you quickly masked your shock with a quick nod of your head, “Of course I can,” you smiled warmly at her like this was some sort of sleepover and not a death sentence, “Honestly I never understood how Tai and Shauna could sleep in the attic, being alone like that is … unnerving.”

Swinging her arm toward the bed, Natalie wordlessly gestures for you to slide between the sheets before she can change her mind and cast you from her space. You lay on your side with your back pressed against the wall. It’s an oddly familiar scene one that made her belly churn. If Natalie closed her eyes she could pretend that the two of you were sharing a bed at an overnight game like you had a dozen times before. 

Your arm loops loosely over her stomach when she sinks into the mattress beside you, the willowy curve of her hips fits snuggly into your pelvis. She can feel your chest softly rise and fall and soon her own falls in time with it. The intimacy of it all makes her skin itch 

“Travis doesn’t deserve you,” the words are whispered just as Natalie’s eyes had grown heavy with sleep, the syllables are formed against the curve of her ear. “He never has.”

Your confession is filled with irony and is beyond laughable. He had been the one to blindside the group in the hopes of giving Natalie a chance to survive while you had held the knife. First to Travis’ throat and then to hers as you joined the others in the hunt across the glacial hellscape that was the Wilderness. If there was undeserving of having her in their presence, it was you, so deceiving in your docile demeanour and soft-spoken words, ever so eager to appease whomever was in charge to cover your hide in times of stress with false loyalties.

Natalie remains silent, pretending to be lost in the throes of slumber as you continue on, “If was unfair of him to grow so angry with you for trying to spear his feelings after Javi disappeared,” you grumbled, “There is no way he should have survived for so long out there in the cold, all on his own.”

Bile lined the length of her throat, her stomach churning. 

“You were only trying to help and what does he do? Turn to Lottie … I even heard him saying her name in his sleep.”

A spattering of goosebumps rises on Natalie’s skin when you nuzzle the frigid tip of your nose into her neck, your arms tightening around her middle.

Misplaced blame continued to fracture and splinter any semblance of trust that bound the group to one another. Natalie should not have felt the hot, shameful burn of envy ripple through her at her words, Travis was grieving as he continued to lose piece after piece of his soul but she did. Jealously stewed in her gut and bled out her pores.

She and Travis were tied together by the shared pain of lousy fathers. useless mothers, and circumstance. What was stopping him from moving on to Lottie, she played no part in his brother's death. He’d done it once before at doomcoming with Jackie when sex with bullies over a lifetime ago was the biggest betrayal he’d ever experienced.

“You might be right,” Natalie said with a morose laugh, “But, there aren’t many options in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

 It felt good to speak of him as if he were only a warm body that kept her well satisfied in the dark of night, a quick dig to hit him where it hurt while he was sound asleep in the other room, defenceless. Turning to lay on the flat of her back, Natalie squinted to read the pensive expression you wore.

“There are far more than you think.”

“Who, you?” She joked, nervously swallowing.

You looked as serious as you did when you were studying for the SATs, biting the team's head off every time they tried to get you to take a break. Granted, Taissa was annoyed you were distracted during games and Jackie was trying to keep the peace but still, Natalie had never seen you more serious until now.

Natalie forced out a laugh as if that would diffuse the growing tension that turned the air sticky. Your gaze remained trained on her visage, your lips pressed into a thin line, “Why not,” you whisper, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, “I could treat you better than Travis could.”

Her mouth grows dry, and too many buried feelings threaten to unearth themselves at the prospect of entertaining what you are suggesting. Back home, there were rumours like in any high school that surrounded the girl's soccer team. It’s why Jackie kept getting back together with Jeff even after she swore she was finished with him. Natalie tried to suppress it, she didn’t need to give the Wiskayok high any further ammunition to torment her with but it lingered there like a dark-figured to taunt her during sleepovers with the team or when they got drunk and decided to play kissing games because it meant nothing.

Natalie never partook. She flipped them off and staggered off for a smoke in the hopes of quelling the strange feeling that compressed her chest. You always looked a bit disappointed when she refused to have “fun” with the group.

“Yeah, right,” Natalie said, her voice strained, “Your longest relationship was back in middle school and you guys lasted a week.”

“You’re being mean,” you whisper with a pout.

Natalie always knew where to hit you where it hurt most.

“And you’re being stupid.”

She tried not to look at your lips, they were inviting. Though you hadn’t said anything else, she could feel some telepathic pull toward you. She could do it, kiss you that is. They were going to die out there, any lingering tendrils of hope had long since been extinguished. There was no reason why Natalie couldn’t kiss you just this once to satiate her curiosity before you both eventually met your demise.

However, it would not have been as lovely as it would have been if Natalie let you kiss her last winter at Lottie’s eighteenth birthday party. You had been hanging off her side most of the evening after pounding back one too many shots with the birthday girl. Natalie didn’t mind babysitting you, she hadn’t been in the mood to party that night and you could at least hold your liquor well enough that she wouldn’t have to hold your hair back with you spewed chunks all over the Matthews' pristine rose printed carpet like Akilah did at the last rager. 

You asked Natalie to kiss you on the back porch between puffs of the cigarette you bummed off her. She might have done it too had Laura Lee not ushered the two of you back inside, rattling on and on about how you were bound to get sick before the next game if you didn’t warm up. Natalie thought about that night a lot before burying it away lest she become haunted by it. You smelt of strawberries like you always did and she wondered if you’d taste like them too.

“What’s so stupid about having feelings for another person?” You asked as if you weren’t encroaching into dangerous territory, like Travis was nothing but a distant memory, “Or wanting to act on them so we can die with no regrets.”

There was something refreshing in knowing Natalie wasn’t alone in her line of thinking but that must have been why the two of you bonded all the way back in freshmen year.

“We’re gonna die out here and I’ve made my peace with that but I don’t want to die a virgin like some loser when I know you don’t love Travis.”

The conviction in your voice makes Natalie shrink beneath the blankets. Maybe she didn’t love Travis and maybe she had never known what love truly felt like but that didn’t mean anything. High school sweethearts were destined to crash and burn like their plane had. Natalie could only imagine what would transpire between her and Travis the longer they wrapped their veins together– nothing good, nothing good ever blossomed where Natalie was concerned.

Placing your hand on Natalie’s cheek, you turned her face toward yours, “So don’t settle because you’re afraid,” you whispered as you leaned closer, “There’s nothing out here to stop us from indulging in everything we couldn’t have out there.”

The Wilderness chose Natalie, it chose her as the next leader and now it presented you, ripe on a silver platter with skin so juicy you’d burst if she took a bite. It’d but rude to deny it now, wouldn’t it?

Your touch was gentle and surprisingly warm. It felt far better than anything she had previously experienced. Natalie felt herself being drawn closer to you, her lips just barely grazing against yours. Her breath fans across your mouth for a short second before she captures your lips in a kiss. It wasn’t anything spectacular or radically different from all the other times she had kissed someone but Natalie didn’t feel this odd twinge of shame after it was over like she usually did.

Her hazel eyes studied you for a moment afterward, trailing over the rounded curve your mouth sat in and the crinkle that grew between your furrowed brows. She wondered if it was disappointing, the kiss you’d spent a year waiting for. But, she wasn’t able to ruminate for too long before you were rolling on top of Natalie and cupping her face between your frost-bitten hands. The chapped, crackled skin of her lips splintered open when you nipped at her bottom lip. The heady, metallic taste of blood dabbled upon your tongue stirred a pleasured moan that travelled up your throat to spill against Natalie’s mouth. Natalie burned with mortification as she swallowed up the wanton sounds that leaked from your lips. When you licked your tongue into her mouth, she could taste it too and she liked it. 

It satiated the relentless hunger that gnawed at her insides most days. Regrettably, she still felt it even after their feast hours earlier but the longer you pushed the taste of her ichor around with fevered kisses the less starved she was. Natalie knotted her hands into your hair, further tangling the dulled and dried strands as she fervently chased that pleasantly full feeling she’d never felt before. Her thighs slipped open to allow your hips to slot between them.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” you rasped into her mouth, your nose pressing against her jugular, “You’ll let me eat you, won’t you?”

The innuendo isn’t lost on Natalie and tomorrow she might have laughed, once the head-splitting need for flesh subsided. Your canines sunk into the thin skin of her throat, a dangerous gesture that sent a rush of adrenaline through her. Natalie let out a raspy moan, roughly tugging on your hair as you laved your tongue over the hot, pulsing teeth mark you left. 

Shaking her head at your suggestion, Natalie muttered a quick, “No.”

Your disappointed whine was stifled by her bringing your mouth up to hers. There was something else that rattled around Natalie’s mind, the image had been seared into her head for months before she was able to banish it from the forefront. She’d seen it once whilst coming down from her high with Kevyn. One of his friends queued up some cheesy porno from the ‘80s that was just so outrageous he had to show everyone so they could all point and laugh. Natalie didn’t, she left after twenty minutes when her limbs had begun to work once more, the image of two women’s limbs tangled together replaying over and over again as she walked all the way across town to the trailer park where she lived.

Neither of you should have been stripping down but Natalie tugs off your pants to placate your impatience, intent on replicating that scene. The frigid winter air that seeps into the cabin nips at your bare skin and you shiver in her embrace. Natalie strips you until you’re left in your frayed panties and thin, long-sleeved sleep shirt. You tear her clothing off in return, carelessly throwing them aside as if body heat was enough to fend off the eternal frost the forest had been plunged into.

“Take them off,” Natalie gruffly instructs, nodding her head at you,  “And  then come here, I wanna try something.”

You take her instructions well and she bitterly wishes it hadn’t taken you so long to trust her instead of drinking Lottie’s Kool-aid. The mattress dips under your weight as you kneel, the palm of your hand laying flat against your navel, just itching to inch lower. Natalie’s eyes travel past your belly button to the thatch of curls that sits just below your pelvis. Biting her lip, she swallows thickly. 

Her stomach roars with hunger. 

Slowly dragging her underwear down her legs, Natalie rests against the headboard, her legs spread. Your eyes widen at the sight of her bare pussy, her lips slick with arousal. Looping her hands around your waist, she tugs you to straddle her lap. The position was a bit uncomfortable at first, the lingering burn and fatigue from sprinting for the first time in months making your legs heavy like lead.

A full-body shudder wracked through you as Natalie’s warm, wet cunt pressed against yours, “Like this?” You moan, experimentally rolling your hips, “This feel good?”

You asked her in earnest, peering down at her wide eyes like a puppy waiting for its owner to praise them. Mari often looked to Lottie like that, it was oddly thrilling to see it directed at her. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Natalie groaned, your name ground beneath her teeth like a slab of meat, “You could even…”

Natalie’s fingers tremble when she reaches between your bodies to spread your lips apart to expose your throbbing clit. The swampy pit of heat that swirls in her gut seeps through her body, your expression is utterly debauched and dripping with lust. She moans before you do, revelling in the obscene, squelchy sound of your cunt sliding against hers. Your pebbled nipples poke painfully through your shirt and press flush to Natalie’s as you bury your face into her shoulder. 

Cursing under your breath, you keen into her skin, “You can touch me more,” you pant between laboured breaths, it's laughable how easily years of condition eroded within a measly few months, “I need you to, Nat, please.”

She obliges you with teeth and tongue mashed along the column of your throat, sucking a matching bruise into your skin. You taste of salt and soot and something earthy like pine. The layer of grime that clings to your skin shouldn’t have been as intoxicating as it was but Natalie found herself feasting on the taste of you, raw and unmasked from soaps and perfumes, she suckles down until she feels the throbbing pulse of blood that fills your carotid artery. 

That pleasant, warm feeling Natalie could only ever achieve on her own crept up on her. Its unbidden presence filled her with disappointment, it’d all end too soon but she couldn’t stop the wave of pleasure that washed over her. The sharp edge and press of your nails into the skin of her biceps only fuel the tumbling cascade of her orgasm as you desperately rut your cunt against hers, both of your clits bumping into each other. 

Natalie’s teeth pierce the skin of your shoulder as she cums, the taste of your blood filling her senses. She grows drunk on it, mindlessly rolling her hips into your pliant body until you cry out her name, the syllables broken by yowl-like moans. Your bodies, sticky with sweat and arousal meld into one another when the familiarity of exhaustion whips through you, the kind that leaves you lying listlessly on the cabin floor for hours on end until Mari boils water and pine needles and serves it up. 

Wordlessly nuzzling your face against hers, you plant a gentle peck against Natalie's hallowed cheekbone, “Natalie I-” whatever sappy sentiment that dripped off your tongue was smothered by a more pressing question, “Do you smell smoke?”

Beneath the thick layer of sex that hung in the air was the scent of burning embers. It was far heavier than the curling puff of smoke that typically permeated the stagnant cabin air. Natalie wanted nothing more than the turn over and curl up with you, to soak in the fleeting tendrils of reverie that girls like her were never affording but something itched at the back of her mind.

It was hot, suffocatingly so even with the ever-burning hearth.

The best way to kill a yellowjacket was to scorch its home, Natalie should have known it was too good to be true. The Wilderness was revoking its blessings, smoking out the vicious wasp nest that fed on its milk and honey for far too long without thanks. 

Shauna’s panicked voice carried down from the attic and feet shuffled as they awoke from their full-bellied slumbered but neither of you moved. You lay half naked and needled with shock, peering at one another in the darkness when the reminder of your situation becomes glaringly obvious.

The cushy daydream of indulging your appetites where nothing but just that, a daydream. You had to run now because it was better to be starved and alive than nothing more ashes blowing in the wind.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.  

[hyuckkaiji]

loyal she began, so she remains - sebastian x f!reader

summary; he waited too long to hold you in his arms again. he waited too long to give up now. you are his, and he will have you. pt.3

word count; 4.3k

warnings; 18+, explicit content, some physical violence, porn with a plot, mentions of cheating/infidelity

note; and they lived happily ever after. One for the Seb girlies hehehe. last last part to this little unofficial series. pt.1, pt.2, pt.3 Ominis

Sebastian twirled his wand with deft fingers, staring at the cold fireplace, listening, waiting.

It had been almost three months since he saw you. One would think three months would feel like nothing in comparison to eight years, but they would be wrong.

He longed for you, he dreamt of you, bided his time until he could hold you in his arms again. And the day came, you were there, his beautiful girl, you were in his arms after all that time. But when he awoke, you were gone, and that hurt him more than anything another wizard could ever do to him.

These months have been the worst of his life. To know where you are and not be able to claim you, it was tortuous. He doesn't blame you, he doesn't know how Ominis has messed with your head because clearly Ominis has messed with your head, there's no other explanation for you leaving his side and crawling back to that bastard.

He knows you don't love the auror, you could never love him. So what made you go back? He needs answers. He would have gotten them sooner, gotten you sooner, had it not been for your pest of a husband.

His old friend had been tracking him like a blood hound since the afternoon after the night he shared with you. But Ominis underestimated him, his skill, his intelligence. Ominis thinks he is the predator.

The door creaks slowly open, the hinges old and rusted. "You were a fool to come back here, Sallow." Ominis stood in the doorway, the grey light of the cloud filled sky seeping in behind him.

The auror took a few steps forward, letting sagging wood slowly groan as it fell shut. "You should have stayed away, I gave you your freedom, and you wasted it by trying to come back for her."

Sebastian leaned back, watching Ominis with a lazy gaze, his fingers still fiddling with his wand. "Of course I came back for her. You thought I wouldn't?" Sebastian tsks, "Truly old friend, you should have known better."

Ominis shrugs, "Your mistake, fugitive. They've already got your cell in Azkaban waiting for you."

"Have they?" Sebastian let's out a breathy laugh, Ominis' lips twitch in irritation.

"You never could take anything seriously."

"Ohh, you've caught me." Sebastian throws his hands up in mock surrender though he knows the auror cannot see the gesture.

"You've cornered the big bad fugitive. Haven't you, Gaunt?" Sebastian stands, Ominis points his wand at the abrupt action. "I cared about you once, Sallow. I have allowed that past affection to cloud my judgment. I have allowed you to walk a free man. No more."

