#but not in the usual way you think of Law and Kid I guess

[l-in-the-light]

Why is Law so afraid to be used and hates to be ordered around ? I think of the scenes in Wano where Kid makes fun of Law being Luffys subordinate.

I love when I get asks casually giving me the biggest questions I had since the first time I reread those scenes haha. Keep them coming!

There's no direct answer to this question stated anywhere in the manga, at least for now. But we can read a lot between the lines. So let's dive in! And I mean it when I say we will take a dive, because I brought up every. single. scene in which Law complains to be ordered around! We will try to find a common pattern here. But first, let's start from "afraid to be used and hates orders" part:

Most important reason is Doflamingo. No surprise here that he's the one behind Law's fear.

We know Law recruited himself into his family and even tells Cora-san he wants to be "Doflamingo's subordinate" and that "he doesn't have to listen to Corazon" because of that.

And we know as well how Doflamingo operates. He grooms his subordinates to die for him. It might be the first time Law heard about that here and it clearly terrified him, he understands that Doflamingo would keep him around just because he obeys him, like an useful tool, not even human.

In comparison, Cora-san showed him compassion and love. It means a lot to Law, who felt he was no longer considered human by other people because of his disease. And here he learns Doflamingo, a person Law somewhat respected, who defended him in front of others who feared to be in the same room as him, would actually also not see him as a human. This must have been a major blow to Law, breaking his trust, yet again, in other people.

Now let's take a look at that:

That's what Doflamingo tells Monett and Vergo to do, just "die for him". That's how he would have groomed Law as well, if Law stayed with him, he would teach him obedience and to follow his orders, just so Law would be ready to sacrifice his own life as well, one day.

And here we have Bellamy, who would also do just about anything to earn Doflamingo's respect, even if it means dying for him. It's possible Law's mercy for Bellamy is related to this: Law was also once in that position himself. And Law would do everything not to be in that position ever again.

Now let's take a look at Law giving orders himself. He does it but only to people he considers lower in hierarchy than him and mostly to protect their lives. He made an equal alliance with Strawhats and in general he tries his best not to give them orders (he does those funny suggestions instead). There's one exception for it though: if situation truly requires it and there's no other option, he will give an order, just like Luffy.

Meanwhile he himself isn't really great at obeying rules and following orders. How many times has he broken the law of blood while staying with Doflamingo's Family?

He doesn't like other people making decisions for him, especially if he doesn't feel ready for whatever they try to make him do.

The "Don't tell me what to do" attitude. To be fair, Luffy's triggered by that as well. They both don't like it when others decide things for them. For Luffy it also applies to setting destination for adventures, Luffy always wants to be the one to decide that himself.

And finally, we reach the very first scene when Law says it outloud: don't order him around! Please notice though that Kid and Luffy say basically the same thing, yet Law directs his complaint only to Kid. He's fine with Luffy saying the same thing, curious, ain't it?

Again, Law is complaining to Kid to stop ordering him. Law's the one who will decide what he wants to do.

And again, complaining to Kid.

One time he complains to Zoro, but this time not because he feels like he's ordered around. He feels like he's a babysitter, constantly having to support others instead of focusing on his own fight. Well, Law, everyone knows you're actually their babysitter in this alliance, a bit late to complain. And yet, despite complaining, he never denies the Strawhats and does what he's told anyway.

"I won't let it slip this time" says Law outloud for some reason, which is very uncharacteristic of him. It's almost like he's doing it for the show.

Let's sum it up so far: Law complains 3 times to Kid, once to Luffy, and once to Zoro (about babysitting in the last case). And let's take a look in which scenes he actually does what he's told to do without complaining:

This time he doesn't even comment on it, just takes Zoro and shambles out.

Zoro tells him he counts on him. Curiously enough it's the exact same phrase Law used all the way back in Dressrosa when he asked Cavendish to just leave him to rot (Cavendish didn't agree with that).

That's just from Wano, because no matter how much I searched, there was literally no scene in Punk Hazard or Dressrosa when Law complained about people ordering him around. None at all. Despite Luffy destroying his plans, dragging him forcefully through half of Dressrosa, and then undermining their ultimate strategy to take down Doflamingo, the only complaints Law had was "what about my cuffs??" and "we will have to face against a very furious emperor!".

And this here, when Luffy decides against what Law told him. Law did get his revenge when he later shambled himself with Luffy's position, just like he originally wanted, instead of shambling himself next to Luffy to do a combined attack (which would have been more effective!). But it was payback, and payback was important.

And then we have this scene, in which he just voices his feelings outloud instead.

Now that we have gathered all the necessary evidence, I will share my interpretation of this: Law has no problem usually with Luffy, even when Luffy acts really selfish, destroys his plans and Law has to babysit him. He simply takes it like a man, without complaining about his fate that he chose for himself after all (Law was the one to propose the alliance in the first place, he knows the responsibility is his!).

Curiously enough Law also has no problem with Luffy in Sabaody. That might be because he feels grateful to him there, after all he even gives half the credit for freeing Jean Bart to Luffy. Luffy might have gotten them into trouble in the first place, but Law instead thanks him "for showing him something interesting". That "something interesting" wasn't only about punching Celestial Dragon, but also defending Hachi when people around were afraid of him and crying out bullshit like "he will spread diseases! Don't come closer!!". Law heard those phrases as well when Corazon was searching for cure to Law's amber lead syndrome. It probably triggered a flashback for him. Seeing Luffy punch a Celestial Dragon and with that punch also defending Hachi must have reminded Law of what Corazon did back then as well: punching some doctors for Law. Law probably "let it slip" when Luffy said the same thing as Kid, because he was simply grateful. Meanwhile, he doesn't want to owe anything to Kid or be grateful to a person who talked shit about Law behind his back.

Okay, but then what about Wano. What's Law's problem in Wano all of a sudden??

His problem has a name. That name is Eustass Kid. As soon as Kid became part of the raid, Law is behaving differently and complaining about being ordered around. He comments stuff outloud, he starts to openly compete, he makes a big show of getting angry at Luffy for ordering him around (which he never did before!), complains he's a babysitter... and as soon as Kid is gone to fight Big Mom, Law is back to his normal behaviour again. For me this proves that if Kid wasn't there, Law wouldn't even say that line in the first place.

Let's take a look again at this scene:

Law is complaining to Luffy while making sure their eyes are on same level. He's basically saying "this is an alliance, we're equals, don't give me orders in front of Kid, it makes me look bad". Kid is an outsider, Law has bad beef with him ever since Sabaody, he wants Luffy to be more mindful about Law's own feelings here. Funny thing is, Luffy quickly gets the drift, proposes the stupid chicken game which actually works on freaking Eustass Kid which surprises Law.

Just look at him looking at Kid. Luffy ended up being involved in the conflict between Kid and Law, and took Law's side in it, but not in an obvious way: he made it a competition for all three of them, yet pulled a move on Kid that he couldn't refuse. Luffy is pretty smart at reading people and he basically put Kid back in line here, but he did it only because Law complained. That's because in their alliance Law and Luffy always has each other's backs, and Luffy proves it yet again, not leaving Law alone with this.

So actually Luffy's reaction of "How does that even matter?!" is very justified, because it's literally the first time ever that Law complained about "following orders" to him. And he figured out the reason fast: it was because of Kid's presence.

Now let's dig into one more thing. Kid clearly plays with the idea that Law and Luffy are so close that they seem like they're in one crew. But the way he phrases it is very offensive: he suggests Law is Luffy's subordinate, just like Law was once a subordinate to Doflamingo (again, not bringing up any fond memories here). Meanwhile Law tries to make a point: they're equal, no one is above the other. Luffy actually also minds the "subordinate" part as we can see from his "WHAT" reaction there. He doesn't like the term subordinate nor the term scrub either. For Luffy, his crew are his friends, they're equal most of the time (the only time Luffy actually uses his right as the captain is when he chooses which island to visit or who to fight), they sleep in one room, they do chores all together, damn, his crew can even punish Luffy if he does something stupid that endangers them! Luffy's crewmates are definitely not his subordinates, not in Luffy's eyes at the very least. Is Kid just mean here by calling them "subordinates" or does he actually think of his own crew as subordinates and that's why he uses that word here? Who knows, Kid likes to be full of shit, so maybe he said it knowing exactly well what effect his teasing will have. But he is right about one thing: Law and Luffy in Wano really work together like they're one crew.

Last important thing: Law is a captain and he learned long time ago from Wolf (his father figure he respected a lot, who gifted him the submarine): captain has the image to uphold and responsibility over his crew. Law has his own crew, Heart Pirates, and he doesn't want to be seen as incompetent person who can't even make his own decisions. It's about not losing his face in front of others, something that is important to him, and he commented on it as well in Dressrosa when he said he will at least take care of Trebol. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to face his own crew, feeling like he failed them. His crew holds him in very high regard and he doesn't want to disappoint them, despite the fact he probably isn't sure if he can always meet their expectations.

Yet he tries his best to cooperate with Kid and proposes him a temporary alliance. He dislikes him, he doesn't want to look bad around him, but also he wants the chance to show off/not lose face as well, not leaving everything up to Luffy. But he will remain super petty in his "alliance" with Kid. For example, he won't be talking to him on same eye level, like he does with Luffy. His body language really betrays his feelings towards other people.

Now, you might ask, but why does Law dislike Kid so much? Law doesn't really act nice to strangers in general. Luffy is basically an exception and even then he's almost never cheesy with his words (not counting his big declaration in Dressrosa), instead showing his appreciation of Luffy in not so obvious actions.

But there might be a particular reason why Law is so salty towards Kid in particular. Kid didn't exactly leave a good impression on Law in Sabaody. Not only he talked about him behind his back (and Law could hear that), he also accused him of bad manners. Rewind to Vergo always trying to chastise Law about the exact same thing. Kid voicing it out must have left a really bad aftertaste, so bad that Kid is literally one of the only two people Law flipped off his finger at. Kinda tragicomic, because I think Kid thought he's saying a compliment (he seemed to have a respect for him), but it was completely misunderstood. It might take those two a hundred years to finally talk it out heh.

That's my best shot at analyzing it. Summing it up, Law doesn't like to feel controlled (all thanks to Doflamingo betraying his trust), he's afraid to lose his face in front of his own crew, he doesn't want to be used as a tool (he's fine supporting others in battle, but he wants his own liberty with that and wants others to trust him to make the right judgements), and he also simply hates being ordered around by Kid for a number of complex reasons. Also there's this running theme with Law and his ope-ope fruit and it's ultimate technique. People basically treat Law like disposable goods because of it: only good for performing the operation, even at the cost of Law's own life. All things considered I think it's not so strange that Law gets really nitpicky with any attempt even close to objectifying him, even if people don't mean it that way. On the contrary, every time he doesn't act this way, he shows how much trust he has in his allies or even how willing he is to ignore his own feelings as long as people close to him are fine.

I hope you enjoyed reading about it, anon!

[inseobts]

oh my goddd I just read the Monster trio & pregnant reader fic and i loved it.

Could you write about them as baby dads?

🫵 Made Him a Dad

after the pregnancy and labor let's see they’re doing as newly dads?

a/n: tried to not be repetitive but it was hard lmao

also a special thanks and credits to @katsukis-foxie6 for giving me some ideas, espcially for sanji's ❤︎❤︎❤︎

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: around 0.9k - 1.3k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The Straw Hat crew was anchored at a small island, taking a rare break after a long stretch of adventures. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the ship as you cradled your baby girl, Dawn, in your arms. She was only a few months old, but her presence already seemed to brighten every corner of the Thousand Sunny. Her tiny hands wrapped around your finger, and the sound of her soft giggles filled the air.

Luffy, his usual exuberance toned down just a bit, sat across from you, his eyes locked on Dawn with a mixture of pride and awe.

“She’s so cute, y/n,” Luffy said with his signature grin, his voice filled with warmth “Look at her! She’s already so strong! I bet she’s gonna be a great pirate!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at Luffy’s enthusiasm “She’s barely even walking yet, Luffy. Maybe let’s wait a few years before we start recruiting her into the crew.”

Luffy’s face lit up “Oh, at her age I already wanted to be the king of pirates!" He turns to look at you and your serious face kinda scares him "...Y-yeah, we should let her grow a little first! But she’s gonna be the best, I just know it! I’ll teach her everything I know!”

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed from the shore, and you looked up to see none other than your grandfather-in-law, Garp, strolling toward the ship with a big grin plastered on his face.

“Oi, Luffy!” Garp shouted, his signature Marine coat fluttering behind him “I heard you had a kid! About time you stopped being such a carefree idiot and started taking responsibility!”

Luffy jumped to his feet immediately, his eyes widening with excitement “Grandpa! You’re here!” He grabbed Dawn from your arms before you could even protest, holding her in front of Garp with the same proud grin he always wore “Look! This is my daughter!”

You stood up and approached them with a smile, watching Garp’s reaction carefully. Garp stared down at the tiny bundle in Luffy’s arms, his usual gruff expression softening as he regarded her.

“She’s tiny,” Garp muttered, squinting at Dawn, but his voice held a strange tenderness “I didn’t think Luffy could make something this cute.”

Luffy puffed out his chest with pride “She’s gonna grow strong, just like me! And she’s gonna be a great pirate!”

Garp grunted, crossing his arms “A pirate, huh? You’ve got a long way to go if you’re gonna make her one of your little nakama, brat.”

Luffy beamed, clearly not bothered by the teasing “I’ll make sure she’s ready! Right, Dawn?” He shook her gently, making silly noises that caused her to giggle. Dawn’s tiny fingers grasped at Luffy’s hand, and it seemed like the whole world stopped for a second.

Garp let out a low chuckle, his usual gruff demeanor melting a bit as he saw the deep love in Luffy’s eyes “Well, kid, looks like you’re serious about being a dad. I can’t believe it, but I guess you’ve really grown up. She’s got your stupid grin, that’s for sure.”

Luffy looked over at you with wide eyes, his face flushed with excitement “Grandpa likes her! He said she looks like me!”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection for both your husband and daughter “She has your smile, alright” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Dawn’s face.

Luffy beamed, clearly feeling validated by Garp’s approval “I’m gonna teach her all kinds of stuff! How to eat a ton, how to never give up on your dreams, and how to make sure the meat’s always cooked perfectly! She’s gonna be awesome!”

Garp raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smirk “Well, she’s not gonna be a pirate, that’s for sure.”

Luffy blinked in confusion “Huh? What do you mean? She’s gonna be the greatest pirate ever!”

Garp crossed his arms, grinning mischievously “No way. I’ve seen what happens when you let brats like you run wild. She’s gonna be a Marine, just like her old grandpa.”

Luffy’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief “What?! No way! She’s gonna be a pirate! You can’t stop that!”

Garp laughed, thoroughly amused by Luffy’s reaction “Oh, I can see it now: ‘Little Dawn, future Marine Admiral!’ No pirates for her! She’ll be the one taking you down one day.”

Luffy’s face scrunched up in determination “No! You’ll see! She’ll be a pirate! And she’s gonna be the best one there is!”

You chuckled softly at their bickering, watching as Garp playfully ruffled Luffy’s hair and then glanced down at Dawn.

“She’s got a strong spirit, though,” Garp admitted with a sigh, softening just a little “I can tell she’ll be a handful, just like her old man. But I’ll make sure she knows the proper way to punch things if she ever tries to follow in your footsteps.”

Luffy grinned, not giving up on his dream “I’ll make sure she’s ready to punch things too—pirate things!”

Garp snorted and let out a deep laugh “Well, kid, you’ve got a good one here. Just don’t be surprised when she ends up in a Marine uniform one day.”

Luffy huffed but looked down at Dawn lovingly “We’ll see about that.”

As the sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, you felt the promise of a new journey unfolding, one with your family at the heart of it all. With Luffy by your side and Garp giving his usual advice, there was no doubt that little Dawn would grow up surrounded by love, adventure, and laughter, her own future as bright as the sun setting before you.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Your daughter, barely a few months old, has her tiny fingers wrapped around his index finger, her grip firm, almost unrelenting. Zoro raises an eyebrow as he tries to gently pull away, but she refuses to let go, her tiny face scrunching up in determination.

“Damn,” he mutters, glancing at you as you sit beside him, amused “She’s strong.”

You laugh softly, leaning against his arm “Like her dad.”

Zoro doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches your daughter with an unreadable expression, his free hand absentmindedly running over her soft, wispy hair. The moment lingers, quiet, thoughtful, before he finally speaks again.

“No,” he says, voice low “Like her mom.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. When you look up at him, you see the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers twitch slightly against your daughter’s back. He’s thinking about something serious. Something deep.

Zoro’s gaze flickers to you, intense in that way only he can be “That day…” He exhales sharply through his nose. “And not just that day. The whole damn time. Pregnancy, labor... all of it. I thought I knew what strength was, but I didn’t. Not really.”

Your chest tightens. Zoro isn’t one to put things into words often, but when he does, he means every syllable.

“I couldn’t do anything at all,” he admits, still staring at your daughter’s tiny hand around his finger “I just had to sit there and watch while you went through all of it. No fight I’ve ever been in, no injury I’ve ever had... it’s nothing compared to that.” He finally looks back at you, eyes dark with something raw “You’re stronger than me, y/n, believe me.”

You feel your breath catch.

It’s not just the words, it’s also the way he says them, with complete sincerity. Zoro, who has trained his entire life to be the strongest swordsman, means it. He believes it.

You squeeze his arm gently, your voice soft “Zoro…”

He huffs, shaking his head as if the thought still overwhelms him. Then, his expression softens just a little as he looks down at your daughter again. She’s still gripping his finger tightly, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment.

Zoro smirks faintly “She’s lucky to have you as her mom” he mutters.

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest “She’s lucky to have you as her dad.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but you catch the way his grip on your daughter shifts slightly, gentler, but still firm. Protective. Always.

She might have his strength, but Zoro knows exactly where it comes from.

And he’ll never forget it.

Zoro started to be protective towards her since you first announced your pregnancy.

He’s that type of super stressed dads who keeps running around following every single thing she does so that he can catch her if needed. All this with always a big blush on his face.

But it’s not that bad that he controls her bec, in fact, right now, your one-year-old daughter is standing in the middle of the deck, holding onto Luffy’s index fingers as he swings her back and forth like a human jump rope. Every time he lifts her up, she squeals in delight, kicking her little legs mid-air before landing on the deck.

“Again! Again!” she demands, her tiny fists gripping Luffy’s fingers with ridiculous strength.

Zoro, standing nearby with his arms crossed, scowls “Oi. Don’t drop her.”

Luffy grins, stretching his lips wide “Don’t worry! I won’t!”

You, sitting on a crate just a few feet away, shake your head with a sigh “She’s fine, Zoro. Look at her, she’s having fun.”

Zoro doesn’t budge, arms still crossed “She’s one wrong step away from flying into the ocean.”

Luffy gasps, looking at Kazuki with sparkling eyes “You wanna fly?!”

“Luffy, NO.” you and Zoro shout at the same time.

Kazuki claps her hands “Fly!”

“NO,” Zoro repeats firmly, glaring at Luffy “You are not throwing my kid.”

Luffy pouts “But she’s got a strong grip! She wouldn’t even let go—”

“Luffy,” you say, rubbing your temples “let’s not test her durability today, please.”

Luffy sighs dramatically but doesn’t argue. Instead, he lifts Kazuki up and plops her on his shoulders, holding onto her tiny hands so she doesn’t wobble off.

Zoro mutters under his breath but doesn’t stop it. At least Luffy’s holding onto her.

Sanji chooses this moment to stroll onto the deck, cigarette between his lips but dropping it as he walks towards Kazuki “There’s my little princess,” he coos, hands in his pockets “You hungry, sweetheart?”

