#be non confrontational avoidant and cold somewhere else

[sphincterinspector]

not saying goodbye is wild.

thats the type of cold heartless shit that gets you cut off man

i tried to be cordial and break the tension so many times but you made sure to keep the tension as high as humanly possible and avoid me like i was a plague in your house.

i guess you really dont need anyone else 🩵 enjoy sitting up there alone in your tower.

[sparklysung]

✨ADRENALINE RUSH PART II – n.j.m.✨

© sparklysung – 2021. all rights reserved. no reposts, modifications and/or translations allowed.

pairing – na jaemin x female!reader

genre – fluff, smut, angst | non-idol!au, school!au

warnings – good boy!soft dom!jaemin, bad girl!reader, heartbreak, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap your willies), creampie, dirty talk, pet names

word count – 4.731 words

summary – after leaving jaemin alone in the school’s library, there wasn’t only one heart broken.

note – it’s finally here! i hope it isn’t too bad, though, i don’t think i’m too good at writing stuff like this lmao. either way, enjoy! also, the gif isn’t mine, i found it on google, so credit to its owner! 

taglist – @junguwuuu , @prvncejxon, @iwishihadabettername, @carelessshootanonymous 

part i ; part ii

the next few days after you left jaemin all alone in the school’s library, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

you weren’t supposed to feel guilty, after all, that’s what you usually did; hookup with guys you found attractive and then never reach out for them again, pretending to not know them. and you have never had a problem with it before, you never got attached and they were aware of your reputation, so they knew what they were getting into.

but for some reason, jaemin was… different.

you weren’t really sure why, but something about him just made you feel things, things you have never felt with anyone else. you have never felt so good with any of the guys you had hooked up with. and by that, you didn’t only mean how good his touch felt on you, but also the sweet way he reacted to your loving pet names and caresses. 

your heartless attitude only earned you what you had never thought you, a self-proclaimed cold-hearted bad girl would ever experience. 

heartbreak.

now, jaemin tried everything to avoid you. he got out of his way so you wouldn’t bump into each other, leaving class as fast as humanly possible just so you wouldn’t be able to approach him.  though he doubted you would ever get near him again, so he was actually doing you a favour, right?

after all, why else would you have left the way you did after your little rendezvous?

every time you happened to be in a room he had just stepped into, he turned around and left without giving you a second glance, face expressionless. but even when he tried to act tough in front of everyone else, you could see the pain in his eyes and it was slowly killing you. 

truth is, you felt like a complete jerk.

scratch that, you knew you were.

but how could you comprehend the effect your actions had on jaemin if you didn’t even care?

as he had realized when you decided to walk away from him that awful day in the library, he meant nothing to you. and even though it hurt him to no end, that’s how life is.

cruel.

his friends knew something had happened to him. they could see how the usual spark in jaemin’s eyes was completely gone after you two got together to work on your genetics project. he usually kept to himself, which wasn’t really out of the ordinary coming from him, but lately he barely talked, only answering with monosyllables. he stopped taking part in their conversations, not even intervening when renjun and donghyuck’s bickering got out of hand.

“hey, nana, are you coming to chenle’s place later today? we’ll probably stay over and play games in his huge ass tv.” jeno’s cheerful voice made jaemin look up from his untouched lunch. he just nodded slightly before looking back down to his food.

he didn’t feel like talking or hanging out with anyone, but noticing the worried expression that had replaced jeno’s usual bright smile, he tried to put on his best smile. “sure,” he tried to reassure him. jeno didn’t seem so convinced, though he didn’t say anything about it.

his friends also noticed how he seemed to disappear whenever you were nearby, which confirmed their suspicions of something happening between you two. he usually took his time to get ready for his next class and was fairly organized, but from that day on, he didn’t even try, throwing all his belongings inside his back before rushing out of the door. 

they were determined to find out what had happened with you to make jaemin stop being his usual self. the only problem was, how were they going to get it out of him?

~.~.~.~

“hyuck, go open the door, it must be jaemin.” jaemin could hear renjun’s voice yell from somewhere inside the house.

“ugh, you’re so annoying,” donghyuck rolled his eyes as he opened the door before going back upstairs to what he assumed was chenle’s room.

“dang, not even a hello,” shaking his head in disapproval, jaemin made his way inside, closing the door after himself.

noise –or more like screams– could be heard coming from upstairs as his friends were most likely already playing some game. he walked towards the kitchen where he found renjun and jeno preparing sandwiches and other snacks for all of them. when they saw jaemin walking in, they stopped what they were doing to look at him.

“hey, you came,” renjun smiled, happy to see his friend coming out of his newfound shell. just like the other guys, he was concerned about his sudden change of demeanor. he honestly missed his presence and dumb comments. not that he would ever tell him, though.

“can you help us with the drinks please?” jeno asked, hands full of snacks. 

jaemin just nodded his head before taking six cups to fill with any drink he could find in chenle’s fridge. after they had emptied half of the cabinets, the three boys made their way to his friend’s bedroom in silence.

none of them knew what to say, or more like how to say it. renjun and jeno were dying to ask jaemin what was going on, why did he decide to stop hanging out as much with them, if they were right about you being involved in whatever happened. and jaemin could tell. he wasn’t blind to not notice the weird looks they constantly threw at each other, the way they quieted down every time he approached them. but he didn’t want to admit the mistake he had made. he couldn’t look them in the face after spoiling all their efforts to prevent this very situation from happening.

what would they think of him?

he was supposed to be the cautious one of them all, the one who wouldn’t get fooled so easily, the responsible one. but even if he knew for a fact you didn’t have good intentions, he still let himself fall and ended up hurt. how could he take care of his friends if he couldn’t even take care of himself. 

“what took you so long?” jisung asked once they made it to their destination, snatching a few bags of chips from renjun’s arms.

“next time you’ll go get food, then,” the older boy clicked his tongue in annoyance, going to sit next to chenle on the bed.

nobody was surprised when jaemin sat by himself in a corner of the room, quietly staring at the floor. he didn’t even try to take part in their conversations, just nodding from time to time to assure them he was still listening. no one knew how to approach the situation, so chenle, tired of the weird ambiance the group of boys had been engulfed in for some time now, decided to take the initiative.

“what’s going on, jaemin? why can’t you tell us?” jaemin felt cold, mouth ajar in shock. he wasn’t expecting the topic to be brought up so soon and neither chenle to be the first one to confront him about it. “don’t even try to deny something’s up, we’re not dumb.”  

“we want to help you, but we can’t do anything if you don’t trust us enough to tell us.”

and in that moment, jaemin finally broke.

“i fucked up,” his voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes, making his vision blurry.

“what? what do you mean?” donghyuck intervened. he wasn’t one to usually show concern but seeing his friend so distressed made his heart hurt.

“i hooked up with y/n that day we were supposed to work on our project.” 

“we t-.”

“i know, alright! i know it was a mistake and i shouldn’t have let it happen, but now i don’t know what to do,” jaemin thought that venting to someone else about what happened would maybe make him feel better, but it didn’t, if something it actually made him feel worse. he was sure his friends though he was the biggest idiot in the whole world.

“shh, it’s okay, come here,” jeno opened his arms for jaemin, so the broken boy hugged him tightly, hiding the pained expression on his face in the elder’s shoulder.

“i don’t get it, how did this all happen?” a confused jisung asked, not understanding how the hell a simple project in pairs ended up in a hookup.

“i told her to meet me at the library so we wouldn’t be alone. i thought nothing could happen because there would be a lot of people around us, but things didn’t work out the way i thought they would,” and as jaemin told them the whole story, they couldn’t help but pity their friend.

“i thought maybe this time it would be different, you know? she talked to me as if she cared about me,” the dry chuckle he let out made the boys feel uneasy, “and i believed it.”

none of them doubted jaemin had at least a crush on you. yeah, sure, what you did was certainly not nice, but you weren’t together in any way. And that’s how hookups work, right? you fuck and then you leave. no feelings attached.

right?

“so you like her?” renjun asked, although it sounded more like a statement. 

“i think i do.”

~.~.~.~

as much anxiety the thought of having to face you again sparked in jaemin, you both still needed to finish the project and you only had two days left. even if he didn’t feel ready to talk to you yet –though he doubted he would ever be–, he had to man up for the sake of his grades.

seeing as his strategy of working on it in a crowded place didn’t work, there wasn’t another option but to section the project and get it done each on its own.

so that’s what he intended when he waited for you in your locker, practicing his next move over and over again. the only thought in his head was getting out of the situation as soon as he could to avoid any kind of unnecessary interaction.

he was scared of his heart controlling his body and his actions rather than his head, as it would inevitably end in him falling for you once again and only more pain. it would be the perfect formula for yet another heartbreak.

and you were completely shocked when you saw him standing next to your locker, apparently waiting for you. 

“you can finish the first half, i’ll do what’s left,” his eyes stayed trained on the floor as he spoke. he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing him so affected, so as soon as the words left his mouth, he was on his way, trying to flee the scene before you could react. 

“jaemin, wait!” he stopped dead in his tracks, not bothering to turn around and look at you. “look, i-i’m really sor-.”

but he didn’t stay to hear the end of it.

he walked away just like you had done not even a week ago.

feeling a lump in your throat that made it harder for you to breathe, your heart shattered into tiny pieces you didn’t care to pick up as you stood frozen in place.

but yours wasn’t the only heart broken.

jaemin walked home with a heavy heart, eyes stinging from tears that threatened to run down his cheeks. his friends had warned him and yet there he was, sulking over you.

he felt like a fool. how could he have fallen into your trap? he knew the type of girl you were; a heartbreaker, a player, the bad girl. but either way, his heart betrayed him, pumping furiously whenever you smiled at him, whenever you got close enough for him to inhale your sweet perfume and feel your minty breath fan over his face.

anger boiled in his veins, why did you have to play with him like that? what did he ever do wrong to deserve it? he had never bothered you, always staying in his lane and out of your way. he didn’t like confrontations so he stayed away from them, and being near you always included some kind of trouble.

but what hurt him the most was that he actually believed your sweet words, soft touches and loving kisses meant something. that he was stupid enough to think they meant the same to you as to him.

as you watched his figure disappear in the distance, you realized you had fucked up big time and you weren’t sure there was any way you could fix it.

~.~.~.~

the very next day you found yourself walking as fast as your legs allowed you around the campus to find jaemin. you probably looked like you had gone crazy to everyone you walked past, hair messy and tired face. you pulled an all-nighter the night before, determined to finish your part of the project. you really weren’t that interested in your grade. actually, your only motivation was finding an excuse to talk to him.

half an hour later, you still hadn’t been able to find jaemin. you were utterly and completely frustrated, it felt like you had just wasted your time. but just as you were about to give up on your search, you found him.

he was walking down the hallway towards the opposite direction and away from you. you could only see the back of his head, but you could tell he wasn’t looking ahead but at the floor, like he had been doing ever since that day. your feet started moving on their own, directing you to him. 

“jaemin, please, listen to me,” your fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist in an attempt to make him stay. he didn’t want to turn around, he didn’t want to see you or be anywhere near you.

the memory of you leaving the library after using him for your own pleasure hunted him. it may sound dramatic, but jaemin was tired of the pain you brought him. he hated the way your voice still made him feel all giddy and warm inside, he wanted to forget you for good and go on with his life as it was before.

“why should i?”

“because i want to apologize, just hear me out for a second,” you pleaded, not being able to find one good reason for him to stay.

“why would you even be sorry, anyway? you’ve never cared about others, why now and why me?” a bitter, full of hurt chuckle left his lips, eyes rolling in irony. his words felt like a punch to the stomach, the cold tone of his voice making your heart crack.

he was right, you had never cared about anyone else but yourself.

the cold-hearted behaviour jaemin witnessed in that library was what got you your infamous reputation at school; you did whatever you needed to do without looking back to see how it affected others.

that’s why it hurt so much now that you also cared about him.

“because you’re different,” you whispered, eyes closed in distress and white knuckles from how hard you were clenching your fists.

“w-what do you mean? stop playing around, i’m tired of getting hurt.”

“jaemin,” your expression softened, voice coming out in a sigh and helping him relax a little. “i’m not playing with you,” you took a deep breath before proceeding to spill your guts.

“i know i made a huge mistake acting the way i did, and when i say i’m sorry i really, truly mean it. i’m aware that the wound has already been done, but it makes my heart feel heavy to see you avoiding me. it’s selfish, i know, but i don’t want you to be away from me. i-i’m not sure what these feelings are or where they came from, the only thing i know is that i don’t want them to go away.”

what in the world was happening?

“i think i like you, na jaemin.”

“you like… m-me?” confusion was written all over his face, he couldn’t tell if you were being honest or not.

“yes, i like you, and if you’d give me a second opportunity i promise i’d make it worth it.”

and as much pain you had been causing him for the last few days, he couldn’t contain the butterflies that erupted in the pit of his stomach when he saw the sincerity your eyes held. 

his body moved without him realizing, walking towards you until he could smell your sweet scent. you didn’t back down, staying still with eyes locked in his even when you were sure he could hear the crazy beating of your heart. you hoped he believed you, but even if he didn’t, you were determined to prove it to him, regardless of the price. 

a surprised gasp fell from your lips when he leaned in with eyes closed, lips locking in a mind-blowing kiss. he tasted the same as last time, but the moment felt different. this kiss was less rushed, filled with strong feelings that you hoped were reciprocated.

had he accepted your apology and was willing to take you back after all you had done?

“does this mea-,” you broke away from the kiss to ask, but he cut you off quickly before going back to attack your mouth.

“i like you too,” your heart felt like it was about to explode, something you had never felt before.  

your arms snaked around his neck as his hands positioned themselves on the small of your back, both trying to bring the other closer. your fingers went to his soft, fluffy hair to tug on it and jaemin groaned into your mouth. 

for a moment, both of you forgot you were still in school’s grounds and anyone walking to their locker or next class could find you, but at that moment, nothing mattered.

his body felt like it was on fire, the burn almost addictive as he unconsciously pressed his hips into yours, letting you feel his growing boner. he was so into the kiss he didn’t notice at first how his body was reacting to your closeness, your scent filling his senses and plump lips moving against his. but when you responded with a roll of your hips, he gasped in surprise.

“come on, baby,” his heart pumped harder as you intertwined your fingers with his and dragged him to the teacher’s bathroom. after making sure no one was nearby, you got in and locked yourselves inside. you didn’t waste any time smashing your lips together, the kiss eventually turning rougher and full of lust.

when jaemin’s back touched the wall, he broke away from the kiss to regain his breath. 

he wasn’t a resentful person, but he was determined to give you a taste of your own medicine. you were going to regret what you had done.

oh, sweet revenge.

the tables turned as he pushed you against the wall, pressing his body flush into yours. a surprised moan left your lips, hands going to his chest in a failed attempt of pushing him away and re-establishing your dominance.

“no, it’s my turn,” the new found confidence that was taking over his body made jaemin feel great. you were wordless because of the sudden change of attitude so he took the opportunity to pin both of your wrists above your head with only one of his hands and with the other, he grabbed your thigh and lifted it, holding it to his hip. with a roll of his hips, his hard cock grinded against your clothed core in such a way your legs almost buckled.

“look at you now, where did the mean girl attitude go?” 

you could only moan, already feeling your damp panties stick to your folds uncomfortably, and he smirked at your lack of response. you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you and now knew how desperate jaemin must have felt that day at the library with all your teasing.

“what do you want? tell me baby,” when you tried to free yourself from his grip, he tsked, only tightening it more. “i’m not letting you go, so stop being a brat. i asked you a question, tell me what you want.”

jaemin was enjoying every single second of having you so under his control. you had pegged him as someone who liked being dominated, but apparently you were wrong. by the looks of it, he was having the time of his life, not even caring about how long it's been since everything started, engraving in his brain every sound you made and the way your face contorted in pleasure when he pressed himself against you. he didn’t care about his reputation anymore either, after ruining you just the way you had done with him he would have had enough to make it worth it.

“i want to see you,” your hands twitched in his grip, fingers wanting nothing more than to tug on his shirt and undress him. last time you didn’t get to see him due to being in a public space, but now, locked inside the teacher’s bathroom, you could finally see him in his full glory. jaemin would normally feel shy about showing his body to someone else, especially a girl, but he couldn’t let his whole confident facade fall down, so he set you free, “unbutton it then, babygirl.”

you worked on unbuttoning his shirt as fast as you could and pussy clenched around nothing when you saw his toned abdomen and chest. he was stunning. your hands trailed down his body, caressing the soft skin, drinking in all the little details. in return, jaemin lifted yours above your chest to have easy access to your breasts. the hand that was previously holding you still now came to knead your soft boobs, groaning at the way your hips bucked against his cock.

“fuck me,” you managed to let out in a whimper.

“uhm, is that what you want?” you shook your head ‘yes’ as soon as the question came out of his mouth, eager to feel him inside once again. “then beg for it.” 

you weren’t used to being the one to beg and as much as you hated following orders, you were willing to swallow your dignity if it meant he was going to touch you just how you needed. 

“please, jaemin,” he shook his head, not satisfied by your response, “i’m so wet and it’s all just for you, i need you to fuck me, please” you felt your face heat up in embarrassment but you opted to ignore it. he hummed, letting go of your leg for a moment to slide your panties off your body and pull down his pants before gripping your thigh once again.

“your wish is my command,” you giggled at his cute antics, but the laughter soon got stuck in your throat when he slid his cock inside you. your eyes closed, head falling to the crook of his neck and hands gripping his biceps to hold yourself up, as jaemin groaned. you felt as tight as he could remember, but he still couldn’t get used to it. his legs trembled slightly as your walls squeezed around him, “f-fuck, still so tight.”

“move, please,” the stretch felt nice, but you needed more. and so he did as he was told, starting to slowly buck his hips into you before eventually building up a steady pace.

you felt so full with him snuggled deep inside of you, reaching places you didn’t know he could with the new position. his hips angled so he could hit your g-spot with every thrust, loud moans leaving your lips. 

“if you keep being loud we’ll get caught baby,” his teeth nibbled on the skin of your neck, mouth sucking softly as to not leave marks, “or maybe that’s what you want? for someone to catch us fucking in school property?” your moans got louder so jaemin put his hand over your lips to shush you.

“uhm, that’d make so much more sense as to why you suddenly decided to risk my reputation and fuck me in the library where anybody could have seen us just with a turn of their heads.” his words came out so bluntly your eyes widened, body convulsing against his and high getting closer.

“f-faster, please, fuck me faster,” he obliged, lifting your skirt so it hung just above your waist to uncover your lower half. his hips snapped rougher than before as his thumb played with your sensitive clit, pressing harshly and circling furiously on it.

“oh my god, jaemin!” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth falling open as muffled moans fell from your lips. jaemin’s pace got sloppy as your walls clamped down on him. he was finding it hard to move, both from the strong grip of your pussy and his nearing orgasm.

“that’s it, baby, come for me,” and with a particular flick of his fingers you were cumming hard, juices running down the inside of your thighs. jaemin fucked you through your orgasm and followed soon after, thick cum filling you up nicely. heavy pants could be heard all over the room, fogging the bathroom’s mirror. 

after your breathing had evened, he pulled out and dropped your leg to let you stand up comfortably. neither of you made an effort to move away from the other, eyes staying locked in the other’s, sharing a last kiss before fixing your clothes as best as you could in the shortest period of time you could manage. you were most likely already running late for class so you didn’t have time to lose.

noticing the only piece of clothing you were missing were your panties, you started searching everywhere for it. you couldn’t get caught or else you would be in big trouble. two teenagers spending a considerable amount of time locked together in the teacher’s bathroom without the supervision of any adult wouldn’t look good to anyone.

at some point you began panicking, you couldn’t just leave your underwear in there, somebody was going to find it and you both would be fucked. for real this time.

“jaemin, have you seen my pant-.”

“your what?” you hadn’t noticed the big ass smirk jaemin was carrying as he looked at you, enjoying your misery. “my panties,” but that wasn’t the only thing you noticed, you could see the pink cloth hanging from his finger. 

“give them back,” you pouted cutely, making jaemin smile teasingly. “nope, now they’re mine,” he shoved the piece of clothing inside his pocket and left you to deal with his cum dripping down your legs by yourself.

“but it’s leaking, i can’t go out like this.”

you probably sounded like a whiny child throwing a tantrum, but you really needed your underwear back or else you wouldn’t be able to keep it all in. 

“you can and you will, sweetie,” jaemin smirked, taking your hand in his before opening the bathroom door to leave. you didn’t want to leave like that, so you leaned your whole weight back so he wouldn’t be able to pull you with him, but he managed. with a hard tug on your hand, he forced you out of the room and into his back.

just as you were mumbling about how strong he was, a voice made you both freeze in your spots.

“did you guys just leave the teacher’s bathroom? what the heck?” donghyuck gasped, mouth agape in shock. he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing; na jaemin and y/l y/n, school’s good boy and bad girl, walking out of the teacher’s bathroom hand in hand. jaemin’s eyes opened wide in panic. someone –or more like the worst person who could have found you– caught you in a very compromising situation. the erratic beating of his heart made his body feel numb, cheeks flushing a deep tone of red.

he noticed jaemin’s messy hair, blushing cheeks and not properly buttoned shirt as well as your untucked one and skirt way too high up your legs that revealed a fair portion of your thighs.

and then it clicked.

donghyuck’s own eyes shot open as he connected the dots.

“oh my fucking god, you fucked in there.”

–lia:)

[ithebookhoarder]

‘Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know’: Part 2 (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 

Description: After the night in your apartment together, things between you and Javi have been... well... awkward, to say the least. If you didn't know any better you’d say he was actually avoiding you, which isn’t ideal considering you’ve now been partnered together for a raid in the jungle. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: So, ok. I did NOT expect such a lovely and overwhelming response to the one shot I did for this prompt. I was so touched that basically I couldn't resist giving in to @delorena​‘s request for a part 2... and a soon to be released part 3, as this baby was getting long XD Sorry!

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, canon-typical violence, reference to death, references to drugs, threat, my poor ass attempts at translating Spanish, Javi being an idiot (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

It had been a month since that night in your apartment: the night that had seen you waking up next to your partner, Javier Peña. 

Yeah.

Even now, it felt like some kind of surreal dream to think about. It probably didn’t help that neither of you had actually spoken about it since then, simply heading out the door the next morning, off to work like nothing had happened. 

Then again, what had happened? Other than you making a drunken ass of yourself in front of the guy who was both your colleague, but also your crush. It wasn’t like you’d kissed or slept with each other, in the usual sense of the word. Instead, you’d actually just slept. Fully clothed. With Javier Peña. 

If anything, that fact alone should have been enough to tell you not only had nothing happened, it most likely never would. This was the Javier Peña, after all. He normally slept with anything with a pulse. So, despite his confession that night about his recent lack of companions, you were surprised to say the least that he hadn’t made some kind of move. Not then, and not in any of the days since.  

Maybe he didn’t see you as attractive? God. Wouldn’t that be the fucking kick in the teeth you didn’t need. Or, maybe he was just trying to preserve your working relationship? After all, you did spend almost every minute of your waking lives together, watching each other’s backs out in the field and the treacherous world Escobar had created. You couldn’t afford distractions. Distractions could get you killed. 

But even if that was the case, why did it do nothing to soothe the hurt you felt in your gut? A hurt that had been impossible to shift since the moment Javi had woken you that fateful morning and hurriedly shot you a ‘goodbye’ as he ran out the door without you. 

“This way Steve won’t see me leaving your apartment,” he’d explained casually, pulling on his shoes as you watched from the doorway. 

You’d only been awake for two minutes before noticing that the bed had been empty next to you. Not only that, but it was cold to touch, as if no one had slept on it in some time. The thought had made your stomach turn, and you knew you couldn’t entirely blame your hangover for the sudden urge to hurl as you hurried out of bed and found yourself here. 

Needless to say, you were more than surprised to see Javi fully dressed, and almost creeping out the front door like some guilty one night stand. 

A one night stand who’d made pancakes? God. Could this have got any stranger?

“Y/N. You’re up?”

If you didn’t know better, you’d have said he sounded disappointed by that fact. Like, he’d been planning on being gone well before you woke up. That would explain the stack of pancakes and glass of OJ on the side, and the hastily scrawled post-it note beside it. 

- Eat these and drink some water. You’ll feel better.

That was all he’d been planning to give you after last night? 

Not even a goodbye?

Just some home cooked food and a crappy note?

You felt like you had to still be drunk. There was no other explanation for this bizarre scenario, not considering the genuine vulnerability Javi had shown you the night before. Had you dreamt half of the things he’d said and done the night before? After all, for someone who had kissed your forehead and called you ‘querida’ he seemed pretty keen to be rid of you. 

Had he just been pandering to your drunken state? Had he simply not meant it in any other way than friendly? Had you read more into it, hoping for what wasn’t really there in some kind of grief fuelled haze? 

If so, you’d really fucked up and had no one but yourself to blame. It would take more than one good night to prove Javier Peña - the manwhore of Bogotá  - had changed. To think otherwise had been foolish and naive, and most likely due to the amount of alcohol in your system.  

“You not eating? Why make it if you’re not gonna eat any of it?”

“I already ate,” Javi explained hastily, “I hope you don’t mind. I should get going and I didn’t want to wake you yet. I figured you could use the rest after...”

“Yeah, of course,” you’d stammered, blearily trying to make it make sense as you noticed the freshly washed frying pan beside the sink. How long had he been awake? Had he even slept at all? “You uh, you want some coffee before you go?”

“No, thanks. I’ll grab some at work. This way, I can get back to mine and shower before I leave.”

“You can use the shower here, if you want?”

“No, thanks,” he’d repeated, rubbing the back of his neck and hauling on his jacket. If he sensed the sharpness to his tone, he didn’t address it. Instead, he just scoffed as if this whole thing was just some cosmic joke between the pair of you. “Last thing we need is for Steve or Connie to see me coming out of here and start making assumptions about last night, am I right?”

You’d frozen. 

Would that have been so bad? Bad enough to make Javi look like he was trying to escape from sicarios, and not you? 

You didn’t trust yourself to do much more than fake a laugh back and nod in agreement. Burying your hurt was for the best as you thanked him one last time for his help the night before. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, then?”

“Sure thing, Y/N. See ya in a bit.” 

With that, he’d shut the door and left you staring after him, just as confused as you were now, a whole month later.

It just didn’t make any sense, no matter how many times you’d played that night over and over in your head - which was quite a lot, if you were being honest. The sudden lack of leads from Escobar’s men had seen to that, forcing you, Steve, and Javi, to spend a hell of a lot of time stuck at your desks at the embassy, sorting paperwork and trying to find ways to keep yours minds from wandering. 

It was easier said than done. 

No matter how many extras files you offered to handle, you still couldn’t get Javi out of your mind. Not when he was always sat opposite you, smoking away or making conversation with Steve… and occasionally you, but only when he had to - something you’d noticed early on. 

Even Steve had noticed Javi’s sudden aversion to being left alone with you. It was beyond odd, and had lead to him staring at the pair of you with a baffled look on his face as Javi seemed to always find somewhere else to be just as he was about to leave you two alone. 

It was like your own version of hell. 

At this point, you’d almost pay one of Escobar’s men to give you an excuse to get out of the embassy and away from the suffocating tension that lingered between you. 

“What the hell is going on between you?” Connie had pried, barging into your apartment as soon as Steve had filled her in on the latest situation between you and Javi. One look at her determined expression had warned you she wasn’t leaving without answers. “Did something happen the other night? When he walked you home after the bar?” 

With a sigh, you’d told her everything from first to last, hoping she’d be able to make some sort of sense out of it. 

“I just don’t get it, Con. I mean… he made fucking pancakes and slept in my bed. Then the next day, it’s like he can’t even look at me.”

“Did he say anything about it?”

You groaned, busying yourself with opening the bottle of wine Connie had brought with her. It was easier than letting her see the guilt on your face as you replayed your failed attempts to confront the man. 

“I… I haven’t actually asked him about it,” you whispered. 

“Y/N!”

“I know Connie-“

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” you protested, ripping off the cork and emptying a worrying amount of the wine into your glass. Once you’d deemed your glass full enough for this conversation, you passed the bottle back and tried to ignore her disapproving glare. She looked scarily like your fourth grade teacher when she did that. “I know how it sounds, ok? I just can’t! I chicken out whenever I try and, I have tried! It’s like trying to wrestle an eel trying to get him alone with me for more than thirty seconds.”  

It was Connie’s turn to sigh, running a hand through her hair as she leant back into the couch. “So Steve tells me.” 

“Oh? What else has Stevie been saying?”

“Just that he’s worried about you two,” Connie continued, smirking at the outraged expression on your face. “I’m his wife, Y/N. He’s gonna tell me stuff, and by the sounds of it, you two aren’t exactly being subtle about the whole thing. It’s been driving Steve mad. I had to talk him out of locking you both in a closet until you two worked this out.”

You paused. Oh, Steve was gonna get it next time you saw him. 

And he called Connie dramatic? Locking you in a closet? What was this? Some cheesy telenovela? 

“For a DEA agent, he can be an idiot sometimes. As if that was gonna work.”

“Who knows,” Connie laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “But at least it might have got you two talking again, even if only about how much you both hated Steve. It would have been a start.”

Sure, but the start of what? 

You weren’t sure anymore of where your life was headed, or even where you wanted it to be headed. Your relationship - or non-existent one - with Javi, was just one more murky variable you had yet to decide on. 

Did you even want to fix things? He had been the one to cut you off after all. Why should you go running after someone who clearly didn’t want you, or value you? You were better than that. You were worth more than that. 

Whatever his problem was, it wasn’t on you to fix it. 

“A start of a court case after we murder each other, you mean?” you grumbled, taking another desperate gulp of wine. However, you did your best not to spit it out a second later as Connie said something you’d never thought you’d hear… not outside of your dreams, anyway. 

“Or, the start of a relationship? I mean, honestly, Y/N? I think he likes you.”

“What?”

“I mean it,” Connie hummed thoughtfully. “Why else would he spook like this? I saw how he was looking at you that night, gazing at you in the rearview the whole way home. He likes you and knowing him, he probably doesn’t do feelings very often. He’s probably scared to feel like that about someone. Especially, someone he works with.” 

You snorted at the absurdity of it. Did Connie hear herself? She was talking bullshit. Sure, Javi had said that he hadn’t been seeing his informants in his usual sense any more, but he could have been lying. Or, he could have found some other source of comfort. Either way, it wasn’t proof he had feelings for you. Not real feelings. Not feelings that would warrant this level of panic. 

“Holy shit. You sound like my Mom.”

“What?”

“She used to tell me crap like, if a boy’s mean to you it’s because he likes you,” you sniggered, trying to ignore the brief flicker of hope that lingered, even now. ”But he doesn’t. If he’s mean, he’s mean and you should shove him on his ass.”

Connie smirked. “You wanna shove Javi on his ass?”

“Yes, no, I mean…” you babbled, caught off by her logic. “I’m just saying, he doesn’t like me. I thought he did, Con, but he doesn’t. End of story. He made it perfectly clear when he ran out my apartment like I’d given him a disease. This is Javi, we’re talking about, Connie. You know him as well as I do. He slept next to me and didn’t make a single move the whole night. What does that tell you about how he sees me?” 

“I think it says a lot,” Connie sighed. “And that he has enough of a conscience not to make a move on an upset, drunk, grieving woman.” 

“Be that as it may, he doesn’t get a medal for being a good person.”

“No, but it does tell you a lot about him and how much he cares about you. Why else would he do all that? And, not tell anyone about it either? It’s not like he did it for the good-guy points.”

You hated how right she was. You also hated how this conversation wasn’t making anything clearer at all. If anything, it had just got more complicated. 

It was official: things had been much simpler before Javier Peña had come into your life. 

——

As with most things in your life, there was a certain inevitability about things. Like, no matter how hard you tried to avoid something - or someone - they nearly always ended up catching up with you eventually. Honestly, you didn’t know why you were surprised to find Javi was one of those things. 

Clearly, the universe was done with letting you two try and work things out by yourselves. Fate had got bored and decided to step in and intervene, or so you grumbled quietly, listening to the Ambassador’s orders with horror: You were off on an assignment. 

Not just any assignment either, but a raid. A big raid at that, hoping to bust one of Escobar’s labs located out in the jungle. The intel had come via one of Javi’s informants and had somehow been proven as true enough to act on. But of course, things were never simple. 

Not only were you going on a raid, but you were partnered off in teams with individual areas to take charge of once you hit the ground. It was standard procedure and nothing to throw you off your game, but it was who your teammate was that concerned you. 

None other than Javier Peña himself - a fact that made you wonder if there was any way you could beg Steve into swapping with you. You’d much prefer teaming up with Carillo instead. Even if he was a little cold towards you, at least he didn’t treat you like a nameless nobody. His nonchalance came from professional courtesy, not personal disgust. 