"Free?" Sebastian sneers, "You keep saying that word, you must have forgotten its meaning for I have not been free in eight years."

"I have lived alongside the rats in sewers, I have starved, I have survived off rotting scraps. I have done much and more just to keep myself alive, and you call that freedom. What did I do to deserve that -"

"You are a murder, Sebastian!"

"I just wanted to save my sister! She was in unending pain, all I ever wanted was to help her! And you and my uncle tried to stop me! Only one person truly supported me!" Sebastian's breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling with heavy huffs.

Ominis features twisted in disgust, "My wife is not yours to claim. We are no longer children, and it has been many years since she was yours. If you had just accepted that, if you had just stayed away. The miserable existence you created for yourself would be no concern of mine."

"But alas Sallow, here we stand. All things must come to an end, you are no exception."

Sebastian barks out a laugh, "Do you plan to kill me, Gaunt?"

"You do not matter enough for me to soil my hands in such a manner."

Sebastian hums, "I only matter enough for you to personally track me for months."

"Only because you came near my wife."

"My point still stands, and I did more than just go near her."

Ominis' grip tightened on his wand, his knuckles draining of color. "Of course you would take pride in that little indiscretion. I'll have you know that my wife does not. That's why she came back home to me. She is waiting for me at home this very moment, swelling with my child."

A ball dropped in Sebastian's stomach, nauseous at the thought of you pregnant with the Aurors child. "You didn't."

A satisfied smirked pulls at Ominis lips, allowing himself to enjoy the blow, for a moment he pays no real mind to Sebastian. But a moment was all Sebastian needed. He lunged.

Sebastian's hand wrapped around Ominis', yanking his away his wand. Tossing it, where it hit against the stone corner of the fireplace, landing with the sound of wood cracking.

Sebastian couldn't explain what came over him, to fight like a muggle, to abandon his wand in the face of a fight. All he knew was he needed to feel his fists collide with Ominis face, he needed to feel the impact, hear the crunch of bone as he landed blow after blow.

He didn't know how long it went on, but when he pulled back, breathing ragged, fists covered in Ominis' blood and knuckles raw and cracked, Ominis wasn't conscious, the only sign of life was his chest rising and falling with shallow breathes.

Sebastian stood, grimacing at the scene before him. Silently thanking the gods, he hadn't lost himself enough to kill someone he once loved. He wasn't dead, and at the very least, Sebastian was grateful for that. He had done terrible things in these past years, but there were still things he could not bring himself to do. Things he could never forgive if he did. Not again.

This was for the boy he was, the boys they were. Sebastian left the auror there, a silent prayer that their paths never cross again.

When he stepped out of the worn down cottage, rain was falling, showering down on him, soaking through his clothes, washing away the blood that clung to him, washing away his sins.

He breathed in deep, closing his eyes. Letting the smell of fresh wet earth permeate his senses. He strolled through Feldcroft as if he owned it, as if he belonged, as if it was his home and his wife he was heading towards. As far as he was concerned, it was.

You are his home, his life, his everything. And only the thought of having you again got him through those long years. He had laid out his path, his future, your future. All that was left was collecting that which he loved most.

His hand wrapped around the handle, cold metal biting into his skin. He could feel the magic that was surrounding the house, protection charms on top of protection charms. But these charms were not meant to protect but trap.

Sebastian pulled his wand out, casting counter charms, breaking down layer after layer. It was not quick work, and truthfully not something he would have been able to do if not all that he had learned on the run. The magic he was using to break down the barriers is something others would call dark. Sebastian just calls it a different kind of magic, a necessary kind.

He finally broke through, the knob turning in his hand, the door sliding open to welcome him into the warm cottage. The smell of cinnamon toast was wafting through the air, nostalgic and inviting.

"You're back husband." Your voice was meek, docile. You came out from around the corner that led down the hall, your bare feet padding softly against the carpets you had laid out around the house.

"Sebastian." You stopped in your tracks, hands at your side, fists bunching into the fabric of your skirts. "Where is Ominis?" Sebastian's lip twitched in irritation at the question. "Gone."

"Y-you-" A gasp escaped, your hand coming up to press the tips of your fingers to your mouth in shock.

"For merlin's sake, I did not kill the man. He just happens to be ... indisposed." Sebastian waved a hand in the air. "But he'll come back to an empty home, you're coming with me."

You walked towards him, steps slow and cautious. Reaching a hand out to caress his cheek once you stood before him. Feeling him, in the flesh, your skin against his, that was your breaking point. You lauched yourself into his arms.

Violent sobs overtook you, your body shaking with the force of them as you clung to Sebastian. You held onto him as tight as you could, readjusting your grip to try and tighten it every few seconds. You crumpled in his arms, he allowed you to, sinking to the ground so you could sit in his lap. Arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as he cradled you.

"I'm sor-ry, I-m sorry, s-orry." You mumbled almost incoherent apologies into his shirt in between hiccups. "My sweet girl," he cooes, "you have nothing to apologize for." One arm holds you as the other hand runs through your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

He holds you, whispering soothing words and sweet nothings until you calmed down. "I shouldn't have come back ... I felt so guilty for betraying Ominis ... I-I," you shook your head, trying to articulate your thoughts.

"He supported me for so long, I felt like I owed it to him to come back. My own happiness be damned but ... he ... I've been trapped in this house for months, Sebastian. All this time, all I could think of was you," you brought a protective hand up to rest on your stomach, "and our child."

"Our?"

"This life that grows inside me, it could only be yours, my love. The thing about contraceptive potions ... you can make them for one person. The ones I brewed only kept out Ominis. It worked for years, I know it didn't just suddenly stop. This is your child, Sebastian, our child."

His lips are on yours in a hearts beat, soft and needy. His tongue swipinging over your bottom lip as his hand tangles in your hair. It felt like home, it was a feeling he longed for during the countless nights alone.

You moaned into the kiss, allowing yourself to finally relax, to feel safe in the Sebastian's arms. His fingers had come up to clumsily undo the buttons of your blouse, never breaking your kiss.

You pulled away, taking over, discarding your clothes in a rush, your fingers precise where his had been ill practiced. He did the same, tossing his clothes aside without a care before pulling you back into him, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

"I am going to ruin this house the same way I ruined you." He pressed a kiss to your temple, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps down your skin. "I'm going to fuck you over every surface of this house." He pushed you up against the nearest wall, a gasp escaping your lips at the sudden impact . His lips traveled down, warm kisses along your neck making a shiver run down your spine.

"I'll not leave a single room unspoiled for that insecure twat." He kissed his way down your torso, settling himself between your legs, pulling a leg over his shoulder to expose you to him, you sucked in a breathe as his breathe fanned over you.

"Fuck, you're so wet already. This is all for me, pretty girl?" His tongue swipes slow and torturous over your sopping cunt, flicking over your bundle of nerves at the end. "So fucking sweet."

He looking up at you with hungry eyes, every puff of air he breathes out hitting your clit, making you shiver above him but he make no move to continue. "Sebastian, please." Your words are breathless and a hand tangles in his hair as you attempt to push his face right where you need him.

"Beg."

"Sebastian." You throw your head back in frustration. You couldn't find the words to describe how you want him if you tried. "Stop playing games with me."

"I'm not." He leans just enough to let the tip of his nose graze the sensitive bub, "I just wanna hear you say it. Come on, just once." He presses a kiss, you sigh at the feeling.

"Please, Sebastian, I need you, please touch me."

Those words, the slight whine in your voice, sent a jolt to his already hard cock. He has one hand supporting your hip and leg over his shoulder, the other arm supporting your back and pushing you closer to him.

His mouth is pressed back against you, sucking, nipping, licking away as you grip his hair. You had always felt pleasure with Ominis, wanted him even but not like this.

Though the physicalities of it all were much the same, it was different, in your heart, in your soul. No other could make you feel the way he did, the way you felt right now.

Your legs tensed, attempting to close around his head. His arm dropped from your hip, wrapping around your thigh to pry your legs back apart, never stopping his ministrations against your throbbing clit.

Your orgasm racked your body, your head thrown back in pleasure. Sebastian stayed kneeling, peppering kisses along your inner thighs and hips. Chuckling to himself as he listened to your pants, your body trying to regulate itself again coming down from your peak.

Your legs wobbled as he stood, allowing you to plant both legs on the ground once again. He leaned in kissing you, allowing the taste of your cum to settle on your tounge.

"You're all fucking mine, now show where your bed is sweetheart." You lead him to your bedroom by his hand.

"How does your husband normally fuck you?" You hummed, crawling onto the bed before flopping onto your back, bringing your knees up just enough to give him space to join you, as Ominis normally does.

Sebastian clicks his tongue against his teeth with a tsk. "Everytime?"

"Near enough. Would you like something different?"

Sebastian walks over to you, bringing his hand to wander over your breasts, pulling a pert nipple between fingers. Twisting and pulling at the nub, earning a soft moan from you. He lets his fingers wander, trailing over your ribs, scratching his nails lightly over your stomach.

He stoops just below your hips, giving a quick tap. "Come here." You crawl back off the mattress, slightly uncertain in your movements. You stand before Sebastian, feeling even more exposed though nothing has changed.

He examins you, letting his eyes follow his hands path as it trails. He gathers your hair in one palm, pulling it behind your shoulders and letting it fall loose.

His fingers graze your collar bone, the way he's looking at you makes you feel like a piece of art, something that exists only for him to admire. Running his fingers over every curve and crevice like he's trying to understand how you were created. You shiver under his scrutinizing gaze.

He grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, softly, just enough to bring your eyes to his. "Bend over." His voice is soft but commanding, leaving no room for argument. And you don't need to be told twice.

You gather all your pillows, pulling them to your chest to prop you up a bit as you lean over the mattress. The anticipation alone making your clit throb.

Sebastian brings a rough hand up to further feel as he looks you over, the sight almost rivals looking up at you from between your legs, almost. He grips the flesh of your ass, gods how many times did he have this exact dream?

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever set eyes on, do you know that?" He let his hands settle in a firm grip on your waist, leaning over you, his hard cock pressed into your bottom as he pressed kisses into your spine, whispering as he went.

"I promise I'll make you happy, I'll give you anything you want or need. I'll give you a life you deserve."

He lined himself up with your dripping entrance, "You ready?" Letting his cock sink in slowly after you nodded your approval.

He groaned at the feeling of the wet warmth wrapping around him, quickly falling into a steady place. Sliding in and out of you with deep stokes, allowing the tip of his cock to bully your cervix.

You could feel the coil in your gut winding tighter and tighter with every stroke, so close to tipping you over the edge. You buried your face the mattress, muffling your cries and tangling your fists in the blankets.

"Oh no baby, I wanna those pretty little moans." Sebastian wrapped your hair in a fist, using it to pull you up into his chest. The grip of his other traveled from your hips to your stomach, pressing down just below your naval. The grip he had in your hair moving to keep a firm grip on your throat, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

This angle allowed him to fuck you at depths you'd never felt before, depths that had you tipping, the coil snapping inside you as you spasmed around him. Throwing your head back in pure ecstasy as another orgasm over took you.

Sebastian nuzzled his face into the exposed crook of your neck, sucking and biting in a fresh pink mark. His hips slowing their pace but continuing enough to draw out your pleasure.

"You didn't finish." You were panting, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat. You continued to clench around him, your body overwhelmed but still mindlessly chasing the pleasure only he could give you.

"I didn't want to yet." You could feel him smile against you."You're not satisfied yet, you animal?" You let out a breathy laugh but Sebastian only hummed bringing his fingers down to rub harsh circles into your swollen bud.

"I'll never be done with you." He pulled out, letting you lean against him, almost pure dead weight, unable to keep yourself standing.

He leads you to the kitchen on unsteady legs, arm around your waist supporting you the entire way. "Keel for me, love."

A good obedient girl, all his, only his. He smiled down at you as you struggled to fulfill his request, looking up at him through your lashes once you succeeded. "So pretty." He muttered, in awe of the sight before him.

You wrapped one hand around the base of his shaft guiding him into your waiting mouth. Your tongue wrapping around the underside of his shaft as you bob around him, your hand stroking what you can't fit. "Good fucking girl." Sebastian practically growls the words.

One hand shooting out to tangle at the roots of your hair, he uses the leverage to push you further down. You let him, your own hands gripping the flesh of his bottom, blunt nails digging in as you gag around him. Sebastian let's out a low hiss, enjoying the slight mix pain and pleasure.

He uses his grip to hold you in place as he thrusts, the tip of his cock abusing the back of your throat. Drool is dripping down your chin and tears well in your eyes but you let him use you, the sight of him with his head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, and teeth biting so hard into his bottom lip you think he might make himself bleed, it's too lovely a sight for you to try and pull away.

His thrusts become erratic before burying himself so deep you gag around him as your nose presses against his pubic bone. Tears finally falling free as his warm, salty cum shoots down your throat, he holds you there until he's sure you've swallowed all of it.

When he finally pulls free with a soft pop from your mouth, your lips are puffy and swollen with a line of drool still connecting the two of you.

He pulls you to your feet, still using your hair as his personal tool. He pushes you up against the table, your hands falling to grip the hard wood and steady yourself. Sebastian doesn't wait before dipping his head to the valley between your breasts, his tongue darting out the catch the drool that had slid down your skin, his tongue following the wet path up the collum of your throat ending at your lips.

His kiss is feral, possessive, all tongue and teeth nipping at your lower lip. His hands wrap around your thighs to hoist you up onto the wood. "Merlin, I need you like I need air." He speaks the words against your lips, his eyes falling shut as he presses his forehead to yours, a shuttering breath falling from his lips.

"I love you, Sebastian." You whisper back to him, using the back of a hand to rub against his cheek softly. He smiles at you, a man captived by what he never truly thought he would have, never thought he deserved. Truthfully he's not sure he does deserve this, deserve you. But he'll be damned before he lets anyone else have you.

He's using his tip to gather the slick from your still seeping hole, rubbing it over your clit, making you shudder. When he feels he's gathered enough he pushes back into you, making you gasp.

Your legs wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck, letting your head fall against a shoulder. He splays one large hand over your lower back and uses the other to balance against the table. His hips stutter at first, still sensitive from his orgasm, but he find his pace.

You had never realized how loving sex can feel, how his pace alone could convey that. The way his fingers dig into your skin with every thrust, every pant and groan that escapes him. You knew, all of it told you, this is a man that worships you, a man that has been enamored by you since he first met you. And though he may tell you, you're his, first and foremost, he's yours.

It didn't take long for either of you to reach another orgasm, both your bodies still so sensitive. You clung to him as your third orgasm overtook you. His grip on you was brusing as his hips jutted rhythmless against you, he muttered incoherent praises into your skin and his seed shot into you.

You stayed like that for a moment, just holding each other as you came down from your respective highs. "My sweet boy, my Sebastian." You mumbled against him as you stroked your fingers through his hair, the words made him cling tighter to you, part of him worrying if he lets you go this time he'll never hold you again.

"Promise you won't leave me."

"Oh my darling," you coo at him, bringing him up to face you, to look you in the eyes, "you have my heart, you carried it with you all these years. I couldn't leave you if I tried for I am yours, mind, body and soul. I think our love could transcend lifetimes."

∘₊✧───── ─── ─────✧₊∘

Epilogue;

"I am not, you insatiable beast." You giggled pulling your hands out of the soapy water you had just been using to wash dishes.

"You satiate me, love." He turns you to face him, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Beautiful." He mumbles, bringing a hand up to rest on the swell of your stomach. "Me or the baby?"

He hums, "Both. The most beautiful beings to every grace this gods forsaken planet."

You shake your head, "Well, you can't put another in me until this one is out. And we still have some time yet so I think you should focus on the here and now and go get ready for work."

You brush his curls out of his face, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone. He hums, smiling at you, "Yes, you are ever correct, wife."

"Husband." You give him a quick peck on the lips.