Kazuki, who has long since associated Sanji with food, beams “Yummy?”

Sanji grins “The yummiest. I made you something special.”

Zoro immediately frowns “What did you make her?”

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Relax, moss-head. Just some soft fruit and rice balls.”

Zoro doesn’t move “You sure there’s nothing weird in it?”

Sanji bristles, instantly getting in his face “Weird? She’s a baby, you muscle-brained swordsman! What the hell do you think I’d put in her food?”

You sigh, standing up to intervene before they actually start fighting “Okay, okay, both of you calm down. Sanji, thanks for making her food. Zoro, you really do look stressed, why don’t you go take a nap? I’ll stay with her.”

“I’m good, I’ll go later… don’t worry” he says softly but still watches like a hawk as Sanji hands Kazuki a tiny rice ball. She immediately grabs it with both hands and shoves it into her mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.

“Good?” Sanji asks, kneeling to her level.

Kazuki chews, sways on her little feet, then beams “Good!”

You smile and ruffle her hair “Say ‘thank you,’ Kazu.”

Kazuki tilts her head, then garbles around the mouthful of rice “Fanku.”

Sanji clutches his chest like he’s been shot “Ohh, my sweet little angel, you’re so polite—”

Zoro scoffs “Don’t act like you raised her.”

Kazuki points a chubby little finger at Zoro and proudly declares “Dada’s idiot.”

Silence.

Then the crew loses it.

Luffy collapses onto the floor, clutching his stomach. Nami has to lean against a barrel, wiping tears from her eyes. Sanji turns away, shoulders shaking with laughter. Even Robin chuckles from where she’s reading in her chair.

Zoro stares at Kazuki, completely betrayed.

You, barely containing your laughter, kneel beside her “Sweetheart, don’t call your daddy an idiot.”

Kazuki tilts her head, as if deep in thought. Then, just as serious, she looks back at Zoro and says—

“Dada’s big idiot.”

Zoro groans so loud it nearly rattles the ship.

Luffy wheezes. Nami nearly falls over. Usopp actually falls over.

You bite your lip, but it’s no use, you’re laughing too.

Zoro glares at all of you “I blame all of you for this... y/n, stop it”

Kazuki, sensing she’s won, lifts her arms up to Zoro. He sighs, scooping her up, resting her against his chest. She immediately nuzzles into his shoulder, letting out a happy little hum.

“Dada” she murmurs.

Zoro exhales, the corner of his lips twitching despite himself. He presses a kiss to her hair, murmuring, “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I like you, brat.”

You step closer, resting a hand on his arm “You love her” you tease.

Zoro scoffs “Obviously… unlike you, she doesn’t know what she’s saying”

You go and leave a quick peck on his lips “You’re my lovely big big idiot”.

He blushes like crazy.

Kazuki looks up, sleepy “Dada?”

“Hm?”

She grins “Dada’s big big idiot.”

The crew howls with laughter.

Zoro sighs so deeply, but even as the teasing continues, he holds Kazuki a little closer.

She’s happy, safe, and in his arms. That’s all that matters.

That afternoon, you find them sleeping adorably together, in the same napping position. Smiling, you take a blanket and gently cover them both. Zoro stirs awake, thinking the baby has moved, something that makes you smile even more, knowing how hard it usually is to wake him. When he sees it’s you, he reaches for your hand and quietly invites you to join them, pulling you in for a cuddle.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

Sanji is soft with her.

Softer than you ever thought possible.

You watch from the doorway as he sits on the edge of your shared bed, cradling your daughter so delicately, like she’s made of glass. His thumb gently strokes over her tiny fingers, his breath slow, steady, controlled. But his eyes hold something else.

Something hesitant.

Something uncertain.

Your heart tightens.

“She’s sleeping,” you whisper, stepping closer “You don’t have to be so tense.”

Sanji barely glances up “I know.”

But he doesn’t relax. Not even a little.

Instead, he just keeps staring at her, as if waiting for something. As if at any moment, she’ll change into something unfamiliar, something he won’t know how to handle.

You sit beside him, curling close, resting your head against his shoulder. One arm wraps around his waist, the other reaching out to trace the soft fabric of the onesie your daughter is bundled in. She shifts slightly, making a tiny sound, and Sanji freezes.

You feel the sharp inhale he takes. The way his fingers twitch, just barely, as if bracing himself.

And suddenly, you understand.

“Sanji.” You keep your voice gentle “What’s wrong?”

He exhales slowly through his nose “Nothing.”

You don’t let that slide. Not with him. Not when he’s never been able to lie to you.

You shift, pulling back just enough to see his face “You’re scared.”

His jaw tenses, his grip on your daughter tightening the smallest bit “Of course I am,” he murmurs “I’ve never done this before.”

You shake your head “No, I know it's not just that.”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. You can see it all over him, the weight of his past, the fears he won’t say out loud.

So you say them for him... “You’re scared of being like him.”

Sanji flinches.

It’s barely noticeable. A fraction of movement, a flicker in his expression. But you know him too well.

“I’m not,” he starts, but his voice falters “I mean—I would never—”

“I know,” you cut in softly “And she’ll know too.”

His breath shudders “But what if—”

“She won’t be like them, Sanji.” You rest your hand over his, where he’s still holding her so, so carefully “And even if she was, she’d still be ours.”

Sanji swallows hard “I don’t want her to be cold,” he whispers “I don’t want her to feel like she has to earn love. I don’t want her to think—” He stops, jaw clenching “Like I did.”

Your chest tightens.

You knew. Of course you knew. You knew how deep his scars ran, how much he still carried, no matter how much love he poured into everyone else.

You squeeze his hand “She won’t.”

Sanji shakes his head “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” you insist, voice steady “Because you are her father.”

That makes him pause.

“She’s going to grow up knowing love, Sanji. Because you give it so easily, so naturally. Because you would rather die than see her cry. Because when she wakes up at night, you hold her before I can even sit up. Because you—” Your voice wavers, but you press on “Because you are already the best father she could ever have.”

Sanji exhales, shaky, uneven. His grip on your daughter loosens just slightly, his thumb resuming its soft strokes against her tiny hand.

“She’s so small” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You smile, leaning into him again “Yeah. But she’s yours.”

That does something to him.

You feel the tension in his body shift, melting just a little. He looks down at your daughter again, something lighter in his expression now. Something less like fear and more like wonder.

“She’s beautiful” he breathes.

You kiss his shoulder “Like her dad.”

Sanji huffs, but you can hear the warmth creeping into his voice “I hope not. She deserves better than a troublesome cook.”

You nudge him playfully “She has a father who will love her unconditionally.”

Sanji doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he shifts, adjusting his hold on her, drawing her closer. And when he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it.

“Yeah, she has that.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything, just slide your arms around him, tucking yourself against his side, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

Sanji rests his chin lightly atop your head. He’s quiet for a moment, but you can feel the way his heartbeat slows, steadying.

Then, just as softly, almost like an afterthought, he murmurs, “I was easy to love. My father was just really bad.”

Your breath catches.

It’s not something he’s ever said before, not so plainly, not so simply.

But now, with his daughter sleeping in his arms, with you curled up beside him, with love so clear and so real around him, he finally believes it.

The fears won’t vanish overnight. The scars won’t disappear. But right here, right now, in the quiet of your room, with your daughter safe in his arms Sanji finally lets himself believe it.

He is more than enough.

And he always will be.

The next morning you wake up to chaos.

“Oi, oi, oi, CAREFUL!” Sanji nearly vaults over the table as Luffy lifts the baby girl high into the air, laughing as she squeals in delight “Luffy, she’s not a sack of flour, PUT HER DOWN!”

“She likes it, though!” Luffy beams, spinning in a circle with her in his arms “Right, mini-cook?”

His daughter giggling is the only reason Sanji doesn’t immediately drop-kick his captain into the next century. Instead, he clenches his fists and growls, “If you drop her, Luffy, so help me—”

“Oh, come on, love-cook,” Zoro snickers, leaning back against the railing “You’re acting like she’s made of glass.”

Sanji whirls around to glare at him “You grip your sword too tight, you sit too close, you BREATHE wrong, and I swear—”

“Oh no,” Nami sighs, crossing her arms with a smirk “We’ve lost him.”

Usopp nods dramatically “RIP Sanji. He used to be cool.”

Franky wipes an imaginary tear “Another victim of dad syndrome.”

Sanji ignores them, practically vibrating with anxiety as Luffy tosses the baby just slightly in the air before catching her again.

“LUFFY, I SWEAR TO ALL THE—”

You snort. Loudly.

And just like that, Sanji freezes.

His brain short-circuits because—oh.

You’re laughing.

Not a little chuckle, not a polite giggle. Full-on, tears-in-your-eyes laughter.

Sanji forgets about murdering Luffy, forgets about all the dumbasses around him, because you’re happy.

His shoulders drop. His fists loosen.

Then, as if sensing his shift, his daughter suddenly reaches her arms out for him.

Sanji immediately swoops in, taking her from Luffy and holding her close to his chest, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead “That’s enough flying for today, sweetheart.”

Nami smirks “Aww, the overprotective dad act is over already?”

Sanji barely reacts. Instead, he turns to you, watching the way you’re still wiping laughter from your eyes, and—

God.

If this is what family feels like, if this is what love feels like, then he never, ever wants anything else in the whole world.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Random question, could you give some ideas on Irish names your family may have in the 1950-60s? I got a character with an Irish grandpa with 9 brothers and sisters (3 brothers and 6 sisters) and I only got the oldest sister name (soairse) and his name (Caine). I guess I could just name the rest some form of jack and Margret since those seem to be popular, but I wanted to see if there were some “interesting” names you found in your family tree that maybe one of the siblings got named after some ancestor?

Firstly for the sake of clarity: I'm American, not Irish. All of my ancestors for the last 4-5 generations have lived here, and while I like learning about the language/music/culture, I am absolutely not an expert. I HIGHLY recommend getting a sensitivity reader, I'm sure someone in the comments can wave at you if they're willing to take on the job.

Second, Triple-check the spelling, pronunciation, meaning and provenance of any names you do choose, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TRUST ANY BABY NAME WEBSITES, they're basically all AI slop at best. The best written-down lists and meanings are actually on Wikipedia.

Third: If you want to learn more Irish names, you can look up the names of like, any Irish musician or artist. I think spotify still has Genre Playlists, if you look up "Irish Folk" you'll get a shitload of names of Real Irish people- and hey, if Hirohiko Akari can name all his characters after 80's pop bands, you can make a subtle ref to modern musicians. Also you'll get a bunch of fun music! --- So while I was writing this, I somewhat departed from the intent of this response, and am putting the last point under a cut because the post got long. And weird.

So there is a thing in Irish-american families, and I think it's true in the British isles still where there are "Family Names", where the same set of first names is recycled over and over and over across generations. My dad's family has exactly three male names that they rotate through over the generations: Roy, Emmet and Jack*. In that order, where the son takes the father's first name as his middle name. My great-grandfather was Roy Jack Surname, my grandfather was Emmet Roy Surname, and my dad is Jack Emmet. My sister and I were AFAB, so the names skipped us and my male cousin in my generation is now Roy Jack. In the event that there are more than three living men with the same surname in the family, that's when they start reaching for the Given Names Of In-Laws We Like and might introduce a new name into the lineup.

*Names changed for privacy above and hereafter, but you get the idea.

So if any of your characters are descendants of that grandpa? They may share a first or middle name with one of his siblings. in fact, they may share the SAME first and middle name with a living relative, and be called "Junior" or "Young Firstname" to distinguish them from the relative they were named after.

My mom's family is from England and has a similar tradition: any new girl born into that family gets a name that is based on the name of one of her living female relatives, usually by sharing the same first letter or syllable. Elanor after Eloise, Vivian after Virginia, and also Jenny after Virgnia via 'Ginny' and every variation of Margret ever, which there are way more of than you'd think.

I cannot recommend doing what they did with Male names though: Name literally every boy Bob* for like five generations, and distinguish individuals by middle name (Bob-Howard and Bob-Benjamin) surname (Bob-Jones and Bob-Bailey) or Honorific (Captain Bob, Dr. Bob, Bob Jr.) when yelling out the kitchen window.

Most families have to good sense to not have the same name repeated in a generation, even if it has a shitload of nicknames. A mother and daughter might both be Margrets (with different nicknames), but two sisters or cousins wouldn't be.

If you've got in-laws you like, but their surname didn't carry over to their kids, you can also just use their surname as a first name! "Regan" is a first and last name, as are Riley and Bailey. This works out in some cases but not in others:

I have a pretty rare surname- last time I checked, there's only 14 people with it worldwide. It's similar to two other VERY COMMON Irish Surnames, but spelled different and from a different region. It's also Very Definitely A Surname- nobody would see my surname alone and think its a firstname.

Since I don't want to bandy it about, we'll pretend that it's "Breathnach", which has a similar vibe.

My Iowa family is Enormous and all descended from my Great-Aunt Lilyanne, Emmet-Roy's sister. Being a good catholic girl, Lillyanne took her husband's surname when she married, and most of her descendants still have that surname, and none have Breathnach.

After the last of my grandfathers grandchildren were born my Iowa family was sad- all but one of Emmet-Roy's grandchildren was female, and my male cousin has his father's surname. Assuming that we would all marry and take our spouses names, the Iowa family despaired that that the Breathnach name would die out!

So one of my second cousins decided that she would Carry On The Family Name, by giving it to the son she was carrying as a Firstname.

Yeah.

Being "Breathnach Surname" is bad enough, but this was compounded by the fact that the Iowa family's surname is Thomas.

YEAH.

My poor cousin Beathnach Thomas, who always has to re-do his paperwork because NOBODY ever puts the names in the correct boxes, who had his first name printed on every jersey he ever had because the uniform place went "that can't be right!", who cant buy his own beer because he's had so many drivers licenses confiscated because liquor store owners and bartenders think his ID is a fake, who has to not only spell his name to everyone he meets, but explain it too.

Then I made it worse.

I ran into cousin Beathnach in Bozeman, Montana quite by accident a few years ago, and while catching up, I mentioned that I was married.

"You know, it's a real hassle, but I'm kind of glad I've got the name I do. I'd heard you sister changed her name, and now with you married- I'd be sad to think we were running out of Breathnachs, you know?" he laughed.

I had to explain.

I married the most wonderful man in the world, who has an extremely common first and last name. Which was kind of a problem, because he shares it with some truly rotten people that always come up during background checks and he has have to explain he's not THAT asshole. It also sounds like and is only a letter or two off a lot of other very common names so his mail is constantly sent awry.

My husband will shortly abandon his too-common-for-comfort surname and become the newest Breathnach, taking the total to 15 (the paperwork takes a while).

...So the name lives on through us anyway, and poor cousin Breathnach Thomas went through all that for no reason. He got very quiet, got up from the table and walked outside to the veranda of the restaurant we were in to stare into the picturesque scenery for a while.

"Well, it's not like people change their first names..." he sighed, when he returned to the table.

"...You know how my sister changed her name? She only changed her first name. She's still a Breathnach." I explained quietly.

I've never seen a man look so haunted.

"I know lots of people who've changed their first names, actually. Mostly for transgender reasons, but a bunch because they just didn't like the one they were given." I added, because if he's going to get his world turned over, it's best to flip it all at once.

His brow furrowed at the ponderous speed of a continental collision, approaching the idea with caution. "...I'll have to think about it."

It's been about a year, but since then, I'll get a text from him every few weeks, auditioning a new given name. I do my best to be fair- I give him the meanings of those names, how they're likely to be misconstrued (some are tolerable annoyances, some pose a safety risk), and if he'd be sharing that name with anybody notable or troublesome. The first few were clearly based on Breathnach, but he began to branch out, and the trend of names has indicated that the idea of Naming Himself is causing my cousin to examine himself, and come to some Realizations (TM).

I realize I have gotten completely off-topic from your actual ask, but I urge you to really get into the nuance of nomencalture, because a name can tell a fascinating story.

[karikarasuno]

part four | part five | part six

flowers. law buys you flowers as a thank you for taking care of him. he doesn't even know if you like flowers, but he saw the bouquet at the grocery store and figured it wouldn't hurt.

unfortunately, now he feels awkward. he's never been one to overthink. analytical, yes, but never nervous that he's going to do or say the wrong thing. when it comes to you, though, he finds it hard to concentrate. he very oddly wants to impress you. he also really enjoys the way you feel comfortable relying on him.

so, of course, he hesitates knocking on your door with the bouquet held firmly in his strong grip. what if you don't like them? or worse, what if you're allergic? he shouldn't feel embarrassed by the thought, but he does.

whatever. he's got nothing else to lose, so he rings your doorbell. you're breathless when you answer like he interrupted something. and he could have given the fact that your clothes look thrown on, your tank top sitting slightly askew on your chest and he has to fight the heat crawling up his neck at the fact that you're not wearing a bra.

"hi!" you breathe out with a friendly smile, adjusting your shirt when you notice. "how are you feeling?"

"good," he clears his throat when his voice breaks, "better."

"i healed you," you nod with a sly smile, hand rising to lay flat over your heart. the sight makes him chuckle. you always make it so easy for him to relax. to just feel normal.

"guess you're the real doctor around here." he stretches the hand holding the flowers to you and he watches as your eyes light up and a slight blush tints your cheeks.

both of your hands rise to cover his and you lean over to sniff the side closest to you. "i'm glad someone's finally noticed how talented i am."

you wink at him over the bouquet and he fights a smile. "i'm assuming these are for me?"

you take the flowers from him, delicately touching the petals. he only nods, shuffling a bit in your doorway. timid.

"how'd you know these were my favorite?"

"lucky guess," he shrugs, but something twists in his chest. pride, maybe. or perhaps it's something deeper. something sappier. something he hasn't felt in quite a long time. "it's a small thanks for everything you did."

"well, if you really wanna show me your gratitude i think i have something else in mind." your eyes wander down his body shamelessly. he tries not to tense up at the implication. but excitement drops low and heavy in his gut.

"my tv recently stopped working and the new one just came in..." you take a step back, beckoning for him to follow you inside. his eyes follow yours to the living room where a wide box stands in the center. he knows exactly what you want and he can't help but laugh.

"now you're just using me," he says with a shake of his head, but he still closes the door behind him. he still walks over to the large box even though you're heading towards your kitchen with the flowers. there's already a mount on your wall from the last tv, so this isn't a tough task. just a quick replacement.

"hey, it's not my fault," you call out from the kitchen, but he can't see you. "i could ask one of the guys to do it, but they're not as reliable as you."

that makes him feel good. until he registers the word guys. "what guys?"

he bristles. he has no right to feel this way. to be jealous. he'd be delusional to think he's the only man in your life.

"well i used to get kid to do this stuff, but he's useless and i hate him," you laugh. he warms at your disdain for your ex. "usually i get zoro to do it, but he's forgetful. franky on the other hand is super good at this stuff, but he doesn't go anywhere without robin and that makes scheduling tricky since we're all so busy most of the time."

you come over carrying a vase, showing off the bouquet pleased before setting it in the center of your dining table. he watches as you keep spinning the vase until you like the way it looks, nodding in satisfaction when you're done fiddling with it. cute.

"but you, on the other hand," you twirl to face him, "you're always around exactly when i need you."

his entire body warms up. law likes being needed. and you in particular are always so needy.

"i'm always happy to help," he says, grabbing the scissors you're holding out to him and slicing the tape to open the box. you plop on the recliner beside him, just watching as he removes plastic and styrofoam. your gaze is attentive. there's clear tension sparking between the two of you, but he ignores it. because he has a task to complete.

"hold the box for me so i can pull this out." he grips each end of the tv firmly but with care. you slide off the recliner, kneeling in front of him as you reach for the box. the position you put yourself in does not go unnoticed by him. he's positive it's intentional on your end, especially when you look up at him, eyes big and brows furrowing just slightly.