However, you’d never even had the chance to ask. Not when the Ambassador had ordered you all off there and then, piling you into a chopper and dumping your asses on the ground with barely enough time to strap yourselves into tactical gear, let alone negotiate the particulars of the operation. 

At least being out in the field meant Javi had to talk to you. There wasn’t really a way he could avoid it, or even you, given that you were supposed to be keeping each other alive long enough to shut down the operation being run out here. 

One look at the tents and workstations dotted around the surrounding jungle told you this wasn’t going to be easy. There were a lot of workers, and even more weapons between them. Weapons as big and as powerful as your own. 

“Close in on your positions,” a voice ordered, crackling into life over the radio you had hooked up to you. One look at Javi, crouched in the brush beside you, told you’d he’d heard loud and clear. The well-rehearsed signal his hand made, followed by a slow nod, also told you he was ready to move in on the specific area your pair had been told to target. 

“Stay close,” he whispered, almost as if it was an after thought. 

You wanted to roll your eyes, and had you not been about to entire a life threatening situation, you probably would have. Instead, the best you could do was repeat his words back mockingly. 

“You stay close.”

Javi looked surprised by the venom in your voice. 

Thankfully, he was spared the chance to reply as a shout echoed throughout the clearing, sending men charging in all directions, gunfire quick to follow. 

“Go, go, go!”

The command was clear. 

You gripped your gun tightly, raising it and hurrying out of your hiding spot to join the others. Without even looking you could tell Javi was following alongside you, opening fire on the sicarios who were firing back at you. 

You were quick to pick off the immediate threats, choosing your targets and pulling the trigger with a familiar ease that - to this day - made you worry for your soul. Still, as Javi had once told you, it was you or them. When it came down to it, pulling the trigger wasn’t a choice but a necessity. 

You hated the fact his words brought you comfort as you turned and fired a shot at a passing assailant with surprising speed. If only all problems could be removed as easily. 

“Y/N! 9 o’clock!”

You turned, firing again before registering it had been Javi that had warned you. 

So, he did remember your name after all. 

You didn’t know if that made things better or worse between you considering he’d just been choosing not to use it. Either way, you knew the aggression as you stormed through the tarp flaps of the tent wasn’t entirely due to the men you knew would be inside. 

“¡Detener!” you bellowed, watching as Javi mirrored you. “Deje el arma y levante las manos donde pueda verlas.” (*Stop! Put down the gun and put your hands up where I can see them)

“Estas bajo arresto!”  (*You’re under arrest!)

Your voice was loud, even if your Spanish was still a little rough despite being in Colombia for almost eight months. It wasn’t like you had Javi to teach you while you worked anymore, but you knew enough by this point to get by. 

You also knew a remarkable amount of insults and swears - words that were quickly thrown at you by the men in front of you, hands raised and cocaine powder staining their hands from their nearby work stations.  

“Maldita perra americana,” one spat, as if not caring you had a gun pointed at his head.  (*Damn American Bitch)

“Puede que sea una perra, pero soy el que tiene la pistola, pendejo,” you warned, reminding yourself that you couldn’t kill the bastards for simply annoying you. They were unarmed and workers, even if people like these had been behind your sister’s OD. It was their cocaine, shipped in to the US, in packages like the ones surrounding you, that had lead to your sister’s demise. 

(*I might be a bitch but I'm the one with the gun, asshole)

“Sigues siendo una perra-” (*You’re still a bitch)

“Want to say that again? Huh?” Javi barked, surging towards the one who had spoken and grabbing his sweat-stained wife-beater in his fist. With surprising ferocity, he slammed the man back against the wooden pillar in the centre of the tent and pressed his gun into his cheek. “¿Quieres decirme eso a la cara? O eres un bastardo muy valiente o muy estúpido.”

(*Do you want to say that to my face? Either you are a very brave bastard or a very stupid)

“Javi!” you scolded, eyes wide at your partner. Sure, this wasn’t the first time Javi had been a little unorthodox with his methods, but he’d never been so openly violent or unhinged in front of you. He normally left that to Carillo, or at least waited until you weren’t watching. He knew how you hated it. “Javi! Let him go! Just cuff him already.”

“Oh, I don’t know. What’s one more dead asshole?”

The man had the decency to finally look terrified as he whimpered, squirming under Javi as he looked at you, as if begging for you to rein in your partner. 

“I could pull the trigger, here and now. No one would care.”

“No! NO! Por favor. Lo siento.” (*Please. I’m sorry)

“Javi,” you snapped. “Fucking stop, already! What is wrong with you? Jesus!”

Your horror must have finally got through to him as Javi tensed, throwing the man to the floor before looking at you with guilt in his eyes. 

This man was just a puzzle wrapped in an enigma. You could never work him out. Never. After all, this man was the man who’d been treating you like you had the plague, but now? Now he was seconds away from losing it over one sicario insulting you? 

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to it. You’d been called a lot worse by a lot more terrible people. 

What was wrong with him? It couldn’t just be because you were his partner. You were Steve’s partner and it took more than the odd asshole calling you a bitch to rile him up. 

Speaking of your partner, you were pleased to hear his voice interrupting over the radio, speaking to you from his position the other side of the site. It was like he knew something was wrong between them. “Come in, Peña? L/N? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Steve. We hear you,” you replied swiftly, unable to look at Javi as he finally cuffed the guy, beginning to hand him and the other workers off to the soldiers that were now joining you. “This side is secured.”

“Good. We’re headed over to you guys now. We’re just processing how much damn product there is. My bet is it’s worth at least a couple million. Carillo says closer to ten million.”

You scoffed. Typical. You’d been in a war zone a matter of minutes ago, and your colleagues were already placing bets like this was just some game? 

“Put me down. $10 says it’s five million.“

Steve laughed. “You got it. Escobar is gonna lose his shit. Peña?”

Javi was slow to respond, taking a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. You knew he was trying to look like he was thinking it over, but his eyes gave him away. Even behind his signature yellow aviators. He was too busy staring between you and the floor to be paying all that much attention. 

Suddenly, the tent seemed all the more stifling and it wasn’t because of the humidity of the Colombian jungle. 

“Uh… seven, put me down for seven.”

“You got it! Hurry your asses up and meet us at the rendezvous. We need to fucking celebrate.” 

You were quick to follow his instruction, turning and hurrying out of the tent before you could pass out. Unfortunately, the sound of footsteps behind you told you Javi had done the same. Perhaps it was Steve’s promise of celebrating that had him moving with surprising speed as you began to make your way back to the centre of the site, where Carillo would be co-ordinating the effort to wrap this operation up. 

It would take a while, if not the rest of the day, to catalogue everything and start moving the detainees somewhere for interrogation. Even if they were just grunt workers, you knew someone likely knew something that could give you a lead towards catching Escobar. 

That was why you were here, after all. To catch the bastard behind all of this. Not to make friends, or have an adventure, or all the other bullshit you’d been telling yourself since you’d moved down here. This was just a job. One that you’d be glad to finish, sooner rather than later, especially if it meant you didn’t have to deal with the agent walking behind you. 

You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you marched across the clearing. It was like he was just waiting to say something but couldn’t bring himself to spit it out. 

That was a first. A speechless Javier?

“You want to tell me what happened back there?”

Your words hung in the air, the offer clear even without you looking at the agitated agent behind you. All you could hear in response was the undergrowth crunching beneath his boots as he took a breath, as if debating whether to answer. 

“Nothing happened.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, really.”

“So you don’t want to explain to me why you almost went ape shit back there?”  

“I did not,” he huffed, sounding oddly bored by the conversation. “I was merely apprehending a possible threat. He was disrespecting you but also the DEA. You’re not going to make me explain defending a colleague, are you?”

“Like how Steve’s cat was DEA?” you scoffed, disbelief evident as you stopped dead in your tracks and whirled to face him. God. Even through your hate you couldn’t help but admire the way he looked, with his sinful dark green button down clinging to him in the heat. Even with his tactical vest still on, you could see that the top two buttons were undone, which didn’t help matters at all. “All he did was throw a few nasty words my way, Peña. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Javi looked stunned you’d even suggest otherwise. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“Then why did you-?”

You never got the chance to finish the question. 

You’d barely even opened your mouth to start before you were interrupted by the sudden chorus of startled shouts, echoing across the clearing. Panic was almost tangible in the air as your head turned, staring towards the structure nearest you as a shout of “¡Bomba! ¡Hay una bomba! ¡Todos se mueven! Es una trampa. Va a explotar. Carrera” rang out. 

You weren’t fluent in Spanish, but as you said before, you knew enough words to get by. The words ‘bomb’, ‘trap’ and ‘run’ were definitely clear enough for your heart to race and your eyes to widen in shock. 

Before you could even move, you felt arms wrap around your body, hauling you to the ground as an earth shattering explosion sent the world turning. 

The entire world felt like it shook as dirt and debris erupted overhead, causing you to curl in on yourself tightly. You could only hear ringing in your ears as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. 

A bomb.

There had been a bomb. 

Fuck. Escobar had likely left it as a fail safe in case the place was raided as it had been today. Someone had likely set it to explode the moment your team and Search Bloc had come running out of the trees. 

Oh god. 

A weight was pressed against you, arms holding you close to someone as your world began to righten itself. Only as your vision stopped spinning were you able to realise someone was holding you, shielding your body beneath theirs as they’d thrown you both to the ground. 

The sudden smell of cigarettes, whiskey and cologne told you exactly who it was on top of you. The feel of his hands around you was also a pretty big clue, given how you’d memorised their feel a month ago, when he’d held you similar to this… in a bed… soothing you as you’d drifted to sleep, safe and sound. 

“Y/N?”

Javi’s voice was soft in your ear as he repeated your name over and over until you seemed to acknowledge him. It must have been shock that kept you still for so long, unresponsive as he sat up, releasing you and checking you over with pure unadulterated terror on his face. 

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

“Javi?” you whispered. 

You had to be concussed. Maybe you’d hit the ground harder than you’d thought? There was no way Javi would be looking down at you with such kindness and relief, an expression all too similar to the one he’d worn as he’d put you to bed before. 

The old Javi? Maybe. But this new Javi, the one who had appeared in old-Javi’s place, recently? No. He could barely give you the time of day, let alone do something as monumentally stupid as this. Risking his life to save yours without even hesitating? 

It was enough to make your eyes water.  

“I… I’m fine,” you croaked, pulling away all-too quickly and scrambling to your feet again. The world swayed dangerously, but you weren’t about to give Javi the satisfaction of holding on to him for support. You were fine, all things considered. “You good?”

Javi nodded, also getting to his feet. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

You’d been lucky. A quick glance behind you told you the explosion’s epicentre had been close enough to you both to knock you down, but far enough away to avoid any real damage. Hopefully, no one had been injured… or worse. 

Suddenly, it all became too real, too fast, as you realised what had almost happened. You stared at Javi, trying to prove to yourself that you were both ok. 

He wasn’t bleeding. 

He wasn’t wounded. 

He was simply coated in dirt and sweat, and still looking unfairly handsome for it. 

It wasn’t fair. Not by a long shot, and considering the hellish day you’d had, it was no surprise your temper finally seemed to snap, terror quickly gave way to relief, which quickly gave way to something else… Rage. 

“You asshole!” you seethed, slapping Javi’s arm as hard as you could. The yelp he gave wasn’t nearly as satisfying as you’d hoped for, but his surprise was. He looked at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Maybe you had? Who knew anymore? “You utter asshole, Javi! What were you thinking? Actually, you clearly weren’t thinking else you’d never have been so stupid as to pull a stunt like that back there-”

“Stupid? I was looking out for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to, Peña,” you snarled, pointing at him. “Why would you even care if I got a bit of shrapnel in me? It would do you a favour, actually, if I ended up in the hospital for a few days. Give you a break from me and trying to avoid me.”

“What?” he choked, looking genuinely horrified by your declaration. So much so that it took him a minute to realise you’d started to march away from him, intending on getting back to the others and the hell out of here. “Y/N. Stop. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His hand was warm as it touched your arm, turning you to face him as he had that night in the hallway. Yet again, you were forced to recoil, growling at the pity you found staring back at you. 

“Do NOT touch me!”

“What-?“

“You can’t even look at me for a whole month, Peña, and suddenly you’re willing to be some hero? Taking a damn hit for me? Throwing yourself on top of me like that? How dare you!” you hissed, pure rage and hurt coursing through you as the adrenaline wore off. “I am as capable an agent as you are. I know you don’t think all that highly of people without pricks between their legs, but I don’t need you protecting me. I don’t need anything from you. Not when we both know you don’t care. You made that pretty clear last time.”

Javi blinked, hands on his hips, as if trying to process what the hell was happening. Even through your outrage, you hated knowing that the pain in his eyes was your fault. “Last time? Now wait a fucking minute, if you’re talking about the night Xiomara died-”

“What other fucking night would I be talking about, asshole?” 

“I don’t know! Stop yelling at me and calm down!” 

“I AM CALM!” you screamed, hating the irony of the moment. At least Steve and Carillo weren’t there to witness it. As it was, you could feel the eyes of several officers staring at you as you gave them a show you didn’t need. “Now, why don’t you just do us both a favour and fuck off. You’ve done your hero thing. It worked well last time. Your job is done. Completed. Finished. Wouldn’t want me to think you actually cared about me.”  

“Y/N-”

“No, Javi!”

“Y/N,” he snarled, rooting you to the spot as something cold ran down your spine. The feel of his hand loosely gripping your arm was enough to make your heart stop all over again. “Just… let me explain, ok? Please?” 

You’d hardly ever heard Javi say that word: please. Let alone so desperately, so brokenly, as if afraid you’d say no. That you’d walk away and leave him standing there. 

On one hand, it would have served him right given he’d all but done the same thing to you. However, you didn’t have it in you to be petty, and it would have been petty to carry on this feud just to spite him. To cause him pain. To make him feel how he’d made you feel. 

Was it wrong to want that? 

Was it wrong to not want that? To replace this rage with something better? Something else entirely that would make the ache inside of you go away and allow you to get back on with living your life. 

Then again, how could you? How could you go back to how things had been before, with your shared jokes and hidden smiles? With his habit of bringing you coffee from the place you both liked on the corner, every morning? With his kind words and ability to put a smile on your face even after the darkest of days? 

To go back to that also meant going back to him seeing you as a friend and nothing more. To acting as if the private conversations, and the vulnerability he’d gifted you with in your apartment, hadn’t ever happened. To watching as he drank, smoked, and fucked away any real emotion he had. 

Be that as it may, despite it all, he’d at least acknowledged your existence… 

A minute passed before you took a breath and mustered the courage to look back at him. 

“Ok.”

Javi’s body instantly relaxed as he realised what you’d said. “Thank you,” he sighed, gesturing to the waiting helicopter further down the hill. The invitation was clear. “But… just not here, ok? We can talk back at the embassy or at your place, or mine, just… somewhere private.”

You nodded. You had a feeling you’d both need it for the conversation awaiting you both. 

“Ok. We can talk back at mine. Let’s just get the hell out of here first.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. 

[hotchley]

do they even know?

Hi, so it’s still Valentine’s Day somewhere. This is... an exceptionally long fic. All I’m going to say is, I’m exhausted, I haven’t proofread it and I’m living up to my name with this one. I’ll probably come back and update this note in the morning, but right now, I just really want to sleep, so enjoy! 

I’m actually quite proud of this one... do with that what you will

Word Count: 19302

Trigger Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, stalking, suicide, religious trauma, homophobia, internalized homophobia, slight/implied references to drug addiction, non-consensual photography (hotch is shirtless in the images), past suicidal thoughts

read on ao3!

The first note came to Derek Morgan.

It was Monday morning. Everyone- excluding Penelope and Dave- were hanging around the bullpen, discussing their weekend and wondering what treats Hotch was going to bring for them. Richard had texted the group chat that he wasn't in saying he'd be late that morning because they were going out for breakfast.

Nobody minded. It was about time Hotch let someone love him again. And the team was happy for him. Really, they were. But there was something about the new man in Aaron's life that just felt off. Nobody had said a word to him. They couldn't.

Not when Richard made Aaron laugh and smile the way only Haley and Jack ever had. Or when Aaron never shied away from his touch the way he had with others. So they kept their opinions to themselves and hoped that it was just them being overprotective and pessimistic. That they were just looking out for their leader because he deserved nothing but happiness.

Derek was keeping one eye on the elevator doors, just in case Hotch appeared the next time they opened. He wouldn't tell them off for wasting time and avoiding paperwork- he'd probably be too busy smiling and blushing as a result of whatever had been sent to his phone- but they weren't bad people. They would start their paperwork when he came in to prevent him from becoming more stressed than he already was.

He opened his desk drawer, intending to pull out the soft ball he kept in there for days like these, where there were no cases and a chance to relax and have fun. The look on Reid's face when it hit him in the back of the head would be worth the lecture from Rossi.

Instead, his fingers brushed paper. He frowned and looked down, because this was his desk and nobody on the team ever went through it. He knew how things were organised and he knew that his hand should not be touching paper, it should be touching a soft ball that wouldn't cause any harm if it hit someone.

Heartbeat picking up slightly, he picked it up. There was an envelope. With no name, return address or stamp. Nothing. Just a plain white envelope that, as he held it up to the light, contained a handwritten note. He prayed it was just one of the rookies playing a silly Valentine's joke, but the BAU had never been that lucky.

"What's that?" Emily asked, nodding towards the envelope.

"I'm not sure yet," he said, tearing it open before Reid could launch into a lecture about the various weapons that could have been contained in it.

There was a note. He pulled it out, now fairly certain it was just a joke being played by another agent. He could deal with that. Whoever played it would get bonus points if they left a note for Hotch because that would be funny for him to watch.

He cleared his throat. The writing looked stunning. Perfectly joined together and completely legible. It would make for a good dramatic reading. Before he started, he scanned the words and the paper fell from his hands as quickly as the smile faded from his face.

It was not a love letter.

"Morgan?" JJ prompted.

He picked it up. "It's not good. I think someone may be in danger."

"Danger? Where? Why?" Rossi asked, having chosen that moment to step into the bullpen and pass by their desks. Morgan looked over to the elevators, wondering how things could change so quickly. Moments ago he'd been willing Hotch to not enter because he didn't want to have to start his paperwork. Now he was willing him to not enter because he didn't want to ruin his day with the news of a case.

"Do they even know about how you will run the water as cold as possible to numb yourself in the shower with tears streaming down your face, still dressed in the suits you use as armour just to feel human?" he read out.

"What?" Spencer sounded hurt. Like he couldn't quite believe it.

"I don't- I can't remember the last time I had a cold shower. Or the last time I cried in one. If I need to cry, it's not, I don't do it in the shower," he said. All he wanted to know was who the note was really about, and why it had ended up with him.

"Was there anything else in there?" Emily asked, voice as calm as ever. She was biting her nails though. And she had shifted her body away from the envelope, as though she wanted nothing to do with it.

Derek sighed, then picked up the envelope again. He peered in and saw a photo. The final words written haunted his memory. Because he knew that bathroom. He had stood there and profiled it and he had helped clean the blood when Hotch reopened his stitches accidentally.

"Derek?" Rossi prompted, voice bringing him back to the moment.

He pulled the photograph out and laid it on his desk, closing his eyes for a moment. He searched for that feeling of neutrality and detachment he found every time he felt himself getting too emotional on a case and clung to it. When his heart calmed, he opened his eyes and focused on it.

It was Aaron. Not Hotch. Because Hotch was strong and invulnerable and he did not blink. He was not the man in the photo. The man in the photo was fully dressed, his tie still knotted perfectly and his shirt buttoned to the top. There was a hand pressed to his mouth, probably to stifle the noises escaping and he was soaked to the bone.

"Oh my god," Emily breathed. "Who did this?"

Derek shook his head. He could not tell them what his first thought had been. He could not tell them who the prime suspect in his head was because they would never forgive him. He was struggling to forgive himself for even thinking it. Just because it was the most common event, it did not mean that it was happening this time.

"I hope you're doing your paperwork," Hotch said teasingly, walking through the bullpen with his phone in his hand.

Everyone turned to face him, faces frozen with identical looks of horror and sorrow.

He looked up. "What is it?"

"Hotch," JJ whispered.

"What is it?" he repeated.

"Aaron, we love you. So much," Emily said, voice cracking slightly.

He walked over to their desks. When he looked at Spencer, his eyes were pleading. Spencer sighed and passed the note over, keeping the photo underneath it. Derek had flung it at him to see if he could get any additional information that the rest of them couldn't.

Hotch read it over twice, eyes widening with every word. His hands were trembling as he placed it face-down so nobody could see it, and when he saw the photo, his face hardened. He slammed it down on the table and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Where did that come from?" he asked. The lack of emotion in his voice made Morgan scared. The last time he had been that toneless, George Foyet had stabbed him nine times and torn the former love of his life from him.

Spencer's eyes flicked to his.

"It was in my drawer when I got here," he confessed.

Hotch met his eyes, and for a moment, Derek stupidly feared that he was about to be punched. But then Hotch did something worse. He turned on his heel, having swiped the note and the photo from the desk and shut himself in his office like nothing had happened. Derek remained frozen. His friend had not thrown the things in the bin, so there was still some hope to be had.

Rossi started to walk towards the office.

"Wait," Derek commanded. Everyone stared at him and his mouth opened and closed of its own accord. He wasn't Aaron's best friend. Dave was the one that made those decisions. Not him. He stood to the side and he watched, ready to stop Hotch from going too far, but he did not comfort him. 

"You know what he's like. If you go in there now, he will be confrontational. He'll probably rip up the note and shred the photo and then we won't have anything. Let him come down and get a coffee. Then one of us can go."

Dave did not verbally acknowledge him and Derek thought that he was just going to be ignored. But he wasn't. Dave headed straight past Aaron's office and entered his own, closing the door with the same amount of force he always used. Through the blinds, Derek saw Aaron look up slightly. Like he couldn't quite believe nobody had said anything.

JJ and Emily went out for lunch. Spencer went down to Penelope's lair. Dave went to the bathroom and Derek took a chance. He wasn't going to let the man he had always viewed as a friend shy away from this. Nor was he going to let him shut down and pull away.

He didn't knock. He never did. Hotch didn't even look up. 

"You need to tell us when you're going home," he said.

Hotch looked up. There was a fury in his eyes that would've had any other member of the BAU backing down. But what Hotch forgot was that Morgan was not any other member. It was him, not Dave and certainly not Emily, that had pulled him off George Foyet's dead body and seen both the fear and the anger. He wasn't scared.

"Why would I need to do that?" Hotch asked, completely nonchalant.

"Because somebody out there has a photo of you crying in the shower. That's not normal. That means they were in your house and you didn't realise. And they've been watching you for long enough to understand that what's happening there- it's a common occurrence. You're not safe."

"Was I ever safe?" Hotch said, smiling without any humour.

Morgan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Look man. We don't need to talk about that if you don't want to. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. But we do need to talk about you staying safe. Because if you go home without someone, who knows what's going to happen. And what if something happens to Jack? Or Richard?"

Mentioning his son and partner was a risky move, but it needed to be done. Because he needed Hotch to understand how reckless he was being. Morgan was not Rossi. He would not push Aaron to discuss his emotions or his feelings, but he would push him to see sense.

"Do not make this about them," Hotch snapped.

"I'm not. I'm being responsible. You cannot be going home alone because it is far too risky, and that photo on your desk means it's someone that has been watching you for a while. How many cases involving stalkers have we worked? It is always, always the moment where they think they're safe that something goes wrong," Morgan pleaded.

"I'm not a victim."

"No. You're not. You never have been. But that is not just the standard threat. That is intimate and that is serious and that is dangerous. Let someone take you home. Let me get officers deployed to your apartment. If not for your sake, then do it so Jack-"

"Finish that sentence and I will write you up for insubordination," Hotch said.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"Fine. Have it your way. But do not try and blame anybody else if something happens to you. Or Richard. Or Jack. Because I tried. You were the one that wasn't willing to cooperate. Remember that."

Morgan slammed the door with unnecessary force, then rested his head against it for a few moments, wondering what Hotch's problem was. He wasn't being himself. When it became clear that Foyet must have been watching him for months, he just took it. He let everyone do whatever they needed because at the end of the day, it wasn't for him. He already had the scars. It was for everyone else, so they could feel less guilty.

But this was to protect him. To save him. And that was the problem. Hotch did not want the team to see him become Aaron. He did not want to show vulnerability because he had already been exposed. Morgan had not allowed himself to think about the actual content of the envelope because it would distract him too much.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Aaron cry, and with the exception of Dave, he'd been working with him for the longest. For a complete stranger to have that photo, it was no wonder he was being so defensive.

Morgan felt terrible. He really did. But he also knew there was nothing he could say or do to make Hotch feel better. So as much as it pained him to do so, he let go of the door handle and went and sat back down. Worked through his paperwork like everything was fine.

And when Aaron left at five exactly, his unfinished paperwork neatly organised for the next morning because Richard was making dinner for the three of them and he was learning balance, Derek bit his tongue and didn't say anything.

Aaron Hotchner went home, kissed his son on the forehead and his partner on the mouth. He smiled at them, told them the abridged version of his day- obviously removing the part about the photos- and picked at his dinner. Richard noticed and got Jack ready for bed himself. Jack seemed to realise something was up and was unusually compliant.

Richard told Aaron to take a shower when he entered the dining room and saw Aaron still hadn't finished his dinner, even though he had given Jack a bath and put him to bed. Aaron just nodded, taking a moment to appreciate how the light created a halo over his blonde hair.

When he exited in his pajamas, Richard was lying on the bed, reading from Aaron's copy of Pride and Prejudice.

"So is everything okay?" he asked as Aaron climbed in, dog-earing the page.

"Mhm," Aaron said. His gaze was fixed on his blazer, where it felt like the note and photo he'd taken from Morgan were burning a hole in the pocket.

"Aar. Look at me," Richard coaxed.

Brown eyes met blue and Aaron felt tears forming in his eyes. Morgan had been right. He had been stupid to reject the help. Richard loved him, even with all of his rough edges and broken pieces. 

Richard patted his chest, encouraging Aaron to rest his head there and listen to the steady thump of his heart. When Aaron started to relax, he picked up the book again, and started to read, even though his accents were terrible.

They fell asleep like that. Richard's last thought was of how much he loved Aaron. Aaron's last thought was that there were several people with handwriting like his. He hadn't been home that afternoon when the photo had been taken. It was a coincidence.

It was all a coincidence.

The second note came to Jennifer Jareau.

It was Tuesday afternoon. She had gone to the local coffee shop to get herself some lunch and a coffee because Hotch was in a meeting and hadn't made a fresh pot, and in her rush to get Henry to school on time, she'd left her own lunch at home.

The man in front of her- she hadn't caught his appearance- had taken an awfully long time doing something, so she had rushed back to Quantico, coffee in one hand, bag containing her bagel in the other. They were all going to try and work out where the note and photo had come from by making a list of people that may have known.

So far, there was only one name. Richard. Nobody had wanted to admit it, but they had all suspected Richard first. How many times had it been the partner that nobody had trusted but had refused to say anything about?

She raced to the bullpen, not caring when part of her coffee splashed onto her shirt. It wasn't one she particularly cared about and she kept a cardigan in her office for that precise reason. Besides, there was only so long Strauss could keep Hotch. He didn't believe they had a case. He didn't know they were going behind his back like this.

It felt wrong. It felt like the days of George Foyet, when they had created a second group chat- one without him- to discuss whether or not he had lied on psychological evaluation, when he had last eaten, if he was going to make it. What they were meant to do if he didn't. She didn't ever want to experience anything like that again.

Which was why they needed to find the unsub and stop them.

"Hey," she greeted as she sat down. A quick look up told her that Hotch was still in his meeting. A quick look down told her that they hadn't come up with any other suspects. She was contemplating saying Jessica- just so they could feel like they had accomplished something but she also knew that was stupid. 

And so the list remained a death sentence for whoever got caught with it.

"Everything okay? You seemed to take longer than usual," Emily said.

She swivelled around to see the clock and realised that she had. "Oh yeah, it was fine. Just the person in front was doing something that was all. I think it was to do with gift cards, I saw him take one off the thing."

Spencer smiled at that. "You know, gift cards are actually good presents. It saves both of you the trouble of having to make a proper choice."

She raised her eyebrows, then opened the bag with her food in it. There was an envelope inside. Slightly confused, she pulled it out of the bag. And then it hit her. It was the same one the gift cards came in. She smiled, holding it up for everyone else to see.

"No way," Penelope gasped. "The man in front of you just got you a gift card? Without even knowing who you were?"

JJ shrugged. "I guess so. That's quite sweet of them. I just assumed it was going to be a Valentine's gift. Which reminds me, I do actually need to get a move on and find something for Will. We've only got until Sunday."

Morgan laughed slightly. "Open it then. Maybe he's actually an admirer."

JJ whacked him lightly, but tore the envelope open. "It came with a note! Maybe they're doing this for random people. I hope they are, because that'll be so good. And if there's contact information, I could say thank you."

She pulled out the note, and put the envelope down, completely missing the second thing that had always been folded to fit in.

"Do they even know-" she began, then froze. Derek's mouth formed a thin line. Spencer's jaw dropped slightly. Penelope and Dave, who had not been there when the first note was opened looked at each other. Emily closed her eyes.

JJ cleared her throat. She needed to do this. "Do they even know about how most nights, you wake up screaming and crying and kicking about and that one day, the school phoned because Jack fell asleep in his lesson and they needed to know whether or not he was okay?"

She couldn't do this. She wasn't meant to look at her friend and see him that broken. But this note had been delivered to her. It was meant to hurt her the most. Because she was the mother of the team. What their unsub did not realise was that a child did not need to be biologically related to you for you to love them enough to die for them. 

Still, she would not ask them to look at the photo for her. She would not let their unsub beat. Not this time.

She took it out, hating that she had to unfold it to see what it was. It just made it so much worse.

Aaron. Sat up in bed, hair a mess and falling onto his forehead in messy bangs that could only be tamed come morning and with an obscene amount of hair gel. If she focused on that and only that, she could pretend it was a candid photo taken by Richard because he loved Aaron just as much as they did.

But it was impossible to only focus on that. His face was deathly pale, mouth parted in shock. When she looked closer, she could see the drying tear tracks on his face. Whatever he'd been dreaming out had been bad. He was wearing Richard's college shirt, but it was damp and sticking to his body.

Richard was noticeably absent.

"JJ?" Emily coaxed.

She laid it down the same way Morgan had. "Look at the angle. And look at what's missing," she said. 

"What?" Rossi asked. He didn't understand what she was on about.

"It's been taken from the doorway. Meaning whoever took it would've been in the apartment. We've already ruled out Jessica. It can't have been Jack. Which means, it must have been Richard," she said.

Derek groaned. "We can't even do anything. All he's done is send us some photos and a couple of Hotch's secrets."

"I don't get why though," Penelope said suddenly.

Everyone turned to face her and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Sweet thing?" Derek encouraged.

"We all know Hotch struggles with emotions. The fact that he's crying is technically a good thing. It's a healthy coping mechanism. It's not healthy the way he does it or how much he bottles the rest of them up, but I don't care about that. And we all know he's a good father who is doing his best. One phone call… we aren't going to judge him."

"But it's not about us. It's about him. This is an invasion of his privacy. This makes him human and weak and vulnerable. And he hates it. Whoever it is, they know him. They know him very well. And I hate to be that person, but more and more signs are pointing to Richard," Emily said.

They lapsed into silence after that. JJ knew she was going to have to tell him, but she had no idea how to word it. Derek had texted him in the evening, explaining what had happened when the suggestion of an escort had been made.

"Wait. You got this stuff from the coffee shop, right?" Penelope asked.

JJ nodded, still staring at the note. She really did not want to tell Hotch. He already thought he was failing Jack by taking his mother from him and by not being there for every milestone. If he found out that they knew about this, it would break him. She had no idea how he would have explained that. Probably by lying. Claiming that there had just been difficulties sleeping that particular night, but it wouldn't happen again. 

He probably didn't listen when they told him it was okay and he was doing fine. Hell, he probably got in the shower and cried because of how bad he thought he was. Knowing that they knew would break him. And she wasn't sure she was strong enough to piece him back together.

"I'm going to check every security camera within the radius to see whether or not I can find something on this bastard. Even if it's the colour of his hoodie," Penelope said with conviction, before shuffling off to her lair.

"It'd be more than we've got now. Reid, Prentiss, go down there and see if any of the baristas or other customers can remember any other details," Rossi said.

The two of them nodded, then vanished.

"I have a meeting with Strauss as soon as her and Aaron are done. Are the two of you going to be okay on your own?"