"Brother, it's mine!" The shrill voice of your five year old daughter echos through your house, followed by the mischievous giggle of her younger brother.

"Hey! Hey!" Sebastian calls out, rushing over to the running toddler in two quick strides, scooping the child up in his arms. The boy giggles wrapping his arms around his father. "We don't steal, my boy. Play nice now, you lot cannot be stressing your mommy while she's pregnant. It's not good for the baby."

He kneels, pressing the stolen stuffed rabbit back into his daughter's hands. She smiles quickly at him before scampering away, toy in hand. He shoos his son shortly after before turning back to you.

"What's the max?"

"I was thinking this might be the final one." You leaned against the counter, watching him with a glint in your eye.

"I was thinking at least one more." He responded.

"Aye perhaps. I could never say no to you." You walk over to him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"How do you think the muggles do it?" You asked.

"I don't think they do, bet they cry themselves to sleep wishing they had a silencio charm."

"Seb!" You scolded with a playful slap to his chest.

When Sebastian was young he thought himself the master of plans, thought himself brilliant even but nothing will ever top this, this success. The best plan he ever wrought, whisking you away to America. Muggles know nothing of him, nothing of you. His life is sweet, a dream come true. And he is most grateful.

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star- Tape #2 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: THIS CHAPTER FOCUSES MAINLY ON THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH YOUR KIDNAPPER. I didn't put any warning before the scene starts, but the entire chapter is essentially that. So please keep that in mind. I changed a lot of this from the original version. I have grown okay? I saw inconsistency in my writing and I am trying to fix it. Thank you so much for everyone's kudos, notes, comments, reblogs, bookmarks, EVERYTHING! Please let me know what you think and enjoy.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #1 > Next Chapter: Tape #3

WARNING: Kidnapping, morphine use, abuse, talks of death, and more. Remember you are not alone if you struggle with this content.

Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell.

Word Count: 3,721

March 2, 20XX 

After recording the video, you were damn near catatonic. Your eyes were having a hard time pulling away from the corner of your living room, staring at the fading white paint as it met the trim. You tried to turn on the television for some sort of distraction, but every time you heard a sound a little too close for comfort, you would pause the screen and comb through your apartment like a mad woman. You had locked the windows, the door, hell, you even considered shoving a chair under the knob of the front door. 

You didn’t, though. Sitting in a silently lit room with your legs to your chest. You were trying to remember to breathe in the correct order: in, then out, out, then in. Every so often, your breathing would hitch, and you would start over again. You tried to find something to keep you grounded in the moment, a texture to rub your hands over, but the dread kept building. 

It kept building until it was two in the morning, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

You were turning off lights slowly, fingers lingering on the switches before you turned them off, dashing into your apartment’s bedroom and shutting the door behind you. Your body was moving as if it thought the darkness was going to kidnap you. Maybe it would, maybe that fate would be better than what the depths of your mind were producing as you found a light to plug into the wall. The old wall plug-in emitted just enough light in the room that you let yourself relax in the dark of your bedroom. 

When you called your mother earlier, she reassured you that the police were there for you, patrolling the neighborhood every weekend. You tried to tell her that their cars were dwindling, and now it seemed like only one was bothering to make the rounds, but she didn’t listen. One was enough for her, so why couldn’t it be enough for you? 

It was wrong to be angry with her, wrong to be angry with the police, wrong to be angry with yourself. The worst part was being angry with Adeline, the way she was trying so hard to be supportive despite her daughter dying of cancer. The guilt felt like a prod: scorching, agonizing, pushing its way into your chest, where it made its home near your heart. You didn’t want to be angry, not with her, not with anyone, but the feeling of isolation had you crying tears of frustration in your bed.

Maybe they were all right, maybe you were just being crazy. You would go into work tomorrow exhausted and weary, but alive. Everything would be fine. You told yourself this mantra over and over again as your tears slowed, your eyelids became heavy, and your breathing got deeper. Everything would be fine.

Dawn crept into your bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, its glow just dim on the horizon. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours or so when you heard soft breathing. Your eyes were heavy and slow to open as you listened to the sound. 

Liquid bubbling with a soft ‘ glug’ sound had you stirring a little, eyes fighting you as you tried to open them and focus on the sound. As your body stirred, a hard hand grabbed your mouth, pressing down on your lips as your eyes snapped awake. The last thing you remembered was a gloved hand shoving a handkerchief to your face and the smell of ether before your world went dark. 

March 5, 20XX

Garcia was smiling. It didn’t take long for the field techs to bring back your computer adorned with pink and green sticky notes with passwords, notes, and to-do lists. She always liked a woman who had a plan and stuck to it. “This girl just made my job easier,” she chuckled softly as she logged into your computer with ease. “Not that it was ever hard, but it was sweet of her to help me out.” 

The whole thing seemed clear of any suspicious emails, apps, or spying devices. She frowned as she moved to your phone logs that she received earlier that day; the most recent call was from an unknown number. The voicemail that followed sent chills down her spine, the sound of sobs before the line went dead. She shared with the team her favorite member, actually, Derek, who was listening to her intensely over the phone while the rest of the team combed through your apartment. 

To say they felt a little shocked was an understatement. You were more prepared than you had let on. Each ‘gift’ was labeled and in baggies in the drawers of your desk. Emily was the first to see a folder in a nook of the desk; as she opened it, she was greeted with a picture of… herself. She let out a huff of a laugh as she started to pull out photos. Spencer, David, Derek, JJ, and Aaron. “She’s got everyone but Penelope.” She said, waving Spencer and Aaron over with a slight flick of her wrist. 

Spencer tilted his head at the blurry photo of himself on the desk, an amused look in his eyes as he read out loud, “‘Give this man a pair of glasses, now!’” He looked over at Hotch and spoke in a curious tone, “Do I really have the kind of face that tells everyone I need glasses?” 

Aaron looked up from his photo and gave Spencer a slight grin. "Do you want me to lie?” he asked, much to Spencer’s dismay. 

Emily spoke up, “At least yours says that she’s asking for my number on mine.” She turned the photo of herself over to them and pointed at the writing. She pointed to Hotch’s photo and grinned, “‘Give us a smile, baby’ is kind of funny, come on.” 

Hotch's frown deepened as he looked at the writing, “She was trying to have a sense of humor,” 

“A sense of humor in stressful situations could indicate that she approaches them in a light-hearted way, she’s optimistic. The type to never give up.” Reid spoke softly beside her. 

“It could also mean that she’s the kind of person who draws people in with her personality,” Prentiss suggested softly against Reid’s anecdote, “She’s easy to love.” 

She let her words sink into the air around them like a cloud, watching the gears turn in the minds of the two men near her. Her gears also started up as she set the picture back on the desk, leaning against the wood gently when her eye caught a glimpse of color on the floor. 

She maneuvered away from the desk and towards your nightstand, crouching down to the floor as she picked up a small beaded keychain off the floor. She smiled softly as she turned a beaded keychain over in her gloved hands, reading the words aloud, “‘or die.’” 

“What, like ride or die?” Hotch called over the question from the desk in the corner of your room. 

“The term ride or die was originally used as slang among bikers, but in recent years, it has been used in hip-hop culture and music,” Spencer said as he stared at the colorful beaded keychain in Emily’s hand. 

“Since when did you start listening to hip-hop music?” She asked with a laugh. 

Spencer smiled a little and shook his head, “I don’t,” 

“Then where did you hear the phrase ‘ride or die’?” 

“Derek has a ride or die,” 

“Who?” Hotch’s voice joined in curiously as his eyes flicked over towards the bedroom doorway, where Derek was standing, still on the phone with Garcia. 

Nonetheless, he was still listening in on their conversation as he pulled his head away from the phone a little and looked over his shoulder. “Garcia, obviously.” He said simply before bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Nothing, baby girl. We were just talking about you.” 

March 3, 2024

You assumed it was the next day, or at least the day you wanted it to be. Not that you wished for this day, but it being the next day meant you were still alive. Your eyes were slow to open as your fingers twitched, grazing against something suspiciously softer than your duvet. The question was alive where? 

Your eyes were catching glimpses of light, pink light. As you let your eyes focus a little more, you realize the whole room was pink, or the lighting made it seem that way. 

Your body felt… hot, like heat was spreading through your veins, making your head dizzy. You felt good. Then, it plateaued. 

Your body, sluggish as it was, moved slowly. You were trying to sit up but found your upper body strength failing to cooperate. Your elbows failed to provide much support, and you fell back on the soft duvet with a soft ‘oof.’  

Eventually, you managed to scoot your body back till your head hit a headboard… that, from this angle, you could see it was in the shape of a vibrant pink heart. Soon, your back was resting against the headboard. You went to move your leg to help achieve a more comfortable position when a sudden sharp pain cut through the heat in your veins. 

Your eyes traveled down your leg, grateful to see pajama pants covering your skin until you reached your bare foot. Your ankle was a horrible black and blue color. The bones looked swollen and deformed against the skin. You felt sick. 

Your body was moving fast to lean off the side of the bed as you felt your chest squeeze, your mouth opening to vomit off the side of the bed. As your broken ankle lay with you on the bed, your head hung slightly off the edge. You turned your head to see an IV stand next to the bed. When you followed the drip tube, you felt sick once more, seeing how it was professionally attached to the back of your hand. 

A whimper could be heard in the empty pink room as you wiped your lips clean with your non-IV hand and again sat up against the headboard. And you waited. Time seemed to be still in this place, moving at a sluggish pace that made your body twitch and buzz with anxiety.

There was no sunlight, just a hue of pink. A pink dresser, heart decor on the walls, plush heart-shaped pillows by your sides, and chains around your good ankle linked you to the heart-shaped bed, along with some other decor you didn’t care to look at for too long. It looked like a room straight out of a fever dream. You were still trying to determine if it was just that, a fever dream.

You swallowed thick spit roughly as your eyes stayed glued to the heavily locked door. You kept counting the locks, four. Your head tilted to the side as you tried to imagine your kidnapper coming in, how many clicks you would hear, the turning of locks, or the jingle of how many keys. How many keys would it take for you to get out of here? 

Unfortunately, you would know the answer soon as the sound of keys jingling hit your ears. One. You didn’t know if you should start screaming. Would they be angry with you if you started to scream? 

Two. Your breathing was getting faster, coming in short, shaky bursts. Your eyes looked down at your chained ankle and then toward your broken one. Would you even be able to move? The morphine was making it hard anyway. What would it be like to walk or run with the full pain of a broken ankle coursing through you? How would you even get unchained from the bed?

Three. You were trying to remember everything you had read about true crime, but none of it seemed helpful now. Did you beg for your life? Should you tell them about your family? Would they care about any of it? Were they going to kill you or scar you in ways you could never imagine? You knew that there were fates worse than death. At least dying carried some dignity. 

Four. You tried to steady your breathing and convince yourself that you still stood a chance of getting out of here alive. You scooted your body against the headboard as much as possible, trying to get the greatest amount of distance from the door you could, given the circumstances. 

The door was creaking open with a gentle turn of the knob. A flash of white light filled the room before it was ripped away from your line of sight, and the door was shut again. The person –a woman– was holding a small tray in her hands. You were blinking rapidly as you stared at the tray, a pain in your stomach making you realize how hungry you were. 

Slowly, your eyes tore away from the tray and up to her face—a very familiar face, but one you could quite place. Pretty blonde hair, curls framing her face, her full lips drawn into a pleased smile. When your eyes met her pale blue ones, you could see nothing but… empathy. No, it wasn’t that. It seemed to be adoration. She was wearing a pair of scrubs, fun scrubs, little rainbows, and animals sprawling across the material as she walked over to you. 

Maybe she was an accomplice, a wife, a girlfriend, or a sister who got caught up in this. The thought made the muscles straining in your back relax a little as she set the tray down on a nearby side table. Your eyes never left her as she moved gracefully through the room. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Her voice was saccharine, “Did the morphine make you sick?” She asked with a light tilt of her head, turning on her heel toward the dresser to pull out a small towel. “That’s okay, it's a common side effect.”  

You gave a numb nod as you watched her get down to the floor and clean up the vomit without complaint. “I didn’t mean to,” Your voice was hoarse and weak, sounding slightly childish as you spoke out the weak excuse. 

She stood up, walked the towel to the hamper, and tossed the pink rag in with a little laugh: “No one ever means to, baby.” She sounded familiar, too. Your eyes traced over her fit frame, which you could barely make out from under her scrubs. “Let’s get you eating,” She said as she let out a soft hum of relaxation, sitting in a nearby plush chair. 

As she buttered some bread, you eyed the rest of the food on the tray: soup in a plastic bowl, water in a plastic bottle, and a plastic cup for the butter. The silverware was the only thing on the tray that didn’t seem to be plastic. 

You glanced away from the food and back to the familiar woman. “If someone is making you do this, a boyfriend or husband or something, you don’t have to do this. Yo-You and I, we could plan a way to fight back,” you offered, your voice soft and quick. Hope was creeping into you as she listened to you speak, the butterknife scraping gently against the bread in her hands. 

“Well, for starters,” she set down the butterknife and bread, crossing her legs over each other. “My husband doesn’t know a thing about you. As for brothers or boyfriends, I’m afraid you're out of luck there, too. There’s only me, Catherine.” 

You felt the hope draining out of you, and she must’ve seen it in how your shoulders tensed and breathing quickened, “Oh, I knew you were going to have a hard time remembering me, but I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Then it all clicked. 

She grew up well, Heather did. Back in college, she was shy and slightly intense, a shell compared to the woman sitting beside you. She started as a botany major and then suddenly changed universities, her major, and you never saw her again. You could dimly remember seeing her in the dining hall that first month of college, and you were overzealous. Sometimes, to make friends, if you saw someone lost and looking for a table, you’d offer them an empty seat at your table. Heather was one of those cases. Your act of optimistic kindness seemed to haunt you as you stared at her. 

“Heather Alexander,” 

She beamed and clapped her hands together excitedly, “You remembered! I knew you would. I’d expect nothing less from you, my Catherine.” She sighed happily, reaching over for the spoon and bowl of soup. 

“My name isn’t Catherine, you know that.” Your voice had a certain sternness now, hardening as you remembered inviting this monster into your life all those years ago. 

Heather scoffed a little and rolled her eyes, “Duh,” she said as she spooned some of the tomato soup and held it up to your lips, “Open.” 

As you stared at the spoon, you didn’t feel hungry anymore, but your lips moved against your will. You needed your strength. Your lips closed around the spoon gently as she fed you the soup. The steps repeated themselves slowly, your eyes staring her down. 

“I didn’t mean to get so physical with our little game, but I just,” She laughed a sweet sound, the dull pain thumping against your ankle as you heard the sound. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I hate playing cat and mouse. I was a little impatient.” She set down the empty bowl and spoon with a smile. “Come on, don’t be angry with me.” 

“You can still let me go. It’s only my ankle. You can take care of me at the hospital. That’s where you work, right? We can tell everyone that you found me in an alleyway or something. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Catherine, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked with a frown, venom in her voice, as she reached for the bottled water. “I know that the second the police get you in a room alone, without me, you’ll tell them everything.” 

“My name isn’t Catherine,” 

“I mean, come on! I work in pediatrics, for Christ's sake! Do you think trauma will let me stay to take care of you? Use your head, Catherine! No, they won’t.”

“My name is not Catherine,” 

Her eyes quickly met yours, the softness they once had now gone as she swallowed hard, “That must be it, then. You think that I’m that fucking stupid, hm? You think I went to fucking, nursing school just for some librarian to call me stupid?”  

“I didn’t say that, Heather. I’m just saying there’s a way out of this before it gets worse. The worst that can happen is-” 

“The worst that can happen, Catherine, is I lose my license. I get arrested. I never see you again. My shit husband could,” She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound, throwing the bottle of water at you, the bottle hitting your side harshly. 

“Name’s not Catherine,” You replied once more as your hands grabbed at the water, tucking it behind your back, trying to hide it from Heather as her face buried in her hands. 