"like this?" the question itself is riddled in innocence. but he knows you well enough now. he knows what game you're playing, but until now his role in it has been passive.

"yeah, just like that." he keeps his tone neutral, but encouraging. you bite back a smile, pursing your lips to one side as you glance away from him. his keeps his own smile to himself, pleased by your reaction, before rolling his shoulders back and lifting the television out the box.

he asks for your assistance one more time just to hook the tv onto the mount on the wall. it's bigger than your last one and takes up most of the wall across from your couch. it's really nice.

"here," you hand him the remote as soon as he sits on the sofa. mindlessly he starts to set it up for you, flipping through the pamphlet that came with it. he knows you're watching him. your body is curled up on the cushion beside him. neither of you say anything though. but he can tell what you're thinking. because he's thinking it too.

honestly it's all he can really think about. he’s touched himself countless times to the thought of you with your thighs around his head. with your hands in his hair. with your lips on his neck. he’s thought of you on his drives to work, in the shower, in the brief moments before sleep catches him. it’s annoying the amount of space you take up in his mind.

you shift beside him, knees grazing his thigh as you move closer to him. the smell of whatever you’re wearing on your skin reaches his nose. the memory of you in his bed, beneath him and moaning his name, is triggered by the scent.

“what’s your email?” he clears his throat, eyes trained on the screen before him.

“hm?”

“to set up your account i need your email,” his eyes betray him as they move to glance at you. it was a mistake. your head is tilted and your breaths are steady but they’re so deep your chest rises and falls heavily. his eyes betray him again when they glance down. your boobs are pressed together, your nipples are poking hard against the thin material of your top. it’s cold in here, he reasons.

you start spelling out your email address, but law’s distracted. he misses a letter, you laugh, he corrects it, but then he misses another one.

“let me do it,” you chuckle when you see he’s clearly struggling. but he instinctively pulls the remote out of your reach.

“i got it this time,” he says, pointing the remote at the tv again. he’s not looking at you for the sole purpose of concentration.

“i’m starting to think you can’t spell my name,” you reach over his body to try and take the remote from him again, but he swats your hand away. it’s a playful back and forth, but you become more insistent. his hand grasps your wrist to push you away, but your shin finds his thigh. you’re practically in his lap.

he tosses the remote to the other side of the couch, grabbing your thigh with his free hand and swinging your leg to rest on the other side of his hip. straddling him.

“is this what you wanted?” he teases, his hand resting on the top of your thigh as yours comes to his shoulder.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you feign innocence, but your eyes are locked onto his lips. law rubs his thumb gently on the inside of your wrist. and if he glances down, which he won’t, he would see how close your chest is to his lips. “i wanted the remote.”

“right, so then how did we end up here?” his eyes are trained on your face. the tension is so thick it’s almost tangible. like he could grab onto it and mold it in his hands. he watches as you swallow. your lips part to say something but for once you’re at a loss for words.

“you tell me,” you whisper, leaning forward so that your forehead comes to rest against his. you really are too much. he’s never felt as drawn to anyone as he does you. you’re inescapable. it’s almost annoying except for the fact that it seems as though you want him just as badly.

his hand slides up your thigh until his fingers are wrapped around your hip and his thumb is pressing into the crease where your hip and thigh meet. he hears your sigh stutter out from between your lips. your eyes are closed now and you relax into him. you seat yourself fully into his lap instead of hovering politely like you were a few seconds ago. your breath smells like coffee. another addiction he can’t seem to rid himself of.

you kiss him softly at first. kind of shy. as if you’re testing his resolve. your lips tenderly meet his like you’re trying to share a secret with him, but you can’t quite get it out.

“i think,” he releases your wrist and moves to cradle the side of your neck instead, pulling you in closer, “you should kiss me like you mean it.”

something snaps between you at his words. a string pulled so tightly the strands shred and fray as your lips slot harshly between his. suddenly you’re holding urgency in your hands. you tug at him. your fingers seem to be everywhere all at once. and if he wasn’t as desperate for you, he’d hardly be able to keep up.

your tongue slips between his lips and licks into his mouth. a moan crawls its way up his throat when you grind down on him. your hands are quick where they pop the button on his jeans, far more agile than he expects when they pull the zipper down.

“wait,” he says against your lips as you begin to reach beneath his underwear. he’s surprised by your whine of impatience. amused when you huff an annoyed “i can’t.”

“ok,” he relents with a chuckle, bracing his hands on your hips. “go ahead.”

you kiss him again, sloppier than the last as you finally wrap your fingers around him. “oh, law.” he can’t breathe. not well at least with the way you stroke him. there’s added pressure from the confined space. and his cock is drooling with precum as it smears against your palm.

his hand rises to hold the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. his fingers tangle in your hair and he groans when you circle his tip as best you can in the tight space.

“lemme taste you,” you mumble out between kisses.

“what?” his mind is mush, his thoughts are broken and nonsensical. it takes him a second too long to process your request. instead you’re slipping off of his lap and sliding down to kneel between his parted legs.

“what’re you doing?” it’s a stupid question. he doesn’t even know why he asked because your fingers are already hooking into his pants and underwear and slowly trying to tug them down.

“what i’ve been dying to do.” you look up at him, pupils lust-blown and gaze hopeful. he lifts his hips just a bit to help you free him. your eyes widen when you see him. hard and reddened and aching. his cock twitches in response. his breath is caught in his chest and his abs are tightened in a way that’s almost painful.

you take him in your hand. your touch is gentle, exploratory. you stroke him slowly but your grip is firm and he’s biting back a groan that threatens to erupt from his chest.

your lips are next. they follow the path of your hand, featherlight as you drag them from base to tip. he can’t tear his eyes away from you. your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, inadvertently licking his head just barely. but that alone has his hips jumping in your hold.

you conceal a smile. one that he catches a glimpse of before those same lips part and you take him into your mouth. you sigh out a small moan. almost of relief as your eyes drift shut and you start working him with both your mouth and hand. you take your time. spit starts seeping out from the corners of your lips as you continue to take him deeper.

nothing he could have ever imagined comes close to this. your tongue presses against his shaft and you swallow around him. this time he can’t hold back the noise that escapes his mouth. it’s deep and guttural and he watches it wash over you with a distinct shudder.

it only serves to spur you on. you start working him faster. your head bobbing as your hand meets each motion fervently.

he sees your other hand slip between your thighs. he can’t see what you’re doing but the action makes his hips buck and you gag around him.

“hah, shit,” law moans, his face is burning and his skin is so hot yet there’s goosebumps littering his arms. “are you touching yourself?”

“kinda hard not to,” you say, a string of spit connecting you to his dick as you pull away. your eyes are glassy from the tears that line your lashes. when you lean back in your tongue meets him first, licking a stripe along the back of him until his tip is pressed against the flat of your tongue. you look up at him with big wet eyes and he’s starting to lose it. his control.

law’s hand finds its way into your hair again, his fingers curl against your scalp gently, testing your limits. when you don’t make an effort to tell him to stop he balls his hand into a loose fist. he applies just enough pressure to make you whine, and when he tugs on your hair your eyes roll back.

he can’t do it anymore. his resolve crumbles into ashes as you light him on fire. your lips suck his cock back into your mouth. warm and wet and so skilled. he’s nearly envious of any man who’s had you before him. he can’t even stand the thought, especially when your fingers, covered in your own slick come up from between your legs to massage his balls.

“fuck, that’s-,” his words are failing him. law can’t even think with your mouth on him. “fuck, you’re gonna-,”

he’s so close. both of his hands are now practically knotted into your hair, following hopelessly as you continue your onslaught of sucking and licking. you moan around him every time his breath catches in his throat, or whenever his cock twitches against your tongue, or whenever he pulls a little harder on your hair.

it’s positively ridiculous how easily you’re unraveling him. he’s been so pent up, so frustrated, for weeks. law doesn’t need anyone. he’s fine on his own. but he needs you. he craves you in a way that feels dangerously addictive.

your name tumbles off of his tongue clumsily. the syllables disjointed as his orgasm rips down his spine, his voice nothing but crunching gravel. your hand grips his thigh when he comes, your nails scraping against denim as he unloads into your mouth. he doesn’t mean to hold you there. really.

but he can’t help the state that he’s in. that you put him in. he’s nothing but base instinct. something close to a whimper plucks at his vocal chords as you swallow every last drop until there’s nothing left for him to give you.

his back meets the cushion of your sofa again when he finally comes down. when the rush finally dies off and all that’s left is syrupy endorphins shooting through his veins. his breaths leave his mouth in hurried, pathetic puffs.

his vision is blurry but he can still make you out. you look a mess with your lips swollen and wet. your lashes are clumped together with tears. your hair is a nest from where his fingers pulled and twisted.

“i don’t think you realize how sexy you are,” you say, your voice is hoarse and you’re wiping at your lips with your fingers.

law pulls you into his lap again, clutching at your biceps until you follow his wordless request.

“it’s not me,” he murmurs, kissing you once you’re seated. “it’s you.”

his kiss travels to your jaw, open-mouthed. “you make me like this and i couldn’t even tell you why.”

he peppers wet kisses down to your neck, burying his face there as you move to give him more access. you’re so pliant in his grip again, your body just melting into him as he mouthes at your collarbone. he could do this forever. just gripping you wherever he can, tasting wherever you allow him to.

“you’re one to talk,” your voice is barely above a whisper, just wistful interest, “i can’t stop thinking about you. it’s like you’re haunting me.”

he chuckles into your perfumed skin, your words resonating strongly. he does feel haunted by you. your laugh, your wittiness, your body. he’s so ready to take this further. to undress you. to pleasure you in every way he can.

but his phone rings. you groan in annoyance. so he ignores it, deciding it’s much more worth his time to slip the strap of your tank top off your shoulder with his teeth. he likes the way it makes you shiver.

he urges you closer to him with his hand on the small of your back, plastering you to him. his lips dip lower, kissing the top of your breast as you sigh.

“mmm,” you hum, your fingers curling in his t shirt when he bites the tender fat of your chest.

but just as he’s about to venture lower, like he so badly wants, his phone rings again.

“jesus,” he grits out, fishing his phone out of his back pocket.

“don’t answer it,” you complain, all soppy and pitiful and his dick hardens just a bit again.

“it’s the hospital,” he says, knowing he has to answer since they called twice.

“hello.” it’s shachi. one of law’s high risk patients is having some post surgery complications and he has to go in. he’s disappointed to say the least.

“i gotta go,” he says, forehead pressed to your sternum to avoid the look he knows you’re wearing.

“i thought you were off today,” you say, whiny again and he really doesn’t know why your petulance turns him on so much.

“i’m on call.” you pull back to make eye contact with him and you look kind of angry. he physically has to remove you from his lap to keep from kissing you again. so he tosses you onto the seat next to him as you continue to glare in his direction.

“i’m going to scream,” you say, and law laughs. “i’m being serious. if we get interrupted one more time i’m gonna purposely get hit by a car because maybe we’ll finally fuck if i’m in a hospital bed.”

“that’s not funny,” he stands, shaking his head as he tucks himself back into his pants. you attempt to kick at his leg, but he catches your ankle before it makes contact, his hand bunching up the fabric of your cartoon pajama pants.

“are these men’s pants?” his brow furrows because he just noticed them.

“yes,” you yank your ankle back to no avail since law’s grip is strong.

“your ex’s?”

“ew no,” you yank your leg again, “i got them from walmart because they looked comfy.”

he drops your leg and it lands heavily on your couch as he moves to zip up his jeans.

“oh my god, are you jealous?” the delight in your tone doesn’t go over his head, instead it grates over his ears shockingly loud.

“no,” he lies because he honestly doesn’t understand why he even feels this way. he’s getting far too attached to you too quickly.

“oh you so are and if i wasn’t so sexually frustrated i’d totally give you shit for it.” you’re propped up on your elbows, grinning from ear to ear at him. well, at least you’re just as crazy as he is.

“i’m leaving,” he tosses a throw pillow at you and it bounces off your head. your laugh muffled by it, all maniacal and endearing.

“have fun at work,” you taunt, wiggling your fingers goodbye at him as he makes it to your front door.

“have fun alone,” he teases back, knowing exactly what condition he’s leaving you in.

“i’ll try,” you pout, staring at him through your lashes. “but my vibrator doesn’t compare to your mouth.”

he rolls his eyes, but a smirk tugs at his lips anyway. “next time.”

“no, next time you’re fucking me or else i might actually die.”

part seven

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

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

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

wc: 17.2k

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

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has he been charged for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

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

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

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

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

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

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

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

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

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

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

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

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

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

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got that right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god— what are the odds? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

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

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Rent or own?”

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

“What inspired the move?”

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

“And home is?” 

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

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

“Sources can lie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t tell him—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

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

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

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

“You know th—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The profile—” 

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

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

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

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

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

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

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

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

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

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

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

“I can imagine.”

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

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

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

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

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

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

Your eyes open and you frown. 

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

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

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

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

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

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

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

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

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

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

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

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

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Hotch asks. 

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

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

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

“You’re already packed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you go to class today?”

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

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

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

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

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

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

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

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

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

And now… 

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

“Thank you, Garcia.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

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

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

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

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

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

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

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to kill you. 

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

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

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

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

But there’s relief there, too.

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

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

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

“And how long have I been here?” 

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

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

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 9 of 12

Synopsis: lies, junk, and ebay side hustles

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

—

The Twinkie’s engine hummed as they drove, the soft rumble steady in the quiet night. Y/N leaned against the window, watching as streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, leaving brief glints on her tired eyes. John B’s hands gripped the wheel, knuckles pale in the dim light as he guided them down familiar roads. 

This had been one of the longest - but one of the best nights of Y/N’s life. After the initial shock of finding out each other’s secret wore off, John B volunteered to drive Y/N home, much to Rafe’s dismay. 

They had both grown up on these roads, weaving through the same streets, crashing at each other’s houses, and finding trouble together. Now, things felt… different. As if, somehow, the ground they had always trusted beneath them was shifting. Their silence was comfortable but weighted, as if both of them were holding onto thoughts too heavy to put into words.

After a while, John B finally broke the silence, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “So… I guess we’re practically in-laws now.”

She let out a small laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Guess so. Funny, isn’t it?”

John B smirked but grew thoughtful, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I mean, I get how I ended up with Sarah, but… you and Rafe? When did that even happen?”

She felt a slight warmth creep up her face. “Uh… tonight, actually.” She paused, swallowing. “We kissed for the first time. I think the word for it is ‘unexpected.’”

He shot her a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding me. Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” She gave a half-shrug, avoiding his gaze. “It's kind of… I don’t know, it just happened.”

John B let out a slow breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You kissed Rafe Cameron tonight… wow.” He let that sink in, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the wheel. “Guess we’re both out here crossing some major lines.”

Y/N gave a slight nod, feeling the truth of that for herself, too. Sarah Cameron and Rafe Cameron—these were people they’d known their entire lives, kids who had grown up with a silver spoon and never seemed to notice the Pogues except to look down on them. And yet, here they were, tangled in the lives of the Kooks they’d once considered untouchable.

“How did that even happen?” she asked quietly, her gaze still on the passing trees.

John B rubbed a hand over his jaw, considering. “It’s… complicated. It was one of those things that just kinda… snuck up on me. I was working on Ward’s boat one day. He needed help with something in the engine room, and when I came up, Sarah was there. She was sitting by the dock, crying. She’d just broken up with Topper.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, though she wasn’t entirely surprised. “Yeah, he’s… something, isn’t he?”

John B chuckled dryly. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Anyway, she looked… different. Vulnerable, I guess. Not like her usual ‘Kook princess’ self. We just started talking, and I don’t know… the lines got blurry. I wanted to hate her, but it’s hard to hate someone when you’re actually seeing them. You know what I mean?”

She did. She understood that completely.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, tracing her finger along the edge of the window. “Rafe… I never thought I’d be able to trust someone like him. I mean, it’s Rafe Cameron. But tonight, something just… clicked. And I realized I wanted to be around him. It’s strange, but being with him, even just for a night… it made me forget about a lot of things.”

“Like JJ?” John B’s voice was quiet, understanding. Y/N felt her heart constrict at the name, the weight of years of friendship and unspoken feelings pressing down on her all at once.

“Yeah,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ve been in love with him for so long. And it’s like... it’s been this constant thing in the back of my mind, like this background noise that I got used to. But tonight, with Rafe… it was like the noise stopped. For once, I wasn’t thinking about JJ. I was just... there, in the moment.”

John B let out a slow breath, nodding. “It’s kind of terrifying, isn’t it? Letting someone in like that. I know how much you cared about JJ. Honestly… I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you guys. I’ve known you my whole life. You and JJ are the only people who… get me. And now I’m dating Sarah, and you’re with Rafe… it’s almost like we’re betraying something.”

Y/N looked over at him, their eyes meeting for a long moment. “Yeah, it feels like that. It’s not just about us—it’s about all of us. Our whole group, the way we’ve always been there for each other. I keep thinking about what JJ would say if he knew.”

John B’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’d be pissed, that’s for sure. Hurt, too. But… maybe he’d understand eventually.”

“I don’t know, John B. He’s stubborn. And this would feel like a double blow. We’re his oldest friends, and… he’d feel like we’ve crossed a line. Especially me, with Rafe of all people.” She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I can’t imagine losing JJ because of this.”

The silence fell again, heavy with memories and old loyalties. Finally, John B glanced over at her, his voice a little softer, a little more vulnerable. “Then let’s keep it between us. We don’t have to tell anyone. I mean… if things get serious or whatever, we’ll figure it out then. But for now… let’s just keep this between us. I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”

Y/N smiled, the weight lifting just slightly. “Deal.”

“Good,” he replied, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He offered her a small grin. “Guess we’ll be each other’s partners in crime, sneaking around with the Kooks. Never thought we’d end up here.”

She laughed softly, nodding. “Life has a weird way of throwing curveballs.”

As the Twinkie carried them back down the familiar roads, Y/N felt a sense of calm settle over her. They had their pact now, an unspoken agreement to protect each other and their secrets. 

—

The salty breeze tugged at Y/N’s hair as she made her way down the familiar path to The Chateau. It had been a week since she last saw the Pogues, and her absence hadn’t been unnoticed. She’d spent the days since the chaos at Tannyhill trying to process everything. The kiss with Rafe felt like a whirlwind, and now she had to face her friends, especially JJ, who she knew would be the hardest. Her stomach was in knots as she approached the hangout, trying to steady her nerves.

John B had said he’d smooth things over, but Y/N wasn’t so sure. Not when it came to JJ.

When she entered, the usual hum of conversation was absent. The Pogues were gathered around the table, but it felt… off. Pope and Kie were sitting together, but their smiles seemed forced as they looked up at her. The only one who wasn’t pretending was JJ, standing by the window, his back to the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even look her way as she stepped inside.

Y/N hesitated in the doorway, her gaze flicking between Kie, Pope, and John B, who was leaning casually against the counter. “Hey,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Kie’s face lit up, though there was an obvious undercurrent of confusion. “Look who’s back! You good? Where’ve you been?”

Y/N winced at the warmth in Kie’s voice—so different from JJ’s cold silence. “Yeah, just needed some space,” she replied, not wanting to dive into details.

Pope nodded but didn’t press further. “Everyone’s been asking about you,” he said. “Glad to see you finally made it out.”

John B gave a small grin, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Yeah, we were starting to think you’d forgotten how to find us.”

Y/N gave him a small, forced laugh, but her eyes were drawn back to JJ, who still hadn’t turned around. The tension was palpable, and it felt like the air itself was thickening with each passing second.

