#family stuff came up early last month

[orcelito]

I guess I should start looking into apartments for next year. I don't know where I'm going to be working after I graduate yet, but I'll have a car by then, so it shouldn't matter too much. And I'm hesitant to move when I don't know where I'm going to end up... but I will be honest, I cannot live in this place for another year. They've increased the rent by a literal 50% since I started living here 3 years ago, the air conditioning doesn't work, I have to do laundry by *coin operation*, and worst of all there is no patio or balcony to speak of. I need outdoor seating!!! For my mental health!!!! Adding in the fact that it's far too cramped with all the furniture I got from my dad...

Yeah. Even if I only live there for a year, I Got to move.

Gonna be working on sorting through all the shit in my apartment, especially the boxes from my dad. Once I get a car, I wanna make it my personal project in the next year to cut down on the shit that I own. Go through my old clothes and donate anything that I Never wear and Never would. The goal being that by the time I do move, I want there to not be a fucking boatload of shit to move. There's still all this furniture but like. Eh. Ya kno. Still wanna make it better than it could be.

[mikeystrawberry]

Today is Dungeons & Daddies’s 5th Anniversary!

I haven’t been listening for nearly that long but the podcast and all its characters means a lot to me. Happy Anniversary!!!

Throwing the cropped sections under the cut because there’s a lot of stuff going on and I know Tumblr likes to throw half the pixel quality out the window. And also so I can ramble a bit about this piece!!!

This piece has been months in the making, possibly an entire year. And by that I mean I’ve had a sketch of the comp scribbled on my whiteboard for ages because I wanted to save this specifically for 5th anni art. Now onto design stuff!

(First off a random thought: I really love how the garlic knot came out, I kind of want it as an enamel pin.)

I knew I wanted to make this a stained glass piece since the beginning, but I was also going to add flowers at one point but quickly dropped the idea. It felt like too much and I also didn’t want to fuss over flower language assignments for everyone. I was also going to add Doodler tentacles, but also dropped that idea pretty early. Kind of on accident, right at the end, I figured out how to make it even more stained glass-like but taking a duplicated lineart underneath the regular layer and turning the brightness all the way down, then setting it to overlay and adding a guassian blur. It’s very subtle but it adds that tiny bit of depth that makes it look more real. As for shading on the lineart/gold, I tried adding more highlight on the characters who died but once I evened everything out it wasn’t as noticeable anymore so I’m throwing that thought here so the attempt at least known lol.

The order of characters only changed a little bit from my original comp, I flipped the Wilsons and the Oaks so the rainbow could work. As for the anchors, specifically in season 2, I lined them up to the teens since the season 1 anchors lined up with each dad:

Tony —> Scary: his death was the beginning of Scary’s betrayal arc and also Willy killed him.

Guitar Pick —> Taylor: it’s not really aligned with Taylor at all, but the anchor was with Glenn so I put it next to his blunt.

Scroll —> Normal: was only because it was the last left to give him, but there’s the whole scene of him and Hermie in the Green Room so it still works!

Garlic Knot —> Link: one of two that he broke, but the more significant of the two with him telling Grant he never wants to see him again.

Small notes on the season 1 anchors: I put the layer of mold in the overnight oats but you can’t really tell with the overlay. And to make the supper bowl more interesting I added the fantasy sodas mix they dumped into it. The lure of actually drawn before so I just traced my own art lol.

As for the other smaller triangles, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to put there. I didn’t even think of adding the vehicles until two days ago but I’m so glad I did. I don’t really have my own take on the mascot version of the Doodler (yet?) so I borrowed the design from one of the stickers in their merch shop. Teeny was terrifying as just a front facing head so I made him cute again.

In the outer circles, I put what I felt was the most significant quotes for each family. I really wanted to use “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to be cruel” but it was just a little too long.

That’s all I can think of! If you read all the way through, thank you for indulging me in my excitement to gush over this piece.

[1d1195]

Honey I

Read Honey here | ~5k words

From me: Supposed to be a one-shot but I have literally NOT stopped writing. So it's going to be a series because I CANNOT shut up and while I tried to keep it short and sweet, there was just too much for them. Majority of this story is going to be in Harry's POV (kind of) because I just think it's more interesting.

Warnings: parent death out of NO WHERE early on, angst, fluff, and a whole lot of baby stuff

Summary: “Who’s Miss Honey?” He looked above his laptop screen, the last application in front of him.

She laughed softly, her cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink. “Me,” she smiled politely, but her focus was sweetly on the baby as she chugged her bottle. “The little ones that had me before loved Matilda, we watched it weekly, and they said I was sweet like Miss Honey.”

She was his favorite before she entered the room.

Harry had decided he was only going to have one love of his life and that was it. He had tried a lot. But now that he was officially in his thirties, it was time to stop being flighty. Time to focus only on those that would make his life better and only on the things that added to his life.

Of course, he hadn’t anticipated falling in love with her as hard as he did. He had heard the stories. But she was different. Naturally. He didn’t believe it was possible. Harry was in love before, and it always burned him the wrong way. Cheating, lying, using... he was victim to terrible relationships.

But her?

She was different. Her love was unconditional. The very first day. Harry was putty. A mess. A complete sap. The little girl was growing to have sweet green eyes and perfect pink lips. She had the making of soft brown hair and Harry wondered if it would turn to curls like his.

But she was so beautiful and so perfect. It brought him to his knees every time he came home from work and saw her little face glow with recognition that he was all hers—and he was. So truly, there didn’t seem to be much room for anything else.

He didn’t love her mom. It wasn’t anything personal. The plan was to co-parent. It was an amicable decision. They weren’t in love with one another. Only with the baby. “She is one-hundred percent Styles,” Chloe smirked in the hospital. “Traitor,” she cooed and kissed the little one on the forehead. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Guess m’good for something,” he winked and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for all your hard work,” he joked.

It wasn’t a bad thing. They weren’t meant to be together, and it was evident in the way she continued to date throughout her pregnancy. The way she drove Harry insane as he worried about every little blip on the ultrasound and paid no mind to the aches and pains she had. (They were minor; and Harry was a control freak.)

Someone like Harry didn’t like surprises.

Which was probably why he was so angry at the driver that took away his friend and the mother of his child in a horrific, tragic car accident. Leaving Harry completely at a loss as to how he was to care for the sweet little girl who’d only barely been in the world for a month.

*

Harry was an extremely successful businessman. His company made millions of dollars a day. Hundreds of thousands of dollars per hour. So, he had the means for just about anything. Except he hadn’t a clue how he was supposed to help a defenseless baby without a maternal figure. Chloe was happy to stay home, and Harry was willing to pay for anything she needed. They weren’t in a relationship, but he was happy to be friends. She needed a friend as much as Harry did. There wasn’t much family in her life and in a weird way, they were a family. Harry struggled to trust people. Be it because of the money or simply because he worked so hard to get where he was it was hard to let Chloe in after he found out she was pregnant but he was willing to for their baby.

While Harry had relied on his mum and Gemma following the accident, it was impossible to let them take on all the responsibility. Given Harry hadn’t been to the office in almost a month, he needed to figure something out and the sooner the better.

He wasn’t going to cheap out on a nanny. Not even slightly.

So, for the first time since the accident, Harry packed his schedule. Brought the baby and the pink backpack that didn’t match his navy suit to the office. The women fawned over the little miss. Even the men made faces at her. Especially her Uncle Niall—Harry’s best friend and business partner. “Think maybe I’ll just quit and watch her for you,” Niall suggested brushing his finger on her cheek.

Harry snorted and settled into the conference room where he would be conducting interviews. He had done interviews hundreds of times before in the very room, but this time was much different. This was his little girl. He was going to be thorough, and he was determined to find the best person.

“When’s she coming in?”

“Last,” he told Niall not needing a clue about who he was referring to.

“Best for last, I like it,” he joked. “If you need help or want a second opinion, let me know. Just anybody won’t be good enough for my niece. Isn’t that right Little Miss?” Niall cooed and pressed his lips to the top of her head making her little face quirk up in a smile in delight.

“Aw, she loves me.”

Harry didn't like the idea that she was smiling at Niall at all. “It’s probably gas,” Harry scowled. She wasn’t going to love anyone. Especially not a boy and especially not one that wasn’t Harry.

Niall clapped him on the back with a chuckle as he left the conference room with a wave.

*

The interviews were intense. Within seconds, Harry knew if the woman across from him was going to be a good fit. Harry wasn’t blind; he knew many of the women that traipsed into his office for an interview were there for him. Not the little one. The ones that didn’t even glance at her in her seat were given a set of short questions. Those that oohed and ahhed over her received a longer list of questions that he hoped would tell him everything he needed to know. But no one had sparked his interest by the time he got to the last name on his list.

Harry had the baby in her car seat on the table between them watching the way she interacted with her. For most of the time she slept. Harry did work between interviews—especially when the shorter ones ended before the allotted time scheduled.

It was right before the last interview that she woke from her nap. Her eyes wandered around the room, and she suckled on her pacifier. Harry smiled at her and gave her seat a little rocking motion.

Despite being the interview that he was most hopeful for, Niall chose that moment to interrupt. Requesting his presence immediately. Harry glared at his friend and turned his attention to the woman across the table from him. Her eyes hadn’t moved from the little one—only to hold Harry’s gaze while she shook his hand. Her handshake was warm, gentle, but firm. He thought that immediately spoke volumes and the moment their introduction was complete, she turned her attention to the baby.

“Why hello, Miss Cecelia,” she grinned. “Are you having fun at work today?” She asked. “Are you the boss of everyone?”

“She definitely the boss,” Niall said in the doorway gathering Harry’s attention. He wanted to smack Niall.

“Are you serious?” He grumbled as he walked through the door and glanced back at her as she played with Cece. “It couldn’t wait?”

“I don’t know why you even bothered. Sarah and Mitch’s friends swear by her.”

Harry sighed. It was helpful knowing that someone Sarah and Mitch trusted were content with her services. They said she even babysat for their baby a few times over the years and had nothing but good things to say.

“Hi, sorry, to interrupt. But she’s making a gummy little noise—I think she’s hungry. Do you have a bottle I can grab her?”

“It’s in the fridge,” Harry turned to Niall looking for help.

“I’ll go grab it—”

“Allow me,” she offered and hurried down the hall as if she had already been in the office her whole life. Niall looked at his friend pointedly. When Harry changed her diaper earlier, the woman he was interviewing was unimpressed and when her face twisted in disgust Harry dropped the short number of questions to an even smaller number.

About a minute and a half later she returned. She glanced over her shoulder, shaking the bottle and then testing it on the inside of her wrist in one movement. “Jeez, drool much,” Niall muttered. Harry looked at him curiously and wiped at his mouth in case he was drooling at the sight of her. But Niall nodded at the person at the end of the hall staring at her from where the break room was.

One of Harry’s employees was smiling after her as she walked down the hall, his gaze clearly lingering on something that was not his to linger on. “I’m not sure who he is, but he needs a sexual harassment seminar,” she muttered.

Harry’s gaze flicked to the man who’s eyeline was still much lower than it should have been. He opened his mouth to shout something, but Niall gently pushed him toward the conference room. “I’ll fire him, just go... hire the insanely perfect nanny.”

He stepped back into the room and she looked uncomfortable.

“I’m sor—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted quickly holding the bottle still. “I’m so used to just...” she shook her head and turned to Harry expectantly. “Does she eat in the car seat, or do you need to hold her? I can write my own notes for you if you want while you feed her,” she offered. Cecelia was starting to fuss, her eyes catching sight of her food and anticipating how yummy it would be.

Harry tried not to feel an overwhelming sense of hope but that was hopeless. She was already perfect.

“You can feed her,” he offered. “If you’re okay with that.”

“Hold this sweet little cutie? Don’t have to tell me twice,” she grinned delightedly and expertly and sweetly plucked the little one from between the straps and settled into her seat. “Hi girly, are you hungry?” She cooed. “I’m sure,” she said as if Cece had answered.

Harry felt a squeeze of pressure around his heart. While Cece settled into eating, Harry gave them both a moment to adjust while he clicked into her application documents on his laptop. The rest had been put into the computer’s recycle bin.

“Who’s Miss Honey?” He looked above his laptop screen, the last application in front of him.

She laughed softly, her cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink. “Me,” she smiled politely, but her focus was sweetly on the baby as she chugged her bottle. “The little ones that had me before loved Matilda, we watched it weekly, and they said I was sweet like Miss Honey.”

She was his favorite before she entered the room.

But now that she was in the room, he noted Miss Honey had a gorgeous smile which was not part of the qualifications. But Harry wasn’t blind to that either. It was perhaps the only way she looked similar to the women that came through for interviews before her. But even then, there was something so much better about her smile than the rest. Maybe because it was shy and sweet. It wasn’t flashy and certainly not directed for Harry. No, it seemed her smile belonged to Cece and that was it. She watched as Cece sucked down her milk and her eyes shone with pride, adoration, and warmth. Something Harry wasn’t sure he could explain to someone else without having them see it with their own eyes. Her body held Cece perfectly. Like she was meant to hold her. Effortless.

What was part of what made her infinitely more qualified than the others he saw, were the glowing and gushing letters from the previous family that had her. Even the little ones who signed with their name and ages (five and eight) told Harry in their little crayon letters that Miss Honey was the best. It was tragic they were moving, and she couldn’t go too far from her own family. She was everything Harry could have hoped for. The two letters from the children she nannied for pulled at his heart in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“Hi Cecelia,” she cooed while Harry looked over the words Mitch and Sarah’s friends used to describe her: dependable, intelligent, wonderful, and completely perfect. “You are so pretty; do you know that?” She asked and brushed her finger on Cece’s little cheek while she ate. “Does she sleep well?”

Harry was exhausted. Mostly because he thought every little noise was bad. He was completely thrown during the time off he took while he figured out the situation. It was a huge adjustment for him and Cece. Everything he did felt like it was wrong. “Sometimes,” he said quietly.

“How about eating?” She asked. “It seems like it’s good. Are you a good eater, Miss Cecelia?” she smiled excitedly at the little one. Harry didn’t answer because he felt like he was being interviewed and even though he had no issue answering her, he just wanted to feel a semblance of control over this otherwise stressful, uncontrollable life. “Sorry,” she blushed a shade deeper when no answer came. “I just... I want to know everything about her. I’m not judging, I swear. I... I heard about what happened to her mom,” her voice was full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry Mr. Styles.”

Harry didn’t love Cece’s mum—not that way, but she didn’t deserve to be ripped away from their daughter either. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Thank you.”

Over the last month and a half, Harry became even colder and more distant. Once Cece was born, he didn’t love anyone but his baby girl, his company, and his family. With the little one, he planned on never falling in love again. Maybe when she was eighteen and started to live her own life, he would try again but he was certain he was never going to be able to leave Cece to her own devices. He was wrapped around her little finger that was smaller than the width of his bottom tooth. “Can I ask how many people have interviewed?” She wondered.

“Several...” Harry sighed. It felt like hundreds.

“What do you want for Cecelia?” She asked. Harry tilted his head at her. She was still looking at Cece, she was almost finished with her bottle and her little fingers wrapped around the bracelet near the bottle. “Do you like jewelry, Cecelia?” She giggled. “Good girl; don’t ever settle for anything less than what you want,” she smiled knowingly. Once the bottle was finished, she placed it on the table, then immediately brought her to her chest to burp her.

Harry was unable to form any of the questions he wanted to ask. In the span of a half hour, he hadn’t asked a single question he had prepared because he didn’t need to. “Good girl,” she praised as the little air bubble escaped her lips. Harry thought she would be good. But he didn’t know she would be this good. Then, she placed her back into the car seat and grabbed the toy Harry had left for her to hold onto while he interviewed. It was a small set of rubbery keys. Each one had a different texture and color. They were also filled with little balls that sounded like a rattle when it moved. “Is that so cool?” She asked Cece and giggled when Cece shoved one of the keys into her gummy little mouth.

Harry’s phone rang. He didn’t want to answer it because even though he was taking time off to figure all this out, he had to work anyway. He sighed heavily; wishing he could ask at least one question from his list. “Would y’mind? I have t’take this,” he frowned.

“Of course,” she smiled politely.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes and then Harry was back at the conference room table. He looked at her playing with his little girl making silly noises and faces at the baby. Looking at her with so much love Harry felt like he was intruding.

Then Cece giggled a funny little sound that was most definitely accompanied by her smile. Harry’s heart clenched. She had never made that sound before but when she made it again, he was surer. He gasped. Miss Honey turned to Harry and tilted her head curiously. “She’s never giggled before,” he murmured.

“Oh goodness,” her cheeks pinked again in embarrassment. Then she bit the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. Some parents were heartbroken about firsts happening while they weren’t around nor responsible for it. Looks like she would be looking for another family entirely.

“Don’t be,” he came over and brushed his finger over her little cheek and she smiled at the sight of him. It made his heart ache deeply. “Is Miss Honey so silly?” He used a voice that he should have felt embarrassed using around someone he was interviewing but if he was going to hire her, she would have to get used to it.

“Can you giggle again, cutie pie?” She asked and popped her lips, making the smile Harry loved more than anything in the world appear on her lips. Then the tiniest little noise came from her mouth again making Harry forget all about her smile and fell in love with the noise instead.

“Aren’t you so silly, Cece,” he cooed again and made the same popping sound.

She giggled again and it seemed it was decided. Cece had spoken. Or giggled her suggestion.

“This is m’address,” he handed her a business card with his home address on the back of it. “I’ll have a moving truck come t’your place on Friday. My personal phone number is there too. I already have you’re your phone number from your application,” he explained. “You can start Monday?”

“Yes, absolutely...but are you sure...? I know things popped up you didn’t really get to ask me any question—”

“Do y’want the job?” He asked.

She nodded eagerly. “Yes, very much so.”

“Then it’s yours.”

Her smile was so beautiful Harry wanted to reach out and touch her face. “Thank you, Mr. Styles.”

“You can call me Harry, love,” he said and stuffed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t do something insane like touch her face. “M’sorry ‘bout my former employee. Thank you for bringing it to m’attention.”

Her jaw dropped. “You fired him?”

Harry nodded easily. “Of course. I have a daughter. If he’s going t’ogle you and say something t’you that obviously wasn’t appropriate, m’not going t’let him work for me.”

“Harry,” she said quietly. “That was... I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s done,” he said simply. “I’ll see you Friday?” He asked.

She nodded. “Friday.”

“Do y’want t’say goodbye t’Cece?” He asked while her eyes darted to the little baby gnawing and drooling all over the toy keys.