“Shut the fuck up about the name thing! You don’t fucking get it do you?” She screamed into her hands before she pulled her head away from them and stood up from her chair. She grabbed the plastic bowl and threw the dirty dish at your head. 

You almost felt like deliriously laughing as the plastic hit your head with a soft ‘thud,’ but you didn’t. Your face managed to stay straight as you looked up at her. “You’re who I say you are. You got my gifts, the novels. You’re my Catherine, my Emma, my Jane. Get that through your,” she picked up the butterknife and threw it toward your chest. “Stupid,” Then the tray was lifted in her hands, and your body braced for the impact, but it never came. 

You squeezed your eyes together as you waited for the tray to hit you. Slowly, you opened one eye to look up at her, staring down at you with the tray still above her head. Her hands slowly dropped down as she held onto the tray. A slow smile came back to her face now: “Catherine, you know I love you.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it, Heather.” 

Her smile twitched a little at that, and she scoffed softly before walking closer to you. Her hands were quick to grab the butterknife in your lap. She jammed the silverware into your sternum, a gasp leaving you as she did so. 

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Emma.” Her face was inches from yours as she jammed the handle of the butterknife deeper into your chest, your own hands reaching up to try and pull her off. 

She was breathing heavily, your breath hitching as fear flooded your senses as she leaned in closer toward your face. The look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know. If it's up to her, which it currently was, you weren’t getting out. Her lips were close to your quivering ones as her force lightened softly, “Think about this next time you decide to talk back, Emma.” Her lips brushed yours slightly as she spoke, you nodded quickly. 

Then she pulled away and gathered her utensils before she gave you another sweet smile, “See you tomorrow, my love.” She said in an airy tone as she reached over to the morphine drip and upped the intake with a quick flick of her wrist. The sound of keys jingling against each other filled your ears as she did so. The door opened quickly, and she walked out of the room, locks clicking swiftly. 

And just like that, you were alone again. You felt your bottom lip shake softly before tears started to fall from your eyes, your hands reaching behind your back as you cried. When your hands found the water bottle, you drank it slowly, tears falling down your face, and a dull and sharp pain in your chest slowly fading.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333

[silverynight]

The boy with red eyes

It's been a month since he's been training in the butterfly estate as a kakushi, and he's finally been given his uniform. Tanjirou is really happy!

He has lost count of how many letters he has sent to his family since he left home, but there's been a lot of them. After that slayer saved him and his family from a demon, Tanjirou thought about becoming a slayer as a way to help the Corps and send his family even more money than he ever did as a charcoal seller.

In his mind, it was a perfect plan. However, Nezuko and his mother begged him not to do anything that risky because they wanted to see him again at some point.

Tanjirou has never been good at denying them things, so he agreed, but since he was determined to help the slayers in some way, he found out about the kakushi and decided to become one instead.

"Isn't that risky too?" Nezuko had sent him a full letter telling him all her concerns about the matter and pointing out how much his siblings, especially Rokuta, missed him.

Taking a moment to think about them, Tanjirou closed his eyes right before he explained the situation in his next letter. Of course, everything has risks, but being a kakushi usually meant arriving at the place after the battle and helping the injured slayers as much as he could.

He is sure none of them are entirely happy with his new job, but Tanjirou is determined to help. One of the slayers, Murata, saved them from a demon after all.

With an excited smile on his face, he puts his new uniform on and remembers that Aoi said he could leave the butterfly estate now.

It's been an interesting month of learning about wounds and poisoning, also different kinds of blood demon art and how to deal with them. A huge part of being a kakushi is knowing how to move without being seen and not making too much noise, so he's been practicing that too, with the help of other kakushi.

Since Aoi says he's really good with patients, they immediately send him to the Mugen Train or what is left of it.

That's where Tanjirou meets one of the nine hashira. Weirdly enough, he hasn't seen Kocho yet, even though she's the one who basically lives in the butterfly estate; Aoi says she's been really busy lately.

***

As the crows around explain the situation to the group of kakushi, Tanjirou can't help but feel a wave of gratitude and admiration for the flame hashira.

He, along with a few of his fellow kakushi, kneel next to Rengoku. His crow assured them he's still alive, but barely; the worst part of his injuries are the missing eye and an open wound in his abdomen.

Tanjirou refuses to give up so he starts working; obviously, the Pillar needs to get to the butterfly estate immediately, but first, he needs to make sure Rengoku doesn't die on the way.

At some point, while Tanjirou keeps cleaning and patching him up, praying to the gods for his spirit, praying to them to keep him in this realm, Rengoku opens his eyes.

Tanjirou takes it as a good sign.

"Stay with me, Rengoku-san!"

At first, it seems like he's not paying attention, or perhaps he's not completely conscious, but then the flame hashira manages to move one of his hands and touch Tanjirou's right cheek or at least the mask that's covering his right cheek.

"But she's waiting for me." He argues, although he smiles softly at Tanjirou.

He has no idea whom he's talking about, but if he's seeing the spirit of a loved one already, that's not a good sign.

"Maybe she could spare you for a while longer?" Tanjirou tries. He's done with the hashira's abdomen and his eye, but his fingertips are cold.

"I think she likes you," Rengoku comments, looking happier.

Tanjirou hopes that means he's fighting to stay alive, but just in case he adds: "Would you stay with us then?"

"I'll stay with you."

***

The next Pillar he meets is Kocho herself; Aoi is struggling trying to get her to sit and let her patch a wound on her arm.

"I can take care of it myself... later. I have a couple of things to do."

Tanjirou knows he shouldn't interfere, but he worries too much about the people around him not to try at least.

"We care about you too," he says then, prompting the two girls to look back at him. "You have done a lot for us that perhaps trying to patch you up is not because we think you can't handle it yourself, but it's a way to show we appreciate you."

Kocho remains speechless for a while before smiling softly at him, for the first time, Tanjirou doesn't smell any irritation in her.

"You're just like her," she mumbles, finally sitting down, offering Tanjirou her injured arm. He immediately starts cleaning the wound. "Like my sister. She had a beautiful heart, just like you."

"I bet she was amazing," Tanjirou says, noticing that Aoi is still looking at him in shock.

"She was."

Tanjirou doesn't ask what happened to her because he can tell talking about her sister still hurts Kocho, but he can guess.

"All done!"

"I like your voice," she smiles again, before leaving Tanjirou and a very surprised and confused Aoi behind. "I have work to do. Have a nice day."

***

The red light district is almost completely destroyed; Tanjirou knows he must focus on the slayers who took care of the upper moon, but he can't help but make sure the civilians on his way are alright too.

After making sure the blond one and the slayer with the boar head are fine, Tanjirou approaches a group of kakushi who are trying to convince a hashira to stay still and let them check on his wounds.

There are three women with him that, according to another kakushi, are his wives.

Tanjirou notices the sound hashira already has bandages on his face and arm, which means that his wives took care of those.

"Are you hurt?" He turns towards the women first. "Do you want me to check on you?"

"Tengen-sama, look at his eyes," one of them squeaks in delight; she's the only one who has her hair down.

"Very flamboyant of you," Uzui comments, smiling at Tanjirou. "They look like gemstones."

"Thank y-you..." The next thing he knows is that his wives are introducing themselves and Uzui agrees to have Tanjirou to check on his wounds.

Everything seems to be fine, Makio, Suma and Hinatsuru are alright too, so Tanjirou feels a lot better.

The Pillars are definitely stronger than the other slayers because not only Uzui is still conscious, he can also move.

"I only let my wives touch me like that," the hashira grins as Tanjirou grabs Uzui's face gently and tilts his head to the side to make sure his eye is not bleeding again. His wives start giggling at that.

Tanjirou thinks he's trying to tell him not to touch him anymore, although he doesn't smell upset, so he takes a few steps back from them.

"We're heading back to my estate, why don't you come with us, pretty eyes?"

"He needs to report back to the butterfly mansion," a kakushi girl tells the sound hashira; she smells a little bit irritated. Tanjirou is not sure why.

"She's right," he says as Suma and Makio narrow their eyes at the kakushi girl.

"Well, I really hope you can pay us a visit soon anyway," Uzui smirks. "You'll always be welcome there."

"Thank you!" Tanjirou says sincerely. "I'll try to go there soon!"

***

Not all encounters with the Pillars are entirely pleasant.

Even though Tanjirou's life is dedicated to taking care of injured patients, he has to headbutt the wind hashira because he's pushing another kakushi away and hurting them in the process.

Tanjirou gets angry.

"What's your problem?" He hisses when the hashira is on the ground. "They're trying to help you! It's okay if you don't want them to touch you, but at least tell them instead of pushing them!"

Tanjirou helps two kakushi boys and a girl up while the others start shaking. He kind of expects the Pillar to attack him, but nothing happens.

There's only silence.

Shinazugawa is sitting on the ground, looking up at him with surprise and curiosity; he's no longer angry.

Suddenly feeling sorry, mostly because the Pillar has a red mark on his forehead and his chest keeps bleeding, Tanjirou decides to try again.

"Would you let me patch you up now?"

Shinazugawa nods, still staring at Tanjirou's eyes.

"Alright, please don't move."

For some reason, his fellow kakushi find it fascinating. Although, Tanjirou is the only one who takes care of the hashira because none of them want to approach him.

***

It seems Iguro doesn't like to be touched, but he allows Tanjirou to get closer because the boy asks for his serpent first.

"Are you alright?"

"I told you I'm fine already!" The Pillar hisses only to look confused when Tanjirou shakes his head.

"I'm talking to Kaburamaru."

"How do you know his name?"

"He told me. He's also worried about the bruise on your shoulder."

"Can you understand him?"

"Of course!" Tanjirou says, he knows the Pillar can't see his smile, but at least he hopes he can hear it in his voice. "He's very polite and kind!"

It seems like Iguro changes his mind about him after that, but he still doesn't let other kakushi touch him so Tanjirou has to work alone.

***

Tanjirou tries not to tear up when he reaches the swordsmith village; a lot of people died the night of the attack, but the two Pillars there did their best to keep the rest of the people safe.

Tanjirou is so proud of them.

He decides to help the kakushi who are trying to check on Tokito first, mostly because the mist hashira is one of the stubborn ones.

"I told you I feel better now," he whispers, slapping a hand away.

He either talks that low or he's feeling weak. Tanjirou gets closer and despite knowing he'll get his hand pushed away too, he tries to touch Tokito's forehead.

However, the Pillar doesn't do that. Instead he keeps looking directly into Tanjirou's eyes.

"You have a fever. If you don't have any major injuries, then let me give you something for that first."

"Your eyes. They remind me of someone..." He shivers, but gets closer to Tanjirou and smiles at him. "I like you."

"You were very brave," Tanjirou says and notices that the Pillar's crow looks ridiculously proud. "Thanks for saving the village."

Tokito's smile becomes wider and his face turns slightly pink. Tanjirou worries even more and asks one of the other kakushi around to bring him medicine.

"I tried my best too!" Suddenly, the love hashira is a lot closer, but at least it seems that she has already been patched up.

"They told me you were amazing!" Tanjirou nods, prompting her to squeak in delight. She turns red too, but the other kakushi said she didn't have a fever...

Must be something else. Maybe she's just tired.

"Oh, you're the kakushi with the red eyes!" Kanroji says, leaning forward. "Obanai has told me a lot of things about you!"

Then she tells him about the day he met him and when he gave her the stockings because she had mentioned that she felt shy wearing a skirt that short.

Tanjirou is glad that he has a good relationship with the serpent hashira now because he sounds like a very nice person, albeit with a sharp exterior.

At some point, Tokito complains he's not paying attention to him so Tanjirou has to give him a hug while the other kakushi bring a couple of stretchers for the injured ones.

Both Pillars end up falling asleep with their heads on Tanjirou's shoulders.

***

"Here. Take this," Aoi sighs, packing food for him and the Pillar he's about to visit.

The kakushi are not supposed to go to other Pillars' estates unless there's an emergency, but Aoi has told Tanjirou that Oyakata-sama is very impressed with the way he handles the hashira when they need it the most.

So Tanjirou has to go to the water estate, bring Tomioka food and perhaps convince him to rest for a while since Aoi told him he has two broken ribs.

When he knocks at the entrance, nobody responds, but Ubuyashiki was very insistent in the letter he sent Tanjirou, and he mentioned that he should do anything to talk to Tomioka.

So Tanjirou walks in without being invited. The Pillar gets surprised when he notices him there but doesn't say anything yet.

Then Tanjirou places the food in front of him.

"This is for you from Aoi," he says. "She also wanted me to check on your ribs, Tomioka-san."

"I'm fine," the water hashira retorts, but he doesn't ask Tanjirou to leave; instead he stares at his eyes. "You don't need to do anything."

"But I'd like to..." Tanjirou insists. "I know what you do for all of us and I'd like to show my appreciation in some way."

"Why?"

"Because a slayer from the Corps, one of you, saved my family a long time ago, and I'm still grateful for that. They mean a lot to me."

Tomioka keeps staring into his eyes while listening to Tanjirou's words, for a moment he thinks the Pillar is about to tear up, but he nods instead. Something changes in his demeanor.

"You can... see," he whispers, looking suddenly shy. Perhaps he doesn't like physical contact that much and that's why he often refuses help from the kakushi.

"I'll try to be quick," Tanjirou promises.

He helps the Pillar take his haori and the uniform's jacket off. Tomioka looks away and blushes when Tanjirou touches his ribs gently, barely using his fingertips. He notices bruises that haven't been properly healed and by the way Tomioka flinches in pain, Tanjirou is sure he hasn't rested enough.

"What?" Tomioka asks, slightly amused. "Even under the mask, I can tell you're pouting at me."

"You need to rest," Tanjirou huffs, feeling irritated. "You won't get any better like this! Come on, let's go to bed!"

"But..."

Tanjirou knows how to deal with stubborn patients, so he manages to get Tomioka to say in bed for a whole day while Tanjirou serves him food and makes tea for him.

"Please take care of yourself better, Tomioka-san!"

At least he promises to try before Tanjirou leaves again.

***

Himejima is really kind; the other kakushi are intimidated by his size, but Tanjirou doesn't mind. He always asks before he's about to touch the stone hashira so he gives his approval.

"It's fine. You don't need to be that careful," he sounds amused. "I can tell when you're approaching me because you're very loud."

"Oh," Tanjirou mumbles, disappointed. "Maybe I'm not that good at being a kakushi after all, we're supposed to be good at hiding and not making any noise at all."

"I don't think you're bad at your job," Himejima assures him immediately with a gentle smile. "I can hear you well because I'm used to rely on my other senses a lot. It's because of my training."

Tanjirou feels a bit better; he keeps cleaning the wound on Himejima's huge arm before covering it with bandages.

"You have a beautiful voice. Very sincere," he says after a while, touching Tanjirou's hand. "What color are your eyes?"

Tanjirou is not used to describing himself a lot. He feels slightly flustered.

"Uhh..."

"Red. But it's not exactly a warm red; they're deep red with pink hues that are more noticeable when the sunlight touches his face."

Tanjirou looks in surprise at the kakushi girl helping him with the bandages. He didn't expect her to answer for him. She chuckles.

"Sounds beautiful," Himejima says. He turns a bit towards the girl. "Thanks for describing them to me."

"You're welcome, Himejima-san."

After that, the other kakushi relax a bit around the stone hashira.

***

Every once in a while, Aoi is called to the hashira headquarters to give her report to Ubuyashiki and his wife about how everything's going in the butterfly estate and give her opinion on the kakushi performance of the month.

They usually call her at the end of a hashira meeting so she gets to see all of them every now and then; she still can't believe how Tanjirou can say those people are kind and nice because right now they look like the most intimidating people she has ever seen.

She always knew Tanjirou was a weird boy, but not exactly in a negative way; he's just too sweet for his own good.

Aoi gets to know the kakushi before they become one because they usually train in the butterfly estate. Tanjirou was even easier to remember since he was constantly volunteering to help her too.

He also talks to her a lot, mostly about his family and the slayers and hashira he meets while doing his job. He's probably the only one who has met them all.