She tried to take a step forward, but JJ’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “So, nice of you to join us,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “Thought maybe you’d decided we weren’t worth your time anymore.”

Y/N flinched. She hadn’t expected the bite in his words, not after everything they’d been through. She knew he was hurt, but hearing it from him like this felt like a slap.

JJ finally turned to face her, his face hard. “You know, I was worried sick after that voicemail,” he continued, his voice rising slightly. “You didn’t answer my texts, didn’t pick up the phone. What the hell, Y/N? You left me hanging.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected this level of anger, but hearing him say that struck a chord. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. “You could’ve picked up the phone the first time I called,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had actually been there when I needed you.”

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and raw. JJ’s eyes widened, surprised by her retort, but there was no denying the hurt that flashed across his face. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?” he said, voice low and simmering. “You think it’s that simple?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “No, I don’t think it’s simple,” she snapped back, her frustration mounting. “But I tried reaching out, JJ. You’ve been so caught up with everything else, and I—” She broke off, running a hand through her hair. “I needed space. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you didn’t matter.”

JJ shook his head, clearly struggling to contain his frustration. “You can’t just disappear like that without telling anyone what’s going on. I thought something happened to you. I was out of my mind, Y/N.”

She softened slightly at the vulnerability in his tone, but her anger still simmered. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “I just needed time to figure things out.”

JJ exhaled sharply, clearly still hurt but now holding back, as if deciding whether to continue his outburst. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. Just… next time, don’t leave me in the dark. I don’t do well with that.”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. That’s the last thing I want.”

There was a long, heavy silence before JJ, with a frustrated sigh, finally gave a small, resigned shrug. “Alright, fine. Just don’t do that again, okay?”

John B, sensing the moment was still tense, stepped in with a lighthearted tone, trying to ease the mood. “Alright, enough of the drama. We’ve got a Pogue reunion here, right?” He glanced at Y/N with a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s just have a good night, yeah?”

Y/N gave him a tight smile, but her gaze lingered on JJ for a moment longer. There was still a distance between them, an unspoken tension that neither of them could ignore. But at least, for now, they were talking again. She only hoped the cracks in their friendship wouldn’t be too hard to fix.

��

A few days had passed since the tense moment with JJ, and things seemed to go back to normal, or at least, as normal as things could get in the Outer Banks. Y/N still spent most of her free time with Rafe, sneaking in moments together whenever they could. It felt like a secret they were both carefully tending, and despite the weight of keeping it under wraps, there was an unspoken comfort in it. She had no intention of telling the group just yet, but she wasn’t pretending things were the same with JJ either. There was distance now, but it was the kind of space that made it easier to breathe. And while Y/N still felt a little uncertain about what it meant for her friendship with the Pogues, she couldn’t help but feel lighter every time she was around them.

People noticed when she disappeared. Pope raised an eyebrow at her a couple of times, Kiara playfully asked if she was meeting some "mysterious boy," and JJ, though distant, was clearly still keeping an eye on her. But no one questioned it further. No one needed to know.

That afternoon, Y/N found herself back at the Chateau, where the gang had regrouped after a few days of avoiding serious conversations. The group was loud, as usual—Kiara pulling out an old map, Pope half-heartedly objecting to some of their more ridiculous ideas, and JJ getting a little too enthusiastic about a new "adventure" they could take. This time, it was JJ’s turn to suggest something chaotic.

“I’ve got it,” JJ said dramatically, eyes lighting up. “We go to the junkyard.”

Y/N shot him a raised eyebrow. “The junkyard? Really?”

“It’s perfect,” JJ continued, ignoring the questioning looks. “We could find treasure, make some plans for the summer, do something that actually makes us feel alive for once. Plus, there’s always weird stuff there—old cars, random bits of metal, who knows what we might find?”

Kiara perked up at the mention of treasure. “Could be a gold mine,” she added with a grin. “Or at least we can see if there’s any cool, rusty junk we can turn into art.”

Pope, who had been staring into the distance, suddenly broke into a mock frown. “The junkyard? Really? You guys are seriously trying to drag me into a place filled with piles of trash?”

JJ grinned, always ready to egg Pope on. “Come on, Pope. You can pretend to be the sophisticated one all you want, but deep down you know you want to get your hands dirty with the rest of us.”

Y/N laughed, leaning back on the couch. It was a sound she hadn’t realized she’d missed—her group, teasing and laughing with no tension. It felt like old times, before everything got complicated. Before she started feeling like she was on the outside of the group, watching as JJ and Kiara danced around each other and trying to figure out what her feelings for Rafe meant.

“I’m in,” Y/N said, sitting up and giving them a small grin. “Let’s go find some treasure.”

Pope, still grumbling, threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not getting stuck in any piles of scrap metal. I’m too smart for that.”

“Just remember that when I find something amazing, you’ll be the first to carry it for me,” JJ teased, already standing up and grabbing his jacket.

At that moment, John B, who had been lounging on the couch with a cup in hand, suddenly perked up. “Did someone say junkyard?” he asked, eyes wide with mock excitement. “That sounds like the kind of adventure I can get behind.”

Y/N shot him a grin. “You planning on driving us there, Captain?”

“Obviously.” John B tossed the cup aside, jumping to his feet. “The van’s ready. And if I’m driving, we’re making this a proper expedition. No half-assed treasure hunts on my watch.”

Kiara rolled her eyes but smiled at the enthusiasm. “Fine, fine. Let’s go then.”

The gang piled into the old, beat-up twinkie, heading off toward the junkyard. As they approached the site, the familiar scent of rust and oil filled the air. The place looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, with broken-down cars, shattered glass, and twisted metal strewn across the dirt lot. The kind of place where nothing was useful, but everything had the potential for some kind of adventure.

“Alright,” JJ said, standing dramatically in front of the group, “let’s make this a scavenger hunt. First person to find the weirdest thing gets to claim the prize.”

“Prize?” Kiara asked, skeptically. “What, are we going to sell the trash we find?”

“Exactly,” JJ grinned. “Who says junk can’t be worth something?”

Pope rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back a smirk. “This is ridiculous. But I’m game.”

Y/N watched John B, who was already surveying the junkyard with a mischievous grin. He had that familiar glint in his eyes—the same spark he always got when he was looking for trouble, and he wasn’t about to let JJ have all the fun. “Fine,” John B said, “but I’m getting the prize first.”

“You wish,” JJ shot back, already moving toward a stack of old tires. “I’m gonna find something epic.”

As they began to spread out, Y/N couldn’t help but feel lighter. She wasn’t thinking about JJ’s stupid pity kiss, or the constant tension that hung between them. She wasn’t worried about Rafe’s feelings either—he was the secret she didn’t have to explain, and she was content with that. For once, she was just part of the group again, her old self. The Pogue she used to be.

JJ sprinted toward an old car, shouting out, “I call dibs on this beauty!” and began rifling through the trunk, already making an absurd amount of noise. Kiara, Pope, and Y/N followed suit, though their finds were much more practical. Y/N pulled out a few rusted tools, giggling when Pope made a face at the mess she was digging through.

“You sure this is the best we’ve got?” Pope asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm but a hint of amusement.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said with a playful grin. “What’s your definition of treasure, Pope? Something shiny?”

“Exactly,” he said, half-smiling. “I’m all for finding treasure, but not garbage.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kiara called out from behind a pile of tires, already holding up a set of old neon lights she thought could be used for their next bonfire. “This could make a perfect addition to our party setup!”

Y/N watched as Kiara took charge of their little scavenger hunt, leading them through the junkyard with a sense of excitement that made the whole thing feel a little more like a real adventure. Pope was actually getting into it now, his competitive spirit taking over as he tried to beat JJ to whatever “treasure” he could find. JJ, of course, was already in his own world, imagining the junkyard as some sort of personal playground, where every broken thing was just a stepping stone to a bigger, better idea.

John B wandered off toward the far side of the yard, his eyes scanning the piles of junk for anything that might catch his eye. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how natural it felt, watching the group fall into their old rhythm.

As they explored, laughing and tossing things aside, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just the junkyard that felt like home—it was this. It was being with these people. No matter how chaotic things got, no matter how much she didn’t know what she was doing with her own life, these were the people who always had her back

The sun blazes overhead as Y/N steps into the junkyard, eyes wide with excitement.

“This place is awesome!” Y/N exclaims, practically bouncing on her toes. “It’s like a treasure hunt, but better because it’s all free!”

Kiara chuckles beside her. “I mean, it’s not the best place for treasures, but yeah, you could find something cool.” She swats a crow feather out of her face. 

John B, already leading the way, turns back with a grin. “Follow me, I know where the good stuff is.”

Y/N follows, practically bouncing with curiosity. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what’s in there.”

Pope, trailing behind, lets out a dramatic sigh. “Good stuff? In a junkyard? This is like a museum... for garbage.”

Y/N laughs, waving at a pile of old scrap metal. “Hey, you’d be surprised. There’s probably something worth a lot here, Pope. You never know!”

They reach the shed, and John B immediately tries to open the door. He pulls, pushes, and gives it a shoulder check, but it’s locked.

“Uh, guys,” John B mutters, frowning. “It’s locked.”

“Duh,” Pope replies, unimpressed. “It’s a shed. Who’s surprised?”

John B shrugs. “Well, this shed’s too interesting to leave alone. JJ, grab the crowbar. We’re getting in.”

JJ jumps into action, grinning. “This is gonna be fun.”

Pope looks around nervously. “This is a terrible idea. We’re gonna get caught.”

“Relax,” John B says, already walking back to make room for JJ. “It's fine. We’ll just—”

JJ pulls out the crowbar and gives it a couple of solid swings against the shed’s door. The sound of metal against metal echoes across the junkyard. On the third swing, the door creaks open with a groan, revealing the dark interior.

“Here we go!” JJ says, his grin widening. He steps into the shed like he just found buried treasure.

Y/N steps forward, eyes lighting up. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what’s in here.”

But as the group floods into the dimly lit shed, their excitement quickly fades. The place is stacked with nothing but junk—old furniture, broken tools, and boxes of random stuff, nothing of any real value. The walls are lined with old tires, discarded appliances, and garbage bags.

“What the hell?” Y/N says, her voice deflating. “This is... this is just junk.”

“I told you,” Pope mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. “Who in their right mind would call this ‘good stuff’?”

John B shrugs, undeterred. “Hey, sometimes the best finds are hidden under a pile of garbage.”

JJ pulls a dusty old television out of a box and wipes it off. “Look, I found this! I mean, it’s not working, but who wouldn’t want a retro TV in their house, right?”

Pope raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, because that’s totally what I want—vintage junk.”

And then, the door slams shut.

Y/N spins around, eyes wide. “Uh, guys? The door just closed.”

Kiara, who’s looking around the room with increasing unease, says, “No way. We’re locked in? Are you kidding me?”

John B goes to grab the handle, but it’s stuck. “Great. Of course, the door’s stuck now.”

JJ, still casually rummaging through junk, stops and looks up. “Wait, seriously? We’re locked in?”

“Yeah, JJ!” Y/N says, her voice rising with a mix of panic and amusement. “We’re locked in. Look at this place. There’s no way out.”

Pope starts pacing, his calm demeanor cracking. “This is not happening. We’re literally locked in a shed in a junkyard.”

Kiara looks around, her eyes darting from one junk pile to the next. “Well, at least it’s not a stranger’s shed. I guess we could just chill... but, uh... still... someone has to come looking for us, right?”

Y/N starts laughing, despite the situation. “I mean, yeah. Worst case, we just start a new life in the junkyard. It's practically our new home now.”

JJ throws his hands up. “Yeah! We’ll live off moldy pizza boxes and tire swings. Total dream life!”

John B glares at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Guys, seriously, quit joking. We need to get out of here.”

“Right,” Pope mutters, pulling at the door again. “Maybe if we just pull it...”

The group tries everything—pulling, kicking, even trying to knock the door down, but nothing works. After several attempts, the group begins to lose their energy, and the silence hangs heavy for a moment.

“Okay, so we’re stuck in here,” John B says, flopping down onto an old recliner, his voice nonchalant. “This is officially our new hangout spot, I guess.”

Kiara glares at him. “This isn’t funny.”

“No, really,” John B grins, raising an eyebrow. “You guys remember that one time we got stuck in that abandoned house during that storm? Remember how much fun we had?”

Y/N snorts. “Yeah, except that house was less junk-y and more... ghost house.”

“I mean, this place is just as fun, right?” JJ says, flopping down next to her, pulling a rusted license plate out of a box. “We got old stuff. We got... character.” He waves it around like it's some kind of trophy.

“Sure,” Pope grumbles, “if by ‘character’ you mean ‘how many ways can you die while inside a shed full of junk.’”

John B suddenly jumps up. “Wait, I’ve got it. We break out the windows!”

Kiara looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “John B, that’s not a good idea—”

But John B is already going for it. “Just trust me!”

After a few attempts, they finally manage to break the window, with John B leading the charge. The group spills out into the sunlight, everyone covered in dirt and laughing like it’s no big deal.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Y/N says, brushing off her hands with a grin. “I guess we can cross ‘getting locked in a shed’ off our bucket list.”

Kiara punches her lightly on the arm. “Yeah, not on my list, but sure, let's count it.”

Pope straightens up, shaking his head. “That was a mess. But at least it was... interesting.”

John B slings his arm around Y/N's shoulders, laughing. “Another Tuesday with the Pogues. Couldn’t get any better, right?”

—

A/N: Pogues back to business as usual. Don’t worry—Rafe’ll be back next time. Please drop a thought if anything stuck out to you, I love hearing what you all think!

–

Next time: secrets don’t stay hidden for long

—

Taglist: @hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty , @enjoymyloves , @bilssturns , @dragonslight , @willowpains , @sidney-86

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, graphic violence, blood, poor writing, possible ooc,

Part 17: oopsie-daisies

🔹🔹🔹

“can you even properly see over the dash?”

Damian rolls his eyes exaggeratedly as he scowls in your direction quickly before his eyes return to the road, he hits the brakes a little too hard and you're certain he's trying to get you to choke on your juice, the little bastard-

“Do you think I'd pick a car I couldn't properly operate.”

He sounds so offended that you have to hold in a snicker, to be completely fair to him he's doing pretty good, He clearly knows all the traffic laws and he looks comfortable with himself, guess those alleged lessons with dick are going well?

“I'm allowed to express concern you know, it's a valid question when my life is at stake here.” you hide your smirk by turning your head to stare out the dark tinted window at the dark Gotham streets, the street level looks different at night. You'd asked about the legality of the tinted glass earlier and all you got was a ‘people don't care about those things here’ from the preteen, whatever the fuck that means.

Damian's huffy reply drags your gaze back to him before you can get lost in thought. “if you're so worried I'll crash how come you're sitting like that? You know you're at increased risk of injury, right.” it's your turn to roll your eyes when he throws a pointed look at your shoes propped up on the wooden dash,

“Maybe I'm testing my luck, God can't catch me lacking twice in a row or whatever you kids say these days.” you snicker unashamedly when Damian groans in that way teenagers do when they're feeling secondhand embarrassment, who knew you'd enjoy tormenting a child.

He gapes at you in a look of horror usually reserved for boomers, you're surprised he didn't throw your juice out the window or something. “I hate you. Don't use those words again please.”

“Don't be a hater, I came with you to help you get over your fratricidal tendencies not give you incentive.” you openly laugh when his jaw clenches and he sighs loudly, refusing to even look in your direction.

“I'm putting you in a bad retirement home.”

“Shush and focus on the road, if you crash I'm not paying.” you stare out the window again while loudly sipping your drink out of pettiness . “obviously father would pay for any damages done in a hypothetical crash.”

Another eye roll, maybe you two are actually secretly related or something.

“I meant the food, kiddo.” He looks at you like you just stepped on his dog's foot, huffing through his nose at you while a comfortable silence settles over the car for a few moments. You doubt this is what Damian wanted you to join him for, but he doesn't look unhappy to have you along.

Eventually he pulls the car into a parking lot, and throws it in park, something called a batburger sits in front of you.

The parking lots practically empty, odd this time of evening. Damian's unbuckling his seatbelt so clearly he intends to go in regardless of the eerie feeling. You're not letting him go in there alone so you unbuckle your self and start to open the door.

“whatever you're getting I'm getting, so pick something actually decen-”

You're debating whether it's safer for the kid to stay in the car or come in with you when something cold suddenly presses against your temple, you don't even have to look to know what exactly it is, you've been in this situation before after all.

“No sudden moves, Wayne.”

Wow, you didn't even have to get out of the car to get a gun to the face.

It's hard to see much of him with the position your heads stuck in, a dark wool coat and dark jeans is what's most visible in your peripheral, average height, the slight tremor against your skull tells you enough about the guy. The strong scent of too many cigarettes can't quite cover his nerves.

“Easy there…. Not in front of the kid.” Your eyes dart towards Damian while your voice trembles, shaking hands raising in front of you slowly. Damian's own hands raise when the guy leans down to glance in the car window at him, giving you get a good look at his face now, or rather what's visible above the bandana covering his nose and mouth.

Shaggy hair, grey eyes and a clear scar from a recently healed broken nose bridge fills your peripheral, he scrutinizes you both with clearly forced vitriol.

“The kid's gonna be just fine if you keep your pretty little mouth shut and do as I say, you and I are gonna take a little walk so your baby doesn't get scared. Just down that alley, if you make any funny moves I'll light up the car.” The mans voice is raspy, smelling strongly of cigarette as he nudges your head with the barrel of the handgun.

Wanting just you to move to a secondary location? That can't happen, you're not leaving a kid alone in Gotham with who-knows-what.

“Okay…. I'm reaching for the door…” you announce your moves before you do anything so he doesn't get trigger happy, Damian reacts strongly to your words and grabs your arm tightly. “what? No! You're not leaving.”

The man snarls and points the gun right at Damian. “You shut your mouth before I shut your parents mouth-ack!”

Pointing the gun at Damian's head was the last straw. You grab the gun as quickly as possible, hand squeezing around the barrel and slide as tight as you can shoving his hand up towards the roof of the car while at the same time slamming your weight into the partially open door, it slams into the man's gut before he can finish his threat.

With his grip on it sufficiently loosened you twist it out of his grasp and all but throw the magazine out and pull the slide back to make sure there's nothing in the chamber, the moron didn't even have it properly loaded. When he grunts outside the car you quickly turn your body towards the door and donkey kick it as hard as you can, once again slamming the metal into the man when he tried to recover from the shock.

“You fucking bit-” you roll your eyes while climbing out of the car and standing over the fallen would-be attacker, his nose crunches sickeningly under your shoe when you kick him.

“Oops, right on that scar too. What a shame.” You hear Damian climb out of the car but you don't pay him any mind as you roll the bleeding guy over with your shoe, the man yanks his bandana down and you get an eyeful of his bleeding broken nose and tobacco stained teeth bared in a snarl.

“What the fucks wrong with you-” you kick him in the gut this time and he tries to grab your leg with his bloody hands, you quickly sidestep and when he gets in his hands and knees you grab the car door again, this time he screams when the metal slams against his head.

“What's your angle here.” Your voice is dead calm as you look down at the struggling man, eyes darting around while you make sure no one's sneaking up on you during your little interrogation attempt.

“go to hell!” When the man tries to spit blood on your feet you reach through the open car door and grab the gun, pressing it against his temple in a mirrored mockery of how all this started.

You watch his breathing change as he meets your stare, his bloodshot eyes darting between the handgun and your cold expression quickly. “That's not what I asked, what was your plan here. Just looking for some quick pocket change? Or did your friends put you up to this?”

His Adams apple bobs as he swallows thickly, you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about how to respond.

“…I'd rather die than tell you anything, rich bastard!”