Her smile bloomed and her cheeks blushed. “Yes, please,” she nodded quickly, unable to hide her want.

Harry smiled.

*

The next month passed in an insane blur.

She had moved into Harry’s spectacular home. It was huge. Tall ceilings, beautiful light fixtures, and shiny hardwood floors. Harry made sure her room had everything it needed. But still remained simple. A desk, a bed, a dresser, and a bookshelf. But she had plenty to make it her own, which Harry assured her she could do whatever she wanted to the walls so long as she didn’t knock them down, which made her giggle.

She had a huge walk-in closet that fit more clothes than she had which only signaled she could go shopping. But the best part was a little alcove that she would use for reading—it pushed outward of the house with a little bench in front of the window. It caught great light, and she could see Harry’s expansive backyard and garden through it. Harry also had a huge pool which excited her. It would help get her workouts in.

The walls were grey-blue, and it fit in with a lot of the décor she had. She hung pictures using removable sticky hooks—a holdover from college. She spaced them out between her couple rooms. She thought this room would have been perfect for a nursery but when she saw Miss Cecelia had a skylight that let in the moonlight and when she checked on her in the middle of the night that first day, it made way more sense.

Her bathroom was massive as well. It had a walk-in shower and no tub, which was fine with her. It was painted a light yellow, so it felt just bright and sunny. The water pressure was to die for she worried she would really stay in the shower way longer than she should have because of it. Harry took Cecelia to his mom’s house where he was going to stay for the weekend to let her get settled without him around. “Do you have a nanny cam?” She asked him. “I don’t mind if you do, I just want to make sure I don’t walk around naked or anything,” she joked.

Harry’s face had a strange look on it and then he cleared his throat. “No, security cameras are... they’re all outdoors.”

“So no skinny dipping,” she joked again, hoping the weird expression would disappear from his face but instead it remained and Harry smiled weakly before turning his attention back to Cece and making sure she was correctly in her seat.

“If you need help moving furniture or anything, let me know I can send someone over.”

“Okay,” she answered quietly worried she would say the wrong thing again.

“Alarm and lock codes and keys are on the breakfast counter for you. You’re welcome t’anything in the kitchen. You can use the car in the garage or y’can call m’driver,” he looked at her pointedly. “I’d prefer y’not Uber or take taxis.”

Her heart fluttered for what she wasn’t sure. It was no secret that Harry Styles was beautiful. When her previous family told her they were moving, she was devastated. She had been with them for two years and she loved them like they were her younger siblings. They offered for her to move with them, but she didn’t want to be far away from where they were. It was at least the same coast as her family, and she just loved the city they were in.

But when they told her they were recommending her to Harry, she was happy. Her research (social-media stalking) found very little. He was in news articles pertaining to Cece’s mom’s car accident which made her heart ache for both of them. Even though the articles made it very clear they were not a couple. Cece would never know her mom, but she hoped that Harry would tell her about her anyway. She found his company and read their mission statement. Harry did a lot of philanthropy which made her heart ache again. It was so kind and sweet. But there wasn’t much she got about Harry from her search. His personal pages were private and there was very little information. Even articles in local newspapers and magazines didn’t have much from interviews. Of course she could respect his privacy, but she was hoping to know a little more about the man she was going to be living with.

This was only her third nannying gig. But she fell in love with Cece the moment she laid eyes on her. She wanted Harry to like her and so far, all she felt was his cold and distant indifference. When he smiled at Cece she saw warmth and happiness. It was completely different than the persona he had when he directed it to her. But Harry chose her to do this. That had to mean something. Maybe he loved Cece’s mom more than the articles let on. Maybe it was a ruse. She couldn’t imagine what that call was like for Harry. There had to be stuff he was working through.

So she didn’t let his indifference bother her.

Or at least... she tried to not let it bother her.

*

Monday, she woke up early and got herself ready early before breakfast time. Harry said he left the house at seven-thirty so he would be at work an hour earlier than most everyone else. When she got to the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee. But then she noted there as a box of English breakfast tea, and she realized her mistake and turned the kettle on the stove instead.

Once the drinks were set on the counter to cool just a bit, she headed to Cece’s room. Found her gazing up at her mobile. “Hello sweet girl,” she cooed and her little face grinned. “We’re going to give you a quick change and then go get you some breakfast, yeah?” She scooped her out of her crib and turned to the changing table. She heard the shower turning off a couple rooms over while she quickly changed her. Harry was naked only a few rooms over.

Harry was excessively handsome. He was tall, with dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline that looked like it could cut through marble. But she thought he was most handsome when he smiled at Cece. It made a flutter in her heart to see him interact with the little one.

But a naked Harry might have been good too.

Cece made little noises trying to talk in a way that only made sense to a two-and-a-half-month old and pulled her inappropriate thoughts from her boss’ body. Even if she was sure there were muscles upon muscles hiding under suits.

When Cece was all changed and comfy, she put her on her hip, draping her securely with the wrap meant to keep her hands free. The kitchen was still empty, so she tended to Cece’s bottle and grabbed the bread from the breadbox to make toast. Once she learned what Harry liked she would make a better breakfast but surely everyone liked toast. Given there was a jam that was half eaten in the fridge she only assumed that she was correct.

“Hi,” Harry said quietly as she pulled the bottle from the warmer. She spun around and took in Harry’s perfectly styled hair, his suit that fit him like a second skin, and his shaven face.

“Good morning,” she grinned. “I...I made you tea, but I didn’t know how you took it.”

He tilted his head at her and noted the toast popping as well with his favorite jam sitting on the counter. She was making him breakfast.

Was that normal? Harry had no idea how a nanny worked. He never thought he would need one.

“Um...there’s also plenty of coffee if you prefer that—”

“No, thank you. Tea. Three sugars. Thank you,” he repeated and grabbed the sugar.

“Do you like a lot of jam or—”

“Just a regular amount,” he watched scooping the sugar into his drink with a teaspoon.

She slid the plate across to him. “Do you want to feed her, or would you like me to?”

“I’ll take her,” he offered. He wanted to see his little lady before he left anyway and could use a snuggle. It was the first time in a month he wouldn’t have her glued to him.

“Let’s go see Dada, Cece,” she cooed and pulled her from the strappy wrap that Harry could never figure out. “Who’s that?” She wrinkled her nose and smiled as she held her out to Harry. Cece grinned and melted Harry’s heart as he smirked and held his hands out for her. He gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, Ce,” he hummed and grabbed the warmed bottle as well. He sat on the stool around the breakfast island and brought the bottle to her lips. “Did y’sleep well, cutie pie?”

She didn’t answer of course, focusing on sucking down her bottle instead. Part way through, her little eyes closed, and she stopped sucking. “Blow on her face,” she said.

“Pardon?”

She smiled. “If you blow on her face, she’ll become alert again. The bottle just tastes so good she’s a little drunk,” she giggled.

Harry blew a quick breath on Cece’s perfect little face and sure enough she perked right back up.

Harry had such long arms he could hold and wrap his arm around, so the bottle reached Cece’s mouth with one hand (sure it wasn’t the most comfortable angle) but it allowed him to take a sip of his tea and get a bite of his toast as well. Harry watched as she made her second cup of coffee and put cream and sugar into it. “Coffee hmm?” He asked.

She nodded. “I prefer iced, but I won’t say no to hot coffee.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and put it on the counter so he could tap at the screen. “I’ll buy an iced machine,” he said quickly scanning the quick reviews on Google for the best one.

She was gaping at him. “Harry, that’s not necessary.”

“Course it is. Want you t’be comfortable here. S’least I can get you. S’your house too,” he shrugged.

Perhaps it would have been different had he been in love with the woman that previously lived here. But this was different. That was too much. “Harry, seriously.”

“Seriously, s’fine, love,” he shrugged one shoulder without looking up at her.

“Honestly, I can just use ice from the—”

“It’ll be here by the end of the day,” he said ending the discussion. He took another sip and bite of his tea. “Did y’do something different to the toast?” He asked putting his hand in front of his mouth so she wouldn’t see him chewing.

“I put butter on before the jam. I think it makes it sweeter. Sorry I should have—”

“I like it,” he smiled. A genuine smile. “Thank you, love.”

“You’re welcome. But...about the coffee... I really don’t think you needed to get me—”

He shook his head as he sipped the final remnants of his tea. “It’s done, love. S’nothing t’worry ‘bout,” he shrugged and just as Cece finished her bottle, Harry caught the time. “I have t’go,” he frowned. “You have a fun day with Miss Honey, Cece, yeah?” He winked at her making her heart skip a beat as she watched him kiss his baby’s cheek again. “I love you have a good day,” he cooed and kissed her again. “Do y’want her or should I put her in the swing?”

“Um... I’ll take her,” she murmured stunned by the interaction.

“Have a good day, Miss Honey,” he smiled sweetly.

She liked morning Harry a lot.

--

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[bbokicidal]

where has the time gone? | [SKZ]

genre: angst pairing: skz ot8 x reader warnings: major character death in every scenario <- read at your own discretion

may flowers grow in the saddest parts of you.

1 year, 2 months, 14 days.

"Happy Valentine's Day." Chris coos as his hands gently tighten around the bouquet pressed into his chest. There's a soft silence that falls between the two of you and he can't help but smile, knowing it's unavoidable when he's at a loss for words - and he's the only one who can speak. "I brought you these. I remembered they were your favorite," the plastic crinkles under his fingertips, slowly moving to kneel down and hand the bouquet over. The damp grass of the early morning stains his jeans and yet he can't bring himself to care when the feeling is nothing compared to the overwhelming cold of not being able to hold you in his arms. His breathing is stuttered, shaky and warm as it leaves his lips. A hand places gently atop the heavy stone in front of him; Your name engraved with your birth - and death - date. Already over a year ago... "I wish you were here with me."

1 year, 27 days.

Minho's lip curls into his teeth and he bites down. He was grateful your mother let him in here whenever he needed it; Showing up with no warning only to be let in with warm hugs and soft welcomes, whispers that he could stay as long as he wanted. Your childhood bedroom was so... inexplicably you. Books, games, an old television, and lots of old knick knacks like a doll here and there or a blanket now stained with wear and tear. He knows your mother wouldn't mind if he touched things, moved stuff around or maybe even cleaned it up a little. But he wanted to leave it the way it was when you last touched everything. He felt that if he disturbed the peace the room brought him, your spirit would be gone for good. The closest he came was letting his back rest against your bedpost as he sat on the ground and took it all in, eyes swelling with tears. He knew he needed to stop coming here, stop disturbing your family with his presence, but he didn't want to let go.

1 year.

Changbin's hands wrap tight around the balcony railing. The metal was stained with the cold and it bit at his palms and fingertips, gnawing at him to let go. Though truth be told it didn't bother him at all - He was too busy overlooking the city lights surrounding his hotel room. He knew he'd be here a year ago today; But he was supposed to be here with you. On your anniversary together, celebrating and drinking wine, eating chocolates, tangling your limbs together in the bed and enjoying each other's presence in the city of love. But because he was stupid and offered to take you out for drinks later in the evening, a year ago today, you weren't here. The memory of the driver, intoxicated and bleary, ramming into the front of the company car makes his hands tighten around the railing in anger. Who was he to take you from him? What made him hate his life so much that he had to take another's instead? Changbin seethes on the instead, jaw clenched and tears pouring down soft cheeks usually filled with small smiles. He lets out a breath; slow, tired, pissed. But he knows that you would want him to enjoy his time in Paris even if he'd gone with the others because you weren't around anymore - so he'll do his best to relax and have fun while he can. Even if the overwhelming guilt is forever lingering.

10 months, 19 days.

"It hasn't even been a year and you're asking me to get over it." Hyunjin sobs as he pushes his palms into his eyes, fingers curled tight into fists and body wracking with his cries. "I can't just forget about them! I don't know what you - expect from me!" He can feel someone's arms wrap around him from his right and he knows immediately that it's Felix, curling up close to him and pressing his cheek into Hyunjin's shoulder with a frown. He knew Hyunjin was more angry than anything about your passing - knew that he wasn't ready to quit mourning just yet. But he couldn't keep letting it show during interviews, on stage, or during other performances. Hyunjin cried when he realized you weren't backstage to cheer him on at concerts, or had angry outbursts when anyone would talk about you and joke about things you use to say or do because he thought of it as them slandering your name even if it was a simple discussion. He couldn't stand people laughing at the memory of you because what was there to laugh at? You were dead. And with your passing, a part of him that was lighter, giggly and... happy - disappeared as well.

not yet corpses; still, we rot.

8 months, 4 days.

Jisung sits with his head down on the desk, arms thrown over the back of his head and fingers grasping hard at his hoodie sleeves. The song that plays over the studio speakers is one he had produced almost a year ago now; a softer melody, something close to "13" - a song you loved more than any of the songs that came out on their albums. He never told you - he never got the chance to - but he'd been making the song for you. Back then when you'd heard it there were no lyrics - just a sweet instrumental that made you feel like you should be dancing in a ballroom to the music, or like you belonged in a romance movie with the song playing in the background. But now... Now, he'd integrated the words he'd meant to say to you all along.

"If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light. (-Rumi)"

3 months, 5 days, 13 hours.

Felix's head felt heavy. Clouded. Dull. Broken. How long had he been on hiatus, now...? How long would it continue? Was he letting his fans down? Oh, right now he.. truthfully couldn't be bothered to care. As much as he adored them, everyone, he felt like he had to put himself first - even if it meant disappearing from the Earth for a few months so he could grieve the loss of his favorite person in the world. He'd returned home only a few days after it had happened, giving the boys little time to see him before he left for Australia to be away from the scene of the crime. He knew it was a freak accident, knew it never should have happened, but he also knew that if he had been two steps closer, an arm's length away - you might still be with him right now. Everything would be okay. You'd be back in the dorms cuddling or baking together, smacking each other with flour and making a mess so big even Seungmin couldn't fathom it. Or maybe, if he'd been too close to you in that moment, both of you would be gone. He shouldn't be thinking it, but... maybe that would have been better than living in a world without you.

27 days.

Seungmin wasn't sure how to feel. He was one of the group members known for being quiet, minding his own business and being a bit stoic compared to the others. But this behavior was... new. The way his jaw clenched at every mention of your name, or the way his body tensed and his hands curled into fists when he saw pictures of you. He felt an overwhelming frustration each time someone brought you up in conversation, feeling as though speaking about it would make him relive the memory of seeing the moment your body collapsed into nothing. Seungmin hated everyone who spoke about you even if it was in a positive light because he didn't want them to keep bringing you up - every mention of your name made his heart tighten in his chest until it felt like he was suffocating. And it pained him even more that people thought he wasn't grieving. Because he wasn't openly crying in public or speaking about you to the masses of media. He saw the way people spoke about him online, calling him a liar, a fake; Saying his love for you was never real. So in dealing with all of his emotions, Seungmin went home every night and laid in his bed, face buried down into his pillow. He let it build up, let the tears finally flow from his eyes, and screamed into the memory foam so loud that Felix could hear it from the next room over while gaming. He'd sob into the pillow until his throat was raw, curling up around himself and pulling his blanket over his head. People were talking about you, and now about him, too. And he didn't know how to handle it.

16 hours.

Jeongin sat in silence, but his head screamed every fews seconds for him to do something. There, on the couch in his dorm, Jeongin sat stiff with his hands digging into his knees as Chan sat nearby - rubbing gently over his back and quietly talking about how they could make arrangements, celebrate your life even if you were gone; But Jeongin heard none of it. His ears were ringing; a constant, nonstop screech that pained him to sit through, all while his thoughts were whirling around in his head like a raging dust storm that clouded all other thoughts of peace and contentedness. Get up. Go to them. Go to the hospital. Go identify them even if it's not your place. Get up. Go to the hospital. Get up. Get up. Go to them. Go to them. Go. Anywhere. Away. Go away. Go away.

He choked, and Chan stopped talking. He watched as Jeongin's eyes finally welled with tears. It was one of the only times Chan had seen Jeongin so emotional with tears pooling down his face in heavy streams of grief, his chest jerking with every breath until he was breaking down in his Hyung's arms and allowing himself to be held. Even if he went to you, you wouldn't be there. You wouldn't be smiling at him, greeting him with sparkling eyes. He would never see you again. He would never hear your voice again. And how was he supposed to live with that?

Permanent Taglist :

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@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[chrisdr3]

First time ~ LN4

Fluff

Summary: It's Y/n's first Grand Prix as Lando's girlfriend.

Lando x Shy! Sainz! Reader

It's been three months since you got together with Lando. Since Carlos approved it and let his little sister date his best friend. Even though Lando already assured him, Carlos knew that your shyness wouldn't lead to public PDA or other crazy stuff, something he never wanted to witness.

Lando was always at your side, convincing you to go do various new and fun stuff, without making people think you are dating. At least not until his home race. As you passed the three month milestone, making sure the relationship will last, you decided to make it official by going with him to the British Grand Prix.

You went to Britain earlier to have a few days to rest and meet Lando's family. They were very kind and loving people, especially his parents, and because of their request, you and Lando ended up staying with them.

You stayed in his old room, not wanting his mom prepare and clean another guest room. You stayed with them, doing lots of fun things during each day and cuddling in Lando's surprisingly comfy old bed at night.

The days passed quickly and Sunday came in the blink of an eye. You woke up really early to get ready and went with Lando to the circuit. You arrived there, holding Lando's hand, trying not to panic. As you were crossing the hospitalities and other paddock buildings, several fans were approaching Lando asking for photos, autographs and giving him various gifts.

You were approaching the McLaren hospitality when a little girl came to you, gave Lando a bracelet and asked him for a photo. You moved a bit to the side, and the girl dragged you in the camera frame. "Wait, are you Carlos' sister?" "Yeah..." " Why are you with Lando?" "Umm..." You looked at Lando and he nodded approvingly. "I'm his girlfriend." You responded, blushing.

The girl took the photo and left, leaving you alone. You finally went to McLaren's garages, Lando took you to his driver's room, you sat down and put his gifts in a box as he changed into his race suit. Then you went out, in the main garage and Zak took Lando to the side to discuss, leaving you alone to admire the car.

As you were inspecting the car's livery, someone tapped your shoulder, taking you out of your thoughts. "You came with Lando here, so you must be Y/n." He spoke. You looked at him, confused slightly. "H-how do you know my name?" The mechanic smiled. "I'm Will, Lando's race engineer. He talks all the time about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He raised his hand for a handshake. You didn't shake his hand, embarrassed. "Um... nice to meet you..."

Will noticed your shyness and embarrassment but didn't say anything, as you continued talking about a lot of things, and didn't know when the time for lando to get in his car came. Lando sneaked behind you and hugged you. You turned around and hugged him back, kissing his cheek.