JJ nodded. Morgan verbalised his faith in the two of them, and Rossi gave them both a slight smile before heading up to his own office. JJ started fiddling with her ring. It was better than biting her nails. Until they got an update from the rest of the team, there was nothing they could do but wait.

Her bagel remained uneaten and she pushed it away. In a morbid way, the photo of Hotch mesmerised her. If she looked at it like a piece of artwork, she would find beauty in the way somebody could look so young and vulnerable, but have such large demons hiding behind the softness of their eyes. But it was not a piece of art. It was her friend.

"You'll be okay," Derek said.

"No inter-team profiling," she joked, but it fell flat. All they had done that day was profile Hotch.

Derek managed to smile at her. "Not profiling you. Just reminding you. He's defensive at the moment, but it'll be okay. Just be honest."

She nodded. 

Reid and Prentiss couldn't get any information from the barista. She said the man had been completely average, but because of the lunchtime rush, the only thing she remembered about him was a grey hoodie. The cameras inside the shop did not work.

Garcia hadn't been able to find anything or anyone that could have potentially been their unsub, but she was determined to find something, so she widened her search. She also started digging into Hotch's past, but she wasn't about to tell anyone that. They'd try and stop her, but it was all going to be very low-level stuff. 

Hotch was not a victim.

He finished his meeting and returned to his office moments after Prentiss and Reid returned to the bullpen. JJ gave him all of thirty seconds before she scooped the items on her desk up and knocked twice before entering.

She knew she didn't need to, but it had always felt wrong, just barging in.

"Hi JJ," he said, the soft smile he reserved for her creeping onto his face. It broke her heart, but she couldn't entertain the small talk or simple conversation.

"This was in the bag I got from the cafe today. Came nicely folded in a gift card envelope. Prentiss and Reid have already spoken to the baristas, Garcia's widening her search as we speak," she said.

Hotch frowned, but took the items. When he read the note, he cringed, the memory still uncomfortable, even a year later. The photo made him swallow, and if he hadn't already been sitting down, his knees would've buckled. He'd never seen himself look so weak or pathetic. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he realised that everyone on the team would've found out about his failures as a parent. As a father. And as a person.

“This doesn’t change anything. Do you hear me? It doesn’t change my opinion of you, or how much I trust you. You’re doing your best. That’s good enough for all of us. You’re a good parent,” she blurted out, needing him to know.

"JJ," he started, when he realised there was a third page under the photo. With a slight frown, he switched to it. The side he saw was blank. 

Which meant JJ could see Richard's name, clearly written in her own handwriting. She clenched her fists, trying to come up with a reason to yank it from him. Below, she heard a mug drop and saw that Emily had dropped her coffee as she watched them. When Hotch followed her gaze, Emily was on her knees, sweeping it up. It would have been the perfect moment to grab it, but she hesitated for too long and he turned it over.

He turned it over and he saw his boyfriend's name written in Jennifer's handwriting. It could only mean one thing.

"I can't believe you," he whispered.

"Hotch," she began. But was what she meant to say? She wouldn't lie to him. Not about this.

"Tell me this isn't what I think it is," he pleaded.

She looked down.

"Tell me your list of suspects, that you have made behind my back because I told you to not look into this because it's nothing, is not my partner and only my partner. Tell me this is something like your list of people that you're meant to protect."

"Hotch, I can't do that without lying. You know that," she said, meeting his eyes. He deserved that much.

He scoffed. "I'm- I'm taking an early day. Unless we get a case- a real case, with real victims- or Strauss needs something urgently, please don't try and text me. I can't look at you, any of you, right now."

"Aaron," she tried. Because he needed to understand. Writing Richard's name hadn't been easy. But it had to be done. He was the only option. Nothing else made sense.

"I remember that day. Richard was on a business trip. When I phoned him, god only knows how early, because I needed to hear him, I didn't even hesitate. He was on the next flight out. Do you want to know why? Because he loves me. And he is good. Far too good to ever been associated with anyone else," Hotch said, words blurring together as he got more and more defensive.

JJ stepped back. "But Hotch-"

"Jennifer, not now. I need to go before I say something I can't take back and we both get hurt," he said.

He never called her Jennifer. Not even when, in her own moment of anger, she had blamed him for every tragedy that had ever befallen the team. And that was what made her stand to the side as he took his briefcase and fled.

Aaron picked Jack up from school. He needed to know something. They were a few blocks from the apartment when finally had the courage to ask. It was stupid of him, to be so hesitant. What kind of answer was he expecting? But if his childhood had taught him one thing, it was that the scariest monsters were the ones that looked like family.

"Jack?" he asked.

"Yeah," came the reply from the back-seat. Aaron looked in the mirror to see his facial expressions properly.

"How does Richard make you feel?" he asked. His intention had been to ask it in a much simpler way. Jack was still just a kid. Just because he knew how to say no and what to do if someone made him uncomfortable- and Hotch still needed to hear from Jessica that he'd made the right decision doing that- didn't mean that he could explain his feelings with the same complexity as an adult.

"Daddy?"

"Sorry, sorry. You know how you feel around me and Aunt Jessie?"

"Yeah! Like everything is good and I can do anything I want!" 

Hotch smiled. "See, that feeling is safe. It means you're comfortable. And do you remember how you felt that day with Mommy? When the bad man was in the house?"

Jack's smile faded. "That wasn't good. I felt strange. And not nice."

"I know buddy, I know. That's why I'm asking you about Richard. Does he make you feel like that day with Mommy, when you're with me and Aunt Jessie or somewhere in between? You can think about it for a bit."

"I feel like I did with Mommy. But not when the bad man was there. All the other times. And with you. And Aunt Jess. Does this mean he's going to carry on staying with us? Because I like his mac and cheese," Jack said.

Having arrived at the apartment, Hotch put the car in park and wiped away a tear, making sure Jack didn't see. He didn't have the energy to teach him about different emotions.

"Yeah bud. It does. But I need you to promise me something okay?" he said as he undid the seatbelt and took Jack's school bag for him.

"Okay Daddy," Jack said.

"I need you to promise me that if Richard ever makes you feel weird, or not safe, that you tell me. I don't care what he says, you tell me. I won't be angry. I will be so proud of you for telling me. Okay?" he didn't know if that was the right thing to do, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Okay."

Hotch sighed, wondering when the world made him so distrustful of everyone. He told himself the team were just being paranoid. It didn't stop him from noticing how silent the key was, or from realising that if someone was stood at a specific angle, they could photograph the bedroom without being spotted.

He put Richard's college shirt into the wash, even though it had hardly been worn, and slipped into his own Harvard one. And then he let the man hold him, breathing in and out as evenly as he could when yet another nightmare tore him from his sleep.

The third note came to Penelope Garcia.

It was Wednesday.

From what she understood, Hotch hadn't spoken to a single team member beyond basic politeness when absolutely necessary. She hated it. She wanted him to forgive them all, and she wanted everything to stop, and she wanted him to just be happy and loved.

Even though she hadn't said anything at the time, she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that Richard was a valid suspect. Just because the photos and information suggested that he was guilty didn't mean anything. They'd seen people be framed all the time. And it didn't make logical sense: he'd been on a business trip on the date of the second photo.

The emotional part of her brain didn't want it to be Richard because she needed to believe that there were still good people. She did not want to lose her goodness or her grace or her faith in love and kindness because without it, she would become bitter and angry. She would not allow that to happen.

So she had put a pause on the digging. None of the security cameras had given her the footage she needed, and digging through Hotch's personal life, trying to work out if there had been any other relationships before Richard that they just hadn't known about, suddenly felt too invasive after JJ knocked and told her Hotch had left.

JJ had cried in her office. Garcia had comforted her, wondering whether finding out the source of the photos was worth the destruction. Hotch clearly didn't want them digging, and no amount of voicemails or texts assuring him that it didn't matter, that they didn't judge him and it was all okay, were helping him accept the situation.

She stopped calling after her fifth voicemail. She had left one in the morning, apologising yet again for what JJ had said and also to inform him that she would respect his wishes and stop digging. She promised him. And she would not break that promise unless it was a matter of life and death.

Which was how she found herself printing approval forms. The transcripts for the interrogations conducted over the past few cases had all been done, and most of the files that needed updating had been. It was a change of pace, spending the day doing admin and mind-numbing tasks, but she found herself enjoying it. At least she didn't have to keep looking at how horrible people were.

A sudden silence jerked her from her thoughts and caused her to put down the hat she was crocheting for Hotch. She knew the weather was going to start picking up soon, but it wouldn't hurt for him to have a spare one. Maybe it would stop the ear infections he always seemed to have.

She leant forward in her chair. The printer was jammed. She sighed and stood up, deciding that the next thing she would ask for would be a new printer that actually worked. Honestly, she had turned it off when she went to get her lunch and now it was broken. If her forms had been ruined, or creased, she was going to be very annoyed because she had formatted them perfectly and all her hard work would be ruined because she would have to do it again.

When she checked the paper, nothing seemed to be jammed. She frowned. The ink cartridge wasn't jammed either. For a moment, she considered just turning the printer off and on again and hoping for the best. But something stopped her from doing that and she opened the paper tray again. Something seemed wrong.

She lifted the top sheet.

An envelope laid underneath it, far back enough to cause a jam. She hadn't picked up on it the first time because it was the same shade as the paper so it completely blended in. Even though she knew what it must have been, she hesitated. Maybe it was best to leave it there and have someone else come and get it. Maybe she should give it directly to Hotch and let him make that judgment call.

No. The notes they had been left were all designed to attack the thing that would hurt the most. Morgan's note came after Hotch's emotions, something he had always wanted to help with but never been able to say. JJ's note spoke about Hotch's ability as a father, and she was someone that constantly worried she couldn't be a good mother if she carried on working with the team. She needed to look at the note first. And there was no way she would give it to Hotch before she did that. They would never know what it said or who was in danger if she did.

Morgan and JJ had been hesitant with the way they opened theirs. But she was used to opening things and being greeted with horror. She held her breath, sliced it open using a pair of scissors and immediately shook out the contents.

And suddenly, she just wanted Derek to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything was going to work out and they would win again. Because with Derek, she did not need to be strong. With Derek, she could break down and say that her faith in humanity was fading so she needed him to be right there with her.

He was an elevator ride away. But she didn't want everyone knowing. Not when she was so close to falling apart.

It only took one ring for him to pick up.

"Well hello my gorgeous goddess," he said.

"I need you to come down to my lair right now. Don't bring anyone. I got my note," she said.

His tone changed immediately. "I'll be right there. And Penny?"

She sniffled. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too," she said, and hung up. The note seemed to be taunting her, but she resisted the urge to read it. She had to wait for Derek or she would do something she would regret.

Only moments later, he knocked on her door. She knew it was him. Each member of the team had a specific knock pattern, and Derek was the only one that only ever knocked once. She took a deep breath and let him in.

"Have you read it?" he asked, taking the seat next to hers.

She shook her head. "I was waiting for you. I just couldn't do it alone and I didn't want to know, but I need to, and all I wanted was for someone to be here, even though I know how time sensitive these things can be," she rambled.

"Garcia. You don't ever have to justify yourself to me. Okay?"

Garcia exhaled, then nodded. "Okay."

"Are you sure you're good to read it? I don't mind, if you don't want to."

"I'm sure." She picked both the note and the photo up because she didn't want to accidentally see the photo before the note. "Do they even know how weak your knees get when darling Richard presses a kiss to the side of your neck?"

It was morbid, but a slight spark of hope ignited in her heart. Maybe they would be able to prove that it wasn't Richard. She passed the note to Derek, who seemed disgusted that somebody would make that comment, and stared at the photo.

Richard and Hotch seemed to stare up at her, with matching smiles. There was a slight blush dusting Hotch's cheeks, and Richard's head was buried in Aaron's shoulder, likely pressing a kiss to his neck, weakening his knees and unknowingly giving their unsub more fuel. They were on a date, so blissfully unaware how downhill things could and would go.

"Baby girl?" Derek asked.

"Richard's in the photo. Look," she said.

Morgan frowned but took the photo. It made his heart clench. He missed seeing Hotch smile so freely. He missed the Hotch that had existed before Gideon left and placed the weight of the team on his shoulders. Richard had returned a little bit of that man to them, and now it seemed like he too was at risk. But something still felt off.

"This wasn't taken by either of them, was it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Does this mean we can stop suspecting Richard? If he's in this photo, that means he can't have taken it. Not from the angle it's at. And if he didn't do this one, then he can't have done the others. It just wouldn't make sense."

Derek hesitated. "Penny, I wish I could give you a solid answer. But there's still a chance it's him. I know what this makes it seem impossible, but until we're sure, we need to proceed with caution. Okay?"

"Okay. Derek, I just want him to be happy."

Derek sighed. "I know princess. So do I. He needs to know about this one. Do you want me to take it up to him? Now that it's clear whoever is doing this knows about Richard he's probably going to be even more tense."

"It's okay. I'll do it. I might ask him to come down here though. Maybe it'll be easier to get through to him if he doesn't feel like everyone is profiling him through the blinds," she said, voice quieter and more hopeless than he'd ever heard.

"Maybe," he said. He wished he could say more.

"Derek?"

"Yeah sweetness?"

"Does Hotch really think we're going to stop trusting him and look at him differently or like he's a bad person just because one unsub is revealing information about him? Because I've been trying to work out why he seems so tense and angry. It's because of that, isn't it?"

"Partially. I guess the other part is the forced vulnerability. Hotch clings to control in his job because outside of it, everything is unpredictable. For the information that's come to just be used against him like this is terrifying. And those first two photos came from his apartment. Where Jack is. He already had that home taken from him once, I'm not sure he can do it again."

Penelope looked down at the photo again. "I am."

"And that is why I love you," Derek said, kissing her forehead before taking his leave. When he returned to the bullpen, he told Emily and Spencer about the note. They were planning ways to subtly inform JJ and Rossi without Hotch realising what they were doing when Hotch walked down the stairs and into the elevator. He didn't look at any of them.

All of their phones pinged. Garcia had texted the group chat saying she was about to tell him about the note, and that she'd update when he left, so long as they did the same throughout the day. Everyone immediately agreed. Derek didn't want to think about how, if he scrolled up the smallest amount, messages from the weeks and months following Haley's death would be the only thing there.

Garcia hadn't told Hotch there was a note. It wasn't the kind of thing she could word in a text. She just messaged him saying that there was something she needed him for. The last message he'd sent her had technically been from Richard, saying thank you because she had driven Hotch home when he hurt his wrist. 

Hotch's knocking pattern was two successive knocks, a short pause and then a single knock. When Garcia heard it, she sighed, then called out for him to come in. Hotch entered, looking mildly terrified and extremely out of place amongst all the colour and brightness.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

Penelope shook her head, directing him to sit down. He did, and she handed him the envelope. He looked at her, the pain he had tried to hide from JJ and Morgan written all over his face.

"I'm so sorry. I have no idea who it was. All I know is that I left to eat my lunch with the others and when I came back, I was trying to print some forms, because I listened to what you said about this and I wanted to respect that. And then the paper jammed, and that's when I found it."

Hotch put the envelope to one side, and he took Garcia's hands, absent-mindedly playing with the bracelets and rings. Her hands were calloused, but not in the way his were. Her hands were calloused from the keyboard she used like magic, his because of the gun that still sometimes trembled.

"I want your honest opinion Penelope. Can you promise me that no matter how much you may not want to, you'll be honest with me?" he asked.

It was such a strange question for the moment that she had to take a moment to process exactly what it was that was being asked of her. When it finally made sense, she nodded. Hotch rarely asked things of her outside of the standard information they needed on cases. To ask for anything would've been difficult. The least she could do was give it to him.

"Of course I will," she said.

"Do you really think Richard is a suspect?"

"No. I didn't think that yesterday and I can't think that now," she said.

"You can't?"

"Oh sir. I think you need to see the note."

Hotch looked slightly suspicious as he opened it. The colour rose to his cheeks as he read what had been said and then his face completely drained of it all when he saw the photo.

"Sir?"

"This is now an active case. JJ's note is on my desk, Morgan's is in my drawer. You can dig into whatever you need to, whether it's my file, Richard's social media and bank statements, all of it. He can't know, not yet, but I need you to start digging. I'll tell the rest of the team as well," he said.

"Hotch," Garcia started. She would be the first to admit that she ruled with her heart not her head, but Hotch didn't. For him to go from a complete lack of interest in the notes to making it into a case over the space of a day was jarring. 

"This person knows about Richard. They know. And the last time an unsub knew about my family…" he trailed off. He didn't need to tell her. She had heard the phone call. In fact, she had been sitting where he was when the shots rang out.

"I know. But that's not going to happen. Not this time. So let's go bring this bastard down," she said, picking up her laptop and moving towards the door. When she opened it, she turned back around, to see that he hadn't even moved from his chair. "Sir?"

"How are you that confident it isn't Richard? You said that even yesterday, you weren't convinced. Why not?"

"Because sir, I choose to believe that anyone that makes you as happy as he does is too good to ever be like the people we hunt down."

Hotch smiled, despite everything, and followed her back up.

By the time they all needed to go home for one reason or another, they were no closer to finding out anything. Hotch was tired and emotionally drained. As he unlocked the door, he could hear Jack laughing and Richard pretending to be whatever creature was required of him.

Hotch gave him a hug. Richard seemed to realise it had been another difficult day and didn't push for details. When they went to bed, Aaron tackled him onto the bed and buried his head in Richard's neck, muffling his words and hiding his face from view.

"Do you promise that you still love me?" he asked. He wasn't about to admit they'd been digging into his past, not when there was nothing to show for it, but he still needed the confirmation that when he got home in the evening, Richard and Jack would still be there.

"I promise Aar," Richard said, running his hands through Aaron's hair, causing it to become even messier. Aaron relaxed against him, completely unaware that Richard was smirking at him.

The fourth note came to Spencer Reid.

It was Thursday, the weird time between sunset and proper nightfall. Even though they had been working without pausing since the day before, they were no closer to finding who exactly was their targeting their unit chief.

They hadn't even finished their list of suspects, or worked out who would know everything that had been mentioned in the notes. Apart from Richard. But everyone was refraining from mentioning his name, unless they were talking about ways to protect him, even though it was clear Derek and Emily still weren't convinced.

Neither were JJ and Reid, but they were doing a better job of covering it up.

Hotch was on edge. He didn't seem to care about the first two notes, even though both of the photos linked to them had been taken inside his apartment. He only cared about the third one, and was doing everything he could to gain any sort of information that would help them with it.

Because he was refusing to phone Richard and tell him what was going on, the information they could find was very limited. His refusal had irritated Dave and even Morgan was getting fed up with playing peacekeeper for everyone. 

The only good thing that had happened was Strauss redistributing their cases and paperwork to the other teams, so they could work on Hotch's case unhindered. But Reid almost wished she hadn't, because then at least they could have worked on consults or had some kind of paperwork that allowed them to feel like they were doing something useful.

Even though his memory meant he could quote all three notes word for word without hesitation- something he was sure the other members of the team were going to be able to do if they kept reading the notes they were- he found himself staring at the first one again.

It must have been somebody with access to the building, because that was where Derek and Penelope had found theirs. But then whoever it was would have also been able to get to the cafe without JJ realising it was someone in their building. And Garcia had checked the sign-out records. There wasn't anybody.

Which meant everything was pointing to Richard having snuck in with a generic visitor's pass, but he was present in the third picture, and Hotch had provided him with alibis for the first two incidents. So somebody was targeting both of them, but they couldn't find any bad history with Richard's exes, and Haley was dead.

He hated dead ends. He liked working on cases because it was like putting a puzzle together, but nothing about their current situation made any sense, and none of the pieces they had would fit together nicely and the way they were supposed to.

"We should take a five minute break," Rossi said.

Everybody else threw their files down, relieved that it had been him that had suggested the break because they all needed one but they weren't about to call one. Hotch kept flicking through the timeline they'd created with a frown as he tried to match up where various people had been at various times.

"Aaron," Dave said, tone turning slightly harsher.

"I'll be two minutes," Aaron said.

Dave sighed. "Well I'm going to stretch my legs. Would anybody like to join me?" 

JJ and Emily immediately leapt out of their seats and started to go with him. Hotch watched them leave with a slight shake of his head, well aware that they were just going to talk about him. Morgan and Garcia also decided to take a walk, just around the building.

Which left Reid with Hotch. He didn't mind. The two of them had always worked well together because Hotch usually just let Reid do things the way he liked and thought was best, even if it wasn't always the norm, and Reid wasn't like Rossi or Morgan so his offers of food or suggestion of a break were rooted in the science, rather than the belief that he was falling apart.

"Reid, you should take a break," Hotch said, without even looking up.

"I'll take one if you take one," Reid fired back and Hotch made a mental note to never let him and Prentiss go to a crime scene together ever again. She was a bad influence on him. But he also knew that Reid usually always meant what he said. And because he really couldn't have agents passing out on him, he set the file down and sat with his head resting on his palms.

"I'm taking one so come on," Hotch said.

Reid put his pen down and pulled his book out of his bag. When he turned it to the page he'd left off at, something fell out. Him and Hotch both looked down, and Reid realised why it had seemed familiar. It was the same envelope that the letters he wrote to his mother were sent in.

Hotch picked it up and placed it in Reid's hands. "Open it. Whoever sent it meant for it to go to you. And if we assume that they're still watching us now, then you not opening it will cause something bad."

Was it wrong to play on Reid's goodness because he didn't want to open the envelope? Probably. But fear, much like anger and love, did strange things to people.

Reid swallowed, and for a moment, when Hotch looked at him, he was the same boy who had been terrified of doing an interrogation alone. But he'd stopped being that boy years ago, and he had grown into the man that was still good and kind but who had also realised that he deserved so much more than he had been given.

"Do you want me to wait for everyone else to come back?" he asked.

Hotch shook his head. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't."

Reid opened the envelope using the opener he kept in his desk drawer. The action made Hotch smile. Even with something like this, he was careful. Reid didn't need any form of prompting. He just read the note out, without any sort of tone change or emotion. For that, Hotch was grateful. Reid knew what he needed: distance, even if it was only in his head.

"Do they even know that sometimes you stand in the mirror staring at the scars left by your demons because you need to understand why they let you live and all the other good people, like Eliza and Haley die?"

Reid passed the note to Hotch, who stared at it like it held the key to everything he had ever wanted. It had been so long since he'd heard or even read the name Eliza. The fact that somebody out there knew about that made him sick to his stomach. But it also gave him an idea.

"Who is Eliza?" Reid asked.

"My mother. She died my first year of law school. It's why I graduated later. I know you've all always wondered about that," he explained.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. What is the photo?"

Reid pulled it out of the envelope, holding his breath, even though he could already form an image of what it was going to be. Whoever their unsub was, they weren't creative. His suspicions were mostly right. Because the photo did indeed show Hotch stood in front of a mirror with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

But it was not the nine precise scars on his torso that Reid found himself staring at. It was the mess on his back. Most of them had faded to silver lines that could only be seen as a result of the closeness and quality of the image, but some of them hadn't. They were still as red and angry as the marks left by Foyet.

Reid felt his vision begin to blur as tears filled his eyes. He turned to Hotch, who was looking at the photo with a neutrality that could only be gained through years and years of repression and compartmentalisation. And once again, Reid was struck by just how unjust the world was.

"My father abused my mother," Hotch said, voice completely flat. "And then me. But he never touched Sean. Not once. To this day, I have no idea why. My only guess would be that Sean looked like our mother. I looked like him."

"Hotch, I am so sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"It still wasn't right," Reid argued. Hotch didn't reply, and he swallowed. There was something that he needed to say because it was something Hotch needed to hear. "Hotch. I know you hate this. And I know you think it means everything is going to change. But it isn't. Because this-" he gestured to the photos- "only makes you a better person. It means that you have something that our unsubs don't: humanity."

The only acknowledgement he got that Hotch had heard him was the clench of his jaw, so he carried on. He would only stop when Hotch told him to. "This team is a family. And if it has taught me one thing that no textbook would ever be able to, it is that the love of a family does not carry a condition of any kind. You don't need to be perfect. Not for us. Certainly not for me."

Hotch nodded slightly. "I know."

"Good. Because you survived. Both of them. You can survive this too."

Their eyes met, and there was a mutual understanding there. One that could only be shared between two people that had, at some point in their lives, just wanted the pain to end because there was no shining light at the end of the tunnel in view. 

"You survived too Spencer. You did so much more than survive. You became the person you are today and I need you to know just how proud I am."

Reid smiled. "I know you are. The team will be back at any moment. I think you should hold onto the photo. It's the only one we've received where you aren't fully clothed. Besides, we aren't going to get any information from this that we haven't already gotten."

Hotch nodded and put it with the rest of his sheets. It would have to go in the case file as evidence, but until then, the only people to see it would be him and Reid.

When the team got back, they didn't ask questions about what was happening with the photo, but they did seem much less tense. Hotch started to draw up a list of people from his childhood town, claiming that they would have been the only people aware of what was really happening behind closed doors.

Whilst it did give them suspects, most of them weren't viable and by the team Hotch was leaving to drop Jack at a dentist's appointment, they were in the same place they'd started the day at.

"We should just phone Richard and ask him," Emily said.

"We can't do that. He would never forgive us if we did that," Penelope argued.

Dave was fixated on the spot where Aaron had previously been sat. "We're all too invested to make that call. But we gained some additional information today. We use that. And whoever gets the next note, they have to decide. Okay?"

Which meant it would either be Emily or him. A fact not lost on anyone.

Whilst Aaron dressed in the bathroom with a fogged up mirror and fell asleep with his head on Richard's chest, the gentle tone of his narration soothing him and making him feel safe, Emily and Dave laid awake, praying that the other would get the next note.

The fifth note came to David Rossi.

It was Friday, late morning, and he'd been in a meeting with Erin and Aaron, discussing exactly what was going on with his stalker. Aaron had spent the entire meeting shifting around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the focus all being on him.

They hadn't been able to get in contact with any of the names that Aaron had added to the list after Spencer's note, which had infuriated everyone and led to the suspicion sounding Richard only increasing. Even Strauss thought there was something going on with him, but she hadn't been as successful at hiding it as she thought she had.

Which was why Dave was letting Aaron walk in front of him, instead of forcing him to slow down so they could talk. Not only did it allow Aaron to burn some of his anger off, it gave Dave a chance to watch him, uninterrupted. He was rubbing his fingers together, the gesture more aggressive than usual. 

Dave eventually caught up to him, but Aaron wouldn't even look at him. His jaw was clenched, and Dave knew better than to argue the technicality of him not actually being the one to suggest that Richard was guilty to Strauss. Instead, he allowed them to walk in silence, which caused a small amount of tension to leave Aaron's shoulders.

They entered their respective offices, and Dave's heart stopped. There, taped to his desk, was an envelope. The exact same design that the invitations to his third wedding had gone out in. His third wedding, which was the only one Aaron had been around to attend. And he knew that the other man still had the envelope.

He left the door open, and grabbed the envelope off the screen, not caring when the tape remained stuck to it. His hands did not tremble as he opened it because he was filled with rage at whoever had decided to try and ruin one of his favourite memories. He scanned the note. He looked at the photo.

And then he walked into Aaron's office. "Phone your boyfriend right now and tell him that you need him to come down here. I don't care what your reason is. Just get him here. Now."

Aaron looked up from the various files covering his desk. "What?"

"The team made an agreement yesterday. Whoever got the next note would make the call nobody else wanted to. I am putting my foot down. Phone him."

When Hotch hesitated, Rossi sighed.

"Agent Hotchner, you are not the lead on this case because of your own personal involvement. I am the lead, and I am giving you a command which you have to follow, or I will do it myself and I don't think either of you would like that. But you are not seeing the note before you do this."

Hotch's face twisted with fear, but then he unlocked his personal phone and dialled Richard's cell. The ringing seemed to go on for an unusually long time, and some of Dave's anger faded, only to be replaced with a white-hot shame.

"Aar? Is everything okay?" Richard asked.

Hotch relaxed at the sound of his voice. "No. I need-"

"Breathe baby. Just breathe. You can ask for this." Richard's tone was soothing. It gave Aaron the strength to voice his next statement.

"I need you to come down here now. It's urgent. I can't tell you what it's about, but I really need you here," he said, words all slowly becoming one as tears pricked his eyes when he realised just what was going to happen.

"Okay. That's okay. I'll be there in fifteen minutes okay? Just keep breathing. Go and find Dave. Can you promise me that when you hang up, you'll find Dave and let him help you?"

Aaron hesitated. "Yeah Richard. I can do that."

"Good boy. I'll see you soon. I love you."

Aaron's voice was choked when he replied with: "I love you too." He ended the call, slammed his phone on the table and yanked at his hair. Whilst Dave wanted to pry his hands away and give him one of the stress balls that were kept in the ball, he didn't. Instead, he sat opposite Aaron.

"Do they even know how sometimes you fall to your knees as though you're going to pray because your father taught you that you were a sinner that needed to beg for forgiveness?" he read out.

Aaron cringed. "Dave."

"Don't. Whatever you are about to say, don't. Because I haven't finished. That is what the note said. That's why you're always so uncomfortable in the churches, isn't it? Why you were able to tell Jason about your sexuality and not me?"

Aaron cringed at the word, but did not otherwise react. So Dave kept pushing. "It's why you shut down and became cold when I first asked you whether or not you believed in a God when you first joined the unit. Why your knowledge of the Bible is so intimate yet detached?"

"Fine! Yes! It is! Is that what you wanted to hear? Is it?" Hotch shouted, finally, finally losing his temper.

Dave didn't even blink. "No. Because I learnt all of that from this note and this photo." He threw the photo down, and Aaron stared everywhere but at his desk and at Dave's face. 

He was on his knees in the photo, facing the bed. His hands were clasped in front of him, the hickeys on his chest fresh and unconcealed amongst the marks Foyet had left with his knife.

"But Richard would have already known all of that. And he's not in this photo either. Aaron Hotchner. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if Richard had taken this photo from the doorway, with the flash off, that you would have realised?"

Aaron hesitated, and that was answer enough. But just as Dave was about to leave, Aaron spoke. 

"I can't say that. But what I will tell you is that he is kind and good and has no motive here because he is not the unsub. And I will ask you a question too. He's going to be here in five minutes. What exactly are you going to do?"

"We are going to settle this," was Dave's response. Aaron swallowed. He knew what his role in all of this was going to be. He knew there was a chance Richard would never forgive him. But every moment they spent chasing after him was a moment they spent going in the wrong direction, which only increased Richard's chance of getting hurt. So he would play his role and beg for forgiveness later. 

When Richard burst into the bullpen, eyes full of fear and panting because he had run the whole way up- he'd even taken the stairs because he knew it would be faster than waiting for the elevator- Aaron was the only one standing. 

He had his arms wrapped around himself in a pathetic attempt to bring comfort and he was biting his lip. Everyone else was sat around, trying to make the situation seem as natural as possible. But when Richard immediately ran over to Hotch, nobody really knew why. He hadn't even noticed, all his focus on Aaron.

"Baby, what happened?" Richard asked, cupping Aaron's face.

Despite everything, Aaron leant into the touch.

"I'm so sorry," Aaron whispered, his eyes closed. The tears he'd been holding back for so long had started to fall, and Richard wiped them away gently. JJ bit her lip, clearly terrified that they had made a terrible mistake, but Dave wasn't going to budge.

"Aaron?" Richard pressed.

Dave took Richard's hands and Aaron stepped back, staring at the ground.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated.

"Aar, what is he doing?" Richard asked, struggling against Dave's hold.

"We're just going to ask you a few questions, that's all," Dave said, voice far too sweet as he led Richard down to the interrogation rooms. Richard stared at him, mildly terrified and absolutely defiant, but then turned to see Aaron, still shaking and not letting anyone comfort him. He swallowed, wondering what on earth his boyfriend had got involved with this time.

 After a bit of deliberation- both because they weren't entirely sure and because they wanted to make Richard squirm- they agreed that Dave would lead the interrogation, but they would switch to Derek if necessary. Aaron had remained silent throughout the discussion, only sitting down because JJ had forced him into a seat.

He wasn't speaking to any of them, but he did glare when Emily asked if he would want to sit in his office whilst they carried out the interrogation, which led to him following them down. He wouldn't go near the window.

Richard was dressed casually, as he always was, but aside from that, he was not the man that they were used to seeing. His eyes were darting all over the room and he was tapping his foot against the chair leg. Under the table, he was rubbing his thumb over the rest of his fingers. Dave, who'd been compartmentalising the entire time, suddenly felt nauseous.

He went in. Best to just get things over and done with.

"What's going on?" Richard asked.

Dave kept the file out of his reach. "That's what we were hoping you could help us with."

Richard laughed, slightly hysterical. "Of course I want to help, but I can't help if I don't have any sort of information! Is Aaron in trouble? Did something happen to him? He's not, he's been completely normal these past few days, if I had noticed something I would have asked."