"Excuse me, Oyakata-sama," the mist hashira asks before Ubuyashiki has the opportunity to dismiss them. "I'd like to say something, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Muichiro," Ubuyashiki says as Shinazugawa glares at Tokito; he's probably bored now that they don't have anything important to discuss.

"When I was in the swordsmith village, I met a kakushi boy," he begins with a smile so sincere it's like for a moment, he's another person entirely. "He was sweet and took care of me really well... his voice was kind; I could easily tell whenever he was smiling because he carries his emotions in his voice and his eyes. I have never seen anyone look at me with so much genuine kindness in a long time."

Aoi knows he's talking about Tanjirou. There's no one else like that.

"Our boy!" Kanroji sighs dreamily. "He was so sweet, I wanted to squeeze him! But I was very tired then, although he gave me a hug when I asked him!"

"So you finally met him, Mitsuri!" Iguro leans closer to her. "I told you he was different! I miss... I mean, Kaburamaru misses him; he was very nice to him when he took care of my wounds."

"I met him too!" Rengoku says then, grinning from ear to ear. There's an enamored expression on his face already. "I think he was the only reason I survived at all. I was ready to cross to the other side, but his sweet eyes pulled me back!"

"Ha! Don't let him fool you!" Shinazugawa smirks. "He seems sweet, but he can get mad too, and his anger is quite fun to watch!"

Aoi heard about the headbutting incident, but the worrying thing is that the wind hashira looks happy about it.

Tomioka stares fondly into the ceiling, almost like he's lost in his own memories.

"He got irritated at me for not taking care of myself." He sighs. "Muichiro is right, you can tell a lot by listening to his voice, even though his face is almost completely covered. He cares deeply about other people."

"It's true," Himejima nods. "His heart is pure. He was very careful with me even though I told him there was no need for it. We talked about his family before he left; I wish he had stayed longer at my estate."

"My wives adored him," the sound hashira smirks, looking almost hungry. "Once this is all over, I'll make him my fourth–"

"Oh, fuck off!" Shinazugawa growls, baring his teeth at him.

That's when everyone starts talking at the same time. Aoi worries for a moment, but Oyakata-sama and his wife seem to be enjoying the situation.

"Wait!" Kocho cuts them off. "How do we know we're talking about the same kakushi boy?"

Finally! Someone is asking the important questions, although Aoi is surprised by the jealousy she notices in her voice.

"What color are his eyes?"

"Red." Everyone says at the same time, even the stone hashira, which makes Aoi feel a little bit confused.

"So it's the same kakushi boy," Kocho huffs, slightly irritated.

"It seemed to me," Ubuyashiki says then, prompting everyone to shut up. "That you wanted to say something else, Muichiro. You brought him up for a reason."

"Yes," Tokito nods, looking slightly shy. "I'd like to learn his name and perhaps... get him to work at my estate."

Chaos unfolds again, mostly because everyone wants Tanjirou to work for them too.

Aoi rolls her eyes.

"You should ask Tanjirou yourselves," Ubuyashiki says with a soft smile on his face. "If he agrees, you can have him working for all of you exclusively, if that's what you want."

All the hashira look ridiculously happy about that. Aoi thought it would take them a while to agree to share him.

Although she has the feeling that's not the only thing they want from him.

"Can we see him now?" Kanroji asks with an excited smile on her face.

"Of course. I believe he's in the butterfly estate at the moment. Aoi can take you there."

Great. Now she has to babysit hashira.

***

"Inosuke!"

At the sound of his voice, all the hashira turn in the same direction. Aoi tries not to roll her eyes again, but it's becoming increasingly tempting the more time she spends with them.

Tanjirou is trying to get the boar head boy to stay still for once, but with very little success.

They're in the backyard now and she has no idea how Inosuke managed to do that if he just came back from a mission.

"Please, you have to take your medicine!"

Playfully, Inosuke pulls Tanjirou's mask down, making fall off his face.

The Pillars gasp and Kocho leans to tell something to Himejima as Tanjirou struggles to put it back on. He blushes.

After a while he takes the mask back and covers his face with it, but the damage is done; they all have seen the scar on his forehead, his cute nose and his red hair that is darker than his eyes.

Even Aoi has to admit that he's really pretty.

"You're so beautiful!" Kanroji says, blushing to the tip of her ears.

"Thank y-you," Tanjirou stammers, still flustered. "But please forget what you saw!"

Yeah, like that is going to happen.

"Oh! It's all of you!" He chuckles as he notices the rest of the Pillars. Aoi swears they make a disgustingly fond expression at the sound of his laughter. "I'm glad to see you again!"

"Would you marry–"

Kocho manages to hit Uzui on the face with one of her butterfly clips.

"Would you like to work for us?" Tomioka asks then, as they slowly gather in a circle around Tanjirou.

"I thought I already did?" He tilts his head in confusion and it's weird that even Shinazugawa seems to find that endearing.

"He means only for us, for the hashira," Iguro says, eagerly waiting for a response.

"Oh."

"You can stay in the hashira headquarters or here if you want. So you can take care of us whenever we come back from a mission!" Rengoku smiles with so much happiness, Aoi is sure she can hear the hearts in his voice.

Even though that should be impossible.

Tanjirou looks at Aoi then, almost like he's asking for permission.

"Oyakata-sama said it was okay if you wanted," she says reluctantly.

"Yes, I'd love to take care of you!"

Aoi is almost certain that they'll be coming here with a tiny scratch or headache, just to see him.

It's going to be a pain in the ass.

Tanjirou giggles when the Pillars start hugging him one by one; he seems confused with their enthusiasm, but since he's a sunshine, he probably thinks they're friends now.

Aoi sighs, well... at least she's sure the Pillars will let someone (Tanjirou) patch them up when they need to.

Even though she'll have to endure their obvious longing on a daily basis.

***

Patreon

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Eighteen: "Safe"

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst central, mentions of death, guilt, needles, mentions of a hospital

[A/N: Part Three is going to be the biggest part of the story yet, just you wait (as told by the exhausted writer who just handed in her final degree project ahhhhhsbsjsksbsklak and must now sleep for 3 years to catch up) but I am so excited to be able to write whenever I want without the looming threat of a degree! let's goooo]

"Safe"

Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget me.

Don’t forget-

“Steve?”

Steve runs his hands down his face, straightening back up from where he had been hunched over the table, eyes bleeding onto the map from the intensity of his stare. He takes a glance to his right, the young boy he called a friend stood anxiously in the doorway.

“We’re, uh…” Dustin shifts on his feet, sneakers barely crossing the barrier of the door frame. “We’re all worried about you. You’ve been up here for hours.”

Steve blinks, turning to the window to be met with his reflection against the pitch black sky. The darkness outside was no match for the circles under his eyes. When was the last time he slept?

“And you look like shit.” Dustin comments, a hint of a smirk twitching his lips when Steve looks back at him, attempting a smile. He hadn’t managed one of those for a while now.

“Thanks, buddy.” He drawled off sarcastically with enough conviction to earn himself a toothy grin. “I just got distracted, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dustin seemed wary but satisfied with that answer, giving him a nod before he disappears down the staircase. When he heard the last echo of descending footsteps fade, Steve returned to the map and placed his head in his hands, frowning.

Not one gate had opened since he left the Upside Down.

He and Hopper had been waiting for one to appear for weeks now. Five weeks. And three days. 38 days of sitting in what little patience remained, hoping and praying for once in their lives that a gate to a supernatural dimension would open in Hawkins just long enough for them to find you and bring you home. Just like you wanted.

“Don’t come back for me.”

Your voice had been haunting him for weeks, reminding him of the bitter lies that spewed from his mouth every day since.

He told Hopper and the others that you wanted them to find you, that you were very much alive. Maybe they’d be thankful he had spared them the tormenting truth, though Steve very much doubted it.

The worst part was that they believed him. They had hope. Every single one of those people currently sat downstairs positioning their next mission into the apocalyptic ruins of Hawkins will, and do, believe anything he says. Because they trust him.

All but one, however.

El had doubts. Steve saw it on her face any time she pulled the fabric away from her eyes and shook her head at the others, wiping her bloody nose with a suspicious look sent his way. She had been searching for you in ‘the void’ Dustin so ominously named.

At first, she agreed with Steve; “Maybe because the gates are closed, you can’t find a connection.”

But each day her wary eyes grew sharper, almost seeing right through him the longer it took to find you. And if anyone was going to call out his lies, it would be the girl with a superpowered mind.

What happens then? El tells their friends of his deception and he would have to watch each one of their faces drop into utter disbelief, disappointment.

Even if he does find you- no, when he finds you- would he be able to live knowing he had betrayed the people he loved?

Another 20 minutes passed him by before he begrudgingly left the solace of his own torture, entering a brand new means for internal torment. Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle normality in this head-space he’s cornered himself into. Although, with this particular group of people, nothing would ever be normal.

“Woah, hey, you can’t cast fireball!” Mike crosses his arms in objection, brows furrowed.

“Why not? You want them gone? I give you a ball of fire.” Lucas counters, leaning across the table with a pointed stare.

“We are in an enclosed space.” Dustin offers, surrendering under the glare he was shot.

“I. Cast. Fireball.” Lucas throws his hand down on the table and Mike groans.

“Fine. Fine. You cast fireball and…” He gives a dramatic pause, clicking his teeth. “Oh, wow, look at that. You all burned up because of how small the room is. You failed.”

“What?!” Lucas stresses and Dustin shakes his head.

“You burnt to a crisp.” Mike enunciates. “You died.”

“Fire and small spaces, dude.” Dustin sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“Great, so we lost the campaign?” Lucas pouts at his friends. “Now what do we do?”

“How about you join the real world and pretend like you aren’t losers?” Max’s voice calls from across the room and they all turn around to face her. She smirks. “Just a suggestion.”

The boys were sat around the large wooden table in the corner of the room, the surface covered in dice and figurines. They start packing up, ignoring Max’s giggles from the other side of the room. She was sat in an armchair braiding El’s hair, who sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, staring down at an old picture book found from the forgotten bookcases scattered across the house.

Steve still wasn’t used to the sight, entering a room in his own home and it not being completely devoid of life.

Since Hopper found Steve practically in a pool of his own blood and tears in the motel 6 basement, their town had only gotten worse. Beasts from hell were terrorising what little population remained, vines were growing with no source and crushing the buildings that made Hawkins so historic in nature. The military had quarantined the area, at least that’s what Steve heard. Anyone who hadn’t managed to escape were trapped, it seemed, and Steve was just thankful he wasn’t a lost soul out on his own.

He still remembers the ride to the ‘safe house’. Steve beside Hopper in his nostalgic jeep, sat bruised and bloody with a forlorn attitude. He watched the father’s grip tighten on the wheel every so often, resisting his urge for tears. When it was finally revealed where the others had been living over the three weeks you were stuck in the Upside Down, Steve had his doubts.

The Harrington household was the best option for them to set up base of operations in Hawkins. It was big, it was empty, and it was just far enough out from the centre of town to be safer from the monsters still crawling around on the surface. Someone had fixed the garage door, the windows had been covered completely in either wood or fabric. But no matter how much they changed, Steve would never be able to forget it was his childhood home. One he assumed he would reside in until the day he died, even against all his efforts.

That possibility was looking more and more likely.

The usual parlour of the house was now ‘communications’. Dustin and Mike had set up a radio system, not unlike their equipment from the AV Club, and had a running list of all the stations still playing something other than nauseating static. Every now and then a brief interruption of a person’s call for help would come blaring through and Hopper would take a team to go rescue them. Unfortunately, no new residents ever found safety in the Harrington home.

The lounge Steve would spend most his evenings sinking into the couch was now filled with D&D boards, comic books, and many blankets. It was a space for the kids to hang out, and it was probably the only room Steve found himself smiling in. If he could find the energy to smile, that is. Even if they couldn’t remove the kids from the dangers of the forbidden world, they could at least try to let them be kids. Play fights, campaigns, board games. Steve sometimes would peer into the room and wish he was 13 again. Part of him knew his younger self would have no chance dealing with the apocalypse, much unlike the younger friends who had more tenacity than he ever could.

Upstairs had four bedrooms, but none of them were designated to any particular person or group. The kids generally preferred sleeping in the lounge unless instructed otherwise. And with everything happening on the other side of the boarded windows, there was never any time to sleep longer than 4 hours at most. Everyone had different sleeping times and shifts, meaning if a bed was free, it was yours.

Steve, however, had been using one of the bedrooms to study the maps Hopper had brought. It was just another guest room before he had dragged in a desk and shifted the bed over to the corner. His own room was too big for one person, he realised. And with how selfish he had been lately, he didn’t want to feel guilty for anything else. The adults usually slept in there, and Steve made no attempt to question their sleeping arrangements. It wasn’t any of his business.

And lastly, there was his father’s study. Hopper had been using it for the exact same reasons Steve had redecorated the guest room; to find you. He spent most of his time cooped up in there, only ever leaving to announce a new plan or to walk out on a new mission. It makes Steve’s stomach lurch anytime he thinks about how miserable the father must be.

A father who was doing everything in his power to get you back, taking the operation seriously. All the while Steve was simply barrelling head first into gut feelings, almost ruining everything.

The first week Steve was back was the busiest. He and Hopper had made detailed plans, taking care and consideration into their next actions. The beginning was fine, Steve almost felt at ease knowing he was doing something. But he grew tired of the wait.

After that week, he started to lose his mind. He found himself running all over town looking for another way back to the place he had so longed to escape, praying for another gate, and trying every signal point in Hawkins for even just a glimmer of communication to reach you. Hopper almost had to physically restrain him when things got messy, telling him to pull himself back into reality before something bad happened. He should have listened.

“See? I told you he’d be here.” Dustin grins as he spots Steve stood in the doorway, an array of eyes shifting to him.

“You missed a wild campaign.” Lucas states and Mike throws a look, shaking his head in silent disappointment.

“Oh, yeah. I was on the edge of my seat.” Max mocks, “Thought I was gonna have to come rescue Lucas from invisible fireballs.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lucas asks bluntly, and Steve clears his throat before anything can escalate further.

“Where’s Will?” He suddenly realises the loss of a head count, frowning at the spare chair pulled up to the table.

“He… he hasn’t come out of that room.” Mike’s face falls, shifting on his feet. “He hasn’t really spoken much. Not since...”

A moment of silence plagued the room. Nobody really spoke about what happened a few days ago, a mission gone horribly wrong. The task was simple: get to Weathertop and use the ‘Cerebro’ Dustin built to break through the static of the Upside Down. Yet, it was far from simple in the end. It left a thick lump in Steve’s throat to even think about it. They had all become somewhat experts on ignoring the reality, Steve especially.

He couldn’t imagine how Will must be feeling.

“I, uh… I’ll go speak to him.” Steve says, surprising himself. “Just in case he needs anything.”

Dustin squinted his eyes ever-so-slightly, gazing right through Steve’s attempt at misdirection, knowing his older friend was nervous about socialising after the week they had. Yet, he didn’t comment on the matter. He just shrugged and mumbled something about bringing Will food later, fiddling with the small wizard statue on the table.

Satisfied with the silence, Steve takes his leave.

Not before clocking El’s eyes as he headed back out the room. It sent a chill down his spine to see her face like that, a red stain on the cuff of her jumper explaining all he needed to know. She was watching him. Studying him. He wondered if she was sharing her disbelief to the others, or if she was waiting for the right moment.

No, Steve thinks, leaving the room and turning to face the stairs, stop being so paranoid.

He was fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper when he made it to the top of the staircase, staring down the corridor to where Will was currently residing, holding his breath. He wasn’t sure what he should say, if he could say anything at all. The lump in his throat was building into a boulder, a telling sign that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

A quiet speech of his name being called from behind him made him retreat from the original plan. He would be grateful for the interruption if door number two wasn’t another fear he needed to face.

As he approaches the study, he can just make out the figure through the three inch gap of an open door, pushing it further ajar.