"I see you met Will, princess. I gotta go now, gimme a kiss." You kissed his lips softly. Then he turned to Will. "Take care of her while I race." "Yes sir." Will responded.

Lando got into his car and went to the grid, whilst you were given a headset and will took you in front of some monitors to watch the race. You stayed there, too shy to talk to anyone, and watched the race.

The race ended with Lando getting his first win, Carlos second and Oscar third, thanks to Max's engine having issues, resulting to him DNFing. You followed the rest of the team beneath the podium to cheer for him. He approached you and kissed you hungrily infront of everyone, leaving you all red and flustered.

After he got off the podium, his trophy and a bottle of champagne in his hands, it was time for the team photo. The whole team gathered infront of the garages and got ready for the pic, waiting for Lando. You waited next to the photographer, when a hand dragged you in the camera frame, the camera clicking to take the photo.

A while later, as you were in Lando's driver's room, scrolling through Instagram, you swore you saw the photo of lando dragging you to the camera frame. This was gonna go viral.

Taglist: @pinkswaet @thef1diary @dilemmaontwolegs @changetyre

[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.

[yeeterthek33per]

Loved and Landed (Steph Catley x Reader)

A/n Requested

-------

Steph lives a busy life.

There's her football life. Obviously.

There's her schooling life.

There's the life she lives with her friends and family.

And then there's the life with-

"Steeeeeph, come on, I wanna get there early, I'm not dealing with Katie leaving something for me to find, again."

There's incessant tugging at the sleeve of her red Arsenal hoodie.

Of course, her football life keeps her the most busy.

Especially when she has to drive it to and from home all of the time now that Kyra's living in the house as well.

It had been a hectic process, but the young midfielder had settled in quickly, taking in the familiarity of the Aussie herself and her club teammates' closeness around them.

Quickly becoming a child amongst the older girls on the team, much like a sibling to them, within but a few months.

That being said.

Kyra was a little shit.

And she knew it too.

A demanding one at that.

Hence why Katie had taken to knocking the young brunette down a few pegs.

Her cockiness was starting to show under the protection of the older girls, so the Irish captain had been messing with her enough to take the invincible mindset away from her.

Leaving her ultimately latched onto Steph now.

A lot.

"Seriously, Steph, please, I can't deal with her leaving shaving foam in my boots again."

The older woman raises an eyebrow at the pleading look on Kyra's face.

"You did this to yourself, Ky. Katie's only retaliating because you decided you were king shit enough to put hair dye in her shampoo."

The younger girl whines.

"Don't you think she's retaliated enough? I've had my shoes violated, my shin guards replaced with slightly smaller ones. I mean, the other day, my water bottle was filled with pickle juice. Pickle Juice! For gods sake."

Steph sighs, rolling her eyes slightly, grabbing the last of her stuff to shove into her pack, she gestures to the front door, to which the midfielder eagerly hurries out of and towards the car, waiting impatiently for the defender to unlock it.

"You've seriously gotta apologise to Katie or something. The girl has ten siblings, I can't imagine she hasn't spent her whole life dealing with bratty behaviour from little shits like you."

Kyra scoffs as she hurriedly buckles herself in.

"Rude."

"The truth."

Steph smirks at the small pout that forms on the other girls lips.

"Hurry up and drive."

"So bossy."

-------

As expected, they arrive with hardly any other people around, decidedly much earlier than any of the other girls. Katie wasn't the earliest of player's anyway, so Kyra really shouldn't be worried about her beating them there.

Still, the youngin looks exceptionally nervous as she peaks into the changing room and gingerly makes her way over to her cubby, scanning it with a ridiculous level of detail.

Steph can only shake her head, watching the young girl sheepishly wander around the room, checking for what may well be hidden traps.

Maybe she should talk with Katie about getting her to take it down a notch.

The Irish woman was nothing if not relentless when it came to getting back at someone.

The last thing the team needed was a midfielder with serious trust issues stemming from their infamous yellow card magnet of a winger.

"Ky, relax. She's not even here yet."

"Yeah, but you never know."

"Seriously, it's game day, relax, she won't-"

"Oh, hello, you two. Stephy. Kyra."

The ever so loud and joyful Katie enters the changing room with a bang of the door as it slams open and hits the wall.

Her smirk quirks up a little wider at the sight of the midfielder, who's looking rather sheepishly around her rather than at the Irish woman herself.

"You two extra early today, eh?"

"Ha, something like that."

Steph gives her a look as she nods in Kyra's direction.

"Give the poor girl a break, would ya? I think she's been thoroughly humbled."

Katie snorts in amusement, eyeing her up.

"Eh, she’s fine. I wasn't gonna do anything."

Steph raises a brow at that.

"....Yet."

There it is.

"Of course. Don't mess around too much, though. We still have a game to play, McCabe."

She lets out an unconvincing hum in response, right as some of the other girls start to filter in, Caitlin one of the ones to settle into her cubby beside the defender.

"What's up with the kid?"

Steph snorts.

"Ask your girlfriend. She's been torturing the poor girl."

Caitlin rolls her eyes, turning to Katie, who's now got a cheeky glint in her as she eyes up the younger of the three.

"Katie."

"What? I didn't do any-"

She stops at the look she gets from the Australian, grumbling as she relents and turns back to her cubby.

-------

Kyra's finally able to escape the locker room out of sight of the defender the moment the Irish woman is distracted.

Heading down the hall towards the physio room, she ends up coming face to face with and bumping face first into someone.

She groans when she rubs at her face and her backside from where she landed on it as she stands up again with the help of her assailant.

The person is stood in a royal navy uniform, a patch on her shoulder with three horizontal gold stripes and a small circled loop on the top, hair slicked back and tight into a bun behind her head.

'L/n-Catley' the name badge reads.

Confusion crosses her face which you quickly notice.

"You're Steph's teammate right?"

"Uh yeeaah? Who are you?"

"It's a long story and sorry about the bump there. I uh, I don't know if y'all know yet but I might need your help. The staff were nice enough to let me in but I need an escort here."

"Where are you going?"

"I got told to wait for one of the trainers in the staff room?"

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Waiting to see Steph, but don't tell her, it's supposed to be a surprise."

Kyra is extremely sceptical, but she leads you down the hall to where the trainers are situated and one of them recognises you immediately, hugging you and dragging you into the room.

She's even more confused when the staff member is nearly in tears.

Wait.

Navy uniform.

Here to see Steph.

L/n-Catley on the name badge.

There's no way.

"Are you... Are you married to Steph?"

You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Yes I am. If you can't tell it's been a little while since we've seen each other."

"Yeah, I can tell, her house is far too empty for the size of it."

"Ah, so you're the new roommate. Kyra, right?"

"She's been talking about me?"

You nod.

"We would call every two weeks. When she found out you were moving to Arsenal, I couldn't tell if she was happy or mad because you'd already trashed her white towels."

"Hey! That was not my fault, the wine just fell... on it's own."

There's a sheepish look on her face.

You chuckle softly.

"She'll be fine, the pattern was ugly anyway, we needed new towels... Don't tell her I said that."

Kyra smiles at that.

"It's great to meet you, then... How are we planning this out?"

"I'll have my sister here sneak me somewhere I can wait and surprise her at the end of the game."

She nods.

"Alright, I better get going then before the girls come looking for me for pitch inspection."

You nod back and give her a warm smile.

"Oh, I'm Y/n, by the way, Lieutenant Commander Y/n L/n-Catley."

-------

The roar of the almost entirely red and white crowd as the girls enter the pitch is as usual, deafeningly loud.

Home games are always the most adrenaline instilling games, ones where their fans are always the loudest, chanting and screaming every time one of their own touches the ball.

Steph can still hardly believe it.

The growth in the game. Breaking records every single home match so far.

The FA Cup semi-final was no different it seems.

Her eyes subtly scan the crowd as she jogs out behind the others, shifting from clapping fan to clapping fan. There's an air about the crowd.

A massively high inducing air, one that she can feel in every nerve ending in her body as she practically bounces around the pitch in warmups.

She brushes it off as it being a semi final type of high.

Aston Villa would be a difficult opponent and she assumed that was the reasoning.

-------

It seems she's proven wrong in the first ten minutes.

It doesn't take long for Stina to score, the home crowd immediately losing their minds, and they barely have time to recover just two minutes later when the Swede swoops in for the double.

By the fourty-fifth minute, they know they have the game. Four to nil over the Villans thanks to a Stina hattrick and a goal from Frida. Her heartbeat is thumping in her ears as they approach the final minute.

This is the part they're in the dark. How many minutes left of stoppage? How much longer does she have to defend?

The players are taught not to worry about that. To just play until the whistle blows. And she does.

But she can't help the nagging awaiting of the whistle, wondering when it will go.

The moment it does, there's celebration, relief, and a lot of cheering and screams and congratulation from the air around.

A pair of arms and legs wrap around her from behind as Kyra jumps on her back, the young Australian whooping into her ear.

"Onto the finals, Stephy!"

The defender chuckles and celebrates with the team, the announcer shouting out the home teams win to wind up the crowd once more.

As they do the celebration walk around the pitch, the announcer announces player of the match, and then one more announcement catches her ear.

Her head snaps toward the tunnel the moment she hears it, heart stopping at the words of the female announcer.

"And finally, one last round of applause. Let us congratulate and welcome back someone very special to one of our own. Lieutenant Commander Y/N L/n-Catley returning from fifteen months of duty at sea with the Royal Navy."

And truly, there you are, her wife.

Dressed to the nines in your Black, long sleeved uniform, hands clasped behind you, standing with a wide, almost teary smile as you watch Steph bolt across the pitch towards you, catching her with little effort as she jumps into your arms, knocking the cap off your head with the force.

The rest of the Arsenal girls stand shocked, looking between themselves and their left back at the sudden appearance of a totally new member of the Catley family.

Before they can even try to work out who you might be to Steph, the defender has her lips pressed to yours tightly, tears streaming down your face.

The sensation of finally being able to kiss you, her wife. HER wife, has her trembling against you, her stomach twisting and curling as you hold her tight against you, your own hands shaking as they rest on her back.

It had been the longest stint you'd gone without seeing each other, having been on a cramped ship for the majority of that time.

Even having been used to long times apart, the immense relief of being able to hold your person, your love, YOUR wife, after so long. was like nothing else you'd ever experienced.

And you were glad you had all the time in the world to experience it now.

When Steph's finally able to pull back and look you in the eye, hands holding your face, eyes scanning your features, noting a small scar under your right brow, and then returning to make eye contact again with you, albeit very tearily, much like yourself.

Lifting your own hands, your thumbs swipe away the tears on her cheeks, leaning down once more to kiss her, forehead leaning against hers.

You take in the immensity of the screams of the crowd all of a sudden, especially the crowd around the players' tunnel.

With that, she buries herself back into your hold, her nose buried into the crook of your neck.

Your eyes scan the pitch, watching the applauding or shocked expressions of the players.

You'd already known her teammates didn't know she was married, however their shocked expressions still have you chuckling.

All except Kyra's wide smile as she watches the two of you and you give the girl a wink.

"I can't believe it. You're here."

It's half whimpered into your shoulder, and you just barely hear it over the crowd.

"I'm here. I'm home."

"They finally let you on leave?"

She's using a half joking tone beneath the watery chokes and sobs.

"Better than that, Love."

She pulls away shocked.

"You mean.."

You smile down at her teary eyed.

"I'm home for good, not retired but they're giving me an office in London. Full time hours still but I won't be needed for duty anymore."

She frowns softly after a second.

She knew you'd always hated the idea of an office job.

Catching the look on her face, you knew what she'd be thinking about.

"I don't care where it is, or what I'm doing. I'm just glad I'm home, with you. I've had my fill of travelling and front line work for a lifetime."

Leaning your forehead back against hers, you let the moment sink in.

You'd known it was coming for months now, haven spoken to your superiors, and them letting you know there was a position available remotely, you'd taken it in a heartbeat.

If it meant coming home to your girl, you'd have done anything.

A small throat clearing a couple feet from you, the team had moved to stand around the pair of you, eager to ask questions of the brunette in your arms.

You nudge her softly with a small giggle in her ear.

"Babe, I think they have questions."

"They can wait a little longer."

You don't fight her on it just letting her settle into you again, holding you tightly.

The moment she does let go, she's grabbed by the shoulders and interrogated by the team rather swiftly.

Leah stands arms crossed.

"Now Stephy, when did this occur?"

Steph sheepishly smiles around her at her.

"Alright alright, Gunners, meet my beautiful wife, Y/n. She's been in the navy since she turned eighteen, we met five years ago when she was on leave in Australia. We started dating less than a month later and she left on duty about four months later. We got married after three years, bought a house right before she left a year and a bit ago. We haven't seen each other in person since then. Until now, that is."

And just like that, you're immediately dragged into the group rather swiftly, squished into several hugs.

A firm handshake and then a tight hug from their captain, especially. The Scot making firm well you know how quickly she'd bury you should you hurt their defender, despite the fact you'd known Steph longer and you chuckle, nodding in agreement at the stern look turned cracked smile she lets go.

When you're finally free, Steph takes no time tucking herself under your arm and wrapping hers around you, looking up at you slightly with a proud, elated smile, eyes still slightly teary.

Returning the expression, you press a small kiss to her nose.

"Welcome home, Baby."

You shake your head.

"Congrats on the win, Baby, this is your moment right now. Go celebrate for a bit, we've got all the time in the world now."

She pouts but relents with a small peck and nudge.

"KYRA, YOU KNEW?!"

The shouts of the Irish captain make her jump but chuckle a little as a gloating midfielder teases the rest of the girls.

Yeah. She was in for it.

-------

[thebirdsandthebats]

Tim’s family thinks he can cook really well.

He didn’t mean for this to go so far. It had been a misunderstanding by a well-meaning Dick the last time he was in Gotham and stopped by the boat to visit. Tim had reheated some leftovers in his fridge from the night before, and Dick’s eyes lit up the moment Tim set the plates down.

“Wow, that looks amazing,” he’d commented. Tim, exhausted from a long patrol and preoccupied with dread of having to wake up early, had merely agreed. Of course Bernard’s cooking looked amazing. He was almost as big on presentation as he was on flavor.

“Yeah. Tastes even better.”

What he didn’t realize was that Dick had assumed he made the food. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if not for the fact that Dick loved to brag on his siblings. The next week, Stephanie stopped by unannounced to visit.

“I can’t believe how much you like it here. In a good way, obviously,” she’d grinned while Tim heated up some of the french onion soup that his boyfriend had made him. Tim laughed as he used a terry cloth to handle the hot bowl, placing it down in front of Steph.

He sat next to her with his own bowl. The random visits were odd. But on the bright side, the need to be a good host was kind of forcing him to eat on a more normal schedule. Two birds, one stone he guessed.

“Yeah. I like the marina a lot,” he blew lightly on his spoonful, the soup still steaming hot. “The atmosphere is so different from anywhere I’ve lived. I think being around the marina folk has been good for me—”

“Ohmygod.”

Tim looked over, startled by the outburst. Steph was staring at her soup with wide eyes. Her hand covered her mouth. Tim’s brows drew close together in confusion. “Are you okay? Did you burn your tongue?”

Steph grabbed his shoulder in a firm grip. “You’ve been holding out on us!” She accused.

“Wh—”

“You’ve been sticking to easy foods when you cook at the manor, but here you have the good stuff!” Tim frowned at her words. The realization was beginning to sink in. Did she think he made the soup? He knew how to cook, but he was nowhere near his boyfriend’s level. Bernard was literally in school to be a chef. He liked to practice his assignments at Tim’s boat, suffering through using his poor excuse for a kitchen all so he could leave Tim with the food when it was finished.

Tim opened his mouth to break the news to Steph, but their phones rang out with the high pitched drone that meant someone needed backup. Stephanie sighed. She lifted the bowl and downed all she could in a few swallows before leaping to her feet. “Job never ends, huh?” She offered Tim a hand up, and he took it without hesitation.

“Nope. Let’s suit up.”

After that night, Tim forgot to correct her. He was busy, and his family getting the wrong idea about his cooking abilities just didn’t make the top of his priority list. Bernard kept cooking when he spent nights over, and family kept dropping by on other nights, somehow never crossing paths. Tim’s neighbors seemed perplexed on how he’d gone from only ever letting his boyfriend in to having company every other night. And Tim just…couldn’t find the right moment to set the record straight.

Everything came to a head in the summer, not too long after Tim’s birthday. He was sprawled out on his couch, head resting in Bernard’s lap as the blonde’s fingers scratched lightly at his scalp. It was the lazy kind of day they didn’t often get to spend together, and Tim was feeling warm and drowsy. That was, until his phone dinged with several text notifications, and he dug it out with a grumble to see who needed him.

stop spamming the gc

Dick: it’s august .. here we go

Steph: birthday month babey!!

Duke: my wallet…

Cass: Dami, Jason, Steph, and Duke all get the bday cake in their contact names :)

Steph: Tim I know you’re lurking. for the birthday month we all want you to bring GOOD FOOD TO THE FUNCTION PLS AND TY

Damian: do not forget my dietary restrictions if you do so.

Steph: you text like you’re 84

Tim groaned and let his phone clatter to the floor. Bernard’s fingers paused in his hair. “Bad news?” He asked, concern painting his voice.

Tim shook his head and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Not really. It’s just—um. You know how you always leave food here for me?” He tilted his head back to look Bernard in the face, and his breath caught for a moment when he saw that his boyfriend was already looking down at him.

He snickered at Tim’s expression. “Yeah? Do you need more?” He asked. Tim was baffled by the question. His fridge hadn’t been empty in ages, and even with his frequent guests, Bernard made such large portions that it took him days to finish a dish. He had more than enough.

“No, it isn’t that. My family…” he hesitated, wondering how dumb this was going to sound. But Bernard was waiting, watching him expectantly, and these days he’d started filling in the gaps himself whenever Tim’s words trailed off thoughtfully. If he didn’t finish speaking quickly, Bernard would have an entirely new problem invented.

“…um, they think I can cook.”

Bernard burst out laughing.

Tim’s face burned pink. “Wh—hey,” he complained at the reaction. “I know how to cook, why are you laughing?”

Bernard wiped the corner of his eye, giggling like a maniac. “Sorry, sorry! You said that like you were coming out to me, and also I’ve seen you sauté,” he managed, and Tim rolled his eyes at the memory. He had sautéed just fine…mostly.

When Bernard was finished laughing at him and had caught his breath again, Tim explained his situation and showed him the texts. He raised an eyebrow. “Jeez. Four August birthdays? And they expect you to cook for all of them?”