“You hesitated.” you cock the hammer slowly. “You're staring down the barrel of a gun while talking about dying, you're clearly with someone. what do they have over your head that's so important, information? Debt?”

You notice in your peripheral damian circling around the car and he's standing close behind you, his stance wide and his head turning quickly. Is he watching your back?

“Are you a fucking cop or something? Shut your dirty who-” a smack from the gun silences the attacker quickly enough, he spits out more blood before glaring up at you weakly, the fear apparent in his body language. “I didn't tell you to question me.”

He scowls up at you weakly, blood and tears dripping down his face from the broken nose.

“…you're not getting nothing outta me, you don't know what real issues are up in your big shiny estate acting like you're above us all. Like you own Gotham and everyone in it. they're gonna burn all you son's a bitches to the ground someday, you'll know who owns who then.”

Wow did he practice that in the mirror, you're unimpressed as you stare down at him after he finishes his monologue.

“So you're part of the pyromaniac's club then, figures.”

His eyes widen. “wh-what?” he quickly tries to grab at your face with his blood streaked hands, clearly in some kind of panic.

He goes very still when the gun barrel is jammed in his mouth, scraping against his teeth while he stares up at you with wide, teary eyes. He shakily grabs at your wrists but doesn't make and sudden moves, guess you finally scared him straight.

“holy shit stop!” a gloved hands grabs at your shoulders and tries to yank the gun from your grasp, you nearly lash out at the attacker before you recognize the cape and cowl, rolling your eyes when you realize it's one of the heroes here.

“easy, cape. It's not what it looks like.”

You let red Robin pull you away from the guy, he nearly slams you down against the car hood while he tries to wrestle the gun from you, guess he doesn't believe you.

“it's not loaded, relax!” You grunt at the rough treatment, hand relaxing and allowing the young hero to pry it from your fingers and check that it's indeed not loaded and therefore not deadly. this body really isn't used to this kind of abuse yet…

You didn't expect Damian to jump in though.

Smaller hands rip the tight grip off your wrists and he roughly pushes the hero away enough that you can straighten up again. “oh my God can you fuck off!? This doesn't concern you!” Damian cussing out the hero is….. Surprising.

“Doesn't ’concern me’? I think someone getting brutalized in a public parking lot is cause for concern, kid.”

“I think you should be more focused on the man who threatened our lives, kid.” Damian crosses his arms over his chest with the biggest scowl on his face you've seen yet, you don't know what his beef is with the vigilante but this is….. Personal?

Red Robin scoffs at presumably the both of you and quickly goes to zip tie the man still in the ground, you can feel the wariness radiating off him even without seeing his expression at all. You step between him and Damian out of some unfamiliar instinct.

“Damian, please let me handle this.” Your voice is firm as you turn to address the hero. “The man attacked me and…. My child, attempted to kidnap me and threatened to murder the boy. You might not like how it looks but I did my job as a guardian.”

Red Robin glances at you for a moment with an unreadable expression while he checks over the guy, when he pulls ductape and a syringe from one of the wool coat pockets he finally seems to get over himself a bit, shoulders dropping as he pulls an evidence bag out of a belt pouch.

“you probably gave him PTSD and a concussion.” his voice of still firm, chastising you for how you handled things as if he knows best.

It pisses you right off immediately, you know for a fact that the vigilantes have done worse in this city. You're keeping watch of them through the news after all. He's a damn hypocrite who thinks you should've laid down and taken it like a lamb, left the child to his own devices so you didn't make ripples in their pond. your eyes narrow as your tone goes much colder when you reply to him.

“Good, maybe he'll learn something from it, I did.”

His head whips towards you as he stands up, shock apparent in his unsure stance while he looks you up and down.

“…. Just…. Go home. I'm getting this man to a hospital.”

One brow quirks up as you give him an incredulous look, your eyes dart to the dented and slightly blood spattered car door before looking back at the caped vigilante.

“I think the cops are gonna want to speak to me about this.”

He shakes his head and lifts his hand to his head like he's gonna run his hands down his face or over his scalp, but stops himself so his hand just drops awkwardly.

“I'll handle that right now, someone will talk to you later…just get out.”

You intend to protest, tell him you know what the protocol is in these situations but he just points at the car like you're a dog he's sending to a crate.

Damian tugs on your jacket and you finally break your stare down with the hero, wordlessly he gestures with his head towards the car so you comply, fishing the magazine and loose bullets out of the cushions which you hand to the vigilante.

“here's some evidence, I think there's DNA in the door locks too, I'll tell our butler not to touch it.”

your voice is clipped, as soon as he takes them from your grasp and starts to tuck them into an evidence bag you turn away and cross around the car, Damian doesn't question you when your slide into the driver's seat, just gets in your previous spot, ignoring the fine misted blood spatter and spilled juice, in fact he doesn't say anything at all when you start to drive the car out of the parking lot.

🔹🔹🔹

You know you're fucked when you walk into the manor and see Bruce on the couch alongside Alfred.

Damian speaks first, clearly trying to get ahead of the situation.

“ahem, hello father….. Me and parent went ou-” Bruce points towards the direction of the stairs in the other hall. “I know Damian. Go to your room.”

Damian looks shaken at the rough tone in Bruce's voice, his eyes darting towards you. Comfort seeking maybe? You gently pat his shoulder when he subtly leans closer to you, your eyes never leaving the two men across the room.

“…but i-” Damian tries to start again but Bruce standing up effectively silences him. “your room, Damian. I need to talk to (name) right now.”

Damian's head ducks down and he gently pushes your hand off him, wordlessly turning on his heel and leaving the room, slamming the door shut to show he's displeased as he disappears.

The room falls silent for a moment save for the echo of the door slamming into the frame, Bruce's eyes meet yours as he slowly puts his hands on his hips, you know by the tense jaw and stiff shoulders he's unhappy.

“…how come I found out you and my youngest child weren't home from commissioner Gordon of all people.” he speaks slowly, voice low as if he only wants the people in the room to hear him.

You casually cross the room to stand in front of him, a coffee table the only thing between you two. You shove your hands into your pockets with a forced casual air about you. “the kid wanted to go out so I went with him, hello to you too by the way. How was your day.”

Neither man reacts well to your sarcasm, Alfred pinches the bridge of his nose and leans his head back against the couch cushions. “Master Wayne...”

Bruce sighs deeply and crosses his arms over his chest, her slowly steps around the table so there's nothing between you. “quit the bullshit.”

Anger prickles under your skin again as they both call you out, first the hero and now them?

“what are you asking of me then, what was I supposed to do here, let the kid go out without anyone to supervise? He would've been kidnapped or worse.” your words are forcibly calm, the eye contact getting intense.

Bruce doesn't take that well though, his hands fly up and he gestures at you with clear anger while his voice rises in volume.

“You're supposed to talk to me about my kid! Even one single text would've been better than the nothing you've given me to work with! You should've said no to Damian and told me what he was up to, not this sneaking around shit-” you roll your eyes and cut him off firmly.

“oh so only you're allowed to hide things, I wonder where he's learning that.” your voice is practically a hiss, you free your hands from your pockets and cross them over your chest while stepping closer to the man.

Bruce's expression falls into something between confusion and anger, eyes flicking towards Alfred for just a second before returning to you. “…what're you talking about…”

Alfred jumps up with surprising speed for his age, he knows where this is going. “Master Wayne, Bruce, this is not the time nor the place for-”

You ignore the older man and gesture at Bruce angrily, nearly jabbing your finger into his chest. “was it a car wreck? A trip down the stairs? What's the next one gonna be Bruce? Maybe Alfred's making up evidence for a cycling incident? Gonna tell me this was a grease burn next?”

You yank the sleeve of his tee shirt up and gesture at the bandages around his bicep, he pushes your hand away and scowls at you.

“You don't get to turn this around on me (name), this is about your actions. you or Damian could've died out there, would you have bothered to tell me then?”

You nearly roll your eyes again. “I had it handled.” you snap at him louder than you intended, but you're not apologizing now. Not while you're pissed.

His nostrils flare in anger and he turns away from you to pace around the room, probably a tick when he's worked up. “I saw the pictures, I know how you ‘handled’ it. What if there was a group? Would you have ‘handled’ an organized attack, or the car getting firebombed? Goddamn it (name)! I'm supposed to keep you and the kids safe!”

You hate how he's talking about you like you're an idiot with zero preservation skills and no autonomy, you're a goddamn adult who can do what they want for crying out loud! Your next words are cruel and you know it before you even spit them out.

“Like at the charity gala?” The room goes dead silent, Bruce's expression twists as he sits back down on the couch with pained body language. His eyes don't leave your form while he seems to deflate a little, Alfred looks between the both of you silently. The old man pursing his lips and looking like he wants to intervene but thankfully he doesn't, you'd probably snap at him too for his own bullshit.

“…. That's not fair and you know it.”

Bruce's words are clipped, but he can't hide the discomfort in his body language, the crossing arms and leaning away from you even though you're not close to him indicating his hurt.

“I know it's not, that's why you need to get it through your head that sometimes shit happens out of your control. I'm going to do what I need to when things are dangerous, clearly, accept it or don't.”

Turning on your heel, You all but stomp away as Bruce calls after you to come back, you have no intention of continuing this if he's just gonna scold you with Alfred like they're your handler's. God you wish you had a punching bag right now.

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A/n: I feel like apologizing for the sudden angst 😭 hopefully the fight scene isn't too cringe it's my first time writing that kind of thing in detail 😓 that said I hope y'all are having a good weekend and are taking care of yourselves! 💞

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[two-white-butterflies]

we'll meet again

Description: Two old friends meet again, wearing older faces...I guess you know how this goes. In which, you have a flawed relationship, a flawed breakup, and a flawed reunion with the one that you love the most.

Pairing: harvey specter/doctor!reader (age gap)

AUGUST 2012

It won't end just because I say no.

Three days ago, the worst thing happened. You found an engagement ring in your boyfriend's coat pocket, and he has never spoken about marriage to you. He has always been vocal about having a skewed perception of marriage because of his parents. He always used to say that he liked things as they were.

But gods, yes, you did envision a successful future with him. You did see yourself getting married and having kids and living in a bigger house - but getting married right now is too soon.

You still have to finish medical school, then a hell of a residency.

"I think we need to talk," you settled on the couch beside him. It's the first time in months that the both of you are inside the apartment at the same time.

You couldn't even look him in the eye, your eyes only trailed back and forth between the herringbone floors of your NYC apartment. You don't fail to notice the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. His girlfriend of five years. His girlfriend who survived stayed at his side during his dark days at the D.A.'s office. His girlfriend who stood beside him through everything, is still standing beside him as he works for Pearson Hardman.

His girlfriend. His future wife.

"Yes?" He raises an eyebrow, patting the empty spot beside him - motioning for you to scoot a little closer. Harvey has always had a hard time vocalizing his feelings, but you know that he loves you. He does not need to tell you a thousand times. He settles a hand on your waist, inhaling your scent of roses.

"I found something in your coat yesterday." His grip tightens around your waist. "- If it is what I think it is. I'm not ready to get married, Harvey." You quickly added, not leaving enough time for him to respond. There are still a million things you want to do on your own, a million things that you want to prove to yourself before considering yourself worthy of becoming the Harvey Specter's wife.

"Oh," usually a very composed lawyer, but now unable to form a comprehensible sentence. "I-I," he stumbled in his speech, unaware that his grip has already loosed around your body.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm sorry for not taking your feelings into consideration." He apologized. His eyes were watery. He had unbelievable restraint when it comes to fighting in court but the thought of losing you makes his chest tighten. The same way that he felt when he ran away from home. "No, I'm sorry. I don't think that I'm in a place where marriage is a choice yet. I'm going to finish med-school this year and I want to be a neurosurgeon. I want to fall in love with my profession before getting married, and you are amazing guy Harvey. I'll marry you a thousand times, but not now." You explained with a frown.

Both of you are unwilling to address the elephant in the room.

25 and 34.

It wasn't an age chasm per se, but you were at different points in your lives. Harvey was already a successful lawyer - known in his field, working in one of the best law firms in NYC, and you were just there. No one even knows you in the university that you're studying in. You're just one of those kids smart enough to make it into Ivy but not smart enough to actually stand out.

"I'm scared of making a mistake," your voice turns into a whisper in the last sentence. "I'm scared of hurting you because I don't know if I can do it without you," you added. His features merge into something indescribable - sadness and frustration merged into one.

He's a good smart man.

He's never forced you to do something that you didn't want to do with your entire heart, and it is because of that reason that you are mad at him, because you know that even if you hurt him - he'll still stand beside you, make the sacrifice of never getting married if it meant being with you.

And the truth is, you are not as remarkable as him to make that sacrifice for.

"Don't say that," he frowns while pulling your body closer. He puts a smile on his face. "- You'll never hurt me." He promised.

He interlocks your fingers together. "We're going to get through this. I'm glad that you were comfortable enough to talk to me. I completely understand and I am not disappointed." He reassures, caging you in a warm embrace and you lean deeper into his touch, until he lifts you from the couch and you are now sitting on his lap.

"I know. I just don't want to a selfish bit-" you rambled.

"You are not selfish for being yourself. You do not owe me anything." He corrects, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You continued staring at his features, able to discern between the personality that he has reserved for the outside and for you. "I love you, Harvs." You pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you too," he answers.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, and you make a promise to yourself. It is all going to be better in the end. We will get married, but not right now.

yourname: ❤️

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comments

donnapaulsen: Thanks for being my substitute secretary 🤣 - yourname: couldn't be more honored 🙏🏻😘

HannaBanana: She posts as she cries about our 48 hr shifts - yourname: give me 4 cups of coffee and it'll go thru fast - - HannaBanana: 2 redbulls trust me on this one

Six months later, you were chosen to work in a hospital in Singapore. A country known for being a pioneer in Asian healthcare. It was fun working in another country despite the blazing heat.

Harvey (Roam Sim) Went out to grab some groceries. I got grapes but I remembered you weren't here.

You I'm proud of u 🥰 finally doing grocery for yourself but baby please get over your grape-hate

Harvey (Roam Sim) I don't eat infant wine I gave them to Donna

You She hates grapes too Should've given it to Louis #GetLitt

Harvey (Roam Sim) Funny attempt at making puns

You I'm hilarious hun Seen 4:52pm

A sigh escapes your mouth, seeing that he has yet to reply to your message. It was almost 5am in the morning back in New York. This arrangement has been very difficult for both of you, there are only six golden hours every day when you're able to speak to each other.

And it all depends on your shift.

"Made you some coffee," Anchilee offers, placing the cup on your desk. "You're an angel," you mumbled while taking a sip.

"Still having relationship problems?" She asks and you nod.

"It's been tough." You breathed.

"It's normal for couples to hit a rocky road because of distance. I faced the same thing with my husband myself, but your boyfriend is a lawyer, right? Don't let him go." She teases.

Your phone rings. Harvey (Roam Sim) is calling... you slide to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sorry I'm in the middle of driving."

"Drive safe. Did Ray take a day off?"

"He got sick. How are you?" He asks.

Even after all these years, his voice still brings warmth to your soul.

"I'm alright. I'm in the middle of my lunch break and I have to shadow an operation later. What about you? You're a little early for work." You make an observation, and he hums.

"Early bird always gets the worms sweetheart. But enough of work, are you free next week?" He strangely asks.

"Yep, I might spend the entire week playing DOTA, which I do not have an addiction to, please do not schedule an intervention." You giggled before he could scold you about the dangers of addiction to online games. "Put your computer away because I booked tickets to Singapore. Let's have fun." He says.

You wanted to feel happy, but the smile doesn't reach your eyes.

I love him, with all of my heart but I'm staring to love being alone by myself.

The life that you build here in Singapore is lonely and you like it.

"I'll pick you up at the airport. Send me your flight details,"

"I'll take the train. Don't you worry, I'll also bring iced coffee and fries."

"I see that you've finally been influenced by my iced coffee ways." You teased. "- Can you please bring fries from there? They don't taste the same here." You requested with a soft whine. He chuckles.

"I will." He promises.

"Thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, goodbye."

"Bye."

DECEMBER 2018

Harvey never came to Singapore.

You had a fight the day before his flight. You won't go into the details but it was horrible - for the lack of better words. There were two types of fights: one that can be fixed by a few hugs and kisses, and the other fights are better left unresolved.

Six years ago, he chose to defend Cameron Dennis instead of telling the truth - and judging from your conversations with Donna, he has already paid for that sin. You cannot really hold it against him anymore. Six years later, and you want to believe that you've forgotten about him but you most definitely have not.

He was your first and last boyfriend.

"I swear to god," you mumbled while opening your yahoo account to check for any important emails.

harveyspecter@pearsonhardman.us sent an email! Just Now

"What the fuck!" You close your laptop shut.

You open the laptop slightly as if the email was going to leap out of its feet and jump at you. "Why would he email me?" Your throat suddenly felt dry. You click on the dash and the email appears.

from: harveyspecter@pearsonhardman.us

I have a confession to make, the first time I saw you. I liked you.

I've spent a lot of time with people, both men and women alike and this profession has exposed me to the darkest parts of them. It almost made me lose faith in humanity. I used to believe that we were all pigs. Me included, but not you, never you.

When I took you on a date, you were the first person I saw who ordered pain au chocolates during breakfast with iced coffee and no water. I told myself, I like this girl. She's going to be my wife.

You have something special inside of you. You have that spirit. You are by far the bravest girl I have ever met. Days, weeks, and months passed. I don't know if it is because you opened your heart to me, or I forced myself to open up to you but we became lovers. You always used to tease me for my praying skills. I don't pray but somehow, I felt like I was God's favorite child because he gave me you.

I never thought that love could be this reliable. I love every moment. I love every bit of you. Your love. Your kindness. Your ambition.

We bared our souls to each other, and because of you, I started believing in love again, because of you, I found the beauty in love. I started to fight for what I believed in. I began to be a better person. I started to be brave. But, I'm sorry I could not go the entire way.

Not right now.

Five years together, I thought we were good. More than five years going on forever, or so I thought. What happened? Why did we break up? I'm writing this email a few days after our fight. Jessica has been on my back the entire time. I've been calling your phone too.

But today, I decided to stop bothering you.

I have decided to let you be and give you the space that you need. That's why I'm sending this email, six years from today. You'll be thirty-one years old by then and I hope that you are happy. I hope that you can do everything that you wanted to do, everything that I stopped you from doing because I wanted you to marry me.

I hope that after six years, you're able to decide if you want to be with me forever. I'll wait, knowing that one day, I'll be back. I will do everything it takes to bring you back. I will never lose hope that we will have our second chance.

Regards Harvey Specter,

"Shit." The first words that escaped your mouth once you realized that you had been crying. You silently wiped the tears from your eyes. If only you knew that he felt this way back then.

Anchilee hands you a glass of champagne.

"Thank you for attending my party. I've been begging you for years now." She places a hand on your back, guiding you to navigate the sea of people in the living room. "Oh please if you didn't mention the free flight, I would not have found the power to come." You giggled.

Honestly, your hands felt clammy around the champagne flute. It has been your first time in six years to step foot in American soil.

"You should introduce me to your dad. I've yet to congratulate him for retiring," you reminded. Having remembered Anchilee's father as a rich but humble businessman.

You turn around to walk in the direction of the open bar. You freeze, catching a glimpse of a familiar figure in the crowd.

Harvey, the man that loved you.

He sees you too, and your eyes momentarily meet.

31 and 40.

Anchilee sees your lingering stare. "Oh, that's my dad's lawyer. After he got sued for a billion dollars, he'd become very close with that Harvey Specter fellow." She whispers, moving you to a secluded place. Anchilee was aware that you had a boyfriend back in the past, but you never bothered to tell her his name - you weren't really that close back then.