“Did you want to speak to me?” Steve peers his head through, praying he had misheard.

“Yeah, come in.”

The man was leant back in his chair with a weary expression, running a hand down his face. If anyone was looking worse than Steve, it was Hopper. The father had barely eaten or slept for weeks, his every hour dedicated to locating his daughter and bringing her home. It made Steve’s stomach twist whenever he thinks about how his words were torturing him. Hopper only knew what Steve had told him; you were healthy and alive, waiting for a saviour. Two of those were lies, and the other unknown, but Steve had said them anyway in a moment of agony and recklessness, and now… now it had gone too far to take it back. The longer it took them to find what Steve had promised, the more damage it had procured to Hopper’s health, mentally and physically.

Staring at the thinning chief of police, Steve waits in bated breath for some kind of lecture. He had been expecting this for days now.

“Have you spoken to Will?” He questions and Steve is surprised, blinking through his answers.

“Uh… no. No, I- I haven’t yet. I was just on my way to-”

“It’s not your fault, Steve.”

A hitch in his throat was louder than anticipated in this quiet room, causing him to cough it away like it had simply been a mis-breathe of air. Hopper sent him a knowing look, leaning forward as Steve finally takes a seat.

“None of us could have seen the shapeshifters coming.” Hopper sighs, running a hand down his face. “It looks like more and more are appearing.”

Steve scrunches his face, trying to remove the bloody image from his mind. “Have you spoken to the military? Are they actually doing anything?”

“Well,” Hopper leans back again, clicking his jaw, “I’ve got word that they’re slowly minimising the quarantine. Which, unfortunately, could mean two very different things. They’re either killing these monsters, or they’re driving them directly into the town centre.”

“So, just as useless as ever, then.” Steve grumbles, met with a tired nod.

“I know how you feel, kid.” He says, glancing back down at the map with a mournful expression. “I… I want to find her just as bad as you do. She-”

His voice catches and Steve looks up to see him quickly wipe a tear away, sniffing with the intent of driving it away.

“She needs me. Us. And… and it’s killing me to know she’s waiting in that god awful place while I try and hunt down gates that don’t exist.”

Another jolt of guilt to his gut, and Steve grips the arms of the chair. “I’m sorry. For not… for not bringing her back. She- she was right there. I-I could have-”

“You did everything you could, Steve. Don’t ever think that you didn’t.” Hopper’s gaze is unwavering, ensuring Steve heard him loud and clear.

Steve knew better than to argue. Instead, he meekly nods and pulls in his lips, looking anywhere but at the familial reminder of what he lost.

“I just hope she’s okay.”

Beep…

...beep…

…...beep…

The repetitive imitation of a heartbeat was the moment that drove you to consciousness, irritated by the relentless noise against your growing migraine.

Beep… beep…

Two more tick by by the time you feel a twitch in your fingers, your whole body feeling sore and numb all at the same time. You’re trying to drag your eyes open, blinded by a piercing blur of light to your pupils.

Everything was white. The walls, the beam of a lightbulb, the sheets covering your body. It took 5 more heartbeats to realise you were laying in a bed.

You suck in a struggled gasp of air, becoming all too aware of the needle sat below the skin of your wrist.

Why were you here? How did you get in this bed? What happened?

You don’t remember anything at all.

“Help.” You say. Or, rather, you try. Your voice was so hoarse, the word didn’t even sound from your lips.

You try and move your body, but it starts to become clear that it wasn’t ready to be moved. How long had you been asleep?

Some memory starts to form back into your mind, one of a boy. Standing in front of a boy. And he was behind a wall. Why were you stood there? How was he behind a wall? The gap was closing, and some shadows were behind you. What were they? What happened-

“Steve.” You gasp, blinking back to reality. This time, the word echoed perfectly into the dull white room.

You didn’t recall learning the name, nor could you make sense of the blurry face that came with it, wisps of brunette hair. But you can remember standing in front of him, you can remember the feeling of guilt and heartache overcoming you. The rest was a mere mirage.

A tear rolls down your cheek, unbeknownst to you. Whatever the memory was, your body reacted to it like it was better to be forgotten.

The monitor beside you starts to beep quicker, a noticeable thump in your chest matching its rhythm. Was this… were you in a hospital?

As you try and shift your body one more time, you spot the object in the corner of the ceiling abruptly move to face your direction. With your eyesight returned to normal against the bright lights, you can just see a security camera pointed at you, a red light blinking ever so small.

A sudden click of a door merely a few feet from your bed catches your attention, a wave of panic flooding your body. This didn’t feel like a hospital.

This wasn’t a hospital.

And yet, the person who walked into the room was wearing a white coat, looking clean and kind as they came to your side, smiling.

“Where… where am I?” You struggle to speak, swallowing nothing. “Who are… you?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to be afraid.” A male voice soothed, pulling up a chair and reaching to a bedside table you hadn’t even noticed, picking up a plastic cup. “You’re safe here.”

He brings the cup to your lips and you can only take a sip of the water before its taken away from you and set back at your side. Your throat started to soothe, and you took care to practice the detail of this man’s face. You didn’t recognise him. He was an older man with white hair and a few cosy wrinkles, looking sympathetically at you with a stare that instantly pacified.

As your lips move to form a question, he beats you to the punch, introducing a name you’re sure you’ll never forget.

“My name is Dr Martin Brenner.” He smiles, tilting his head. “We have so much to talk about.”

Beep…

...beep…

......beep…

@toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore .

[whereserpentswalk]

There was a mermaid who had chosen to go onto land, who had given up her tail for legs, her fangs for square teeth, her feathery gills for pretty pink lungs. And she grew to regret it. She had fallen in love with a mortal man, and found him to be nothing but a fool.

She hadn't realized how diffenet her new body was. She knew she would have legs, she prepared for that, but she didn't prepare to really be a human woman. Her silver scales were now replaced with pale skin, which seemed so weak and easy to hurt to her, she felt flayed alive. She wasn't prepared to wear clothing on her body, which felt like being trapped in a net. And not to mention how slowly she moved, how strange and disturbing it was to not be able to swim miles and miles whenever she needed to, she was trapped in one little peice of the world.

Not to mention, she had to eat human food now, which was set on fire before it was served to her, and it was sometimes made of plants. She wanted to vomit just thinking about it, but her new body needed it to live, and she cried through every meal. And just as bad where her new reproductive organs, that were so much more complex, and bled for her constantly, and made it feel like she was always wounded.

The worst thing about her reproductive organs was how her husband treated them. She had fallen in love with him from the sea, watching him and knowing so little about his kind or his disposition. He wanted to mate nearly every night, but wanted no hatchinglings to come from it. And human mating itself was disgusting to her, instead of just laying eggs for him he'd somehow be inside her. She didn't want to imagine the details. She made excuses to keep him away, but she knew some day she would run out, and wept knowing it would happen.

Her husband was a strange human. She thought he was a prince when she watched him from the water but he had a diffrent title as a duke of some sort, bowing to a king on a different continent. She had seen him in uniform and thought him a hero, slaying dragons and orcs and devils and harpies and goblins and witches. But all the dragons and harpies had fled to the skies, and the goblins and orcs deep underground, and the devils and witches had gone into hiding. She saw him set fire to a witch once, she wasn't sure she was a witch though, but it wasn't brave, all she did was cry, he didn't fight her at all.

All her husband's wars were with other humans. Sometimes humans with diffrent flags who seemed the same as them. Sometimes humans who had been on the land longer then him, who his armies pushed further and further from the coast. Sometimes his own subjects, weeping and broken masses, people he hurt, those were the wars he won the most. She wanted to help him just to be with him, but she learned human women weren't allowed to fight. So when he was at war he was away, and when he wasn't all he talked about was war, and money, and the awful things he wanted to do with her.

She expected to be his wife in a way she wasn't. She learned human wives were treated like children to their husbands, that they had to obey them, that he could yell and her and hurt her just like he did his servents. She learned he was able to yell at his servents, she was allowed to too but she didn't. She learned things she had to do, she had to become civilized, whatever it meant to be civilized. She wasn't allowed to go outside the palace, not alone. And she wasn't allowed to pray to the gods of the deep, she had to pray to the one god of the humans, a bleeding god on a torture device, a sad god, a weak god.

There was one final night when her husband tried to force her to mate with him, more forcefully then he ever had before. He hit her. And though she didn't have fangs anymore she bit him so hard he bled. He tried to restrain her, to undress her, to undress himself. She ripped off the part of his body he tried to pit inside her. And she thought it so strange, how blood looks on land, flowing to the bottom as opposed to floating away.

She walked to the water after that. And slowly walked in, losing herself in the waves. Some people think she became a mermaid again, and that she's safe in her kingdom in the deep. But others think she walked into the water knowing she'd stay a human, and let the ocean filling her lungs set her free.

[liyawritesss]

ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: Ellie Williams x Black!Fem!Reader

From: The Last Of Us Part II (Game Series)

Type: Headcanons

Synopsis: What would it be like to fall in love with the smart-mouthed badass Ellie Williams in a world recovering from a zombie apocalypse?

Warnings: mentions of game-canon violence, mentions of weapons (primarily guns), mentions of blood, mentions of mental illness, cursing

A/N: Yet another tag I gotta fill with x black!reader, cuz lets be honest - let Ellie get a black gf; all manners and common sense are going out the window. JOEL IS ALIVE AND WELL IN THIS

Tags: @verachii @percsane

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You and Ellie first met when she was sent to your little garden/apothecary to assist you in finding some plants that had been rebudding around the Jackson community area. At first, she was apprehensive to the idea - why did she of all people had to go out and collect fucking flowers and leaves? - but her mouth had already gotten her into trouble today, and she couldn’t bear another lecture from anyone, so she bit her tongue hard and went to find your little greenhouse near the center of town.

Her amazement comes across as a look of confusion when she steps into the greenhouse. She’s met with a pleasant scent of lavender, bundles of it hanging from the doorframe. She finds you tending to some plants in the middle of the room, and when your eyes lock, her breath catches in her throat, because holy fuck, no one told her that this herbalist lady was her age, and fine as fuck.

You greet her with a smile and hand her the list of things needed, telling her to take her time since you know that some of them may be difficult to find. She flips through the notebook you’ve given her, paying special attention to the detailed drawings, commemorating them to memory, before she sets off with only the thought of pleasing the herbalist girl with her findings.

When she comes back, it’s the dead of night, and she’s a bit durtied and bruised from what you’re sure to be a fight with some undead, but she has every item on the list you’d given her. From that point on, the two of you became close acquaintances, friends, and more.

She finds your presence so peaceful. When you’re up making ointments and remedies for the patrol squads, she joins you with her sketchpad. The two of you sit together in perfect silence, some jokes being shared here and there. Her sketchpad quickly fills up with drawings of you doing various activities - drinking tea, watering plants, grinding leaves into powders, making dyes, etc. Watching you becomes her favorite pastime.

After a while of knowing each other, she becomes more comfortable with being a smartmouth with you, and is excited when you match her energy. You always have a rebuttal to one of her remarks and it sparks something in Ellie that urges her on more and more. 

She becomes more touchy, too, though that aspect is primarily reassured by you. Although neither of you have disclosed much information about your past, you can tell she’s been through a lot, and could only imagine the worst when she would pull away from your touch in the beginning. It takes a long time, but the sweet hugs shared after accomplishing yet another supply run for you were definitely worth the wait.

And they’re quite literally the best hugs you’ve ever had. It could be a simple side hug with her pulling you by your hip to her chest, or it could be one of the longer ones, where her arms slip around your waist, her head dipping into your neck as she inhales your scent. You love them all.

Ellie claims that all your plant stuff is boring and lame, but she’s so very attentive when you’re rambling off a new herb or a new concoction you’ve made, and learns the names of the flowers you like the most. She soon learns that lavender is your favorite, which is why it hangs everywhere around the greenhouse, but also because it smells heavenly and reduces anxiety and provokes calmness. It quickly becomes her own, too.

She loves when you braid her hair. The two french braids leading into a bun is her favorite style, and even though she’s always messing it up when she’s on patrol, fighting and escaping from zombies and enemy groups alike, you’re happy to wash and redo her hair every time.

Ellie’s confession obviously doesn’t go the way she planned. And yes, she did plan on confessing to you her affections at some point, but she tells herself that she’s waiting for the right time. While part of that may be true, the bigger picture was her general fear of rejection - which was absurd to her, she never gave two fucks about what people thought about her. But when it came to you, everything mattered.

You’d never looked at Ellie’s notebook before. It was her privacy, and you were one to respect boundaries, but when she left the book open to go talk to Dina and Jesse about something, especially on a particular page that had your face drawn onto the cream paper of the sketchbook, your curiosity took over your senses.

It was a drawing of you drinking tea and reading a book. You remember that day - she was exceptionally quiet that day and only wanted to be around you. So you let her chill in the greenhouse with you while you did your normal routines. The intricate and detailed lines on the page sparked something in you that you thought you had pushed away, a surge of emotions reawakening in your stomach.

Ellie comes back in and nearly goes into a rage when she sees you seemingly flipping pages in her sketchbook, and although you try to reason with her, she’s not having it. She thinks you invaded her privacy, and she continues to think so as she leaves the greenhouse for the evening.

She comes back though, at the dead of night as you’re cleaning up and setting things up for the next morning, looking remorseful like a lost puppy. She apologizes, and you come to sit next to her, your legs touching, and you tell her that you accept her apology.

Ellie pauses for a moment, looking into your eyes for what seems like forever, before she begins speaking. The way she speaks is damn near contradicting about she feels about you, but in the end she gets her point across - she likes you, a lot, and needs to know how you feel about her in order for her to get some form of clarity and sanity back to her brain

And you tell her that you feel the same, that you’re attracted to her in such a way and so strongly that it shouldn’t even be possible - surely isn’t wise or sane considering the times the two of you currently live in, and yet, you still found yourself yearning for the brunette when you knew you shouldn’t

At this point the two of you are impossibly close, and the way Ellie’s eyes keep darting between your own and your lips, it’s definitely got a pool of heat swirling in your stomach. And before either of you realize it, her lips are on yours, and you’re experiencing your first and the most electrifying kiss of your life. And just like that, you become Ellie’s and she becomes yours

She  makes a vow to protect you in every possible way she can. When and if you do go out on the search for supplies, she’s always accompanying you regardless of whatever she may have been doing prior. She teaches you how to use a gun and a bow and arrow (of which, you favor the latter) so that you have the skills to protect yourself when she’s not there. 

She never let anyone talk to you any kind of way, but its amplified now because she has an obligation to make sure people know who the fuck they’re talking to. No one talks out the side of their neck to her girl and gets away with it. If all she does is curse them out, as long as they get the idea and don’t pull anything anymore, all is good.

Introducing you to Joel as your girlfriend is the most awkward thing for her…and you better believe he’s poking fun at her about her stellar choice in a significant other (trust me, he’s been waiting for this moment, because he just knew that she’d go after you of all people in the community. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was in on organizing your initial meeting. He’s definitely the wingman Ellie didn’t know she needed.

She doesn’t engage in PDA, but when it’s just the two of you alone? Best believe she’s getting her fill of hugs and kisses whenever she can. You’re not promised tomorrow, so she wants to love you to the fullest extent she can. 

Brings you back flowers from her patrols that you don’t even ask for, but because they’re pretty and remind her of you. You can try as you might to tell her you don’t need them - it’ll only provoke her to bring you more

On the longer nights where she’s too exhausted mentally and physically to speak, she curls into you and just lets you take over her senses. It’s a rather rare occasion, so you savor it while it lasts. You take care of Ellie at her most vulnerable and that’s all she could ever really ask for from someone.

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[edgarapoecolouredglasses]

Little mastermind

THE GIF IS NOT MINE

Pairing: Troy Otto/Reader

Story summary: Tracy just wants her dad to be happy. Y/n makes her dad happy. Though they are both in denial, Tracy makes it her sole purpose to try and get them together.

Summary: Y/n sticks up for Troy when someone calls him a bad leader

Part: 1/4 (SEATBELTS ON!)