Tim sighed. “Yeah. I could just tell them they’ve got the wrong guy, but now it’s birthday month and we’ve gotta plan quick.” It was actually a very rare occurrence that they got together for every birthday in August. Their schedules were so unpredictable. But all 4 was the goal.

Bernard chewed his lip in consideration. “Okay. What if…you give me a list of each of their favorite foods and any restrictions, and I’ll make the food.” He proposed. Tim sat up, turning to face the blonde fully now.

That was way too much work for somebody already cooking for assignments. Plus, Tim didn’t want to pretend he was the one cooking anymore. He said as much to Bernard, who refused to look fazed.

“First off, I can cook 4 meals in my free time. Easy. And second off, I guess you’ll just have to bring me with you to clear up any misunderstandings,” he grinned.

Tim perked up instantly. That was…a perfect solution, actually. Everything would be cleared up, he wouldn’t have to show up without what was expected of him, and the best part, he’d get to bring Bernard with him. He’d been itching to start working his boyfriend into more of his family’s meetups because it was looking like their relationship was pretty serious. He wanted to be able to bring him to their holidays, parties, and dinners. This was a perfect opportunity to start.

He leaned in and kissed Bernard’s cheek. It would never cease to amuse him how a real kiss on the lips was nothing to his boyfriend, but Tim kissing his face always had him turning red.

“Oh.” Bernard touched his face. “You have a crush on me or something?” He teased weakly, and Tim laughed as he settled back down on the couch, his head resting in Bernard’s lap as his fingers found his hair again.

A week later, Tim showed up to the manor with Bernard following close behind, a pan of vegan chili noodles in his arms. Dick opened the door. He beamed once he saw Tim.

“Hey! C’mon, everyone is already inside, so if you brought the food you can…” he trailed off as he finally spotted Bernard behind Tim, who was fighting to keep a straight face. He blinked. “Oh, is this…?”

Bernard carefully balanced the dish in one hand and stretched out the other in greeting. “I’m the chef.” He said with barely contained glee.

The realization seemed to hit Dick all once. His mouth parted in surprise. He glanced back and forth between Tim and Bernard. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief. “You know, this actually makes…so much more sense. Sorry, Tim.”

“Wh—excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?”

[ladykailitha]

Staking My Claim Part 1

Hello! Because of my flu, I've been working on low stakes stuff to help with my foggy head. I promise this week to be back on to the WIPs I have going to be build up my backlog again.

This started off as a silly "let the boys be goofy" and turned into a "found family with ONE goofy moment in it". Sorry about that. I blame the cough medicine honestly.

***

Eddie and his friends were enjoying a rare night where they didn’t have to play at Cora’s Den in Indy when it happened.

Now, Cora’s Den wasn’t gay bar per se, but as it was one of the most inclusive places in Indy, the normies considered it one.

So when he came back from going to the bathroom he leaned into the center of their table so he could whisper. “Tell me that’s not Steve Harrington at the bar in a crop top and cutoffs.”

All three of his friends turned to the bar as one.

Gareth smacked his lips. “As much as I would love to, man, no can do.”

“And is he really flirting with that dude?” Eddie asked with a wince.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “I’m seriously doubting that. Looks like Stevie could use a rescue.”

Eddie turned and looked over. Sure enough the guy that had been flirting with Steve had been replaced by a new guy. And one that didn’t look like he was getting the hint to fuck off.

“Go on,” Brian said. “You know you want to. He’s clearly got a thing for the guys and you might even get laid for the first time in months.”

Eddie nodded curtly and slapped the table. “Right.”

*

Steve was having a good time until this guy came along. He just wouldn’t take no for answer. He wasn’t looking to go home with anyone. His parents had just blown out of town again and Steve was looking for a way to blow off some steam. Relax after the last week of sheer exhaustion of dealing with them and their judgments. He usually went with Robin so that people would leave them alone. Only she had the late shift tonight and the early shift in the morning.

He was going to wait until the weekend when they could both go and have fun, but Robin insisted that he go, otherwise he’d be moping around Family Video all week. So he came out tonight, not really out to get drunk, or laid, just to have a good time.

This was not that.

Suddenly an unopened bottle of his favorite beer was being pressed into his hand as a warm arm wrapped around his waist.

“There you are, baby,” a soft voice cooed. “Sorry I’m late, work was a nightmare.”

Steve let himself relax into the man’s side. “I’m just glad you made it, Eds.”

Eddie grinned at him. “I swear old man Thacher is getting worse in his old age.”

Steve laughed. “I know, right? I went in for an oil change and he berated me for twenty minutes on why couldn’t I just do it myself.”

Eddie frowned. “Don’t you have a BMW that requires a special oil?”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “Yup!”

Eddie turned to look at the guy who was standing there with his mouth open. “Are you still here?”

The guy bristled. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I was here first.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Steve said, straightening up, but still remained plastered to Eddie’s side. “Eddie Munson. Lead singer and guitarist for Corroded Coffin. You know, the band that plays here every weekend?”

“Yup,” Eddie lied easily. “So where’s Birdie tonight? Working the late shift?”

“Ha!” the man snapped. “That’s not his friend’s name. His friend’s name is Robin! I knew you were a fake.”

Eddie blinked at him as if the man had grown three heads. “Robin Buckley. Robin is a bird. Bird plus Buckley, ergo Birdie. I have nicknames like that for all my friends. And any friend of Stevie’s is a friend of mine.”

Steve rubbed his nose along Eddie’s jaw affectionately. “And how did you know what her name was?” he asked, not even looking at the guy. “I don’t think I recall seeing you around before.”

The man’s face paled and he turned on his heel, storming off in a huff.

“Thanks for that,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear. “I’m usually pretty good at getting assholes to lay off, but he wouldn’t take no for answer.”

“Your inner mean girl couldn’t make him go away?” Eddie whistled. “That is persistent.”

Steve giggled. Then he blushed and looked down. That was when he remembered the drink in his hand. “So what’s with the unopened beer?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was another creep by bringing you an open bottle.”

Steve looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. “Wow, you really are my knight in leather armor tonight.”

Eddie took the bottle and popped it open with his bulky ring on his middle finger. “There you go.”

“That was so hot,” Steve said stupidly.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Duly noted.”

*

Steve was invited back to their table and had an absolute blast.

He was coming back from the bar with a couple of drinks in his hands when someone bumped into him, almost making him spill the drinks.

“Hey, watch it!” he hissed.

Immediately Eddie was at his side in an instant.

“You okay?” he asked taking a couple of the drinks from him.

“Yeah,” Steve groused. “Just some asshole not watching where he was going. I didn’t even get a drop on my shoes.”

Eddie snickered. “Yeah, okay. You and your jock reflexes.”

Steve leaned over and whispered, “I’m also very flexible in bed.”

“As in top or bottom or are we talking positions?” Eddie asked, running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly.

“Both.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “No need to go so hard, baby. I was already wanting to take you home with me tonight.”

“What about your friends?” Steve asked grinning back. “It sounded like you all share the apartment.”

“We have a signal for if we bring anyone back,” Eddie assured him. “Also we know to keep it down because the apartment walls are thin and not just inside the apartment.”

Steve’s mouth formed an O. “I got you.”

He knew there were pros and cons to living in an apartment. Having your neighbors that close were definitely a con.

“You still living at home?” Eddie asked as they made their way through the crowd.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s not like my parents are ever there. Though it would just be my luck that they’d come home while I’m out the queerest bar in Indy.”

“Not a fan of queers?” he asked once they reached the table.

“They’re fans of Reagan,” Steve said with a grimace. “I’m pretty sure that automatically puts them on the opposing team.”

The entire table recoiled in sympathy.

“Fuck, that’s harsh!” Jeff said. “Thankfully my parents aren’t Reagan supporters, though they have raised many an eyebrow at Eddie here.”

Eddie face turned into a feral grin.

Brian shrugged. “My parents don’t care as long Eddie doesn’t shove it down their throats.”

Steve rolled his eyes. That old nugget. Walking down the street holding hands with someone of the same gender was shoving it down their throats as far as they were concerned.

Gareth looked at his friends wide eyed. “Um...sucks to be you guys I guess, but my parents adore Eddie, don’t mind him or I being gay and threatened to sue the school over the devil worshiping allegations about our D&D club. So...”

“Three cheers for the Hughes family!” Eddie said.

They all cheered and clanked their glasses together. They downed their drinks and roared with unrestrained joy.

Steve could feel a rush of blood around his ears. The room faded in and out and it sounded like Eddie and his friends were under water. He staggered off his stool and nearly stumbled to the floor.

Then the world went black.

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Also I'm not sure if this post canon or no monster AU. I can't decide, but it's ambiguous either way.

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[a-substantial-trash-pile]

This morning I said goodbye to my childhood dog, Kody. He was 18 years old. He was my baby. My best friend. My whole heart. I love him so much.

I remember the first time we met Kody at the animal shelter. He was actually named Tyra then because the staff had thought he was female. Then the first thing he did in our meet-n-greet was try to pee on my brother's leg, and the staff member with us at the time was like, "oops I think this may be a boy actually." So of course we had to take him. When my dad was signing the adoption forms, the desk person asked what he wanted to rename "Tyra" to since "Tyra" was actually a boy. My dad, put on the spot, just went, "uhhhhh Tyrone?" We still laugh about it to this day.

So my dog went from being a Tyra, to a Tyrone, and then to a Kody, because that was the name us kids wanted. I remember the way we thought that name up was because we watched a lot of the Disney show "Suite Life of Zack and Cody" at that time. But we changed the "C" to a "K" because in our kid minds it made the name cooler and more unique.

Kody was a weird little guy. He had a lot of anxiety, which meant he fit right into our family. He didn't get along with many dogs unless they were old and calm and it took him a while to warm up to strangers. When he went on walks, he would have to go and pee on every tree we came across, even though he had nothing left in the chamber and was just doing the motions. He liked to climb on top of the couch and the loveseat and nap there. He liked to nap in warm piles of fresh laundry and patches of sunlight too. We always joked that he acted more like a cat than a dog. When I tried giving him bones or chews, all he'd do was roll on them and then go stuff them under the couch or behind a shelf without chewing them. Actually, Kody was pretty picky with his food in the early days. Maybe because my mom kept giving him table food. But as he got into senior age, he got less picky. Kody also loved getting nightly scratches from my dad. He'd lay in my dad's lap and get so relaxed from the scratching. I'd get a little jealous because I couldn't get Kody to stay in my lap as long as my dad could.

The only command we ever managed to teach Kody was "sit" and he was real good at it if he knew you had a treat in hand. However when he got older and began developing dementia as well as gradually loosing his sight and hearing, he lost the command. The first time I realized he didn't know how to sit anymore, I cried. The first time I realized that Kody didn't know how to wag his tail anymore, I cried. Watching him deteriorate from what he once was, watching the shine in his eyes become dull and cloudy, watching as he gradually lost the ability to do more and more things... it was so painful.

Last night Kody came over to me and laid his head in my lap and fell asleep. It was the first time he had done that in months. I just sat there and pet him and cried. Now I can never pet him or hold him or kiss him on the head again. And it feels so unbearably, unimaginably painful. I can barely comprehend it. It feels like I'm in a nightmare. It feels like my heart's been ripped out of my chest. It feels like a part of my world is ending. But I know I will be okay eventually. I have to be.

Kody, you were a very good boy. The best dog/cat/rat in the world. I'm going to miss hearing your little feet pitter-pattering across the floor. I'll miss your barking when the doorbell rings. Your excited whines in the car. How you would roll on your back for belly rubs. The way you would burrow under the blankets or just shove them around until you made a nest. Your snores and funny twitches when you're deep asleep. How your fur was soft on top your head and then got coarser on your back. How big and round your eyes were. I'm going to miss it all so much. I hope you know how loved you are. And I hope we meet again someday. Thank you for everything, Kody. I love you.

[tbag-hq]

after DAYS of thinking, i disregarded everything i came up with and wrote this in like 30mins LMFAO / full version of this

cw: Illusions to babytrapping, grammer, age gaps, kind of dark reader

header by aquazero

You of course always knew that even after years together, a ring, house, a dog and even know a baby. That even though you're committed enough towards john to give up your freedom for him, you know he might be as committed to you.

Maybe it was the constant deployments, or maybe the feeling that you only had a ring due to familial pressure and the constant hinting that he would get from you.

No matter what it was it's clear now that maybe trying to keep someone who didn't want to be kept (at least by you) was an idea destined for failure, even more so when the key part of the idea included a baby.

John always made sure to be safe, he didn't care for children and that was something made obvious early on, regardless of how many years spent together even just the thought of having kids offput him, even more so with the knowledge that he spent more of his time working then anything else.

He wasn't exactly in his prime either, pushing his mid 40's was something that also contributed to your own thoughts, over the years you've seen friends and cousins start families, you could admit you felt envious.

Just seeing, holding, and babysitting the kids caused a dark sense of resentfulness to make it's way inside of you, you had seen many stories of girl's 'accidently' forgetting to take their birth control which resulted in pregnancies and love filled marriages.

At some point after your own birth control had seemed to 'slip' your mind, you had fully convinced yourself that it was healthier for your own body to stop taking it at all.

You of course didn't want john to know as the last time you had tried to convince him that birth control was bad for the body and that john "Probably couldn't produce kids anymore anyways."

He wasn't to excited to hear you reinforce his own insecurities of being to old for you, after that argument it took a little over a week of apologies, favors, and sex to make it up to him.

After the seed of a baby was planted inside your head, you stopped birth control and decided to not actively try and get pregnant but let nature take it's course, that course being condoms with tiny holes in them.

And when it finally happened, although you had to act devastated and as if your life had just been ruined, inside you were jumping for joy at the prospect of your little family of three, you know if only that had actually been the case.

If only you had seen the signs, the quietness from him as you talked about the life growing inside of you, the way his stuff slowly made it's way out of your house and into someone else's.

If only you had noticed his weird behavior before waking up one day three months into your pregnancy to john price and all of his things gone.

[milkywayes]

okay so happy pride month or whatever, no one asked but here’s my garrus vakarian dating history headcanon:

he has had 5 casual hookups pre-normandy, which isn’t a big number compared to his peers, and you’d think it’s because he’s an obsessive little freak who’s bad at being a turian, which evens out his good looks and swagger (and for some it does - cue some very frustrated crushes being forcibly stamped out because ‘really? that guy? he yelled at our superior last week in full view of the entire canteen’) but really he just didn’t notice half the advances made at him and the other half he turned down because he was busy thinking about important stuff (like gun mods, or cases, or math) and after careful consideration and weighing the pros and cons decided his time was better spent elsewhere. two of the 5 were with men, the other three with women, all turians. no repeats. he has had zero relationships pre-shepard if you don’t count the homoerotically-charged friendship he had as a teenager, one year before and one year into boot camp, before their very different abilities got them postings on opposing ends of the galaxy (read: elite sniper units on stealth patrol ships vs guy that assists the guy that fixes the lights in a backwater colony). he thinks no one knew about this, but his whole family did know and just tactfully didn’t bring it up. during the archangel years he has 1 hookup mostly because everyone tells him he’s so high-strung and needs to get laid more than he needs oxygen, but he bows out early on because his depression isn’t really conductive to the proceedings (read: she came but he didn’t.) this somehow ends up adding to the archangel urban myth, a true hero of the people asking for nothing in return, wink nudge, which makes him the butt of his team’s jokes quite literally until they all die bloody. he has never been in love until shepard, is initially unable to even categorize the feeling, and unfortunately for him, dealing with uncertainties and gray stuff and undefined parameters are about the only thing he’s actually bad at (besides the whole model turian stuff, if you count that as a skill). so basically his skill tree gets inverted as soon as he catches feelings. previous hookups would have described him as a gallantly attentive but emotionally unavailable, doesn’t save your omni-tool address but remembers your name kind of guy, which he mentions once to shepard. doing so is a faux-pas, though she doesn’t point this out and instead laughs uproariously because just that day he dented his newly-polished armor in his attempt to hold the elevator for her

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[thecranberriesslut]

Californication

Summary: You and your best friends dad commit sin on family vacay.

Pairing: no-outbreak! Joel Miller x Fem!Reader ’Cara’

Wc: about 3k

Warnings: The age gap is girthyyyy (Joel is 40-something, reader is 18), dirty themes, smut, read at your own risk, inappropriate jokes.

Notes: It’s my first fanfic posted on this account so please be nice, also english is not my first language so sorry for any typos, also you decided to read this so don’t complain about the age cap, it’s legal guys…

Californication Pt. 2

Californication, Pt. 3

The sky is bleeding shades of gold and orange over the navy blue early morning shade, only a couple of stars still visible from the night before. You shift in your bed uncomfortably, not having been able to sleep almost the entire night, mostly due to pure excitement. Luckily, your alarm sounds, and you get up to turn it off. 7:01, you manage to make out as your eyes adjust to the morning hue. You gather your honey-blonde hair and tie it up, so it's out of your face. As you retrieve your phone from charging on your bedside table, you see 4 new messages from Sarah, your best friend since grade school, right when you moved to the suburbs from New York.

You love Sarah, you have from the very first moment you met her. When you had just moved to a new house, and you felt all blue until you saw a beautiful blonde girl about your age in the yard next to yours-- wearing denim overalls with flowers on them, reading a book and eating a strawberry popsicle. She saw you looking through the window, and yelled to ask you whether you wanted a popsicle too. Sarah was an angel-- unfortunately, you were the fucking devil, especially when it came to Sarah's father.

Joel Miller-- You had begun to notice his appeal in the seventh grade, right around the time you started feeling things while watching that one scene in titanic. When you happened to scrape your knee outside Sarah's house and Joel had to patch you up. He lifted you onto their bathroom counter and placed a hello kitty band-aid on your knee, while looking up at you with his dark brown, captivating eyes and giving your knee a kiss. He told you that you were such a good girl for being so brave. You, being a horny 13-year-old, thought about that for months. He was your sexual awakening.

And now you're 18, still not able to look at him without your face growing hot, and your knees nearly giving out, going on spring vacation to Palm springs with your parents, Sarah, and Joel.

“Cara, are you up? We're leaving in two hours, with or without you!”

You hear your mom's perky voice yell from downstairs, she can be quite dramatic. But you wouldn't change her for anything.

“Yeah, mom!”