"He's my ex," you blurted out and she almost choked on her piña colada. "What?" Her eyebrows merged together. "Why would you break up with him?" Her eyes widened slightly. Mostly because she knows how much her father pays him.

Obviously, no one in their right mind would ever break up with him. He was everything that a woman desired, tall, handsome, intelligent, and rich - and things wouldn't have ended the way they did if the circumstances had been different. "I get it that you're this beautiful hotshot surgeon, but he's seriously the only man who fits your standards. Correction, the only living man." Anchilee glares at you.

"It was just the wrong time." You shook your head.

It could have ended differently.

You should have said yes to his proposal, regardless of the feelings of sadness you felt at first. "Maybe this time?" Anchilee raised an eyebrow, teasing you. "Maybe not," You giggled.

"Hello," a voice from behind you greets.

This better be -

You are greeted with an unfamiliar face. "I'm Harry. Nice to meet you." He greets and you introduce yourself while shaking his hand. He was quite an eccentric-looking figure, he had a clean-shaven face, and he had a tattoo on his pointer finger.

"Oh, you're that guy in the band." You smile, remembering the nights you spent singing his songs. "Yeah." He confirms.

"- I'm sorry for ambushing you, but I felt alone in a sea filled of distinguished professionals dressed to the nines, and I don't mean to offend but.."

"I'm alone." You cut him off with a chuckle. "- it's alright, I basically have no social life as my work takes up the majority of my time." You explained. To other people, being on the call 24/7 was hell, but to you, it was the good type of hell - if saving people can be called that. "You are the surgeon friend of Anchilee." He remembers.

"Are you friends with her too?" You inquired and he shakes his head. "A friend of a friend," he corrects.

Before you could reply to him, he glances at the man behind you.

You turn around, and see Harvey.

"If you will excuse me," Harry pats your shoulder.

The sight of him still brings such warm feelings to your heart, filling your body with joy. There was silence between you. A silence that seemed to speak louder than words.

"You still look the same," he breaks the silence. "You look different," you answered. He had a different hairstyle. He wore a black suit instead of the dark blue that he always wears. He smelled like powdery flowers instead of after-shave. He is different.

"I hope that that's a compliment," he cracks a smile.

Wow, you're beginning to sound like two old friends, but he doesn't want to be friends. He doesn't even want to talk to you unless it all goes back to normal. "How you've been?" You asked, mirroring his smile, attempting to navigate a conversation with him. "I've been worst, how about you?" He answers vaguely, no longer able to speak random flowing sentences about small occurrences in his daily life.

His response was a generic response now.

Something that flows languidly out of his tongue.

How are you? I'm okay. Are you alright? Yeah.

"I think I am worst," your nose scrunches up.

He stares at you, the same indescribable look that he wore when you first fought. How about now? His eyes said. Let's try again. His silence said far louder than words. "Do you think that things could have ended more differently?" You inquired, and he is bitterly reminded of your bluntness (a feature he still adores.)

"You got the email," he smiles bitterly.

"I managed to read through it, and I don't really know what to do." You shrugged, the distance between you becoming closer and closer. "You can delete the email." He jokes, "- I felt really guilty when we called things off. I felt like I was losing the love of my life, and I was. I did. But I was also really thankful that it ended, because being alone taught me a lot of things. I'm not the same person anymore." Your teeth burrows into the insides of your cheeks.

"It was the wrong time. We've never good timing," he comments, and you are thrown back into that video you made during New Year's Eve 2010, where you were both a minute too soon in celebrating the New Year. "I'm miserable." You admit.

Five friends. A million dollars in your bank account. A real estate portfolio, and you were miserable.

His features softened.

And you knew that he was miserable too.

"When you're a lawyer, you learn how to look at life from a different perspective. They say that criminals are vital to society because without them there wouldn't be cops, or lawyers like me. When you left, I figured that heartbreak was good because it meant that there was more room for love. Despite that, my heart still didn't have room for anyone - no other love other than yours, no other sadness." He takes a step forward, and you are thankful to have been in the secluded part of the gardens.

"- but if you love me just because you love me, that is not an enough reason. Love in its essence cannot feed a starving mouth. There needs to be respect, and kindness. Respect and kindness that was there between us, six years ago, but wasn't strong enough to fight against the test of time." He places his hands on your shoulders.

"Let's start again, as stronger people, and maybe this time it'll be the right timing." You proposed, your eyes having a conversation of its own. Love is always a beating risk, but that is part of the thrill.

A bird falls from its nest to learn how to fly.

"Let's try again, then." He agrees, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And somehow, that forehead kiss was more intimate than any kiss to the lips.

Inspired by Starting Over Again (2014) although, I am not a Toni Gonzaga defender.

A rewrite of my fic titled maybe this time.

[maviscat123]

Anatomy II

By: JohnBoy

Someone was pounding on the door...

Big Jim Reese woke up with a snort; he'd been having a late afternoon nap on the cot in his office. His "office" was actually a small trailer, parked amongst some trees near the back of the construction site.

Jim sat up groggily -- he coughed and slowly ran a large, beefy hand over the stubble on his shaved head. The pounding came again, more urgent this time.

"Hey, Mr. Reese! You in there?" It sounded like a young guy.

"Yeah, yeah," he spoke in his deep baritone, "hold on a sec." The huge black man got up and opened the door.

It was Ken, the son of the crane-operator. He was tall and rather well-built, about 20 or so, sandy blond and blue-eyed, and with a tuft of bristly beard on the end of his chin.

Jim had noticed (on the four or five other occasions that he'd met him) that he always acted a bit shy and nervous around him. Probably, he guessed, because he was intimidated by his size: Jim was a half-foot taller than him, and probably out- weighed the kid by at least 130 pounds (a good deal of it was solid muscle, too).

"Hey Kenny, what're you doin' here?"

"Is-- is my Dad here?"

"Nope, he's gone home already." Jim yawned; he thought the young man looked even more nervous than usual. "Uh, everything okay?"

Ken glanced over his shoulder. "The cops are after me, man."

"What?" Jim looked towards the street; he could see a police cruiser pulling up in front of the site. He'd heard that this boy had been in trouble with the law in the past: B&E, some minor theft...

"I need a place to hide. Please, you gotta let me in!"

Jim sighed. He wanted nothing to do with this kid's problems. But an idea was starting to form in his head... and before he even realized it, he said, "Okay, get in." Ken was peeking out through the blinds, watching the cop. Jim had not asked him what kind of trouble he was in this time, and the kid hadn't told him...

"What's he doing?" Jim asked.

"He's just talking to one of the workers. Wait-- shit, the guy's pointing this way!"

Kenny looked around the trailer. "Fuck, if I get caught this time, I'm going to jail for sure. You can't let him find me!"

"If he wants to look in here, I don't think I can really stop him."

"But... there's no place to hide in here! What am I gonna do?"

"Well," he said slowly, trying to sound nonchalant, "I got a suggestion."

"What??"

"How much you weigh, Kenny?"

"Wha--? Uh, about 190, I guess. Why?"

Jim tugged thoughtfully at his wiry, dark goatee. This young man was a fair bit bigger than the doctor had been. He wondered, could he do it?

"You can hide... in here." Jim pointed to his stomach.

"Huh?"

"I could swallow you."

Ken just stared at him.

Jim went on, "Just for awhile. I could swallow you whole and hide you inside my belly, just 'til the cop leaves. Don't worry, you'll be safe. If he comes up here lookin' for you, well... there's no way he'd find ya. Then when he's gone, I'll let you out."

Ken continued to stare at him.

"Well? What do you think?"

"Oh come on... this is a joke, right?"

"No, I mean it. I'm serious."

"You're crazy, Mr. Reese. You can't swallow a whole person. It's-- it's frickin' impossible!!"

"Well, yeah, for most people. But I'm different; there's somethin' special about my anatomy that lets me do it. Big mouth, big throat, big stomach... just ask my doctor. Trust me, I can do it." Jim knew this might not be completely true... after all, when he'd done it before (three days earlier), Doctor Moffat had given him some kind of injection as well. Whether he could do it now, without the drug, remained to be seen.

Ken still seemed unconvinced. He looked out the window again, anxiously.

"Well, we're runnin' outta time, son," Jim said, "Do you wanna try it or not?"

"But... you'll let me back out, right?"

"Yeah, sure, of course I will."

The kid shrugged. "What the hell, I guess I got no choice. Okay."

"Damn right!" Jim tried to suppress his excitement. Ever since the doctor's appointment, he'd been thinking of little else but swallowing someone again -- and now he had his chance!! Of course he intended to release the boy afterwards...

but he thought, maybe he could try to keep him inside for awhile? Say, ten minutes or so? Would he survive in there that long??

"Er, what should I do...?"

The big man went to the tiny fridge and pulled out a stick of butter. "Take off all yer clothes and rub this on you."

Ken's face screwed up. "What are you gonna do, fry me up first?"

"It's to make you slide down easy. Come on. And take that earring off, too." Jim looked through the blinds. "You better hurry up, son. I think the cop is comin' this way," he lied.

Kenny started to undress. Jim took off his own shirt, undid the button on his jeans, and unzipped his fly part-way. He saw Ken looking at him as he did this, and said, "Gotta make room for ya." He patted his belly. "You're a big boy."

The young man was completely nude now. After hesitating for a moment, he picked up the stick of butter and began to rub it over his chest. "It's cold!"

"Don't worry, you'll get nice and warmed up once you're inside me." Jim realized that he was starting to salivate. His stomach began to grumble and groan in anticipation, and he wondered if Kenny could hear it...

After the boy had buttered himself up, Jim ordered him to lie down on the cot, on his back. He dropped to his knees heavily at the foot of the cot and grabbed him firmly by the ankles, lifting his feet up. He hoped the hunger in his face wasn't too obvious. Now Jim could see a hint of fear in Ken's expression, and realized he'd have to work fast and get it done with before he changed his mind. (And just in case the policeman came around, too!)

He said in a reassuring tone, "It's okay, kid. I promise it won't hurt a bit. I've done this before." He grinned. Then he crouched down and opened his mouth very, very wide...

"Shit, man," Ken mumbled.

With a grunt, Jim quickly thrust both feet into his mouth and part-way down his throat -- Ken giggled despite his fear, squirming around as if he was being tickled. Jim grasped his legs more tightly and pushed again, taking him in almost to the knees with a thick, slurping sound.

"Holy cow, I can't believe you're doing that!" the boy said in amazement. "Hey, wait, I just thought of something... will I even be able to breathe in there?"

Jim tried to nod (which wasn't easy), and gulped again, taking his legs in even further. He couldn't believe how fantastic this felt... the kid was delicious! He'd be moaning with pleasure if his throat hadn't been so full. He wished he could slow down and enjoy every inch of Kenny's smooth, firm, sweet flesh as it slipped inside him, but there wasn't enough time -- besides, he was too ravenous!

Ken's face turned pale as he watched the huge man's mouth working to take him in, gobbling him up, the lips stretching around his hips and ass now. "Goddamn..." he whispered.

Jim's eyes were starting to roll over white with the effort. He continued to swallow, while at the same time holding Ken by his upper arms and shoving him in. Then he guided his hands into his mouth, gaping even wider to engulf the boy's muscular torso and arms. He could feel his legs starting to fold up inside his belly.

"Uhh, Mr. Reese?"

He ignored him. He couldn't believe the power of his throat muscles; it seemed they were working on auto-pilot, flexing and gulping almost on their own, practically sucking the kid down his gullet... it felt so natural. He realized there was no question now as to whether or not he needed drugs to do this.

But the most difficult part was coming: Kenny's wide shoulders...

Ken seemed to be having a bit of trouble breathing with the pressure on his chest. His eyes were starting to bug out, and there was an incredulous expression on his face; Jim imagined that he must've looked quite bizarre right now, with his mouth stetched out to grotesque proportions.

This was starting to get harder, and the sensation of fullness was unbelievable. Perhaps the boy was too big? Had he bitten off more than he could chew, so to speak?

The young man blurted, "I-- I'm not sure about this anymore. Wait..." He began to struggle feebly, but his arms were pinned to his sides, inside Jim's throat.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the trailer door. A voice called out, "Anyone in there?"

Jim's heart lunged. Shit, it was the cop! He looked Ken in the face, wondering what his reaction would be. Would he scream for help??

A moment of silence passed... then Ken seemed to make his decision: "Uh," he cleared his throat, and tried to talk in a deeper voice, "Yes, officer? I mean, who is it?"

Jim would've smiled if he could. He continued to swallow -- but now it felt like the kid was almost stuck!

"Jim Reese? I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

"Uhh... okay, er, gimme a minute," Ken said.

Jim reached out, clamped onto Ken's shoulders and began forcefully shoving him in with all his strength, swallowing hard.

The door handle rattled. "Please open up, it's the police."

"Just-- just let me get some pants on! Oh, Christ..." Kenny gasped.

Now only his head still protruded from the man's mouth. Jim pushed on the crown of his head with both hands, and he continued to slide in... he could feel the kid's little beard scraping against the roof of his mouth.

In a muffled voice, he heard him say, "Jeez, it smells like hamburgers in here..."

And then he closed his mouth completely over him and gulped hugely. He felt the boy going all the way down, filling his gut...

The cop was knocking again, impatiently. "Sir, will you open the door??"

Jim was gasping for air. "Yeah, yeah," he managed to say. He could feel Ken squirming around inside him -- it seemed like he was trying to turn around. He gulped down several large mouthfuls of air so the kid could breathe. Then he got up with a loud grunt, steadying himself against the wall. The weight in his gut was incredible; he was having some difficulty just standing up!

He quickly kicked Ken's clothes and shoes under the cot, then unlocked the door.

The police officer looking up at him was on the short side, but quite burly. He had a thick, brown, brush-like moustache and a buzzcut. He was carrying his cap under one arm.

Almost immediately, his eyes went to Jim's enormous, round globe of a belly, and his jaw dropped slightly. But then he tried to compose himself and looked Jim in the face, saying in a firm voice, "Is there a problem?"

"Uh, no-- sorry I took so long, officer. I was... I had to put some clothes on." Jim tried to laugh.

The cop looked at him suspiciously. "I thought I heard someone else in here."

"Nope, just me. I was having a little snooze."

"Well... I'm Officer Banks. May I come in? I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, sure." Jim backed up to allow the guy to enter.

"So you're the foreman on this site, Mr. Reese?" The cop couldn't seem to help himself; he kept glancing down at Jim's gut. Jim was nervous... for some reason, Ken was struggling a bit inside him, and he hoped it wouldn't be visible from the outside. Was the boy uncomfortable?

"Yes."

The policeman looked slowly around the interior of the trailer. He said, "You know a young man named Kenneth Delaney?"

"Yeah, I think so. He's one of the employees' kids."

"Have you seen him today?"

Jim's stomach gurgled audibly. "Ah, no. Haven't seen him."

"You sure? One of your workmen seems to think he came up here. He's in a bit of trouble, I'm afraid."

"Sorry, I was sleeping. I didn't see anyone." From Jim's belly came a small moan; Jim thumped a hand to his gut and uttered a short, loud burp. "Ooof... 'scuse me, officer!"

Banks couldn't seem to contain himself any longer -- chuckling, he poked Jim in the belly and said, "I'm sorry, but... man! That is some huge gut you've got there, buddy." He shook his head. "You got a horse in there, or what?"

"Aw, no, it's just fat. And... I had a big lunch today, too." Jim smiled broadly.

"Never seen anything like that. Damn! Sorry, I hope I haven't embarassed you."

"That's alright, I know I could stand to lose 'bout 200 pounds. So, umm... what's the boy done?"

"I can't really tell you that." The cop took another quick look around the trailer. "Well, you just keep an eye out for him, okay?"

"Okay, sure thing."

"Thanks for your time. You take care, sir." He left.

Jim could feel a massive belch building up, trying to escape. He sat down on the cot with a groan. Ken was wriggling around more now, and he could hear him trying to say something -- obviously, he wanted to be released.

Now that the policeman was gone Jim could relax, and really savour the experience of having a whole, live person inside his stomach. It felt great, even better than with the doctor... he'd never had such an enjoyable and satisfying meal in his life!

And now he was starting to realize something else: he didn't want to let the boy back out after all. He knew he had to; he'd surely suffocate in there before long and besides, he thought he could feel his digestive juices starting to flow. Just awhile longer, he thought...

The kid moaned again from inside his gut. His struggles seemed to be weakening.

Mm-mmm... he'd sure been a tasty morsel. He felt so full... and yet he thought that he could probably take someone even a little bigger than Kenny, next time. Jim rubbed his belly, opened his mouth wide and heaved out a huge, long, thun- derous belch. He was about to gulp down some fresh air for the boy, but then stopped himself.

With a sigh, he stretched out onto his back instead. I guess this was my plan all along, he thought to himself. Wasn't it? He didn't know if he could actually digest such an incredible amount of food...

but he supposed there was only one way to find out.

[izzabela]

Hello! 🤗

I read your story "Focus" Kuai Liang x reader and it made me sad for the reader to go through the pain so I was wondering if you could do a part 2 where Smoke silently watched the whole thing and is secretly disgusted by Kuai Liang and Harumi's actions so he decided to look after the reader and it eventually turned into romance and fast forward Smoke and the reader are happily married with a kid or kids?

Magnets - Tomas x fem!reader

in which you try to explain your feelings through planets, of course

a/n: highly requested part 2 of this

ship[s]: tomas vrbada x fem!reader

warning(s): none, semi-jealous kuai liang?

(let me at him)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wanna be

an itch you can't scratch

Despite being cool with everything happening around you, you could feel something gnaw in the back of your mind.

And by "gnaw", it was the empathetic pair of ashen eyes that bore into your soul.

Tomas Vrbada, adopted brother to Kuai Liang (cheater), and founder of the Shirai Ryu.

You put on a show for sure, especially when you wanted to just cry out and claw both Kuai Liang and Harumi's eyes out.

Still, you carried on per usual. You did not make a scene, congratulated them on their union, even remained kind to Harumi as she kept throwing stones of pettiness at you.

And the only reason Tomas knew at all, was that he was the same way.

Disgusted with his brother's unfaithfulness, torn between support of his former sister in law and his only family left, Tomas was in tatters picking a side.

In the end, he chose you. You needed the support, and you were more than grateful for it. He gave you peace, comfort, and reliability. That was it- that was supposed to be it.

You've kept him at an arm's length, a distance close enough to let him into your mind, but just far enough where he wasn't close to your heart or soul. You couldn't risk it, not after Kuai Liang.

Seems your shoulder was tired, though, exhausted from the constant emotional barriers you've kept up.

One quiet evening, around four months since Harumi and Kuai Liang's marriage, you had gotten shit-face drunk. Tears flowing, face flushed and warm, Tomas found you sobbing over the life you lost.

Tomas kept it modest, tried to take you to your room before things had gotten out of hand.

However, when your hand reached for his, and he reciprocated, the cards were scattered. The deck the gods had dealt you was rearranged, and you two had become magnets.

While there is solidified science between magnets, you couldn't help but feel it be some mystic force. You'd always kept him just far enough away to not get stuck, but he was always there.

You try to explain with card readings, palm readings, tarot, even planets (of course).

Yet, with each time you push the ideas and thoughts far away from you, to the other side of your mind, he keeps pulling you in.

Again, and again, and again.

The air, buzzes

whenever you're near

And ever since that night, you can't help but feel your heart skip in your chest. Thumping so loud you feel as if you'd implode from the pressure.

But with every smile Tomas sends, every word he speaks, and every thing he does, you can't help but think...

Are you the one? Or are you just a mirror...

Looking at him brings you to your wits end: every word he speaks, a kind gesture he does- every little thing he does makes you think.

And while you don't know what it could be, you know that you'd rather end it all than remain friends.