"We're not entirely sure whether or not Aaron is in trouble, but something did happen. Well actually, it was a few somethings. See for yourself." He slid the file across the desk, and Richard stared at it like it was a trick. Dave nodded and he hesitantly opened it.

"Oh my god... " Richard whispered, all colour leaving his face as he pressed a hand to his mouth and swallowed down bile.

"Five notes. Five photos. Five envelopes that have all been delivered to various members of my team over the past five days. Go on, read them. You probably already know what the information on them is, unlike us."

Richard mouthed the words to himself. Outside, Aaron was pacing, wringing his hands and ignoring everybody's attempts to soothe him, or take him back up. When Richard finished reading the notes, Dave showed him the photos.

"They've been in his apartment? Jack lives in that apartment. How do you know that it's safe anymore? Why hasn't he said anything? Why is he still staying there? He should be staying with me, right?" Richard asked.

Dave hated to admit it, but his concern was genuine. He didn't even seem to realise that he was their prime suspect, or that if it wasn't him, he would be in danger because all he seemed to care about was Aaron.

"With no apparent break-in, yes they've been in his apartment. Aaron didn't want protection, and why he didn't tell you is beyond me. He seems to trust you enough with other things." Dave changed the atmosphere, which Richard immediately picked up on.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You knew all the information that could be found in those notes. You could gain access to the apartment very easily. You know where Aaron's team are based, and the smaller details like where my office is and that Spencer likes to read. It all seems oddly convenient."

"You think I did this?" Richard said, tone coloured with disbelief.

Dave shrugged. "Maybe. We've been trying to find other suspects. They don't really exist."

"I wouldn't- I love Aaron. With everything I am. What would I have to gain from using things he told me about his life that he's never trusted anyone else to say and exposing them to the team? Why would I hurt him that much, when all it would take is a few clicks from Penny and my life would be ruined?"

"Revenge. Anger. Maybe you feel inadequate because Jack is the spitting image of Haley and you will never replace her," he said, remaining completely calm, even though his heart was hammering.

Aaron's jaw dropped and he went to the door, but Morgan stopped him with a hand to the heart and a glare that rivalled his own.

"I'm not trying to replace Haley. I would never even dream of that. Aaron still loves Haley. I know that. It doesn't mean he can't love me too. Haley was brutally murdered by a serial killer. She was the mother of his son and the love of his childhood. She helped save him. If he didn't love her, I would be more concerned."

"So you don't resent either of them?"

"Haley helped make Aaron into the man he is today. How could I resent her? And Aaron is so good. He does his best. He tries. Not a single part of me resents him for anything he's done. To suggest otherwise is an insult to both of us." His tone was final.

"If I asked you for a suspect-"

"I wouldn't be able to think of one right now because I am way too mad at you and everyone else listening to think straight. But if you want my help, I will give it. You can dig through my life to try and find who would dare do this because it is not me."

Richard did not break eye contact, and Dave realised that he could and would be the difference between their unsub destroying Aaron and saving both of them.

"Fine. Come on up, read through the file and help us. But I swear on all that you and I hold sacred, if you dare lie or hurt him to protect yourself, I will kill you and nobody will ever find your body or trace it back to me," Dave said.

Richard seemed even more distressed after that, so Dave put him out of his misery.

"I'm joking. It's just that we have all been waiting to give the shovel talk for so long."

When Richard stood, it was on shaky legs. Dave held the door open for him, and the moment he stepped through, Aaron leapt into his arms, knocking him back slightly. Almost immediately, Richard's left hand went to cradle the back of Aaron's head, which was buried in his shoulder as his body shook with the force of his sobs.

"I'm so sorry," Aaron whispered. 

Everyone else had left. Privacy was the least they could give them.

"Baby it's okay. It's all okay."

Aaron didn't seem to be listening. "I- Please don't leave me. Please don't go away. I am so, so sorry."

Richard pulled away and forced eye contact. Aaron swallowed.

"Baby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to come up with you, I am going to help you find this person and I am going to forgive you. Do you hear me? I'm staying, and all is forgiven. I just wish you had told me. I would never have let you go to your apartment if I'd known."

"I'm sorry," Aaron said again.

"It's okay. Just, I'm driving us back to mine tonight, okay?"

Aaron sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Richard was so good. Too good and too forgiving for someone like him, but he was learning to accept the love he was given. So instead of fighting, he just nodded, letting Richard take the lead once more.

The sixth note came to Emily Prentiss.

It was Saturday.

The only reason they were in the office was because the case was personal. She felt terrible. Hotch had just started to finally achieve a real work-life balance and now it was being torn from him by some maniac.

Richard was helping them, but whilst him and Jack were sat in the bullpen with everyone else, Hotch was sat in his office because there had been some unavoidable paperwork that needed to be done and he needed to concentrate. Strauss had the decency to look apologetic when she dropped it off for him.

Emily personally thought the higher-ups could have been a little more subtle in the way they went about delivering their message. Paperwork that apparently only he could complete was the most obvious way to say he was Unit Chief and therefore had to participate in bureau politics because to them, nothing, not even the life and safety of a federal agent that had already given everything to their job came above their wishes.

She'd offered to take some of the things under it to give him a hand and because she knew that, whilst none of it was pressing, it would all build up and end with him getting completely overwhelmed. She'd spent enough time with her mother to know how to fill it all out, and she was also exceptionally good at forging his handwriting.

It wasn't like they were getting any closer to finding their unsub. Everyone was doing what they could, but until they either got another message or came up with more suspects, they were stuck. Everyone still had their suspicions regarding Richard, but nobody was going to say anything. Not after everything that had happened.

Aaron had interpreted their departure the previous day as the apology it was, and they had seen the coffee and slight smile he gave them all when he got in as the forgiveness he was trying to give. Richard cooperating and answering all their questions with a smile and grace made it easier.

Emily picked up the last file and frowned. She must have picked it up by accident because it wasn't the same sort of files as the previous five had been. Those had all been budget and funding related. The one she found herself holding that moment was the manila folders that contained details of their cases. For a moment, she considered just giving it to him, but when she looked through the blinds, he was rubbing his forehead, a migraine clearly forming.

"Any new leads?" she asked.

Everybody shook their heads. Richard leant back in his chair, smiling when Jack held him his latest drawing. It didn't quite reach his eyes and Emily wondered how he had managed to remain so calm and collected when both his and Aaron's lives were potentially at risk.

She was happy that Hotch had found love and accepted his own sexuality, but she just wished it hadn't been with someone with a name like Richard. It just screamed dodgy. It was not a valid reason to suspect him of anything, but ever since they'd gotten together, she had been on edge.There wasn't anything she could say though. And she was getting sidetracked.

She would do the consult, and it would be fine, and when she told Aaron she'd done it, he would smile at her like he had always done before weird envelopes revealed his secrets and created a divide nobody was going to discuss because if they got into it, they wouldn't be able to stop thinking about just how little he really trusted them.

With a deep sigh- she was going to need to apply some actual energy if it was a consult- she opened the folder. What she was greeted with was not crime scene photos or information on the victims of heinous crimes. It was not graphic images of dead bodies or a preliminary profile that just needed some form of refinement.

It was so much worse.

It was an envelope. And the logical, rational part of her brain had been expecting one ever since the day had started. But emotions were not logical or rational and there was a pit in her stomach as she realised that this time, she would not be able to hide or let someone else carry the responsibility of handling the contents. 

She would have to be the one to open the envelope, read the letter, see the photo. She would have to tell Aaron there had been another one. She would have to watch as the ghosts and demons of his past were dredged up and flaunted for everyone to see, and then as his eyes hardened once more and he pretended that person was someone else.

The worst part was, there wouldn't be anything she could do for him.

"Well, my one just got delivered," she announced.

Everyone looked over at her. Richard tapped Jack on the shoulder, and held up his hand in a wait gesture. Jack nodded, then turned back to his book.

"I'm just going to ask Anderson to watch him for a few minutes. Because I need to be here, but Jack doesn't need to see what happens once you tell Aaron. Is that okay?" he asked.

Emily nodded. It was selfish, but she was glad that she had been granted a few extra minutes to gain control over herself. When Richard did return, there was a slight hesitance to his actions, as though he also felt like he could live without knowing what was in the envelope, even though he probably already knew.

The envelope was one that her mother had used for sending gala details out during the period of time where Aaron worked for her. She wasn't sure she wanted to know how their unsub knew that about them.

Her voice was monotonous as she read the note because unlike the others, she did not read it in her head before reading it aloud. When she finished, she wished she had.

"Do they even know how your father responded when he caught you at the grand age of fourteen with your hand being held by the pastor's son and a wide grin on your face because it was in that moment that you first understood what having a crush meant?" she read out.

Richard's eyes widened. "This bastard knows what happened then? It must be- it has to be somebody he grew up with. It just has to be, and when I get my fucking hands on them-"

"You're going to leave it to us because we have powers of arrest and you are a civilian that does not," Rossi finished.

Emily felt a surge of anger within her, both at Aaron's father for ever laying a hand on his child and for not accepting him, and at Aaron. Because Aaron had lied to her. He had looked her in the eye and lied. She hadn't even realised.

"What's the photo?" Derek asked.

Feeling slightly sick, she peered in the envelope and saw that no, she had not been lucky enough to not receive one. She took it out and stared at it, needing that moment to process and understand exactly what had happened all those years ago. She needed to be the first one to see it because the letter had come to her and she needed to know exactly what was going to hurt her so much.

It did more than just hurt her. It broke her into a million pieces.

The Aaron that she chose to remember was the one that smiled at everyone, that laughed at Derek and Penelope's flirting and who always, always danced with her when she asked. The one that had barely reacted when she came out and then, when he realised she was still stood there, looked up and said that he was not the person to ask for advice when it came to pretty girls. 

The Aaron that had been near tears when she told him that she would always love him, no matter what because she knew what it was that he needed to tell her but she wasn't going to take that from him, she just needed him to know.

The Aaron that haunted her nightmares was the one that had woken up in the hospital after Foyet, barely able to speak because he was so weak. The one that had walked into a hostage situation and stopped caring about his own life because he didn't think it meant anything.

The Aaron that made her wonder what the point in any of what they did was, that made her angry and terrified of herself, that made her want to kill everyone that had dared to harm a child, was the one in the photo.

It had come from a medical file. Knowing that only made it worse. He was just a boy. Young. Too young to have such haunted eyes. There were dark circles under them. His arm was in a cast, cradled close to his body. His face was a mess of bruises and there was a not quite healed gash on his forehead.

He had lied. And the worst part was, she could almost understand why. It didn't get rid of her anger, but she could almost understand it.

"It wasn't my place to say anything," Richard whispered.

"If you had, I would have killed you," Emily said. "Reid have you read the note?"

Reid nodded, passing it back to her. He didn't bother to offer to tell Hotch. Nobody did. It would be an insult to both of them to even suggest that Emily shouldn't go. Hotch trusted her in a way he didn't trust anyone else and she knew him in a way everyone else couldn't.

The team would see the photo after Hotch. Emily stood, clasping both close to her chest just in case anybody else saw them and briskly walked up to his office because anything more than that would make other people suspicious.

"You lied to me," she said as she entered. She was still angry, but it didn't bleed into her tone like she had wanted. Instead, she just sounded betrayed and hurt.

He looked at her. Not out the window like he wanted to because that would be unfair. It would make him understand the situation like he wanted to, but he needed to focus on her and for that, she was grateful.

"What?"

"You lied to me. You told me your dad didn't know you were bi. That he died before you were ready to tell anyone, and you had always regretted it. And I told you it was okay because you weren't ready and it wasn't safe," she said.

He swallowed, but carried on looking at her. "I know."

She put the note on his table and then slammed the photo down. He glanced at it, and she saw his fists clench in the fabric of his trousers. When he met her eyes again, still not looking out the window, there was a defiance in them. Like he didn't care.

"Aaron, I'm not angry. I just want to know. You could have told me the truth. I wouldn't have thought any lesser of you. You know I wouldn't have. You weren't sick or disgusting and I am sorry for everything that happened." 

She didn't want him to apologise because it was his trauma. She had no right to it. She just wanted to know why he had lied instead of just saying he didn't feel comfortable talking about it. She wouldn't have pushed him.

"I couldn't have told you," he said, finally breaking eye contact and looking out the window. The team were pouring over the note. Richard was talking to Jack and Emily noticed him relax slightly.

"Aaron," she said, trying to not let it sting. "Why not?"

He turned back to face her. "I couldn't."

It wasn't about her, but she needed him to know. "You don't have to tell me why, and I am not trying to say I was entitled to that information. I just want you to know that if it was something I said or did, then I am so sorry and-"

"You wouldn't have understood, okay? That's why I didn't tell you. Because you wouldn't have got it and I didn't want your fucking sympathy."

She stared. "I wouldn't have understood?"

"No, you wouldn't have because you never gave a damn about what your mother thought of you and for all her flaws, she did her best and she accepted you. When the church rejected you, you had Matthew. When Gideon left, the team decided to love you unconditionally and you never once had to consider that everything would change when you came out."

He knew he was being unfair and that coming out couldn't have been easy for her, but he was too emotional to think straight. Later he would apologise and do whatever it took for her to look at him like he meant something, and she would just ask him to forgive himself.

But that would be later.

"Aaron, I'm sorry."

"Everyone always is. Apart from the one person that needed to be. Do you know what he did, after that photo was taken? He told them I was lying about it being him and everyone was too afraid to suggest otherwise. And then he shipped me off to boarding school like I meant nothing. I could only come back when he was dying, and even then, the pastor wouldn't let me in the church because he was scared I would taint his precious church, almost like the man being buried wasn't an abuser."

There were no words, comfort or otherwise that she could provide him with. "Aaron, I'm-"

"Sorry? All anyone seems to be is sorry. And I am sick of it. I am so, so sick of it and I just want everybody to do their fucking jobs and find this bastard so everything can go back to normal and I can breathe again," he snapped.

She didn't move. She just raised an eyebrow, silently asking if there was anything else he wanted to get off his chest.

He bolted from his office, not acknowledging a single member of the team, or Richard, or even Jack. Emily sighed, took the note and photo and brought it back to the bullpen. They didn't have a board. Hotch wasn't dead or missing and they weren't about to let anyone else see.

Richard sighed, then pulled out his phone. "He's gone to my apartment. Look, I know the new note means a lot and that there's now more that we can use but is it okay if I-"

"Go. He needs you," JJ said, not even looking up. Emily begrudgingly nodded.

Richard smiled at them all gratefully. "Thank you." He turned to Jack. "Hey bud, how do you feel about spending the evening with your Auntie Jessie? Hmm? She told me yesterday that she's just been waiting to see you!"

Richard left. Emily and Dave watched him go, their thoughts the same. As much as they detested Richard, they would give anything for him to not be the unsub.

When Richard let himself into his apartment, all the lights were off. He sighed, and thought about how one day in the near future, his key would be turning in the lock of the door to a home. Because as soon as this whole thing was over, him and Aaron were signing the deed of a house. It was going to be beautiful.

"Baby? I'm home," he called out.

There was no response. He checked the living room, then the kitchen, then the bathroom and finally the bedroom. Aaron was under the duvet, but even from the doorway Richard could tell he wasn't sleeping.

He kicked his own shoes off and got in beside Aaron. "You don't need to speak to me. But I need you to know that you've not done anything wrong and they all still love you. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. We're going to have a nice day at the beach and then I'm taking you out for dinner and we will have an extremely romantic night that will hopefully lead to you limping slightly come Monday morning," he said.

Aaron rolled over, eyes slightly red but a small smile still on his face. "You promise?"

"I promise," he replied in a sing-song voice before pulling Aaron closer.

"I'm scared," Aaron confessed, after a long silence.

"I know baby. But I'm right here. And it's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."

Aaron wanted to believe him. He closed his eyes and listened to Richard singing, trying not to think about the feather-light kisses that were being pressed to the side of his neck and trying to forget the note that had known exactly what they did to him. Because Richard had been the one to discover that information. As far as Aaron was aware, nobody else knew.

The seventh note came to Aaron Hotchner.

It was Sunday morning. When he woke up, Richard was still there. He smiled at his partner, wishing they could spend every day in bed. Richard was stunning when he slept. They'd both forgotten to close the blinds, and the early morning sunshine made it his hair glow.

Aaron usually had to run to work and get Jack to school, so he never really got to appreciate how warm Richard was. But there was no imminent paperwork, the team had agreed to only contact him if there was a real emergency and Jack was staying with Jessica.

He didn't need to be anywhere apart from right there. It was a nice feeling. So instead of worrying about the time, he shifted closer to Richard and let himself drift off again.

"Baby, I love you. I really do. And I'm so glad you're sleeping, but I need to piss," Richard complained an indefinite amount of time later.

Aaron's eyes opened when he felt himself get pushed to the other side of the bed. "Wha-"

"Thank you. And hello darling. Happy Valentine's Day."

He still wasn't used to Richard being stronger than him, and he blushed. "Hi. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm."

Richard looked at his face, then smirked as he realised why Aaron was blushing. When Aaron saw the glint in his eyes, he buried his head in the pillow. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" Richard laughed. "But seriously. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Really, I am. I don't want to think about any of that today. Just go pee and brush your teeth, I'll get out of bed when you're done."

"Demanding. Okay, I'm going. See you in a few minutes."

When Richard closed the door, Aaron turned his phone on. He would turn it off when they were actually spending time together, but he just needed to make sure Jack had been okay and that there was nothing urgent from the team.

Jessica had sent the standard message, saying Jack was fine and she'd drop him off with them in the evening. The team had texted the non-work chat talking about their plans. He smiled to himself, glad they were following his orders for once and was about to set his phone back on the nightstand when he saw he had a voicemail.

From an unknown number.

He frowned, guard immediately up. An unknown number to his work number would make sense because it would probably just be a work thing, but his personal phone was different. It was more intimate.

Heart pounding so loud it was the only thing he could hear, he dialled his voicemail, immediately pressing one when the options began.

The world had never been kind to him. The message was robotic, no way of tracing it back to anyone.

"If you want to keep them safe, you won't stop just for a few hours with your boyfriend. Unless of course, you think he's more important than your unarmed sister-in-law and son. Her father would never forgive you if you caused the death of both his babies, would he? Has he even forgiven you for the first?"

The message ended, and the neutral tone of the operator, asking him if he wanted to listen to it again fell on deaf ears. 

Without a moment of thought, he tumbled out of the bed, hurriedly dressing in the first things he could find in the wardrobe, not even bothering to check he'd buttoned his shirt correctly. He was unlocking the safe and holstering his guns when Richard entered the room, having heard the commotion on his way to the kitchen.

"What happened?" he asked.

Hotch just gestured to his phone as an answer, rushing out of the room to go and brush his own teeth so he would be able to eat something without feeling weird. When he came back, Richard was sat on the bed, fiddling with his phone. He turned at Aaron's footsteps and smiled slightly.

"There's no way you're letting me come with you, is there?" he asked.

Aaron shook his head. "It's far too risky. We've established they're one person, so if they were focusing on Jess and Jack then they can't be here too. I'm going into the office to see what's going on, but I'll have people stationed for you and them whilst I'm driving."

"Okay. Come here."

Aaron obeyed, inhaling the familiar scent of Richard's lemon and orange shower gel. "I love you," he whispered, proud of himself for not stumbling over the words.

"Love you too. Now go out there, get this son of a bitch and promise to come home to me safely."

It was an impossible promise, but he made it anyways. He always did. "I promise."

Hotch didn't tell the team about the voicemail. Garcia wouldn't have been able to gain anything from it, so there was no point in dragging them all out and ruining whatever their plans were just because somebody was obsessed with him. Besides, they had all received notes. There was nothing for them to do.

And part of him just needed to do it alone, without them watching him, waiting for him to snap the same way he had with Foyet.

But when he parked, he noticed the car park seemed oddly full for both a Sunday and a celebration. Whilst the BAU didn't have the best track record when it came to relationships because most ended with divorce or death, that wasn't the case with everyone.

The elevator went straight to the sixth floor. His heart started hammering again as the doors opened and he stepped off. His fears had been confirmed when he saw the bullpen: the team were there. It hurt more than he thought it would, because there was only one one way they would know. 

Richard had told them, even though he knew Aaron would've said something if he wanted them to be aware.

"You don't have to be here," he said as soon as he was within earshot.

They all looked up, and he saw all six of the previous photos and notes scattered over the table. Their list of suspects, which had been getting shorter and shorter with every new lead they found, was in the centre.

"But we want to. Richard told us about the voicemail. Can we hear it?" Penelope asked.

He nodded, unlocking his phone and setting it down as it played.

"Is there a chance the unsub just happens to know about Jessica and Jack's existence?" JJ suggested.

"No. Because Jack has been spending most nights with me lately. Well, me or Richard. Him staying overnight with Jessica is not a weekly occurrence anymore. For the unsub to know, they must have been watching. They must have."

"Okay, I'm going to try and get any information from this," Penelope said, opening her laptop as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Aaron nodded. The original notes and photos were in his desk drawer, which was locked, so after they spent a few minutes just talking and organising their thoughts, he went up to get them. It was then that he saw the note, everyone having missed it initially because they'd gone straight to the bullpen and not even looked up.

The envelope was the same type used for death certificates in the state of Virginia. He only knew that because his first thought when Haley's had been delivered was that the envelopes that contained something so destroying had no right being so beautiful.

"Hotch?" Emily called out. She didn't know where they stood anymore, but she couldn't help herself. 

"They've sent me mine," he said, his voice surprisingly steady.

"What?" Derek said.

He tore the envelope off the door and held it up. As much as he did not want to be vulnerable in front of everyone, he could not open it alone, so he descended the stairs on shaky legs and sat back down, in between Derek and JJ and took a deep breath.

"It's okay sir. We have time. Just do it when you're ready," Penelope encouraged.

"We might have time, but Jess and Jack may not," he said, and opened it neatly, using the letter opener Spencer held up for him.

Hotch took the note and photo out at the same time, but he, like the others, wanted to brace himself for the contents of the photo by reading the note first. Their unsub wasn't particularly creative so it would be easy enough to guess what it would be.

He frowned, then pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to not cry in frustration. He had no idea what the note was meant to mean.

"Aaron?" Dave asked.

"Do you even know how easy it would be for you to find me if you would just stop being such a baby about everything?" he read out. "I don't understand. Why- we don't even know who it is. How would we know where to find them?"

"Look at the photo," JJ coaxed.

He wanted to kick himself. Here he was, falling apart when the answer was right in front of him.

With a tremble he hated, he took the photo out. He immediately knew what and where it was. But he couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. It had to be a trick of the light. Or a mistake. Or a sick, twisted joke. It couldn't be real. He wasn't sure he could survive if it was.

"What is it?" Emily asked.

He put the photo down so everyone could see it. "That's the house Richard and I are moving into. Once all this is over, we're signing the deed. It's empty at the moment because the couple had already moved in with their children." His voice was completely monotone. Any emotion would lead to him sobbing.

Only one other person knew that the purchase was being made.  But somewhere inside him was a tiny flicker of hope, telling him it was all a horrible consequence and it was actually someone else.

"Derek, Emily, Aaron, we're in one car. JJ, drive Spencer and Penelope. Em, whilst we're going, you phone Jessica. Make sure she can see the officers assigned to her and Jack. Aaron, phone Richard. Make sure he doesn't leave his apartment. Let's go," Dave commanded.

Everyone piled into the cars. Dave did not his profile to be correct. He did not want to be right, but it was starting to seem like the only option. The fact that it would be the three people that had seen Aaron at his most vulnerable in the car together was not something he'd done by accident. He knew Aaron. He loved fiercely, with everything he was, until the very last moment.

Before the day was over, he would need someone to patch him back together. It was going to be one of them.

"Okay, that's great. Just hang tight, everything will be okay," Emily said into her phone. She ended the call. "Jess can see them. Her and Jack are just eating breakfast. He's calm."

"That's good. Aaron, call Richard."

"I already did," Aaron said, emotion finally bleeding into his voice. Dave almost ran a red light, the admission shook him so badly.

"You what?" Derek shouted.

"I already tried once. He didn't pick up. If he doesn't call me back in the next minute, I'm trying again. He was probably just in the bathroom." The excuse sounded pathetic, even to him. But he was desperately clinging to some semblance of hope, and he would carry on until it could no longer be denied.

"Aaron," Emily started.

"Don't. Just don't. I'm trying the landline, and then his mobile. Okay?"

The ringing became uncomfortable after a few moments, and Dave wasn't sure Aaron could be trusted with a gun with the way his hands were shaking. The house was approaching, and there had still been no response from Richard.

"You have to go in first. We'll follow behind you. And no matter what happens in there, no matter who is in there, we love you. Do you understand?" Dave said, tilting Aaron's chin up so they had to make eye contact.

Aaron nodded minutely, then shrugged him off, jumping out the car. JJ, Reid and Garcia arrived only moments later. They waited as Hotch opened the door, cautiously entering with his gun pointing downwards and then they all ran in, listening for Hotch's footsteps so they knew where to go.

"FBI! Put your hands up! Now" he shouted, entering the living room.

Richard turned around, an easy smirk on his face. "Well hello Aaron. It took you long enough."

The gun fell from Aaron's hands. "No," he breathed.

"Yes," Richard said. "I mean, come on, was it ever going to be anyone else? Who else could have known all of those details about you? I mean, observing you try to protect my honour was adorable but really quite pathetic."

The team were waiting out in the hallway for some sort of signal to go in, but they could all recognise the voice. Not a single person was happy that their gut instincts had been right, or that they had actually found their unsub.

"I don't get it," Aaron whispered. He hadn't picked his gun up.

"If this is about that third photo, I had a friend take it for me. Aaron, this plan has been in motion for longer than you could even wrap your little head around. And tell your team to just come in. It's rude to eavesdrop."

Accepting their covers as blown, the team all walked in, one after another, with their weapons pointed at Richard. Their faces were grim, filled with more than the usual anger. Because how dare he go after their friend. After everything that had happened, everything he had been trusted to know, this was the way he used it.

"There's no need to point those things at me, you can see that I am clearly unarmed," he said, adding jazz hands to empathise his point. But because there was no way of telling whether or not there was a hidden weapon- or god forbid a bomb- they couldn't relax.

"Why did you do this? To us? To me?" Aaron asked, shame and humiliation coursing through him. Everybody had warned him. He had always known the team didn't like Richard. They had told him there was nobody else that made sense. But his naivety (or was it his ego) had stopped him from listening, and now nothing would be the same.

"Isn't it obvious? Maybe you're not as smart as everyone likes to think you are. Maybe you really are as pathetic as your father always claimed you were. Maybe you're worse," Richard taunted.

"Richard please," he begged. "Just tell me the truth."

Nothing was ever going to be the same. Richard would be arrested and Aaron would be left to piece his heart back together, but he would be damned if he failed to get the truth from another person in his life.

Richard's lip curled in a smirk that made everyone squirm. "You have always been such a pretty beggar. Do it one more time for me, and I will give you all the answers you wanted."

His endgame had to involve death. There was no way he would reveal all the answers Aaron wanted without someone dying. But nobody could see a single weapon on him. And there was no way of knowing exactly who it was that was going to die.

Aaron took a step back. He wanted to vomit. He couldn't do it. "Richard."

"That doesn't sound like begging."

He swallowed. "Richard please. Please, just tell me. I will do whatever it is you want, I swear, but just tell me why you did it. I need to know. I am begging you to tell me, please."

"I suppose that's adequate. You want to know? Fine. Haley."

That threw him. "Haley?"

"Yes. Haley. Haley Hotchner Brooks, your ex-wife. Remember that phone call, all those years ago? Right before she left and took your son with her because you were a failure? That was me. I phoned her. Because she was cheating on you. I know you still wonder about that. Well now you don't need to. We were supposed to end up together. We were supposed to be happy. But because of you and your failure, she's dead. You took her from me! You killed her and Foyet. They're both dead because of you. And yet you're still here! It doesn't make sense!"

"Richard." He couldn't form any other words.

"Don't! Haley- who was charming and sweet and caring- is dead because of you. It doesn't make sense that she died whilst you lived. It's not fair, and it's not right. You never had to pay for her death. Until now. I've made you pay. How does it feel? To be betrayed so badly by someone you love? This is how she must have felt when you got her put in Witness Protection."

"Richard. Haley's death was not Aaron's fault. You know that. Deep down, you know that. And you also know that there is no way out of this without cooperating. Cooperate, and we can be lenient," Emily said, the first to recover from… everything as she started negotiating.

"Do they even know?" Richard snarled and Aaron flinched. Every time a member of the team had read their note to him, they had been gentle. Hesitant. Kind. Richard was neither of those. He was cruel and horrid.

"Do they even know how choked and broken your voice gets when you say I love you because you’re damaged and incapable? Do they even know pretty you look with tears streaming down your face because you can't say what you need to, even though it is not difficult and your son can do it without hesitation?"

Hotch had always loved it when Richard called him pretty. It made him feel loved. Now, it just felt dirty. He didn't even realise Richard was reaching for something behind him. Something that was blocked by his body.

"Richard, whatever your plan is, it won't work. You won't and can't get away with this now seven federal agents are aware of it. Just put your hands in front of you again, and we'll get you a more lenient sentence," Derek said, voice calm.

"I don't want a lenient sentence, I want retribution!" he shouted, brandishing a gun. 

Not just a gun. The gun that was meant to be holstered on Hotch's left leg. He glanced down in horror. It was empty.

Richard smirked. "In all your panic this morning, you forgot it. I've seen you unlock that safe enough times to know the code. Remember what happened right before you started carrying two? Adrian Bale took the one on your hip and you were completely defenceless. Haley found out she was pregnant then."

Hotch couldn't say anything. He was too focused on not vomiting.

"Richard just put the gun down," JJ said.

"Why?"

"Because even if there are seven bullets in there, you will not be able to kill all of us in the time it would take for any of us to shoot you somewhere non-fatal and make your sentence the harshest it can be," Spencer said.

"I don't want to kill you six. I don't want to kill Aaron either. I want to destroy him. I want to destroy him the way he destroys everything good that touches him. Baby. Look at me."

Aaron flinched at the nickname but lifted his eyes enough to look at Richard. "What?" he asked, voice small.

"Do they even know your biggest fear? Do you? Because it's this. Aaron Hotchner is terrifed that one day, you guys are going to wake up and realise he’s not good enough and you’re going to leave. Just like his mother and his father. And Sean. And Elle. And Jason and Haley and everybody else in his life.”

And Aaron realised what Richard was about to do. 

"Stop!" he shouted.

But it was too late. 

Richard was on the ground, pooling from the wound and all around him. Aaron fell to his knees beside him, still, in spite of everything, helplessly in love with him and clinging to the idea that it was all just a horrible dream.

"Richard," he whispered, when he felt the slightest pulse.

"I… I win," Richard rasped.

And then his eyes closed.

And Aaron broke.

Derek pulled him away from the body and wiped the blood from his hands. But Aaron was cataconic, hardly responding, and even then, only using the bare minimum. They'd forced him back into the car as soon as the other services got there, saying they would conduct his interview a few days later.

Derek was going to leave, to give Aaron his space, when he heard his name being called, so quietly he almost didn't even realise.

"Yeah?" he said, coming back over.

"Do you think I'm too broken to be loved?" Aaron asked, staring at him with tears in his eyes.

"Of course you aren't," Derek said, hating everyone that had ever made Aaron feel like that.

"Then why can't anyone do it?"

He sounded so broken. Derek didn't know what to do. So he told the truth.

"They can though. The team loves you. I love you."

"Do you promise?"

He nodded. "Yes."

And he would just keep saying it till it was enough.

[ferrumumbra]

@primalvessel asked: He'd been gone a long time, longer than he'd intended, for reasons outside of his control - such was the life of the Warrior of Light. It shouldn't have been a surprise when he checked the urchin's usual spot and found it empty but it was the fact that it had been empty long enough for someone else to have moved in because he was quickly confronted and driven off.

Asking around the brume revealed that Auri hadn't been seen in a while but no-one could or would give the Miqo'te a straight answer as to his whereabouts. He could be dead in a ditch somewhere, long since blanketed by snow with no-one to find him.

Hours spent, wasted on people who didn't even want to give him the time of day.Despairing, Maru moved back to the Aetheryte crystal to sit, staring in the direction of the stairs down to the Brume with his ears flat and collecting snow as it fell, fresh from the sky. Maybe Auri was out there, watching it from a window, tucked away in the warmth somewhere. Or maybe he was beyond it, no longer able to be touched by its bitter cold any longer.

Still, his heart was heavy as he finally turned his gaze from the staircase. He was cold, the snow was only going to get heavier and he really should move but... he couldn't bring himself to.