You quickly gather yourself and make a mental note to not think absolutely anything dirty about Joel 'sex god' Miller while on vacation. You answer Sarah's anxiously worded texts about what to pack for the vacation, and whether she can wear a bikini or will your mom think it's too whorish. The thing you love about Sarah is how much she thinks about stuff, she knows your mom loves her, and still, she's worried. You tell Sarah not to worry, and that you'd already packed, because you can think ahead too. You move onto picking an outfit for the trip.

It has to be something cute, but not too cute so my parents don't get suspicious-- but Joel has to like it.

You think to yourself, and then go on to curse yourself for thinking about Joel, and what he might like. You need to get yourself together. He's like 40, not to mention your best friend's father. You settle on some classic Levi's 501 shorts and a white Brandy Melville long sleeve, because the morning dew can cause a chilliness in the air. You decide on no makeup, and to wear your hair down, unstyled. You hurriedly grab the last of your things, phone charger, bikini-- a book.

Furthermore, you grab a Red Bull from the fridge quickly before you make it down to the driveway. Sarah's already sitting in the backseat of your moms gray sedan, and Joel's loading up their stuff. You feel weak as you see Joel, he's wearing a black t shirt that shows off his sweat glazed biceps and that damn cross necklace hanging around his neck. God-- there's something in you melting right now, and it is not from the heat outside.

“Hey darlin', need any help with that?”

Joel asks, in his low voice, smooth like whiskey, topped with the most charming southern drawl imaginable.

“Uhm, yeah! Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

You smile at him as you hand over your suitcase, trying to paint your face with an attractive smile, it is probably coming off as shy and adolescent if anything. Joel smiles back, the kind of smile that could stop traffic, and he pats you on your lower back, his hand lingering there for a second too long to be considered innocent. Even after he lets go, the heat of his big hand lingers there.

“It's no problem, a pretty lil' girl like you shouldn't be doin' heavy lifting, go on sit down, Sarah's in the car already.”

You go in the car, ready to blame the heat for your fiery crimson cheeks if it comes up. You hug Sarah excitedly and your parents carry the rest of the stuff to the car. You almost choke on your Red Bull as you see Joel opening the back door and motioning you to sit in the middle so he can fit in the back. Reluctantly, you move to the middle seat, as close to Sarah as possible, so you don't accidentally brush up against her smoke show of a father and go even more red than you knew to be humanly possible.

---------

After a long 5-hour drive of sitting next to Joel as still as you could, avoiding sliding closer to him during bumps in the road, and trying not to look at the slight bulge in his shorts. You were exhausted. You were so aroused and embarrassed, you feared that in the span of 5 hours Joel had noticed your horniness, had thought it was super gross, and had somehow telepathically told your parents about it. You were pulled out of your thoughts as the car came to a stop in front of a gorgeous white beach villa and Joel patted your thigh.

“Finally here, bet you're dyin' to stretch those legs, huh?”

He fucking knew. And now you needed to find the nearest hole in the ground and bury yourself in it. You just let out an awkward laugh as he got out of the car, and tried to console yourself.

He doesn't know anything, you are being paranoid.

You and Sarah managed to get out of the car, and you almost dropped your phone when you saw it.

“There's a huge fucking pool!”

You yelled in utter shock and excitement.

“Watch your mouth, young lady!”

Your dad yelled from behind the car. You and Sarah just laughed as you ran inside the villa, the tile floor freezing in contrast to the scorching hot air, you ran to the biggest bedroom and claimed it for you and Sarah. There was a huge king-sized bed laying in the middle of the room with expensive looking white sheets, and pillow mints set on the pillows.

“I could get used to this.”

You exclaimed, joking with a certain sense of indifference, as you unwrapped the pillow-mint. Sarah only laughed and said something about her dad, before he appeared in the doorway with our bags.

“Speak of the devil.”

Sarah said.

“You were talkin' 'bout me?”

Joel asked, a smug smile on his face, as he set our bags down with ease. The veins in his forearms prominent as his muscles bulged. He was strong, like-- incredibly strong, those bags weighed a lot, and he lifted them with not as much as a grunt. His rich dark brown hair fell over his eyes and he pulled it back with his hands, revealing some gray salt and pepper hairs underneath.

“Yeah, Cara was saying how embarrassing you were in the car.”

Sarah said nonchalantly, rolling her eyes and smiling at you. You were horrified. First of all, you were already terrified of Joel and now the fact that he probably thought you disliked him.

“I didn't say that! I-”

You defended yourself frantically, until Joel interrupted you.

“Sure you didn't, you lil' troublemaker. Your dad 'oughta teach you a lesson about respectin' adults.”

He joked. You couldn't say anything back, just stare at him as he turned to leave the room.

“Gosh, my dad's embarrassing.”

Sarah complained.

“No he's fine.”

You said quietly. Joel's jokes sounded like normal jokes to everyone else, but if you were a horny 18-year-old avid dirty book reader, his jokes always had a dirty undertone to them. Like that one time he suggested he bend you over and spank you for stealing some of his beers with Sarah. His words always had an effect on you, and sometimes you felt like he was doing it on purpose. Although every time he joked, you tried to hide behind your shy, enigmatic personality and not reveal that you had just gotten hornier than ever.

You had all settled in by the time the sun was starting to set, your parents had gone out for a walk and Sarah wanted to go scout the surrounding area for shops and things to do. So you were alone at the villa-- with Joel. You hadn't dared to leave your room yet, but your stomach was begging you to go get food already, and you had no other choice. So you gathered your courage and went into the kitchen, Joel was nowhere to be seen. You opened up the fridge to see a tuna sandwich, and came to the conclusion that it was probably for the road trip, and you could eat it now. So you took a bite, and felt someone's eyes on you, you turned around to see Joel wearing only his swimming trunks, hair soaking wet, and his abs glistening, as he dried them with a white towel.

“So... now the naughty girl is stealin' sandwiches too, huh?”

He accused you playfully, while dragging the towel across his body lazily, as if trying to torture you.

“What? I- I didn't know this was yours-”

You were quick to defend yourself.

“Relax, Cara.”

He said, a sly smile painting his beautiful face. The way your name rolled off his tongue felt like a direct attack to the tough exterior you were trying to keep up around him, and it went straight to your core.

“I'm jus' jokin' with you, you're always so tense around me, why is that?”

He asked, his voice remaining velvety smooth.

“Uhm... no, I'm not.”

You tried to sound convincing, you didn't. The way you fidgeted with your shirt hem and always slightly lowered your head when you spoke to him, suggested that you were genuinely afraid of him. But you weren't, just head over heels in lust. Wrongful lust.

“You jus' seem nervous is all... is everything all right?”

He asked as he walked slowly closer, like a predatory cat, he was a tall man, well over 6 foot. As he got closer, he started to tower over you in an intimidating but undeniably attractive manner. His build was strong, he looked like a man who could throw you across the room and not break a sweat.

“I'm not nervous.”

You lied. He looked at you knowingly, like a teacher who had just caught you cheating and was about to embarrass you in front of the entire classroom. He brought his big rugged hand to your forehead and made a caressing motion, you were confused until he held his hand to the light and confronted you.

“You're sweatin', and it ain't even that hot in here, you're also red as a beet.”

He smiled, having caught you in a lie. You were about to say something, but he stopped you.

“You know, lyin's not nice-- only bad girls lie.”

“What are you, my father?”

You clapped back, soon to realize that was a mistake. Because he placed his hand on your chin gently, but in a way that was meant to intimidate you, and forced you to look straight in his dark, scary eyes.

“No, and you're damn lucky I ain't, cause I'd sure as hell punish you for lyin' to me, make you respect your daddy.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you could feel the familiar redness rising to your cheeks. He dropped your chin and laughed a hearty laugh.

"Listen, kiddo, I'm jus' messin' with ya.”

“Oh!”

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and tried to shake off your dirty thoughts.

He didn't say anything sexual, you are just a weird ass dirty minded virgin.

“And I'd work on hidin' your emotions better. Gettin' all worked up by your best friend's father callin' himself daddy-- you are one sick puppy.”

His crude words should have disgusted you, you should've felt gross or violated or something, but you didn't. All your feelings were overpowered by one. Complete intoxicating arousal, purely from his words. You didn't have a lot of time to gather yourself when you heard the door and saw Sarah walking inside with something in her hands.

“What do you have?”

You asked, curious. Sarah held the items up, and you could make out two bagels and two diet cokes. You smiled like you had just seen a million dollars.

“I love you so much!”

You screamed as you ran for the bagels.

“I thought you'd probably be starving, I found this cute ass little café down the road.”

You took the bagels and headed to your room. Feeling extremely guilty about what had happened with her dad just moments prior, how could he just say something so-- vigorous out of nowhere, and now you had to pretend it didn't happen. You placed the bagels on the bed and changed your denim shorts into your comfortable pink Hollister mini shorts, you took out your MacBook and scrolled endlessly, trying to find something for you both to watch.

“Can we watch The Kardashians?”

You asked Sarah, she just nodded a quick yeah and bit into her bagel. You watched the show until it was very late, the sun had set completely, and the only sound throughout the house was the quiet hum of an air conditioner. Sarah was half asleep, you had almost forgotten about the whole thing with his dad already.

It's fine, you were just reading too much into it, he didn't mean anything by it.

You were way too in your thoughts to go to sleep, so you decided that a little midnight swim could do you good. You changed into a tan Burberry bikini and retrieved a white towel from your closet, and made your way to the massive pool. The air felt warm, the night had brought a cold breeze, but the heat of the day still lingered in the air, almost like a memory. The water was warm, it was sitting there day after day in the heat, so it had gathered some of it. You could easily just go all the way in, it felt heavenly-- After having swam a couple of laps you lifted your head out of the pool. You almost drowned when you saw Joel, crouched by the side of the pool, staring at you and smiling.

“Fuck! You scared me!”

You screamed at him. Coughing out some water you had accidentally swallowed when you saw him.

“Sorry... was jus' enjoyin' the view.”

He said, smugly. You decided that if he wanted to play games, you would play along. You splashed him with water so his sweatpants and white tee got soaking wet, and smiled at him-- challenging him.

“Whoa! Kitty's got claws... But you ain't a brave girl.”

“Why's that?”

You asked, swimming closer to him and holding onto the border of the pool, inches from him. The light of the moon reflected on you from the water. The air smelled like smoke, brittlebush, and chlorine.

I probably look fucking ethereal right now.

You thought to yourself, feeling confident, trying your best to give Joel 'fuck me' eyes, something you'd learned while reading one of your grotesque books.

“You know I can't come in that pool, you're hidin' out 'cause you know you shouldn't challenge me.”

If there was ever a time to be courageous, this was it. You lifted yourself out of the pool slowly, Joel observed you with a slight sparkle in his eye. You got out of the pool and slowly walked over to your towel to dry yourself off. Joel laughed a low, hearty laugh.

“I guess I was wrong.”

He said, holding his hands up in defeat.

“So, what are you doing up this late?”

You asked him, party curious, partly trying to relieve the tension.

“Oh, well darlin' if I told you I'd be considered a dirty, bad man. Let's jus' say I couldn't sleep.”

To be continued.

[totalswag]

graduation - RAFE CAMERON

authors note we love soft!rafe thats all i gotta say

summary rafe's is supposed to attend his girlfriends graduation but told her he couldn't make it last minute due to work stuff. rafe finishes his work stuff early and decides to surprise his girlfriend after the ceremony with flowers.

warnings crying, cussing, wholesome content

It’s graduation

You are officially finished with school for the rest of your life. On to the next phase of your life. Everything you've done to get here has paid off. All those examinations you studied so hard for, to the point of crying and wanting to quit, paid off in the end.

The second you stopped onto campus as a freshman, you couldn't wait to get your degree and graduate from college. It’s been your dream to go to Chapel Hill University since high school.

Your entire family gathered to see you walk across the stage and receive your diploma. You were glad to see them all here on this special occasion. In a way, seeing your loved ones cheer you on as you walk across the stage in your gown and cap, receiving your diploma and degree is a great pat on the back.

There is one person in particular you wish was attending.

Your boyfriend, Rafe.

“Is Rafe coming?” Y/F/N asks, nudging your shoulder. 

Y/F/N met freshman year, you lived in the same dorm. A week after knowing each other, you instantly clicked. You two live in a two bedroom apartment near campus. She’s that type of friend you know you can count on no matter what.

“He said work got super busy and that his dad needed him to stay to help out” you sigh, “he wishes he could be here though '' choking on your words but you take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

When Rafe told you on the phone he wasn’t gonna make it due to work your whole world came crashing down in one second. You know how much Rafe takes work seriously– it's a family business he needs to take care of. 

Y/F/N pouts, wrapping her left arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a hug to give you some sort of comfort. 

“I bet he wishes he was here too, Y/N.” Y/F/N knows how much you want him to be here and watch you walk the stage. 

Before you could answer, the president announced everyone to stand up to receive their awards and degrees.

This is finally it.

After the ceremony, you walked around the large crowd of families to find yours. You took a bunch of pictures with your friends before you went over to your family. Your mom texted you where everyone was at.

When you found your family, you walked over with the biggest smile on your face holding your diploma in the air, moving it up and down.

Everyone came over to you and congratulated you. In so many ways, the love you received from your family warmed your heart. You were also given flowers and balloons. There were numerous pictures taken. 

Multiple conversations between the family started happening.

Your older brother and his wife arrived, followed by their two-month-old daughter, your niece. Your brother handed her to you. She wore a onesie with writing that said, My auntie graduated  with flowers all throughout. For the photo, you held her by her armpits, pulling her face to yours and kissing her nose. 

"Ugh, I love being your auntie!" You exclaimed as you cradled her.

She looked up at you with a grin, making you smile even more.

Your mom had her phone in her hand, ready to take a picture of you with the flowers and your diploma. Your mom is a photographer, she takes amazing pictures and usually takes pictures of you for your instagram sometimes.

Everyone gathered around to take pictures of you as well.

So much was going on that you didn't notice Rafe standing behind you with a bouquet of flowers and a card he bought for you.

You could feel a male present standing behind you. You smelt a familiar cologne, Rafe’s cologne. 

"Congratulations, baby," he quietly said, catching you off guard.

Your eyes had blown out of their sockets. Your heart was racing at a hundred miles per hour. You spun around, putting your arms around Rafe and pulled him closer, unable to let go.

Rafe was the only one who mattered right now.

Tears began to build up in the corners of your eyes.

“How are you even here right now? I thought you couldn’t make it today” you cried, kissing his face, laughing.

“Well, I was able to get the important stuff done and decided to surprise you” Rafe explained, holding your waist.

"Did you see me-" you are interrupted by him, "yes, baby, I was there to see you walk the stage."

"I believe these are for you, my pretty lady," he says as he hands you a gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

"Thank you Rafe, these are beautiful."

"I'm so proud of you and everything you've done to get to where you are now." "This is definitely a proud boyfriend moment," you sigh, then laugh at his final remarks.

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[greynatomy]

surprise

katrina gorry x reader

based on this request.

harper’s gonna be a big sister!!!

part 1 part 2

———

“Flowers.”

“Check.”

“Chocolates.”

“Check.”

“Card.”

“Check.”

You and Harper are at the store, buying things for Katrina for Mother’s day. It isn’t until tomorrow, but you wanted to get everything ready.

The next morning, you woke up extra early, leaving the comfort of your wife’s embrace, successfully not waking her. You walked to your daughter’s room, rubbing your hands up and down her back.

“Wake up, Harps. We gotta make Mummy breakfast.”

“Mmm, no.” She stuffs her face closer to the pillow.

“It’s Mother’s Day, remember.”

Harper sits up, gasping, suddenly wide awake.

“Mother’s day!”

You carry Harper on your hip to the kitchen, hair all over the place.

“What should we make Mummy?”

“Uh, pacakes, eggs, bacon.”

Harper helped you mix the pancake batter, reminder her to not eat it cause it’s yucky. You plate all the food and place them in a tray. Walking to the room carefully, you place it down on the table in the corner of the room, helping Harper up on the bed.

“Happy Mummy Day!” She yelled, going into Katrina’s space, cuddling her.

Katrina sits up, back against the headboard, eyes light in up at the sight of her family.

“Oh, this is amazing. I love it.”

You had a bit of a family day, Katrina saying she wanted nothing more than to relax with the two of you. She also did get you some goodies to celebrate you on this day too and you were more than grateful.

———

A month later, you were in London for some meetings. Kyra practically forced you to stay in her place instead of some hotel, saying “I wanna spend some time with my Papa.”

You couldn’t say no.

You arrived in the afternoon, looking for the spare key Kyra told you where, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Woah, woah! Can I help you?” You hear near you.

“Yeah, just looking for the spare key, by I can’t find it.”

“Are you at the right place?” You can tell they’re a bit cautious of you from the tone of their voice.

“Of cour—”

“Papa!” A voice you recognize all too well yells, jumping into your arms. “You’re here!”

“Hey, Roo. How ya been?”

“Good. Good.”

You both are catching up, completely forgetting about the other two that came with Kyra.

“Why’d Kyra call her Papa?” Katie asks Caitlin.

“That’s Mini’s wife.”

“Ah.”

The next day, you left the apartment before Kyra even woke up, leaving a note in the kitchen. It’s a busy day for you.

What you didn’t know was that Kyra was already up, texting your wife the all clear that she could come up. Opening the door, Kyra greeted her mother and sister figures.

They’ve decorated the whole place, having many, many breaks in between. Charli and Kyra were in charge of baking the cake, Mini obviously supervising.

It isn’t until a couple hours later that they hear keys unlocking the front door. They all get into places, lights turned off.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

You flinch in shock, not expecting this kind of welcome home.

“Harper!” You exclaim, excited to see your daughter after being away for a while. You carry Harper on your waist, walking over to where your wife stood. “Hey, baby.”

“Uh, hello? I’m here too.”

“Charli! You’re here!”

“Thanks! I feel the love.”

You didn’t expect to be celebrated on Father’s Day, don’t was an unexpected but appreciated surprise.

“I’ve got one last present.” You wife spoke up, handing you a small box. “Go ahead. Open it.”

She has a big smile on her face, which makes you skeptical, but open the box nonetheless. Carefully lifting the top off, you see a small little stick.

“What is this?” You ask, taking it out for further inspection. “Do you have covid?”

“Wha-no. I don’t have covid.” She looks at you as if you’d grown two heads.

“Two lines means covid though, right?”

“Huh? Let me see.” Kyra takes the stick out of your hands. “What! No way! Are you stupid?”

“What? What is it?”

“She’s pregnant!”

“What? Oh my god!” You carefully walk towards your wife, going down on your knees, pressing your forehead to her stomach. “There’s a baby in here?”

“Are you crying?”

“Shut up, Charli.”

“Harper! You’re gonna be a big sister!”

“Big sister!”

“Yeah! There’s a baby in Mummy’s belly.”

“Mummy eat a baby?”

“No!”

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Thirty)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content/CW: Mig is rutting, workplace sex, fear kink, breeding kink, intercrural sex, copious sexual fluids, oral sex, tongue play, hormone scenting, unresolved sexual tension.

Word count: 11,000 Notes: IM BACK BUT ALSO THIS IS A LONG ONE LMAO IM SORRY

Mig stuck to his word as Autumn continued to roll in.

You would be his, no matter what.

The days passed and soon Nueva York was a beautiful patchwork of dull oranges and reds, with the upper city parks creating a gorgeous spread of burnt amber grass beneath the cold sun. Mig’s own universe went much the same way, with his forest home going from a bright evergreen to a spread of dark greens and slowly melting auburn shades as the trees lost their hue. You woke every day in his nest to a new blanket of leaves coating your front door, each load bigger than the last, and soon it was clear that winter was approaching.

You were getting chillier in the mornings, even with Mig’s huge, fluffy body at your side. More and more you were relegated to sleeping beneath his folded form like a baby bird beneath its watchful parent, and at a certain point the bed was so covered in silk blankets it looked almost like a mountain.

More of your stuff from your apartment made its way in too. Your clothes, your toothbrush, your kitchen utensils, your bathroom supplies.

It was a strange mismatch. The nest was rustic, with Mig’s makeshift tools and handspun tapestries, which made all of your modern appliances look out of place. There was nothing more jarring than a portable electric toothbrush sitting next to a hand-carved wooden basin over a bamboo drip, which was your version of a sink, or your phone sitting next to the firepit he used to boil water.

It was strange, yes, but welcome. It really was beginning to feel like home.

It was just that, with home, came pressure.

Time was passing, and it was passing fast. In those sweet early months with Mig it’d felt like you had all the time in the world, but the world was proving that wrong.

You had to find a solution to your universal separation, a way to prove that you and Mig could safely cohabitate forever, and potentially have a family if you desired that in the future. If you couldn’t prove it was safe, the society couldn’t sanction it any further. They couldn’t risk anything that might cause multiverse instability.

That left only two outcomes to this relationship, but in Mig’s mind, there was only one outcome he was willing to accept, and that was success. He was beyond the curious, testing phase of the relationship, the tepid exploration of lust and companionship.

He was in love. He was madly, inescapably in love with you, and he would not let you go.

This left him in a state of feverish devotion to his work, and he spent almost all his free time in Miguel’s labs working out the calculations to a cross-universe serum. At first, he tried to bring you with him, since he missed you far too much, but that ended poorly. He felt too bad making you stay up in Miguel’s office, where you’d inevitably fall asleep from exhaustion and Miguel would have to cover you in a blanket.

So instead he started doing calculations late into the night in the nest while you slept beside him. He even started doing calculations in his sleep. You’d wake to find wall after wall covered in markings you couldn’t comprehend.

The only other hiccup in his way was that he was also totally devoted to helping Micaela and Gabriel. Much of his and Miguel’s previous work had been put to the side to focus on her, using their joint background in genetics to find a cure for her ailment.

Miguel was obviously far more concerned with protecting the existing Micaela than with securing Mig’s future, and while it frustrated you both you couldn’t exactly blame him. Micaela did come first, and he was right to prioritize her, but the uncertainty in your future was becoming a strain.

Mig wanted to start living again, to hope again. He wanted to sleep beside you knowing that you were his, forever and always, and that he wasn’t a doomed abomination. He wanted to know you’d be with him until the end.

No more lonely wailing in the woods. No more singing for a person who would never come.

He wanted to live. He wanted you. He wanted his family.

But the longer their work took, the less certain it felt. Every little re-calculation felt like a punch to the gut, and every mission or postponement felt like a weight on his back.

But you can’t stay in limbo forever.

Closure had to come eventually, one way or another.

…

‘Come on, come on…’

You struggled not to impatiently tap your foot as you peered around the line ahead. You had to crane your neck to see over the 10 or so other spiders all idly waiting for their turn at the counter.

You were waiting in line at the HQ cafeteria to get lunch for you, Miguel and Mig, something you did almost every day now as an unusual little trio. The boys, as you called them, were utterly fixated on their dual projects, and while you weren’t much use scientifically you were the one little lifeline they had left to sanity and stability.

If left to their own devices they’d science themselves into husks. This left you the task of keeping them grounded, keeping them fed, and slapping them back into reality when need be.

It was slightly grating to be around two supergeniuses all the time. Mig was a sweetheart as always, and while he could be a little annoying when he talked to you like a child, he was never condescending or mean. Miguel, on the other hand, was very condescending. He had a need to explain, a need to teach, but he had the patience of a mouse and a tendency to get sassy if you ever got anything wrong.

However, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy your time with the two. Now Miguel had cooled down he really did seem to be making a difference in his attitude, especially after meeting Gabriel and Micaela. He was short-tempered and stressed, and that would probably never change, but there was an unspoken gentleness to his attitude now. It was almost, protective.

And Mig…

Your face grew warm at the thought of him. His smile. His soft-spoken compliments. His little abdomen wriggles. His big, open, honest eyes, peering down at you as they practically dripped with affection.

Your mind wandered to his breath on your neck in the morning, when he’d blow your hair aside to kiss your forehead. That warmth grew exponentially.

Mig was always perfect. Not literally, but to you… Yes. He was perfect.

‘Hey!’

You jumped in place as someone tapped your shoulder. You spun back and forth only to realize that the line had moved three spaces ahead, and you’d been too lost in your little daydream to notice. The spiders behind you did not look impressed.

‘Sorry! Shit—just a second.’

You stammered an apology and hurried forward, trying to ignore the curious stares you get. The morbid interest in Mig’s lover never seemed to go away.

You stayed hyper-vigilant as you waited to finally reach the front of the cafeteria. You’d replayed asking for your order so many times that it practically tumbled from your lips when you reached the server, making you appear like some kind of empanada-loving robot.

As you made your way back to the office you couldn’t help but pause to admire the new décor.

The whole building was covered in dainty, slightly tacky Halloween objects, coating the walls from top to bottom. It was all in place for the Halloween party tomorrow. There were skrunkly little paper spiders hanging from the high beams, orange cut-outs of cats and pumpkins plastered to the wall.

It was almost painfully twee, but you kind of loved it. It felt authentically true to form for this place. You also knew Miguel had refused to spend any more than the absolute bare minimum on decorations out of spite, since he hated the idea of doing this in the first place. Hosting events and being considerate of members' well-being was one thing, but being drawn out of work to wear costumes was, ironically, not his forte.

Unfortunately, despite being the de-facto leader, he’d been outvoted by the other elites, along with every other Spider in the society. You’d been subjected to his rambling about this for almost a week. Luckily, he didn’t know you’d also voted to have the party.

You prodded a little cheap plastic bat that was hanging from the ceiling as you hopped from the beams into the main corridor before Miguel’s office.

You were quick as you hurried down the same familiar route; passed the Spiders crowding the hall, passed the rudimentary go-home machine, and down the darkened empty corridor filled with Miguel’s old suits and gadgets.

As you approached the door you were hit by the smell of metal and the low hum of a machine. It vibrated through your bones in the most eerie way, causing the walls around you to jitter as if moving.

You instinctively slowed down.

Shit, they were in the middle of running their experiments again.

You crept up to the entrance to Miguel’s office and carefully nudged the door aside, being careful not to dip in any further. You didn’t want to startle them.

‘Pressure at 53%’

Lyla’s voice floated out from beneath the eerie hum as you peeked around the doorway. The office was usually dark, awash with cold navy light and the dull orange glow of Miguel’s monitors, but right now it was alight with an almost supernatural glow emanating from its center. It cast odd shadows across the walls and floors, like hands sneaking up to grasp you.

‘Lyla! Speed it up.’

‘Pressure at 73%. I’m going as fast as I can!’

That was Miguel’s voice, you thought. It was nearly identical to Mig’s but you knew them both well enough now to pick them apart. You peered a little further into the room.

‘Qué chingada… Come on.’

Mig hissed a few more curses under his breath as his abdomen rustled.  

He’d bent his front legs like a horse so he could grasp the computer with both hands, and he was right on the verge of physically shaking it. Every

He was so close, so damn close. He’d gotten the formula down to a predicted 3% success rate, and if he could just get a few more test runs in, he’d have it. He’d have you.

‘Alright! Are you ready?’

Miguel called down to Mig from his floating office. He had to about halfway in the air, allowing him to look down on Mig as he ran some sort of experiment.

You could see the enormous table they were always huddled around, covered in glass jars and holographic screens all flashing with a million numbers at once. As you sank against the door frame, you noticed that the crackling was getting louder.

���Pressure at 89%. Almost there.’

You could see something starting to spin on the table, creating a whirring noise akin to a helicopter’s blades. The sound was triggering every instinct in your body to run, to hide, and you had to fight yourself just to continue watching.

‘Hold it steady!’

‘I’m holding steady.’

The light expanded until you were forced to squint and pull away, hiding yourself behind the door. The sound was unbearably loud, the whirring grating on your ears as the light grew brighter and brighter.

‘Pressure at 98%...’

‘99%’

‘100%!’

And then—

A crackle filled the room and the light dimmed in a single split second, leaving the room in darkness. You had to wipe your eyes to adjust to the dimness. Everything smelled like hot metal, and you could see smoke drifting up into the rafters of the office.

‘Serum stability at 99%’ Lyla’s voice called out, followed by a sharp bark of a growl.

‘ARGH!’

Mig pulled back and kicked one of the loose chairs right into the wall, almost totally obliterating it with the faintest display of aggression. ‘¡Jueputa! Chingada Madre!’

As the low whirring of the machine dulled, he began to pace, his spider legs scuttling back and forth. His abdomen was shaking dangerously, that much you could see. He had his head in his hands and seemed to be trying his hardest to not lose his temper any further.

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest at the sight.

Miguel was cursing beneath his breath as he put out the fire. ‘God damn it… Lyla, what keeps going wrong?!’

‘It’s just routine checks, Miguel. It’s totally normal.’ 

‘We’ve been stuck at 99% for a week!’ Miguel barked back, ignoring Lyla’s slightly snarky tone.

‘99% is good! That’s better odds than your watch had when you tried it out’ she argued back. You could faintly see her hologram floating in the air beside them, pacing back and forth across the open air. Miguel bitterly waved his hand through her digital form.

‘Yeah, and I was stupid to do so. I can’t approve it until it's 100%.’

‘Maybe the calculations are off’ Mig murmured to himself. You saw him drop back down to the computer again, grasping at its mass like it was a person who he could shake sense into.

‘My calculations aren’t off!’ Miguel snapped back in a slightly harsher tone. ‘I know what I’m doing!’

You could see the tension rising. They’d just keep getting more and more irritable if they remained fixated on their work. You decided now was the time to step in.

With a huff you pushed the office door aside and bellowed towards them. ‘Hey! Come on guys, break time!’

The sound of you voice drew Mig to snap and turn, a motion so inhumanly fast he nearly wrenched the entire computer apart from with his hands. Miguel had to step in and shove him off just to salvage it.

‘¡Tonto! Ah, ten cuidado’ Miguel snapped under his breath, though Mig heard none of it. He didn’t even respond when Miguel elbowed him away.

He was fixed on you, watching you run down the corridor towards him. The way you smiled, the way you bounced as you sped up. He couldn’t stop his abdomen rustling and vibrating with a deep, profound sense of joy. Miguel noticed that too and promptly rolled his eyes.

‘Miggy!’

You squeaked and jumped up into his arms, with the enormous spider catching you with instinctive prowess. He drew you up to his chest and held you like a large cat.

‘Mi tesoro’ he purred. ‘I missed you.’

‘They were gone for 15 minutes’ Miguel sarcastically replied.

‘I know’ Mig replied, his big crimson eyes still fixed on you. He kept tilting his head to get a better angle of your face, deliberately staring until you got flustered and tried to look away. You could feel him nosing at your hands as you covered yourself. Your quiet giggling was almost addictive to him.

‘It was still too long…’ Mig whispered against your fingers. ‘Too long…’

‘Still too long— Alright! Come on, computers finished that round. We can break.’ Miguel grunted and pushed the computer aside as he stood, his hands outstretched. ‘Can I eat, then? Or did you forget about me?’

You pulled back your hands and peered down at Miguel. ‘Forget? What? I wouldn’t forget about you.’

‘Ahuh. What about—’

‘Oh my god—I forgot your lunch order ONE time!’ you cried, cutting him off before he could bring up the same story he always brought up. Despite himself, Miguel’s lips did tilt into a slight smile.

‘Exactly. Once. And you could do it again’ he replied in a slightly snarkier tone. You huffed and threw his box of empanadas at his chest, which he caught mid-air with his webs.

‘You went—you were on a mission twice—’

‘Ahuh, ahuh—’

‘So, I had to remember to NOT get your order—’

‘Yep, keep digging that grave—’

‘I had to remember to NOT get your order the second time, because you sent that memo saying it was wasteful to leave your food, and then the third time you didn’t DIRECTLY tell me you wouldn’t be on a mission, so I didn’t have it there! I am not in the wrong!’

You burnt your throat out while rambling off your excuse. Miguel just kept trying to hide his growing smile of endearment as he webbed his way up to his floating desk, leaving you and Mig to sit beneath him.

‘It’s not my job to babysit you. If you can’t check the schedule that’s something for you to fix, not me. Consider it… character building’ Miguel replied smoothly.

‘Next time I won’t get it deliberately’ you huffed, before reaching into the bag and giving Mig his order. He purred as he took it. ‘At least you’re grateful, Miggy’ you mumbled, which caused him to purr even louder.

‘Always, arañita.’

As Mig folded his legs and settled down on the floor you sat at the front of his abdomen, snuggling into his fur with your meal resting on your folded legs. You could hear Miguel grunting with barely suppressed pleasure as he started eating above you.

Mig paused then as his watch buzzed. He glanced down and awkwardly tapped it at with his huge claws until he finally got it to recognize his touch.

‘Mm? It is—Oh!’

Mig’s face lit up into a smile as a hologram flashed up from his watch, revealing a line of text and a blurry picture. You tilted your head out of curiosity.

‘Hm? What's up?’

‘It’s ah- Gabriel. I’ve been re-learning how to text so that we may, converse, more easily, and he has sent me a picture of Micaela.’ Mig sounded so proud as he spoke, and his eyes as they flitted over the picture were deeply endeared. It filled you with joy to see him looking so comfortable.

‘Oh! That’s nice, that’s good. I’m glad you’re properly keeping in touch now. What’d he say?’

‘Mm! Well, last night he was telling me about how bad the hospital food is. I offered to send him some of my deer meat, which he seemed to find humorous, and today he has sent me a picture of his mates cooking and—’

‘They don’t use mate, Mig, that’s his wife’ Miguel added.

‘Wife. Yes. I forget… Ah, his mate- wife¸ gave him food to sneak into the hospital, and he has sent me a picture of him eating it with Micaelita.’

He glanced at the photo for the second time as he spoke, and the sight caused him to purr all over again. He’d only known his baby niece for a few months now, but he truly loved that little girl. He had an outlet at last for all his pent-up paternal instinct, and seeing her happy brought him so much joy.

‘How is the um- I mean I guess, sensitive subject to bring up, but… How is the serum going?’ you asked.

‘Well, Micaela’s stuff is almost fully done’ Miguel replied. Mig was too busy trying to catch an unseemly long bit of cheese now dangling between his mouth and his empanada to speak, so his variant took over with a slightly exasperated sigh.

‘Luckily, we buckled down and, Lyla did a lot of the work. Scanning the multiverse for somewhere with more advanced medicine was pretty easy, unfortunately the place we found with the right equipment does not have a Spider-man in it for easy contact.’

‘Did you need to go there to get it, though?’ you asked. You were trying to listen while also teasingly nipping in to steal from Mig’s string of cheese, something he found both adorable and aggravating.

‘Luckily again for us, uh—no. Not really. We scanned a few computers and managed to replicate it here’ Miguel explained. ‘Micaela should be just fine.’

‘Yes! But, it means we’re behind on the solution for us’ Mig said as he finally swallowed his food. ‘Which, we are trying to resolve, right?’

‘Jess is getting antsy’ Miguel remarked, more to himself than to you or Mig. He was picking at his own empanada bit by bit, taking off little chunks which he then threw into his mouth and slowly chewed between his fangs. He chewed his food like nicotine gum, as if he was in constant deep thought. ‘Everyone is. Especially with the anomalies getting worse.’

‘I mean… that’s not, our fault, right?’ you said.

Miguel didn’t reply for a moment. He stared into the distance before double-taking at you, almost as if taken by surprise. ‘What? No. No, it’s your fault. It’s… we’re not sure. Maybe it’s a coincidence. But, it’s not you.’

‘Oh… Good.’ You weren’t sure you believed him, but you also weren’t willing to press the issue. ‘But, um—I mean regardless it’ll be okay, right? We’re, getting close?’

To your relief, Miguel did nod as he swallowed his last bite of empanada. ‘Mhm. Mm… Yeah. I think it should be finished soon, if we can just complete the last checks.’

‘Checks?’

‘The stabilization test-runs’ Mig said. He’d finally finished his meal as was now paying very close attention to you, ensuring you continued to eat in between asking questions. He’d grab or gently nudge your hand up to your face to ensure you took bites. He was fussy, yes, but very sweet.

‘De-stabilization, huh? Sounds scary’ you added between quick bites of your sandwich.

‘Catastrophic’ Miguel corrected.

‘Not—necessarily’ Mig said as he wiped crumbs from your face. ‘All it means, is that we need to ensure the serum won’t de-stabilize and cause any anomalous activities or holes when used. We’re delicately re-organizing multiverse DNA, but, we are handling it with utmost care.’

‘You don’t need to convince me, Miggy, I believe you’ you snorted back.

Mig opened his mouth to speak again when a low beep drew his attention away. It was Miguel’s watch, most likely a message, and whatever it was had turned his contented expression into a deeply sour one.

‘Ah… Mierda. So stupid.’

He cursed beneath his breath as he dropped from his office back down to the floor, landing with a dull thud.

‘What’s up?’ you called over.

‘It’s Jess. It’s this Halloween party, ah—I didn’t even vote for it! But I’m the leader, apparently, of course I only become leader when it suits them—’

You paused Miguel mid-rant by snapping your fingers. ‘Miguel! Come on, to the point. You’re rambling.’

‘Ay, don’t be rude. What I meant to say, then, is apparently I have to go approve these new decorations. I’ll be back soon, we’ll finish the second test run when I’m done.’

Miguel had begun walking before you could even think to say anything else, so you and Mig just resorted to waving him off with a soft ‘bye!’. He shot you a deflated thumbs up over his shoulder before vanishing out the door.

Silence fell in the wake of his departure, and for the first time you were alone with Miguel. All you could hear in the office was Mig’s thudding heart and his slow, rhythmic breathing against your scalp.

‘Arañita?’

You blinked and leaned back against his abdomen until his face came into view. His eyes were wide, and as they watched you awkwardly blowing his fluff out of your eyes, they dilated. ‘I didn’t get to mention, this morning…’ He paused and swallowed. ‘You look, radiant today, mi amor. You look very, pretty.’

The second those words left his mouth you broke out into a dumb little smile. You tried to look away, but Mig was quick to catch your chin with his claw, forcing you to hold his gaze. His eyes softened.

‘No, no. Don’t deny it. I know you want to.’

‘Miggy…’

‘That is not to say that you don’t always look pleasing. You do. But I wanted to tell you today. I feel I don’t tell you enough.’

‘You make it more than clear how you feel about me, Mig’ you whispered back. His fur was warm and sweet on your cheek, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle deeper into it. ‘You don’t have to say it.’

‘Mm… But I will, mi amor’ he whispered back. God, he loved saying that. He’d say it all day every day if given half the chance. ‘Mi amor, you are such a beautiful creature. I am grateful every second of every day that I have you as my mate.’

You felt the heat in your cheeks growing in tandem with the lightness in your chest. You squealed internally as he smiled down at you, his face filled with open, honest sincerity. ‘Yeah, well… I could say the same about you too, so… you know’ you murmured. His eyes narrowed with barely suppressed joy.

‘Do I know?’

‘You… Yes, but—Okay. You are also, a beautiful creature, and I am extremely grateful every millisecond of every day that I met you�� you replied with a teasing jab. He chuckled, and when you chuckled back, he bent his torso down to meet your own.

‘I missed you’ Mig whispered. You could feel him nosing at your hair as he spoke, taking deep and lingering breaths around the crown of your head.

‘I missed you too, Mig’ you whispered back. The warmth of his fur was nice on your back as you leaned into him, relishing the small moment of peace and quiet. You could hear nothing but a distant beep of some nebulous electronics and the soft, deep breaths Mig was savoring above you. You could tell he was huffing your scent.

‘You, uh… you sure are smelling me a lot, lately’ you said. The break in silence and the bluntness of the question caused Mig’s eyes to shoot open.

‘… I am?’

‘Mhm.’

‘As in, more than usual?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Oh, I—I’m sorry, arañita—’

‘No! No, don’t apologize. I didn’t mean it was an issue. I just…’

You slowly rolled your head back to catch his gaze, only to wind up nose to nose with him. You felt his breath on your lips as you both locked eyes. The warmth, the proximity, it made something familiar in your gut tighten and twist.

Mig purred. ‘Then, how did you mean it, arañita?’ he whispered.

You felt that sweet tightness in your gut twisting tighter, and without even thinking your thighs squished together. Mig’s eyes darted down, catching that tiny act, before sliding back up and narrowing ever so slightly. He let you catch his tongue slipping out to slide along his lower lip.

‘I meant, ah… I meant, I just, noticed it. It—it’s usually a sign that, something else is going on, you know?’ you stammered back.

‘I know what you’re referring to, mi arañita’ he murmured back. ‘Are you implying I might be heading into a rut?’

‘Well… I wouldn’t, dare, assume, but…’

You felt your breath starting to catch as your heart rate sped up, matching the steady rhythm of his own thundering beat. You could see his eyelids drooping, his abdomen gently jerking back and forth like a dog wagging its tail.

The growing heat was physically palpable. It was like the sun on your skin, itchy and hot. ‘We’re in the office’ you whispered softly. You’d both drifted so close now that you could feel his lips on your own. Mig was panting, breathing in you, verging right on the edge of snapping you up and eating you whole.

‘Yes…’

‘Mig… W-We’re in the HQ, we—’

‘We’re in the office…’

Mig pressed one sweet, tender kiss against your lower lip, but he lingered just long enough to let you know that, if he could, he’d have bitten down on that lip in a second. You stammered out a shaky whine in response.

‘Mig, we can’t.’

‘Do you want to go back to the nest?’

‘What if Miguel comes back? We need to—finish the, stupid work—’

‘Then here.’

‘Mig—’

You paused your soft whispering to kiss for the second time. It was almost reflexive, with your lips losing focus and going against your better judgement to press up against his. You’d kiss once and then pause, as you both brushed against the realm of better judgement for a fleeting second, only to kiss each other once more.

Soft then hard, lingering and passionate, tasting him for just a second until it got too painful to not kiss him again.

‘Mm—Mig, mm—’

‘Arañita…’

You felt his tongue slip out and obediently parted your lips, letting your tongues wind between your barely open mouths. You could taste his breath, you could feel the heat brewing in him as he tried to slip into your open maw. At this point your skin was burning, and worst of all, you could feel your clit throbbing like a second heartbeat.

You were a shivering, burning mess. You’d gone too far.

‘Miggy— Mm… Miggy, come on—’

‘Arañita…’

‘If, Miguel comes back—’

As you withdrew from the kiss Mig moved closer, gripping your waist with his thick, heavy claws so you couldn’t pull away. He didn’t kiss you, but he did press his lips to your nose, and there he spoke again.

‘Don’t make me chase you, arañita.’

Those sweet, husky words whispering against your skin made you shudder. It was enough to make your insides clench and quiver, and Mig knew it.

‘F-Fuck, god damn it… hah… mm. Okay. You wanna play like that?’

You stealthily shifted your suit down by just the pants, taking your underwear with it. Not enough to be naked, but enough to get Mig hooked in the sweet scent you knew would drive him crazy. Just as planned, the moment your underwear went past that navel line, his pupils dilated.

‘Mm… arañita… You smell, delicious…’

He lowered his head with a speed and strength you knew you couldn’t match, but he did relinquish his grip on your waist to do so. You let him bury his nose between your thighs, slipping right into the little defined curve where your suit met your pussy lips, and he huffed like a madman.

‘Mmm… qué rico, mi arañita hermoso/a…’

He whined the words directly against your clothed cunt, letting you feel his lips and tongue moving against every ridge and inch he could get. You were sure that if you let him linger any longer he’d rip the fabric with his fangs and have himself a little dessert, and while part of you desperately wanted to let him, that wasn’t the plan.

You grabbed his hair and pulled, letting him get as pussy drunk as you could allow without fully tipping him over the edge.

‘Good boy, good, good boy…’

You held him there just long enough, until his spider legs were tapping that familiar mating rhythm and his abdomen was shaking with feverish intent, and then—

‘Catch me, big boy.’

You whispered those words before webbing yourself out of his grip, flying over his abdomen and landing squarely on the office floor behind him. You saw his claws grasping to try and catch you, but he was too late. You’d escaped.

He spun around just in time to see you hurrying into the dark corners of Miguel’s office. He hungrily growled. ‘Oh, arañita… Okay. We’ll play that game then.’ He licked the little traces of your scent from his upper lip, and he gave chase.

You webbed your way into the darkness and crouched down behind a pile of forgotten electronics, moving stealthily on four legs to avoid being seen. You could faintly see Miguel’s shadow as he moved through the office and toward your location. As he abandoned the light his eyes began to glow, illuminating the shape of his spindly legs with an eerie red outline.

‘Mi tesoro?’

The adrenaline was thick. You knew that it was just your sweet, gentle Mig roaming after you, but that didn’t stop the sweet, controlled dose of fear that you got whenever you played hide and seek with that enormous, skulking spider.

‘Naughty arañita… You like playing at this, don’t you?’

Mig purred softly as he crept around the edge of the lab. His paws were quiet underfoot, carefully padded to keep even his enormous body nearly entirely silent.

‘You like playing at being prey… So cute. You know what’ll happen when I catch you… Does that excite you, arañita? That I will rip those pretty clothes off and mate with you the moment you’re in my paws? Are you thinking about it right now?’

The echo of his voice drove you lower to the floor. You could hear him getting closer, but your cover was running out, and if you raised your head he’d surely see you and pounce. You didn’t want the fun to be over that quickly.

You began to back up instead, shifting along the wall until you found an opening. It felt like a door of some kind, and as you carefully, carefully creaked it open, you realized that you’d found an old, unused closet in the back of Miguel’s space.

‘Arañita…’

Miguel’s hungry, husky groan filled the air, alongside an animalistic rustling. It sounded like a rug being shaken out, or a rattlesnake, but you knew better. That was his abdomen prepping for his mating ritual.

You subdued your own shiver of excitement and slipped into the closet.

In here it was pitch black. You could feel the dust on the floor, betraying just how old this space was, and the trickle of light peaking in through the door wasn’t enough to go more than an inch into the closet’s depths.

You were forced to blindly shuffle until your hands hit a wall, forcing you to turn and shuffle backward until you met the same fate. Eventually, you stopped moving altogether, realizing that it was pointless, and resigned yourself to cowering in the dark like a rabbit.

You couldn’t hear Mig in here. Either that, or he’d stopped taunting completely.

It was terrifying how quiet he was. For something so big his soft paws muffled any sound he might have made, allowing him to move with little to no noise. He was a real predator, a creature at the top of his theoretical food chain, and you often forgot that yourself.

In the dark you waited, listening to your own heart hammering in your chest. You could feel the cold creeping up on you in here, giving you goosebumps on your arms. You felt the strain of the concrete floor on your knees.

But that wasn’t all you felt.

A heavy, overwhelming presence had abruptly settled against your back, and now something hot, warm and wet was sliding up your nape to the base of your skull. Instinctively your body tensed, but then you felt it again, and in a second that primal fear disappeared.

It was Mig’s tongue. He was licking your nape, tasting your scent with your highly adapted senses. He’d move in shyly, lapping once or twice, before nuzzling his nose into the thick of your hair and starting the cycle all over again.

‘I caught you, arañita.’

Your body began to relax. You felt his claws fondling your chest and rear in the darkness, squeezing your ass until his claws left a little imprint. His lips, too continued to grope at your nape, licking and nipping the skin until it bruised.

‘You know what that means.’

You let out a low groan. Between the fear, the heat, and now the dark, cramped space you’d been trapped in, there was no turning back now.

‘Mm… O-Okay, you win. Just… just a little…’

It took very little convincing for you to turn around and smash your lip into his. This time you didn’t hesitate before opening your mouth for him to explore, letting his huge, warm tongue slide into your mouth. He wound his tongue around your own, tasting your scent, your moans, everything he could get.

‘Mm… arañita…’

His hands began creeping up and down your body, squishing lightly at your belly and waist. He loved feeling the way your flesh moved beneath his fingers, how frail your ribs felt under his claws. He deepened the kiss.

‘Mm…’

You could feel that Mig was already getting erect. In the pitch black you could only rely on touch to sense any changes, and you could feel his soft phallus slowly beginning to peek out from the slit in his abdomen. It was twitching against your belly.

The kissing just barely muffled your sounds as you tried to speak. ‘Mm… Mm.. I-I can’t, get fully naked, but—’

‘Why not?’

‘Mmm—’

With a soft moan you broke the kiss, leaving the two of you panting into each other’s mouths. ‘I need to- be able to re-suit quickly if anyone comes in, you beautiful idiot.’

Without another word you shifted your suit pants down to the middle of your thighs, leaving just enough bare room for Miguel to slip himself between your legs. His eyes dilated at the sight.

‘Oh… r-right. Hah. Right…’ Mig purred as he grabbed your body and spun it around, bracing you in a slightly tilted position. He braced himself with his hands on either side of the closet walls, and with the bare minimum delicacy he could muster, he began to buck himself in.

‘C-Careful… just, s-stay still. I’ll be quick.’

He started thrusting, shifting his cock in the darkness as he searched for his prize. You felt that bulbous tip nudged at your back, then your ass, before slowly making its way down to the warm, sweet space beneath.

You bit your lip and braced yourself, internally prepping for the pressure. He paused, angled, and thrust.

However, he missed.

‘Ah! F-Fuck—’

In his haste, he slid right past your cunt. His cock was so big that it slid right between your thighs, settling between your pussy lips with a full handful of member poking out the other side. It almost made you dizzy, remembering that you so frequently let such a beast of a shaft inside you.

Mig groaned at your back and began slowly humping at your clenched thighs, shifting his plush phallus back and forth.

‘Mm… S-So, warm…’

You were quickly coated in thick, sticky pre-cum and your own slick as he began to thrust faster and faster, riding out his frustration. He was too eager to even stop and try to enter you properly. This would have to do.

With one hand over your mouth and the other bracing your body to the wall, you let Miguel rut his cock between your thighs, eagerly fucking them and your clit raw.

There was only one thought in your heads:

More. More…

You coyly grabbed the little bit of shaft slipping out the other side of your thighs and began to manually pump it with your fist, relishing in the warmth and the slipperiness against your palm.

‘A-Ah, arañita…’

Mig moaned your nickname into your hair as he continued rutting against your back, the double stimulation driving him absolutely mad. You were beside yourself as he continued grinding that soft, plush, velvety shaft up against your clit, using your slick as lubricant to slide a little easier.

MORE. MORE.

You bent forward and down, contorting yourself so that you could hungrily lap at your member. Mig barely stifled his predatory groans.

‘A-Arañita, ah—c-careful—!’

You slurped at his member until you could just about get a little of it between your lips, and while he continued furiously pumping between your thighs you began sucking on the tip. It was weirdly sweet, as always, though not in a sickly way. It was thick and slightly earthy, like raw, natural honey, and it soon coated your tongue in that sticky white fluid.

Mig, at this point, was losing his mind. He dug his claws into your hips to hold you steady as he began bucking without rhythm, driving himself into every crevice of your body he could.

‘Hah- o-okay, good arañita. G-Good. That’s it, lick it up.’

You allowed him to thrust between your parted lips and groaned. Mig was left breathlessly humping, with one hand still dug into your side and the other tenderly petting your hip as he rode out his frustrations into your mouth and between your legs.

‘Good, there you go. There you go. Mm… Así así, arañita, estás haciendo un buen trabajo.’

His sweet praise helped to ease the pain in your jaw as you took more of him in. The plush, squishiness of his cock made it easier to mouth and suck, but there was just so much of it. You were choking on the tip.

Luckily, Mig could only handle so much. He was utterly overstimulated, between the beautiful sensation of your lips and tongue on his member and the warmth and wetness of your thighs, topped off with the sight of you bent over and taking him from all angles—

‘Ah! Bájale, bájale, arañita.’

He pulled back and began patting your hip for clemency as your lips nearly drew him to a violent impromptu orgasm. You gasped as he withdrew. You were panting hard, slightly dazed from the pleasure and the blood rush to the head, your lips now a mess of saliva and pre-cum. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel the little trail of fluid hanging between your lips and Miguel’s twitching member.

‘Ah… h-huh?’ you mumbled. ‘W-What?’

Mig had to tilt you back to an upright position himself, and there he hugged you close while still slowly pumping between your thighs.

‘Shh, that’s it arañita. You did so good. Just rest now, treasure, let me do the work.’

‘Mm… But—’

‘Let me do the work.’

He repeated those words in a sweet, cooing manner, drawing you to relax in his grip. It was easy to give in, especially with his shaft still gently massaging your swollen clit.

He wanted to focus on you now.

He drew back and began carefully thrusting at just the right angle, probing his hot and now very wet member was pressed right up to your clit. The sensation was hard to describe. All you knew is that you weren’t going to last long like this.

‘Ah… M-Mig, fuck…’

He kept you stabilized with his arms, allowing you to focus on just the pleasure of his movement.

‘You smell so good’ he moaned directly into your ear. ‘So good, arañita. I’d eat you up if I could. My beautiful, beautiful little spider. So—f-fucking, soft—’

He groaned out loud as he started to speed up, frantically squishing and grinding every inch of his cock between your lips. You could hear the manic, wet squelching of your own slick being papped back and forth by his movements, a soft ‘thwap’ that was getting louder and louder.

‘M-Mig—’

‘Mm, so soft, want you—covered in seed—’

‘Mig!’

‘Stuffed, s-stuffed with it. Stuff with my cum. Pretty little spider, full of my babies, full of my e-eggs—’

You tried to warn him, but Mig was too wrapped up in his own manic, heat-induced fantasy to notice. He was dizzy with the thought of web-knotting you, imagining his cock sliding right up to your cervix and then being webbed into place so none of his seed would spill. He was imagining you swollen with his offspring and resting in his silk den, his perfect little mate for life, fulfilling all of his desires.

You had no chance of stopping him, so you did the only thing you could do: you shuddered and orgasmed all over his shaft.

It was your barely muffled scream of pleasure that finally jolted him back to reality, and back to the gorgeous sight of your body trembling and spasming as it throbbed all over his member. He audibly gasped and twitched, letting his cock throb right back as he milked you for all the slick you would offer.

When your knees began to shake, he held you in place. Your weight was nothing to him. No matter what you weighed, with his size, he could have carried you like a kitten.

‘Mi amor’ he cooed into your hair. ‘Mi amor, mi amor… So beautiful. What a beautiful sight.’

‘Hah… f-fuck, uh… I-I can, barely feel my legs’ you panted back.

‘Shh. I’m here. You did so good, arañita.’

‘I-I didn’t, do anything, mi amor, I just… came’ you said, letting out a breathy laugh.

‘You did more than enough’ Mig purred sweetly. He took the chance to slide two fingers down between your lips and around your clit, letting your slick accumulate on his claws. Your body jerked at the sudden rush of stimulation.

‘Ah—’

‘More than enough. I’d pay to watch you do that again.’ Mig kissed your forehead as he slid his fingers back up and pressed them to his lips. You heard him licking them clean.

‘But I’ll take my payment another way, I think.’

You let out a shaky groan as he moved your body back into position. He was lining himself up again, and this time, he wasn’t going to miss.

You could feel his thick member pulsing at your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin before its final penetration. He’d rock himself a few times, shifting just an inch in before pulling back out, just enough to make that sweet squelching pop ring out. He could picture it now: the sweet feeling of your cunt enveloping every inch of him, welcoming him in, squeezing the life out of him as you moaned his name.

His name. His mate. His.

‘That’s it, arañita, are you ready for me?’

‘Y-Yes, yes—fuck, please Mig—’

‘You want it?’

He bucked closer, preparing to push in. You cried out.

‘Yes, fuck, please!’

‘You want it?’

‘Yes!’

‘You want—’

‘Hey! Mig?’

Miguel’s voice echoing through the halls drew you both to an abrupt and awkward halt. God damn it.

Mig tried to force himself to push through it, with the animal half of his brain wanting to just ignore the call of his variant, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He slowly rocked to a stop and, with great reluctance, yanked his cock out from between your thighs.

‘Ah, my mistake… We got carried away again, didn’t we? Come here, mi amor. Let’s calm you down.’

He whispered those soft words into your hair as he yanked your body up and into his arms. He began applying as much desperate aftercare as he could; stroking your hair, kissing your neck and cheeks, stroking over and gently rubbing your muscles until the weakness in them subsided.

He held you with the utmost care while you struggled to recover from your orgasm. It was a big ask to compartmentalize all of the sweet arousal you’d just barely tasted.

‘Mig, you… b-but you didn’t fini—’

‘I’ll be fine, arañita’ Mig whispered. He was already carefully concealing his erection, letting it subside back into the little slot in which it was usually hidden. He was sweating from the strain, yes, but he had some control.

‘Mig, the rut—’

‘I have your slick covering my phallus with your scent’ he very bluntly murmured into the curve of your ear, causing you to shiver. ‘I wreak of you, arañita. That is enough for me right now. At least… It will tide me over, until I can get you home properly.’

You managed a small, slightly breathy giggle. ‘And then I’ll be your little cum dumpster, huh?’ you teased back. Mig purred.

‘You will be a good mate’ he whispered, ‘and you will do your duty by me, I’m sure.’

‘And that duty is?’

He leaned closer, gently nipping your earlobe. ‘Being, as you so brazenly put it, my little cum dumpster.’

You may have given in and fucked him right there in the closet space if Miguel hadn’t called out once more, drawing you back to the present.

‘Hey! Mig?’

You both gave a slightly similar sigh. You knew this was your own doing, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Miguel. You just couldn’t wait for this stupid serum to be done.

‘Alright, come on. Let’s go get back to work’ you whispered. Without another word you began frantically pulling your suit back into place, and once you were both relatively dressed and presentable you silently crept back out into the main officer together.

‘Mig?! Ay! Are you—Oh. Oh… ¡Ey, que la chingada!’

Miguel raised both hands to his face as you both sheepishly appeared from behind the loose paneling. He didn’t need to ask what you were doing.

‘In my office!’ he snapped. ‘My office— Dios Mio… It’s going to smell, in here, for- hours, if not days!’

‘No, it’s not’ you called back as you hurried over. ‘Calm down.’

‘DON’T—Don’t, tell me to calm down, YOU did this!’ he seethed.

‘We’re—it’s, stressful, with the heat, and- we are very sorry, I swear’ you hissed as you finally caught up to him. Mig remained sheepishly stone-faced at your back.

‘I’m stressed too!’ Miguel replied just as sharply. ‘¿Y que hay de mi? Eh? Nobodies around to relieve my stress, but you don’t see me complaining!’

You and Mig both blinked and glanced at each other before turning back to Miguel in near unison, all while he continued to heave his chest in righteous indignation. You allowed the silence to continue just long enough to make his eyes dart a little.

‘… What? Why are you staring at me like that?’ he hissed.

‘… I mean, are you asking to be involved?’ you replied bluntly. You just barely managed to suppress the urge to giggle as he blanked. The way his eyes widened, the way his lips drew back to flash his fangs in a mixture of intrigue, disgust and confusion. You knew your response would create that exact reaction, but it was funnier to fix him with a neutral expression as he scoffed.

‘You- no!’ he snapped back. ‘No, I wasn’t- no! No!’

‘Are you sure?’ you asked. As you spoke you coyly leaned forward, noting the way his eyes darted over your body. He was forced to physically turn his back on you to avoid being accused of anything unseemly.

‘Tienes una mente bien cochambrosa’ he grumbled under his breath. ‘Look, whatever traits me and him might share, there is one big goddamn difference, and that’s that I’m not a massive pervert.’

‘Aw, but you’re stressed, like you said! Come on, lemme help.’ You continued your teasing as you took a few steps closer. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your little tiptoe motion, and like a frightened deer he stumbled away.

‘What- no!’

‘Yeah, come on! I’ll help you out’ you cooed, your hands stretching out to grab him. He took another step back.

‘What are you- has the heat melted your brain or something?’

Miguel was getting more and more heated as you crept towards him, his irritation betraying the little auburn glow in his eyes and cheeks. Your eyes crinkled with joy; you could practically smell his inner thoughts, and he could definitely smell you.

‘Come ‘ere, Miggy’ you cooed again. 

‘No! I will- I will subdue you! I’m warning you!’ he hissed, which only made you giggle more. You continued forward, and with each step you took Miguel scurried in the opposite direction. It was almost absurd to see that enormous, terrifying hybrid of a man fleeing from you in circles around his office, like a kitten chasing a guard dog.

‘I’m serious! If you don’t stop—’

‘Come on, come here!’

‘YOU- Hey, pendejo! Control your- mate!’

Miguel made a desperate plea to Mig as you both sped around his body, but Mig was enjoying himself at this point. ‘They are correct. You did say you were stressed’ he purred back, which caused Miguel to sneer at him.

‘MIG!’

With a grunt of exasperation Miguel sank his claws into the wall and began frantically climbing, forgetting that you could use your webs to follow. You pursued him up into the rafters and back down again, all while Mig watched with a smile on his face and his hands clasped in his lap.

You knew Miguel could have genuinely ended the chase immediately. He could have used a light cage, a web, anything really, but he didn’t. He let you chase him until you were exhausted, too tired to even finish swinging from the web you’d slung, and only then did he grab you by the nape and carry you back down himself.

He handed you over to Miguel like a stray cat, unceremoniously dumping you into his lap.

‘You are both a strain on my existence, and if I could I would have you both exiled to a barren universe where nobody would ever hear from you again’ he said in a totally deadpan voice, which only drove you into another fit of breathless giggling. Mig, too, chuckled a little in response.

‘No, come on. You love us’ you cooed back.

‘I hate you both. Sincerely. With absolute determination, in every universe.’

‘No, don’t lie! You love us!’

‘Dios mio— Alright. You, you—’ Miguel said, pausing just to point his claw in your face. ‘Yes, you, go help Jess with the Halloween party.’

‘What?! But—’

‘You are distracting my co-worker’ Miguel slowly repeated, cutting off any excuse you might have made. ‘You can mess around after our work is done. So, you know what? You’re taking over my Halloween duties. Got that?’

You instinctively shot Mig a look, expecting him to argue on your behalf, but the moment you locked eyes you realized he was technically right. Mig wanted you, badly, but he wanted to finish his work too. After a moment of silent conversation, you relented.

‘Alright’ you sighed, ‘alright, fine. I’ll go do the stupid party work.’

‘Good. Thank you’ Miguel said, though he clearly tacked the apology onto the end at the last minute. You took it regardless.

‘Actually, that means I can go get my costume’ you mused as you grabbed up your bags. ‘I’ll come show it to you later, you’re gonna LOVE it!’

‘I’m sure I will, arañita. Be careful’ Mig hummed back.

You reluctantly bumped foreheads with him, giving each other a very quick kiss to avoid starting up any more unwanted urges, and with that you hurried out of the room to go find Jess.

Mig watched you go with a slightly melancholic expression. He was doing a good job of hiding how badly he wanted you, how painful the rut was as it went unfulfilled, but he was less adept at hiding how much he missed you in general. He pined openly as he stared at the empty space where you’d been.

‘Come on, back to work’ Miguel snapped over his shoulder. He tossed him a pair of safety glasses to snap him back to reality, and after watching the enormous spider struggle to catch them he slipped on his own.

Mig paused and glanced between the glasses and the empty doorway, but he only allowed himself a moment to disassociate. After a few seconds of thought he obediently slipped the glasses on and got back into position at the desk.

‘Yes, sir.’

The two managed to work in silence for about a half hour, but there was a strange tension in the air that was hard to place. They were struggling to focus on their calculations or on the prep required to run the next test. Despite their attempts to hunker down and focus, it seemed inevitable that one of them would break the silence.

‘… You okay?’

It was Miguel who spoke first. Mig paused on his calculations and turned to glance at his counterpart, carefully shifting his glasses down so he could see him better.

‘Me?’

‘Yep. You’re the only one here, bud.’

‘… Yes. I am, fine’ Mig replied cautiously. ‘Are you, okay?’

‘Mhm.’

‘… Why do you ask?’

Miguel grunted and withdrew after soldering a single piece of metal together. He, too, raised his glasses, and fixed Mig with a veiled glare. ‘… I mean you were, copulating in my office’ he said bluntly.

‘… Ah. Right. Yes. I—Should apologize for that, I suppose’ Mig mumbled. He didn’t drop his eyes the same way you did, but he looked bashful enough to seem sincere. ‘I swear it was not personal, this time, I wasn’t trying to—’

‘Yeah, I know’ Miguel sighed. ‘You’re just two stupid rabbits. I got it.’

Mig didn’t reply. He held onto that silence for a minute or so more before Miguel spoke again.

‘… Three, stupid rabbits. I know I can’t keep discounting myself.’

‘Mm. I do not, blame you for discounting yourself. I know our nature is frowned upon’ Mig replied in a kinder tone, one that irritated Miguel. He couldn’t stand Mig’s gentle nature. He knew, deep down, he didn’t deserve it.

‘Let’s just… focus on the experiment’ he grunted. Mig gave a curt nod, and he turned back to the table.

But they both knew that they couldn’t actually stay silent.

‘I think… if we try it this way, we might be able to get over that final 1% hurdle’ Miguel said after a minute's silence.

‘Mm. I hope so. I have high hopes for these next few trials’ Mig purred, giving his abdomen a happy little wiggle. ‘It has been a hard wait, but, I will be grateful to have it finished. I will be grateful for the help you offered. To finally be with mi arañita…’

‘Yep. You’ll get everything’ Miguel murmured. ‘If this works… You’ll get everything we both wanted.’

Mig’s purring dulled as he gazed over at his counterpart. ‘… You, make it sounds as if you are jealous of that fact.’

‘Do I? I hadn’t noticed.’

Miguel’s sudden, sarcastic tone caught Mig off guard. Miguel’s face hardened as he tried to maintain that cold façade, but even that quickly fell apart. He couldn’t stay mad at his big, stupid variant anymore, not now.

‘… Yeah, I’m jealous’ he murmured.

‘But, why?’

‘You know why.’

‘I’m aware we had our troubles, yes. But I don’t understand why you would still be envious of me now.’

Miguel scoffed a little, which only urged Mig to get closer. He bent his front legs to peer at Miguel with earnest eyes.

‘Is it still mi arañita? Do you—’

‘No! Not—’ Miguel paused and instinctively raised his hand. ‘Sorry, that sounds defensive. Ah.’

He ran that same hand down his face with a sigh. ‘It’s not. At least not… I mean I’m not, envious of your relationship to them, but… Perhaps, maybe I am envious that you have someone.’

‘Right. I see.’

‘It all, just… works for you. It works out for you’ Miguel grumbled, his hand slowly sliding back down to his side. ‘And I don’t know why.’

‘That seems an unfair assessment’ Mig replied quietly. ‘You are, implying that my life has somehow been notably easier than yours.’

Miguel opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it.

‘I used to think you were the better of us all’ Mig said when Miguel failed to speak for himself. ‘You were the most human. The most adjusted. You had friends, co-workers, your… your, Dana was still alive, even if now gone.’

‘I’m sorry’ Miguel grumbled reluctantly. He couldn’t look Mig in the eye as he said it, but he managed to force it out. ‘I am. I didn’t—mean to imply that.’

‘It’s okay’ Mig purred. ‘In that mandatory therapy you made us go to, I… Came to understand a lot about my perception of you. You were everything that I wasn’t. A hybrid who passed for human, surrounded by people. And I hated you for it, but, I didn’t hate you—’

‘Well, you did. You hated me. For, justified reasons, I will add.’

Mig purred a mild chuckle in response. ‘Yes, I hated you after you tried to interfere. But I know why you did, perhaps better than anybody else. I liked rubbing it in your face, that I had achieved something unique and beautiful, because I put all of my misgivings onto you.’

In almost near synchronicity their smiles faded.

‘… Yeah’ Miguel murmured back. ‘Yeah. I see what you’re getting at.’

For a few minutes the two were silent. Miguel continued running logistics while Mig watched the screen, keeping track of the numbers as they flew past. For a while Miguel wanted desperately to pretend that he could leave the conversation there, but, that was a fools hope.

After testing a few logistics he paused the screen and gripped his desk for stability. Mig watched him with unblinking focus.

‘I tried to have a family. Even a, tiny little piece of a family, for myself… and I failed’ Miguel murmured. The cold blue light of the screen danced across his expression, filling in the hardened trauma lines in his face. The shadows in his brow and nose were sharpened under that dead light.

‘I failed. There was only one universe where I was happy, and I lost it, because—’

Miguel paused, unable to continue with that line of thought. Mig just purred.

‘Did you never wonder why?’ Miguel said, his voice barely a whisper. He sounded like a child re-calling their nightmare to their parent.

‘Why?’

‘Why we suffer?’ Miguel hissed. ‘Did you never wonder why? Why every O’Hara has to suffer, alone? Why there was only one universe where one of us was happy, and even there he… even he… and I…’

Miguel bit his tongue and went totally still, his eyes wild. Mig allowed him a few more moments of silence before speaking again.

‘… I pondered that thought all the time’ Mig murmured back. He turned to gaze at the screen, seeing the little snippets of video flashing in the corner. He could see you, making your way down the beams, and it made his heart ache.

‘I pondered it before I came here. Why did I have to turn, why did my loved ones have to go, why did I have to be left alone? I’d ponder it every night as I looked at the stars, playing my silk strings, wondering why I didn’t deserve better.’

‘I always said, I created interdimensional travel to try and keep things on the straight and narrow. To, fix everyone’s stupid little mistakes’ Miguel said, more to himself than to Mig. ‘But I don’t think that was true. I don’t think that’s very honest.’

He caught a glimpse of the same video Mig was watching then, and he froze up. He saw that little girl tossing the football around, beaming and smiling at the camera with mud on her face. His little girl.

His expression darkened, and he swiped the video away.

‘I did it to fix my existence. To find somewhere better.’

‘And you did, did you not?’ Mig replied.

Miguel scowled until the red light of his eyes was reflected onto his cheeks like tear stains. ‘… I did something, that’s for sure’ he replied. He ran another hand down his face as he mulled over the choices he’d made, and the choices he was about to make.

‘If this serum works…. We are going against fate by doing this’ Miguel said slowly. ‘We are, testing the very limits of what fate allows.’

‘You talk of fate as if it’s a real thing’ Mig replied. Miguel’s scowl deepened.

‘… What if it is?’

The two men glanced at each other in unison. The two were now barely a few inches apart, with the monitor light perfectly highlighting their differences. Mig’s soft, hopeful eyes against Miguel’s dark, narrowed hopelessness. Red like blood, and red like the sunset, fixed on each other in the silence.

‘There is no such thing as fate’ Mig said directly to Miguel’s face. ‘There is no fate. There is a universal series of likelihoods, that are numerically inescapable. They must exist, in a world with infinite possibilities. In every universe, for us to exist as we are, as hybrids, as monsters, there must be suffering. It’s not fate. It’s just the same, sad event, playing over and over again. But after that event… There are a million choices to make.’

Miguel narrowed his eyes further as Mig spoke. He clenched his fists and let the squeak of leather stretching fill the silence.

‘Then why does it still all go wrong?’ Miguel hissed.

‘Because bad things happen’ Mig replied matter-of-factly.

‘Bullshit. This is more than just- regular bad things. You can tell me what happened to us is just, regular bad!’

‘No. Some people, have it worse, I admit—’

‘Much, worse. Much worse!’

‘Okay. Much worse. Yes. I concede that.’

The two fell into a slightly awkward silence as Miguel tried to soothe his temper. It was his only coping mechanism

‘All I meant, is… Bad things will always happen. But the good still happened too. No matter what happens from here… I will be grateful for the time I had’ Mig said softly.

‘Do you really think, you could lose this, and still be happy?’ Miguel argued back, though his tone had also softened. ‘Really?’

That thought drew Mig to pause. He tapped his little fluffy paws on the floor of the office, as he tried to decide how to respond. In the end, he did what he always did: he spoke the painful truth.

‘No’ he whispered. ‘No. I could never be happy again if I lost them.’

Miguel didn’t reply with words. He just gave his own somber nod of agreement. Despite the nice platitudes, despite wanting to altruistically believe they could be calm and composed enough to accept their fates with grace, both of them knew what loss could do.

In the end, there was only one thing Miguel could think to offer.

‘Okay. Come on, I’ll handle the last of this. I can run the last few tests by myself with Lyla. The Halloween party should be starting in a few hours, just um- just, you go and help them out. They probably got themselves lost. Tonto.’

‘But, Miguel, I want to help—’

‘That’s an order’ Miguel said, sharply cutting off Mig’s retort.

The two stared at each other for a moment longer, almost as if they could speak without saying a word. Their eyes were locked.

Part of Mig wanted to say no. He didn’t want to leave his work, he didn’t want to wait. He also, deep, deep down, didn’t necessarily trust Miguel fully yet. What if it was a trick? What if Miguel used this as leverage to sabotage the test? After all, it’s what he’d have done in the past.

But the more he looked at Miguel, the more he doubted those fears. He looked so irritated, the stubborn fool, but he looked so open too. So genuine in his annoyance that he was allowing himself to do this kindness. There was no quiet pride, or any façade of politeness to hide his intentions. He really wanted to do something nice, and he hated himself for it.

Eventually, just as you’d done, Mig relented. He bowed his head and agreed to go, but not before giving Miguel an awkward clap on the shoulder.

‘Thank you, amigo.’

Miguel flinched at the new nickname. It caught him so off guard he nearly snorted out loud.

‘You, wh… Shut up! Jesus, you tried to fuck in my office behind my back, don’t start with that. Get out. Go on.’

To save face Miguel quickly snapped and pushed Mig’s hand aside, though there was no genuine fire in his words. Even Mig could pick that up. ‘Very well. I shall see you later, then. Take care’ Mig added, before turning and padding his way out of the office in hot pursuit of wherever you’d gotten off to.

Miguel was left alone, hands clasped to his desk, trying to hide the bemused and confused expression on his face. He hadn’t even noticed his claws had sunk into the desk.

Amigo…

‘Tonto’ he hissed beneath his breath, and with cheeks now burnt a soft shade of auburn red he returned to his work.

Link to next part!