So, in the evening, around eight months post-Kuai Liang marriage, you decide to confront Tomas. Corner him the way he does to you, make him second guess everything just as he does to you.

And when you have Tomas to yourself, you rip into him about everything you've been feeling. From the way he helps you with chores, to the incident with him holding your hand, you let him know about your "unfortunate" attachment with him.

Incredibly, Tomas remains calm, only offering a kind smile as he carefully, and gently, walks closer to you. He's closing the gap between the both of you, and his pull is undeniable.

He slips his rough fingers between yours, grasping your hand and gingerly placing it over his heart.

"Can't you feel this?" he asked. "Can't you feel the steady beat of my heart for you?"

His other arm skillfully wraps around your back and pulls you in completely, and you're stuck in the infinite pull of Tomas Vrbada.

"This happens whenever we are side by side, across one another, in different parts of the room," he's exasperated, and you listen with bated breath.

"No matter where you are, whether a foot, a room, a country or ocean away, I will always be drawn to you," and Tomas takes your hand to place the lightest kiss on your knuckles.

"So, please quit acting like we are not two magnets," his eyes are creased with a pained expression, and your hand robotically moved to provide comfort.

"You know, I've tried to explain this using so many different belief systems," you chuckle at the memories.

"One can assume you even tried to use planets," he (correctly) assumes. You roll your eyes and wrap both your arms around his neck, pull him down so his lips are just near yours.

"Of course," you don't deny. "And there's no use, really. Every time, try as I might, to push you away, you keep pulling me in."

Tomas is smiling, eyes half-lidded as he closes the gap between yours and his lips.

"Again, and again, and again."

And as tongues clashed, clothes were torn and thrown, and your bodies superimposed over each other, the pull that his lips had on yours was unbreakable.

Finally pulling away, you caress Tomas's face and give him a weary smile and bleak words of the future.

"To be honest, I couldn't care less if this ends... in the end."

However, Tomas shut you up, flipping you onto your back as he kept you quiet with his kiss. Tongue exploring inside your mouth, memorizing the taste that intoxicated him, you close your eyes and let him.

It wasn't a promise, those unfold as quick as lies.

This was an oath, a swear-in to forever with you. A swear that "this", from him watching over you to you being in his bed, would not end.

In fact, "this" gave life to the newest generation of Vrbada's. Two children, twins, being the perfect mix between you and Tomas.

Of course, it's awkward to some that you had moved on to the other brother after such a heartbreak, even Kuai Liang and Harumi found it disrespectful (ironic).

But you didn't care, not when Tomas kept his oath to you, not when Tomas fought past your self-made barriers to have you where you are, and not when Tomas gave you a reason to love again.

And if given the choice? You'd choose this way to find him.

Again, and again, and again.

=====================

did you guys miss me?

thank y'all for being so patient. school is hard but i have dreams to chase after

how y'all been? comment down below because my life is boring and i need tea

aight see yall in the next fic!

[dreaminofdixon]

I mentioned that they met in kind of a…hostile way. :) little bit longer here, but it gets the point across!!

————-

The door opened slowly and I saw the gun before I saw anything else.

I put both hands on my weapon and held it tightly.

When I was learning about guns, my instructor once told me ‘Squeeze the gun as tightly as you can, that’s how you control it. I’ve never seen anyone break a gun, but if you’re the first I will gladly replace it.’

I wasn’t. I’d never broken a gun. Except for that one time I tried to clean my 9mm and wasn’t able to get the slide back on. I felt like an idiot, like I’d broken the friggin gun and it took me weeks to figure out how to free the slide and several additional YouTube videos to learn how to actually put it back on the right way.

Spoiler alert: if there’s a grip safety, you can’t squeeze the grip when putting the slide back on.

I pointed the gun at the man who entered the room. He hadn’t yet seen me.

“Get out,” I said in as menacing a voice as I could manage.

His blue eyes shot in my direction and he swung his large revolver to point at me at the same time. He was wearing a Sheriff’s uniform. How ironic. A man in law enforcement who, very likely, could not be trusted.

“We don’t want any trouble,” he told me.

Liar.

“Are you alone?”

“Get. Out.”

He holstered his gun and held his hands up in surrender.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

Is it possible to feel feral? Because I felt feral. Like I was backed into a corner and like I was going to have to pull some crazy shit to fight my way to freedom. I was ready though, so bring it on.

“Are you alone,” he asked again.

“Last chance,” I told him, taking aim, “get out.”

Two other men came in, one armed with a crossbow and the other with…a red backpack.

What the hell?

I tilted my head to the side and looked at the shorter Asian kid. He looked like he was maybe in his early 20s. The dirty baseball cap really did nothing to make him seem any older than that. And though he appeared to be harmless - appearances are often deceiving.

The other guy looked like a redneck and was pointing his crossbow, with a very sharp metal arrowhead, at me.

Shivers went up and down my spine at the thought of being impaled by the weapon. New fear successfully unlocked.

“Put it down, Daryl,” the first man said.

“Not ‘til she does.”

The deep, raspy voice that came from the redneck spoke to something deep inside me.

“Then I guess we have a problem,” I told him. “Because that isn’t gonna happen. So you might as well turn around and get the hell out of here like I told you to.”

“Daryl.”

The redneck, apparently named Daryl, looked back at the other man before lowering his weapon and narrowing his eyes at me. Like I was the problem. Ha!

“We have a group,” the police man started, “with women and children. If you’re alone, we’d be happy to have you.”

“I’m sure you would.” I leaned down to pick up my bag, throwing it over my shoulder whilst keeping the gun and my eyes trained on him. “Look, let’s just forget this happened.” I used the gun to motion them away from the door before returning the aim to his forehead. “I’ll leave and you guys can…do whatever you’re gonna do.”

“Let ‘er go, Rick.” That gravelly drawl…oof.

Get a hold of yourself, girl.

“Wait…I know you,” the Asian kid said.

“What?”

“Yeah, the 40 West 12th building, right?”

What the hell?

I pointed the gun in his direction and he held up his hands immediately.

“I’ve delivered to you before,” he clarified. “Pizza, mostly, but I also do grocery delivery here and there.” He shrugged his shoulders, “Well, did, anyway.” He looked from one man to the other. “She tips really well, hard to forget that.”

I lowered the gun slowly.

“How long did your building last?”

I couldn’t decide what was going on here. Was this some sort of trick? To be fair, I did usually tip on the high end…but, could he have just guessed? Was I obligated to him since he delivered food to me? Was he obligated to me?

“Um…I think…it’s been a couple of weeks now,” I answered hesitantly.

“You’ve been alone,” the kid asked. He saw the look I gave him and realized his mistake. “Sorry, I’m Glenn. This is Rick and that’s Daryl.” He stepped forward just slightly. “Look, we were alone, too, until we found each other. Now we have a group. Rick’s a sheriff and his partner, Shane, is in the group too. Rick’s wife, Lori, and his kid, Carl. Daryl and his brother. We have a couple of other families with us, too. We’ve got a camp not far outside town…”

“Whoa, stop tellin’ her ‘bout our setup,” Daryl cut him off and lifted his crossbow again, only slightly this time. “We dunno if she can be trusted. Could be on ‘er way back t’ people that could…”

I rolled my eyes at him, “do I look like I have a group waiting for me? Really? What kind of idiot would I be to wander off alone if I had a freaking group?”

His eyes locked on mine, the glare enough to make me want to look away. I wouldn’t, though. I had to stand my ground and make sure he knew I wasn’t gonna be someone who he could walk all over.

“Like I said, you’re more than welcome to come back with us. Our setup isn’t anything special,” he explained, “but we’ve got safety in numbers.”

“Ya sure that’s a good idea?”

Daryl was very clearly not someone who trusted people. Couldn’t blame him, honestly. The sheriff looked over at him and nodded.

“Safety in numbers, like I said.” His attention fell back on me. “It’s getting late. We’re gonna finish clearing this building and then…”

“There’s nothing else here.” I lowered my gun but kept my guard up. “I’ve been through everything. Seems like all the dead are up on the top two floors. The rest of the building has been pretty well cleaned out. I found a couple of first aid kits but there’s not really anything else that’s worth the danger.”

“Any food or…”

“Nothing substantial.” I bit the inside of my cheek, an anxious habit I’d had since I was young. And every single dentist I’d ever been to had made it a point to comment on the fact that the insides of my cheeks were chewed up.

Oh, thanks for pointing that out, I had no idea.

“I mean, I found some typical office snack kinda things. Candy bars. Granola bars. Instant coffee.”

“Well, that saves us some time.” Rick nodded.

“So, do you guys like…have…an actual house or something?”

_________

I’m kinda jumping around a little bit? Should I just share the whole story or keep sharing little snips? I’m not sure. I feel like snips are my favorite little pieces. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Anyway….thanks for checking it out and reading!!

[lara635kookie]

Unpopular opinions on Caleb:

Okay, I'm going to be honest here:I don't see Caleb as a love interest. I see him as our adoptive older brother. In some voiceovers, he's referred as such. Just a disclaimer here:If you like him romantically, I'm not judging you. I'm just expressing my opinion to whoever might share it, but if you don't, I respect it.

Some might argue that "older person of family" are words that korean/japanese/chinese people just use to show respect, and I know this. Like korean has "oppa" and I don't know the chinese/japanese counterpart. And that I understand. However, they were RAISED TOGETHER. By the SAME PERSON. In the same HOUSEHOLD. Same ENVIRONMENT. Even if they are not biologically related, they were raised like it. That's why the childhood friends to lovers works for Zayne. He was raised by a different family.

Some people might argue that it was like a "living in the same orphanage type of thing", which would make sense if they lived in an actual orphanage, who has a completely different structure. You see way more than just two kids in one, and you don't see them calling the person who takes care of them "grandma". They both considered and called Josephine "grandma" even knowing they were not related by blood to her. Implying they both consider themselves her grandchildren. Even if it's just a form of respect in Asia calling her grandma, they still acted like siblings being raised by their grandmother. I'm sorry but Josephine clearly adopted them. If it was an orphanage kind of scenario, they would look forward to being adopted by a family one day, and they both seemed very in home with Josephine. And even if they weren't adopted, if it was an orphanage, as they are both adults, they would both have to leave, because you have to once you're 18. But they kept coming back and staying there, both of them in their 20s. Don't be fooled by some movies or series, usually the kids in orphanages don't develop the kind of bond Caleb and MC had with Josephine. If there wasn't a bond, they wouldn't call her "grandma", they would use "Mrs./Miss Josephine" or just "Josephine".

We don't have many details about their adoption. I've always imagined it was legal, Josephine had the documents signed and such because I imagine she just can't get two kids and get them home. Even if she was involved in shady stuff in the past, considering Zayne's family knew about her and Caleb, and they were close, it doesn't seem like Josephine was trying to hide them. What might kinda justify to me Caleb being a li is maybe she didn't have their permanent guard and now that they are both legal adults they don't need to see each other as brother and sister anymore according to the law and all documentation and traces of their childhood were erased in the explosion. But so far in the story, MC and Caleb acted like siblings, spoke to each other like siblings, teased each other like siblings, they had all the siblings' mannerisms. Their dynamic was way too sibling like, way too many brother and sister coded, that he just popped into my like the banter, the nicknames, etc. I immediately knew he was our older brother as soon as he opened his mouth. The game didn't have to mention it. It was just that obvious, I just assumed based on what they showed. The narrative and plotline just make it so clear. I was even "props to them for making adoptive siblings actually act like normal siblings"( I guess I said it too soon). So far, he was written like an adoptive older brother, and IT WORKED. He was an amazing brother, lol. I think they will probably pull off:The old Caleb, who was her brother, died. This new one changed his personality completely with everything that happened, and now he makes moves on MC. And MC will have to understand that "the sweet boy from her childhood" is gone and see him differently. But like...It's still the same person. Even if with a new personality. I know I'm not the only one who thinks that. They never showed romantic feelings for one another so far. So when I saw this trailer, I was like, "Where does that come from?". Making this transition just seems weird. Imagine them being married and telling people how they met: "We were raised by our grandma in the same house." I'm sorry, but to me, it is just awkward, even though it's legal in theory.

Even if the adoption is undone, they can't change the past. Grandma Josephine dying doesn't change the fact that they were raised, even if not as siblings, as members of the same family. The fact that is by adoption and not by blood, doesn't make it any less real. Adoptive siblings are not less siblings than biological ones. I just hate those kinds of situation, that sadly seem to be increasing their popularity nowadays(The Tearsmith, Culpa Mia/Tuya, etc) that two people become siblings by the circunstances and then fall in love and we are supposed to believe it's forbidden love but like... If you are justifying it with "they are not related by blood", then it's not actually forbidden. "Oh but they have to hide it for their family not to find out" they hide it for a short while, the family finds out, opposes to it for like five seconds and then they end up together somehow in the end. In that case, Josephine died before she could find out, but you got it. And those people are usually the same people that go like:"blood doesn't matter, family is who loves and cares about you and raised you to be the person you are" when it's about couples from the lgbtqiapn+ community or even straight couples when one of them is infertile and adopt children. So what's their point? Do they believe on adoption or not? Those people only believe adoption when it's convenient to them. How is this any different? Those people are basically saying:"Your adoptive siblings are not your real siblings, because adoption means nothing and they are not a part of your real family, so even if you were raised together for years, it's not incest if you hook up with them."

I don't remember what was said about Josephine not wanting kids, or not being good with kids, but she seemingly raised Caleb and MC very well, so that probably changed as she grew older.

Back to Caleb, even as a character...The only unique feature he has is his mechanic arm, that I found really interesting, not just because for inclusivity/diversity/representation but also because it passes a cyborg vibe that just makes sense for a futuristic story, like Alita Battle Angel, for example, that I love. But that's on his physical appearence. Aside from that, in other physical features, and specially in personality, he just seems like a combination of all the other love interests. He kinda looks like Zayne and has the "same" trope as him, he's got a Sylus type of dark romance and kinda villain vibe and the same height as him(I know Caleb was a character before Sylus but he only became a li now, which makes it sound intentional, they could have made Sylus a little bit taller to avoid that, like 192cm or something), Rafayel's more "manipulative" side and eyes that look like his, and Xavier's freakiness and the fact that he also wears an uniform and also flies high, Xavier with spaceships and him with airplanes. I've also seen complaints about his voice, that I didn't like either, but I imagine it will get better with time.

Another thing, is this theory right here that someone commented on Instagram:

(Shout-out to this person because it just seems so obvious now, but I probably would have never thought of that on my own, lol)

The parallels between him and Zayne were pretty obvious, like a few also were with Sylus and Xavier. The thing is... So like, adding similarities to Zayne is understandable, because of this, but as I said, Caleb has a little bit of all the LIs. Which just make it seem like the devs made him to be a cheap copy made with the crumbs of the other LIs with no individuality at all. Which as it was proved with Sylus and Xavier, it could have been avoided, as both have white hair and both come from the same planet, and that's pretty much all they have in common. They should have added on Caleb similarities only to Zayne, because adding to the others to makes it seem like they were desperate to make everyone like him for them to forget that the questionable things I listed that make him a brother, but to me, personally, it had the opposite effect. It just made me like the others even more. And just makes Caleb seem kinda forgettable, since he has no features only he has, that make him stand out from the rest. His personality will probably be more revealed with time, but still, that's not a great start.

The conclusion with this is that I won't stop playing the game or hate on it, I'll just ignore the Caleb romantic content as much as possible and just keep seeing him as a character who is important aa he is MC's adoptive older brother who just came back from the dead somehow, which is what the people who are unsatisfied, like me, should be doing, because hating on it won't change anything. You can share your opinions, like I'm doing, but please do it respectfully. For all the reasons I've mentioned, I don't dislike Caleb, I just feel indifferent to him as a love interest, I still acknowledge him as a well written brother and a good character overall. But if you dislike him, and any other love interest at all, for that matter, there's no point in hating on it, just pretend he's not there. There are other four love interests, I'm sure one of them has catch your eye so just focus on them(this part is a message specifically for some people I've saw attacking the Caleb girlies). Let's just respect each others views.

[doomedtoxicyaoi]

This post just started out as a joke, but I ended up just writing out way more than I thought. Basically, enjoy this Doflamingo character analysis kinda. Feel free to comment your own thoughts.

I've been thinking about this Tumblr post in reference to One Piece, specifically the Donquixote Family calling Doffy "young master".

I can't understand the nuances of the original Japanese text, so if this is just a strange translation choice, then ignore this, but I wanted to check if this is true for English and apparently it is. "Young master" is not what you refer to the head of a household. Usually, the butler or servant or whatever calls the actual patriarch Mr. _____, so in this case it should be Mr. Donquixote. "Young Master" is the title used for the eldest son who has not come of age yet. So that fact that many of the family still refer to Doffy as young master in his early 40s is almost paramount to calling him a man-child.

If it is deliberate, there could be a couple of reasons for this. For starters, Doffy hasn't 'reclaimed' his celestial dragon status. He was stripped of it as a child, so in a way he's never 'claimed' his status as the head of the Donquixote Household. The last time he was someone with that power was when he was 8, the eldest son of Donquixote Homing. There's also the reply that mentioned how Mr.___ will generally be what the person's father was called. So the title of Mr. Donquixote might permanently be associated with Homing, and we know by now that Doffy hates his dad. I find this pretty plausible too, especially since the idea of fatherhood itself seems to be tainted for Doffy. He almost exclusively refers to subordinates as being like his 'younger siblings' rather than his children. It makes more sense when you consider the ages of the characters, because the designs make it really hard to tell sometimes.

You have characters like Law being 13 and looking like Nami was when she was 8 (probably because of the disease stunting his growth and also Oda draws most children the same) and then you have Corazon and Doflamingo being like 10ft tall but in their 20s.

Like you could easily mistake these two for being a picture of a parent and their kid just based on design alone. Not to mention that Doffy knew them since they were children, and with Dellinger since he was literally a baby. Even if he's only 17 years older than Baby 5 and 15 years older than Law, (Corazon is only 13 years older than Law like it would be worrying if that was his son 😭) They do both take over kind of a guardian role. Sometimes older siblings basically become parents to their younger siblings because their actual parents are unavailable (in this case dead). And in a mafia sense, usually the boss is the "father" of the group. Bege for instance is called 'father' by his subordinates and has a similar mafia style gang that views each other as a pseudo-family.

Despite all this, he never refers to himself as a father or puts himself in that position. Even the executives that raised him (or I guess in Trebol's case pretty much groomed him) are never his 'parents'; they're just his 'family'.

While two of the other executives were around his age Pica(9) and Vergo (10), Diamante (16) and Trebol (18) were older than him (Trebol being 18 is pretty much considered an adult in One Piece) they were all still technically teenagers or kids. I doubt this was actually the inspiration, but I always saw his time with the gang when he was young as more of a Peter Pan and the Lost Boys situation, except in this case Peter Pan doesn't stay a child forever. Or even a kind of Lord of the Flies scenario. His main authority figures were both gone, one dying when he was 8 and the other being pretty ineffective to the point that he killed him two years later. He basically raised himself with the influence of people never telling him no, so it kinda makes sense that he's still an entitled brat.

His desire for control stems from the fact that he feels he hasn't had control of his life since he was a kid. Children usually just have to go along with the adults in their lives, and because of their immaturity and powerlessness, can resent them for this. It's not the same severity, but take a kid whose parents get divorced. There could be no real person at fault, or maybe the parents could have handled it better but they are trying their best. Even so, kids can come to hate one or more of them because they their parents to make their lives better since they can't really understand them being flawed people till they mature.