Since the end of the war, the stability within the Brume had been non-existent. Some folk fought against any and all for their rights while others wishes only for some peace - clashes were far more common than they had ever been and thus so much within the small space had changed. Some folk had already moved to the Firmament - lucky enough to gain a home and work to secure it. But for every person elevated to a new life was another left behind. 

Auri had long moved from his usual spot to avoid the conflict - pushed back and back time and time again into the worst hit areas of the city - where all was rubble and naught more and shelter was scarce to come by. T’was within the rubble the urchin had sought shelter, and hid. 

When word reached him that someone was seeking him did he curiously investigate, questioning the appearance and once given did he slowly make his way - in an indirect way - out of the Brume and towards the Plaza. 

With clothes near hanging off his painfully lithe form did he pace, slowly, to the figure he saw sat freezing; 

“Cheer up, pussy-cat-” He uttered, pausing a short distance away; “Th’ storm ain’ meant t’ last long-” But oh, it was good to see him.

[queercapwriting]

Lena and Supergirl/Kara haven’t been talking for ages. Come Christmas time, Lena is drinking and angsty thinking about how Kara is probably having a great Christmas without her but Supergirl crashes through her window injured and doesn’t make eye contact cause she feels bad and it’s revealed that Kara has been spending the entire time since their fight, focused on Supergirl stuff while everyone else was busy and left her to deal with it on her own (I hope you meant to the box rn. Thank you!)

She’s not quite drunk, but she’s definitely not sober.

Well, if she were anyone else, she’d probably be extremely drunk. But Lena has an Alex Danvers-level ability to hold her liquor - which means they should both, really, be in treatment together, but that’s for next year, not tonight, Lena tells herself - so she takes another pull on the bottle of whiskey, because she’s long since given up on pouring it into her glass.

What’s the point, really? It’s all going to the same place. It’s all doing the same thing to her head.

Helping her forget. 

Well, not really. It’s only making her remember, truth be told. But it’s different, somehow, when it’s this hazy. Not better, but... but at least she has an excuse, now, to not work. To wallow, just a little, in her own agony.

Because it is agony.

Again.

Just when she’d thought she’d found a family. Just when she thought she’d found...

Well, she’d made the transition from wine to whiskey fairly quickly.

Because it’s Christmas Eve and everything hurts, and there is literally nothing she can latch her mind on that doesn’t remind her of Kara.

That doesn’t remind her of everything she thought she had, everything she was stupid enough to believe - for once - that she wouldn’t lose.

Of course she lost it. She was a Luthor, after all.

But no, she’s been realizing recently. It’s not because she’s a Luthor. She’s been hiding behind her last name, her damn family’s damn legacy, for too long now. Because, she’s realizing as a rare snow starts falling in National City - it would be beautiful, wouldn’t it, if she had someone to share it with, if she weren't completely and utterly alone with every single way she’d ever hated herself - it’s not her family name. 

It’s her. It’s her fault. The reason everyone keeps lying to her. The reason everyone keeps leaving her. The reason she’s alone.

And Kara? 

Lena laughs out loud to herself, and it’s a sound that’s almost gruff, that’s definitely callous, certainly more than a little unsteady.

Kara’s probably having a wonderful time, with the family she’s built for herself. The family she said Lena could be a part of, and then...

She thinks it’s her own whiskey-hazed mind at first. The sound of a crash in her bedroom. 

But then there’s an ‘ow,’ and she knows that voice. She knows it like she knows her own voice, and she hates that it registers so quickly, so easily, in her mind, hates the way it cuts right through the whiskey and straight into all her greatest fears and harshest hopes.

Kara. Well, Supergirl.

Supergirl.

She doesn’t stumble - she’d like to think she doesn’t stumble - as she rises and the alcohol feels like it’s all rushing to her head, but she continues, continues, because that was definitely the sound of glass breaking, and as many times as Supergirl - Kara, Supergirl, Kara, it doesn’t matter anymore, nothing matters anymore - flew onto her balcony or in through her window, she’d never, ever broken anything...

There’s a cut on her cheek and there’s a rip in those pants that Lena had figured were as indestructible as the woman herself, revealing a deep gash.

Kara - Supergirl, whatever - winces, grabbing at her leg, and Lena thinks she hears her mutter an apology, over and over and over again.

But if Lena hears “I’m sorry” from those lips one more time, the window won’t be the only thing broken in her bedroom.

She ignores the Kryptonian’s apologies and she just slips on a pair of sandals - she’ll worry about cleaning up the glass later, but she’d rather avoid stepping on any right now - and she surprises herself by how steady her hands are as she steps over Kara into her en suite bathroom.

She surprises herself by how sobering confronting the object of your heartbreak can be. Not to mention the sight of all that blood.

But Lena isn’t just a failure. She’s a failure who’s also a genius, and who used to think she was one of Kara’s best friends. One of Supergirl’s closest allies, friends. 

Used to.

Everything good used to be.

Everything now just hurts.

But there is some good about what used to be, because she still has coagulants she and Alex - another heartbreak, another loss, another reason she has nothing, not anymore - had created to work specifically on Kryptonians. On Kara. Well, Supergirl.

Well, Kara.

Lena’s head spins, and it’s not from the alcohol. Or at least, she doesn’t think it is.

She gathers what she needs and she pats the side of her bed roughly. If she kneels next to Kara, she’ll be kneeling in glass.

It would probably feel better than how she feels now, but it would make things messier.

And she doesn’t have the capacity to deal with messier, not now. Perhaps not ever again.

Kara obediently scrambles up onto her mattress, still not looking at Lena, still murmuring apologies.

Lena continues to ignore the apologies.

She treats her cheek first, her fingers trembling at how hot Kara’s skin is. The cut on her cheek is easy.

Her leg is a different story, which is why she gives herself more time to work on it.

“I’d have thought you’d be celebrating the holiday with your family,” she says eventually, as Kara sits there, still with her head bowed away from Lena, still saying how sorry she is, how she had nowhere else to go and it won’t happen again and and and.

“I haven’t seen much of any of them lately,” Kara finally says, finally sneaks a glance at Lena. But Lena was ready for it, and when their eyes meet, her heart both wants to fly and to shrivel up and never peak over its walls again.

She wonders about the line between love and hate, and she wonders if love is just the braver choice.

She wonders how brave she really is.

“And why is that?” she asks, her voice distant, but her mind thinking that maybe she’s braver than she’d realized.

“I hurt you,” Supergirl-Kara-the-woman-who-was-her-best-friend-and-she’d-been-wildly-in-love-with murmurs.

Lena thinks the alcohol might be making her slower, regardless of how sobering stitching up a Kryptonian wound is.

“And what does that have to do with your holiday celebrations?”

Kara sneaks another glance at her face, and Lena feels it but deliberately avoids it, this time, pretending her coagulating agent isn’t doing all the work on its own and needs tending.

“I haven’t really taken off this damn suit since our... since...”

“Us,” Lena supplies, and she doesn’t know if she’s being generous or spiteful.

Again, that fine line.

“Yes,” Kara whispers, and this time, it’s Lena who looks up at her. Because her voice is broken, but not nearly as broken as her face, her eyes.

“So you haven’t been spending much time living a human life,” Lena says, and she doesn’t want to feel compassion, but she does.

She wonders if that’s weakness or strength.

“How can I? At least as Supergirl, I can save people. As Kara, I’m just -”

“A flawed human who makes mistakes like the rest of us,” Lena says, somewhere between harsh and forgiving. “But apparently you make mistakes as Supergirl too,” she comments, gesturing at the leg she’s tending.

“I was careless. But everyone’s safe,” Kara looks down again.

A long silence rises between them. Lena knows that Kara knows that her wound has been treated, now, and there’s technically no more reason for her to stay.

But they sit in that silence together, anyway, a cold wind howling in from the shattered window.

Shattered is an excellent word, Lena reflects.

And maybe it’s the liquor, but she finds she’s not even chilled by it.

“I know I have no right to miss you, but I do. Every moment,” Kara fills the silence after a long while. “I didn’t want... it doesn’t feel right to celebrate anything without you. I don’t want to celebrate anything without you with me. And you’re alone, now, and drinking by yourself and -”

“Is that really any different than you flying around the city alone, looking for trouble?”

Kara sighs, and Lena wonders if she’ll fly right back out the window the same way she came in.

Shattering.

“Come home with me,” Kara whispers. “You shouldn’t be alone. And I... I don’t want to be without you. I messed up. Big time. And I maybe have no right to ask for anything from you. Ever again. But I want to. I want you. Back. I love you.”

She says it simply and she says it with the most broken and earnest look in her eyes that Lena has ever seen.

And she can’t tell, not really, if she means she loves her like a friend or like she’s in love, but she thinks maybe it’s both.

And it’s the first time she’s said it, and it’s...

It’s nothing, and it’s everything.

A fine line, between love and hate.

And if love is the braver choice, maybe the braver choice, too, is believing that Kara’s words are everything, not nothing.

“So the holidays together, then,” Lena states, because she’s still too hurt to acknowledge Kara’s love, to say it back to her, but an opening.

An opening.

Maybe an opening is enough.

If Kara’s spark of a smile is any indication, it is.

And Lena can’t help it - her lips tug up into a small smile, too.

Kara Danvers - Supergirl - both - always did have an infectious smile.

“I’m afraid I’ve already had quite too many Christmas spirits alone,” Lena blurts, but Kara just puts a steadying hand on hers, and it’s hell and it’s heaven and it’s everything she’s ever wanted.

“We’ll make sure you only get the non-alcoholic eggnog, then,” Kara says, and Lena grimaces another smile.

It’s not fixed. But maybe, now, it could be.

And maybe, now, she doesn’t have to believe she’ll be alone forever. Because maybe choosing the braver option can bring her more happiness than heartbreak, after all.

[lesdemonium]

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 11

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 30619 (total) Chapter: 11/16 Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

read on ao3 - read chapter 1 on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr

It was almost a relief to travel east again. Jaskier didn’t have to carefully consider how he could lead Geralt in the direction he wanted without raising too much suspicion. Instead, he could simply allow the witcher to direct their travels and lead them in whatever direction seemed to suit Geralt at the time. It allowed Jaskier to follow blindly, trusting that Geralt had a plan, even one that was only as far as “Go to the next town for a contract.”

They managed nearly a week without discussing any matters of importance. If Geralt was waiting for Jaskier to open up, as Jaskier suspected he was, Geralt would be waiting for a long, long time. Jaskier had no intention of bringing to light the events of Lettenhove unless forced. He had gotten this far without betraying his secrets; a few days was nothing.

They were camping somewhere outside Kagen, near the Yaruga river. Jaskier had almost been expecting it--Geralt seemed to be braver outside, under the stars. Inside townships his footing was lost, and Jaskier was at a clear advantage. Being outside put them on Geralt’s terrain, and Geralt seemed to be able to handle clashes with words, Jaskier’s weapons, far easier there.

“Jaskier,” he began.

Jaskier already didn’t like this. The night was cold and dark, and he was close to the fire. So close, he had to keep turning his body, lest he burn. Jaskier continued playing his lute, but nodded his head.

“Jaskier, could you put it away?”

Jaskier bit his lip and stilled his hands, though he did not, in fact, put his instrument away. He felt it was far safer to keep it. They had a great deal to discuss, and Jaskier preferred to have something comforting to hold onto. A crutch, of sorts. He met Geralt’s amber eyes. He was safe, here, he knew. He could do this.

“Ask your questions, Geralt. I know I owe you that.”

Geralt hummed and nodded. “You have to do anything anyone commands?”

“Yes.”

“How does that work?”

Jaskier blew out a harsh breath, and shrugged his shoulders. “If I get a command, my body follows it. Tell me to sit down, and I sit down. I have… some level of control. I can interpret the commands in certain ways, but that’s imperfect and doesn’t always work. Vague commands, like shut up, can be satisfied easily. Specific commands, with time or goal limits, leave less wiggle room. Short ones are hard to avoid, like come here. Others, I can get around. Half do them, or bend the rules, but it takes… thought. And control. And a lot of cleverness.” He shrugged, helplessly. “It’s a bit of a fickle curse. Doesn’t seem to work well with vague-aries of language.”

Geralt hummed. “Have you… have you been commanded to do things you didn’t want to?”

“Geralt, come on,” Jaskier answered, rolling his eyes. “You’ve seen me do things I didn’t want to do.”

“What was the worst?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

Geralt sighed, but he nodded. “With your. Your lovers, did they--”

“At times. They don’t always know what they’re doing. I don’t usually tell anyone.” Jaskier shrugged, but Geralt looked pained.

“The countess?”

Jaskier bit his lip, and shrugged again. He was quiet for a long moment, looking for the words. A half truth, then. “She didn’t know. She didn't mean to.”

What Jaskier didn’t say was that there were some questions better left unanswered. If the countess knew, maybe she would be good to him, protect him, even. Or maybe she wouldn’t. He could pretend, then, that his capture was an accident. That she did love him. That he wouldn’t have been kept if only he had told her the truth. It was easier that way.

“Have I--”

“No,” Jaskier insisted.

“You didn’t let me finish the question.”

Jaskier shook his head. “You want to know if you ever commanded me to do something I didn’t want to. Or if you ever trapped me with you. You haven’t. Nothing worth mentioning, anyway. Maybe a stray ‘Stop talking’ here or there. Nothing malicious, nothing that bound me to you. Nothing intimate.” He shook his head again, hoping that maybe if he kept talking, the deep lines on Geralt’s face would smooth out. “I’m with you because I choose to be. You’re the only one that noticed I don’t like being told what to do. You’ve done your best, even without knowing. I won’t have you think badly on yourself because you might have triggered my obedience errantly.”

Geralt’s jaw moved like he wanted to dispute this, and he turned away from Jaskier, looking into the fire instead. He didn’t argue, and for that, Jaskier was thankful.

“Your family knows,” he finally said.

“They didn’t as I grew up. Only my mother did. She must have told them before she died.” Jaskier’s heart tightened at the thought of his mother. He wasn’t quite ready to confront the fact that she had lied to him all his life, nor the fact that she had done this to him. At least he knew, now. He knew where he stood with his family.

“It’s possible to break your curse, then.”

“I don’t know how.”

This was the thought that had been plaguing Jaskier the past week. It was all there before him. Lazuli made it seem as if Jaskier could now break his curse whenever he wanted, but Jaskier didn’t know how he would do that. What truths did Lazuli want him to tell? The truth of his curse? He had already laid that out to Geralt, and Jaskier didn’t know who else mattered enough. What else could the fae want?

“We’ll find a way,” Geralt replied, nodding as if a decision had been made.

Jaskier watched him, mystified, as Geralt seemed to have declared that done with. As if Geralt could help him. Nothing had changed, this was still Jaskier and his curse against the world. Even if Geralt wanted to help him, there was nothing Geralt could do.

“This isn’t a monster you can slay, Geralt,” Jaskier retorted, finally letting the anger of the past few decades color his words. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this, nothing for you to put your silver sword through. Lazuli was being purposefully cryptic. There is no fixing me . I will be obedient for the remainder of my life. I might as well get used to it.”

“No,” Geralt said, shaking his head. “We will find a way to break your curse. And I will protect you. You will not be enslaved to any whims, or accidentally held captive. Your life will be your own. I will see to it.”

Jaskier sighed, and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. He was suddenly so, so tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of this life, tired of everything.

“What if I say no? What if I say I will do this on my own?” Jaskier said, a long while later. He dropped his hands and turned his eyes to Geralt. There was a challenge in his eyes. It wasn’t fair, but this was a test. He had to see what Geralt would do, what he would say.

Geralt sustained eye contact for a long time, but he was the first to break it. He looked back into the fire and suddenly Geralt looked just as tired as Jaskier felt.

“I will not command you, Jask,” he answered. His shoulders slumped. “I won’t take away your choice. Not ever.”

Jaskier watched him closely, looking for any hint of a lie. He didn’t find it. Jaskier’s heart burned and swelled in his chest, and he found himself standing, crossing the short distance to his witcher, and climbing into Geralt’s lap. His legs wrapped around Geralt’s hips and his hands cradled his face, forcing Geralt to look up at him. Geralt’s arms wound loosely around Jaskier’s hips, holding him, but not restraining him.

Jaskier’s lips pressed softly upon Geralt’s brow, melting away his tension. He thumbed at Geralt’s cheekbones as he peppered kisses down the side of his face until finally capturing Geralt’s lips in his own. He kissed his witcher soundly, until they had no more breath to give each other, and only then did he pull away to touch their foreheads together.

“I believe you,” he breathed. “And I don’t want to do this alone.”

Jaskier knew, then, how to break the curse. Or he thought he did, anyway. Unfortunately, it was the one thing he couldn’t do without risking losing his witcher forever. Jaskier would always be trapped by Lazuli’s--his mother’s--gift. But for the first time, Jaskier felt as if he was safe. For the first time in his life, he felt hopeful. All because Geralt gave that to him.

read chapter 12

[komcrebi-moved]

HELLO I -- wow okay I sure did pop in and promptly die for awhile-- apologies for that. my health has not been great so I’ve been absolutely BEYOND exhausted mentally and physically but anyway!! ignoring all that and the main reason I’m here-- I’m gonna drop 3 new muses on to this blog and there’s nothing you can do to stop me

anyway, these three here. do i have names for them yet? no. will find them as soon as i am able? yes. but tldr: new muses tba.... just as soon as i find names and the energy

first off is this man!

- probably 16 / cis male / name tba - quirk: invincibility. - meaning that literally nothing can hurt him (well. except fire [to some extent. but it can be withstood if necessary] as well as electricity [this is... no, this is definitely a weakness of his. if he’s zapped, he’s done for.) - his skin is impenetrable and his bones are unbreakable. Extremely likely that he’s capable of withstanding a strike from a OFA user and remain unharmed. His surroundings, however, will certainly not be as he gets knocked into oblivion. he can feel pain, but does have an incredible tolerance for it as he can’t really be physically harmed too badly by most things? - the harder the hit, or the sharper the object that comes into contact with his body/skin, the more “invincible” his body seems to become. his quirk is in constant use with no way to turn it off (except with like... quirk nullifying quirks or weapons). - doctor visits are interesting to say the least. needles must be taken through soft tissue (like under the eye/lid, inner lip, mouth, etc... very unpleasant.) - He’s basically a walking talking wrecking ball, and just as chaotically reckless as one when he goes all out when fighting or doing hero work. - He has protagonist’s best friend syndrome. - a very kind boy. very genuine and generous. can be confused easily and isn’t the strongest (his quirk doesn’t enhance power), but makes up for lack of strength with his quirk, sheer determination and creativity.

_________

- probably 15 or 16? / cis female / name tba - quirk: Swarm  / or, Hivemind (?) - meaning.. she has a swarm of flying insects inside of her body that she can unleash and control. (She says its less that she’s controlling them, and more that they’re all working together, but they are generally seen as an extension of herself.) - The insects are usually always dormant until she activates her quirk and ‘wakes them up’. They crawl out of tiny holes along her body, but can also come out of her nose, ears, mouth, and eyes (with..some discomfort). The insects can be used to attack, defend, or even be used to form another “limb” of sorts. The insects are durable, strong, and agile, and can eat through just about anything if commanded. - she’s kind of... a walking horror to some, instilling disgust and terror in anyone who has either two specific fears. She mixes trypophobia ( an aversion or fear of clusters of small holes, bumps, or patterns) and entomophobia (fear of insects). I was originally going to have her have an eyepatch or hair over her eye, so underneath what you would see is not an eye, but a cluster of holes that the insects can crawl from (for the ick factor).... but decided  that she would instead only have a ‘hive-like’ pattern of this just under her clothes. probably twisting down from her shoulder, twisting down to her ribs, with specklings of these entry/exits on her arms and/or legs somewhere. probably forms some sort of neat swirling design. - she’s a small, cute girl with a disgusting/horrifying quirk; it usually surprises people, and she used to be bullied quite a lot because of it.  she’s the kind, nurturing type personality, but will openly and casually threaten to beat people up if they hurt those she cares about.  - she makes friends easily and has lots! she tries not to let rude people hurt her feelings simply by avoiding them. she’s non-confrontational, generally... but sometimes, she can be a little mean. a.... typical teenage girl.

_________

25 / NB (she/they) / Eirlys Williamson - quirk: Air Pressure - she specializes in AIR pressure (air related quirks run in the family-- see *Andi Williamson), but can, with some effort and concentration, control other kinds of pressure (atmospheric, barometric, etc... or whatever, idk! I’m not super well educated on that stuff lmao.... not........yet.) Anyway, she can control the air pressure outside and inside of objects ( the more dense the object, the more difficult it is of course). Scary enough, she can even control the air pressure outside and INSIDE a person’s body. Paired with Andi, they could have made one dangerous as hell team.  Her quirk is regarded as considerably dangerous (as the lasting effects -- if purposely or accidentally used on another person-- can be permanent, or even easily fatal. She sometimes has to use quirk suppressants at night, or during hospital stays where she’s been hurt badly or is otherwise not in complete control of her quirk.) - she’s Andi Williamson’s younger sister! they haven’t seen one another for a very, very long time as Eirlys left when they were both quite young. She’s lucky she survived on her own, or didn’t turn to crime. She turned into an underground hero, actually! Much to Andi’s surprise and delight. Their parents, briefly put, were abusive. She ran away and was never found, leaving Andi and her parents to wonder for years if she was dead or alive. She secretly reached out to Andi once, just to let him know she was okay, but he hadn’t heard from her since then. It was going on twelve years when Andi received an urgent phone call at work (UA!) on day from a hospital all the way in America. It was his sister. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of his personal number and put him as her emergency contact in case anything were to ever happen.  She had no one else.  So Andi took a few days off and got her flown down to Japan so he could keep an eye on her until she awoke from her injury induced coma (a villain, as with Andi, almost killed her).  She does wake up eventually, and decides to stay in japan with andi for some time before deciding to stay permanently. - she’s actually pretty goofy like andi, but hardened by a difficult life on her own. she’s emotionally detached at times, is often angry, and can be rather cold at times... but she has andi’s heart, and is very caring and kind once she warms up to someone. - she has a vengeful heart, much like Andi. Which is precisely how she ended up nearly dead in the hospital....  you can tell they’re siblings.

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

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Epilogue: Part 1

1. No Longer

My heart is lighter than air as I mount the stairs after reading my story, my soul, to Mom and Lucas. I tuck the notebook beneath the blankets on the side of the bed closest to the window, the side that Taemin always fills. Then, I walk into the cold-tiled bathroom to shower and wash myself of all past pains, all past shames, all past fears.

Stepping into a set of canary yellow pajamas that I haven’t worn in years (because they were lost to my Rugrats phase), I decide that I will embrace life’s changes. I will no longer be afraid, and I will no longer cling to the shadows, and I will follow Taemin into the light, and there—

“No,” I correct myself as I meet my reflection after wiping the fog from the mirror. Nobody ever grows in the blink of an eye. No change forced into a single breath ever lasts past the exhale.

So why— why do I keep trying to rush myself?

I have to learn patience. More than anyone else, I should understand my fears and hesitations. If I can’t treat myself with compassion, then who will? As much as I love Taemin— which is far too much to quantify with mere words even if I write in every empty notebook filling the bookshelf— can I rely on him to love me into the person I was born to be? Should I?

I don’t know, I answer as I lay myself down to catch up on hours or lifetimes of lost sleep. I don’t know how much I should want or need Taemin’s love. But I do know how much I crave my own love. My own admiration.

It’s not that I desire my love alone; it’s just— there is no substitution for self-love. I want to meet my reflection, which I have avoided for years, with a smile for the rest of my life. The next time the wind blows, I do not want to question who I am, or who I was, or who I might grow to be.

As I close my eyes at Taemin’s texted request, I make a simple resolution that I will likely wrestle with for the rest of my days: be kinder to me. Write love letters to me. Count the stars in my eyes. Learn my virtues as well as I have memorized my vices. Love me.

Love me.

I will.

2. Touch

The door opens with a deafening BANG that stirs me from a deep sleep. Lucas’s warm breath hisses into my ear, “There’s a burglar in the house.”

As I bolt upright, he screams and I whimper. Our heads collide. While we rub at the maroon lumps swelling on our foreheads, I ask in a voice muddied by sleep, “What?” The word is unintelligible to my ears, but Lucas understands.

“There’s a burglar in the house!” He repeats, throwing my quilt onto the floor. “Come on! We gotta rescue Mom!”

Because I am tired enough to believe Lucas— or, more likely, I believe that my blissful dream about Taemin’s kisses has morphed into a bizarre nightmare— I obey. Rubbing the sleep out of my puffy eyes, I follow Lucas into the hallway. I run on the tips of my toes because the floor is frozen.

Bravery courses through my veins, warm and throbbing, when muffled voices from the kitchen reach my ears. Probably because I don’t feel awake, and therefore I am indestructible, I assert, “I should walk in front.” Lucas is shielding me with his bulky body. “You know, because I am a black belt in Taekwondo.”

“I am not letting you walk in front!” Lucas growls through gritted teeth, glaring at me over his shoulder. I don’t know what floods his mind with the delusion that he is the dominant one. I don’t know why he always forgets who the boss is (me). How many times do I have to remind him?

“Some lunatic is holding Mom hostage! I’m not losing you too!” Lucas swings a bat that I have not yet noticed. “Plus, I have the weapon!”

The bat nearly bashes and bloodies my nose, but I catch it and push it away, glaring. “You are a danger to yourself and others,” I tell him.

If my mother were being held captive downstairs (and my now awakened brain argues that she most likely is NOT), I would not trust Lucas to rescue her. That’s not entirely true. In a fairytale, Lucas would be one of those knights who fights evil with a pure heart, not with a sword. The only issue is that we don’t live in a fairytale. I wish we did, though.

Before Lucas can descend the first step, I grab the back of his shirt and use all my strength to hurl him behind me. With my hands raised defensively (in preparation for the unlikely worst-case scenario), I make it halfway down the stairs. Then Lucas, being an idiot, tackles me, and we tumble down the rest of the way.

It’s only through divine intervention that we don’t break any bones— namely, our necks. It’s only by an undeserved miracle that I don’t suffocate under the brunt impact of Lucas’s full weight.

While my face, which I had protected from the bat just moments ago, grinds into the floor, Mom laughs. (So, she is very clearly not in danger.) Lucas gasps, “Taemin?”

Great. The last person I want to catch me landing face-first at the foot of the stairs.

I lift my head to stare at him. Taemin. My Taemin.

He stands across from Mom at the kitchen island. His hands are reaching into a bag from some fast food place— McDonald’s, I think. His eyes are wide, glittering, and not blinking. His pretty pink lips are rounded into a perfect “o” shape.

Although embarrassment burns through my entire being, I do not try to hide my face. I cannot look away from Taemin. He is a dream come true breathing beside Mom. He is a dream come true wearing that hoodie he stole from my bag once upon a time in an American hotel room. He is a dream come true when his only makeup is the natural blush born on one cheek, crawling across the bridge of his nose, and pooling onto the other cheek.

He is beyond beautiful. He is beyond a dream come true. And I love him. I love him so much it hurts.

Or maybe loving Taemin doesn’t hurt at all. Maybe all that hurts is Lucas’s elbow digging into my back.

Snapping out of the drooling admiration of my boyfriend, I wheeze, “Get off, Lucas!” I only start to catch my breath when Lucas stands and I start to rub the aches out of my ribs.

Without helping me onto my feet or offering the briefest apology even as a formality, Lucas skips into the kitchen. I roll my eyes. Sometimes— rarely— Lucas is annoyingly inconsiderate. A lot of boys are, I guess. Dumb. As he plucks a fry out of the bag Taemin’s hand is lost in, Lucas asks, “What are you doing here?”

Taemin doesn’t answer, though, because his attention is fixed on me. He gawks at me, jaw hanging, as I walk into the kitchen. I do not wonder why he is staring, and I do not dare to match his gaze.

The cold air raises goosebumps on my arms, legs, and the thin strip of skin exposed between my shorts and cropped tank top. (The tank top, by the way, dons the main Rugrats characters, most notably baby Dil Pickles, AKA my favorite baby ever). This set of pajamas has always been reserved only for sleeping. Before Lucas dragged me out of bed to confront a non-existent burglar, I hadn’t worn it outside of my room because— well— it isn’t exactly comfortable or appropriate considering the rotating cast of characters (usually Lucas and Heechul) constantly roaming around the house.

Folding my arms over my exposed stomach, I try to hide my lower body behind Mom’s side of the island. The smile that I offer in the hopes of deterring her from noticing my attire is defective, of course. Mom’s eyes rake over me with an interest rivaling Taemin’s. Because he is enthralled by the overflowing McDonald’s bag, Lucas is the only person who isn’t ogling me. He has never really stared at me. Maybe that’s why we are best friends.

Pinching at both of my cheeks (as if they aren’t red enough already), Mom squeals, “You look adorable, Lei!” And I want to disappear.

Reaching across the counter-top to link his pinky with mine, Taemin winks. “I agree.” And I want to glare at him for flirting right in front of Mom. Except I don’t. Except I melt when I meet his eyes for a fleeting fragment of a second.

Ever my ally when it counts, Lucas draws attention away from me. He kicks at something on the side of the island he shares with Taemin. His eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “Is this your suitcase, Taemin? Planning to go somewhere?”

Finally, I can breathe. Taemin breaks his study of me to look at Lucas as he nods. “Yeah, that’s mine.” He steals my breath again when his eyes flicker between me and Mom with the question, “Is it okay if I take my things upstairs?”

Lucas stares at me with wide eyes. His mouth falls open. He wants to scream something like, “WHEN DID YOU PLAN TO TELL ME THAT WE ARE OFFICIALLY ACQUIRING A TAEMIN?” But he heeds my silent plea to, you know, not scream, so he bites down on his lips.

Of course, I had already uncovered Taemin’s plan to move in. I accepted it. More than that, I had been anticipating it. I had been dreaming about it— not that I ever would have divulged such a secret. However, I do not know how or even if he has gotten Mom’s permission.

She smiles when Taemin, Lucas, and I look to her for a response. It’s a genuine smile; the kind that etches faint dimples into her cheeks and lights her entire face. “Make yourself at home, Taemin!”

Mom’s lack of protest should be stunning, but it isn’t. She is the same woman who invited Lucas into our house for Christmas five years ago and allowed him to turn a guest room into his personal bedroom. She is the same woman who allowed Lucas to sleep under our roof after she started to suspect that we were dating. As a mother figure, Mom spoils Lucas rotten. As a manager, though, Mom has always set boundaries with him.

With Taemin— well, not even Mom is immune to his charms. She allowed him to share a room with me throughout the American tour. If (when) he asks, she will probably allow him to share a room with me throughout the European tour. Because she was so lax as a manager, it only makes sense that she should open the door to our home for him, too.

I think Mom has a superpower. She knows from a glance who to lock outside. She knows from a glance who to welcome with open arms and a smile. I’m glad that she uses that power to protect me. More than that, though, I am glad that she uses that power to nudge me toward happiness.

Emboldened by Mom’s grin, Taemin rounds the island. Smiling at me with his eyes and his lips, he catches me around the waist. His hands are so soft, so warm. Exactly what you would expect his touch to feel like. Heaven on earth. The kind of touch that pieced together a shattered flower in the garden.

Taemin’s smile pecks delicately at my forehead, right on the spot Lucas made red. It doesn't hurt anymore. “I brought some food if you’re hungry.”  

Then, before I can thank him, Taemin’s smile pecks at my lips. Right in front of Mom and Lucas, who probably watch this scene from my notebook breathing and alive before their eyes. Taemin whispers, “I’ll be unpacking if you need me, baby.”

Before I can decide whether I enjoy melting into his touch with an audience, Taemin releases me from his embrace. He walks to the stairs and ascends, carrying his suitcase, and my breath, and my heart with him. My heart— he has been holding it carefully, mindfully, gracefully, and I— I just hope I haven’t been too careless with his.

As I watch Taemin until he fades from view, I resolve to be more careful. No— careful is the last thing I need to be. I should try to love him more openly. Fearlessly. I want to give him the love that he has given to me; I want to give him the love he has dreamed about.

Dreaming about the future, dreaming about right now, my legs turn to jelly. I lean into the island for stability and look from Mom to Lucas, wondering what they are thinking.

Do they think that Taemin is settling into my world too quickly? Would they believe me if I told them that Taemin and I have been together in lifetimes past? Would they consider me a fool, a stranger, for believing in something like that? Do they think that I am a fool for wanting this life— for wanting Taemin— so badly?

I wish I didn’t care. I wish my mind wouldn’t twist into these labyrinths that I have only recently learned to navigate through with pen and paper. More than anything, I wish I could be like Taemin: too devoted to the idea of destiny to search for outside approval.

Soon, I tell myself, I will be confident on my own. For now, I take comfort in the smile Mom gives to the ceiling because she knows I will burst into flames with eye contact. For now, I am empowered by the smirk Lucas throws my way before he bites into a hamburger.

Nobody objects to Taemin's presence. My Taemin. And it’s because it is there on his wrist for anybody to see: we are meant to be.

3. Waiting

I assumed that Taemin would claim the guest room across from my bedroom, but I gather that he isn’t there as soon as I fill the doorway. The guest room is empty, dark, untouched. Afternoon sunlight faintly breaks through the thick black curtains lining the window.

This room doesn’t suit Taemin, I realize as I eye the black blanket and the black nightside lamp atop a black nightstand. Everything in his room at the SuperM house had been unearthly white. His room was like a castle in the clouds. He would never gravitate toward such a dark place where the light barely gets in.

His laughter trickles into the hallway and carries the sun into this dark corner of the house. Following the rays, tracing that melody, I find Taemin on my bed, wrapped in a cocoon made of my quilt. Chewing through a chocolate chip cookie, he reads my book by the light leaking in through my curtains, which have been drawn since his most recent departure.

Something about the scene makes my heart leap. It’s the realization that he is here with me, in my space, laughing because of something I wrote.

“Taemin!” I greet him with a whine as I close the door.

Like he is embarrassed that I have caught him sneaking glances at the story we promised to read together, Taemin gasps. He closes the book and tucks it under his pillow. After stuffing the small remaining bit of gooey chocolate into his mouth, he licks his fingers clean and folds his hands behind his head.

“Lei!” He smiles up at me.

Sighing, unable to fight the smile from my face, I flick the lightswitch. I walk to the bed, squinting to assess the mess he has made on my sheets with his dessert. “You got crumbs everywhere,” I fuss as I swipe those I can see into a pile on the floor.

Taemin wraps his hand around my wrist. He knows his faintest, briefest touch will inspire me to stare into his eyes where the stars have gathered. Sometimes, this is scary: finding myself in him. Always, this is breath-taking. Always, this is beautiful.

He is still smiling. Almost always smiling. Never affected by scolding. Well, never affected by my scolding. He trembled at the mere imagination of Mom’s disapproval. Maybe I should threaten to tell her about his messy eating habits, but I won’t. I don’t believe much in making empty threats. No matter how Taemin should annoy me, maybe even if he managed to break my heart into a million bloody pieces, I would probably never tell Mom. I have never been a tattle-tale.

To tempt me into bed with him, Taemin tugs on my wrist. When I resist the pull, he pouts to tempt me to kiss him. “I was gonna clean after myself!”

My eyebrows arches skeptically, so Taemin insists at a shrill pitch, “I was! I am! Just not now.” The ribbon tickles my skin as he laces our fingers together. “Now, I want to hold you.”

Subtly, I nod to the window. In a voice that is not quite mine— it is too quiet— I say, “It’s not time for you to hold me.

I don’t know why I said that. I can’t understand why my voice can betray my deepest desires when I want to lay with him, I want to be held by him, I want to kiss him, I want to melt into a more perfect being with him, I want to write another moment with him.

Remembering my promise to become his dream come true, to slowly grow into the person I have always wanted to be, I take the first step. Again, I break the habit of resisting— resisting the fulfillment of my hopes because I have too long feared the fall. Before Taemin can argue, before his eyes can narrow in wounded disappointment, before the newest bruise I might have carelessly inflicted on his heart can scar, I bend to catch his pouting lips in a kiss.

He tastes like chocolate. I heard once that chocolate makes people feel a little happier, so I waste no more time battling the urge, the dire need to kiss his lips again and again. Harder this time, softer next time, deeper this time, shallow next time. I kiss him every way I know how, every way I have ever imagined, and still, there must be more ways to discover.

Taemin tries to hold me against him. He tries to pull me into him, and it’s so hard to resist. I do not want to resist, and this time there is no champagne to share in the blame. There is only him. There is only me. There is only the need to blur that distance, that difference, until there is none at all, but I—

There will be another time. There will be a time when Mom isn’t answering calls in her office downstairs. There will be a time when Lucas isn’t roaming the halls or watching SpongeBob on the living room television or playing video games in his room down the hall. There will be a time when I am not filling some internal void with this physical expression of love. There will be a time when I am not wearing a set of pajamas donning my favorite infant cartoon characters.

When I break from the kiss for a breath, I bring both of my hands to tug down at the hem of my shirt. No matter how hard I tug, no matter how much I plead, I remain exposed. Why, then, do I keep begging? Why do I waste my energy by pleading for such an unnecessary miracle?

Taemin doesn’t understand either. He sits upright and, frowning, reaches for my hands. “Why do you keep doing that?” His brow furrows as he presses kisses to my knuckles. Then, he drops my hands around his shoulders. While I trace the threading in my old gray hoodie, wondering if and how I will ever make it mine again (if I even want to), Taemin says, “You look adorable, you know. Mom said so too.”

I crinkle my nose, and Taemin cries, “It’s true! It’s cute that the tiniest little bit of your tummy is showing! It’s nothing to hide, baby, especially not from me.”

I am blushing too deeply to meet his gaze. Numbly, I ask, “Especially not from you? What does that mean?”

“I mean that there is nothing that you should hide from me.” He smiles to comfort me, I think, and not to tease me. “Besides, this—” his fingers brush against the skin exposed beneath my shirt and spark a fire in my gut. I recoil from the flame, giggling. Only fools giggle at fire. “This is nothing I haven’t seen before.” Taemin winks.

My face flushes at the reminder of the New Year’s strip Rock-Paper-Scissors game. Never— never will we forget. Never will Taemin let us forget. He’s such a brat. I roll my eyes and grumble, “Really, Taemin—”

“We don’t regret it,” he reminds me softly, pressing a kiss to the bend of my elbow, “because there is nothing to regret. We were born to find each other. We were born to see each other. Don’t hide. Don’t hide from me.”

Shivering at the frequently recurring realization that I don’t want to hide, I never wanted to hide— I just thought I needed to hide— I nod. I try to bite through my smile, but I can’t. I can’t contain my happiness. “I know, Taemin. The thing is, I can’t kiss you with baby Dil Pickles watching!” I point to the character on my shirt, and Taemin throws his head back laughing.

His eyes are beautiful crescents when he beams at me. “Fine, baby.” He nudges me toward the closet. “Hurry and change. I’ll be waiting!”

4. It’s You

From the floor of my closet, a pile of clothes greets me, and I respond with a gasp. I am not especially attached to my clothes. By no means do I call myself a fashionista. It's just, everything in my room has a specific place.

Lucas calls my insistence on maintaining order in this one corner of the universe that is mine "compulsive control." I call it "organization," and, to tell you the truth, I don't think it matters much what Lucas says in this instance. Everything is organized in the most efficient manner and, seeing as this is my space, everyone should take my word for it and not move my stuff.

The culprit is obvious. Taemin has left my clothes, a bundle of dresses reserved for red carpet events, at the foot of a life-size Taeyeon poster. Replacing my dresses on their rack are Taemin's clothes— an unorganized assortment of plain black and white t-shirts.

It's amazing how quickly I roll the hearts out of my eyes. After stepping into a pair of pink sweatpants and pulling one of Taemin's shirts over my head, I call his name. I try (and fail) to bite the annoyance out of my voice by digging into my bottom lip.

Perhaps picking up on my tone, Taemin does not run to my side. He is probably sneaking more glances at our story as he responds from my bed, "What, baby?"

His voice is sickeningly sweet. Artificially sweet. He knows that he has done wrong, but he does not apologize.

His sweetness melts into something much more bitter when I say, "Come here!"

Huffing, Taemin fills the doorway wearing a frown. His arms cross tightly over his chest. His eyebrows knit together. "What?"

I was annoyed enough by his lack of consideration for my clothes— the nicest ones, I might add— before he started pouting like a spoiled child, like I had done something wrong. Narrowing my eyes, I demand, "What are you so upset about?"

"I remember this part." Taemin stares down at his feet. "This is the part where we have our first real fight, and I don't want to do it."

My scowl softens at the reminder that Taemin lives with the traces of our past lives together. That confusion of navigating through timelines— the blurring of the past and present— must be a curse in some ways. Maybe it's a worse curse than the perpetual fear of the future that has always haunted me. In some ways, I guess, I'm glad that I don't have any memories of past lives. In some ways, I guess, I'm glad that Taemin is here to lead me.

After beckoning Taemin to my side, I let my fingertips brush against his hand to prove that I'm not angry— at least not permanently. I allow my touch to linger to demonstrate that I don't want to fight either. I just want to understand: "If you knew that this would result in a fight, then why did you throw my dresses on the floor?"

Staring down at the pile he made, Taemin shrugs. "I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid."

His pout makes my heart feel heavy. I have every right to reprimand his carelessness, but I can't do it when he looks so pitiful. I don't want to do it. I love him too much. I only want to see him smile. I have always been like this: incapable of frowning at those I love for long. Some might consider this sort of pacifism passivity— a weakness— but I don't. I just want peace. I just want happiness.

"Don't say such things about yourself," I say with a gentle authority that reminds me of Mom. Forcing my attention away from Taemin, I start to pluck his shirts from the rack, explaining, "You would have much more space for your things in the closet across the hall, you know. Here. I'll help you move—"

"I don't want to move!" Taemin's entire body stiffens as he argues. His face pales. "I want to be with you!"

"You are. You will be, forever." I rise to the tips of my toes to press the promise to his lips. "Like you promised, we will sleep together every night. It's just— you need space—"

The color returns to Taemin's face as a deep, unnatural maroon. Skin should never turn that color. "I don't need space! I don't want space!" His voice trembles and shakes the entire house.

"Closet space, Taemin." I sigh at his undue panic— his determination to misunderstand me.

This headache forming around my temples— does it visit him when I am rattled by the slightest breeze? I hope not. The mere imagination that it does gives me all the more reason to find my footing.

"I'm talking about closet space. And if you don't need that—"

Looking very much like a child as his hands form fists at his sides, Taemin swears, "I don't!"

"Then I do." By now, all of his shirts are draped over my arms. By now, anyone who wasn't as deeply in love as I am might have lost their temper.

"This closet is way bigger than the other one though! This closet is the size of a store!" The stomping of Taemin's foot drills into my brain that his fixation on my closet has little to do with his attachment to me. He is being materialistic. And I don't like that.

"Materialistic?" Taemin parrots as he follows me on my march into the guest room. After he slams the door shut, his arm hooks around my waist and whirls me around so that my face nearly collides with his chest. Most of his shirts fall from my arms onto the floor.

The furrowing of his eyebrows should be an intimidating sign of anger, maybe, but I can only think that he looks cute. Like a little boy. I can only think that he isn't that much taller than me. He isn't that much bigger than me. He probably isn't that much stronger than me.

Rationally, it is decided: I am not afraid of Taemin. Should his grip around me tighten painfully, should the warm flame in his eyes turn scalding— and I do not expect them to— I could (and would) flatten him.

Once I decide that I am not afraid, I realize that I am amused. Everything about this seems unreal and almost comical, like his Na Jaemin induced fit of jealousy. All at once, I want to laugh, and I have to bite down on my lips to maintain my composure.

"I didn't say that," I assert. I am not confrontational or combative, but I do not like to shrink below sharpened stares. "You're using your soulmate mind-reading powers, which, by the way, is a very unfair tactic. You would learn to control that."

Taemin blinks at me. I wink at him. And I catch the faintest outline of a smile before his face hardens. He is play fighting now, I realize, and as butterflies swarm across my stomach I agree with what he once said; it is an exciting way to flirt.

"So you—" he almost smiles again— "you were just thinking that I am materialistic?"

Although I say nothing to confirm or deny that— why would I say anything to insult Taemin?— his subsequent outburst could convince anybody that I sincerely called him a selfish bastard or something. After scooping his shirts off of the floor and snatching those remaining in my arms, he storms over to the window. Forcing the curtains apart, he asks, "Would a materialistic person do this?"

"Do what?" I challenge, raising my eyebrows. "Play with the curtain?"

Taemin drops his shirts onto the foot of the bed. He grabs one, forms it into a ball, and hurls it out the open window.

Objectively, it probably isn't that funny, but I laugh so hard that my knees go weak. Luckily, the bed catches me, and I can muffle my laughter with a pillow.

"Get your face out of that pillow and look at me!" Taemin loses his battle against laughter too. By the time I look at him, though, he has forced his face into a scowl as he tosses another shirt. "I'm proving to you that I don't need expensive clothes to be happy! I don't need a big closet or a fancy bedroom! I had those things at the SuperM house, and I easily, happily, left them behind for what I do need."

I almost roll my eyes. Taemin is the cheesiest person alive sometimes, but I like that. He is a drama queen all the time, but I like that too. I like everything about him— even (and maybe especially) what might seem like flaws to others. His episodes are ultimately harmless. They inspire that side-splitting sort of laughter that paints my world anew with colors I never knew existed.

"Oh yeah?" Swallowing my giggles, I try to train my smile into an apathetic line. I can't do it. I am losing this skill that I spent so many years developing, this habit that I once swore was integral to survival. Is that a shame? Or is that a blessing?

A blessing, I decide. How many smiles have I killed in these last several years? Far too many to count. Far too many to mourn. I never again want to subdue my happiness.

"And what do you need, Taemin?"

Before Taemin can answer, a voice outside— Heechul's voice— shrieks, "STOP THROWING SHIT OUT THIS WINDOW!"

Faintly, I hear Mom retort, "Leave those kids alone, Heechul, and get back over here! You're supposed to be helping me!"

"These are men's shirts!" Heechul must look up into the window; suddenly, Taemin hurls himself onto the bed, almost landing on me with a force that would leave me gasping. "You just let the boys in this house do whatever the hell they want, Kim! Except me, of course. I have to obey a billion rules and jump through a trillion hoops, and even then I'm still. . ."

As Heechul's voice trails off, Taemin exhales loudly. He must have been holding his breath. "I guess they're working through their issues. Heechul is helping Mom and Lucas clean the pool. We should probably go out there tonight and make good use of it, huh?"

Taemin curls into my side and wraps an arm around my waist. Always, he gets what he wants. He really has charmed the universe.

Because he has charmed me too, I do not shy away from his touch. "It's freezing outside, Taem. You'll be hard pressed to find me in a bathing suit in the peak of summer, much less in the darkest depths of winter."

"I'm sure there is some setting to warm the water, Lei. We wouldn't have to freeze."

Taemin is right, but I don't tell him so. Rather than floating adrift in blissful silence, Taemin wonders, "What's your problem with bathing suits? You didn't wear one and get into the pool on tour either."

I joke, "I prefer to keep my belly button hidden from the world." It's funny, considering how many crop tops I have worn during promotions.

"You don't have to show it." Taemin presses his finger on my shirt, indicating my belly button. He draws shapes— he spells his name, I think— over my stomach. "You could wear one of those pretty one-piece suits. Or you could wear my shirt— this one, maybe. You look especially pretty in my clothes."

My cheeks burn as I thank him for the compliment. Carding my fingers through his hair, I ask, "Do you wanna hear about the last time I got into the pool?"

Taemin nods, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.

“When I turned eighteen, Soo and Minseokie— Kyungsoo and Minseok, I mean— threw a huge party. They invited everyone in NCT 127 plus Ten, so—” my lips curl into a smile as I tease— “you can relax, Taem. Jaemin wasn’t there.”

Taemin’s snort of a laugh tickles my neck. “Oh, great. That means I only have to be jealous that Ten, Taeyong, Mark, Lucas, and Baekhyun— Baekhyun, of all people!— have seen my beautiful girlfriend in a soaked bikini top!”

Almost— I almost point out that the bikini top is much less scandalous than the undergarments he saw on New Years Eve— but I decide against it at the last second. I gasp, “How do you know about that?”

“They’ve mentioned it!” Taemin lifts his head to show me how his eyes roll. “By ‘they,’ I mostly mean Ten. He thought it was funny enough when Johnny pulled you into the pool fully clothed. He thought it was funnier when Baekhyun yelled, ‘Take it off, Lei!’ or whatever he said.”

The memory makes me squirm. “Gee, well, I’m glad Ten remembers it fondly. Since I survived that incident, I’ve realized that it’s impossible to die from embarrassment.”

“If it’s any consolation, everyone agreed that you looked amazing,” Taemin says. It’s not a consolation at all; I squirm more. “And then Jongin told them to stop spreading inappropriate stories about our newest member.”

Finally, I crack the smallest smile. “Sometimes, it seems like Jongin is the only one truly on my side!” My dramatic whine elicits reluctant laughter from Taemin.

He wants to remind me that Jongin’s loyalty had been hard won, but he doesn’t say so plainly. “I was on your side first,” he hums as he drops a kiss on my collarbone. “I’ll be on your side forever.”

Raising my pinky, I repeat, “Forever.” This word that once sounded foreign in my voice, this word that was once too big to fit into my mouth is now all I can say when I look at Taemin.

Smiling, he links his smallest finger with mine. We stay intertwined like this for a while. Forever, maybe. We exist comfortably in silence. We aren’t even kissing. We are just laying together in a pinky promise, shrouded by the realization that there is nowhere we would rather be. There is nowhere else to be.

Taemin fills the silence. “Can I ask you a question?” When I nod, he asks, “Why do you have a giant poster of Key in your closet?”

Blushing slightly, I explain, “Key is one of my fashion icons. He’s the main one, actually. By his poster, I hang all of my eclectic, experimental clothes— the ones I’m not brave enough to wear yet. By Taeyeon, I hang all of my pretty clothes— formal wear, mostly. Then, by Amber’s, I hang all of the sporty stuff.”

“Why am I not a fashion icon?” Taemin’s bottom lip forms a pout, and I have to kiss him. I have to. I can’t let these opportunities pass.

I mutter, “Obviously you didn’t look under the bed,” burning at the thought that Taemin will likely (definitely) discover the extent to which I idolized him as a child. I will have to hide his photocards some place he will never find them.

At that, Taemin sparkles. “What?”

To derail him, to delay the inevitable, I say, “If you looked under my bed, you would have found my Key photocards. Then, you wouldn’t have to wonder why he’s my sole male fashion icon.”

Taemin’s lips purse like he has chewed through a lemon. I have seen that face only once, lifetimes ago, on that morning after I gave him my ribbon. “Well, you wouldn’t like Key very much at all if I told you that he beat my ass in a closet once. If you knew that, you might understand the dread that washed over me when that poster looked me in the eyes! You’d probably take it down!”

Instantly, I retort, “I would do no such thing!” and Taemin huffs. “Why did he beat you in a closet, anyway? What did you do?”

Taemin blinks harshly. His eyes burn into me. “I didn’t do anything!”

I find that hard to believe. Not that Key disciplined Taemin, but that Taemin had done nothing to deserve it. Regardless, Taemin will confess to no wrongdoing, so I quietly resolve to consult Key later. For now, I pack my curiosity away and kiss Taemin’s cheek.

“Now you’re gonna play sweet?” Taemin raises his eyebrows.

“It’s now or never.” I raise my eyebrows too. “Take it or leave it.”

Drawing a deep breath to expel his sudden and unwarranted surge of jealousy toward Key— Key, who I have met only a handful of times— Key, who only knows me from those days of following Amber— Taemin fits his lips with mine.

The kiss seems to remind Taemin that I love him as someone different, someone more than an idol. When he parts from my lips to kiss my cheeks, forehead, neck, and every exposed inch of skin, he smiles.

“It’s you, by the way,” he whispers in my ear. His breath is warm, but it makes me shiver. “You are who I need. Or want. Or crave. More than expensive clothes or fancy bedrooms or big closets. More than anything, Lei. My Lei.”

Once upon a time, I didn’t know how to respond to his sudden declarations of love. I didn’t trust myself to speak. But now— now I couldn’t bite back the words on my tongue if I tried.

“It’s you,” I breathe past his lips. “You are who redeems broken flowers. You are the only person in the world who can pluck the moon from the sky, and you placed it in my clumsy baby hands—”

Taemin interrupts so quietly that I shouldn’t hear him whispering, “You speak so beautifully. Write it down. Write it down so I don’t forget, please. Write it down so I can’t forget.”

Needless to say, I will do as he asks— whatever he asks— after I express out loud, “You make me fall in love a million times a day, Taemin. My Taemin.”

5. Everything Has Changed (Lucas’s POV)

Life is different now that Taemin lives here. I'm not sure how much I like it.

I like the way Taemin looks at Lei. It's the way he's always looked at her. He squints to make out her features because he knows that she is the sun. I like the way she melts into his embrace. For the first time since we met, she seems to forget (at least for a second, which is sometimes as good as forever) that someone is always watching. I like the feeling that we are living in the happy ending of Lei's book.

Lei is happy— smiling. So I am happy— smiling.

I wanna say that I don't like how Taemin kisses Lei right in front of me and Mom, her family. I wanna say that affection should be displayed privately. That's what Lei always said. But I can't say that. I've never believed that. Not when Lei first said it, and not now.

I definitely don't like how Mom's eyes sparkle when she looks at Taemin. I don't like how I have to raise my voice to get her attention. Her attention used to come for free. Now, it fades when I blink my eyes. Now, when I open my eyes, she is looking at Taemin.

And I don't like how cold it is in Taemin's shadow. I don't wanna live here. And I hate how jealousy ties my stomach in knots. I've never been jealous before. I don't wanna feel like this.

I don't like that my smile hurts my cheeks. It's too heavy. My smile has never been too heavy before.

I don't like that there is nobody to share these twisting dizzying feelings with. There is nobody to make sense of them after Lei gulps down lunch and runs upstairs to him, leaving me alone with SpongeBob.

I don't like how eager I am to get out of the house once I think about Lei and Taemin cuddling and kissing and falling forever in love in my home. It's not that I don't support them. It's no that I don't ship them. I do! I always have! Nobody ships it more than me! It's just—

I don't know. I don't really want to think about my feelings anymore. They're making my head hurt.

After stepping into my slides, I shuffle past the kitchen and into Mom's office. Quietly, way too quietly for me, I say, "I'm gonna clean the pool, Mom."  

When she looks up from her computer, Mom sees that I'm not entirely happy. That must scare her. I'm almost always entirely happy. She sets her phone down on her desk. "Okay, honey." She stands, and I smile because she has dropped a call for me. Maybe things haven't changed that much. "Let's go!"

Cleaning the pool is a weekly chore. Usually, Heechul and Lei help too. Heechul sits on a sun chair and supervises while sipping boba tea. Lei brings her BlueTooth speaker and plays music for us. Mostly SHINee. She's a good DJ.

This time, though, it's just me and Mom because Heechul was kicked out for fighting with Donghae and Lei is writing more memories with Taemin. And I miss them.

All of a sudden, I feel so sad that I can't really say anything as I do my chores. Can't really say anything unless I wanna spoil the happy ending. I don't. Lei deserves it. She has worked so hard for it. Can't really say anything unless I wanna ask Mom if I'm still her favorite son. And I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure I wanna hear the answer.

I'm kinda relieved when Mom leaves to answer the ringing doorbell. It gives me a chance to wipe at my eyes and catch my breath. I'm really relieved when she returns with Heechul following close behind.

Smiling, I wave with both hands. "Hey, Heechul!"

And Heechul waves back at me with the hand that isn't holding his boba tea. The world seems normal for a second when he rolls his eyes. "And where the hell is the girl? Doesn't Lei know that, as a member of this family, she has to help out around here?"

This family. My family. We're intact. Yay!

Mom returns to my side to help fish leaves out of the water. "Lei is busy, Heechul, so don't go looking for her."

Mom doesn't mention Taemin at first, probably because she knows that Heechul will flip his shit. He's insanely protective of Lei, and I don't think he even knows that she's dating Taemin yet. He won't like another boy moving in, especially not right after he (and Donghae) was just evicted.

So I bite down on my tongue, determined not to say anything about Taemin either. I kept the secret from Mom long enough, so I know I can keep it forever. The only problem is: Taemin starts throwing his shirts out the window like an idiot or something.

I watch, slackjawed, because I never knew Taemin would do something like that. Yeah, Lei mentioned that weird tantrum about Jaemin, but I thought she was just hyping it up for the story. I should've known better. If anything, Lei tries to downplay everything.

Heechul murmurs exactly what I'm thinking: "What the hell?"

And he runs to the window and screams, "STOP THROWING SHIT OUT THIS WINDOW!"

And I'm scared for Lei, but I kinda want Taemin to get in trouble.

Taemin doesn't get in trouble, of course. When Mom yells for Heechul to come back to help us, he scoops one of the shirts off of the ground. Taemin's Mom must write his name on his shirt tags too.

Squinting at the tag, Heechul reads, "Taemin," in an awestruck sort of voice. Weirdly quiet. Too quiet for him. His wide eyes burn into Mom. "Taemin is staying in your guest room? And he's throwing shirts out the window?"

The guest room? My forehead wrinkles. I would've sworn that Taemin would try to hang his stuff up in Lei's room. I think he's forgotten how to live without her.

Mom focuses intently on the water. The tips of her ears burn red, but she has an amazing poker face. We should go to the casino some time. With my brain and her poker face, we could be billionaires!

"Taemin will be living here from now on." She talks in that calm, even voice that I usually only hear at the studio. "Considering Lei's cleanly nature and Taemin's reported propensity for— er— passionate fits, I would assume that he is the one throwing his clothes around."

"Taemin moved in? Permanently?" Heechul's jaw drops. He doesn't even sound angry like I expected. He just sounds surprised. Almost starstruck.

Am I relieved? Or annoyed?

Mom nods, so Heechul asks, "Why?"

I expect Mom to answer again in her manager voice, but she doesn't. Smiling and swaying so suddenly that I think she's gonna fall face-first into the pool, Mom says, "They're in love!"

"Who?" Heechul bellows.

Can Lei and Taemin hear Heechul from the guest room? Or is even Heechul not loud enough to shatter their happy ending?

Heechul demands to know: "Who's in love?"

And I can't bite my tongue for another minute. I cheer, "Lei and Taemin!"

Man, I know I'm feeling too much at once. I know I'm on a roller coaster of emotions and it's hard to tell if I'm going up or speeding down, but one thing is clear: Lei and Taemin were meant to be. And I don't know how many 'meant-to-be's get to be, but I'm sure as hell glad that they do.

I don't know how Heechul can look so stunned by what must be the most obvious love in the whole world. I don't know how anyone can say that they haven't noticed Lei's ribbon around Taemin's wrist. I haven't been able to look away from it for months. I don't think I'll ever look away from it! It's like the sun, ya know? Too bright to ignore. Too beautiful to overlook.

Heechul wheezes, "Lei has a boyfriend?"

Mom nods. Her words can't make it past her smile, so I take it upon myself to correct Heechul. "Lei has a soulmate!"

Heechul blinks at me. "So let me get this straight." Sitting on the edge of a sun chair, he sets his drink down at his feet. His hand raises to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "On tour, Lei actually fell in love with her ultimate idol? The same boy she used to listen to every single night? And you—" he points at Mom— "not only did you fail to mention this to me, but then you let him move in without consulting me?"

"I don't have to run everything by you first, Heechul," Mom says coolly. "First of all, I only recently heard the sweetest love story of all time. Maybe if you didn't piss me off so bad that I had to kick you out, you would have been around to hear it straight from Lei's mouth!"

It's unlikely that Lei would have read the story in front of Heechul, I think, but I guess you never really know. Heechul's face turns red at Mom's berating.

"Anyway," Mom sighs, "who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

"You're her mother, for one thing." Heechul's brow furrows, and my eyes roll. There's nothing more annoying than when he tries to act more mature than Mom. "You're his manager AND her manager for another! How are you going to explain this shit to the agency when they have a super idol baby?"

Oh. My. God. Lucas Tue WOULD be a super idol!

At the thought of my future (inevitable) baby nephew, I drop my cleaning equipment and clap my hands. My face hurts from smiling again, but in the best way! I take it all back! Yeah, I want to be Mom's number one boy, but that doesn't mean that I don't want Taemin here. I do. I need him here because I want Lucas Tue!

Plus, I'm totally okay with losing my number one spot to Lucas Tue! He'll be everyone's favorite!

"Cut that out, boy!" Heechul huffs at me. "We don't want babies!"

"I do!" I argue with Heechul's glare. "I want a baby!"

Mom cuts her eyes at Heechul. "Stop looking at Lucas like that! And stop assuming the worst of Lei and Taemin! You know that she's much smarter and much more responsible than I ever was. If and when she starts expressing her love like that, she will be careful. Besides—" Mom smiles. She looks so much like Lei when she smiles. Pretty— "I don't subscribe to the belief that surprise miracles ruin lives."

Surprise miracles. That's what Lei was to Mom, right? I know that's what Lei was to me. She was my first friend in the agency. I think— no, I know that I've never felt lonely because I found her.

Surprise miracles. That's a kind of funny phrase. Nobody ever expects a miracle, do they? I don't know.

All I know is that Mom speaks like a poet. All I know is that I've never wondered who taught Lei to speak. They're so much alike, and I love them. I'm glad they found me. I'm glad we're together. I'm glad we'll always be together.

As I sit on the ground, I smile up at Mom. The sun breaks through a cloud and makes the winter air a little warmer. "When I drew our family tree the other day, I made a spot for Lei's future baby! I asked her to name him Lucas Tue, and I told her that we should just call him Tue. And then she said that she would talk it over with Taemin."

Smiling back, Mom ruffles my hair. "That's adorable, honey!"

Heechul is less enthusiastic. He doesn't smile. "They're already talking about kids? He's already moved in?" Heechul runs both hands through his hair. "Shit, this is moving too fast for me. Just yesterday, the girl was saying that she would never date!"

Grinning because Lei had grown past the word 'never,' I explain, "She only said that because she hadn't met Taemin yet. If you think about it, they're not moving that fast; they're just making up for lost time."

At dinner, right after Mom shoves Heechul out the door, I announce, “Mom! Since today’s special because Taemin moved in, I’m gonna drink my last beer!”

Mom gives me two thumbs up from the doorway connecting the dining room to the kitchen. So I open the fridge with a smile. But I don’t find my beer in the fridge. I find it at the table. Open. In front of Taemin, who holds a giggling Lei in his lap.

Just like that, I don't like him much anymore. I don't really care that Lei is in his lap; I just think it's a little tasteless that he presses a lingering sort of kiss to the shell of Lei's ear right in front of Mom. I think it's a little weird that Lei just lets him. But all I REALLY care about is my beer gone to waste and Mom's total lack of sympathy.

"That's mine!" I yell when Taemin reaches for the bottle, bringing it up to his lips that are swollen and red from kissing Lei all day. "I was saving that beer! I was looking forward to it the whole time we were on tour!"

Lei's blinking tells me that I should be embarrassed. I am, kinda. A little bit. I never lose my temper. It's just— those drinks are special to me! Mom orders them because she knows they're my favorite in the whole world. And now Taemin has stolen the last one! And there's no way he's enjoying it as much as I would!

"Sit down, honey," Mom tells me, "and I'll pour you some wine."

"I don't want wine!" I want to say, but I can't bring myself to talk back to Mom. I don't want her to glare at me like she glared at Donghae and Heechul before locking them out, so I just grit my teeth and obey. Life is so unfair sometimes.

"I'll take the wine," Taemin says softly. His voice doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound natural. How can he turn heads with the quietest whisper when I have to yell?

He gives Mom this eerily perfect, almost inhuman smile before holding the beer out to me. "Here. I only took one or two sips. Take the rest."

Call me a germaphobe if you want, but I'm not big on drinking after people— especially not people who have spent the day swapping spit with my (figurative) sister. I glare at the beer because I can't glare directly at Taemin. I know this politeness is an act, a scheme to get Mom to like him better. He's fake!

Lei thinks so too, judging by the look she casts over his shoulder as I cry, "I don't want anything you've put your lips all over! That's disgusting!"

Lei makes me sick. She says something cringy like, "I don't think your lips are disgusting Taem!" before kissing his pout.

I scream in disgust, but the kiss is brief. Cute. It makes something inside of me scream in joy. But that joy loses to the rage that burns in my gut when Mom smiles at their display. Joy dies when Mom ruffles my hair and sets the glass of wine before me, saying, "Share with Taemin, Lucas."

My face burns. Share? Mom has never told me to share before!

"Share," I hiss. The word is too foreign. I don't like how it sounds; especially not in Mom's voice, and especially not in my voice. I stab into a piece of beef in my bowl. "What haven't I shared with Taemin lately? I share my best friend, I share my house, I share my Mom, I share my beer—"

"Lucas," Mom says in that warning tone that she usually reserves for work as she eases into the seat beside me— the seat across from Lei and Taemin. She raises a single eyebrow at me. "Behave."

My eyes widen. Behave? Mom never tells me to behave at home!

This stupid little smile spreads across Taemin's face when our eyes meet. That smile convinces me that I can't stand him. We are enemies. Obviously, I like him as an artist. I like him as Lei's soulmate. But I don't like him as my brother. I hate him as my brother.

I swear, he winks at me as he gulps a mouthful of my beer. And if Mom wasn't watching, if I wasn't afraid of hitting Lei (and then getting my ass kicked), I would throw my chopstick at his head.

Sweetly, Mom asks Taemin, "Have you had a good day? Are you comfortable in the guest room?"

When somebody asks questions like that, you're supposed to say 'Yes and yes. Thank you, ma'am!' Apparently, nobody ever taught Taemin that.

Resting his chin on Lei's shoulder, he says, "I had the best day, but I think I would be a lot more comfortable if my closet was like Lei's."

Lei rolls her eyes as she swallows a mouthful of salad. “Taemin, we’ve talked about your closet fixation. You said you didn’t need—”

It's clear that Taemin was joking from the less polite, less eerily perfect smile twisting his lips as Lei scolds him. Mom doesn't seem to pick up on that, though. She argues, "Of course he needs a big closet, Lei! He's a pop star! If he's going to stay here, we'll have to renovate the closet to meet his needs."

A closet renovation? I've never had one of those! I mean, I've never asked, but still! Taemin gets his wish granted just because he made some stupid joke!

"Taemin—" he beams when Mom says his name— "I'll make some calls tomorrow. You'll have to room with Lucas or Lei during construction."

I give him this look that screams, "You're not rooming with me, butthead!" but he doesn't notice. He's too busy smiling at Mom and then laughing at the rolling of Lei's eyes to notice that he's made me lose my appetite. Maybe he wouldn't care anyway.

. . .

Lei finishes eating first. She pecks Taemin's forehead before excusing herself to her room. She has never stuck around at the table after finishing her meals, and I guess Taemin's presence doesn't inspire her to change that habit.

I lost my appetite during the closet renovation chat, but I refuse to leave Taemin alone with Mom. It's obvious that if I give him the slightest edge in our competition, he'll win.

In the end, Mom sends us upstairs together, despite Taemin's offer (which prompts my offer) to help with the dishes. So we see the sign pinned to Lei's door at the top of the stairs at the same time. Glittery pink letters scream, "Keep Out!"

Taemin glances at the sign before he reaches for the doorknob. Maybe he can't read English that well. Or maybe he can't read cursive. Or maybe he's never been on the receiving end of a 'Keep Out' sign. But I can, I can, and I have. So I ask, "What are you doing?"

Over his shoulder, Taemin glances at me. His hand is still around the doorknob. "I'm going to bed. Lei and I promised to sleep together every night."

I already knew all about their sleeping arrangement, but I didn't expect Taemin to mention it so plainly. So matter-of-factly, with only the faintest traces of a smile around his lips. It's weird.

I point at the sign. "It says 'Keep Out.' It looks like she changed her mind."

I'm being an asshole, and I don't like it. I know well that Lei didn't change her mind about anything, and Taemin should too. He should know that she never makes empty promises; she keeps even the broken ones. He should know that the sign is meant for me, and I'm just— I'm just sad, so I want him to be sad too, even if it's just for a second.

Man, I'm on my own nerves. I need to sleep this off.

Because I don't trust myself to open my mouth without saying more bullshit, I brush past him on my way to my room at the end of the hall.

[wunderlass]

Max Evans, King of Consent

For some reason, within the fandom, Max has got a bit of a reputation as a weird, creepy stalker when it comes to Liz. And I really don’t understand where this came from, because that is not what was presented to us on screen. At all.

Let’s examine the evidence, shall we?

tl;dr: He isn’t, you didn’t pay attention to the show and leapt to conclusions

The teen years:

The little we see of Echo growing up, we know Max and Liz have some level of friendship. Max plays a supportive role to her, especially in their senior year. But Liz was with Kyle, and there’s no evidence Max ever bad-mouthed Kyle or tried to get in their way, despite the fact that Kyle was an obnoxious jerk at that point.

Max makes plans for the future that don’t involve Liz. Only after their “moment” at the prom, when Liz is single, does Max make a move. By this point we know Liz is beginning to reciprocate his feelings. Their desert date is sweet, and almost ends in a kiss--but when Liz pulls away, Max’s first instinct is to apologise. He doesn’t push Liz to kiss him when she explains why she won’t, or argue with her plans. Instead, he only expresses regret--as does Liz. It’s clear that she thinks a kiss between them is a significant event and that how she feels may be as intense as how he does.

At this point, Max has everything he’s ever wanted (with regards to Liz) at his fingertips. But he respects Liz’s choices and boundaries. Everything we see of him suggests that if Liz was with Kyle until the end of high school and left Roswell without anything ever happening between them, he’d be okay with that. All he wants, all he has ever wanted, is for Liz to be happy--and if that’s with another man, then so be it.

Then he suggests, tentatively, that he come along on the roadtrip, and Liz is overjoyed at the idea. They make plans. Everything goes to shit, and Liz leaves. Max gives her the space to say goodbye to her family without seeking out one of his own, understanding that if she hasn’t sought him out, she has no intention of doing so. He lets her go and takes the emotional hit in silence. He doesn’t follow her. His reasons for this are complex--he has to stay for his siblings, and he feels guilty over his involvement in Rosa’s death--but it’s clear he doesn’t expect anything further from Liz at this point.

Present time in the season:

In 2018, Max’s understanding of consent has only improved. He refuses to kiss her in the pilot while assuming his feelings are having an impact on her ability to agree to it. He repeats that refusal in episode two for the same reason. Liz is the one in pursuit here, and Max is arguably trying to give her space until any influence he’s having on her has passed.

Also in episode two, she tells him she’s leaving Roswell. He accepts this. He was expecting it, even if he’s not happy about it. At the end of the episode, he’s gutted when she tells him that she doesn’t have feelings for him, but he doesn’t argue with her about it. He accepts it before she’s even finished telling him there will be no kiss. Liz is the one who manipulates him to spend more time together, and when he realises he’s being manipulated, he makes plans to try and move forward with somebody else, under the impression that Liz will be leaving town soon and he can lick his wounds when she’s gone.

Arguably in these early episodes Liz seeks out Max more than the other way around. She goes looking for him to collect his DNA in the pilot (which, let’s face it, is ethically ambiguous at best). She’s going to confront him when he comes to find her and confess his secret. She summons him to the church, and also to the turquoise mines. At the end of episode three they have a big confrontation over Max’s love letter, and he finally confesses the depths of his feelings. He does this to try and answer some of her questions, and because she’s pushing him to explain himself, not because he’s expecting reciprocation. Liz is the one who started this confrontation, not Max, and he walks away from it.

Not all of Max’s reactions are healthy--he blows up the town after this confrontation. Yet this seems to be as much a side effect of healing Liz as it is his emotions. He’s calmer in the next episode, and turns his attention to what he believes will be a strategy to ensure Liz leaves town.

That’s right. He’s so entitled to Liz that he plans to make sure she leaves Roswell. What a foolproof plan to win the girl, right?

There is another Echo confrontation at the end of episode four, where Max asks Liz to tell him how she feels. The question may come across as demanding, but by this point he knows she’s been playing with his feelings. He also knows she’s spilled the secret she promised to keep. His anger here is quiet and non-threatening. He’s asking for the truth, not demanding that she return his feelings. He wants closure but he expects to never see her again after this confrontation: his final words to her are a goodbye.

When he finds out in episode five that Michael and Isobel sent her away in 2008, he does demand to know where she is, because he wants to give her this truth. However, that revelation is interrupted by her being in danger, and he rushes to her rescue. He never does tell her about that himself. Liz comes to his house to make sure he’s okay, and from there the secrets from ten years ago come spilling out. Liz tells Max to stay away from her--and he does. He doesn’t plead with her or try to justify himself. He lets her go, again.

(He is hurt and angry, and that spills out around him in episode seven, but it is not directed at Liz, who he recognises deserves her own anger).

In fact he abides by this so well over the next couple of episodes that at the beginning of episode nine things are noticeably awkward between them. Liz has been working to save Isobel, and realistically this is only because of her own unvoiced feelings for Max, but he continues to give her space. We’ve seen him avoiding her in episodes seven and eight, and now Max is so careful of her boundaries that he misses all the signals she’s giving him. When she’s cold, he asks if he can give her his jacket, rather than assuming she wants it. She approaches him several times over the course of the episode (outside the tents, in the bar), and in the end, she’s the one who initiates the kiss. This is after he has made a grand speech about how he loves her despite her flaws--then turned his back to walk away because he still assumes her feelings towards him have not changed.

The entire season shows that Max is so careful of how he approaches Liz. Consent matters to him (and yes, the healing scene with Michael in the finale is deliberately out of character) and he never expects Liz to return his feelings. Any time she hints that she doesn’t return them, he blindly accepts this because he’s working under the assumption she could never love him. Similarly, he misses the obvious signs that she does have feelings for him. He prioritises what she says over her body language and behaviours, making no presumptions until she literally reels him in for a kiss. His self-esteem is somewhere in the depths of the desert outside of Roswell, and it’s going to take a lot of work to unearth it.

So where has this collective fanon come from? If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of a few things. 

Max is a big guy. I’ve talked about this elsewhere, but I think his size and his anger issues in the early episodes (which the show went to great pains to explain were out of character) had people deciding he was some kind of alphahole trope. And once they’d decided that, it didn’t matter what actually happened on the show, they were going to see Max’s feelings for Liz as selfish, his pining as something he was trying to make her problem, her love something he felt entitled to. I also believe there’s a certain amount of “straight white man, let’s hate him because he isn’t oppressed” going on, which completely misunderstands what privilege is. (I believe that because I’ve seen it expressed that way, I’m not pulling that out of nothing).

Also, throughout the season Max and Michael have a slightly adversarial relationship. Michael is something of a fan-favourite and that has led to people siding with him over Max, even where Michael was wrong (see: the end of episode 12/beginning of episode 13, where Michael got himself killed by Noah because he refused to listen to Max). 

You don’t have to love or even like Max. But if any of your critique of him as a character starts from a place of “he felt entitled to Liz” or “he was a stalker”, then I’m going to dismiss you out of hand, because you haven’t been paying attention to what was actually happening in the show.

Let’s give the last word to our leading lady:

“I love him--and he loves me. I wish you had the chance to have someone love you, Rosa. Purely. Without expectation or entitlement.”

See? Liz gets it.

(Also, just in case any of this seems anti-Liz, it’s not. Liz was justified in all of her actions during the show).

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 9

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 … HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit. (warning in this chapter for reference to prior attempted assault)

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 9

Qingyang doesn’t come to Xichen’s tent in the morning for lessons, and Xichen only waits for the time it takes to play Tranquility once before he goes to find her.

If it was Huaisang, he wouldn’t be concerned, but Qingyang is always prompt. He considers the possibilities. Even though she spends so much of her day with him, she is still a cartographer, so it’s possible she merely forgot to tell him she would be working on something else. But this is a war. This is an army. He can’t help but worry.

His first thought is to check the command center, where he assumes Huaisang and Mingjue are. But he’s never been, and it’s next to Mingjue’s tent. If he has to ask directions....

No, it makes more sense to go to the tent Qingyang’s shares with some of the other single women in the area of the camp designated for non-military officials. He has, at least, been there once, and if she isn’t there, then he can consider looking for her somewhere else. The commissary perhaps?

He isn’t nervous to see Mingjue, he tells himself, walking through the organized city of tents. He is being logical.

Xichen hesitates on the threshold of the tent he knows is Qingyang’s from the yellow and white peonies painted around the door. It seems intrusive to barge in, but he hears a noise from inside, something close to a sob, and he peeks in, noting the sparse accommodations in this tent. Each woman has a bedroll—thick, but still directly on the ground—and a small trunk, presumably with personal belongings. It makes sense for an army to live lightly, but it makes him wish his own space was a little less ostentatious. What must Qingyang think of him?

He sees her immediately, the source of the sound that had caught his attention. He has grown so accustomed to Qingyang’s cheerful resilience, it is a shock to see her hunched on the edge of her bed, face in her hands, crying.

“Qingyang?” he asks, and she jolts, shooting to her feet and wiping away the tears.

“Xichen, I’m sorry, I’m late. I...I’m fine. Just homesick, I guess,” she stammers, forcing a smile onto her face.

He accepts the lie. If she doesn’t want to tell him, he’s not going to ask. He has already overstepped more than he should have.

“No apology necessary. I was worried for you. Will you come with me and have breakfast? Perhaps we can even track down something more palatable than Beifeng tea,” he tries to joke, and she laughs, thin and wispy, but since she’s making the effort, he chuckles too.

She nods and grabs a long cotton shawl, woven in a bright stripes as the Beifeng women wear. They walk through the rows quietly. Qingyang seems lost in thought, and Xichen doesn’t want to interrupt. Instead, he tucks an arm behind his back and observes the tents they pass.

The encampment is organized into companies, and each company is arranged around a small common area that has at least a fire pit, but many of them have logs to sit on, cooking pots, huge wash tubs, even the occasional tethered horse. The tents are identical, but some of them have personal touches: lanterns over entryways, strings of bells tinkling in the breeze, drawings of horses and birds, mountains and trees around the tent flaps. The army has been here nearly a year, he thinks. Long enough to yearn for home.

Qingyang stiffens and stops, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her body.

“Not that way,” she hisses, and Xichen turns in the direction she is staring.

There is a tall man standing at the end of a row of tents watching them. Watching Qingyang. Xichen knows very few of the Beifeng soldiers by sight—only the guards at his door and a few he’s seen at the hospital. He knows some of the healers, some of the kitchen staff, and the woman who cleans his tent. He has never seen this man. He’s sure he’d remember him. His face looks sculpted by a rough chisel and a hurried artist, distinct and somewhat disquieting. When the man catches sight of Xichen, his expression turns flat and cold.

A warning prickles the back of his neck, and he doesn’t blame Qingyang for wanting to avoid this person. They turn down another row, both hurrying their pace.

“Hewnta!” the man’s deep voice calls from behind him. “Etan Hewnta, iko om touha?

Xichen turns. The man is right on their heels. Xichen doesn’t know the word “Hewnta,” but the man warps it into something spiteful, and he doesn’t need the exact translation to know it’s an insult.

“Dei. Em ereda anha outam,” he says firmly, putting himself between the approaching threat and Qingyang.

Xichen expects the tall man to back down. In only a few scant weeks, he’s grown accustomed to the Beifeng treating him with deference, sometimes even fear. He disliked the implication at first, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it.

He doesn’t expect the man to argue. He definitely doesn’t expect three other people, a woman and two men, to step into the row with the tall man.

Roka ta em ereda kei dikas,” the tall man snarls. “Roka eko em ereda kei dikas hako, egadi.”

It’s easy enough for Xichen to recognize that he’s being cursed without knowing exactly how, but the man looks past him, pointing, aiming his cruelty at Qingyang. She bites her lip and looks away from Xichen, as though hiding the injury means it doesn’t hurt, and there’s too much it reminds him of, too much reflection of his brother in her eyes for Xichen to walk away.

Xichen narrows his eyes and holds up his hand. “Dei,” he repeats. “Ereda irumaka.”

The man roars with laughter, and Xichen is done placating. He grasps the hand still raised toward Qingyang and pushes just enough of his power into the tall man to force him to one knee. The man’s laughter breaks off, replaced with rage, but he stays down.

“Xichen, stop. I don’t care. Damias is always an ass.”

Qingyang tugs his sleeve, and Xichen reluctantly pulls back. A part of him would very much like to hurt this Damias a little more for the tears on Qingyang’s face, but Qingyang is right. It’s better to go.

As soon as he turns away, he hears it. There’s no mistaking the sound of a sword being drawn. Xichen has just enough time to meet Qingyang’s eyes and wordlessly apologize. She didn’t want a confrontation and now there will be one.

Xichen opens his awareness to feel the sword moving through the air, and he ducks in time for it to easily sail over his head. The man is a skilled warrior, though, and recovers almost immediately, pivoting in the narrow space between two tents and sweeping back at Xichen. This time, Damias doesn’t make the same mistake and swings low, twisting at the waist and planting his feet to put more power behind his strike. Xichen sidesteps and kicks his wrist.

It should have sent the blade flying, or at the very least, driven the man’s arm up into the air. It should have ended this stupid, useless fight.

But the man is stronger than Xichen anticipated, and he controls the sword just enough to keep it in his hand.

But Xichen didn’t realize Qingyang had stepped behind him, maybe to stop him, maybe to get out of the way.

But he sees Qingyang too late, only in time to see the sword slash into her, and she falls.

His first instinct is terror for his friend. Slowly, the memory of what he saw solidifies in his mind. He realizes that the sword missed her torso entirely, and the staining blood is from a slice across her leg. Even more slowly, as though the world has paused to give him a chance to perceive the entire scene at once, he sees Damias grin and cock his right arm back, the fingers of his other hand crooking to grasp the Beifeng magic, and Xichen knows he can not let him continue.

He grabs the man’s neck, the only exposed part of his body, and pours all the magic he can muster into him. Xichen has only felt this once, for the merest fraction of a second when his father was teaching him how to use the gift that lives inside him, but he knows it feels like burning alive from the inside out. Damias screams as the full inferno of Xichen’s power tears through him. Xichen lets go almost immediately—he only wants to stop Damias, not kill him—and the man drops to his hands and knees retching, the sword finally falling from his hand.

Xichen looks at the man’s friends running toward him and holds up a hand. The woman skids to a stop, her face a mask of fright and she drops to the ground in supplication, but the other two—

The other two don’t have time to stop.

A black wave of Beifeng magic flows over them, thicker than Xichen has ever seen, the curling smoke arresting their movements like ants drowning in a drop of tree sap. They both scrabble desperate hands at their throats and Xichen realizes the magic is inside them, choking the air from their lungs.

He whirls.

This is the Mingjue he expected when he came to the Beifeng. This Mingjue striding toward him is the pitiless warlord, his eyes too dark to read, his fingers curled around the cloud of magic still holding the soldiers tightly. This Mingjue’s sword is drawn and raised, and he looks fully intent on using it. This Mingjue looks like the demon everyone fears, who came from the mountains and cut a bloody path through Xichen’s country.

Xichen’s gut lurches sideways, and an errant thought—what would he look like with his hair down—wanders through his mind.

But when Mingjue reaches Xichen, his expression shifts from tight-lipped outrage to something that almost looks like fear, and his eyes search Xichen’s face and form, as if looking for something. Xichen realizes that it must have looked like he was being attacked by the soldiers, and a terrible, disgraceful shard of his heart exults in being the one who is defended, the one someone else protects.

Damias groans, and Mingjue’s attention shifts, a predator to prey. His arm raises slightly and Xichen is suddenly afraid for these people. They did a foolish thing, but they don’t deserve to die for it. He wants to stop Mingjue, but he doesn’t have the words to explain, and he needs to help Qingyang.

“Anakau, peimi!”

Xichen has never been so relieved to see Huaisang.

“Ahora’ipa, ka marai ota eko?” Mingjue growls, ignoring Huaisang.

“Ekos, Ipira’orhew Ikira,” Xichen answers. Luckily, “no” is one of the first words he learned.

Mingjue frowns, but he lowers his sword. He doesn’t release the magic, but it seems to ease, the nearly opaque cloud fading to smoke. The woman doesn’t get up, but she starts speaking in rapid Orera, obviously pleading. Pleading for her life, Xichen suspects.

“What happened?” Huaisang asks Xichen urgently, but Xichen pushes past him to get to Qingyang.

“Qingyang, I am so sorry. This is my fault,” Xichen says, kneeling next to her. She’s wearing wide-legged pants, and he shoves them up to her thigh, heedless of propriety. He moves her hand and touches her bloody leg. The injury is a long crease cut across the top of her leg. He wants to cry. He keeps making mistakes, and he doesn’t want to get anyone else hurt.

She smiles wanly at him. “I’m fine.”

He disagrees. The flow of blood has slowed, but she’s still bleeding. He draws a healing line across the wound, trying to make it painless but shaken at how deeply it goes into her muscle. It could have been so much worse. There are life-sustaining vessels in the legs. If the sword had pierced one…

“Xichen, truly, I’m fine,” she repeats, and Xichen realizes he is crying, dripping tears onto her knee. “You can leave the scar if you want,” she tells him. “Girls love scars.”

His laughter is hoarse and shaky, but it’s laughter. She grins at him.

“You need to tell me what happened,” Huaisang repeats, the urgency in his voice catching Xichen’s attention. “Did they attack you?”

It is Qingyang who answers. “Yes. Earlier, Damias tried...well, it doesn’t matter, because he wasn’t successful. He was angry because I’m only half Beifeng. It was just a mistake that we ran into them here, but Damias drew his sword and tried to attack Xichen. The others…” She pauses and frowns. “I don’t know. They didn’t do anything. Maybe they would have tried to stop him.”

“And this?” Huaisang asks, gesturing to her leg.

“This was my fault,” Xichen repeats gloomily.

“This was an accident, Xichen,” Qingyang sighs, sounding irritated.

“Take Qingyang back to your tent now,” Huaisang tells him quietly, not as calm as he appears. “We’ll deal with this.”

Mingjue releases the magic suddenly, and Xichen can feel the relief in the air, like a sudden rain that breaks the humidity of summer or the biting wind of winter giving way to spring. Mingjue shouts something furious, and the woman somehow shrinks further into the ground. The two men are now gasping to breathe, and one of them sags to the ground with the woman, but the other is apparently too slow. Without warning, Mingjue punches him in the jaw, and the man drops like a bucket into a well. Mingjue gestures at the other two people, making it clear that the man should have thought of this himself. He seems angry, yes, but Xichen thinks he also looks profoundly disappointed, and he pauses, wanting—what? To say something soothing? What can he say?

“Xichen, go,” Huaisang says, the tension in his voice prodding Xichen to obey. “I’ll come talk to you later.”

He’s worn out from the healing and from stopping Damias, but Xichen lifts Qingyang and carries her back to his tent, where he insists that she sleep on his bed. She looks like she plans to be stubborn about it, so he brushes a hand across her forehead to push a little bit more warmth into her and make the sleep a little bit more imperative, then sits on a cushion to wait for Huaisang.

Xichen wakes without ever having realized he’d fallen asleep to the sound of raised voices outside his tent. It sends a spike of fear through him before he recognizes them. They get louder, and he’s afraid they’ll wake Qingyang. He pads to the tent flap.

As he expected, Huaisang is yelling, and Mingjue is glowering, arms crossed.

“Huaisang, shhhh. Qingyang is sleeping,” Xichen says, and they both jump.

Huaisang looks instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, I was just saying that.” He glares at Mingjue, the I told you so obvious. “We should be going.”

He pulls Mingjue’s arm, but Mingjue shakes him off and takes a step toward Xichen before he seems to catch himself, hands clenching into fists. Instead of moving closer, he says Xichen’s name like it’s a question, searching Xichen’s expression for an answer.

The answer, Xichen thinks, depends on the exact question, but he thinks Mingjue might be surprised. Xichen isn’t shocked to see the kind of power and violence Mingjue is capable of. This is an army. This is war. It was no more than Xichen had done. Less, even. He looks into Mingjue’s eyes, eyes that look red and bloodshot from unshed or maybe even shed tears, and he thinks Mingjue must have believed he had no choice but to harm his own people for Xichen and Qingyang. And Xichen thinks perhaps he is the more ruthless man, because he would shed no tears to hurt Damias again for whatever he did to make Qingyang cry.

He wishes he had the right words to explain.

Mingjue reaches for Xichen as though he can’t stop himself, but Huaisang interrupts.

“Xichen, tell Qingyang that Damias has been demoted, branded, and sent home without a horse. He won’t bother her again. The others have only been demoted, but they have been strictly ordered to leave you both alone. I’m sorry this happened. It’s not...it’s not how most people think.”

Xichen nods and hesitates before going back inside. Why, he asks himself, is he hesitating?

But he knows why.

Stepping forward, he slips one arm around Mingjue’s waist and rests the other on his chest, above the steady beat of his heart. Stretching, he kisses Mingjue on the cheek. Tiny sparks flit over his chin, his lips, his nose—all the places that graze Mingjue’s skin. The world doesn’t stop spinning, but a breathless part of him wishes it would give him just a little longer to stay here.

“Thank you for being there. Tiras mau,” Xichen says softly, for only Mingjue to hear.

Mingjue closes his eyes and inhales as though it is the answer he was looking for, the only answer he needs. He covers Xichen’s hand on his chest and squeezes, touching his forehead to Xichen’s, a simple gesture that has no right to feel as shockingly intimate as it does. It puts words in Xichen’s mouth that he has to bite back—will you stay, will you come inside, will you kiss me again? Qingyang is still sleeping on his bed. Perhaps it’s for the best. He steps away, and Mingjue’s fingers trail over Xichen’s palm as he finally lets Huaisang pull him away.

Xichen watches them go as something loudly and firmly locks inside his heart.

Notes:

Hewnta! Etan Hewnta, iko om touha? = [Insulting word for person who speaks Yuyan]! Hewnta woman, back for more?

Dei. Em ereda anha outam. = Stop. We’re leaving.

Roka ta em ereda kei dikas. Roka eko em ereda kei dikas hako, egadi. = She doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here either, [insult for weak man].

Dei. Ereda irumaka. = Stop. Go away.

Anakau, peimi! = Elder brother, wait!

Ahora’ipa, ka marai ota eko? = Ahora’ipa, have they hurt you?

[olderthannetfic]

It’s International Fanworks Day and also the 30th and final post in this series. If you follow my tumblr, you know that my true fandom isn’t buddy cops or Highlander or any of those things. No, my true fandom is...

WANK

No matter which bitchy piece of fujo-course nonsense you’re looking at on tumblr, no matter which debate about WNGWJLEO or women in slash or fanfiction vs. media you're reblogging, your grandma was having that fight in a zine somewhere in 1985 and at Escapade in the 90s.

Here’s a vid review from 2002:

"History Repeating," [...] was an Amanda vid. In-fucking-credible. Who knew? Who knew I could like Amanda? Who knew there were fresh HL clips I hadn't seen a thousand times before in HL vids? (Of course, as someone pointed out, she had her own spin-off.) This rocked--sharp, fast cutting and pretty, pretty shots, with a hot bisexy vibe running through it. And, you know, people like to say that there's all this self-hating misogyny in fans--you know, that women hate shows about women, hate women characters breaking up the OTP, etc. But when you see a femme-centric vid like this bring down the house, you really have to wonder. Is it misogyny, really, or is just that we usually see a bunch of crap representations of women in media and resist them?

So on the theme of There Is Nothing New Under The Sun, here is a selection of past Escapade panels on gender, representation, and problematicness:

1993 - Anti-Feminism in Slash Fandom (Or, how 'it was never this good with a woman' syndrome... where are the women, and why do we care?)

1995 - Why Lesbians Read Slash - (What's the attraction? Why do they care? Why do they write it?)

1996 - Character Bisexuality: Convenient fiction or character trait? (Is this a good compromise between "We're not gay, we just love each other" and "I was gay all along and just faking it with women"? Or is this too easy? Special mention for the stereotypical bisexual villian who's evil, sexy, and can come on to everyone.)

1996 - Female Heroes: Female Empowerment, or male power in women's bodies? (Give a woman a gun and make her really tough. Wow, cool! yes, or no? Are we celebrating women, or are we merely putting breasts on male action heroes? Heroines under discussion may include (but not be limited to) Sara Connor, Ripley, Vasquez, Thelma & Louise.)

1997 - Gender Astigmatism (The Gender Continuum: in what we read, in what we write, and what we are, there is always a connection with a point on the gender continuum. How do our definitions of "feminine" and "masculine" influence our creativity? Where do bisexual characters fit in? (besides there, you dirty-minded person!)

1998 - Xena: Does Girl-Slash Get Us Going? (Xena is the first show with a feminine couple to be really popular. What kind of slash fans are interested? Does gender orientation matter? Or do slash fans love slashy couples regardless of their gender? Can m/m fans be 'converted' to f/f fans?)

1998 - Bastards & the Women Who Love Them (When Methos says, "you live to serve me," any normal '90s woman says, "I don't think so!... or does she? A happy contemplation on the virtues of handsome thugs.)

1998 - Slash: a Continuation of Women's Writing, led by Constance Penley (In case you didn't know, in her recent book NASA/TREK (yes, the slash is intentional), she addressed slash as a continuum of women's writing, combining women's romance, and the male quest romance. Join her for a discussion of slash -- where it was, where it is, where it might be going.)

1998 - The Trauma of Slash Fans in Het Fandoms (Or, what to do when find women doing all that cool, tough-guy stuff you love.)

1999 - Male Slash Fans - Welcome Voice, or Infringement? (Slash is written by women for women — or is it? The Internet has attracted new fans, including the "male slash fan". Who is he? What does he think of what "we" do? Do we care?)

2002 - Femslash (General discussion on female/female slash fiction. If Buffy wanted something cold and hard between her legs, why didn't she just choose silicon?)

2003 - Slash: Feminist political act or really good porn?

2005 - Where have all the lesbians gone? (When some slash lists explicitly state m/m only, where do you go for femslash? Are there any hot femslash couples? Pimp your femslash fandom here, or bemoan the lack of strung female characters in the current conservative social climate.)

2007 - Femslash: The Other Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name (Femslash. It's a work that makes some of our hearts leap for joy and inspires complete and total disinterset—or even dislike and disdain—in others. Where can we find the good stuff? What makes it good? And what's up with the haters?)

2007 - SGA: The Women of Atlantis (What do we like about how the women of SGA are written and portrayed, and what makes us wince? What do we think about how their issues are being woven into the show's narrative?)

2008 - Gay is Not Slash (...even though slash is sometimes gay. The current argument about m/m romances by women as taking recognition *away* from male gay writers, depends on m/m writing being intended as gay lit. And slash, for one, isn't, even if there can be overlap. What overlaps? What doesn't? What examples do fans like?

2009 - Female Character Stories: Halfamoon, Full Moon or Just Moony (F/f slash, and other stories centered on female characters, are gaining visibility in fandom. Are there things fens will write about women that we won't about men? (Given MPreg, *are* there?) Should f/f be like m/m, or is it unavoidably different?)

2011 - My ***** is Not Ideologically Driven, But is it Homophobic (Slash fandom often sees itself as a mostly liberal community. IDIC, right? But recently there's been a slash backlash: it's anti-feminist, a 'symptom' of internalized misogyny. We're 'erasing' the women characters after all. Is slash homophobic? Does slash fandom appropriate gay culture? Is it awesome and ennobling as it makes us happy in our panties, or is all that self-hatred bubbling just beneath the surface of our porn?)

2012 - Natural Woman (We've lamented the lack of strong, believable female characters (who dress appropriately). But now we have them: Gemma Teller and Audrey Parker; Salt and Haywire; we've got Bechdel-passing women who look like they can throw a punch. Still, most of them are in the sci-fi or action genre, so are we really seeing progress? And what are we doing with them, as fans?)

2012 - Don't Call It a Bromance (It's Just Canon) (TPTB are increasingly aware of slash, and bromance is regular fare on TV canon these days. Does overt bromance make the fic and art hotter or just vanilla? Is there an anti-slash backlash in our shows? Is the emphasis on men's relationships making women disappear? Inquiring minds want to know. If you have answers, theories, or just want to squee, join in the fun!)

2014 - (The End of?) Ladybashing in Slashfic (Slashfic used to regularly feature bashing of female characters. Now, blatant bashing seems less fashionable. If you recognize this trend, let's talk! Were most ladybashing fics ones for juggernaut pairings in megafandoms, or were they everywhere? What's causing the change: more women in leading roles/ensemble casts, fic writers being more conscious to avoid bashing ladies even if they're not their favorites, more willingness to blame show writers' bad writing (instead of the character being just bad/evil/stupid) for bad female characters, or something else entirely?)

2015 - Fifty Shades of Fandom (Fifty Shades of Grey has become the representation of fan fiction in mainstream culture. It’s bad fan fiction, and it’s being used to ridicule women while making millions off women readers and viewers. Can we connect with these women: proto-fans who would love to read, and maybe write, great fan fiction if they found it? Can we use the FSoG phenomenon to expand our community? Does keeping our doors closed and our mouths shut perpetuate both monetization of our fan culture and misogynist scorn?)

2016 - Who Are We? (How do we define ourselves in this age of so many OT3s and team orgy pairings? Does m/m/f count as "slash"? Is slash-only space slipping away? (And would that be bad?) Do m/m and f/f belong together more than they do with m/f? Is "Media Fandom" a valid term any longer? Who are we if we start shipping het?)

2016 - Ladies Loving Ladies. (There would seem to be enough queer women in fandom to write/want more f/f. Do lesbians write f/f, m/m? Both? Do straight women? Or are we still missing the iconic female characters and relationships that create a great slash fandom? Did they figure out the answer to this question at TGIF/F and if so, what is it?)

2016 - By Us For Us (Fic, even kinky slash, is practically mainstream these days. The ebook revolution puts publishing within reach of almost anyone. Sundance hits have been filmed on iPhones. So why aren't fangirls making more media? Or is it happening right under our noses? Is this a place where our women's gift economy does our community a disservice? Discuss what's out there, what we'd like to see, and what's holding us back.)

2017 - LGBTQIA+ in Slash Fandom (Queer fans have always been here. In a subculture often defined as "for" straight women, what do we as fans have to say about non-straight, non-cis, and non-conventional sexuality and gender in fanfiction, in fandom, and in the larger culture?)

2018 - Confronting the Tensions Between Slash and Queer Representation (Slash fandom thrives on homoerotic subtext. Many queer fans are unwilling to settle for this quasi-representation. Part of every slash fandom seems loudly invested in their ship becoming canon. Some are queer fans who want actual textual representation in their favorite shows, and some are fans using queer politics to fight ship wars. Then the “slash is not activism” posts make the rounds. Is slash activism? Is advocating for slash ships in canon the same thing as advocating for queer representation?)

2018 - Representing Slashers (What does "representation" in the media mean to us? We know what more gay or POC representation means, but what about slash fandom, which is largely female and focused on bodies that don't resemble our own? Would better female characters in media better represent us? Or male characters written for a female audience? Come talk about the intersection of slash, personal identity, and media representation.)

2018 - Anonymity in Slash Fandom: Choosing to Hide (Why do the majority of slash fans hide their hobby? Is it fear of blackmail? Embarrassment? Fear of losing employment? How does this affect your happiness? How does this affect your security? What would an ideal world look like? Who would/have you told about your interest in slash? Who would you never, ever, tell?)

2019 - Fandom Post-Slash? (In an era of "ships" and #pairing #tags on Tumblr and AO3, has the "slash" label lost its meaning? Same-gender pairings are as popular as ever and fans still ID pairings with a virgule between the names, but how many fans still call m/m and f/f slash or femslash? How many fans identify as "slashers?" Het and slash were opposing binaries which few fans crossed. Are these barriers breaking down? What purpose has the term "slash" served? Has fandom moved

past it and, if so, what does that mean?)

[willwolfie]

Location: Devinstone Hospital, ER. Time: Midday. Status: Open to @tessxbryant

It felt like a sick twist of fate, the Big Guy Above needlessly and endlessly punishing him for stop worshipping him for the non-existent or sentient being that he was, as Wolfie ended up the one caught up in having a broken glass vase thrown at him in an entirely too bizarre call. It never reflected well when the ambulance team freaked out more about a furiously bleeding hand of a trained paramedic than they did about anything else happening on-scene. 

Wolfie had thought he could keep it a secret, if only for a few more blissful months, but alas his free spot in the E.R. was all too sure to be a permanent reserve for him from now on. Perhaps it wouldn’t even have bothered him as much, were it not for his just as easily bruised ego and that his secret hadn’t been one (not to the firehouse, at least) unless the blonde really did not want perceptions of him to change. And he didn’t. “Here so soon?”, he greeted her from where he sat, visibly annoyed at the change of clothes and situation he found himself in, but never without that certain air of charm in his voice he’d come to reserve for his favorite “non-colleague”. Every interaction prior so effortless, edging on flirty, one Tess Bryant had been thrown into cold waters with how quickly everyone around her had disappeared from the scene to tend to an outwardly healthy man. “If ya came to kiss it better, I think my hand will live. As will I.” A faint smile found its way onto Wolfie’s lips but the blue eyes were stuck to a point somewhere behind her, avoiding confrontation. No amount of jokes could cover why she’d probably been sent his way instead of doing the (to him) sensible thing and tending to the situation his folks had to leave behind because of him. The betraying silver bracelet dangled just above where red just so barely soaked through a bandage and was impossible to cover up now anyway.  “’m not gonna press charges, nothing to report. Ain’t gonna let y’all trick me into opening a file on me in the precinct.”

[angstmatsuscenarios]

Scenario where Choromatsu had a minor accident with razor blade in the morning and lchimatsu mistaken this with self-harm, thus becoming overprotective of Choro all day

Here we go--some good Nenchuu content coming right up!

WARNING for mentions of cutting (non-graphic) and depression under the cut:

I’m such a klutz.

Choromatsu pressed a wet washcloth to his wrist, wincing at the sting of pain as the soapy water touched the cut there. He applied pressure for a minute, but when he peeled the cloth away again, the wound was still bleeding. He groaned inwardly.

How could I be stupid enough to cut myself with a razor BEFORE I even started shaving…?!

It had been a complete accident. Choromatsu had picked up the razor, but it had slipped from his grasp and he’d juggled with it in a feeble attempt to keep it from hitting the floor. In the process, the blade had ended up slicing his wrist, leaving a cut that wasn’t deep enough to cause concern for stitches but still considerably bad. The razor sat at the edge of the sink as he attempted to clean himself up.

Just then, the door to the bathroom opened unexpectedly. Choromatsu jumped, his gaze snapping up to whoever had just walked in on him. Not that it was a major deal--he’d simply forgotten to lock the door and had been taken off-guard. Still, he would’ve thought they’d knock first.

Ichimatsu stood there, looking just as taken-aback as Choromatsu had been. Apparently, he hadn’t expected the bathroom to be occupied. 

“Oh...Ichi, it’s just you.” Choromatsu pulled his hands to his chest, still gripping the washcloth to his wrist. “You scared me.”

Ichimatsu didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just blinked. His expression, flat as it was, was hard to read...though it seemed as if his eyes were shifting questioningly from the razor on the counter to Choromatsu. 

“I cut myself with the razor,” Choromatsu said, by way of explanation. “It...sort of fell from my grasp.”

“Ah.” Ichimatsu’s monosyllabic response portrayed no real emotion, though something seemed to flicker in his eyes that Choromatsu couldn’t decipher, and he frowned. “Are you okay…?”

“Mhmm. Just cleaning it up, no big deal. Do you need the bathroom? I can let you go first, if you want.”

“I’m good. Just...don’t take too long. Sorry I walked in on you.” With that Ichimatsu retreated, leaving the door open in his wake.

Well...that was weird.

Something about that interaction had definitely seemed off, but Choromatsu couldn’t quite pinpoint what. If he had to say, Ichimatsu had seemed almost...scared? As if he didn’t know what to say to Choromatsu, like he’d done something worse than accidentally injure himself, which he’d done so often before due to his clumsiness that it came as no shock to anyone else. 

It’s probably nothing. Choromatsu tried to wave the incident off as nothing more than an awkward encounter. It wasn’t like they hadn’t had countless ones before. Ichimatsu was probably just surprised he was there, that must have been it.

With that, Choromatsu pushed the incident out of his mind and went back to nursing his wound.

—————

A couple hours later, Choromatsu sat with his brothers at the table as they devoured their lunch. He was in his usual spot between Karamatsu and Ichimatsu, and everything seemed normal at first...for the most part.

As they ate, Choromatsu noticed that Ichimatsu seemed to be paying a lot more attention to him than usual, as if he were closely monitoring everything he said and did. He wasn’t sure why, but what he did know was that it was unnerving, and made him wonder if maybe he’d done something to incur Ichimatsu’s wrath lately. If he was calculating his plan for revenge or something like that, it would make sense, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant that.

At one point, Choromatsu caught Ichimatsu watching him extra closely as he reached across the table for the bottle of soy sauce. Specifically, Ichimatsu was staring at his wrist. Choromatsu glanced down, noting that the sleeve of his hoodie had been pushed up slightly, revealing the bandage on his wrist. Almost self-consciously, he rolled his sleeve down again, and Ichimatsu quickly turned his gaze away. No one else seemed to notice, but it left Choromatsu with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

What’s up with Ichi…? Why does he keep watching me like that? Does this have to do with what happened earlier, or was that really a big deal…?

Choromatsu’s internal questioning was interrupted by Osomatsu. “Oi, Choro, are you even listening?”

“Wha-?” Choromatsu snapped to attention, startled. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Ichimatsu observing him once more, but he tried to ignore it. “Sorry, what did you say, Oso?”

“I was asking if you could loan me some money?” Osomatsu clasped his hands together pleadingly and gave him his most endearing smile, which wasn’t all that charming. “The others already said no, but I need it for the horse races. I’ll pay you back once I win!”

“As if. You hardly ever win.” Choromatsu rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not giving you anything.”

“Oh, c’mon! What’re you going to use it for that’s so much better, anyway? More dumb idol merch?”

“What I choose to use my money for is my business and my decision, not yours,” Choromatsu responded curtly. 

“Oh, whatever,” Osomatsu groused, glaring disdainfully at Choromatsu. “It’s not like it’s your own money anyway, is it, since you don’t have a job—“

“Hey.” Suddenly Ichimatsu spoke up, shooting a sharp glare in Osomatsu’s direction. “Don’t say that. It’s his money, he doesn’t owe you anything. And don’t you shit-talk him either just because you’re pissed.”

The other brothers could only look at Ichimatsu in astonishment. It wasn’t like him to speak up in defense of another brother, or at least not frequently...especially when it was over something petty like this. He preferred to avoid confrontation. Choromatsu tried to catch Ichimatsu’s gaze this time, but now the fourth son’s focus was entirely on Osomatsu, scowling at him with a piercing glare.

Osomatsu blinked, intimidated. “Well...damn. Okay, I guess I won’t, then. Sorry.”

“Tell Choro you’re sorry.” Ichimatsu’s cold, deadpan tone left no room for argument.

Osomatsu gulped, then turned to Choromatsu. “Uh...I’m sorry.”

Choromatsu only nodded slightly in acknowledgement, admittedly shaken by what Ichimatsu had just done. Why’d he come to his defense so suddenly, and been so hard on Osomatsu…? Granted, the oldest deserved it sometimes, but it wasn’t as if this had been anything new. And now everyone was staring not only at Ichimatsu, but at Choromatsu, which made him feel incredibly uneasy.

It was obvious something was definitely up with Ichimatsu. But now Choromatsu only had more questions than answers.

—————

That afternoon, the brothers went out—Osomatsu to the horse races with money he managed to scrape up from somewhere, Karamatsu to the park, Jyushimatsu to play baseball, and Todomatsu to meet with friends. Choromatsu decided to stay in so he could read, and Ichimatsu opted to stay home too, which surprised Choromatsu. Normally he’d join Jyushimatsu and help him practice, but today he showed no interest, staying firmly rooted to his spot on the couch.

Choromatsu knew he should find that suspicious, and that anxious feeling in his stomach returned. Now that they were alone, maybe he’d finally find out what was up, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

At first they sat silently in the living room, minding their own business, Choromatsu pretending to read and Ichimatsu listlessly playing with his cat. For a few minutes, Choromatsu thought maybe the afternoon would pass uneventfully, that he’d imagined everything from before. But Ichimatsu seemed unsettled, like there was something bothering him and he was trying to work up the nerve to say what. Choromatsu knew better than to ask outright, and waited pensively.

At last, Ichimatsu spoke up, hesitantly. “Choromatsu-niisan...about this morning.”

“Hm?” Ichimatsu hardly ever called him nii-san, and for some reason it set Choromatsu on edge. “What about it, Ichi?”

“Um...well.” Ichimatsu didn’t seem to know how to ask. “You said you cut yourself on that razor. You said it was an accident. But...was it really an accident?”

Choromatsu furrowed his eyebrows, not quite following.

“I mean,” Ichimatsu mumbled, barely able to meet Choromatsu’s gaze, “were you...you know...cutting yourself?”

Choromatsu’s eyes widened in shock. That’s what Ichimatsu thought he was doing? This was why he’d been acting so strange all day? “No. No, I definitely wasn’t...it was a total accident, I swear.”

“Are you sure?” Ichimatsu asked, and when he finally lifted his gaze to meet Choromatsu’s there was undeniable worry in his eyes. “Because if you were, I won’t judge you. I promise. I won’t even tell anyone else if you don’t want. Just...please, tell me the truth.”

“Ichi...I swear, it is the truth,” Choromatsu responded earnestly, though his heart was now racing. This had taken an unexpected turn, and he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. “The razor fell, and I hurt myself trying to grab it, that’s all. I can show you if you want.”

Ichimatsu didn’t say anything for a moment, wringing his hands nervously. His cat curled up next to him and mewed, as if sensing something was up.

Choromatsu thought for a minute, before finally asking, “Why would you think I was cutting myself...?”

There was a long pause before Ichimatsu finally spoke again, slowly. “Because...because I know you’re going through a lot, mentally. I know your anxiety is bad, that you worry about not having a job and being worthless...and that takes its toll. It makes you want a release sometimes, something that’s in your control. Only...it’s not, not really, but it feels like it is, at first.”

It took Choromatsu a moment to process precisely what Ichimatsu had said, but once he had, his heart sank and he felt sick. Panic swelled in his chest as he asked, “Ichi, how do you know this…? Do you mean you…?” He couldn’t say the words.

Heat rose in Ichimatsu’s face--Choromatsu could see his cheeks and ears growing bright red. “I...used to. I only did it a couple of times, back when my depression was at its worst. But Jyushi caught me. I asked him not to tell anyone, and he swore he wouldn’t, but he made me promise not to do it again and to tell him whenever I felt like doing it so he could get my mind on something else.” He breathed in deeply, and let it out slowly. “Sometimes that urge is still there, but...it’s gotten better, because I don’t really want to hurt myself. But the feeling is an awful one, so when I thought that you...that you were doing it too, I was worried. I didn’t want you to feel like that.”

“Ichi...I’m so sorry you went through that,” Choromatsu said plaintively, guilt and worry suddenly eating away at him. “I feel awful...none of us had any idea…”

“I didn’t want any of you to know,” Ichimatsu reminded him. “It just...felt easier to do this than to tell you how bad I felt sometimes. And they were really small cuts, so it’s not like you would’ve noticed unless you were looking for them on me…” Choromatsu noticed the way Ichimatsu absentmindedly tugged the sleeves of his hoodie well past his wrists as he spoke. “But...the reason I’m telling you this now is because I’d hate for you to ever turn to something like that to cope. And...if you ever do feel an urge like that, you can come to me, and I’ll help you.”

Ichimatsu’s tone was so sincere, so soft and not like his usual self. Choromatsu’s sudden concern for Ichimatsu made his heart ache, thinking about how much he must’ve been suffering to resort to something so drastic. But it meant a lot to Choromatsu that he’d opened up to him about something so painful, and that he cared enough about him to check and make sure he wasn’t hurting himself. 

Choromatsu wished more than anything that he could’ve helped Ichimatsu from the start, before he felt the need to take such matters into his own hands...but at least he could start now.

“Thank you, Ichimatsu...and if you ever feel like that ever again, or even if you just feel like talking to someone no matter how you feel...I’m here for you, too.” Choromatsu gave him a small smile. “I promise I won’t tell anyone else...that is, unless you want to.”

“Maybe someday...yeah, one day I’ll tell the others. But let’s just keep it between us for now.” Ichimatsu managed the smallest smile, too. “Thanks for understanding.”

They didn’t do much else that afternoon. They didn’t talk much, but they didn’t go back to what they’d been doing either. Instead they sat quietly but comfortably in each other’s company. It was reassuring for both of them to know that no matter what happened, no matter how bad either of them was feeling, they now knew they had a support system they could lean on.

Everything wasn’t necessarily okay. But hopefully, in the future, they would be.

[siswritesyanderes]

Could you write some yandere Newt Scamander headcanons please ? Your writing is just so amazing tbh :3

Okay, so first of all I had this answer completely typed up and was ready to post it days ago, then my browser decided to be difficult and I had to start all over again and I have no one to blame but myself for not copying it somewhere. (This isn’t the first time a trivial Internet issue caused a minor setback resulting in me briefly rage-quitting before finally rewriting the thing I wrote. Very sorry.)

But yeah, I love yandere Newt, I’m writing a fic of it on AO3, some of which is also here on this blog (called “Your Enclosure”) and I was reading another one on AO3, but it got taken down, which saddens me deeply.

But here we go- yandere Newt, take two:

Of course, Newt’s gentle, calm disposition would remain intact for his crush or significant other.

That does not mean he would be above some very controlling behavior.

He doesn’t usually hold hands; he prefers to have his arm across your back or his hand casually set right below the back of your neck, so that he can guide you when you walk together. He’s so gentle, you barely feel it, unless you try to move in a direction that would create space between you two, in which case he will gently apply pressure to dissuade you. Gently.

He likes to cuddle.

He likes to kiss your shoulders, fingers, and temples.

Ironically, it’s when he’s at his softest that you can catch him saying some of the creepiest stuff. Comfort must disinhibit him; if you try to pull away too early, he’ll pull you back, and you might hear him quietly growl, “Don’t move; you’re mine.”

He likes to whisper compliments in your ear when you’re in public, and he smiles when he manages to distract you from your surroundings.

Did I mention he’s very gentle?

He would literally never hurt you…but he may perchance put you in situations where you might get hurt, either to give you an incentive to do or not do something or just so that he can take care of you after.

He doesn’t like confrontation, but he’s extremely possessive.

Maybe he learns it from the animals; he does like it when you wear his coat.

If you think you will ever see a Healer for anything, you are mistaken.

If a Healer ever approached you, he would apparate you and himself into his suitcase to take care of you himself. Only he is allowed to heal you.

He won’t immediately do anything to intervene if you talk to someone else or touch someone else, but he will promptly start planning out ways to make sure it doesn’t happen again. His plots are simple in concept but creative in execution.

If he thinks it would be effective, he might use guilt.

“Sorry…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry, it’s just…Sorry, it’s stupid…You just…You moved away from me a little when we were walking together, and then…then you were talking to all those people, and I f-felt like you didn’t want to walk with me…I know I should be happy you walked with me at all, it’s just…I wish they didn’t get in the way…”

If he thinks you would forgive him (or if you’re a non-wizard who can’t fight back), he might keep you in his suitcase, where only he can access you.

Or maybe the person(s) you like to talk to end up attacked by a manticore or something. That would be convenient, too.

If you didn’t love his animals before the relationship, you do now, because they are the only living things that are allowed to touch you other than Newt.

Sometimes he has Pickett bring you notes or small gifts.

He probably has some creature-themed term of endearment for you: if you’re very thin, he might call you “My sweet little bowtruckle”, or if you’re plump, he might call you “My dear, soft pukwudgie”. Or some other personalized name based on your appearance or demeanor or personality.

Lol, leave a comment saying what Newt would call you.

Honestly, you’re probably going to end up locked in the suitcase at some point, unless you have exceptional strength of will and ability to push back against his more ridiculous behavior. One way to maybe avoid it would be to sit him down very early on and hash out what each of you wants out of the relationship. Actively write down what you agree on. As a Hufflepuff, he values honesty and following through with agreements. But even that won’t always help you.

If it sounds like he’s being cold or selfish, that’s not true at all: it’s just that he has so many emotions, he feels for you so strongly, and it’s constantly like his heart is an erumpent horn waiting to detonate, and the only way he can protect himself from emotional devastation is by controlling you carefully. “D-does that make sense, dear?“

And if someone ever directly hurt you, his distaste for confrontation would promptly disappear. Instead of plotting out a way to prevent it from happening again, he would find a way to punish them.

“Newt, we were just dueling.”

“I don’t care; you were hurt. They left a mark. They didn’t have to leave a mark.”

If you exert enough willpower to keep a leash on his outlandish behavior, he will be the soppiest thing.

(I miss the original draft, but I think I rewrote it fairly accurately.)

[deflect-daily]

Getting to know your monkey mind

tldr: Spending several days in sensory deprivation, alone, with just the monkey in your head is extremely hard but teaches you a lot about yourself and how your brain functions. Misery is universal. Everything always changes and passes away. The causes of suffering are attachment and aversion. It's fruitless to get upset about or attached to something that will pass away eventually. Befriend your inner monkey.

The things I learned during a 10-day Vipassana course

1. How to fart very (!) quietly

2. That men are far more creative than women when it comes to building armchairs and thrones with meditation pillows

3. A ten days meditation course somewhere in the German outback would be a perfect setup for a horror movie.

Jokes aside.

The thoughts and realisations that one has during a Vipassana course and in the time around it, can easily fill an entire book (as Tim Parks shows in "teach us to sit still"), so please excuse me, if this text is a little long.

For the ones who do not know what Vipassana meditation is, please click here or here. There are a lot of reviews, stories, lessons learned out there (e.g. here, as well as at least a dozen YouTube videos on the topic) - go check them out if you feel like it.

I did a course following the teaching of S.N. Goenka. These courses are pretty much the same all around the world if you do it in one of the > 200 centres: the sound and video files, the timetable, the quality of the food and the fittings of the rooms. Even though, the setup does not change, the experience is always unique, so much as even one person taking the course several times will have a different experience with different insights each time.

So, where to start?

I want to first quickly summarize the basic idea of what is taught during the course (the cause of suffering) and then dig into a few aspects that I found particularly interesting: the parallel of meditation and psychedelics and the influence of meditation on the perception of pain.

The cause of suffering

Disclaimer: I don't believe in the existence of a non-physical thing as "a soul" – a non-substantial entity that exists independently of physical matter and/or that can be transferred from one physical body to another through reincarnation - but I clearly draw a distinction between the conscious and the unconscious parts of your brain. Within the Vipassana teaching, the believe in reincarnation is extremely important, as to explain why suicide will not save you from suffering.

According to the teaching, there are some basic principles:

1. Misery is universal - all humans suffer.

2. Everything constantly changes - every experience, every condition, passes away eventually.

3. External information enters the brain through our senses and immediately causes a physical reaction (change in heartbeat or breathing, feelings of heat or cold, pain, comfort, or any other physical sensation).

4. this physical reaction is subconsciously perceived and interpreted as "good/pleasant" or "bad/unpleasant" and this information is transferred to the conscious mind.

5. The conscious mind only receives this already processed external information - an evaluation of what is going on outside and reacts with attachment or aversion.

6. This leads us (humans) to constantly jump from aversion of unpleasant experiences to attachment to pleasant experiences and back.

7. Since every pleasant situation passes eventually, the attachment to it leads to suffering. And since unpleasant stimuli will always appear (and disappear), the aversion of these leads to suffering as well.

If this sounds weird to you, this jumping from attachment to aversion and back can be explained by checking out a typical Saturday morning:

You lie in bed and don't want to get up, because it's comfortable (attachment), but then you get hungry and want to get rid of this unpleasant feeling (avoidance), then you probably overeat because the food tastes so good (attachment) and you start complaining about your aching stomach. Your partner makes some nasty comments about your eating habits which hurt, and you get mad (avoidance). To leave the situation, you go on to the next step of taking a shower. The shower is warm and comfortable, and you don't want to leave it (attachment). You step out of the shower; the air is fresh and uncomfortably chilly, and you quickly start to rub yourself dry with a towel to get warm again and so on and so on.

Of course, nothing is wrong with what's going on during these first hours of a Saturday morning. This is just an example of how deeply rooted the evaluation of situations into the categories of "pleasant" and "unpleasant" is.

This is exactly, what one is confronted with during a Vipassana meditation course - the constant habit of your mind seeking pleasure and avoiding discomfort without any possibility to change the situation you’re in for the duration of the course.

The effects of sensory deprivation

10 days without vocal or non-vocal communication, without books, music, entertainment, sports. Reading and writing was forbidden as well as performing any sexual activity or a change of environment by leaving the area around the centre. This means a strong sensory deprivation that appears to be rather extreme in contrast to our "modern life" that's overflown by information and distraction. The only stimuli that one encounters are occasional walks on the area of the centre, two meals a day and a lot of tea. On top was the fact that the only real "me-time" than one gets are the 15 minutes locked in the bathroom while taking a shower. Everything else: sleeping, eating, meditation and recreation outside is shared with others.

Usually we are used to immediately distract us when things get uncomfortable: We check our phone as soon as we are bored for 5 seconds at the bus stop, we prefer watching a movie when we should actually study for an exam, we quickly get mad at the people in front of us in the queue at the grocery store because they are so f***ing slow. We get easily irritated by others, we never truly experience boredom, and we never check what’s happening within our bodies because we’re so focused on the outside world.

As soon as one is forced to shift the focus towards the inside of the mind and the body, one realizes this voice that's constantly talking.

The tasks during the meditation are quite simple: focus on your breath (1st day), focus on the area of your nose and upper lip (2nd day), focus on the area of the upper lip, feeling the touch of the breath (3rd day), leading this focus from body part to body part starting from head to feet and back (4th to 10th day). But this becomes incredibly hard when your mind constantly jumps from one thought to the other like a monkey jumps from branch to branch. This voice that keeps on jabbering consistently is able to talk you into anger, paranoia, lust and most importantly, into the conviction that what you do right now (sit on the floor and try to focus on your breathing) is definitely and absolutely unbearable.

Whenever the voice talks, one usually automatically follows it and within seconds, the focus is drawn far away from the breath or the physical sensations and after a few moments to minutes, one realizes what just happened and tries to pull the attention back to the task of observing the breath, just to notice a few moments later that the mind is following the prattling again and so on and so forth. This becomes very frustrating and I personally experienced the task of pulling your focus back without getting mad at myself as incredibly hard and very exhausting.

But this is exactly what meditation is all about: Learning how to keep your mind focused, learning how to notice subtle, changing sensations within your body, and most importantly: observing everything that’s happening while remaining equanimous.

 Besides leading me into frustration about my incapability to keep up my focus, the sensory deprivation had the following effects for me:

Improved vision, hearing and sense of smell. I missed my partner equally as I missed time alone by myself. I also missed small interactions with others – a smile, a gesture, a soft touch of comfort when you see that someone else goes through a rough day.

And after a few days, I felt the strong urge to express myself through writing, which is quite interesting because normally I spend more time consuming other people's content than producing anything myself. This urge is the reason why I’m writing this blogpost right now.

Now, I wish to dig deeper into two more specific aspects, that appeared particularly interesting to me.

It’s a psychedelic experience

Don't get me wrong: I'm far from calling myself “experienced” with psychedelics. I don't know very much about the different substances, their effects on the brain or the vast variety of experiences they can trigger, but I took LSD a few times and I know some stories told by more experienced people, so I guess - keeping my psychological background in mind - it's valid that I claim the following:

One major task of our brain is to filter the incredible amount of information we encounter every moment. This is very important, because it allows us to function in an otherwise constantly overwhelming environment. It's important for the brain to be selective about the information that reaches conscious awareness. Psychedelics, to some extent, turn off these filters which leads to an increased sensitivity towards stimuli and changes the way these stimuli are processed in the brain. This is also the reason why it's rather exhausting to take psychedelics - the mind has to process a lot more input than normally.

What happens during meditation is the following: The sensory deprivation and the focus on the observation of physical phenomena on the surface of or within the body (breath, heartbeat or sensations like tickling, warmth, cold, itching, pressure, pain or whatnot) enables the conscious mind to perceive the otherwise suppressed "random noise" that is constantly produced by the sensors of the body. This random noise occurs for example through spontaneous action potentials produced by neurons. Action potentials, necessary for the conduction of information are stochastic phenomena. With every stimulus the probability of the formation of an action potential increases, the stronger the stimulus, the higher the probability. For a notable sensation, many action potentials have to happen at a time. From time to time, action potentials happen, even without the presence of a stimulus which leads to a sensation without an actual cause - random noise. This happens within the sensory cells as well as in the neurons that conduct the information to the brain. This noise is subconsciously suppressed and normally not perceived by the conscious mind. The same goes for sensations in body parts that are not important to being consciously payed attention to at a particular moment. For example, there is no necessity to feel the pressure of the seat on the back of my thighs or the sensation of a slight coolness in my feet while I'm focused on talking to a person or writing this text right now.

The conscious (and non-judgemental) observation of these usually supressed sensations within the body means, as mentioned above for psychedelics, basically turning off the filters of the brain.

When you close your eyes, you never see just pure blackness. Your brain constantly produces shapes, colours, patterns, movements or entire pictures which you can observe if you watch closely - again - they are just random noise. From day 3 or 4 on, whenever I went to bed at night, as soon as I closed my eyes, I had visual sensations that reminded me a lot of what my brain created on LSD: I saw fractals, bright colours and moving structures that made it hard for me to fall asleep. Also, my sleep was heavily disturbed. Sometimes, I could not tell apart whether I just woke up in the middle of the night or whether I just got out of a meditation session. This felt exhausting, like there was a lot for my brain to process. But despite this somehow disturbed sleep, I felt awake and alert during the day. S.N. Goenka claimed, that a regular meditation practice reduces the amount of sleep needed and there seems to be scientific evidence that this is true.

What is pain?

According to the International Association for the Study of Pain, pain is "an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage or described in terms of such damage". This definition is outdated for several reasons (please check out the website for further details) and currently under review. The newly proposed definition is as follows: Pain is "an aversive sensory and emotional experience typically caused by, or resembling that caused by, actual or potential tissue injury".

In my opinion, both definitions do not sufficiently explain the experiences that one might have while sitting on the floor meditating. Pain accompanies the entire experience of a 10 days course. For some it's the back or the butt, for others (like me) it was mainly the knees that drove me crazy because they almost constantly hurt very, very badly up until the point where the pain was still there in the morning after 6 hours of sleep.

But it wasn’t as simple as that. One part of the meditation practice is to closely observe so called "gross" sensations like pain very closely for 1-2 minutes and check if any other sensation can be identified. One quickly notices that the simple "my knee hurts" sometimes turns into a far more differentiated "in this part of the knee, there’s pressure, in another spot, there’s heat in addition to the pain and in another part, a throbbing pulse within the tissue can be felt" and so on. And, from time to time, just by simply putting the focus of attention onto an are in a muscle or limp that's screaming with pain, the pain goes away. It simply vanishes. It's like these moments, when a crying toddler is asked " what's the matter? " and immediately stops crying, maybe out of confusion, maybe because of the realisation that there was actually no reason to cry after all.

Physiologically, this does not really make sense. But, according to the theory behind the Vipassana teaching the cause of suffering is not the sensation itself, but the interpretation of the sensation, the judgement of "good/pleasant" and "bad/unpleasant", as described above.

What does this mean, that at least some pain or unpleasant sensation can be "thought away"? Sometimes, this effect can be explained by relaxation because tension can cause pain. But apparently, there’s more to it than just the capability to relax in uncomfortable situations.  

It is scientifically proven that people who do meditate regularly have a higher tolerance for unpleasant feelings like pain induced by thermal heat (I have no access to the full article, but here’s a talk by Kelly McGonigal about the paper). Non-meditators showed a stronger activity in “evaluative regions” (prefrontal cortex, amygdala and hippocampus) than meditators. Meditation practitioners however showed reduced activity in these “evaluative regions”, but higher activity in brain regions like the insula, the anterior cingulate cortex and the thalamus, that are “primary pain processing regions”. This means that meditation practice enables the decoupling of the sensory and the evaluative component of a painful stimulus.

A very good and vivid example for a person who practices exactly this effect which leads to almost superhuman powers is Wim Hof, also known as “the Iceman”. He developed the so called “Wim Hof Method” that is a combination of breathing exercises, meditation and exposure to cold temperatures and he broke several world records, including hiking past death-zone of the Mount Everest in shorts and sandals without oxygen supply, running a marathon in the Sahara desert without drinking water and sitting in a container filled with ice for almost two hours without his core body temperature being lowered. He’s an impressive person and if you haven’t read about him yet, I encourage you to do so. His method can be performed by everyone and results can be seen immediately.

So, what is pain? I don’t know. But these examples show, how big the influence of our mind is on the way we perceive the world around us. Far more is possible than we usually think. We might not have an influence on all the things happening to us, neither good, nor bad. But we do in fact have the chance to learn how to deal with them differently and thus not only become calmer but also happier, healthier and able to experience things beyond what we thought is possible. It’s worth a try.

 Let me try this again: The things I learned during a 10-day Vipassana course

1. I cannot change the people and situations around me, but I can change how I react to what I encounter. My reaction has an impact on myself. If I let any situation make me angry, I do harm to myself and might harm others.

2. It’s not realistic to expect my mind to be able to focus on something as simple and “boring” as my breath for 10 hours straight when I usually train my brain to constantly think of a million things at the same time, always have an overflowing schedule and a cluttered room as well as a cluttered mind. I first have to calm down some aspects of my life before I can calm down on the inside.

3. I learned to be compassionate with myself. I understood, why my mind acts the way it does and I started to befriend my inner monkey.

Recommended to watch:

A video about meditation and “flow”

A Ted talk about pain and mindfulness meditation

A vice documentary about the Iceman Wim Hof

Recommended to read:

Becoming the iceman by Wim Hof & Justin Rosales

Happiness – A guide to developing life’s most important skill by Mathieu Ricard