Spoilers, I guess

————-

“But what will I do without you? We’re already short-staffed,” I said, unable to hide the desperation in my voice. One of the nurses had already left, and with no pedagogical professionals, I’d been caring for the children every day as well. Now, I stood face to face with one of the last two nurses I had left —and that’s including me—and she was telling me she’d be gone by tomorrow.

“Y/n, we’re just wandering from one abandoned building to the next, trying to find somewhere safe until it’s overrun again. It’s dangerous. He promised us a home, but it’s been five years since we joined your group,” she sighed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “I have to think about my family. Jeffrey is already talking to Troy.”

“Troy is—he’s—” I stammered. I believed in him, despite everything. Distant as he seemed, impulsive as he was, Troy had never lied about his promise to keep us safe. I had known him longer than anyone in this group. Longer than anyone who was still alive.

I knew Troy had made some questionable choices over the years. From an outsider’s perspective, it would be easy to lose faith in him. But I’d still managed to convince a few people to stay. I knew how deeply it affected him every time someone left. I had witnessed it all, from the moment Mike walked out of his life.

When Mike left the ranch, it tore Troy apart. He spiraled, completely lost control, and came close to wiping out an entire family in his rage.

“Diane, please. Have faith in him. He’s scouring every inch of this land to find a safe place for us,” I pleaded.

Her eyes flashed with frustration. “No, he’s not looking for a home. He’s looking for PADRE,” she snapped. I felt my heart sink as I frowned at her, unsure of how to respond.

“I was there in the med bay when he fell on his head,” she continued, her voice hard and accusing. “I heard him mumbling in his sleep—‘find PADRE’ and and that name he kept going on about ‘Madison.’ He’s obsessed with this childish idea of revenge. It’s dangerous, and you know it. And that’s not even the worst part… he’s still dragging that rotting corpse around with him like it’s some kind of sick trophy—”

“That is his wife.”

I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended. Diane’s eyes widened in surprise.

I wasn’t usually the type to get angry. In fact, most people walked over me without much resistance. But something snapped when she decided to disrespect a man who would have died for her if he had to, just like he would for anyone else in our group.

“Who made sure you were fed all these years? Clothed” My words were harsh. “Do you really think you’d be any better off without us? You’d still be out there, between homes, barely surviving. But at least you had this group. At least you had Troy.”

Diane opened her mouth to protest, but I pressed on, my voice rising. “Your husband won’t be able to protect you out in the real world. And god forbid you die out there and your Jeffrey has to decide what to do with you, you’ll wish he was half the man Troy is. You’ll wish he had the strength not to leave you behind.”

She didn’t respond, but I saw the way her expression faltered, how she took a step back, uncertain. It was like the pounding in my head intensified just from looking at her, every second spent staring into her guilty eyes hammering nails into my skull.

So I turned away. There was nothing more to say.

Then, just as I was about to leave, I heard her sigh.

“You’re right—”

“I wish you all the best. Good luck out there,” I interrupted coldly.

“But—”

“You’re fired.” The words came out sharper than I had foreseen, but I didn’t regret them.

Without waiting for a response, I started walking away. My steps echoed in the silence, but I stopped just before reaching the door to the abandoned warehouse we called home.

“I’ll let your husband know that you are waiting here for him,” I added, not turning back.

I should’ve noticed the quiet stare of the eight-year-old girl, hidden in one of the ventilation shafts, watching the entire scene unfold.

————————

The end :D

Just kidding this has been way too long coming. I know this part wasn’t very eventful but I wanted to set the tone.

But I’m putting it in multiple bite sized parts because that’s what I personally enjoy

Here’s the link to part two :)

Thank you to @aldenenjoyer for the prompt.

[starry-eyes-love]

Chapter 2: Blood & Pain

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader (18+, Minors DNI)

Summary | Joel, Ellie and you are traveling in the wilderness together heading towards Jackson. During your travels both Joel and you get into a heated argument where you storm off into the wilderness alone. When darkness descends Joel goes searching for you, eventually he finds you and breaks down in front of you. You find yourself growing a lot as a person through the hard trials of Life through Blood and Pain, a few surprises pop up along the way (one of which Joel suspects), and ultimately you find compassion and comfort in the decisions that you starting to make with this big broody older man. The chapter ends with a few unresolved issues, as the story will continue in future chapters.

Warnings | Angst, language, names used (honey, baby), age gap, verbal teasing, pregnancy (implied), miscarriage (implied), yelling, arguments, reference to abuse (slight if you squint), reference to sex in the past, reference to mental and physical exhaustion. I think that’s it

Word Count: 5.1 K

Author’s Note:  This was a little harder to write as I’m trying to set up the characters into the line for how the story is going to go.  I know this didn’t have as much action in it, mostly frustration between the characters but I wanted to show you the problems that these two have.  Both of them love the other but just can’t seem to get passed the whole communication problem. Ellie, sweet tell-it-to-you-no-filter Ellie, will be helping these two more in the future getting their feelings out. Now that they found a cabin they are going to be staying for a while. More parts are coming out in the future as we take these 3 amazing characters through a story of learning to live together (and eventually they’ll find Tommy too).  Stay tuned for more :) 

It had been about three weeks since you and Joel had sex on the ground in a sleeping bag for the first time.  Since then, Joel has been a bit grumpy, moody, and constantly correcting you with things. He no longer treated you like you were less than human, or that you were a plague that walked this Earth. However, he was just a bit more moody than usual. He still didn’t want to talk about what had happened between the two of you, that much was for certain. You learned within the first week that you were never going to talk about what happened with him, or at least not right away because as he put it “we ain’t gonna fucking talk about it, so fucking leave it” was always his response no matter what you tried to say.  So you left it alone as you didn’t want to bring out the worst in him again.

Each day the three of you would trek closer to Jackson in an attempt to find Tommy, Joel's brother. Ellie had finally eased up a bit on Joel about catching the two of you in a sleeping bag humping, if only she knew what happened after that you thought, but you could never say it out loud. You noticed that the banter between Ellie and Joel was easier, more joking and fun, and you could see how much Joel cared for her as a daughter. You also noticed how much Ellie started to look at Joel like a father figure. 

One night when the three of you were collecting firewood, Joel was moving slow as his back was sore and he was tired. Ellie decided to really lay it on thick with the jokes and said with a smirk on her face "So pops, how does one your age still keep up and stay alive. I mean you’re old?” As he stood there glaring at her he eventually let out a huff and shook his head and said "look here little girl, one day you're gonna be my age and then you'll see."

"And how old is that Joel, huh?" Ellie teased while helping Joel with the firewood. When he didn't answer her right away you decided to chime in and say "he's 52" while setting your logs down next to Joels. Ellie looked at you shocked that you knew his age and Joel just scowled at you.  “52? Like that’s like ancient. Joel you’re older than dinosaurs, right?” Ellie quipped with a cocky smirk on her face. Joel just stared at Ellie and started grinding his teeth slowly, you knew his age was a sensitive subject for him, though you never really knew why. Feeling a bit frisky at wanting to be included in the conversation for once, you chimed in “Ellie you’re technically not wrong. Some dinosaurs lived to be over 50 and some were long dead before 50. So yes, he’s definitely in the dinosaur category.” 

As soon as you finished your statement you heard silence.  You looked over at Ellie and she had her mouth wide open just staring at you. She occasionally glanced over to Joel who was also just glaring at you from your statement. Finally after a moment, Ellie burst out laughing and eventually both you and Joel burst out laughing too.  Pretty soon all three of you were crying because you were laughing so hard. It was the first real laugh that you three had like this in a long time, and damn it felt good, especially when Joel was laughing with you. After a moment, Joel was the first person to speak wiping his eyes while saying “look here smartass, I’m not 52, I’m 53. My birthday was a few weeks ago.” You were going to ask Joel when, but Ellie beat you to it by saying “53, the dinosaur turned 53 and didn’t tell us, what the hell Joel?” 

“Didn’t want to make a fuss, it’s just another day and another year older” Joel said. Ellie then started arguing with Joel about not telling you guys about his birthday and the importance of birthdays when you heard him yell at her “my birthday ain’t something special kid, ok. It just means that I’m a year older in this god for saken world. But if ya wanna know, it was the night it was bitterly cold. So happy fucking birthday to me” and then he stormed off. 

You stood there frozen as your mind raced from remembering that night of his birthday, the night you and Joel ended up having sex for the first time. “I don’t hate you, never have…If ya still want to leave, I’ll let you… Fuck baby, you’re so god damn tight. God, I need this…I’m not stopping baby, I don’t fucking care who sees or hears us…we aren’t going to talk about it anymore, clear.” 

As your mind finished racing from that night you felt tears streaming down your cheeks silently. That night was Joel’s birthday, the night you wanted to leave because of Joel being an ass. You didn’t know why but you felt emotional about this fact. “God, I need this” statement he made that night kept playing over and over in your head. You thought he just needed sex that night, but what he needed was someone to show him that they wanted him on his birthday, show him that someone cared. “God you’re so stupid” you heard you tell yourself as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

“Yes you are” you heard Ellie say. As you looked up you saw her staring at you. She looked around for a moment before approaching you and saying “do you really think I didn’t know that you and Joel were having sex that night?” You tried to say “we weren’t” when she cut you off. 

“Don’t. I may be younger than you, but I’m not fucking stupid. I was hoping you two would finally give in to whatever the fuck has been going on between you two, but apparently Joel is more emotionally constipated than I thought.” Ellie said in a low voice shaking her head. You heard yourself give a little snort at her claiming that Joel was emotionally constipated because well, she was right. “It doesn’t matter Ellie” you heard yourself saying “he doesn’t, we don’t-” 

“Oh shut up,” Ellie said louder while rolling her eyes and pointing in the direction that Joel went. “You are just as emotionally constipated as he is. God, go talk to him and tell him.”

“Ellie” you said interrupting her. “He doesn’t want to talk about what happened he’s made it-”

“I know he doesn’t want to talk about it, but damn it, it was his birthday and he obviously needed you that night so fuck…I don’t know,  go and like say something to him or something” Ellie yelled at you frustrated. When you didn’t respond Ellie threw her hands up in the air and said out loud to herself storming away “apparently I got two emotionally constipated old idiots I have to travel with that act more like freaking children than me. Fuck.” 

As you stood there watching her walk away you heard a familiar voice behind you say “what’s her problem?” Without turning around and facing Joel you said “she’s mad at us and called us both emotionally constipated old idiots.” You heard him snort behind you while saying “why would she call us that?”  You turned around slowly and noticed that Joel was towering above you looking down and you both stood there within close proximity staring into each other’s eyes and you thought to yourself what in the hell is Joel Miller thinking.

As Joel stood there looking down at you he noticed that your eyes were bloodshot and your cheeks were rosey.  He knew the only time that happened was when you were crying, but he didn’t know why. He reached out and slowly rubbed soothing strokes down your cheek saying “why does she think we’re emotionally constipated idiots?”  He had a suspicion of why Ellie would say that, but he wanted you to say it first. He knew that Ellie had seen the two of you that night when you had sex. When you both were finished that night and he stood up to fix his belt back on his pants he happened to glance over to were Ellie was sleeping and saw that she was wide awake and staring at you two.  At first he was upset as he just realized that he had sex in front of a teenager, and the thought made him sick to his stomach as he knew better than that. Ellie had tried to approach him several times afterwards and each time he’d say ‘Ellie, it’s not your concern ok, mind your own damn business.’ She’d already called him emotionally constipated more than once regarding the topic, but he wanted to hear you say the reason just in case she hadn’t told you yet that she saw the two of you. 

After a few moments of staring up into Joel’s eyes you decided that he wasn’t going to move until you gave him an answer, and this was one answer you didn’t want to give him.  You tried to think of a convincing lie to say that didn’t involve admitting to him what Ellie said.  But you also knew that whatever it was that you were going to tell him he would go and talk to Ellie about it later, especially since he found you crying yet again. So you decided that the truth would be better in this situation. So you looked down, took a deep breath and said, “she saw us that night. The night we- um- the night of your birthday.”  When he didn’t respond right away you took another big breath and added “she saw us having sex Joel, and she told me we both were emotionally constipated, and that we both needed to talk about it.”

You honestly waited for the explosion, for the yelling or screaming to start from him, but it never came and you didn’t understand why.  Everytime you had even attempted to bring up this topic he’d always shut you down and yell at you stating that you two were never going to talk about it. So his silence bothered you as this wasn’t Joel. You dared to look up into his eyes at this point wondering if he was seething with anger or just shocked at what you had told him. When you glanced up in his eyes you didn’t see any anger or hatred or impending violent reaction, what you saw was compassion and softness.  Joel continued to stroke his finger over your cheek and said “I know. I know Ellie saw, I knew it when I was fixing my belt, I looked over and saw she was awake.”

Now it was your turn to freeze and become absolutely frigid, she saw and Joel knew. Why didn’t he say something you thought to yourself.  As if he could read your mind he said “I didn’t say anything cause I didn’t want to upset ya. Baby, I don’t want you thinking bad about what we did that night. I don’t want you regretting it.”  

Before you could stop yourself, you snapped at him and said “I don’t regret it, but obviously you do. You won’t even look at me, hold me, kiss me, or fuck- even talk to me about it. Hell, you’ve hardly spoken two words to me at all since that night. I don’t regret it, but obviously you do.”  When you looked up at him you felt him go rigid and then you saw the anger come back into his eyes as he looked at you not moving and not saying anything. You stood there thinking Ellie was right, he is emotionally constipated and I’m tired of it. So you did the one thing that you know not to do, you decided to poke the bear named Joel by further saying “I get it Joel, I was a pity fuck. I get it. You’ve made it perfectly clear to me that you regret everything and that you hate me."

When Joel didn't respond you turned to walk away. You knew he was seething with anger, you could tell it by the way he was grinding his teeth, a nervous tick he did when he was angry, upset, or in deep thought. When you shook your head and turned to walk away you didn't see him reach out to you. He grabbed you hard by the shoulders and spun you around and said in a stern voice "when the fuck you gonna get it through that thick head of yours that I don't fucking hate you, huh? And for the record, you ain't a pity fuck."

"Then when are we going to talk about it, huh?" you said with a little bite to your voice, as your anger was also slowly rising at his outburst at you.

"There's nothing to fucking talk about" he replied. 

Once again you stood there looking at the man you cared for glaring back at you with anger and you were exhausted and frustrated.  Joel never wanted to talk about feelings or emotions. He never wanted to acknowledge his love for Ellie as a father or what his feelings were for you, if he had any. You understood the whole dating role was not really present much in a world where survival was the focus. But you wanted to know what he viewed you as, if you meant something more to him than just a tag along person in the wilderness. You knew Joel wasn't going to define what your relationship was, but you wanted to know if kissing and sex would ever come about again. So with a sigh you asked him the question you've been avoiding. "Joel, are you ever gonna kiss me again or are we ever gonna have sex again?"

When he didn't answer you at first, you knew what his answer was, so you looked down and whispered "please Joel, I need you to say it out loud so I know."  You stood there in silence for a long time, trying to will your tears not to sting your eyes as you waited for an answer.  You honestly didn’t think he was going to give you one, but when he never left after a bit you decided to look up into his face.  When you looked up, you saw that he was looking down at you with a pained look on his face. “Please Joel, I-I just need to know what you think of me. If I was just- if you just wanted-” you couldn’t finish the sentence.  You couldn’t say I want to know if I was just a birthday fuck and nothing else.  You felt him stare at you as you attempted to say the words and when you couldn’t, you just looked down at your feet again and struggled with the tears that once again were about to fall.

After a moment, you heard Joel exhale and felt him tenderly grab your chin to tip your chin up to look at him once again. Then he very gently said "baby, nothing good ever comes from kissin' in this world. I'm-"

You didn't let Joel finish before you backed away and said "You're right. How silly of me to think a man actually cared about me. You’re no different than Dave, then man who said he loved me but attempted to kill me a few years before you. Silly me to think that I was ever good enough for anyone. I wasn't ever good enough at home before all of this shit happened in the world, wasn’t good enough for Dave, and now not good enough for you. Jesus, can I be any more stupid?” you said with a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh, and for the record Joel, this is the clear definition of what a pity fuck is. So happy fucking birthday right? I'm sorry I wasn't the present you clearly fucking wanted." And at the end of that sentence you felt the sob escape your mouth as you turned around and walked away. You stormed past Ellie and kept walking in the woods, you were so upset that you never thought to grab your gun or your pack. You needed to clear your head and think, and you couldn't do it with them nearby. So when you heard Ellie yell back asking where you were going, you didn't answer, you just kept walking. With each step you took you felt your heart shattered for the man you loved. You had your chance again to tell him, maybe you should have but if he didn't feel anything for you, why would you voice your silly little feelings to him. 

Darkness had descended and somewhere in your storming off in anger you got turned around and lost. Usually it didn't matter in the winter as you could always follow your footprints back, but sometime in the last hour your footprints had disappeared because of the wind. You couldn't walk back in a straight line because you knew you had not followed one. So you kept wandering and eventually you sat down next to a tree and closed your eyes to let the cold sting your face and dry the tears that were streaming down your face from anger and sadness combined.

Several hours had passed and Joel was very anxious of why you hadn’t returned.  Ellie and him had gotten into a hell of an argument of what had happened.  Joel at first attempted to brush it off saying that it wasn’t something of concern, but when Ellie called out his bullshit and stated that she had heard the conversation all he could do was look down.  He did care for you but he didn’t know how to express it.  Apparently the way he was going about it was wrong and he knew it. God, why am I so stupid? he thought to himself.  

When darkness hit his slight worried state turned into complete panic.  Darkness was not something where people should be defenseless in the world anymore, especially when they didn’t have their pack or their gun with them.  He frantically packed up a bag of medical supplies, bullets, food, and his knife and gun.  He told Ellie to stay by the campfire and to shoot anything that came at her that wasn’t the two of you. 

As Joel stormed into the wilderness. He had no idea where you went, what you were thinking, or what you felt.  He was searching for you for what felt like an eternity, trying to see where you went. Right before he was going to give up thinking that he could search better in the daylight he stumbled across you sitting with your back against a tree. He approached you slowly and called out to you. When you didn’t respond he felt his gut clench as he hoped that you weren’t injured or dead because of his stupidity. Finally, when he got up to you he knelt down and reached out to touch your leg as he gently called you by your name.  When you slowly opened your eyes and looked at him he grabbed you and held you close. 

You were so numb from the cold, and from the physical and mental exhaustion that you were limp in his arms.  As he cradled you against his chest you heard him let out a small sob as he said “baby I’m sorry, ok? You’re wrong. You ain’t a pity fuck. God damnit-I care about ya, you hear me? I c-care. I just don’t know how to do this. Please- please come back to me honey. Please don’t leave.”

As you heard and felt him cry into your shoulder you slowly started to wrap your arms tighter around him. In all of the years you have known Joel, you’ve never seen him get emotional like this. He sounded and felt like a man that was breaking and you really didn’t understand the reasons why. You didn’t want to give him another chance, but what could you do. You still loved him even though he hurt you. But you knew that you weren’t going to get the relationship that you wanted. So as you hugged him back and said “It’s okay Joel, I’ll stay” you knew you couldn’t lower your guard completely down again, not without him shattering you. So as you hugged him you forced your internal walls up around you in your mind. This is the last time Joel’s going to shatter me, you thought.

2 Weeks Later

It had been 2 weeks after you and Joel had your horrible argument where you stormed off and he found you sitting against the tree.  After you had held each other that night, he helped you up and helped to walk you back to camp.  That night Joel never slept much as he kept watch of you.  Ellie and you shared a sleeping bag that night, against Joel’s better judgement. He wanted to keep you warm but when he offered you, you just looked at him and had said one single word and that was “no.”

Since then you guys were trekking across the country moving closer to Jackson where Tommy supposedly was. After walking in the wilderness for the longest time you guys had stumbled upon an abandoned cabin in the wilderness.  After much discussion, mostly Joel yelling at you or Ellie in anger, you guys had decided to stop and make it a home for a week, just to rest and recoup.  You were on your period that was several weeks late and were having horrible menstrual cramps, something that was not normal for you. You were unable to walk at the fast pace that you normally did, which resulted in Joel and you arguing yet again. During one of your heated arguments about wanting to stay at the cabin and not able to keep up, you felt a horrible stabbing pain in your lower stomach and you doubled over holding your stomach in front of him.  

He had immediately stopped yelling at you and went to your side saying “baby, are you alright? Are you hurt?” while looking you over head to toe trying to find out where you were injured. He never called you baby, except during that one time during sex. You decided not to bring that up to him as you were in so much pain. Instead you told him you were ok and that you just needed to go lay down for a bit in the cabin. That night Joel slept next to you, holding you close to him while slowly rubbing circles on your hip and lower back as you cried out from the pain in your lower belly, specifically the uterine area.  

From time to time during the night you’d hear him say “Shhh baby, it’s okay.  I got you honey, slow deep breaths for me” as you silently sobbed into his chest from the pain. This was not normal for you to have such horrible menstrual cramps and to be as late as you were on your period. You hope Joel didn’t notice that you were really late with your period. As you laid there that night, having on and off horrible painful cramps, he tried to get you to settle down to sleep. Unfortunately sleep wasn’t something you could do while being in so much pain so that night the both of you didn’t get much sleep.  When you had finally dozed off, you maybe got about 2 hours of sleep when all of a sudden you were woken up to a searing pain in your belly.  It felt like someone was ripping your uterus apart from the inside out.  As your eyes opened you felt and heard Joel breathing slow and even behind you, as he had finally fallen asleep about a half hour after you had.  You slowly slipped out of the bed, trying not to wake him, as the pain kept increasing and your stomach decided to start churning in response to the pain.  You knew that it was only a matter of time before you would be heaving all the contents of your stomach out so you worked extra careful to get out of bed fast to get outside before you lost your stomach contents all over the floor.  You had thought you were graceful in climbing out of bed, but because you were so sick and in so much pain you hadn’t realized that when you slipped out of bed you hit Joel, which startled him awake.

By the time you got to the cabin front door you were practically running. As soon as you hit the outside banister railing you heaved your contents inside your stomach out onto the lawn. As you were retching you felt two strong and rough hands gently grab your hair to hold your hair back, as you continued to vomit. You also felt his one hand drift to your back and he slowly started rubbing it for you until you finished dry heaving.  Finally when you were finished you stood up and whispered “thanks” to him as you wiped your mouth off. After only getting a few hours of sleep, you felt exhausted and Joel looked both wrecked and worried. 

“How late?” Joel asked while standing next to you. But when you didn't answer and had avoided his gaze, he knew. But he still wanted to hear you say it. So he said more sternly  "damn it, how late?"

"2 weeks, Joel ok." you yelled at him for raising his voice. "I'm two weeks late. Not that any of it fucking matters."

"It fucking matters" Joel snapped. You both were so physically exhausted that tempers were flaring once again. As you both stood there in silence you kept watching Joel look at you from your stomach that you were holding, to your face, and then back again. Finally after a moment you sighed and said "Joel, Look I'm- I'm bleeding really heavy ok. And it-it hurts and it doesn't matter if-if we or if- um if I'm…" and then you felt your lower lip quiver as the tears started to flow down your cheeks at the realization that yes you were in fact pregnant, and that you now were having a miscarriage.

As soon as Joel saw your lip quiver he grabbed you and pulled you hard into his chest and held you tight. He heard you let out a sob as you cried into his chest. He didn't stop you because he knew, he knew what you were going through as he and Sarah's mom had gone through the same thing awhile after Sarah was born.  He knew you wanted to be a mom. It was something you two had discussed when you first started out together. You told him you had your period and needed to find some type of rags or cloth to put in your underwear to catch the blood. At first he was furious that you didn't have the scheduled hysterectomy that most women got at the QZ. He had called you irresponsible and a damn fool for not following through with the surgery. But when you explained it to him, we'll more like actually yelled at him, he considered the conversation over and knew that you wanted to have children. But he hoped for your sake that you’d never have kids because having a baby now meant a death sentence sometimes, and he didn't want to think of the possibility of losing you. Now fast forward a year later and he was damn protective over you, whether or not you were (or was) carrying his child. 

As he silently held you he felt his heart ache at the prospect of losing yet again another child. Even though no one knew for sure if you were pregnant, as out here in the wilderness there was no way to tell for sure until you got later in pregnancy. But it didn't matter, he was sure you knew your body. He also knew your cycle and the timing of it, making sure you had extra supplies around that time. He knew you could get cramps occasionally, but nothing like this, and you usually never bled this heavy. He knew something was different and it reminded him of when Sarah's mom had a miscarriage a few months after Sarah was born. 

He stood there with his arms tightly around you gently swaying you side to side humming in your ear that everything was going to be alright and that he was sorry. "What are-are you so-sorry for" you whispered as your sobs started to slow down where you could talk again. 

"For everything darlin'." Joel said. "For treating you wrong, to possibly getting you, um, pregnant, and to- uh- a miscarriage." 

As you stayed wrapped up in each other's arms you heard him sincerely apologize. But when he did you didn't know why he was apologizing for the pregnancy part. Especially when the both of you willingly had unprotected sex all those weeks ago. "It ain't your fault Joel" you said, but he interrupted you by saying "don't tell me it ain't my fault when I was the one that came in ya. I'm a lot older than you sweetheart, I know how this happens and I knew better. It'll never happen again."

When you heard the part of 'it’ll never happen again ' you froze in his arms as you were dreading what he was referring to. You swallowed hard and then said "What part Joel? What part of it ain't happening again that you mean?"

Joel took a moment to think silently to himself and then he gently replied "all of it." It was then that you silently thought to yourself I’m sick and tired of Joel playing with of my feelings and emotions. But it wasn’t something that you could deal with at the present moment, in the meantime, you would allow him to show you compassion over the next few days. But with it you would keep your heart somewhat guarded. You still loved him very much, and you swore to yourself that one day he may learn to love you back. But you knew you couldn’t force it, or force him to face his emotions and feelings toward you. Deep down all of this upset you as you didn’t know where your relationship stood with him.  At one moment he told you that he loved you and didn’t want you to leave, the next moment he’d state that you couldn’t be in the relationship that you wanted with him.  All of this was confusing and you wanted to get to the bottom of why Joel was constantly switching back and forth with you.  But you knew that it was a topic of discussion with him on a different day. 

-End of Chapter 2

Don’t worry, this story will continue with other parts.

Tag list: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg

[fiberturkey89]

Ngl, every so often, I think on how Lisbeth(what I call Jay's birthmother- I see Libber/Liber as a nickname). And what she could've offered to the narrative for Jay and Wu. -its like 1:12 AM send help.

Like, imagine Jay met her in Prime Empire - say like.. she's trapped all alone, and he has no idea who she is. Not even a vague memory of her voice. All he who he knows to be his parents are Ed and Edna Walker.

So imagine her like, seeing her baby - her little Wren(reference to Jay's original names), essentially all grown up into an adult. He has the perfect mix of her and Cliff's physical features- but his eyes are different. Jay's eyes are neither hers or Cliff's.

Worst of all, she's a stranger to him. But the most interesting part of that me thinks - would be that she doesn't introduce herself as his birthmother. Instead, she introduces herself as Lisbeth, a stranger. Because she's missed too much, and even though she desperately wants to get to know him, she knows he'd be better off without her.

She knows what it's like for people to get in between family. She had to do that a lot in the Serpentine Wars. Those scars never quite faded right, nor did these wounds heal properly. So she's just like, holding back tears n stuff because not only is she finally going to be free- time had taken something from her again. (I HC she was an orphan prior to the Serpentine Wars).

She's got mixed feelings on Cliff all these years later. She visits the mansion and doesn't quite know how to react. Knowing that he's dead and she's.. still alive. A part of her laughs in light-hearted exasperation at his "man" cave, and another simply sighs in annoyance.

It's a harsh blow she's dealt, really. When she finds out what she missed the outside of Jay.

Going around and looking for friends instinctively then remembering that they're no longer.. there. Lilly was a good friend of hers, and she hates that she couldn't really offer Lou any support as she'd disappeared early on into when he and Lilly had begun dating.

The previous Master of Ice had never told them his name, but he had been pleasant.

Wu, Ray, and Maya greet her with teary eyes and shaky smiles- because they have another friend back. One who understood the sacrifices that had to be made during the Serpentine Wars. They talk, talk for hours on end like they were younger, bantering and lightly teasing- but its different now.

Libber can't understand half the inside jokes they make about the Ninja, and she feels a sense of loss when that happens- a sense of loss that she was ripped away from friends and family.

Yeah idk, late night thoughts

[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic September 11 - prompt 11: Apparition [word count 725]

There was so much pain. Every joint, every part of her skin felt as if it was on fire, a fire that worked its way from the inside out. There had been a time, only a couple of months before, where she had been able to crouch down in pain, but she didn’t even have the strength for that anymore. She could barely move, and opening her eyes was the only thing she forced herself to do still, her eyes wandering around the wood-paneled room, its dark green velvet curtains shut against the brightness of the day outside.

“Mistress is in pain,” the familiar voice croaked somewhere near her ear. “Kreacher will fetch Mistress her medicine.”

Feet scurried away, leaving her in the silent knowledge that not even the medicine the house elf kept under lock and key for her was of any help now and the complete silence over the whole house. Over her life. The war had ended, the Dark Lord defeated along with all her hopes for her family’s rise in power by his side. Something about never trusting a rat, Mulciber had hurriedly told her that night, flooing in before trying to disappear as the Aurors swept the country. She had heard he had been captured and sent to Azkaban after a fast trial, along with her niece. Her other niece had managed to persuade the Minister of Magic in person her dear husband had been under the Imperio Curse for the duration of the war and he wouldn’t take a loving man from his home and his toddler son, would he? Despite not being exactly close with Narcissa, who had always taken a backseat to the war, Walburga approved and admired her quick thinking. She would’ve done the same to protect her own family, had she had anyone left. Her brother Cygnus had been found dead at his desk the day after the fall of the Dark Lord. And Orion had been dead for more than a year. He had quickly wasted away after Regulus’s disappearance and his presumed death. He had always been his favourite. Sometimes she thought she saw him, standing at the foot of her bed, a waning apparition, still looking around for the boy he had held in his arms, the boy she herself had always deemed too soft for life. She had been right in the end.

Pain shot through her chest once more, and when she managed to open her eyes again, another apparition was standing by the bed. Even her heartbeat felt painful as Walburga looked at her firstborn. Sirius had always been her favourite. He was strong, he was stubborn, he was as determined as she had always been. He was her son, only a sprinkle or his father in him. She detailed the apparition, as the waning Sirius looked away from the bed. He had gotten older, a beard adorning his chin, multiple tattoos peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt and from under the sleeves of his leather jacket. He still had her long, elegant fingers, a silver band etched with moon phases on his ring finger. He smiled and held out his hand. She hadn’t seen him smile in way longer than a decade, and that hurt even worst than the burning sensation as she desperately tried to reach out for his hand. But another hand appeared out of nowhere, scars across the back and a silver band etched with stars on the ring finger, and Sirius threaded his fingers through those. She forced herself to look at the second apparition, a tall young man now wrapping his arms around her son’s waist, Sirius’s smile even wider now as he caressed the other’s face before catching his lips in a kiss.

Walburga couldn’t look away, the pain now like flowing lava through her veins. Her son, her firstborn, the love of her life she had lost to his stubbornness was an adult now. He was alive, he was happy, he was loved. He was probably married. He surely still hated her like she still hated him for rebelling against the family.

When Kreacher hurried back into the bedroom, the medicine and an ornate spoon on a silver tray, his mistress was still looking at a precise point by her bed. But her open eyes wouldn’t see anything anymore.