For Doflamingo, his dad failed them because of his decision to bring them to live among the humans and then his inability to fix the situation. As readers, we know Homing had good intentions and there wasn't a ton he could do in that situation, but he was also the main authority figure to his children. The way Oda wrote the flashback chapter, we hear the story unfold through Doffyh questioning his dad. He starts off confused but still respecting his father enough to go along with it, and slowly as things get out of control, he starts to hate him for their situation.

We don't see Homing stealing food with Doffy and Roci, instead it's Doffy who is looking after his brother and telling Roci to hurry up before they get caught. They are together when they get beaten but their dad isn't present. They are the ones who get food for their mom when she is sick. It's definitely possible their dad was trying to do something other than his failed attempt to get them back home which Doffy overhears (and is the only one to overhear in the Manga as opposed to the anime which has them all hear it). But from what we see, once things stop going the way he expected it, he just kinda gives up. This all culminates in the moment they get captured, which Homing doesn't seem to fight back with and instead just pleads with the townspeople.

He holds onto his kids, and while Roci just clings to his dad, Doffy seems to be trying to fight his way out of his grip. The anger which basically shapes the rest of his goals in the entire arc stem from his anger at being humiliated and made helpless by people he views as lesser than him. Along with the betrayal that the man he trusted to look after him has ruined his life.

Even Rocinante seems to have subconsciously learned from this. When he's with Law, he beats up hospital staff and sets the buildings on fire. He is willing to fight people for the person he is looking after. He knows he can't just plead with people to stop so he takes action instead. I don't think Homing was trying to be a bad father, but his actions definitely wounded both his kids in different ways and while Rocinante strikes a better balance between hating the world around him and being completely at its mercy by being kind but ready to fight, Doflamingo just sees everyone around him as a threat or a pest.

Even if the overall story of Dressrosa is less interesting in my opinion than the Law section, it definitely ties into the overall themes very well, IMO. King Riku is the pacifist King who is taken advantage of by the cruelty of Doflamingo. Kyros is someone who started off violent and hating the world but healed through his connection to those around him. But the guilt he carries from his previous actions leads him to hate himself and feel unable to even hold his child. When he teaches Rebecca to fight, he only wants her to do so defensively and ultimately she stops having to be a fighter once he returns and she has friends to support her. The dichotomy between the cruelty of the world and people wanting to be pacifist and kind sometimes going awry is very interesting.

Furthermore, consider Doffy's desire the Perenial Youth operation. Depending on the translation, different people have different ideas of what this is/does. From what I gather, its main purpose is to make you young forever so you don't die of old age. Whether or not this also makes you immune to damage is up for debate, but the idea of living forever is interesting. Being an ageless being is generally something associated with divinity, and since Doflamingo has a mega God-Complex stemming from both his celestial dragon upbringing and the enabling of Trebol and co, getting something like this makes sense. There is also another ageless character introduced in Dressrosa, Sugar, who no longer ages and is permanently stuck being physially a child despite actually being 22.

There's even theories that suggest Imu is a child because of their behaviour, size, and mannerisms (and we still have no idea what they look like). To me, this feels like there is a correlation between being immortal, godlike beings, but forever stuck as a child. In Doffy's case, it's more mentally than physically because as many people clown on him for, his hairline has deteriorated along with his mental stability.

All of Dressrosa is basically one big temper tantrum after Luffy took away all his toys. Even the one marine he actually respects/fears is just an older woman who calls him a good boy if he behaves 😭

So the fact that he's basically never grown up since he was 10, because of the experiences that pretty much mentally scarred him and the influences by everyone else, is almost reflected by his title. The title itself also being one more instance of a remnant of his previous life that he still clings to despite it being something that is and has been unattainable since he was a literal child.

[dangermousie]

This is an interesting scene because it definitely shows that where you stand is where you sit.

Because CA is not a stupid man and so he guesses KN backing out of the engagement had something to do with his mother:

But his reaction is:

And before he leaves, he reiterates his heartbreak.

And it's not in the least unreasonable for him to say that - because he's demonstrated his sincerity and his devotion and his commitment to marrying her no matter what (the plum branch insanity, going against his mother's wishes to her face, saying he needs no dowry, the fact that he swore to take no concubine EVER, even if they have no kids etc) but he is also thinking like a man (because he is) - he does not realize that it is not a question of her trusting him per se, it's the question of even with his back up and devotion, can she live with his mother as the mother in law to boss and look down on her. It is a very different narrative and a very different batch of characters but it makes me think a little of Qi Heng in Minglan, who loved Minglan sincerely and was a good person, but who genuinely did not understand the pitfalls and intricacies of status and balance in the inner courtyard and so could have created a total disaster for Minglan and was ultimately not able to keep her (and then, interestingly, was put in a position a woman is usually put in - married against his will for his looks to someone who views him as a toy and can control his family. He gets to see how the other half lives.)

And this incomprehension of female realities is echoed by Third Husband:

And Third Husband is weak and laidback and seemingly in terror of his bossy wife but the thing is - in a lot of ways this is cosplay. She has power to boss him because he lets her; in that society, all it would take is for him to say one word to his mother and she'd be divorced etc. So he does not comprehend and neither does CA (and I don't think either ever will), what a different world the women inhabit.

But also - I love this because this is a fair demand:

And:

But I so get why she won't.

Also, WXY is so pretty all distraught!

[lawchwan]

love alphabet (sanji)

summary: just another alphabet for our favorite perverted romantic chef

disclaimer: there are some spoilers of skypiea and Whole Cake Island in some alphabets so be warn with that. and obviously some alphabets have nsfw content. Also some alphabets have fem terms, which was not my intention, i’ll edit them once i have the free time.

crossposted on ao3

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

You are talking to the king of PDA. If you’re someone who cannot handle pda, then you need to start handling it with Sanji. He loves to be hands-on with you, literally, declaring to the entire world how much you mean to him. This man just outright loves you, and he’s not shy of showcasing it.

Bonus: he loves to be extra in front of Zoro, just to rub it in his face, only to get a groan and an eye roll of disgust from him (and the entire straw hats really, even Luffy couldn’t stand it)

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

“Oh, you want babies? Say less, ma’am, I’ll throw all the condoms and contraceptives away. When and where and I’ll give it to you” he says, with heart eyes and nosebleed as you mentioned in passing about babies.

In all seriousness, Sanji does have a soft spot for kids. He is a very gentle man and often really caring towards kids. If you remember at the end of enies lobby, the way he handled Chimney with such care after her exclaiming about how hungry she is how I imagined he’d be with his own kid, and maybe even extra doting and caring. Also chopper and Sanji’s interaction during skypiea… I don’t think I need to add more… (Although Chopper is 17 years old/was 15 during skypiea, it still applies)

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

Oh that man loves to cuddle. He may not be the most fleshy, he does however have the warmth that can counteract as a blanket and that’s enough of you. He, like law in my previous love alphabet, loves to be the small spoon, except he is more open about and doesn’t care about one says about it.

D = Darling  (Pet names) 

He’ll throw in any affectionate nicknames that he could think of at the top of his head and will say it with no shame. But I do think he’s the type to say “darling,” “my love,” “my sweet,” and “angel.”

He also has more pet names/nicknames in the bedroom and calls you goddess/god and mommy/daddy. He one time slipped up and called you mommy/daddy in front of Zoro, and Zoro mocked him for all eternity until you confronted him… : )

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

It's Sanji we’re talking about… this man will lay his eyes on any woman and he’ll fall head over heels. But when it comes to you, there’s a slightly subtle change. While he still maintains his chivalry and flirtatious act, he does put in extra effort with you. If he makes Nami and Robin a parfait, then you’ll get extra toppings and flavors of your liking. Honestly, their food—still being better than how he would serve his male crew—would start looking underwhelming next to yours, but it's not that they’re complaining. Matter of fact, they, mainly Nami, thank you for having reciprocal feelings since Sanji hasn’t been going at either woman.   

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

The first time Sanji cooked for you was special. You were sitting in the kitchen, alone with him, as you happened to catch a case of “midnight hunger,” and there he was, a handsome cook cleaning the dishes as he hums to himself. When you made your presence known, the blond man turned with his usual charismatic smile and turned the sink before doing so.

“hey, (y/n) darling, what are you doing here?”

He seemed genuinely to be ecstatic to see you in the kitchen, even though it was god-awful late at night, he didn’t seem bothered for some reason. You were about to mention how hungry you were, until the grumble of your stomach spoke for you, only for you to look away, flustered. Sanji simply chuckled as he stated sweetly, “I guess I know why…”

And there you were, as much as you didn’t want to wear him out, he was very insistent and ended up cooking up something upon your request. You just sat there, ogling at the cook as he worked his magic. You stare at his hands, veins popping up handsomely due to the force he is exerting, whether through cutting vegetables or holding onto the sizzling pan, as you place your head onto your hand. You didn’t say much to not distract him, but, man oh man, was he attractive just cooking for you.

“oh, how I wish those hands were on me…” you thought to yourself as you began analyzing his physique with your eyes wandering from his blond locks to his tiny yet built waist, down to his thick ass. Your head was heading to perverted places where you might need a quick shower afterward.

He seemed to have noticed that you were staring at him, so as he finished with his finishing touch, he began declaring, “Voila!”  as he handed you the dish. You were brought back to reality after he spoke up, and you looked down at your dish.

“Oh, wow does that look good,” you say, softly yet excitedly. He just shrugged and hummed with a confident smile before handing your utensils. As you had your first bite, you closed your eyes as you moaned in glee; you truly never doubted him when it came to food because that was perhaps the most delicious dish you ever had. He simply just looked at you admirably, as he mimicked your look towards him when you saw him cook, even down to the head-on-chin position.

Once you were done, you sighed and let out a phew due to your fullness. “How’d you like it?” Sanji spoke up with a smile as he took your plate.

“That was amazing, Sanji… Thank you so much,” You say with gratitude as you hold his face with one hand, and he leaned against it. He mirrored you, only this time he leaned in before he wiped the corner of your lips the remaining sauce while he maintained eye contact.

“Missed a spot,” he whispered to you before licking his finger, winking, and taking the plate to the sink. He then had his back to you with a smirk while you looked at him in awe.

God, does this man drive you crazy…

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

You best believe that you’ll be getting your morning kisses daily from him. If he wakes up before you, he’ll just lift himself and stare at you with love sparkle all over his blue eyes, he’ll probably even run his fingernail against your skin before kissing you awake. He’ll paint that beautiful smile as he says with his gentle morning voice, “Good morning, sunshine.”

That’s on his lazy days though, other days, however, he might just wake you up with breakfast in bed. He’ll set aside the tray before he gently shakes you until you wake up and informs you that he made you breakfast.

He is such a romantic, it warms one’s cold heart.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

His hugs are so warm… I don’t know what else to add. He just adds a layer of comfort to him, just like his cuddles.

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

He’s an absolute mess and honestly, you might have considered kicking him out during delivery. It’s not that he’s a dick about it or whatever—matter of fact, poor dude’s just trying to help—, but he’s acting like he’s the one giving birth due to his nervousness and is making you feel worse about the situation. If he wasn’t your love and/or the father of your child, you’d have kicked him out and had Zoro or Robin fill the role for support (you’ve thought of Nami as well, but she’d probably be squeamish and leave the room).

And once that child’s out, he’ll probably cry at the sight of your beautiful creation and kiss you on the top of your head while he praises you and compliments the beautiful bundle of joy.

“You did it… You’re so amazing,”

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

And the winner of the most hypocritical individual award goes to; Blackleg Sanji. You might have to beat him for it, because how the fuck is he allowed to flirt with other women, yet he beats men whom you’ve given the same energy?

All jokes aside, this man will probably glare at the person who’s attempting to get closer to you. He’ll probably start causing chaos if anyone were to lay a hand on his partner and he doesn’t care, he’ll stop when the one who gets the beat down promises he won’t look at you again.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

You finally understood the addiction to nicotine when you first pressed your lips against his. No matter a peck or a full-on passionate, his lips were simply addicting and you just crave them every time you look at him. He places a cigarette on his lips, and you envy the tip of the cigarette for it is covered by his lips when it should be your skin that is covered by his lips.

He kisses you very often, maybe a little bit too often, disgustingly often. But he’ll tone it down if you ask, and he’ll give you kisses throughout the day, he can never leave a day with no kisses for you.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

Contrary to popular belief—and the jokes I’ve been making earlier—, Sanji’s pretty loyal. Sure, he may flirt with multiple women, which is a bad habit, but he never thought of sleeping with them now that he’s with you. He mainly claims it as just acts of chivalry, but truly he never intends on coming off as overtly flirtatious nor does he have any intentions of cheating on you, and he will always find a way to prove it.

M = Memory (Their favourite memory about you?)

The first time you declared your love for him. Underneath that charismatic aura, Sanji’s a broken man who believes that love is not by his side. Sure, he is aware that he has platonic, or rather familial love from the straw hat crew, Zeff, and the workers at Baratie, but he never would have thought that he’d find genuine romantic love and he was on his journey of accepting that.

Until you came along and ruined it, and Sanji couldn’t have been more grateful that you did. When you two happened to be kissing each other after an intimate session, you held him and uttered those three words, only for him to be gasping and widen his eyes in astonishment.

“What?”

You looked at him with a loving smile and holding onto his delicate face, “I love you, Sanji…”

You made Sanji’s heart flutter as he looked at you with glossy eyes and he laid on your chest and you began stroking his locks. You didn’t want him to respond if he didn’t want to, you simply just wanted to let him know, only for you to hear a whisper,

“I love you too…”

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

Never mention his biological father, and don’t you ever try to reunite them. Sanji considers Zeff as his real dad, he taught and treated him like a father would to his son, so if you’d reunite them, he’d be over the moon. Reunite him with Judge and Sanji will feel betrayed that you would put him in a room with his abuser.

No amount of “but you guys are family” will cut it.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

Sanji’s the type to apologize through meals. He’ll obviously talk to you, but no matter how mad he is/you are, he’ll not leave you hungry. You two will start apologizing to each other and admit your mistakes. The one thing you love about Sanji is that he respects you too much for you to be upset, even if you’re in the wrong.

So you’ll simply just talk it out and kiss afterward… which may lead to more action if you get my drift.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

Sanji loves to call you goddess/god, no matter if he’s domming or subbing. He just loves the thought of worshipping you and gliding his tongue all over his skin.

He also enjoys giving you oral or fingering you, doesn’t matter where you guys are, he’ll always find a way to have a taste of you, claiming “It’s the best flavor I’ve ever tried.”

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

The perfect wind-down for Sanji is simply cuddling in bed or cooking alone with you. Sure, it may seem very cliché, but Sanji’s a cliché man and he knows it, especially when you call him out on it, but he doesn’t care.

What better way to spend some quiet time than when you have your partner with you, am I right?

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

When you value him and remind him how loved and important he is. Given his childhood, it is easy for him to slip through the mindset of self-loathing and ending himself, which resulted in his sacrificial personality. While you were never a cure for it, you did help him ease through those tough times, and he grew to appreciate you for your effort and how you don’t perceive the way others do.

Your overall love and appreciation for him means so much to him, thus resulting in making him happy.

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

Oh, he hands down believes in soulmates. First off, he’s a Pisces, and every Pisces I’ve met believes in soulmates. Secondly, he is a romantic at heart, soul, and body so he believes that there’s someone out there that will complete his soul.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

Cooking, of course, and also shopping. This man will go broke for you and he’ll be happy to go into debt for you, as long as you are happy and content, please, by all means, make his pockets hurt (but you won't because you love him too much to ever go through that).

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers on the relationship?)

Sanji will karate kick them on their way out. “How dare you to try to meddle in OUR perfect. Beautiful, loving relationship?! Who gave you the absolute right to try and take my sweet partner away?! I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Sanji would exclaim as he proceeded to ambush the person who tried to interlope.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

Sanji would not be as vulnerable as you’d think when you first met. Sure, he’s very emotional in tune and can hold you days on end when you just want to cry out about whatever’s bothering you, past or present.

Just like Law, once he gains trust, that’s when the floodgates are open and he starts becoming vulnerable and talking about his trauma. Please hug him and promise you won’t throw him under the bus with all of that, he needs emotional support and love.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

He’ll make sure he’ll make your wedding a day you won’t ever forget. I imagine your guys’ wedding being extravagant yet still intimate, inviting only the straw hat crew—yes including Zoro—, Vivi, Zeff, and most of his workers of Baratie from his end. He made sure you had some cake testing before the wedding and was mostly in charge of the catering, despite it being his wedding day.

Despite you were the bride, Sanji was more of a bridezilla than you were, and you had your fair share of freak outs, but not to the extend of Sanji’s to which you had to calm him down. Eventually, however, everything was settled—thanks to you and the rest of the straw hat—and you had a beautiful wedding by the beach.

(idk he seems like someone who would want a beach wedding.)

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

He’d act the same with interlopers when it comes to your ex, especially if that ex had done unimaginable heinous things to you.

Meanwhile, his exes might have to run away because otherwise, he’ll start acting “too friendly,” and may slip up a few details about their previous relationship, which results in you being insecure.

He eventually apologizes, genuinely avoids his ex, and never interacts with them.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

Another pillow sniffer and clothes (panties) stealer. Yup, that’s it, nothing else to add there. Just read my law’s one and just switch law with Sanji and you’ll get the same effect.

While he’s always snatching your pillows and clothes when you’re away, whenever he’s in the kitchen, he’ll even cook your favorite food to remind him of you. Even though he cooked it himself, he can’t help but be reminded of you and your sparkling eyes of joy when you see him cook your favorite meal.

NSFW

 He loves your enthusiasm so damn much, and God does he crave to see it again, especially when you have that similar sparkle when he undresses in front of you and showcases his pink-tipped cock to you.

Where were those panties when he needed them?

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

He loves it when you guys are in spooning positions. While he prefers being the small spoon, he loves to wrap himself around you with your chest on his. The feeling of you being snug beside him makes him feel like he can protect you and there’s no better feeling than that.

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

[brockkboeserr]

bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last. 

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you. 

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado. 

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’. 

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count. 

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way. 

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house. 

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid. 

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely. 

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you. 

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours. 

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes. 

-

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy. 

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level. 

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law. 

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it. 

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit. 

It warms your heart. 

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate. 

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway. 

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander. 

-

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena. 

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell. 

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility. 

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier. 

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass. 

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs. 

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy. 

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff. 

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.” 

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot. 

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces. 

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you. 

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16. 

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer. 

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move. 

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners. 

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy. 

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed. 

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire. 

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more. 

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper. 

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate. 

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth. 

“It’ll be worth the wait.” 

And worth the wait it is. 

-

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices. 

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too. 

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you. 

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure. 

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other. 

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign. 

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan. 

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up. 

-

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed. 

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life. 

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie. 

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants. 

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is. 

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you. 

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed. 

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush. 

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss. 

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again. 

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing. 

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body. 

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast. 

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs. 

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone. 

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises. 

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too. 

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths. 

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch. 

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him. 

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better. 

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips. 

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him. 

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm. 

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too. 

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up. 

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs. 

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery. 

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall. 

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake. 

Not only is it not your pizza, it��s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with. 

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying. 

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap. 

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless. 

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.” 

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing. 

The reality of the situation hits you. 

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life. 

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply. 

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

-

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time. 

“He loves you,” she says. 

You’re not so sure. 

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here. 

It’s not all bad though. 

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities. 

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school. 

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat. 

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be. 

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.” 

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.” 

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away. 

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same. 

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red. 

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist. 

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded. 

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head. 

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit. 

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up. 

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled. 

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan. 

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone. 

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts. 

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked. 

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass. 

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours. 

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back. 

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again. 

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact. 

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head. 

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.” 

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist. 

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door. 

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again. 

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.” 

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial. 

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug. 

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone,  it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother.