#i was in the mood for angst and found family feels | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 7 months ago

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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.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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dilemmaontwolegs · 7 months ago

Text

Not A Verstappen: Away We Go {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It’s winter break and silly season 2024/25 which means drama (and officially the end of the series). Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, fluff WC: 4.1k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry || One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go || One || Two || Three

With the final three races of the season a triple header you hadn’t been home in weeks. You had missed your own space and knowing where everything was unlike the hotel rooms you had spent almost a month living out of. What you hadn’t missed was the pile of mail to sort out. Three stacks were neatly comprised on the kitchen table: one each for Lando, Charles and you. A quick skim through them found most were the usual culprits - bills, fan mail and junk - but two stood out.

A thick brown envelope had a return address for Oxfordshire, England and you tore it open with a squeal. “I got it!”

Your shouts had Lando and Charles dropping the suitcases in the bedroom and even Autumn looked up from where she was playing with her toys in the living room. “Guess who’s back on the grid, baby!”

Your feet were lifted off the floor as you were bear hugged from the front and back, kisses peppering your cheeks that ached from the wide smile.

“Congratulations, love.”

“Knew you would do it, amour.”

You couldn’t keep still as you reread the welcome letter and the others picked through their mail.

“Huh,” Lando huffed as he opened an envelope similar to one you also received. “That’s weird.”

“It’s not another pair of panties, is it?” you asked, the item making an unfortunately common appearance in their mail.

“No, it’s from the Vegas Chapel.”

You tore open your envelope too and skimmed over the letter that confirmed the marriage to Lando had been successfully submitted to the State of Nevada, and accepted. “Wait, that’s not right. Who submitted it?”

Charles rushed through his pile searching for the same envelope but there was nothing for him. His brows furrowed and he grabbed the two letters, holding them side by side to see for himself. “What about me?”

A lump formed in your throat and you curled your arms around him. “We’ll figure it out, baby, it’s got to be a mistake.”

It wasn’t a mistake.

Well, it wasn’t a clerical mistake but the human kind, where the minister's assistant had missed the conversation about the marriage not being legal. She had submitted the paperwork with the rest of the chapel weddings and since yours and Lando’s document was on top it was processed first. The other two were rejected.

You were legally married to Lando, for better or for worse.

–

“We should get ready,” you murmured, not really feeling in the partying mood but Max had returned from the FIA awards and wanted to celebrate his championship win.

In the week since getting the letter, things hadn’t been the same. Charles was withdrawn, Lando was full of remorse, and you were left trying to figure out a way to reunite your family. Even Autumn was picking up on the tension in the house and was fussier than usual.

“You can tell Max I am sick,” Charles muttered from the couch he sank into, clutching a cushion to his chest so he could rest his chin on it.

“You’re not sick.”

“I feel sick.”

“We all feel sick,” Lando added before curling a finger your way and you followed him down the hall to the office. He had spent most of the day locked in the room, talking with lawyers about the best option. It was too late to annul the marriage, he found, and neither of you really wanted to go through the paperwork for a divorce - but if it saved the relationship with Charles then that is what you would do.

“Steph can draw up the documents,” he said after closing the door and dropping into his computer chair. “We just need to go through our assets and figure out whose is whose.”

“Even though we aren’t actually breaking up?”

“Yeah.” The one word held so much defeat and Lando scratched at his head before tugging the curly strands. “I fucked up, love, I should have just kept my mouth shut and none of this would have happened.”

You followed his eyes to the picture frames that were still stacked in the corner of his desk. It would have been rubbing salt in the wound for Charles if they had been hung as planned in the bedroom. Taking a seat on Lando’s lap, you brushed his hair back into place and kissed the frown away from his forehead.

“What if there is a way to show Charles that he is as much a part of this family, without a divorce?” The marriage so far had been kept quiet but a divorce would become public, something you would rather avoid given your seat signing hadn’t yet been announced.

Lando perked up with hope and you took a deep breath. “How do you feel about changing your name?”

–

Winter break hadn’t got off to the best start but you were trying to remedy that with the two documents laid out on the kitchen table.

“Charles, can you come here please?”

Lando fidgeted with his necklace as footsteps padded down the hall. Charles had locked himself away in the gym and his grey shirt was damp with sweat as he looked between the two of you waiting for him.

“Family meeting, sit,” you ordered. You had taken Autumn over to Max’s so there would be no interruptions and she had enough bottles of milk to last the day if needed. “Christmas is coming and I am not having anything ruin this for Autumn’s sake.”

With less than a week to go, the house had nothing to show. There were no decorations hung and the Christmas tree was still in a box in the storage closet. You couldn’t even bear to think about going to the ski resort with everyone and having to put on a brave face.

“We are going to fix this today,” Lando said with a serious tone.

Charles scoffed, clearly not believing him, but he dropped into the seat at the head of the table and looked down at the papers and pens. “What’s this then?”

“Your choice.” You pointed to the left, and a much thicker stack. “This one is for a divorce. Everything would hopefully go back to the way it was before, but since it will need to be filed in the US it will be publicly accessible. Nothing we can’t handle with a PR team statement, if that’s what you want.”

Charles fingers the pages but didn’t try to read them before turning his attention to the smaller document. “What’s this?”

“A promise,” Lando said, taking Charles hand and trying not to cry when it went limp in his. “You’re my husband, no matter what a stupid piece of paper says, and we are a family. I know how you are feeling, I remember when you two accidentally went public and I thought I was being left behind. But you didn’t, and I won’t ever either. I belong to you.”

“Me too,” you said, taking his other hand. “And we want to show that we are in this together until the very end by changing our last names to Leclerc, if you’ll have us?”

The question hung suspended in the apartment and the only sound came from the clock hanging in the kitchen. The seconds ticked by as Charles quietly contemplated the options in front of him. What he wanted wasn’t a possibility, no matter how hard he wished it was, but he knew he couldn’t continue the way he had been, keeping you both at an arm's length. He could see the bags under your eyes from the restless nights and hated the toll this had taken on everyone.

Charles tried to remember those three short weeks of bliss, the intimate secret that only the three of you knew about, and he sighed as he realised he hadn’t kept his promise. Rising from the table he grabbed the thick stack of papers and walked away, the office door closing behind him.

“Well, shit,” Lando muttered. “I always imagined being married longer than Kim Kardashian.”

“I know, but it’s his choice and we have to respect that,” you agreed, hanging your head in your hands. “I suppose I should ring James and give him the heads up.”

You couldn’t muster up the energy to make the call though, you just sat there in silence with Lando. Twice he opened his mouth to say something but the words fell short and the minutes continued to abandon the day as if they wanted it to be over just as quickly.

Strange whirring sounds came from the office and Charles dipped across the hall to the storage closet, then into the bedroom before hard banging echoed through the house. Each bang sent a jolt down your spine and your eyes began to burn at the thought of Charles being so angry he had to break things. You looked and Lando and he looked at you, a little shake of head saying, ‘Leave him be’.

Finally, it all went silent and Charles sauntered his way back into the room and dumped an armful of paper shavings into the table along with a hammer. The mountain of shredded paper spread across the wood and some fell into your lap, the barely-legible name of the attorney spelled out on each strip.

“That was a stupid idea,” Charles muttered as he fell back into his chair and scrambled through the rubbish to find the application forms for official name changes. “You’re not getting a fucking divorce.”

“Uh, okay…” Lando said with a frown, his eyes darting to the hammer and then to the hall. “Should I ask what’s broken or are we just ignoring that?”

“I didn’t break anything,” Charles said, clicking the pens and holding one out to you and Lando. “I hung our marriage certificates up where they were meant to be. Now, are you serious about this?”

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” you said as you took the pen. “Are you?”

“You’re mine, and the whole world is going to know it.”

–

Christmas Eve 2024

The long table was in a state of chaos as parents tried to wrangle the older children and the grandparents watched on with amusement, remembering the days when that was them. You shared a smile with your husbands and knew that next year you would be a part of that chaos but for now you were happy to watch on while Autumn played with a plastic spoon in her high chair.

It had become a tradition to open one present before the meal and a small box sat beside the glass of wine you were indulging in, a group present for the three of you. A larger box was just out of Autumn’s reach and Penelope’s was tempting the young girl with a Christmas cracker balanced on top.

“Who wants to go first?” Adam asked, a chorus of ‘me’s’ ringing out from all the kids old enough to understand.

You leaned in to whisper to Charles and Lando, slyly glancing along the line of adults. “$500 says Kelly’s pregnant.”

Lando looked at Max and Kelly who were busy chatting to Daniil and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, you might be right.”

Charles was just confused. “What is going on?”

You watched Kelly take another sip of her drink before Max refilled it, with water. “See, that is not a gin and tonic.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Charles laughed, shaking his head.

“And they invited Daniil.”

“Exactly, that would be more awkward, no?”

You huffed at fault in the logic until you snapped your fingers excitedly. “Except they want P here for the announcement and it was his year to have her for Christmas. Jesus, I am in the wrong line of work, I should be Sherlock.”

Charles picked up your glass and sniffed the wine. “I think it is you who needs water, amour.”

“Does that mean you are up for the bet?”

“I don’t need the money, but I will enjoy taking it from you,” he teased.

Adam quickly gave up trying to have any organisation and let the kids tear into their presents. Luka and Lio were the first to get through the wrapping paper and immediately wanted to play with the racecars. Mila squealed at the unicorn helmet she got to match the bike she had asked Santa for while Athena hadn’t even attempted to open hers as she was distracted by the cheese and cracker board. It was Penelope who sat in silence as she stared at the shirt she unwrapped.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Kelly asked with a knowing grin and you slapped Charles’ leg under the table.

P held up the shirt and started to bounce in her seat, a wide smile splitting her face. “I’m going to be a big sister!”

“I can also take the $500 in the form of sexual favours,” you whispered.

“Happily, but later,” he said before standing up and congratulating Max and Kelly.

“I’m surprised she could keep the secret,” Max said to Charles, his head nodding in your direction as you sank lower into the seat.

“Hmm, is that right?”

“She kind of figured it out a few days ago when she caught Kelly spooning marmite out of the jar with celery sticks. Cravings, mate, they are a strange fucking surprise.”

Charles laughed in agreement and clapped Max on the shoulder. “Speaking of surprises, we have one of our own too. Don’t worry, it’s not another baby this time.” He returned to his seat beside you and waited a few minutes for everyone to congratulate the two. Finally when the room calmed a bit he picked up his glass and tapped it with a spoon to get the adults attention.

“I just wanted to thank everyone for being here and spending another Christmas with us,” Charles began, his finger tracing the lip of his glass he still held. “Every year the table keeps growing larger and, Max, you finally get to be the reason for an extra chair next year, so big thumbs up for taking that responsibility. My wife thanks you,” he chuckled along with Lando before reaching for the small box on the table, opening it to reveal the wedding bands you had chosen.

“You know, three years ago I would have never imagined being this happy without winning a championship, but I have learned that even if I do get to raise that trophy myself one day it is more important having loved ones to share the experience with.” Charles took the first of two identical rings. Your husband’s rings were relatively simple but it was all they needed - like the necklaces they wore, it was made of three bands woven together. “I can’t wait to experience it all with you,” he said as he slipped the ring on Lando’s finger before picking up yours. Similar to theirs, yours was woven with three bands but yours had a dazzling emerald and sapphire inset to represent them. “Every moment, good and bad, as long as it’s with you.”

You reached for his ring, the last one in the box and placed it on his finger with a smile.

“You’re meant to ask the question first, then give them the rings,” Lorenzo teased as Pascale nudged him to shush.

“That would be a proposal,” Lando laughed, curling an arm around Charles' waist and pulling you in too. “We are actually celebrating what comes next.”

“Wait, what?” Max gaped. “Marriage? You guys are married?”

“So, not quite, it’s, uh, actually a funny story,” you said with a grin. Now that everything had smoothed over you could finally laugh about the situation and the rest of the table found it equally amusing once they forgave you for not telling them. “I should probably update the FIA with my new name. How confusing is it going to be for Crofty to have three Leclerc’s on the grid?”

“Two,” Max corrected, but you just winked. His eyes widened and he stood up, walking around the table to grab your shoulders. “You got a seat?” You nodded and he squeezed the air out of your lungs with a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you, zusje.”

“Season hasn’t even started,” you reminded him. “There’s still a lot of work to be done but the testing looks promising for next year.”

“I know you’ll do great. It’ll be nice to have a little competition again,” he teased Lando and Charles, despite the final results being closer than they had been for a few years.

“The only competition we have to worry about is out on the slopes. I’m not pregnant this year so I will be out there at dawn ready to kick your ass, Verstappen.”

Max smirked at the challenge and raised his glass to tap yours. “You’re on, Leclerc.”

–

Epilogue

The same faces welcomed you back to the grid but the colours they wore had changed. Lewis was at Ferrari and Carlos was at Red Bull, but the most surprising change was Alex who had gone to Mercedes. Albon was meant to be your teammate but he had chosen not to renew his contract and rather than bring in a rookie to start from scratch they renewed Logan for his third year.

The American driver stared at the roof for the team meeting before the first race of the season and you tapped his cap. “You don’t need to worry,” you chuckled. “It’s just a boob.”

The man was born and bred a polite southern boy and still couldn’t bring himself to even look in your direction while you pumped the excess milk out. After finding out the hard way during testing, you knew you had to get at least a bottle out or there would be leaking in your racesuit before you passed the chequered flag. Starting in P6 there were high hopes that you would score some good points and you didn’t want to go to the media pit with two wet patches on your chest.

“I’m not worried, just giving you some privacy,” he said quietly.

“You’re good at that,” you said as you swapped the pump to the other breast. “I don’t think I properly thanked you for not telling anyone I was pregnant.”

He frowned and almost looked your way before turning his attention to the computer screen of data. “It wasn’t my place to say.”

“That doesn’t stop some people, so thank you.”

“No problem.”

“We are having dinner after the race, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“Isn’t it your family?”

The flow into the bottle had slowed to a drop so you turned the machine off and packed it away with the bottle, covering your chest back up at the same time. “We can have eye contact now,” you teased. “It’s a long way here, most of our family couldn’t make it so it’s really just a bunch of orphans congregating in our suite. You can bring your girlfriend too, or boyfriend - we don’t judge.”

“Definitely girlfriend,” he admitted before shyly scuffing his shoes on the concrete floor. “How did you know?”

“You’re very private, I figured you’re either in a quiet relationship or a serial killer. I’m really happy it wasn’t the latter.”

Logan loosened up with a laugh and began to relax as he joked, “Innocent until proven guilty.”

The rest of the briefing went quickly and strategies were made for the current weather readings. The mildly warm temperatures at the tail end of an Australian summer were promising from the data and you knew it would come down managing tyre degradation with all the right hand turns. Albert Park was a fun circuit but as Alex learned last season, one mistake and the race could be over in an instant.

“I’m just going to check on Autumn,” you said to James as you walked out of the garage after the driver parade.

The team principal checked his watch and gave a nod. “15 minutes.”

You knew those minutes would fly by so you jogged down the pit lane to Mercedes where Susie was watching over your daughter, when she could get her away from Toto. But it appeared you were the last one to arrive as Lando and Charles took turns having some last minute cuddles.

“I hope you have one left for me, my love,” you cooed as you stole her from Charles. “Mwah, mummy loves you.”

You handed her back and swung the bag off your shoulder. “There’s plenty of milk in here if she runs out, and some yoghurt too.

“Relax, mama, we will be fine,” Susie assured you. “Focus on the race.”

As if to remind you, the bell for the grid opening rang out and you knew it was time to head back. “Okay, focus,” you told yourself before kissing Autumn’s cheek again and inhaling her baby scent. “Love you.”

Lando tugged at your sleeve and you reluctantly let him pull you away or you wouldn’t have had the strength to. “Come on, love, time to go.”

“I know, it’s just…hard.”

“Always is,” Charles admitted, kissing your temple. “See you out there, Spitfire.”

—

Testing was nothing compared to the strain the race put on your body, but it was like riding a bicycle, once you got into the groove you couldn’t even feel it. Your sole focus was on the car ahead and the carbon fibre rear wing that belonged to Lando. Though the Williams didn’t have the down force to compete with a McLaren or Ferrari in the corners, it somehow had great straight line speed. That straight line speed mixed with a classic Ferrari strategy and a slow pit stop by Mercedes had you defending the third position you suddenly found yourself in. It would have been a different story if Carlos hadn’t’ve had a turn one incident with Lewis, but you would take all the luck you could get.

“Wow, what a welcome back,” Naomi cheered as you stepped onto the interview mat and you looked back at your car parked in the third spot.

“It doesn’t even feel like I left,” you admitted with a laugh.

Lando had already done his interview and stepped over to the barriers where Susie’s silver Mercedes uniform stood out in a sea of dark blue Williams mechanics, Autumn squirming to be put down when she spotted her daddy.

Naomi followed your eyes to your husband and she smiled. “But there have been a few changes since we were last standing here.”

“Some things never change though.” You jutted a thumb at your brother who was busy kissing Kelly and P who cheered with the rest of Red Bull for his win. “I was kind of hoping for a repeat of last year since Charles was right on my ass - I mean tail.”

“Three Leclerc’s on the podium would surely have been a historical moment and I apologise to our viewers for that little whoopsie.”

Not wanting to risk another swear word on live tv, the interview ended and you raced over to Lando and Autumn, enveloping them both in a hug. “Wish Charles was here,” you murmured to his chest.

“Me too,” he said, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Ready to go pop some champagne, baby?”

“Also-fucking-lutely.” You kissed Autumn and thanked Susie for watching her as you made your way to the cooldown room. “Remind me to pump and dump later because I am chugging that bottle.”

“You deserve it,” Max said as he entered the room and took Lando’s seat since he had stolen the middle one. “I had to double check you parked in the right spot.”

“Lando’s the one who does that,” you pointed out. “But honestly, it was like the stars aligned, I don’t know how it happened. I mean, testing was good, but everything just fell perfectly into place.”

Lando smiled proudly and took your hand, resting on his thigh while you watched the highlights on the tv.

As the Dutch anthem played you watched the crowd below the stage, your keen eyes finding Autumn on Toto’s shoulders where he stood with your principal and you were certain you saw him wince as she pulled his hair. Finally the last anthem finished and you grabbed the jeroboam bottle, giving it a swirl to really make it fizzy before bringing it down on the stage.

Bubbles tickled your skin as the fountain rained down and you turned it on Lando and Max before tipping it back and savouring the taste after almost a year without it. Floating on the high, you took a seat on the podium and watched the last of the confetti fall to the ground. Sensing the celebration was over, Max joined you, tapping his bottle to yours.

“Told them I’d come back and win in a Williams.”

“You didn’t win, zusje,” Max corrected, lifting the medal that hung around his neck for emphasis.

“Yet,” you grinned, taking another long drink before wiping the excess from your lips. “But it’s only round one.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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eu-nicola · 10 days ago

Text

worse than silence

summary: Rafe and you maintain a secret relationship, but one day JJ discovers the truth and things get complicated

warnings: angst maybe

word counter: 3537

author's note: english is not my first language

tag: @tracymbcm

It was on nights like these that everything seemed easier and at the same time unbearably difficult. You were sitting on a cliff, hugging your legs as you looked out at the horizon. You had arrived early, as always. Rafe had told you he would come, but you knew that lately his promises were as fragile as glass.

The sound of staggering footsteps behind you brought you out of your thoughts. You turned your head and there he was, with his shirt wrinkled, his eyes sunken and an air of exhaustion that broke your soul.

“You arrived,” you said softly, although the lump in your throat threatened to betray you.

Rafe dropped down next to you, not looking at you. He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. He smelled of alcohol, of a lost night, of smoke and chaos. Your heart contracted. You had lost count of how many times you had witnessed that version of him: broken, self-destructive, and yet still trying to maintain an emotional distance that hurt you more than any words.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this,” he murmured at last, his voice cracking. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You stared at him intently, searching his eyes for something, anything to tell you there was still hope. But all you found was a haunting emptiness.

“I’m here because I love you, Rafe. Because I can’t watch you destroy yourself like this.”

He laughed bitterly, but the laughter faded quickly, leaving him only the weight of guilt.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I don’t care, Rafe. I want to help you, but you have to let me in. You have to stop pushing me away.”

For a moment, his eyes seemed to soften. But like a blink, the hardness returned.

“You don’t understand, you’ll never understand. This… this isn’t fixed with love or pretty words. It’s bigger than that, bigger than us.”

You felt torn apart. He wanted you to leave him, but every fiber of your being refused. He wanted to protect you, but he didn’t realize that the distance hurt more than any hell he could drag you into.

The silence stretched on until he stood up abruptly, his hands shaking.

“This is a mistake,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he began to walk away.

“Is that all?” you yelled at him, standing up with your heart racing. “Are you going to keep running away? From me? From yourself?”

Rafe stopped, but didn’t turn around. He just shook his head before disappearing into the darkness. The cold of the night embraced you as tears fell freely down your face.

The next day, the tension in the air was palpable. JJ was in a bad mood, as he usually was lately. You had tried to avoid him since you got home that morning, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

You were in the kitchen when you heard him walk in, slamming his backpack down on the table with force.

“Where were you last night?” he asked immediately, not even bothering to soften his tone.

“None of your business, JJ,” you replied, trying to remain calm as you washed the dishes. But you knew your brother wasn’t one to let things go.

“Oh no? Because I happened to see something very interesting last night,” he said, moving dangerously closer. “I saw you with him.”

The plate you were holding nearly dropped. You froze, unable to come up with an answer.

“How long? How long have you been seeing that piece of trash?” he snapped, his voice filled with disbelief and fury.

“JJ, it’s not what you think…” you tried to explain, but he cut you off immediately.

“It’s not what I think?!” he yelled, slamming the table. “Rafe Cameron.” How could you? After everything he’s done to us, after everything he’s done to this family!

“It’s not that simple!” you shouted back, feeling rage mix with despair. “You don’t understand what he’s going through. I… I love him, JJ.”

That confession seemed to hit him harder than anything else. He stood still, as if the words had paralyzed him.

“You love him?” you whispered, incredulous. “Do you really think someone like him can change? That he won’t break you like he’s done to everyone else?”

“He’s trying…” but your voice cracked. Not even you were sure of that at the moment.

JJ shook his head, his eyes filled with disappointment.

“I thought we could trust each other. But this… this is a betrayal. I can’t believe you lied to me all this time.”

You felt like the ground beneath your feet had fallen apart. You wanted to reach out to him, to explain, to beg him to understand. But JJ took a step back, his gaze colder than ever.

“I hope it’s worth it,” he said before walking out of the house, leaving you alone in devastating silence.

Guilt and anguish clung to you like an unbearable weight. For the first time, you wondered if you could really go through with all of this. Rafe was falling apart, and now, you were losing your brother, too.

The next few days were a silent hell. You tried to talk to JJ more times than you could count, but every time you reached out, he ignored you completely. It was like you had ceased to exist for him. The first time you tried to stop him, you were faced with a wall of ice.

“JJ, please, just listen to me,” you said, blocking his way at the door.

He didn’t even look at you. With a sharp movement, he pushed you aside and walked out without saying a word. That gesture, cold and distant, hurt more than you had imagined.

And it wasn’t just JJ. The worst came when the rest of the group found out.

One afternoon, you were at the beach bar where everyone used to meet. You had arrived hoping that, at least there, you could find a way to repair what had been broken. However, when you entered, you felt the air become heavy. Kiara, Pope, and John B were sitting around a table, talking in low voices. Upon seeing you, the conversations immediately ceased, and their gazes were fixed on you with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.

“Really?” Kiara was the first to speak, her tone full of reproach. “Rafe? How could you?”

You felt trapped, like you were being judged with no chance to defend yourself.

“Kie, you don’t understand…” you tried to explain, but Pope interrupted you.

“What’s there to understand?” he said bitterly. “That guy has done everything to ruin us. He’s beaten us, tried to bring us down more times than I can count. And you…? Are you with him?”

John B didn’t say anything at first, but the tension in his jaw was evident. Finally, he spoke, his voice calmer but no less laden with disappointment.

“We knew you were hiding something. But this…” he shook his head. “I never thought you’d betray us like this.”

The word “betrayal” hit like a punch. You felt tears forming in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of them.

“It’s not what they think,” you said, even though you knew your words rang hollow. “Rafe… he’s not perfect, I know.” But he’s going through something, and I… I just want to help him.

Kiara laughed humorlessly, crossing her arms.

“Help him? Do you really think you can save someone like him? Rafe doesn’t need your help. What he needs is to stop butting into our lives.”

“This is between Rafe and me,” you replied, trying to remain calm. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with us?” Pope raised his voice, clearly frustrated. “It has everything to do with us. He’s hurt us time and time again, and you… you chose to be on his side.”

The silence that followed was overwhelming. You felt like everything you’d built with them was crumbling at that moment. You tried to look at JJ, searching for a trace of understanding, but he was standing in the corner, arms crossed and staring at the floor, not even deigning to look at you.

“JJ…” you said softly, almost pleading.

But he turned and walked out of the place without saying a word. It was like every step he took took a piece of your heart with him.

That night, the loneliness was unbearable. You locked yourself in your room, feeling small, broken. Guilt and anguish consumed you, and the silence grew heavier with each passing minute. You had lost your brother, your friends. And even though you loved Rafe, you couldn’t ignore that being with him was costing you everything.

Hours later, you received a text. It was from Rafe.

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault.”

You stared at the text for several minutes, not knowing what to answer. Was it his fault? Or was it yours for letting yourself get dragged here? You had no answers, only a void that seemed to grow with each second.

Finally, you turned off your phone and sank into bed. The tears you had held back all day began to fall silently. You didn't know how much more you could take.

Your friends had been your refuge, your family, but now, with them away, you felt like a foreigner in your own world. Every time you locked eyes with JJ or the others, you felt the weight of their judgment. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the only thing that kept you afloat: Rafe. However, even he seemed more distant, as if the current of his own demons was dragging him further away from you.

It had been days since you last saw him, and desperation was beginning to settle in your chest. Finally, when you couldn't take it anymore, you made the decision to look for him at his house. You knew it was a risk, that if they saw you there it would only make things worse with your friends, but you didn't care. You needed to see him. You needed to know that you weren't completely alone.

When you arrived, the Cameron mansion was completely silent. You knocked loudly on the door, hoping someone would answer, but there was no answer. So, you made your way to the side of the house, where you knew you could climb up to his window. It was something you had done before, on those nights where the world seemed to belong only to the two of you.

You peeked over the edge and saw him. Rafe was sitting on the floor of his room, his back against the bed, a half-empty bottle in one hand and his gaze lost on the wall. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and his expression was that of someone who had been fighting his own thoughts and losing the battle.

“Rafe…” you whispered, stepping in carefully.

He looked up slowly, his eyes red and filled with a pain you recognized all too well. For a moment, he seemed relieved to see you, but that glint quickly faded.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and heavy with exhaustion.

“I couldn’t be alone,” you admitted, moving closer to him. You sat down next to him, trying to ignore the smell of alcohol and the feeling that something was falling apart between you.

Rafe let out a bitter laugh.

“Alone? I thought I was the reason you were left without anyone.”

His words were a dart straight to your heart, but you didn’t back down.

“I don’t care. I don’t care if I’m alone as long as I have you.”

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand what you were saying.

“You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t want this, want me. I’m a mess. I’m screwed. Don’t you see that?”

“I see it, Rafe. But I also know that you can get out of this. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“What if I don’t want to get out?” His voice cracked, his eyes searching yours desperately. “What if this is the only thing I know how to do?”

Your heart broke a little more.

“Then I’ll stay with you until you want me. But don’t push me away, please.”

Rafe let his head fall back against the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. For a moment, silence was the only thing between you, but then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sometimes I think it would be better if I let myself sink completely. If I just… disappeared.”

The rawness of his words took your breath away. You gripped his hand tightly, forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that.”

“Why not?” he replied, his eyes filling with tears. “Look what I’m doing to you. You’re losing everything because of me.”

You shook your head, clinging to him as if by doing so you could keep him from falling apart completely.

“Rafe, I chose this. I chose you. I know it’s hard, but you have to believe me when I say that I don’t care what anyone else thinks. All I want is for us to be together.”

“And that’s the problem,” he whispered, looking away. “Being with me is only going to destroy you.”

You tried to respond, but he let go of your hand and staggered to his feet. He walked over to the window, looking outside as if searching for a way out that didn’t exist.

“Maybe it’s best that this ends here,” he finally said, his voice laced with heartbreaking sadness.

You stood up quickly, your chest tight with fear.

“What? You mean…?”

Rafe turned to you, his eyes filled with pain.

“I can’t keep doing this. I love you, but I can’t drag you down with me anymore.”

“Rafe, no…” your voice cracked as you moved closer to him, your hands shaking. “You can’t do this. You can’t push me away.”

He closed his eyes, fighting the emotions that consumed him.

“I’m doing this because I love you,” he finally said, and those words were like a dagger.

Tears began to fall freely down your face. You tried to cling to him once more, but this time, Rafe backed away.

“Please go away,” he whispered, not looking at you.

The weight of his words fell on you like a stone. You couldn't believe what was happening, you didn't want to accept it. But the determination in his voice left you with no options.

Heartbroken, you took a step back. Every fiber of your being wanted to stay, to fight, but you knew he was in too dark a place for you to reach him at that moment.

Finally, you turned and walked out the same window you had entered through, feeling like you were leaving a part of yourself behind. When you hit the ground, a cold breeze greeted you, as if the world knew you had lost something irreplaceable.

As you walked back home, the pain and despair fully set in. You had lost so much, and now, even Rafe seemed out of your reach.

The days that followed were an endless emptiness. Loneliness was a weight you felt even in the air, in every corner of the house, in every silence that stretched like a lingering shadow. You woke up every morning with a knot in your chest, the kind of weight that reminded you, even before you opened your eyes, that you were alone.

Your brother, he made no effort to hide his contempt. Every time you crossed paths with him, his cold gaze was a reminder that, to him, you had betrayed everything that it meant to be family. You tried several times to get closer, to talk to him, but your attempts always met with a wall of silence or curt responses.

“JJ, please, we can’t go on like this,” you begged one night, finding him in the kitchen as he poured a glass of water.

He didn’t even deign to look at you.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Nothing? After all?” Your voice trembled, the weight of his indifference tearing at you.

Finally, JJ turned to you, his gaze filled with a mix of anger and pain.

“After all, you chose Rafe. That says it all.”

The glass in his hand shook slightly before he set it down on the counter with a thud. He walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving you alone in the darkness.

Your friends were no more understanding, either. Every time you saw them around the island, their gazes avoided yours, as if you were someone they no longer recognized. You had lost their trust, and it seemed like there was no way to get it back.

You tried to approach Kiara one afternoon. She was on the beach with John B and Pope, laughing at something one of them had said. Seeing you, the smiles faded, and the atmosphere instantly tensed.

“Kie, can we talk?” you asked cautiously, keeping your distance.

She crossed her arms and looked at you coldly.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please, just a minute…”

Kiara sighed, her expression hardening.

“For what? For you to tell me that all of this is worth it because you “love Rafe”? I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s not like that…” you tried to explain, but she cut you off.

“Yes, it is. You chose him, knowing everything he’s done to us. How do you expect us to trust you after that?”

The words hit hard, and although you wanted to defend yourself, you knew it was pointless. You had let them down, and there was no apology that could fix it at that moment.

You turned and walked away, feeling the tears burn in your eyes as their voices faded behind you. Every step you took through the sand seemed to sink you deeper into a pit of despair.

Rafe didn't make things any easier either. Even though you knew he loved you, his actions didn't match his feelings. After that night at his house, he had been the one who started to put more distance between you. His messages became scarce, and the times you did manage to see him, he seemed like a man torn between his desire to have you close and his conviction that it was better for you to walk away.

One afternoon, you found him on the beach, sitting alone on a rock, staring at the horizon. You slowly approached, afraid he would reject you again. Sensing your presence, Rafe turned his head. For a moment, his eyes softened at the sight of you, but he soon hardened his expression again.

“I told you that you shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly, though there was no real conviction in his words.

You sat down beside him without asking permission, your heart pounding.

“I can’t keep ignoring you, Rafe. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care about you.”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“It’s not fair to you. All of this… it’s not what you deserve.”

“Let me decide that,” you replied firmly, trying to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to be without you, even if it means carrying all of this weight.”

Rafe finally looked at you, and in his eyes you saw a sea of emotions: love, guilt, and a desperation that mirrored your own.

“I’m ruining you,” he whispered, as if he was finally admitting his worst fear.

You shook your head, your shaking hands searching for him.

“No, Rafe. It ruins me more to be without you.”

He closed his eyes, fighting back tears. For a moment, it looked like he was going to give in, that he was going to let you stay. But then, in a broken voice, he murmured,

“I can’t do this to you.”

He abruptly stood up and began to walk away, leaving you alone once again. You stood there, watching his figure disappear into the distance, the sound of the sea mixing with the sobs you could no longer hold back.

The nights grew longer, and the pain became a constant. You lay awake for hours, wondering if things could have been different, if there was any way to get your brother, your friends, and Rafe back. But every time you closed your eyes, the only answer you found was the weight of loneliness that continued to grow inside you.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #jj maybank x sister!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx x reader

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twiishaa · 20 days ago

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sanji x reader ; wc 1.4k warnings again i shat this out at 3am and there are parts i’m not too happy with but i think it’s okay as a whole <3 tiny tiny bit of angst if you squint?? fem!reader <3 here’s my masterlist!

it had only been a few weeks since you joined the straw hats’ crew. to leave your home and everything you’ve known behind to pursue a life on the sea, on the run from the world government on a whim was a big decision, but you didn’t regret it. being part of such a lively crew made it worth it, you guys were like a family already.

but they didn’t need to know you did it partly because the blond cook of theirs was kinda…

anyways. that can stay between you and me <3

it was the middle of the night, and you finally sat up after hours of not being able to sleep. maybe it was the humidity on the ship, or maybe it was the small, lingering homesick feeling you had. you drowsily made your way to the deck, the slightly salty wind waking you up a little. now that you were out of your room, it was homesickness that was keeping you awake. you hadn’t felt homesick these past weeks, why were you feeling it now? this had been everything you were dreaming of—adventure, fun, and friends you knew you’d go to the end of the grand line for, even though you’d only known them a quarter of the time they’d known each other.

oh.

was homesickness that feeling you felt sometimes, when everyone was laughing together?

you cast your mind back to the time you’d feel sad at home. your mum would be able to sense your mood from rooms away and bake you blueberry muffins. after eating them, you’d forget about your worries and give your mum a cheery smile, whether covered in blueberry juice and crumbs or not. and so, you made your way to the kitchen, hoping that baking some blueberry muffins now would cure your loneliness, despite the ungodly hour.

hopefully sanji won’t mind...

remembering the recipe from some corner in the back of your mind was proving to be a much more difficult task than you anticipated, paired with the unfamiliarity of the ship’s kitchen. to be honest, you were having fun! it was like a game, which drawer will the wooden spoon be in? not long after, the batter was complete and distributed into their muffin cases. it was a miracle you found everything; however, that didn’t mask the moderately large mess that had built up over the course of baking the muffins. fond memories of your mum walking through the door to find you covered in flour and your lips stained with blueberry juice flooded back to you; you felt at home again, even if you weren’t physically. not long after you cleaned the counter and put the muffins in the oven, the comforting smell of fresh muffins filled the kitchen, and you took a step back to admire your work. your spirits were definitely lifted. maybe blueberry muffins are the solution to most problems.

meanwhile, in sanji’s room (room??? quarter????? wherever he’s sleeping, please just roll with it), he was awakened by the light scent of… blueberry muffins? he rolled over to check the time. nobody could be possibly be baking something at such a time… maybe he was still dreaming. nonetheless, he groggily got up just to confirm his suspicion—to make sure that no one had broke onto the ship… and decided to bake blueberry muffins… or something.

as sanji approached the kitchen, he noticed the lights were on, and a figure standing right in front of the oven.

oh?

now he was concerned. the figure was… a girl?

what? this is one strange dream… he thought to himself.

when he could finally distinguish that it was, in fact, a girl, and that it was you, of all people, he was just confused. he leaned against the doorframe, observing how you were looking at the oven like you were watching over a child. from this angle, he could make out that you were making blueberry muffins.

“what do we have here, hm? why are you up so late, [name]?”

you screamed in response, then swiftly covered your mouth as you remembered the time.

sanji chuckled. “hello to you too,” his look still conveyed sheer confusion, but he was somewhat enjoying it now.

you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, both from embarrassment and that your secret crush, of sorts, was talking to you.

the fact that it was the middle of the night as you were baking muffins in his kitchen without asking him was irrelevant. sanji was talking to you!

you laughed nervously. “I just woke up in the middle of the night and I… really wanted blueberry muffins… so I decided to bake some…” he looked at you, evidently quite amused.

“sorry if I messed up your kitchen! or if you don’t like people using it or something.. I should have asked you before…” you trailed off timidly.

sanji laughed again, before moving to lean on the counter beside you. “It’s fine, honestly! besides, I didn’t know you bake, how come you’ve never said anything about it?”

lies.

usually, sanji was very particular with who touches the equipment in the kitchen, but he could let it slide for a pretty girl like you, or so he thought.

what you didn’t know is that your little crush was mutual—sanji had his eye on you,

not in a stalker-ish way, no!

—ever since he saw you when the crew stayed on your island. since then, he gradually started to become less and less flirty as he used to around nami and nico robin, even if you didn’t notice. he really only had eyes for you, following you around the ship as best as he could without looking like a weirdo. it was bad, he was down bad for you. by some power of the gods, you hadn’t noticed yet. everyone had noticed—even zoro, who took the opportunity to tease him every second he got; sanji was so down bad that he didn’t mind being teased about it. he did become aware of your lingering stares from time to time, but for the sake of his sanity, he just pretended he didn’t see anything and looked away, because if your eyes met you would see how flustered he actually was.

“oh, no, I don’t bake often! my mum taught me this recipe and I make it when I feel… lonely , or I don’t know, I think I just missed the taste of them.” you replied. sanji’s expression turned into one of worry. was there something wrong?

“no, no! it’s not you guys, I just… it’s my first time being away for so long, it’s just different to anything ive done before, and I just want comfort in something that I know… I probably make no sense right now..” you quickly added.

sanji shook his head. “no, I get it. doing something different is scary, and I think you’re really brave, [name].” he gave you a reassuring smile.

you blushed a little, but sanji caught sight of it and his eyes widened a little, before laughing. that little interaction was enough to confirm there was something between the two of you, but maybe the middle of the night wasn’t the best time to confront it…

beeeeeep!

the two of you were interrupted by the timer going off, indicating that the muffins were done. by now, the scent of blueberry muffins was overflowing in the kitchen, causing the two of you to laugh. as you went to take them out of the oven, sanji stopped you abruptly.

“let me do it; I wouldn’t want you to get burnt,” he took the gloves from you and took the muffins out, placing them on the counter.

damn. they looked better than you thought they would.

while the muffins were cooling, you and sanji continued your conversation from earlier, but now there was something in the air other than the smell of blueberry muffins. all of sanji’s responses had a warmer tone to them, maybe because he knew that you felt the same way, or maybe because he learnt something about you today that the rest of the crew didn’t know, he was someone special to you. the night passed quickly and soon you could see the sun rising, signalling that it was probably a good time to get at least some sleep before the entire crew awoke.

sanji could feel the effect of the sleep he lost that night and he was visibly tired in the morning, as were you; but he didn’t mind losing sleep over you if it meant one day he could be your boyfriend. <3

notes i love sanji so much <33 this was inspired by when i made blueberry muffins for my mom 😽 should i do a 100 followers event pls lmk and also send in any reqs you want love you !!

#twisha’s an author !#one piece black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x you #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #one piece #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #black leg sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader

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springtyme · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Previous chapter || Main masterlist || ao3 || Next chapter

chapter summary: You and your neighbor share a cigarette, and you have an unexpected chat with his sister... Carmy kind of wants to strangle Richie.

word count: 7.4k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Food. Angst and fluff. Hurt/comfort. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. The beef as found family. Set in season one.

a/n: This chapter was supposed to be about twice as long, but we are gonna wait with the rest till next chapter. this might mean that there will end up being an extra chapter in the end.

"I need some sleep It can't go on like this I tried counting sheep But there's one I always miss"

“I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Oh… Now the pieces start to fall into place - the tattoos, the exhaustion, the haunted look in his eyes that felt so familiar. A mix of sadness and understanding washes over you.

“But uh… Carmy is fine,” he adds, the tiniest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Nice to meet you, Carmy.” You smile at him before telling him your own name, feeling a little embarrassed you didn’t tell him earlier, and a short silence follows, before you gently clear your throat. “Well, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Carmy responds with a small nod of his head as he follows you down the hallway towards your apartment. The short walk feels oddly awkward and comforting at the same time.

As you step inside, you gesture for Carmy to follow you into the kitchen. You turn on the cabinet lights and motion for him to take a seat or stand wherever he prefers before grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. There is still hot water on the kettle for you to make a new cup of tea.

“You want normal or decaf?” you ask, holding up the coffee canister. Carmen’s tired eyes light up a little at the mention of coffee.

“Normal, please, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, and I have to leave for work in three hours” he lets out a soft, breathy sound, something between a sight and a chuckle, the sound weary but genuine, and a clear touch of gratitude in his voice. You put a filter in the coffee maker and pour the coffee grounds into it, the aroma slowly beginning to fill the air. As the coffee brews, you plop a tea bag into your own mug before pouring in the hot water. You take a moment to glance at him, his tired expression evident as he leans against the counter.

You notice the way his eyes flicker around the room, taking in the small details of your kitchen that must be mirroring his own, before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes meet for a split second before you quickly look down at your steeping tea, feeling how your pulse quickens slightly from getting caught staring.

You clear your throat and decide to break the silence. “So, how does a chef end up starting a kitchen fire at 3 in the morning?” you say in an attempt to lighten up the mood, but you immediately cringe at yourself, it probably wasn’t the most tactful question to ask. You’re not normally this awkward, but you also don’t normally have strangers in your apartment in the middle of the night like this.

“I-ehm… I was actually cooking in my sleep, I woke up to the fire alarm.” He confesses, sounding a little embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh,” is all you say, not really knowing what else to come up with. You take a moment to process Carmen’s response, trying not to let your surprise show on your face. Cooking in his sleep? That certainly wasn’t a typical explanation for starting a kitchen fire. “I guess sleepwalking and cooking don’t mix well,” you end up replying, feeling a bit silly for stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding in agreement. “I suppose not.” his voice laced with exhaustion, and another long stretch of silence unfolds between you. You are just about to open your mouth to say something to break it - what, you don’t even know, but you are saved by the coffee machine beeping, indicating that the coffee is ready. You quickly pour the hot coffee into a mug, happy for the natural interruption of the awkward silence.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask him, smiling politely.

Carmy nods gratefully. “Just a little cream, please.” You carefully pour a dash of cream into the mug, watching as it swirls and mixes with the fragrant dark coffee before placing the mug in front of Carmen. He takes a sip, his tired eyes closing momentarily as he savors the warmth.

“Thank you,” he says softly, the gratitude evident in his voice. You just smile at him. Taking your tea, you lean against the counter on the opposite side of him.

The two of you fall into a now more comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room being the occasional sip of coffee or tea. You cannot help but glance over at him every now and then, taking in the tired lines of his face, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand untold stories.

After a few moments of sipping your tea in silence, Carmen breaks the silence, pointing at one of the pictures on your fridge. “Is that from Copenhagen?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you look over at the picture. “Yeah, it is. I got a job offer here in Chicago and thought that it might be time to try something new, I moved here six months ago, but before that I lived in Copenhagen. I like it here, and I’m really enjoying my new job, but I do miss it.”

“Yeah, Copenhagen’s really beautiful,” he says, still looking at the picture.

You lean forward, feeling a spark of conversation ignite between you and Carmen. “So, you’ve been?”

“Yeah, I actually lived there for a while, when I worked at Norma.” He says it so casually, but you can’t help but feel a surge of surprise at his casual mention of working at a renowned three-Michelin-star restaurant.

“Wow, that’s really cool,” you say, genuinely impressed. “What was it like?”

Carmy smiles softly, a nostalgic glint in his tired eyes. “It was intense, but also really… rewarding?” he says, his voice trailing off slightly as if lost in memories. “The chefs there pushed me to my limits, I learned so much during my time there, but, yeah, it was definitely hectic...” He pauses, a hint of melancholy in his voice, he seems to be caught in his own thoughts for a moment before he lightly shakes his head and turns his attention back to you. “What about you, what do you work with?”

“I work in theater, I’m a scenographer,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride as you talk about your passion. “I design and create the visual aspects of the stage production, from the sets to the props and the costumes. It’s a lot of work, but I really love it.”

Carmen’s tired eyes light up with interest. “that sounds really cool. It must be amazing to see your designs come to life on stage.”

“It is,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It can be really demanding sometimes, but seeing everything come together during a performance… It’s like the best feeling I know. To know that your hard work is helping give people an experience. I really like that feeling”

He looks at you with a newfound glint in his eyes. You feel a warmth spreading through your chest from the way his eyes sparkle with genuine interest. “I think I know what you mean,” he responds, a sense of understanding passing between you. “It’s like when you create something with your hands and then see the final product, it’s a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.”

“Exactly,” you nod in agreement, feeling a sense of understanding with Carmen in that moment that you haven’t felt in a long time. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, both lost in your own thoughts for a short moment before he breaks the quiet.

“But, I’ll have to admit, I don’t really go to the theater that much,” he says, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Or like, at all.”

You chuckle softly, the conversation now flowing easily between you. “Well, don’t feel bad, most people don’t. And, I’ll also have to admit that I don’t really go to Michelin restaurants that often either… or at all.” This makes Carmy laugh – it’s soft and short lived, but genuine, and your heart sillily skips a beat by the gentle melody of it.

“That’s fair, but I’m not working at Michelin places anymore,” he says, his voice losing a bit of its newfound bravado and his smile falters slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “My brother, Mikey…” Oh… Michael was his brother, you feel a pang of sadness wash over you as you piece together the connection. “He left me his restaurant, It’s an old shithole of a beef spot. I’m trying to get it back on its feet, but it’s been a struggle, you know?”

You can see the weight of his words behind his tired eyes, the burden of responsibility and loss bearing down on him.

“I was in New York… I was the Chef de Cuisine at the Eleven Madison Park, and now I’m back here, trying to revive this place that I can’t even believe is still standing,” Carmen’s voice fades a bit at the end of his sentence, a sense of resignation and disbelief evident in his words. “It’s fucking bullshit.” You can hear the frustration and sadness in his voice, and you feel a surge of empathy for him. “But it also means fucking everything to me,” he adds, his eyes unfocused and tired as he gazes off into the distance before blinking and lightly shaking his head, his pale cheek redding a little.

He looks embarrassed at his little outburst, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his curls in frustration. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word hanging in the air as he looks down at his coffee mug. You can see the conflicted emotions swirling in his eyes, the weight of his past and present struggles evident in his posture.

“No need to apologize,” you reassure him, and another stretch of silence settles between you, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You don’t really know what else to say, so you don’t say anything, letting the quiet moment linger as you both sip your drinks, the only sound filling the room being the steady hum of the refrigerator.

The atmosphere hangs heavy with the weight of Carmen’s words, and you can sense how he is starting to shut down. So, instead of pushing for more conversation, you decide to take another approach.

“Hey, uhm, can I bum one?” you ask, nodding towards the pack of cigarettes you had watched him put in his pants pocket when you had entered your apartment. You have your own, and you try not to smoke at night, but you make an exception, you crave the comfort of a cigarette and Carmen looks like he does too, and being able to offer you a cigarette might make him feel like he has something to offer and ease the tension.

Carmen’s tired eyes flicker for a second, like he is being pulled out of deep thoughts before looking back at you again.

“Yeah, of course,” he replies, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and handing you the entire pack. “I would have gone down on the street…” he begins to explain before trailing off.

You shake your head, cutting him off with a smile. “No need, If you’re fine with the fire escape we can go out there,” you offer in a gentle tone.

Carmen’s tired expression softens at your offer, and he nods in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The two of you make your way to the window, cracking it open to let in some fresh air before climbing out onto the fire escape. The metal stairs creaking slightly with each step as the cool night air greets you as you both settle against the railing, the distant sound of the city humming below you.

You pull out a cigarette and pop it between your lips before handing back the packet to Carmy. He takes one, lighting it with a flick of his lighter, the orange flame illuminating his tired face. He has a scar, you notice, on his right cheek, which you hadn’t noticed before. It looks like an old wound, faded and barely noticeable in the dim light of the night. You can’t help but wonder how he got it, but you are pulled out of your thoughts as he flickers on the lighter again, this time holding it out for you to light your cigarette.

You lean in, the flame dancing before your eyes, casting a warm glow on your face. As you inhale, pulling life into the cigarette, the smoke swirls around you in the night air, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness. “Thanks,” you mumble, as you exhale, letting the smoke escape through your nose as you lean back again.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the only sounds being the never-quiet ambience of Chicago from the streets below. The night air is cool against your skin, but also somewhat refreshing, and the warmth of the cigarettes and the close proximity of Carmen keeps you feeling cozy and content.

The weight of the conversation from earlier still lingers, but as you gaze out at the city skyline, a sense of peace washes over you. You smoke the entire cigarette in silence before Carmen breaks the quiet. “Did you know Mikey?”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before responding, the few memories you have of Michael flooding back to you.

“I don’t know if I knew him. We weren’t close, but we were neighbors for a few months. He was always friendly whenever we crossed paths in the hallway,” you say, watching Carmen closely for any sign of emotion. “I had my couch delivered about a week after I moved in, and despite having ordered it to be brought up to my apartment, the delivery guys just left it down on the street. Michael came down. I think he was on his way to work, and this guy came to pick him up and after asking me what happened, they just picked it up and started carrying it up for me. I tried to stop them, I was so scared, they’d throw their backs out,” you chuckle softly at the memory. “He didn’t have to do that, but he did anyway. I tried to thank them afterwards, venmo them or something, but they just waved it off.”

Carmen listens quietly, his eyes focused on some distant point in the night sky, a flicker of emotion passing through his expression before he clears his throat softly. “Sounds like him,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with memories as he lights another smoke, silently handing the pack over to you.

You take one, grateful for the distraction as you light it and take a long drag, the smoke swirling around you as you exhale. The quiet moment lingers between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. You can feel Carmen’s grief and exhaustion radiating off of him, the burden of loss and responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

The silence stretches, and you start to worry that your story about the couch wasn’t the right thing to say, that maybe you had overstepped by bringing up memories of his brother. You rack your brain for something else to say, anything to lighten the mood or make him feel better, but you come up empty. Instead, you simply sit in silence, the only sounds being the gentle buzz of the city below and the occasional drag of your cigarettes.

You can sense that Carmen is grappling with his own thoughts, his tired eyes gazing out at the twinkling lights below, lost in his own world. After a while, he breaks the silence, dumping his cigarette butt in the rusty tin can you have standing out here for the purpose.

“I should probably get out of your hair and let you get some rest,” Carmen says, his voice resigned but appreciative.

You nod in understanding, feeling a sense of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. A part of you wants to tell him to stay, but you also understand that he probably needs some time to himself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and he gets up.

The polite, well mannered side of you tells you to get up and follow him to the door, but your intuition tells you to stay. It seems like he needs some space to process his thoughts and feelings, and you don’t want to intrude on that. So, instead, you simply smile at him and nod towards the window. “Thanks for the company, Carmy. And hey, if you ever burn down your kitchen again, don’t hesitate to knock on my door, okay?” you tease, you want to say something deeper, but you hold back, not wanting to push too much.

Carmen lets out a soft chuckle, his tired eyes lighting up with a hint of amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the coffee and the chat,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips as he gives you a small wave before disappearing back into the apartment. A few seconds later you hear the click of the front door closing after him, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

You sit there for a while longer, the cigarette between your fingers slowly burning out. The weight of the night settles around you, the city’s hum a distant lullaby. You take one last drag of your cigarette, scrunching your nose at the light burn of your lips as you realize it had burned down to the filter.

With a sigh you dispose of the butt in the tin can, letting it join the others, before standing, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the city lights twinkling below. The night air is crisp against your skin, the silence of the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stand there for a little while longer, lost in your thoughts as your tired eyes capture the beauty of the cityscape below you. The events of the evening swirl around in your mind, the unexpected encounter with Carmy. You don’t know if you overstepped any boundaries, if you said the right things, or if you offered enough support. But you hope you did the right thing.

With a final sigh, you step back inside, closing the window behind you and letting the night air dissipate. The apartment, that has felt empty since you moved in, feels even emptier now, and that is when you realize that Carmen had been the first person who you have invited into your home since you moved to Chicago. You can’t help but ponder over that as you head back to the kitchen to clean up and finish your tea. Maybe you should invite some of your coworkers over sometime, or actually start on trying to make some friends here.

You go over to the coffee maker to pour out the leftover coffee in the pot, but you are surprised when you see that it has already been done, and the mug Carmen had used is hanging from the drying rack, along with the other dishes that had been sitting in the sink waiting for you to finally rack up the energy to wash, now cleaned.

Maybe it’s just because you really, really hate washing dishes or maybe it’s the realization that you have been more lonely than you realized, but the sight makes a weird feeling settle in your chest, and it is too much for you to start processing right now, so you simply set down your mug on the counter and turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen and head to bed. Had you stayed in the dark kitchen for just a short while longer, you might have noticed the forgotten phone next to the sink.

You make your way to your bedroom, peeling off your hoodie and sweatpants before sinking into the comfort of your bed, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you, that you’re not ready to decipher. All you really want to do right now is to let all thoughts and feelings fade away into the peaceful void of sleep. You don’t have work tomorrow, thank god, so you allow yourself to drift off without setting an alarm, letting the warm duvet envelop you as the beating of your heart slowly lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

· · · · ·

Carmen is flipping through the pages of the folder, he’s barely registering the ideas and suggestions she had put together for the restaurant.. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, really doesn’t want to, but all this is a lot and he can’t really deal with a lot right now.

He can feel the beginning of the well-known pounding in his temples, another day, another headache. He wants to be able to fix this place, and he is happy that Sydney wants to help with that, but all he can focus on right now is to get through the day. There is three hours to opening, one of the fucking ballbreaker machines are broken, and he can’t find his fucking phone, he thinks he might have forgotten it at home, he was a bit of a zombie when he left this morning. Last night was something… he’ll probably need 3-5 business days to process, or even better repress it completely from his memory, despite it being difficult.

“On page 27, randomly, there’s actually some pretty good layouts of just that,” Sydney says, clearly trying to sound casual, but her voice betrays a hint of eagerness.

“Page 27?” he asks, feeling overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s mostly graphics,” Syd replies.

He knows Sydney’s right, she is smart and capable, and he is not doubting that she has a bunch of good ideas. She is probably way more qualified to run a business than he is, or ever will be, but he can’t see how any of this is realistic. She is right, they are sleeping on to-go’s, but there is no way they’ll be able to manage that right now.

And, yeah, there is no doubt that they need to make some serious changes, but all Carmen can focus on right now is to keep his head above water. He has issues keeping vendors current, and even scraping enough together to actually pay the staff.

“Yo, Carm!” Marcus voice calls out, interrupting them. Carmen hands the folder back to Sydney before stepping out of the little office to see what’s now going on.

Following Marcus’s voice, Carmy swings the doors open to the front of the house where he finds the baker leaning against the front of the counter, and Richie standing behind it with a woman, probably around his mothers age, who Carmy’s never seen before.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Carmy asks, trying to push aside the headache that is threatening to take over while trying to understand what’s going on with Sydney hot on his heels.

“No. I can handle this myself, cousin. I got this,” Richie tells him, holding his hand up as Carmen steps into the room. “So… You’re not Ron…” Richie says, now addressing the woman.

“Ron’s gone. Gone, gone,” she answers, which isn’t helping Carmen understand the situation in the slightest.

“Ron’s dead?!” Marcus exclaims, leaning a little further over the counter.

“Who is Ron?” Carmy asks, trying to get a handle on the situation.

The woman turns towards Carmen. “My partner Ron Pager. He passed away. I’m running his routes now.”

“Everybody’s dying,” Richie says, annoyed, making a half turn in frustration.

“Nancy Chore, Chicago Board of Health,” the woman introduces herself, offering an explanation to Carmen. “I’m here to inspect the property.”

Of, course… An inspection, why the fuck not?! Just what this day needed…

“Okay, Nancy, hi. I’m Carmen Berzatto,” he extends his hand, introducing himself. “I’m the owner.”

“He’s the owner’s brother actually. He’s also dead,” Richie says, causing a raised eyebrow from the older woman.

“He doesn’t look dead.”

“No, no I’m not dead. My brother is dead.” Carmen clarifies, even though he feels a bit dead right now.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the woman says with a sympathetic nod.

“I’m sorry for your loss too,” Richie says to the health inspector, not missing a beat as he continues. “Can I see some kind of identification?”

“Yeah,” the woman replies, holding out her very legit looking badge per Richie’s request.

“Interesting,” the taller man says, his arms folded over his chest.

“Is it? What’s interesting about that?” Carmen says, he can’t fucking deal with Richie’s antics right now, he just wants this inspection to be over as soon as possible. Carmy’s been trying to make everyone step up their game in the two weeks he’s been here. He, himself stayed until late last night to deep clean. There shouldn’t be any problems, and if Richie will just behave, everything should be going smoothly… Hopefully.

“It’s an interesting logo on her badge,” Richie says defensively.

Carmy decides to ignore him, turning his attention to the inspector. “Nancy, if you need anything, just find us. Make yourself at home. Okay?” He turns around to go back to the kitchen, he has a lot to do and he doesn’t have time to deal with Richie’s shenanigans right now. “Where’s Tina and Ebra!” he calls out as he makes it back to the kitchen with Sydney following him back again, seemingly not done with telling about her ideas to improve the restaurant.

Carmen had hoped that the interruption would make her forget about it for a while, his head can’t hold any more right now, but he is also mildly curious to hear ideas, and he also doesn’t want to seem like an asshole, it is really nice of her to want to help, so he lets her follow him around as he makes it through the restaurant.

“I also noted on the prog that it’s not necessarily flour that is expensive, but shipping, so we could just have somebody go and pick it up.” Sydney says as they make it back into his office.

“Yeah, Marcus,” Carmen agrees. He can definitely see the logic in that. It’s a good, and actually feasible, idea.

“Okay, sure. Marcus. Great,” she says a little confused.

“No, it can only be Marcus,” Carmy explains.

Sydney makes a face of befuddlement. “Why can it only be Marcus?”

“Sweeps, Tina and Ebra don’t drive,” he clarifies. .

“Uh, well, what about Richie?” she asks questioningly.

“Suspended license.”

“I saw him drive in this morning,” she points out.

Carmy just shrugs, he is not sending a man with a suspended license out driving doing work hours, if Richie wants to risk it on his own time then that’s his business.

Sydney shakes her head lightly, getting back on track. “The point is, it’s one of hundreds of things we can be doing to save costs!”

“Sydney. Sydney. Sydney,” Carmy interrupts her. “Look, I’m sure this is all correct, but it’s a lot. The job you’re describing goes way outside what I can afford to pay a sous, which I can barely afford already. But I hear you. Okay? I have every intention of turning this into an efficient, respectable place of business run by adults…”

He can see that she is about to say something, but before she can get to it she gets interrupted by an outburst from the front of the house. “That’s a fucking ass of shit!” Richie’s voice bellows.

“Eventually…” Carmy sighs, stepping out of the office once again to see what’s happening. “Yo, yo, what’s going on?!” He yells as he pushes through the door to the front again, seeing that most of the staff are already there. A pressing feeling of uneasiness, starting to form in his chest as he steps around the counter to get to where Richie and Ms. Chore is standing, who he had almost forgotten was here.

“Look… It wasn’t dangerous, Ms. Chore…” Richie says defensively, immediately making alarm bells go off in Carmy’s head.

��What’s dangerous?!” Carmy demands to know.

“I discovered a large hole in the tile. Looks like a former gas line next to the stove tops. Not only was it not properly dry walled and caulked, but someone clogged the hole with napkins and proxied over it with some kind of plastic. Grease seeped into the napkins and the proxy became unproxied.” Ms. Chore explains, sounding less than pleased.

“So what does that mean?” Carmy can feel how fury is starting to slowly simmer in his stomach, threatening to soon be brought to a boil.

“A potential cross contaminate. Additionally, no hot water in the hand station.” The older woman explains.

The last part makes both Richie and Syd erupt in protest, their voices overlapping and echoing through the room as they try to explain that the hot water does work, the water just has to run for a little while, which Ms. Chore doesn’t seem to be satisfied with. “Health code states any sink near a prep area needs to deliver instantly hot water to prevent the spread of bacteria.”

Carmen can feel how his headache is now blooming into a full-blown migraine as the chaos unfolds around him. The sound of the voices mixing with the sound of the broken arcade game is starting to feel like an alarm going off in his head. It is like the piercing sound is stabbing through his temples and into his brain. He rubs his forehead, while grabbing the counter with his other hand, trying to ground himself as he tries to push back the throbbing pain. A health code vialation is literally the last fucking thing they need right now.

“I haven’t even delivered the big one yet.” The health inspector continues and Carmen feels how his stomach drops at her words.

“There’s a big one?” Fak says from his seat at the counter.

“And what is the big one?” Carmen asks, breathing through his nose. richie

The woman pulls out a packet of smokes, ‘King Size Sapphire’, Carmen’s eyes immediately looks over at Richie. “Someone left a pack of cigarettes on the stovetop near the burners. Not only very dangerous, but also a potential contaminant.”

“Motherfucker…” Carmy let’s out. The migraine is now pounding behind his eyes.

“You can say that again,” Ms. Chore

“Motherfucker!” Richie echoes, making Carmy’s blood fucking boil .

“Don’t actually say that again, you fucking idiot!” He yells at the taller man, feeling like he could strangle him in this moment.

“Unfortunately, these violations leave me no choice. I award you a C.” Miss Chore holds the cardstock with a giant orange C out to hand over to Carmy, but he doesn’t take it. He can feel the anger and frustration boiling inside of him, threatening to spill over. The orange letter on the paper mocking him.

A choir of protests fills the room as the staff tries to defend themselves, but Carmy can hardly hear them over the pounding in his head.

“You know what, I’m going to caulk that shit right now, okay?” Richie states, trying to plead with Ms. Chore.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter how fast you do it. I can’t come back to test for 30 days,” Ms Chore says, not missing a beat.

“It’ll take five minutes, okay?! It’ll take five minutes to caulk.” Richie tries to bargain. “I can caulk! Let me fucking CAULK!”

“There’s no caulk in the house, dude,” Fak chimes, making Richie yell at him to shut up and Ms. Chore hands over the review paper to Carmy before leaving.

Carmy thinks he might actually strangle Richie, his head now not only throbbing with pain but with red hot fury as well.

“You’re bitching me? You wanna run this place?!” Carmen seethes, his voice dripping with anger as he pushes Richie in the chest, his frustration finally boiling over.

“How do you know they’re not your cigarettes?!” Richie pushes back, making Carmy stumble back a step.

“Cause I’m not a fucking dipshit!” Carmy yells, seething with a mix of anger and frustration as he is about to push Richie again, but Sydney steps in between before he gets the chance, trying to keep the two men from each other as they yell at each other. Cursing and yelling fill the room as tensions escalate, the staff trying to intervene and the review paper falls to the floor in the commotion.

“Let’s not do this,” Sydney says, her voice breaking through to Carmy, making him regain his senses.

“All right. All right,” he says, throwing his hands in the air, trying to calm himself down before turning to Richie. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You are gonna go to the hardware store, you’re gonna get some joint compound. You’re gonna get some caulk and you’re gonna caulk that shit,” he says, his tone firm like he’s giving instructions to a child, despite him saying it with much more anger than he would ever use toward a kid.

“Okay, well, FYI…” Richie cuts in, as if he’s about to argue, making Carmy wanna punch him. “I’m not your fucking gofer.”

“FYI?! FYI!” Carmen can’t believe he is having this discussion with a grown man. “FYI, you cocked it up, you’re gonna caulk it out!”

“Okay, well, I would love to, but my license is expired, FYI!” Richie retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I saw you drive in this morning,” Sydney points out, making Carmen turn towards her.

“Sydney, you wanna help, you can take him.”

This makes Richie protest. “No. Time out. I’ll Uber. Thank you.”

“Surge rates, fucko!” Carmy reminds him, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Fine,” Richie says in defeat before looking at Sydney. “But we’re taking my car.”

“I don’t care…” she says, shaking her head.

Carmen is just glad that they’re leaving. Glad Richie’s leaving because he is fucking angry at him, and glad that Sydney is leaving, because it is clear to everyone that she is far too good for this place, and it makes him feel bad and kind of embarrassed that she has to put up with all the bullshit that happens here.

He just needs a break from annoying pseudo-cousins and over-ambitious sous chefs for a little while. Although Sydney is not officially his sous yet, but he is going to hire her – he’d be an idiot not to, she is probably the best this shitty place will ever see, if she still wants to work here after today, that is…

Carmy picks up the fallen review paper from the floor with slightly trembling hands as the giant orange C is staring back at him. The image burns into his mind, a symbol of failure and inadequacy. He knows that this place is shit and that he needs to make changes, but this is a whole new low. His head feels like it is about to explode, the pounding in his temples now so unbearable he almost feels nauseous, the ballbreaker jingle of the broken machine, like nails on a chalkboard, echoing in his tired head.

“Fix that fucking sound. Please fix that fucking sound!” He spits at Fak, half commanding, half pleading.

“I will fix it. Fak always fixes it. Kids come in, break it, and what happens? I fix the balls. Fak fixes the balls.”

“FIX IT!” Carmy just yells. He wonders if it’s actually happened, after all these years in nightmarishly stressful kitchens, two weeks at The Beef is what’s finally driven him completely insane as he goes back through the doors to the kitchen.

Taking a breath and clenching his fists he tries to gather his thoughts. If he changes the plans so that Tina takes over Sydney’s stations while she is gone and he makes family, they shouldn’t get too behind while Sydney and Richie are gone.

“Yo, Tina! I need you to help me out, chef,” he calls out to Tina, trying to regain a sense of control amidst the chaos. “I need you to take over Sydney’s stations while she’s gone. We need to keep things running smoothly, I’ll make family and help out with prep,” Carmen instructs, his voice firm but tinged with the underlying stress and frustration he’s feeling.

“Got it, Jeff,” the shorter woman says, retying the strings of her ‘Mrs. Always Right’ apron.

“Thank you, chef,” Carmy says, really meaning it. He knows she’s having a hard time with all the new changes he has made around the kitchen, and with Sydney coming in and things changing up, but she has been here for a long time and there is a reason for that.

As they start working and tackling the tasks at hand, Carmen feels how his anger slowly disappears, something else inside him taking over.

He has no idea how to manage, let alone fix, a failing business, but he knows how to cook. He knows what he’s doing when he’s in the kitchen and he knows that he can rely on his skills and can get into that magical state where he can shut his brain of for a little while, and just fully concentrates on the task at hand – which in this point of his life probably is the closest he comes to relaxing.

· · · · ·

You are pulled out of your slumber by the ringing of your phone, the shrill sound cutting through the peaceful silence of your bedroom. Groggily, you reach out to the nightstand where your phone is resting, fumbling for it in the darkness before finally grabbing hold of it. But as you squint at the screen to see the caller ID, you see that there is none, it isn’t even your phone that is ringing.

Confusion clouds your mind as you slide out of bed, and it is now clear to you that the sound isn’t coming from your bedroom. You stumble out of the room, trying to locate the source of the ringing, but it stops before you get a chance to pinpoint it.

“What the…” you mumble before the ringing starts once again, realizing that the sound is coming from the kitchen. You feel a sense of unease wash over you as you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of the shrill ringing growing louder with each step. You enter the room and coming into view is the telephone on your kitchen counter. Confusion wells up inside you for a split second, your groggy mind still in a half fogged state of sleep, before the events of last night come back to you. Carmen must have forgotten his phone last night.

You look over at the oven, the digital clock, shocked by how late it is, you can’t remember the last time you woke up this late.

You step over to the sink, looking down at the phone, the caller ID lighting up on the screen saying ‘Sugar’. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should answer or not. It feels pretty invasive to pick up another person’s phone, someone you don’t really know, and you have no idea who this Sugar is, maybe a girlfriend? In that case you don’t want to intrude on their personal business, and you’re definitely not in the mood to be interrogated by some angry girlfriend.

But it could be important, or maybe it is Carmen calling his own phone to figure out where it’s at. You contemplate what to do, but before you can make a decision the phone stops again, the ringing coming to an abrupt halt.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but after a few seconds the phone lights up again. With a fast beating heart you swipe across the screen before picking it up to your ear, bracing yourself for whatever may come.

“God damn it, Carm!” A female voice crackles through the speaker, frustration and annoyance evident in her tone. “Listen I know-”

“Hello,” you croak out, interrupting the woman, not wanting to eavesdrop on a private conversation. The voice on the other end goes silent for a moment, and you can almost hear the confusion through the phone.

“Uh, hi…” the voice says, the frustration in her tone melting away, being replaced with puzzlement. “Is Carmen there?”

You clear your throat, a little embarrassed by the mix-up. “Uh, no, he isn’t.” You cringe internally at the awkwardness of the situation. “He, uh, left his phone here last night.” And you only cringe even more. “I’m his neighbor, we had some coffee last night.” You quickly add, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward, but you push through.

“Oh..” the woman responds, her voice softening. “I’m Natalie, I’m Carmen’s sister.”

Relief floods through you, feeling a way more at ease now that you know who you’re talking to as you tell her your own name.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Natalie says, genuine remorse in her voice. “I’ve been trying to talk to him for a few days now, and I was starting to worry, but I think he’s just ignoring me.”

You feel a sense of understanding wash over you, having seen the exhaustion and turmoil in Carmen’s eyes the night before, and knowing about what had happened with Michael you can’t help but feel for her. “It’s okay,” you reassure her. “But, yeah, I saw him last night, we had coffee and he must have left his phone here by accident.” You offer, hoping to ease some of Natalie’s worry

“Oh, thank you for letting me know,” she replies, relief evident in her tone. “He can be a bit of a scatterbrain sometimes. I know he’s been dealing with a lot lately, so I appreciate you looking out for him.”

You nod, feeling a sense of connection with Natalie, despite never having met her. “Of course, happy to help out.”

You contemplate whether to offer any more information about your interaction with Carmy, but you ultimately decide to keep it to yourself. It’s really none of your business, but you can’t shake off the urge to help somehow.

“Hey, uhm, if you give me the address I can swing by the restaurant and drop off his phone. I know I would be fucked without mine.” It’s not like you have any plans and you would probably not leave your apartment today if you don’t have a reason to. “I can tell Carmen to give you a call when he gets the chance,” you continue, hoping to be of some use and to ease Natalie’s worries.

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Just let me know where to go and I’ll drop it off,” you offer, genuine in your willingness to help out.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Natalie says, her voice softens even further, with a sense of genuine gratitude. She gives you the address to the restaurant, and you jot it down on a post-it note. The call ends with a warm goodbye from both of you.

Forty minutes later, after a quick shower and getting dressed and ready, you’re on your way to the train station, the music in your headphones filling your ears as you step out onto the platform. Luckily you don’t have to wait long before the gray train pulls up, you board and find a spot to stand, not feeling the need to sit. The gentle rock of the train lulling you into a sense of calm, as you let your brain disconnect and enter the weird, cathartic state of introspection that you often seem to get in on public transportation while you watch Chicago pass by in a blur of buildings and colors.

As the train comes to a stop at the station near the restaurant, you step out onto the platform and make your way towards the address Natalie had given you, it’s just a simple eight minute walk and you’re are there a lot quicker than you would have preferred, suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you, but you try to push through it, reminding yourself that you are just dropping off a phone and there’s no need to overthink things.

The restaurant is easy to spot, a worn sign hanging above the entrance with the name ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland.’ You take a deep breath before pushing open the door and step inside.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno @eternallyvenus @eddioto

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raysrays · 9 months ago

Text

Crimson Guardian Part2 NSFW

Please check out Part One

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario: Once you agree to Kyojuro's request, you gather with Kagaya and the other Hashira to share your decision to retire early. But as you spend time with Kyojuro, you start noticing some changes in his behavior. You can't help but wonder, did you make a big mistake? He's your husband, after all. Surely, he wouldn't try to control or manipulate you. Maybe he's just worried about your safety and wants the best for you, right?

- Two Endings

A month had passed since I laid down my sword for the last time. I've spent my time at the Rengoku Estate as I had anticipated, assisting Senjuro with chores and cooking, while striving to earn Shinjuro's favor.

However, it all felt sluggish my days stretched out, feeling so unproductive.

Kyojuro was called on a mission far away, and he's been gone for almost two weeks now. I find myself overcome with loneliness, feeling hollow inside.

When I wasn't busy helping Senjuro, I often took walks and started getting into reading, though lately, I've found myself drawn to books on swordsmanship and battle techniques. It might seem pointless now, but it's all I have to occupy my mind.

Many times, I caught myself pacing around the estate, practicing fighting stances or swinging an imaginary sword, earning some strange looks from anyone nearby.

But I couldn't bring myself to share any of this with Kyojuro. I wanted him to believe I had moved on from being a demon slayer. Instead, I painted a picture of focusing on myself and preparing for the prospect of starting a family.

I've been writing to him almost every day since he left, keeping him updated on what's been happening back home and just checking in on him.

He says his mission has been successful so far, and he should be home very soon, which is good news. It's difficult to fully embrace retirement when the person you did it for isn't even here to enjoy it with you.

Today has been particularly slow. All I've done is help water the plants outside and dive deeper into my books. Shinjuro has been in his room, drinking, while Senjuro has been practicing his writing inside. And here I am, sitting under this same tree, reading the same book on breathing techniques for the past three hours...

However, my entire mood shifted the moment I heard the cawing of a crow announcing Kyojuro's return from his mission. He was finally home.

I could feel the excitement as I watched him walk through the gates of the estate, his big, bright eyes and fiery hair a welcome sight.

It didn't take long for him to spot me, as he quickly ran up and grabbed me, spinning me around in his arms.

"I've missed you so much, my little flame!" His booming voice was a comforting sound to hear in this moment.

I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck as he held me.

"I missed you so much, Kyo." It didn't take long for that hollow feeling I had earlier to finally disappear.

After he finally put me down, he pulled away to get a better look at me, scanning me up and down with his usual happy smile.

"You look so beautiful, my dear. Retirement seems to be treating you well already!"

"Oh, do you really think so?"

"Of course, sunflower. It's good to finally see you dressed casually and enjoying yourself at home. One of the main reasons my mission was such a success was because I wasn't worried about you. I knew you would be here waiting for me when I returned. I knew you would be safe."

I almost felt guilty. Since he left, I've been so bored out of my mind, stuck here at the estate, but if it’s really helping by keeping his mind at ease while he’s away I guess I don’t mind.

"How are you doing, my love? I know writing in letters can only reveal so much. Are you really okay?"

His voice softened, and his smile grew gentler. My heart raced at the sound. No matter how much time passed, I was still as in love and attracted to Kyojuro as I was the first time we met.

"Yes, I'm doing great. Senjuro and I have been quite productive lately. We even discussed setting up a small vegetable garden in the yard to reduce our trips to the village market." I forced a happy smile onto my face.

"That's wonderful news! I'm so happy you're finally making this old place your own." He then pulled me into another hug, burying me in his chest.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth—that I was bored and missed the core and all my comrades and friends. They had all become so busy with work that I went from seeing them every day to never at all, so quickly.

As I relaxed into his embrace, I felt his body tense slightly. He pulled away from me slowly, his expression puzzled.

"Sunflower... what is it you're reading?"

I glanced behind me to see my book still lying on the ground, its cover exposed. It was just a book, surely not that significant.

"Oh, that's just an old breathing technique book I found in the study room. I thought it looked the most interesting out of the available options."

He looked at me for a moment, then took my hands in his, holding them tightly.

"My love, if you had told me you wanted to read, I would have gladly bought you as many books as you wanted. You don't need to waste your time sitting and reading about attacks and breathing techniques anymore." His voice was filled with concern.

Little did he know, I chose this book specifically to occupy my mind. If I couldn't fight anymore, the least I could do was read about it.

"That's sweet of you, Kyo, but honestly, I don't mind."

His smile returned somewhat, and he moved his hands to hold my shoulders, gently leading me back to the main part of the estate.

"Let's get you inside, my love. I'll tell you all about my mission!"

I allowed him to guide me back, passing Senjuro on the way.

"Go ahead, little flame. I need to have a word with Senjuro."

I observe as he starts walking toward his younger brother; they engage in conversation, and I begin to make my way indoors.

Despite my initial intention to leave, a strange hesitation washes over me. I linger by the doorframe, eavesdropping on their discussion.

Senjuro's voice reaches me first. "Welcome home, brother. How was your mission?"

"It went smoothly. I'm relieved to be back," he responds, pausing briefly.

"Senjuro, how's Y/N? Have you noticed anything unusual about her lately?" My ears perk up at the mention of my name.

"Y/N? She seems fine, I suppose. She's been quite helpful with chores around here," Senjuro replies.

"I see. Have you noticed her reading more?" he probes further.

"I think so. Though I'm not sure what she's been reading," Senjuro admits.

"I see. Please, keep an eye on her for me, Senjuro. I'm concerned," Kyojuro says, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Concerned about her reading?" Senjuro's confusion is evident.

"No, just in general."

With that, I turned away from the door, deciding it was best to stop listening in.

Why would Kyojuro worry about me? I'm safe at home, just like he wanted. Wasn't that the whole point of being here? To ease his mind?

I can feel a mix of frustration brewing inside me, and I'm not sure if it's aimed at Kyojuro or myself. I've always prided myself on my swordsmanship, setting high goals and pushing myself hard to protect others and find purpose.

But now, I can't even enjoy reading a book about what I love without making my husband worry.

I step into the kitchen, ready to get a head start on preparing dinner. Gathering the cooking utensils and spices, I realize all that's left is to chop some of the vegetables.

As I rinse them off, I notice we're short on a few key ingredients.

My garden plans with Senjuro would have been perfect right now. Looks like I'll have to make another trip to the market.

Letting out a small sigh, I tidy up and head towards the door to slip on my shoes. Honestly, I could use some fresh air. I feel guilty leaving knowing Kyojuro just got here, but I think he’d much rather dinner be super good than complain about me stepping out.

I had a stranger Lingering feeling. There's something about his smile that feels off, like there's a hidden pressure behind it. Why?

As I'm slipping on my shoes, I sense someone standing over me.

"Where are you off to, sunflower?" Kyojuro inquires.

"Just getting a head start on dinner and realized we're missing a few things. I was about to run to the market," I reply.

"Hurry back to me, my love. You know I don't like it when you're away." His warm smile could melt anyone's heart.

He plants a kiss on my cheek before heading back into the other room.

As much as I adore him and miss him, I need just a moment alone to think right now.

As I make my way to the village, I pick up some vegetables, meat, and a few other things we need for the estate. On my way back, I spot Tengen and his wives. They seem to notice me too, especially Makio, who starts waving enthusiastically in my direction.

I walk over to them, feeling happy to finally see some familiar faces. It feels like it's been ages since we last caught up.

“Y/N, it's good to see you," Tengen greets warmly.

“How have you been? We haven’t seen you in forever!” Makio cries out excitedly.

"I've been well, how are all of you?"

"We've been doing just great," he responds.

"How's, uh, retirement?" Hina asks with a half smile.

"Oh, retirement has been... great," I reply, attempting to sound convincing, though I'm not entirely sure I believe it myself.

Tengen lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Sorry, but it's just so hard to believe. You had one of the flashiest breathing styles and trained almost every day, only to retire before becoming a Hashira. I just always thought you were too stubborn to quit so early.”

Hina shoots him a quick glare.

But it's all true; Tengen and his wives have been around since before the beginning of my and Kyojuro’s relationship, training with us, going on missions, and even just hanging out together casually.

They exchange silent glances for a moment and I notice Tengen’s expression change into a more serious one.

"Y/N, Kyojuro is one of my closest friends, and it's really not my place, but... do you think maybe you decided all that just a tad too quickly?" Tengen sounds more sincere this time.

"I mean, you were on your way to becoming a Hashira yourself," Suma adds.

Taking a deep breath, I realize they're right, but I already knew that. I wasn’t the one they should be lecturing in this scenario. I never wanted to retire; I just wanted to make Kyojuro happy.

"I promise. This is a decision I've made. I want to settle down and start a family with Kyo. I wouldn’t want to risk going out on a mission and dying before having that opportunity," I assert.

Though they still seem unconvinced, Tengen puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Kyojuro's a lucky man to have someone who cares about him so much. However, I think you should stay in tune with your training for now.”

“You are still so young, Y/N! It’s always possible that once you have children, you could potentially want to come out of retirement. Maybe be a trainer for young slayers!” Makio adds with a hopeful tone.

Suddenly, my spirits lift. They were right. Just because I retire now doesn’t mean I can’t come out of retirement in a few years. As long as I keep training at home, I should be fine!

“I suppose you are all right. I will definitely keep training. I’m sure Kyo will think that’s a great idea.”

“That’s the spirit. I’m glad we got to run into you,” Tengen says with his usual smile.

“I’m glad I got to see all of you. I promise I’ll try to make an effort to come around more.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hina exclaimed.

After we exchange our goodbyes, I watch them walk off together, smiling and talking.

A wave of realization and relief washes over me. Maybe retirement didn’t have to be as bad as I was making it out to be.

Upon finally arriving back at the estate, I walked up to the entrance with a smile on my face.

I recalled there was a book in the study that taught some solo hand-to-hand combat techniques, perfect for practicing alone. I made a mental note to pick it up once I returned and start reading it after dinner.

As I entered, Senjuro greeted me with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, Y/N. I’ll finish up dinner since you went out of your way to get everything,” he offered kindly.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that. I don’t mind,” I replied.

“I insist. You haven’t seen my brother for a while now, and I think he could use your company,” he chuckled nervously.

I hesitated for a second.

“Okay, only if you're sure,” I said, handing over the basket of food and supplies I had bought from the market.

He headed off to the kitchen, leaving me in the entryway, so I decided to make my way to our bedroom, shared by Kyojuro and me.

As I entered, I noticed he had changed out of his uniform into his more casual attire.

He looked at me with a kind smile on his face.

“I see you made it back safely,” he said, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

He buried his face into the side of my neck, kissing it softly.

I felt myself shiver at his touch. He seemed so gentle and loving right now. I had truly missed him so much these past few weeks.

I gently ran my fingers through his fiery hair as I spoke, "I ran into Tengen and his wives at the market."

He pulled away slightly to look at me, his arms still wrapped around my waist.

"Really? Were they happy to see you?" he asked with a big smile.

"Yes, they were. We hadn't realized it had been so long since we all saw each other."

Kyojuro appeared to be deep in thought. "I suppose you're right. It has been a while since all of us got together. I should arrange for us to have dinner sometime!" he exclaimed happily.

I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I think that would be lovely."

"What else did you all talk about? You were gone for quite some time," he inquired.

I debated telling him about their suggestion that I should consider keeping up with training and possibly coming out of retirement, but ultimately decided against it.

"Tengen was just telling me about a mission he had gone on recently. Nothing too crazy," I replied.

Kyojuro seemed satisfied with this answer. Why would I lie? I've never had any reason to lie to him before.

"That's great, sunflower. I'm happy you finally got to see some company. You seem so happy!" he remarked, his affection evident in his tone.

We lingered in each other's embrace for a few more moments until Senjuro's voice rang out, announcing that dinner was ready.

Hand in hand, we made our way to the table. Upon arrival, we found Senjuro had already set the table and prepared everything. Surprisingly, Shinjuro was already seated, wearing his usual drunken scowl, but he remained mostly silent.

As we ate, Kyojuro attempted to share details about his recent mission with his father, but received only silence and grunts in response. Despite years of trying, it seemed Kyojuro still sought his father's approval.

It felt kind of pointless to expect anything from Shinjuro. Even though I ended up spending more time with him than with Kyojuro lately, I just kept my distance. Honestly, I think he might even appreciate it.

After a few minutes of listening to Kyojuro, Shinjuro got up and was the first to leave the table, retreating to his room.

Though Kyojuro seemed disappointed, he maintained his neutral smile as he also began to wrap up his meal.

Once we had all finished eating, I stood up to collect the dishes for washing and putting away. However, Senjuro insisted on taking care of everything himself.

Feeling a bit defeated, I abandoned the task and decided to head to the study to grab that training book.

However, upon arrival, I was met with an unsettling sight. All the books were gone, every shelf completely empty...

As I made my way back to my room, confusion swirled within me like never before.

Upon entering, I found Kyojuro already preparing for sleep. His eyes brightened at the sight of me, and he gestured for me to join him under the covers of the futon.

Crawling in beside him, he enveloped me in his arms, pulling me close. With my head against his chest, I felt a sense of comfort wash over me.

"Kyojuro," I speak up.

"What is it, little flame?" He asks planting a kiss on the top of my head.

"What happened to all the books in the study?"

I sense a slight tension in his body at the question.

"I'm not sure, my love. Perhaps father had them moved. I'll make sure to get you some new books soon," he reassures me.

I stay silent, convinced by his explanation. What other reason could there be? Surely, Kyojuro doesn't attach much importance to old books collecting dust for years.

As I lay nestled in Kyo's arms, I feel the weight of exhaustion settling in. His breathing slows, It won't be long before sleep overtakes us both.

A week had passed, and the books still hadn't reappeared. I'd given up on getting a response out of Shinjuro. And it seemed that Senjuro wasn't even aware of their disappearance, which was even stranger.

So here I was again, under the same tree, rereading the same book for the third time.

Despite this, it was a beautiful day. The sky was bright and the air was refreshing. It would have been a shame not to enjoy it.

With Kyojuro gone early this morning for a hashira meeting, it's just me now, left to ponder my thoughts. I can't help but recall what Tengen and his wives said about keeping up with training.

Honestly, with my doting husband always around, their advice slipped my mind. But now, with some time to myself, I figure it's a good opportunity to get some practice in.

I don't have the exact combat training books I'd like, but I'll make do with what I remember from my days in the core.

Grabbing a wooden sword that Kyojuro and Senjuro sometimes use.

My target? A nearby tree. I start off slow, practicing basic strikes and focusing on my footwork. It's a few hours of intense concentration, but it feels amazing. I didn't realize how much I missed this, the feeling of swinging a sword, the rush of adrenaline with each move. It's like finding a piece of myself I forgot was missing.

My excitement fades as I notice a looming shadow, revealing Kyojuro standing there. Still in his uniform, he must have just returned from the meeting. His expression is stern, arms crossed in clear disapproval.

"What are you doing, Y/N?" His voice is cold, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I was just... training a bit," I reply nervously.

"Training? Training for what?" He begins to approach me, his demeanor serious.

For some reason, I instinctively start to back up as he approaches me. Before I know it, my back is against the tree I was just practicing on.

He closes the distance between us, his face inches from mine. This side of Kyojuro is unfamiliar to me; he appears downright angry.

"Why are you doing this, sunflower? You're inactive in the core, retired. There's absolutely no reason for you to pick up a sword and train again," his voice is harsh.

"I just thought that maybe if I stayed in shape and continued training a bit, perhaps in the future I could come out of retirement. Maybe even help train new slayers coming out of final selection," I suggest.

- Ending One (Positive fluff)

He gazes at me, his expression filled with confusion. “Sunflower, why would you want that? I thought the whole point of you wanting to retire was to be at home with me, to start a family together.”

Taking a deep breath, I realize I need to be honest and ip front with him now. Kyojuro is my husband, and if he truly loves me, he'll understand.

Slowly, I reach out and take his hand, bringing it up to rest against my chest.

“Kyojuro, I love you more than anything, and I want to start a family and be with you more than anything. But I also have to pursue the things that make me happy. Fighting alongside you and our friends has always been one of those things,” I explain, hoping he'll see my perspective.

His eyes soften, and I can tell he feels guilty for not considering my happiness more deeply.

"I'm still scared, Y/N. I'm scared of losing the love of my life, my wife. If you continue being a demon slayer, there will be times when I won't be able to protect you. Times when you'll be in situations where you'll have to fight to the death to defend yourself," he admits, his voice filled with worry.

He's right. There will be moments when I'll have to risk my life for the sake of others. But that's exactly why I signed up for this. That's what I want to do, with him by my side.

Gently, I lift his hand to my lips and place a kiss on his knuckles, mirroring the affection he always shows me.

"I'll fight until my last breath for a life without demons, so that hopefully someday us and our children can live the life we deserve," I declare softly.

He removes his hand from mine placing is on my cheek. His gaze loving and caring now.

“You never cease to set my heart ablaze little flame. You always make me remember that powerful spirit I fell in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for being so selfish.”

It makes me feel better that he also acknowledges how he’s been acting lately. It makes me feel more validated that I wasn’t completely going crazy. And still I forgive him.

I know Kyojuro’s heart, I know how pure and kind it is, and I know he would never do anything to harm me or keep me alway from something I’m so passionate about.

He pulls me into his embrace wrapping his arms protectively around me.

“I want you to be happy my love, it was wrong of me to try and control someone as amazing as you. I will do everything I can to support and protect you. Wether it’s here at home, or out on the battle field.”

His words melt my heart.

He removes his hand from mine, placing it gently on my cheek. His gaze softens, filled with love and care.

"You never fail to ignite my heart, little flame. You always remind me of the powerful spirit I fell in love with. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for being so selfish," he confesses.

His acknowledgment of his recent behavior brings me some comfort. It validates my feelings and assures me that I'm not imagining things. And yet, I find it in my heart to forgive him.

I know Kyojuro's heart, its purity and kindness. I trust that he would never intentionally harm me or stand in the way of my passions.

Pulling me into his embrace, he wraps his arms protectively around me.

"I want nothing more than your happiness, my love. It was wrong of me to try to control someone as incredible as you. I'll do everything in my power to support and protect you, whether it's here at home or out on the battlefield," he promises.

This was the man I fell in love with, the man I vowed to spend my dying days with. I’m certain that I made the right decision.

- Ending Two (Angsty Smut)

He shakes his head. "No. No way. If you're going to stay retired, then you need to stay retired. That was the deal. I won't risk losing you. You're far too precious to me." His tone is softer now, but still firm.

"But why can't I just practice for a bit?"

"Because this isn't what you want. You don't actually want this. It's not your passion. This is only because of your past life." He's more serious than ever.

"What's so wrong with me wanting to stay sharp?"

"You're supposed to be focusing on your future and your new life with me! And you can't do that if you keep holding onto your past. It's not a part of who you are anymore."

His words strike me. Was it so bad that I wanted to practice and maybe eventually come back?

"This is the last thing we're going to discuss. As a Hashira, I have the authority to confiscate your weapon, so hand it over. From this point forward, I will not tolerate you engaging in anything remotely related to demon slaying."

I reluctantly hand over my wooden sword. My heart drops, and tears begin to well up in my eyes.

"Y/N. I'm sorry, my love, but this is for the best. It's only because I love you." His voice softens, his expression more forgiving.

I'm filled with anger. Why is he acting like this? Why doesn't he want to fight alongside me anymore? Balancing our relationship and our profession is tough, but plenty of people make it work.

Why does he seem to think it's impossible for me to fight? I am strong. I've always been strong.

His thumb brushes away a tear from my eye as I lift my head to look at him.

This time, his expression changes.

He leans in close to my ear and whispers, "If you won't listen to me, I'll just have to give you a reason to stay off your feet."

A shiver runs down my spine as his lips meet mine, his hands holding my hips firmly in place.

Before I know it, he's lifting me over his shoulder and carrying me back into the estate.

“Kyo, put me down! Let's just talk!” I protest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

He takes me to our bedroom and pins me down on the futon.

“There’s nothing more to say, sunflower. If I can't keep you from fighting anymore, maybe having a child will,” he says, his voice tinged with desire.

I open my mouth to speak, but his lips on mine cut me off. His tongue pushes its way inside, making its way around my mouth.

I try to pull away, but his hands hold my head in place, and the taste of his mouth is overwhelming.

When he finally pulls away, I'm breathless.

He leans in, kissing and biting at my neck. His hands move down my body, grabbing and squeezing my breasts and my waist.

I let out a small whimper as he sucks and bites at my skin.

Suddenly, I feel his fingers brush against my entrance through my clothes.

He pulls away to look at me. "Already so wet for me, and we've barely done anything. Were you doing all of this to make me angry on purpose?”

My face burns with embarrassment, but I can't help but crave his touch.

He grabs my hands and pins them above my head, staring into my eyes with a mischievous smile.

"You want this, don't you, sunflower?" He asks as his free hand caresses my face.

I nod desperately, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then beg for it," he commands, his loving voice contested his actions.

"Please, Kyo, please I need it. I need you."

He releases his grip on my wrists and moves to undo his pants.

"There’s my little flame."

He lines himself up with my entrance, slowly pushing himself inside.

I try not to tense, feeling my walls stretch to accommodate him.

He lets out a low groan, his warm breath tickling my ear.

He waits for a moment before beginning to thrust into me, each movement deeper than the last.

I gasp and moan beneath him, gripping his shoulders.

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out.

"Mine," he whispers before placing a kiss on my forehead.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He begins to move again, thrusting harder and faster. I'm filled with so much pleasure that I'm seeing stars.

I can feel myself getting closer to the edge, but just before I can finish, he stops.

"Kyo, please, I need it." I whine.

"Not yet, my love.” he replies, his voice heavy with lust.

He pulls out of me, leaving me feeling empty and unsatisfied.

He flips me over and pushes my head into the pillow, my ass now in the air.

"Don't worry, little flame, I'm not finished with you just yet."

He enters me again, gripping my hips tightly as he pounds into me from behind.

"I can't wait to have you pregnant. You're going to look so beautiful."

He reaches a hand around to rub my clit, bringing me even closer to my peak.

I try to hold back my moans and he touches me. His words only make me feel hotter.

I can feel myself getting closer once again, and he seems to notice as well.

"Do you want to finish, my love?"

"Yes, yes please," I beg.

He increases the speed of his thrusts, hitting all the right spots inside of me.

I can feel myself approaching the edge again, and he continues to push me towards it.

"I'm going to fill you up, my love. Make you mine.”

His thrusts grow more erratic as he reaches his peak, releasing deep inside of me.

I collapse onto the futon , completely exhausted.

Kyojuro rolls off me and lays beside me, pulling me into his chest. I cuddled into him.

"We're going to be so happy, Y/N. Just you, me, and our child. Everything is going to be perfect," he reassures me, running his fingers through my hair.

I'm too tired to respond, so I just listen to the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing.

"I love you, sunflower. No matter what, you're mine.”

Sorry this one took me so long to get out, I hope you all enjoyed it! I’d love to hear your feedback!

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wangxianficfinder · 2 months ago

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In the mood for...

Oct 8th

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1. Hello! Thank you for being doing this, I find so many things I haven't read! Today, I'm in the mood for any fic where WWX is really shy only around LWJ, like, incredibly nervous, and they end up together eventually, maybe one where LWJ is the one who flirts, subtly, in his way and WWX loses his mind over it 😂 @ghostwolf-93

loveliness by orphan_account (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Pining, Teen Romance, Getting Together)

Back up and dream again by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 3k, WangXian, Fix-It, Time Travel, Fluff, Flirting, Cute, Embarrassed WWX)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 828k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) The first few chapters of Stunted, Starving Juvenility () feature a flustered Wei Ying after he realizes he's attracted to Lan Zhan which is close to the request but maybe not quite what they were after.

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2. I am in the mood for a fic with dark Jiang Cheng (maybe even demonic cultivator Cheng) and some Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian pairing. It could be alternate universe where they didn't grow up like siblings and I would like some arranged marriage between them. It doesn't have to come through and the endgame can be different pairing. I am curious if there is such fic out there.

~*~

3. hello and thank you so much for what you do!!! I just read "although my mind is young, it is not gentle" by everythingispoetry and I was hoping you could recommend me something similar? Something centered around Lan Sizhui and showing his relationship with Lan Wangji and/or Wei Wuxian. Could be him growing up pre-canon or during canon , idc. @ladyhavilliard

let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, let capricorns cathart agenda, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)

🔒 Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death (T, 13k, LSZ & WWX, JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Family Feels, Family Bonding, POV LSZ, This Fic Has Everything, even more yearning, WWX & LSZ figuring out wtf their relationship is, Dramatic Revelations)

Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, gen, Fluff and Crack, [Podfic] Important Distinctions by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona)

your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian (G, 10k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Father-Son Relationship, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, More aligned with CQL than novel canon, Miscommunication, Eventual Positive Communication, Trying to be a family, how to tell your dad you want him to be your dad in 6 easy steps!)

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

Inquiry by incendir (G, 10k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian)

to the act of making noise by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight) (G, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, inquiry, LSZ is the best of boys and I will not hear debate, Music, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, [Podfic] to the act of making noise by Ceewelsh, flamingwell, kisahawklin, Rionaa) This is basically Lan Yuan growing up with Inquiry as a lullaby (and seeing LWJs grief through his eyes) I'm not familiar with the fic mentioned in the ask, but this fic focuses on LSZ growing up. Tissue alert! And double tissue alert for the podfic version

to recollect and long for by mme_anxious (T, 4k, LSZ & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, Angst, Humor, Fluff, weird mix of book and live action, Forehead Ribbons, Family Feels, Weddings, Sort Of, POV Multiple)

~*~

4. HII! Can you please find some zombie au's with wangxian? Ty!

The Edge of Night by Hobbsy3 (M, 277k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Zombie Apocalypse, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Accidental Baby Acquisition During a Zombie Apocalypse, Junior Quartet, (except they’re all babies), Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Ensemble Cast, Worst Zombie Fighting Team Ever, Found Family) Amazing Zombie AU

When the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation takes a week off by galaxy_in_your_eyes (T, 20k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives, only those that deserve it, kind of fix-it, Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, POV Alternating, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Brief Mentions of Cannibalism, Zombies, We don’t see the Zombie Apocalypse, It happens behind closed doors, WWX in quarantine, Wangxian being Wangxian, Mentions of Smut, Established Relationship, Courtesy Names, local necromancer gets sick with the flu)

Darkness Before the Dawn by Selenay (E, 64k, wangxian, Zombie Apocalypse, Modern With Magic, Necromancer WWX, Reunions, toddler A-Yuan, There Was Only One Bed, There are zombies but not graphically horrific zombies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Find a home in the middle of an apocalpyse)

when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

❤️ A Corpse Called By Name by jaemyun (Not rated, 60k, WangXian, Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Horror, Zombie WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, yunmeng trio, Eventual WangXian, WWX is dad material even in death, Humor, YLLZ but make him dead, A Corpse Called By Name by jaemyun [Podfic] by Miss Appellation (Lizeth)) WIP podfic / featuring WWX doing the impossible again, being the best big brother, dad and LZ's crush as a consious boss zombie! Beware of some angst tho

a thousand teeth, yours among them by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Mild Gore, Hook-Up, Falling In Love, metaphysical sexual body horror (??), Non-Sexual Intimacy, Melancholy)

~*~

5. hello! i would love recs for mpreg fics set in canon/post-canon that are NOT a/b/o.

🧡Accidents Will Happen by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 45k WangXian, Post Canon, Mpreg, Fluff, Light angst, Mojo's post)

Bloom where you are planted by luckymoonly (M, 44k wangxian, MM/WQ, Canon Divergence, Fix It, courting, Mpreg, Sunshot Campaign, Fluff, Happy Ending, getting together early, Romance, WWX giving birth in the middle of the war? Most likely than you think!, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Smut, Drama, Blood and Violence, Minor Character Death, There Is Only One Bed, No Fall of Lotus Pier, Crossdressing, Shotgun Wedding, Mention of miscarriage (not WWX), wangxian Have a Breeding Kink, Giving Birth, Soft granduncle LQR)

Blooming in white by luckymoonly (T, 38k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, MM/WQ, NMJ/LXC, NHS/JC, Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Getting Together, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, hidden pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Drama, Misunderstandings, Everyone Lives AU, Miscommunication, WWX and NHS are BFF, matchmaker NHS, Fix-It)

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal)

in a river you wade by bleuett (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Postpartum Depression, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Good Uncle LQR, Family Feels, Happy Ending, Kid Fic)

Take My Pieces, Make Me Whole by InTheGreySpaces (M, 297k, WangXian, NieLan, ChengQing, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, JC & WWX Reconciliation, JC is a good brother, LXC Is A Good Brother, Golden Core Reveal, Mpreg, Yuan really IS WWX's son, and LWJ is his other father, LQR is a good uncle, Eventual Happy Ending, WWX Has Memory Issues, NMJ is a good brother, Hurt LWJ, Hurt NMJ, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, tiny bit of non-con, chapters will be tagged individually with necessary warnings, sentient Yin Iron)

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6. I am in the mood of fic with some body swap trope. I mean like if Lan Zhan swapped his body with Wei (maybe some magic went wrong) and both have to pretend to be who they are not. Or it could be bodyswap with any other character. Lan Zhan and Huaisang or Wei and Mingjue or anyone else. I think there is big potential for great stories in there. No modern aus or gender swap please.

🔒💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

come home to my heart by occultings (microcomets) (M, 29k, WangXian, Bodyswap, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Misunderstandings, and a little bit of hurt/comfort as a treat)

These next two are crossovers with TGCF & the body swaps involve characters from that story:

🔒even across a thousand miles by merryofsoul (T, 10k, WangXian, HuaLian, Bodyswap, Post-Canon, Light Angst, Crossover, POV Alternating)

lost my fear of falling by thefireplanet (E, 30k, WangXian, HuaLian, Bodyswap, YLLZ WWX, WWX-centric, WangXian-centric, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Canon-Typical Wangxian Sex Things)

Two Sides of the Same Coin by JiangChengLotus (T, 4k, XiCheng, WangXian, Bodyswap,Humor, Fluff, Bonding, Chaos, Developing Friendships, Misunderstandings)

flux by orphan_account (E, 60k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Continuation, Case Fic, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Curses, Bodyswap, Sharing a Body, Psychic Bond, Love Confessions, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Masturbation, Telepathic Sex, Investigations, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Slow Build, Slow Burn) i have to recommend Flux! its a case fic that starts out as bodyswap and eventually leads to sharing a body where they can jump between their two bodies together. its so interesting and i find myself coming to back to it from time to time

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7. ITMF request pls 🙏🏻 there's quite a few reincarnation/time-travel fix-its where either both WWX and LWJ retain their previous memories, or only LWJ but not WWX. Are there any where WWX retains his, but not LWJ? Thank you in advance ♥️♥️

Practical Mythology by metisket (T, 17k, WangXian, Time Travel, YLLZ WWX, myths and legends, apparently the burial mounds has to fix everything itself, zombie farm collective, accidental deities, Families of Choice, WWX has no idea what he’s doing, that’s why he’s doing great) WWX travels back in time & becomes known as a powerful immortal. Baby!LWJ grows up on the myths

Last(?) Loop by PyrrhaIphis (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Loop, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, before the Cloud Recesses study arc) WWX is in a timeloop, but told from pov of LWJ, who is not in the loop

❤️ And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) multiple podfics and translations into multiple languages available

Wish me luck by starlight1395 (Not Rated, 164k, WangXian, Fix It, Time Travel, Angst, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Slight fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of tears, canon levels of blood/violence, Minor Character Death, secondary character death, Sibling Bonding, JC curses alot, battle scenes with appropriate levels of violence and blood, semi mild smut, it's emotional and soft smut tho so it's okay, mild Self-harm)

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) has WWX's soul zip back to the moment JC strangled him. The memories are incomplete but I think it still counts?

We’ll Build A Dynasty (one the heavens can’t shake) by One_eyed_God (T, 66k, WangXian, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, WWX & JYL, canon typical Jiang family dynamics, BAMF WWX, Canon JC Characteristics, POV Outsider, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, WWX is a Wen, Sect Leader WWX, Genius WWX, The Casual Intimacy of Hand-Holding, A Love Letter to WWX, Not JC Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It) is one where WWX is the only one to travel, but the story is told from everyone else's POV

two guys r in love thats literally it by victortor (M, 11k, wangxian, Time Travel, the fluffiest thing ive ever written)

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8. Itmf more like " dispersing clouds ". I Just love the wwx in it. He's written soo good there. Especially the aspect of him being a head disciple, the author wrote about it in such a way that he actually felt like a head disciple. That one paragraph about him waking up and going " 5 laps around the pier now. " It was soo hotttt! Helooo?

Everything else in the book was written so perfectly true to every character.

This book comes par with " 12 moons and a fortnight " for me NGL. @constellationdks

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing) Like in Dispersing Clouds, WWX leaves the Jiang but spends time fixing the defences & interacting with elders & fellow disciples. I definitely feel it has similar vibes to that fic

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9. hi!! im looking for recs where both lwj and wwx time travel to the past (preferably longer and novel canon, but anything works!) thank u!!

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending)

🔒 Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, wwx turns this into a no war!au, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Bad Parent YZY, POV WWX, POV LWJ, POV JC, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Has PTSD, and also depression sometimes, Unreliable Narrator, (all of them))

💖 Regrets by antebunny (G, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Time Travel, Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Explicit Descriptions of Love, and other squishy feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒 Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending) Out of the pair of them, initially only WWX remembers, but LWJ regains his memories of the undone timeline over the course of the fic

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 163k, WangXian, JFM & WWX, JC & WWX, WRH & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, LWJ & NHS, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Genius WWX, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Angry WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Angry LWJ, One-Braincell WangXian, Idiots in Love, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Soft WangXian, Married WangXian, Soulmates, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Immortal WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, not gusu lan friendly, Immortal LWJ)

Family by Quiet_crash (G, 57k, WangXian, XuanLi, Time Travel Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Established Relationship)

The Wild Geese’s Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, WangXian, Time Travel AU, fixit, Temporary Character Death, all women live no women die, LWJ’s canonically intense feelings about everything all the time, WWX’s clinical depression gets treated and blamed on resentful energy, navigating gay marriage in ancient china by utiliizing class snobbery for your own ends, if you’re not sure whose fault anything going on in here is then blaming NHS is probably a good bet, WWX plays ‘summon LWJ’ it’s super effective!, the ‘unexploded cow’ approach to dealing with your enemies) CQL rather than novel canon, but it's too good to not recommend

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10. Itmf: the most comforting and soft fic recs you have!

I want a happy ending and for it to be about Wangxian. I don't care about length, it can be a long, plot filled story, as long as there's plenty of fluff!

I'm talking lots of cuddles, soft kisses, non sexually bathing each other, hair brushing, things like that! Bonus points for the smell of sandalwood relaxing Wei Wuxian, but certainly not required!

Thank you all! @acebookdragon47

Continuation by thefaceofno (T, 13k, WangXian, 3zun if you squint, Canon Continuation, wwx builds a lotus pond in cloud recesses, Hair Brushing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Pining, gay disaster lwj, Post-Canon Fix-It)

call me home and I’ll build you a throne by anaphoricae (E, 51k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Post-CQL, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Self-Indulgent, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, Touch-Starved, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sexual Intimacy, Lán Juniors Gossiping about Wangxian, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Farmer WWX, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Mutual Pining, Communication, Quietly Falling Into a Married Life, Light Angst, Wholesome, POV LWJ, POV WWX, LWJ in braids agenda, Sharing a Bed, Semi-Public Sex, Inventor WWX, Jealous WWX)

where the chaos is by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 6k, WangXian, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Compliant, Post-Canon Reunions, Love Confessions, First Kiss, First Time, Emotions, WWX is overwhelmed, Domestic Bliss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Intimacy, Hair Brushing, and more!)

🔒Heart of hearts series by apathyinreverie (M, 40k, WangXian, Dark LWJ, (Ish), Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Hurt WWX, Recovery, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Kind Of, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX Goes to Gusu, Possessive WWX, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Not Cultivation World Friendly)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

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11. itmf fics where characters have a crush on wei wuxian or fall for his charms?

Cotton Wool by incendir (M, 34k, wangxian, LJY/OMC, JL/LSZ, JC & WWX)

Help, My Dad Is Fucking Someone My Age!! by sweetlolixo (T, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Humor, Crack, Fluff, Romance)

Transcend by covalentbonds (not rated, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff and Humor, Smut, YLLZ WWX is prettiest fight me)

~*~

12. hi! this is for itmf.

can you recommend fics that discuss sizhui’s dislike for jiang cheng? this could be because of his treatment towards wei wuxian or maybe because of his treatment and dislike of the wen remnants. thanks!

on the importance of restraint (or lack thereof) by nixtothou (G, 3k, background WangXian, LSZ & JC, Families of Choice, Light Angst, LZS Needs a Hug, Angry LSZ, i simply think lsz deserves to snap, zhuiling if you squint, Not for jc stans, Post-Canon, Character Study)

Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan (M, 13k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, One-Sided JC/WWX, One-Sided JC/LSZ, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, LSZ is raised by WWX, WWX still dies sorry, Revenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dark LSZ, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Torture, Not JC Friendly, JC’s Canonical 13 Years Murder Spree, BAMF LSZ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LSZ Gets to Go Apeshit)

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13. itmf wwx or lwj centric modern setting long fic with some family angst! preferrably not slow burn, no vers please! thank u <3

🧡🔒Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 179k, wangxian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX, caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

Ornaments Under the Stars by trippednfell (M, 62k, wangxian, Modern, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, the wangxian Hallmark Movie AU no one asked for, plot and title were randomly generated, Kidfic, Disabled Character, debilitating injury as substitute for missing golden core, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Guest starring Lan Zhan’s sky blue coat, The Coat deserves its own tag, disordered eating habits - not a major plot point, WIP)

❤️ save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae (E, 33k, wangxian, modern w magic, college/university au, fake/pretend relationship, single parent WWX, homophobia, light angst w/ happy ending, idiots to lovers, fluff)

‘Let’s go home.’ by Crowgirl (E, 27k, WangXian, Coffee Shops & Cafés, LQR's Excellent Parenting, Meet-Cute, First Kiss, First Time, First Meetings, Pining, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Past XiYao, past emotional abuse, Past Emotional Manipulation)

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14. hello! for the next itmf i have three requests! i would love to see canon/post-canon fics of

A. jingyi seeing wangxian as his parents

B. jin ling seeing wwx as a parent

C. jin ling struggling with his feelings about jc after finding out the truth about everything

no AUs please!

~*~

15. Hi! so this request is under itmf i think!

i didn’t see much mention of this but are these any fics that talk about lwj and wwx’s class difference? anything where wwx gets to experience luxury for the first time as lwj’s husband? 🥹 it doesn’t have to be in detail but i would love to read about that!

as always thank you for your blog and all that you do 🫶

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 859k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) In the early parts of this fic, WWX worries about how LWJ is out of his league class-wise & that the elders will never allow them to get together

~*~

16. hi! are there any canon divergence fics where wei ying snaps out of whatever disassociation he experienced and manages to save lan zhan before the elders can even get to punish him? like, the whipping didnt happen at wei ying lives type of beat. thank you!

~*~

17. Hi! Hope you have a nice day! I’d like to ask for fics which include a-yuan calling Wuxian his dad or wwx calling wen qing his sister

The most dangerous thing is to love by KatAnni (E, 113k, WangXian, Golden Core Reveal, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Hurt!WWX, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-it, Medical Procedures, Fainting, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Asexual JC, homophobia doesn’t exist here, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Wedding Night, Whump) a-Yuan refers to Wei Ying as his dad starting in chapter 18

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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ellaa-writes · 7 months ago

Text

Hallow Love

angst, heartbreak

He never touched you anymore, at first it was short fleeting moments and the I'm not in the mood right now's.

You tried not to think about it, life's been tough, loosing your secure job of 5 years and him telling you not worry about it. He can take care of the both of you just fine. You could just stay home, get a hobby or start a small business. Too really live you life but that all sounded to easy.

He came home injured, bits and pieces of him missing,not just on the outside but on the inside too. His kisses start to feel unfamiliar and distant. More excuses, my love for you has changed and it's hard for me to see you like that. You disnt understand, it didn't make sense but you clutched onto the lies with all your heart, believing them cause it was the only hope you had left.

When a month turned into a year, you came undone at the seams. The guilt of not being enough ripped you open at the seams. Of course he felt horrible, but he also didn't feel ashamed. If you could only understand, that's how his defense always started. And you screaming back tell me so I can understand!

But he never did, leaving the room as you sobbed for anything. Any sign that your once loving husband was still alive inside, or was he hallowed out and replaced with this stranger.

He'd come crawling back with begging promises to change and to get better. But he never does, a year turned into 4 and it felt like you were living with a ghost. He no longer slept in the same bed, haven't shared a family dinner in a year. Barely seeing eachother in passing, like two bitter roommates avoiding eachother at every chance.

You didn't know why you stayed for so long, the guilt probably. The strong loving man you once knew now snears everytime your near. He stopped apologizing along time ago. You finally built up enough courage to leave, to pack your stuff and flee.

He leaves for a mission, doesn't tell you where or for how long, not like he does anyways. You waited an hour after he left to pack all your belongings into the back of your car and peel out of your driveway.

3 months passed by, then it turned into a year and you still haven't heard from him. You stopped waiting after 2, hoping that he got help, found a better wife someone who could understand him. You hoped he had the family he always talked about, and you hoped the most that he is still alive.

#captain john price #John price #john price #john price x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod mw3

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hoony2k · 15 days ago

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THE LOOKING GLASS

Synopsis: You've never had the best luck with love or in life, maybe that's why you're being comforted by your boyfriend's brother who happens to look identical to him.

Pairing: sunghoon x reader

Genre: a mix of fluff and angst, sunghoon is a twin, right person wrong time trope,

Warnings: mentions of being cheated on (reader)

Word Count: 1k

Note: hii another sunghoon post! I enjoyed writing this so much..why'd i eat with the title need to pat myself on the back

library

It's strange seeing your lover but not truly seeing them. Next to you under the dim porch light , sits Sunghoon with a cold glass of water.

The glass is frosty with condensation, droplets trickle down the boy's fingertips and your throat is flooded with an onset of emotions. His wrist must hurt from being in a rigid position for so long but there is no courage inside you that could take the glass from him.

It should be Sungjin next to you, but it's not- it's his identical twin brother. Park Sunghoon. The shadow. The ghost. The one no one talks about in family dinners, and often forget to message Happy Birthday!

Sunghoon lingers a comfortable distance, near enough for you to feel his warm yet far enough for you two appear as friends. He's always been respectful towards you, never dared to bring you discomfort, subtly looked out for you when he knew his brother was ignorant to your moods. Though, his kind actions never missed your radar.

Common sense urges you to thank him for the water, take the glass from him and down it in one go to prevent another pitiful crying session. But, your eyes are already misty. Sunghoon seem to doesn't mind the wait. You sniffle.

For eons the silence between your bodies stretches on. The house is vibrant with life and colour, muffled cheers and laughter resonate periodically. The wooden floor you took salvation in vibrates with bass.

Inside everyone in the Park family is celebrating Sungjin's new job across the country and you're bleeding out on the porch. Not alone in misery though, as it seems.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you speak, voice scratchy.

"I wish I never found out".

"Don't say that", Sunghoon whispers harshly. It almost floats away in the breeze but you catch it. You always caught his low murmurs and comments whispered under his breath.

Head heavy with shame you bow to nothing in particular. The deities must be laughing at you. How stupid were you really?

There's a shuffle as Sunghoon comes closer, his dry hand rests on your knee, warm, anchoring. the flame in your heart flickers dangerously.

From your peripheral, you eye him up and down.

His features look exactly like Sungjin's. Soft sloped nose sealed with a beauty mark near the ends, strong prominent eye brows and pouty plush lips. Though Sungjin has shorter hair that doesn't curl behind his ears, bleached so many times in his youth the ends are dry. Sunghoon doesn't have a mole on his left ear, a slight crooked canine or a rumble in his voice.

But Sungjin doesn't look at you like this. Hasn't looked at you like this- in years.

Brown eyed Sunghoon looks at you as if you're the most wonderful person he's ever seen. What swims in his pupils is fondness and a hint of worry, of protectiveness.

Sungjin looked at you as if he wished you were someone else. Almost as if he was trying his hardest to envision the doe eyed girl-who lived across the country-you caught him with.

And maybe you're a hypocrite for crying over him and whining about how he wronged you. Because your mind reels you back to occasions where you met his family, in those small moments where you disappeared in the background as Sungjin took the stage, or when Sungjin wasn't breathing down your neck for wearing a sleeveless dress, you caught yourself staring at Sunghoon.

Alone and silently wandering near the kids table. In those moments, it was only you and Sunghoon, trapped in a second together. A sweet secret moment where you truly saw him. Even if the adults didn't. Though, those moments lasted short, filled with Sunghoon rapidly asking you questions and your responding as quick, throwing in a joke or two, aware that something in the interaction would eventually become a secret inside joke. A fond jest he'd refer to during the next reunion, perhaps when he'd find you in the kitchen or when he'd raise his eyebrows at you from across the room. The pair of you trapped in time as all around you blurred past.

The feeling was mutual, it was pure, it was fondness, it was nothing serious.

"I wish I fell for you instead", your body moves on autopilot and you can't believe what you had just said. Shocked at the self discovery, a battle begins within you. Your face is warm with shame and guilt for roping him in your emotions, but you're relieved at the birth of the sentence. It was like finally confronting your reflection. Your heart felt lighter but your face heat up with shame.

Saying it out loud unsheathed the hidden truth, forced you to come in terms with the bitter reality. Sungjin stopped loving you when he was accepted as an intern in another city, maybe along the quiet days and lonely nights, you forgot how to love. Confused love for a routine, to be the polite, pretty partner wrapped around his arm.

Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath. His blown out pupils hide under his lids, lips pulled in a taunt line. Then he goes limp.

He slouches over his long legs clad in a black trouser, elbows resting on his knees.

Sunghoon's head hangs low, dark hair covering his face yet through the gaps of locks you see his eyes and his long yearning desires. His fingers, red from the cold sensation are numb, intentionally tipping the glass until water splatters on the chipped off wooden stairs. He lets the angle of his hand pour water until the amount doesn't reach the tip. Until it stops and the liquid can only slosh in the container.

Half full, half empty.

You glance at the small darkening spot, the wood dutifully soaking it all in. Then, stare at Sunghoon. Lip caught between his teeth, his eyes stare blankly at the ground but you drown in the abyss of despair and temptation inside them.

"I wish you fell for me too".

thank you for reading! Please do not edit/translate/copy.

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thesilmarillionblog · 4 months ago

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𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟓

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, memory loss, Soldier Boy gets hurt, reader gets hurt, language

Word Count: 6025

A/N: English is not my first language.

This is inspired by the song 'Remembrance' by Memoria Futuri.༊

Soldier Boy promised to help you remember him, so you and him took your time in the room for some time more, and you thought twice about what to do next. The most powerful Supe would never lie to you about you having a relationship with him in the past; it would be absurd. He had no reason for lying to an ordinary person. Still, you were afraid he might use you to track Butcher and the others. Even so, you had to proceed with caution.

You politely interrupted him to not ruin the mood by saying, “Don't get mad, but I still need to talk to Butcher first and ask him about... us and learn why he wouldn't tell me about you.”

His hands immediately left your face after you had said Butcher a hundred times, and you carried on speaking until he said something offensive: “I know you hate them, and it's them who betrayed you. At least that's what you're telling me, but I must listen to him as well. You have to realize that I'm confused and frightened, and he's the only person I can remember.”

He looked around the room, irritated that you remembered Butcher but not him, despite the fact that you shared a lot with him. You placed your hands on the hard, cold material on his chest, on the star symbol, to show him that you weren't too distant or that you weren't pushing him away from you straight away. You waited patiently for his response. Without a doubt, Ben was more significant and unique than Butcher and everyone else to him, and he tried not to get angry.

With a cold voice and an irritated expression on his face, Soldier Boy remarked, “I can't believe you actually remember that pussy, but not me. I don't like how your brain works at that point.”

“I'm trying so hard to remember you, or at least a little something about you, but I'm just not successful. It's not that I forgot everything on purpose,” you whispered, feeling a little guilty about the idea that you might, your old self, actually love him if what he said was true.

On the other hand, you had no feelings of love or affection for Soldier Boy. In reality, though, you were scared because he appeared to be unpredictable and cruel. Even if you lost all memory of him, wouldn't you still love him? When you were having memory loss, you had no idea how the brain functions, but that's what you felt at the time.

Rapidly, “I know, I know,” Soldier Boy replied. “I'm not angry with you or putting blame on you. However, that son of a bitch needs to pay for what he did to you, including throwing your body against the table, hitting your head, and not telling you about me. He crossed the line.”

You added, “He must have a reason, and I really need to talk to him. I just need to hear it from him too,” feeling concerned at the way Soldier Boy discussed the past as though Butcher was the evil guy. Still, you didn't find anything you said to be slightly reasonable. Instead of keeping what happened to you a secret from you, he could have told you that both you and Soldier Boy had a past and given you the explanation you deserved.

“Don't you trust me?” He was annoyed that you would continue to stand up for Butcher in the face of him.

“To be honest, I don't trust you, but please don't get upset with me.” You whispered, “You know I have no memory about you, and I need you to understand me,” and he gave you a hurt look. You tried to smile at him and said, “But I think you'd already killed me the moment you found me in this room if I was a total stranger to you,” as guilt filled your heart. “That must mean something, right?”

With a surprised low laugh and a nod, Soldier Boy said, “You're a smartass, aren't you?”

Uncontrollably, his smile made you feel a little more at ease, and you exhaled a sigh of relief that he wasn't being aggressive anymore.

“So, talking about trust issues,” he added, arching an eyebrow. “I guess you don't want to go back to them since there is a high possibility that I would follow you and find your precious pussy friends, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, not wanting to risk the lives of others or anything because Soldier Boy was too determined to kill them. “In this case, I think I better call Butcher and talk to him through the phone.”

He nodded, “Very well,” relieved that you were no longer so keen to return to the traitors. It was certainly because he had threatened to murder them, but which reason wasn't important at the time. When you were so confused and bewildered, he would never allow you to return to them. You were obviously brainwashed by Butcher.

You looked around and said, “Okay, I'll call him, but you can get me out of here first?” as he waited patiently for you to call them. “You know, there are other politicians and supes.”

“Yeah, it's better we get the fuck out of here now,” he said with irritation. “I hate discussing politics anyway. Personal matters should come first, right?” Soldier Boy said, giving you a wink and picking up the gun off the table and putting on his suit again.

You nodded to him and adjusted your jeans. You flushed under his focused gaze, remembering how he had torn off your panties simply to spill himself on moments before. It was as though his gaze were stripping you. As he found out about your memory loss and that you didn't require intimacy, you hoped he wouldn't try to touch you again. After all, you had given him what he desired from you—that is, protection from harm. Nothing more.

As he observed you adjusting your t-shirt and hair while blushing, Soldier Boy added in a hard, serious voice, “By the way, we'll talk about your that hand job later.”

You simply looked at him with a flushed face, not answering him.

“Let's just leave without paying any attention to this house. Stay cool.” He heard your heart race and raised an eyebrow as if to warn you, saying, “I'll be following you.”

One of the politicians commented, “Ah, he's finally back,” as he sipped his drink and waived his hand to Soldier Boy as you walked by his side during your exit from the room.

“It's unfortunate that I have to leave now, gentleman. There is so much to do,” said Soldier Boy, putting a slight grin on his face and placing a small hand on your back. “Homelander will be available shortly, and he'll be the one to talk to you about details.”

You exhaled a relieved sigh, and politicians didn't even look at you as if you didn't exist. You would have assumed that they were already enjoying themselves without Soldier Boy because they were eating anything the waiters brought.

“Homelander just told me that we would be talking to you too,” one of them remarked. “The public is still worried about you returning given what you did in New York. Things are difficult to restore, especially when it comes to trust.”

“Trust is overrated; it's simply built on perfect lies. Also, who the hell cares about the public? I thought you were more experienced and smarter than this. Through the media and a well-written dumb speech, it's simple to dominate their thoughts.” Soldier Boy spoke harshly, “You already know that they are unable to view the bigger picture properly in their own narrow worlds. What's important is to find who's responsible for planning assassination against the vice president, find those terrorists Butcher and his useless team, and prove that the CIA is behind all of the shit.”

“And,” Soldier Boy said in an authoritative tone as one of the politicians opened his mouth to speak. “It will be exposed that the CIA was responsible for my forty years of fucking torture in Russia. The public will discover the truth in this way, and they will once more support their one true supe. That's how we rescue our nation from the trash that's been dumped on it. Are we clear about this?”

After a brief glance around, you noticed that The Deep and Black Noir were eating and conversing as though they were starving. You thought about if it would be simple to shoot Noir without drawing notice, and you still had your gun with you. Well, you have to do this anyhow. It was likely that by keeping Soldier Boy a secret from you, Butcher had actually betrayed you. But it wasn't like you were prepared to abandon them and simply join Homelander and Soldier Boy on their own wicked team. Not fucking way.

You have to use the virus on a strong person quickly enough to start developing it. But first, you had to take care of your own issue.

One of them said, “But..”

“No buts, no deals, no mercy,” Soldier Boy interrupted him right away. “Homelander will handle the majority of the problem on his own. With the exception of the CIA and their pawns, of course, neither Vought nor I want to see bloodshed, but it's best to bring things under control as soon as possible. Remember that President, Vought, and Homelander are trusted by the public. It's best if you give it your all. Consider this a recommendation or warning—I don't give a damn. However, be aware that the president will always back us. I mean, I'll be giving my best for my beloved nation, isn't that right?” Soldier Boy patted the politician's shoulder as he spoke, who was trying to get free of Soldier Boy's cruel and tight hold on him while clearing his throat nerveously.

“Yes, without a doubt, we are going to help you fix your public image. It is quite unfortunate that you are one of the victims of the CIA. It's simple to mislead the public about your intentions by the media,” remarked the other politician, who was casually sipping his whiskey and acting as though Soldier Boy hadn't just threatened them. “We are all in the same ship.”

Soldier Boy grinned broadly and added, “Vey good,” patting the politician's shoulder once more before he stepped back, clearly indicating he wasn't willing to spend time talking for hours. “I guess we are done here.”

Calling out to Black Noir and The Deep, Soldier Boy surveyed his surroundings. You stepped back and briefly locked eyes with Soldier Boy. When he saw that you were becoming anxious, his gaze softened, but he remained silent and did not move.

Squeezing Black Noir's shoulder firmly, Soldier Boy remarked, “The Deep and Black Noir, my old loyal friend from the Seven, will be discussing details.”

You were startled and alarmed when The Deep briefly locked eyes with you, but you ignored him and walked carefully toward the door, knowing that Soldier Boy was almost done with them. You were relieved that no one paid you any attention or questioned you. All of them showed interest in chatting with Soldier Boy.

“Are you okay?” whispered Soldier Boy as you waited for him outside, and you shivered when you felt his hand on your back.

You lied, “Yeah, sure,” and he instantly withdrew his hands.

It irritated him that you had become such a liar. “You must know that my Supe hearing can detect when you are lying to me,” he stated. You used to be different from this, and you always told him the truth about everything. particularly in regards to your current state of mind.

Even though you were the same person, it was difficult to accept that you had changed somewhat. But something has changed about you, and that's when Ben started to get upset. He had best to do anything needed to make you remember everything.

He shot you a cold look, and you said, “What will you do if I say, 'No, I'm not feeling good'?”

“At least I'd know you are being honest.”

With a quick smile, you said, “Well, remember that I don't even know you,” as if it didn't matter what you might have shared in the past.

Soldier Boy gave you a grumpy and unhappy look before gently pushing you to the car. After you left the supe-filled house, there was silence between you in the car.

Thinking about how he talked to the politicians, you felt uneasy and disturbed. You couldn't stop thinking about what kind of person you were and loved Soldier Boy if he was right about you being something months ago.

“What's happening in your head right now?” Soldier Boy finally asked you after giving you a look while you were driving. as if he were whispering.

This time, you said honestly, saying, “I was thinking about the way you talked to the politicians,” unwilling to ignore it and feeling a little more brave around him because he didn't appear to be a threat to you.

“And?”

You shifted in your seat, and you managed to ask, “Is it true that you are going to really team up with Homelander?” after giving it some thought.

Since he had a personal issue with Butcher and the others and was now filled with a desire for vengeance, you could try to understand him about them. However, it didn't seem proper to team up with the worst Supe alive and carry on doing out vile acts for evil people on behalf of evil people in positions of power. All it was was modern-day slavery.

“Are you having a problem with that?”

You shook in your seat at that moment, unable to speak for a long time due to the extreme coldness of his voice.

“Of course!” you replied, raising your voice slightly as if his question were the most ridiculous thing ever. Your former self could not possibly approve of the way he handled the Vought and Homelander crises. “What makes you even want to work with him? Even though he is biologically your son, he is still cruel and vile, just another Vought toy.”

“What do you expect me to do?” He raised his voice a bit as well, unhappy about how your voice sounded critical and icy toward him.

“Well, you don't have to allow people to take advantage of your strength simply because you hate Butcher and the others. If Butcher truly betrayed you like you told me, anyone could do so at any time; Homelander, politicians, and Vought included especially.”

“Even you?” he asked quietly, seemingly interested in finding out what you thought of him.

You were about to say yes, but you kept your mouth quiet out of fear for his reaction. Ben sighed, disturbed by your overly cautious and controlled acts next to him, as he realized that. It was as though you had truly vanished, as though he was speaking to someone else. He sensed then that even though you were with him at that same moment, by his side, he was still missing you. You were just with him physically. He realized then that he had to find you again and help you remember what you had. It nearly disturbed him to have that cautious, angry woman without memory by his side. He felt guilt filling his heart when he gave you an odd look. He had to be more understanding and soft toward you and not let his hatred for Butcher take over.

Soldier Boy simply said, “Things changed. You must choose a side no matter what time. Despite knowing that Homelander was actually my son, I had Butcher swear to murder Homelander. I was prepared to murder him until Butcher attacked me.”

You firmly stated, “He would never stop anyone from killing Homelander,” knowing full well that Butcher despised Homelander.

“It appears that you either don't recall everything about him or don't know everything about him. Do you even recall that Homelander's wife had a son?”

You exclaimed, “What?” in shock, thinking he was going to lie to you.

“Go ahead, give him a call, and ask about Ryan, his wife's son,” Soldier Boy added, flashing you a cunning smile.

“It seems like he didn't tell you.” Not surprised that Butcher was taking rather too long to tell you the truth about what actually took place, Soldier Boy asked with a slight smile. “And you still trust him, but not me.”

You kept calling Butcher every single time, and you said, “He's not answering my calls,” in a hurt voice. You had the option to call the others as well, but at that moment, all you wanted and needed was to talk to Butcher, and his lack of response was leading you to believe that Soldier Boy had been telling you the whole truth.

With a heavy heart, you placed your phone in your pocket and showed him how weak you were by holding yourself back from crying suddenly with your hands by your sides. When you were with Soldier Boy, you had no idea what kind of person he was, but you didn't want him to see you were that vulnerable, at least.

Butcher's betrayal was not quite as heavy as Kimiko's. When she knew you weren't even a Supe, why would she even leave you with Soldier Boy? If he had believed that you had deceived him as well, he might have hurt you. You believed that you had become friends with her. She must have known you for a very long period as well. The realization that she had been lying to you hit you even harder.

Confidently, “Of course he won't answer,” remarked Soldier Boy. “He must be planning what to say to you and how to tell fresh lies to deceive you, leaving you even more confused.”

“He doesn't need to take any action in this case.” You said in a sour voice, “I don't think you're a good person at all after hearing you there and listening to the way you talked to those people.” You could not possibly just accept him collaborating with Homelander.

He gave you a tender glance and stated, “You love me,” without even trying to understand what you were trying to convey. “You, Butcher, and everyone else are aware of that. When you remember about us, we can have a proper conversation, alright?”

Ben was just bothered by the weight on his chest, which gave him the impression that you were a shapeshifter even if you weren't. Even though he was in love with you, he couldn't shake the unpleasant feeling that was eating him alive. It felt like he was trying reaching out to the real you that was hidden inside your body when he tried to speak with you. It was hard with your aloof,

nervous, and icy gaze. It was always easy to persuade him because of your understanding and kind tone, even when you two had previously had some disagreements. But now everything was different.

Saying with a sigh, “I don't know what kind of person I was before my memory loss, but I'm positive that I don't, and I can't be with you. I don't know if I'll be able to retrieve my memory, but if not, my feelings for you won't change. You are cruel.”

You were about to add something, but, “That's not what you really think of me,” he cut you off. “Let's simply spend the night somewhere tonight and talk to the greatest doctors who can help you tomorrow in the morning. We both need some rest. We'll get through this,” Soldier Boy assured you, quickly putting your hand in your lap and giving it a gentle squeeze to demonstrate his patience and sympathy.

With a strange expression on your face, you questioned, “What if I don't?” as your thumb lightly brushed across the surface of his hand. “What if I never remember anything about myself, you, or us despite all effort, even if the doctors and I do our best?”

“I gave you my promise,” he murmured, trying to show confidence and self-assurance as if there was no other option. “All you need is the best medical and psychological care possible. I'm everything you need. Not with Butcher's lies, nor any other person's. Me alone.”

You wanted to believe him at that vulnerable time, even though you could never be certain of the kind of person he genuinely was with you in the past. You wanted to think that he loved you more than anyone else. Looking at his powerful hands, which might have killed you in an instant, you held back your smile, seeing those hands were holding yours gently. You couldn't stop thinking about giving it a shot, but you didn't want to be too close or too far away from him. Given how simple it was for him to swap sides, he was obviously a cruel Supe, similar to Homelander, but perhaps you could change things.

“Since you were unfamiliar with me an hour earlier,” he added, changing the topic. “Why were you alone yourself on the third floor? You were there because Butcher assigned you another foolish and risky mission? Sending you there as if you were some prey?”

You lowered your gaze to the point where your hands touched and said, “You already know the answer,” as he looked at you.

“He's too fucking brilliant or too stupid to send you to me. I have to admit you had me distracted. If he had another plan in his stupid head by sending you to distract me, he is most likely successful.”

You said, “Butcher actually had no idea you were going to be there.”

“So you're saying I was lucky to find you, huh?” Soldier Boy winked at you and continued driving, barely checking at the road. You were afraid of him because of how careless he drove. He wouldn't die in a car crash, but you most certainly would. “I must confess that I was able to recognize your voice from the one noise you made up there. I suppose my supersensitive hearing was overly sensitive to you these days.”

He asked again, curious, when you failed to respond, “Why were you there? What would you do with that adorable little gun of yours that's still attached to your adorable pants?”

You instantly replied, straightening your t-shirt and widening your eyes. “Nothing!”

“Don't get excited; you can keep that useless gun with you, baby, if it will make you feel better,” he remarked simply, becoming annoyed when you immediately withdrew your hands from him.

“It's just a gun, nothing more.”

You attempted to sound calm and collected, but you were sweating and your heart was racing, so he could know you were lying to him again. Surprisingly, though, he remained silent and didn't make you tell him the details—for which you were grateful.

“Okay, keep that tiny, adorable toy if it makes you feel more secure. For the record, I can defend you more effectively than anyone, but I must warn you that hiring a Supe to keep you safe from criminals is incredibly pricey.”

This time, when he smirked and spoke to you in a lighthearted way, you couldn't stop giggling.

You laughed in response to his amusement, saying, “I need to think about this.”

“By the way, why in the world did you give me a hand job there while you really didn't even know who I was?”

Attempting to act cool, you crossed your arms over your chest when Soldier Boy brought up the intimate subject between you, drawing your hands to yourself and making a flushed face. This time, his tone was a little more stern and cold instead of playful.

“You made an attempt to take me there. It appeared to be an escape route.” You defended yourself. You were certain that your face blushed crimson.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed in annoyance. “Of course I wouldn't force myself on you if you simply said 'no' and explained your situation to me.”

“How on earth could I be knowledgeable about that? I was frightened when a supe tried to take me on a table since you seemed so determined to take anything you wanted there.” You raised your voice to try to win him over. You weren't even brave enough to act reasonably there.

“What if someone else was attempting to... and it wasn't me? Fuck. I'd rather not even think about it. Now that you are sitting in your seat without your underwear, look what happened. I must admit, though, that I really enjoyed your little handiwork.”

Soldier Boy must have seen your heart racing uncontrollably again, because he said these things to either make you feel shy or excited.

You asked abruptly, hoping to annoy him with a hint of harshness mixed with curiosity, “And how on earth you couldn't tell I was lying if your supe hearing is too sensitive when I said I missed you too, because I was definitely lying?”

He added in a sour voice, “I was too fucking horny to focus if your heart beat was racing because of excitement or lying, sweetheart,” dismissing the fact that you had lied to him about missing him and ignoring the burise on his pride. “Who knows? Maybe both.”

You felt guilty as you noticed the lighthearted tone in his voice fade into a sort of sorrowful glimpse. He was aware that you were going through memory loss and that you weren't truly missing him or anything. It wasn't your fault, of course, but since he was your former personality's boyfriend and not your own, you wanted to cheer him up right now even if you didn't know how. It was hard to believe that you were the same real person as before, but you had the impression that your memories of him were more important to him than you were.

You whispered to him, observing his expression. “But if I were the same person as I was months before, I'm certain I would miss you. Of course, that is, if we were a real thing.”

When Soldier Boy saw that you were trying your hardest to cheer him up, he lit up with you a tiny smile to let you know he appreciated it. Your genuine behavior, sensitivity, and compassion were still present, at least.

He said, “It's okay,” with such firmness that you remained silent until you got there. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

You were unaware that he had been holding your hand the entire time.

When you realized that they had decided to stay in the house that Butcher had brought you to a few days prior, you asked in a hushed voice, “Why?” in shock. It was the home you most likely spent several months living in.

You knew that Butcher had told you to leave when he found out Soldier Boy was free since Soldier Boy had also must have lived in this house for a while.

“I promised to help you to recover.” He whispered, “We have to start somewhere,” and quietly closed the door while urging you inside. “This seems like a good place to start. It is too full with memories for us.”

You said, “Butcher told us to leave this home as soon as he knew you were free,” obviously not wanting to reveal too much.

“I thought so,” Soldier Boy agreed, unable to stop thinking about Butcher's cunning ways and how he did everything in his power to keep you away from him, and he angrily remarked, “He balls are not big enough to confront me.” You could never be taken from him. No fucking way.

You inquired, “Do we have good memories in here?” not knowing if he would be completely honest with you.

“Both good and bad. It took us a while to really start a relationship,” Ben said, remembering the unpleasant moments when he was being mean to you, and you found it simple to tell him how you felt, but he wasn't as ready as you were to do so. “Good memories were also there, though. In the last three or two months, we managed to work it out. It wasn't like we were toxic or something. Mostly.”

You only mumbled, “Hmm,” as you tried to imagine your relationship in your thoughts.

You followed upstairs without saying anything more, feeling the need to return to the room where you were assured it wasn't important. You wondered if your feelings would change if you spent time with Soldier Boy this time.

With a sigh of relief, Ben followed you there and watched you go to the room where he had spent months. He experienced discomfort and agony at the same time since you could remember the room where he stayed even though you were completely unaware of it.

Even if you forgot about him and everything you had, a piece of your love was still there, clinging to him and refusing to let go. Your body had its own thoughts about him.

“What did you choose this room?” As you closed the door behind you, Soldier Boy asked softly, hoping you would recall one small detail about him.

The emptiness and silence in the room created the same heavy sensation that was tearing at your spirit and couldn't even be named. It was a heavy feeling that filled your heart with aching thoughts. You knew it was important even if you weren't sure if it was the nothingness or the silence that affected you that hard.

“I found myself in this room when Butcher brought me from the hospital to this house.” You mumbled, “I don't even know why,” unable to contain your own sadness.

“And?” Soldier Boy asked, forcing himself to suppress a proud smile at your remarks.

“I'm not sure why, but I had a very depressing, possibly saddened feeling that I can't quite describe. All I can recall is that that evening, I cried all as I fell to sleep.”

Ben kept coming toward you, hugging you tightly from behind and kissing the back of your head firmly, all with a heavy heart. Your hands brushed his rough ones on your lower abdomen, but you avoided pushing him since you believed that being near to him would help your brain function. Nothing compared to how close and intense it was.

Saying in a rough, whispery voice, “This is the room I've been in for months,” he said. “You actually spent a lot of time in this room with me; we had many wonderful moments together. Your body must have a memory of its own.”

“I really tried hard, but...” you began to defend yourself, not sure for what, but he interrupted you right away with understanding.

“I know, I know.”

With a shy glance, you were able to save yourself from Soldier Boy just after you had a moment of silence. You clearly needed rest after such a difficult and stressful day.

You said, hoping to change the conversation and find out what his intentions were about tonight: “Will we stay the night here? I should mention that you have nothing to wear. The entire wardrobe appears to have been emptied. But I'll search Kimiko's room for something for myself.”

“Yes, we definitely will. Also, that's not a big deal,” he muttered as he hurriedly began to remove the cloth covering his chest and place it on the table.

Thoughts raced through your head as you held your breath for a moment. It appeared that a discussion regarding the best course of action was required.

With the knowledge that Soldier Boy was determined about sleeping by your side, you changed your clothes after finding clean underwear in Kimiko's room. God, you thought he might try to fuck you again after you had given him a handjob two hours earlier. This time, you believed that handwork would not be sufficient. You needed to speak with him in a serious tone.

You had no idea how your sex life with him would be, and you didn't think he would force you or anything, but he was still a supe, your so-called ex-lover or whatever. The situation was simply awkward. You had to let him know that you were different now. When you walked into the room, he was examining every inch of you while wearing a sly smirk.

With a trembling voice, you stated, “Well, I guess I need to be clear about something.” You really tried to sound tough and confident. It was becoming difficult to maintain your composure, though, under his playful gaze as he removed his jeans and boots. “I must tell you that I don't want any sexual stuff because, as you know, I can't recall a single thing about us. Until I regain my memories, you are, at the very least, a complete stranger to me.”

Ben grunted in exhaustion as he lay on the bed, rolling his eyes and holding back a smile in response to your explanation. You watched him nervously, waiting for an answer.

“Actually, I had no intention to,” he remarked honestly. “Of course, I still love you and want to give you a good fuck very much, we both need that, but you know, you kind of feel like a different person now. I suppose we need to go through this quickly so you will remember us. When things get back to normal in our relationship, that's when I'll give you a big, deep fuck, so you better heal quickly.”

His lighthearted remarks about how you were like someone else to him didn't make you feel better—in fact, they kind of broke your heart—but at least he was serious about staying away from you, which was good. What you shared in the room hours ago was already too much.

You turned your back on him and felt his naked upper body moving closer to yours instantly, but you remained motionless. You simply awaited his next action.

Once more, the hands of Soldier Boy stroked your lower abdomen, drawing you even closer to him and pressing your back against his bare and warm chest. You felt his power on your back. Uncontrollably, your hand contacted his rough one to see whether he would react to you and to feel something toward him. Although they were warm, rough, and understanding, surprisingly, his hands were not forceful.

He mumbled to your ear, wanting you to make yourself remember what you had. “We used to spend most of our time here, lying like this for months, for many nights,” he said.

Your hands lingered on his hands and said nothing, and he went on, “I miss you so much.” His tone was achingly sharp.

The way he'd said it, with his firm voice as though he was talking to someone else, was supposed to make you feel better, but it didn't. You wondered if he would still love and care for you, even if you felt like a stranger to him and you couldn't remember anything about him. With that kind of personality, wouldn't he love you? He had loved and missed the other side of you that he had been missing.

There was no more space between you two as he held you near to him; your back felt the warmth of his bare, powerful and warm chest, but you were agonizingly too distant to stay close and way too cold.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments are very much appreciated. They keep me going. ^.^

Taglist: @smexydilflover @deebris @coolrobloxkid28 @endrfairy @libby99hb @raynamorono23 @cwutesygrl @ladysparkles78 @seokjinluvbot @deangirl96 @whendiditendalthoughenjoyment @mostlymarvelgirl @dilfsandmartinis @deans-spinster-witch @mayafatimakhan @riah1606 @unleashthelion @cnmcgee @ahoytothestorm @hells-dragon @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anundyingfidelity @ladykitana90 @xmariakx @demodemo909 @placeboetkisi @sukunassfinger @startingstar

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zepskies · 9 months ago

Text

The Old-Fashioned Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution? [Soulmate AU]

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! ❣️ Welcome back to the Never Say Goodbye-verse, my first ever Soulmate AU! Feels appropriate to celebrate today with some soulmates lol.

Honestly, I have really missed these two. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I wrote this series! And I’ve been wanting to find a way to come back to it, so when I recently got this request, I couldn't resist:

The reader finds out she is pregnant and Dean’s reaction.

But of course, I couldn’t make it that simple… This story takes place five years after the Bonus Tracks (3-part sequel).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship (marriage). Soulmates, angst, issues in pregnancy, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied smut.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Today marked five years that Dean had been an officer of the Sioux Falls Police Department.

After twenty-eight odd years of committing felonies of varying degrees…mostly for the greater good, he still found it strange sometimes.

He’d been partnered with his father-in-law, Jack, and by now, Dean had finally lost his sense of “imposter syndrome.”

Jody bought him a pie to commemorate the occasion, and while a little embarrassed, he wasn’t mad about it. The precinct employees now shared the dessert on paper plates from their respective desks and cubicles.

Dean sat in the bullpen with Jack (who was on a call), Jody, and even Jessie Deluca, the boy he’d once arrested for stealing candy and groceries from a gas station.

Well, Jessie wasn’t such a kid anymore. He was now their 18-year-old intern.

“How’s the boysenberry?” Jody asked Dean. Her lips curved upward when he turned to her with a crumb-covered smile.

“Real good,” he said.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I can’t with this. Come ‘ere.”

She grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe at his mouth the way a mother would her errant child. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Really?” he snipped.

“You look like my five-year-old son after a round of SpaghettiOs,” she said.

“Makes you wonder how his wife deals with him,” Jessie muttered under his breath while he entered expense reports into his computer. Never mind that he had a purple berry stain around the corner of his mouth.

Dean shot him a wry look, along with his crumpled napkin.

“I don’t wanna hear that from a punk like you,” he teased. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since…what, junior prom?”

Jessie fended off the stained napkin with a grimace. But he also smarted at the dig. His arms crossed defensively as he leaned back in his chair.

“As a matter a fact, I’ve got a date on Friday,” he sniffed. “And no, I’m not telling you her name.”

Dean and Jody shared an amused look.

“Aww, look at him, pretending he’s got a date,” Dean said. He fought a deeper grin when Jessie threw the disgusting napkin back at him.

“Fine! Her name’s Annie. You happy now?” Jessie said.

Dean shared another look with Jody.

“Aww, he’s actually got a date,” said Dean. He smirked at the kid next. “Lemme know if you need to borrow some cologne. Chicks dig that.”

“Ugh,” Jessie groaned. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He knew he’d be catching flack on this for the rest of the week.

Dean chuckled, but before he had a chance to tease their intern some more, his cell phone rang. It was you, and he felt his good mood continue as he answered.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, how’s the day going?” you asked.

“Good,” he replied. “We’re on lunch break. Jody got me a pie for my five-year mark at the PD.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet…literally. She knows you too well,” you laughed.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she really does.”

“Tell her and everyone else I said hi.”

“Will do,” he said with a smile. “You just callin’ to check up on me?”

“Well, that, and…when are you getting home tonight?” you asked. The smooth, leading note of your voice had Dean’s lips curving into a smirk.

“Ah, well…” He pushed away from his desk and stepped away from the bullpen for a little privacy in the hall. “That depends. What’s going on?”

“Let’s just say…I have an idea,” you replied. It had Dean’s brows raising. You’d been having a lot of ideas for the past year, and he’d been more than ready and willing for most of them.

“Oh, yeah?” he intoned. While he leaned against the wall in the main hallway of the precinct, his arm crossed under his elbow as he continued holding the phone to his ear. “What’d you have in mind?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” you said.

It only took his brain about a moment and a half to compute.

“All right. In that case, I’ll try to be home promptly at six, barring there’s no shootouts at the 7-Eleven,” he quipped.

“Ugh, please, don’t even joke about that,” you said, your tone sobering.

Dean realized, without even having to read his soulmate’s thoughts, that you were reminded of the last time an explosive incident happened at the local gas station, just two weeks before their wedding day. He dimmed as well.

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he said, swiping a hand over his mouth. “Uh…okay. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay, be careful,” you said. You always said it—in the morning, whenever he left for work, whenever you two managed to talk during the day. It was routine, but it also wasn’t.

And you still wished him a good rest of his day before you hung up. Dean pocketed his phone and returned to the bullpen, where Jody was putting away the rest of the pie. He eyed her just to know exactly where she was setting it down in the kitchen, for future reference.

Jessie peered up from his computer and asked if that was you on the phone.

“Yeah, she says hi,” Dean replied.

Jessie smirked. “‘Course she does. I’m her favorite.”

Dean shot him a look, knowing the kid liked you probably even more than he liked Dean. You’d become like a big sister to Jessie…but it didn’t stop Dean from occasionally being annoyed.

“Shut up and eat your pie.”

Dean arrived that night, more or less on time, to find that you’d cooked up a feast. It was laid out across the dining table: steak, scalloped potatoes, carrots and broccoli, and even freshly baked cornbread with butter.

“Is it my birthday again?” he asked, despite it already being February.

He ventured into the kitchen where you were getting two bottles of beer. You looked up at him with a smile when he came over and held you from behind. You enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against your back, while his hands found your hips.

“I cook all the time, Dean,” you pointed out. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head in greeting.

“Hmm. Yeah, but now my spidey senses are tingling,” he said.

You set down the beer before turning in his embrace and twining your arms around his neck. Already he could feel your anticipation through the soul bond, but that was all you were letting him sense. You were keeping your walls up a bit, to stop him from hearing your thoughts. In this case, it felt like a tease.

You tilted your head, a smile playing across your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Oh, yeah.”

You laughed and let him greet you properly with a kiss. You returned it, affectionately caressing his cheek, but you stopped him before he could start pressing you harder into the counter. You held up a placating hand against his chest.

“Wait, wait, the food’s gonna get cold,” you said. And all too quickly, you’d extricated yourself from his arms and went to finish placing the silverware on the table. Dean begrudgingly followed suit by helping you with the glasses and plates.

Dinner was delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a steak that good; you two had been scrounging and saving to get out of this apartment and buy a house, along with other things you and Dean had been planning for your future.

By the time the leftovers were put away and the dishes were put in the dishwasher, he started to sense that you were ready to come around with the real reason you’d called him at work today, let alone made such a nice and expensive meal. You went over to where he stood at the kitchen sink and rubbed his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted.

Dean tried to stifle his knowing smile. “Yeah?”

But when he looked over at you, he realized you seemed nervous, not flirtatious. You were serious, and now, he was concerned.

“What?” he asked.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment. Then you went over to a nearby drawer and got some rubber gloves you always kept at work and at home—the kind doctors wore.

You went for your large work bag that normally stored your laptop and files, and instead, you pulled out an old book. Dean’s brows raised of their own accord, considering the last time you accidentally trifled with a book like that.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, with some trepidation. You laid the book out on the kitchen counter.

“It’s a journal of some kind, written in Latin, dating back from the late 1500s. Can you believe that?” Your head raised from where you were examining the cover and spine, but Dean was incredulous.

“What’re you doing with that?” he asked. Your lips pursed, and he felt a tendril of your guilt.

Most likely, you’d taken it from the museum where you worked without permission. You were in charge of the growing library of ancient texts that were stored there, and most of them were too old and valuable for exhibition, even behind glass. He doubted you were even allowed to open this book, let alone “borrow” it from the museum.

You sighed and held up a placating hand. “Okay, Dean, just hear me out.”

You opened the book to a page you’d placed a strip of paper in for bookmarking purposes. You pointed at a page filled with scrawled words that Dean didn’t really understand. Sam was always better at reading Latin.

“That is a fertility spell,” you said.

The weight of that fell between you for a moment, rendering Dean speechless. It took a few seconds for his brain to register what you were saying, followed quickly by a sad, contemplative frown as he stared back at you. You were serious about this, even hopeful.

“Sweetheart, we don’t need that,” he said, shaking his head. Your expression firmed, though it became touched with melancholy.

“It’s been a year, Dean,” you said. “We’ve been trying for a year, and I’m still not pregnant.”

He blew out a breath. “The doctor said—”

“We’ve done everything the doctor said,” you snapped. “Fertility treatments are either going to take too long or are too expensive, and they still carry risks.”

“And this isn’t a risk?” Dean shot back, gesturing at the book. “You don’t know if this will work, or what the hell it’ll really do to you.”

Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t back down. You held your hands to your hips.

“Uncle Bobby said it’s legit,” you said. Dean blinked in surprise. He shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms.

“You ran this by Bobby before me?” he said. You could feel the small lance of his upset, as well as see it across his face.

You bit the inside of your lip. “I just wanted to make sure!”

Dean took in a deep breath. He mentally counted to five.

“What exactly did he say?” he asked.

You paused at that. “…Well, he said it was a real spell.”

His brows rose. “And?”

“And…that magic is unpredictable and we should talk about it first. But that’s why we’re talking now!” you reasoned.

Your husband’s gaze lifted heavenward as he threw up his hands in aggravation.

“Dean—” you tried, but it didn’t stop him from snatching up the book. Despite your protests, he took it with him into the master bedroom you shared and shoved the book into his nightstand. You had followed him this far, but you stopped short when he turned around to face you.

“I will check this out,” he said, and his tone boded no argument. “But for the record, I’m against this. Magic is unpredictable at best, and not for nothing, it always comes at a price. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna pay it again.”

You paused. Hearing the vehemence in his tone, feeling the force of emotion behind his words, and your own circling memories of being possessed by a magic-wielding goddess…it had you nodding in agreement, even as tears welled up in your eyes.

Dean faltered a little inside. Always the damn tears. He gathered you into his arms and held you close in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he said.

You tried to believe him.

Late that night, however, you couldn’t help yourself.

Once you were sure Dean was asleep beside you, hearing his deep, even breaths, you made your move. Dressed in just an old college shirt and some pajama shorts, you slid out of bed and tiptoed over to his nightstand to get the book.

You took it into the kitchen and started assembling the ingredients Bobby had reluctantly helped you translate. (He didn’t know that you had taken a couple of items from his house for the spell.)

You prepared them in a bowl. The resulting liquid looked brown and disgusting. You mixed it around, grimacing at the smell, and carefully poured it into a glass. The last thing the spell required was a few drops of your blood, and then you were supposed to drink it.

God, this is terrible, you thought. Part of you couldn’t believe you were going through with this, but…you grabbed a kitchen knife in order to make a shallow cut on your palm.

The steel was poised against your hand. You took a fortifying breath, but before you could cut into your skin, Dean grabbed your wrist with a strong grip, startling a gasp out of you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he said, or more like shouted. He was irate, his voice bounding off the walls of the apartment.

You knew he had every right to be, and you didn’t have a good answer for him. Shock had stifled you into silence.

Dean let go of you and took the glass next. He peered in disgust at the concoction inside, but he quickly dumped it into the sink and ignored your protests. He threatened to burn the damn book next.

“Dean, stop! Please,” you said tearfully as you stilled his hands on the book. “If there’s some kind of price to the spell, I’ll pay it!”

“What’re you talking about! Are you crazy?” he asked, through furrowed brows. You squeezed his hands.

“Believe me, I love what we have. I love our life, my job, all of it,” you said. “But I want a family, and I want it with you.”

Dean started to soften at that, when you met his eyes. You paused, taking in a shaky breath.

“It should be simple, but it’s not," you said. "I just can’t understand why it’s so impossible. Why…why there’s something wrong with me.”

Dean’s anger broke down, bit by bit the more you spoke. He let go of the book and reached for you. He held you against his chest, rubbing your back as you quietly wept. You tried to stifle it, but that just made your body tremble even more. He did his best to steady you, rocking you back and forth. His eyes closed for a moment.

You both knew that the expensive fertility doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with either of you, even after a month of testing.

“In certain cases, it just takes longer for some couples,” she’d said. But clearly, you had just been blaming yourself. Dean couldn’t abide that.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly. “Believe me, I want that too. But I also want to make sure you’re safe.”

Emotion clogged in his throat when he thought about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped you. And in turn, you sobered even more when you managed to pick up on his thoughts.

“If something would’ve happened, and I was too late to stop it,” he said, clearing his throat. “…I just can’t, okay?”

After a moment, you nodded. You allowed yourself to rest against his chest and try to calm the racing of your heart. All the while, you tried your best not to resent him for stopping you.

The next day was a Saturday. You slept in because your body needed it, after the stress of last night. When you woke up, Dean wasn’t beside you. His keys and the Impala were gone, but he’d left you a text: he’d gone to your uncle Bobby’s place.

And you saw that he’d taken the book as well. Predictable.

You felt bad for how you tried to go behind your husband’s back, but if you were honest with yourself, you were still upset at him for stopping you, even if you understood why he did it.

You sat on the edge of your bed. Not for the first time since you and Dean were separated by miles of roads and his family’s mission to find the thing that killed his mother, you found yourself praying.

Please, God…or if there’s even anyone up there…please help me.

For a while, there was silence in the room.

But even if your eyes were open, you wouldn’t have seen the being that was standing in front of you. He stared down at you with a tilted head, finding himself a bit too curious. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and touched your forehead.

You didn’t completely register the feeling that washed over you. It was like the tingling of a breeze across your skin. You took it for a chill in the room as you shivered a little. Then you opened your eyes, and resigned yourself to starting your day.

Castiel left the room with but a thought and a flutter of wings.

He knew he was only supposed to observe Michael’s vessel, not his soulmate. And yet, with one touch, he had sensed the rare genetic defect your doctor had missed.

Your mother had unknowingly suffered the condition as well. Your father never told you this, but she’d nearly lost you in the early stages of her pregnancy. It had been a miracle that you were born at all.

Castiel fixed the problem.

He knew what Uriel, or even Naomi would say. Perhaps they didn’t need to know, in this case. They were both far too busy for worldly trifles. Even so, Castiel knew he wasn’t authorized to heal you.

Still, it felt…right. And so, he did it.

It confused him.

…Maybe it isn’t something to be closely examined, he thought.

With that agreement within himself, he resolved to leave that decision behind him, and continue watching from afar. Those were his orders, after all.

Visiting Bobby Singer wasn’t as productive as Dean wanted it to be. The men had been arguing in Bobby’s living room for close to an hour.

Dean was upset with him for translating that goddamn spell for you, but the old man didn’t have a good answer. They both knew you were like a daughter to him.

“She came in hot, all damn stubborn and sass up to here,” Bobby said, holding a hand up to his forehead. “But you try sayin’ no when the waterworks starts.”

…Dean could concede that, but he rubbed his face in frustration.

“What do I do here, Bobby?” he asked, holding up the spell book in question. Apparently, it was more like a journal; it was rumored to have belonged to a sixteenth-century witch named Rowena. “I don’t trust this thing. Deep in my gut, I know it.”

Bobby considered him for a moment. In fact, he gave Dean a long-suffering look that made him really see Bobby’s age.

“Then trust your gut, son,” was all he said.

Dean returned home with a peace offering: some apple crumble pie. You were lying on the sofa watching mindless TV, still in your pajamas. Your mental walls were down, so Dean could both see and feel how miserable you were.

He took out the pie from the small bag of groceries he carried and held it up so you could see.

“I come bearing sugar,” he said. He also set down a bottle of wine on the dining table. You were focused on the pie, however.

“Who’s that for, me or you?” you dryly remarked.

“I got ice cream too,” he said, shaking the grocery bag.

You smiled a little, but he could feel through the bond that you were still sour at him. He sighed and went over to you. He set down the bribery on the coffee table and settled a hand on your pajama-clad thigh.

“Sweetheart, I am sorry.”

Sighing, you turned off the TV and sat up against the other end of the couch. You eyed him with a frown.

“You’re not sorry about chucking the spell,” you accused. Or for stealing the book you’d eventually have to bring back to work, lest your boss notice something amiss in the inventory.

“No, I’m not,” said Dean. “It was dangerous. I felt it. And that gut feeling? That’s what’s saved me more times than I can damn count.”

You were still upset, you couldn’t deny…but you understood his point. When he beckoned you over, you were more willing to go to him. After you scooted closer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Look, I’ll go to whatever doctors you want, try whatever treatments, however long it takes,” he said.

You sighed, but you eventually agreed with a teary nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Even with that, Dean wasn’t convinced that he was getting through to you. He was picking up on a thread of hopelessness that you were trying to hide.

He’d just have to change that.

“But…” He earned your attention by squeezing your side. His lips formed a grin. “I still think we can do this the old-fashioned way.”

He slowly rubbed a hand up and down your back. With the other hand, he reached for your face, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. You smiled slightly at his teasing. Part of you wanted to heed the suggestion in his eyes, and the familiar warmth and promise in his touch. The other, more vulnerable part of you hesitated.

When you caught sight of something over his shoulder, you had to smile a little more.

“I see you got a bottle of Merlot,” you said. A notable upgrade from beer. You couldn’t remember the last time Dean had willingly bought some “bougie-ass” wine.

“A little pie, a little booze…” you noted.

Dean grinned. “I’m thinking we have a not-so-quiet night in.”

Your brows rose, and you hummed in surprise. “Is my husband trying to butter me up?”

“Nah,” he said, tilting your face back up to his. “Your husband’s trying to seduce you.”

You giggled at that…at first. But it seemed he was serious.

You accepted his passionate kiss. Closing your eyes, you reached blindly for his shirt and held on while his lips moved ardently against yours. Through the bond, you felt his desire like it was your own.

In the five years you’d been married, and the years you were together even before, there were often moments where it was impossible to discern what was him and what was you.

The beautiful thing about it was, that part didn’t matter too much. Especially not when you and Dean became a tangle of limbs, lips, and tongue on the couch. He ridded you of your threadbare pajamas, and you helped him halfway out of his shirt and jeans before he yanked the rest of it off himself.

And all while he drew lusty moans and sighs and pleasure from your body in the comfort of your living room, the ice cream slowly melted in its container on the coffee table—completely forgotten, along with the pie.

That night, you lied awake in his arms for a while. Round one on the couch had migrated to rounds two and three in the bedroom, and you were almost too exhausted to sleep.

It had been months since you and Dean had sex without thinking of calendars and timing, optimal positions and ovulation.

This felt right, you thought, as you stroked his arm that was wrapped around your waist. Even though your skin was sticking to his under the sheets and your frizzy hair was probably tickling his neck, he didn’t seem to mind.

Dean? you tried through the bond, seeing if he was awake. He felt like he was still in-between wakefulness and sleep. At your prodding though, he slipped back into the former.

“Hmm?” he replied. You let out a sigh in the dark.

“I’m sorry I kind of tried to take matters into my own hands, with the spell.”

He hmphed in response. “Kinda?”

Your lips twitched upwards.

“This is a ‘together’ thing,” you said. “I made it all about me.”

Dean shook his head at that. He responded through the bond. No, you didn’t.

I did, you insisted. You were right to stop me. I didn’t care about the consequences…but that’s not fair to you. To either of us.

He took that in with a deep sigh of his own.

“It’s okay. We want the same thing,” he said. “And we’ll get there, baby. Don’t you worry.”

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“…I don’t know. I just am.”

You closed your eyes, and once again, you tried to believe him. You let his heartbeat and the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep.

Nine weeks later…

You were alone in the bathroom at seven in the morning. After almost a month late on your period, you were also staring at two positive lines on your last pregnancy test.

Ho…ly…shit.

Dean was already at work. This wasn’t something you wanted to tell him over the phone, however.

How the hell am I supposed to keep this from him all day? you thought.

But then again, maybe this was a good thing. You had time to make sure.

So you called out of work for a personal day, and you immediately called your doctor on your way out to the closest pharmacy. You were going to need a few more tests.

When Dean eventually got home that evening, there were two pizzas waiting for him. The smell was already making his mouth water. He peeked under the hood of each box and rubbed his hands together.

“Ooh, awesome.” Pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese. His favorite.

You appeared then from the kitchen with a strange smile on your face.

“Hey!” you chirped, but you seemed a bit distracted as you pulled out a sheet pan of cookies from the oven. You nearly dropped them when the corner of the pan banged against the oven.

Something was off with you. Dean knew it intuitively. He went over and tried to steady you with a hand on the small of your back. He could see that you were frazzled, but he realized, with a frown, that you had your walls up again. He couldn’t pick up on what you were thinking.

“You okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…well, something,” you nodded and wiped your hands after you peeled the oven mitts off. “And I need to tell you about it before I bake everything in the house, including the expired bran muffins.”

Dean was growing more concerned by the moment. He knew for a fact he’d hidden that bran muffin mix deep in the pantry, so you wouldn’t force him to eat a “healthy dessert.”

“Okay, what?” he asked.

You paused, steeling yourself with a breath.

You then took his hand and led him to the bedroom, into the adjoining bathroom. Across the entire counter were no less than seven pregnancy tests.

All positive.

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. Slowly he turned back to you with his widened eyes.

“Surprise?” you smiled, a little nervously.

Dean grasped the counter and had to sit down hard on the closed toilet seat.

“Yeah, I did that too,” you said. You couldn’t help but giggle as you caressed his face. He grabbed your hip, both to bring you closer and for added stability. You two had been trying to make this happen for over a year, but the gravity of this being real was finally hitting him.

He stared up at your face with a growing smile. “This is happening.”

You nodded, smiling through your burgeoning tears.

“Yeah. It is,” you replied. “Dean, you’re gonna be a dad.”

That realization had him nodding, swallowing hard and blinking past a sting in his eyes.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in between his knees. You threaded your fingers through his hair, and his head came to rest against your stomach. He pressed a kiss there, over your shirt.

After a moment to gather himself, he rocked back onto his feet. Then he enveloped you in a secure and warm embrace. He kissed the side of your head, and you felt his smile there.

“We did it, baby,” he said.

“And that was the easy part,” you quipped, making him laugh. Yet the holy shit of it all hit him in a new wave—one you felt through the bond. You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself as well.

“Oh my God, this is happening,” he repeated.

You uttered a tearful laugh. “Uh, yeah, Dean.”

He was still smiling, but it started to dim a little.

“We’re ready, right?” he asked.

You chuckled, wiping at your eyes. “We better be.”

Dean nodded and pulled back enough to see your face. You met his gaze. Maybe you’d just had more time than him to process it all, but you finally felt a sense of peace.

“Together, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Together.”

Dean let out a deep breath. “Shit, I gotta tell Sam.”

Your smile brightened and you squeezed his arms.

“Let’s call him!" you said. "Hopefully Eileen’s there too.”

The two had moved in together a couple of years ago, after Eileen officially retired from hunting. But she often had long shifts at her job, just like Sam did at the law firm he started working for after he graduated from law school, near the top of his class.

While you and Dean went into the bedroom to call Sam together, an angel watched from a distance, unseen by human eyes.

He found himself smiling.

AN: Ahh I'm soft. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy this as much as I had fun diving back into Never Say Goodbye.

And I won't say that I'll never come back to it in the future...for obvious reasons. 😉

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Series + Dean Tag List (Part 1):

I did my best to get everyone who was tagged in the original run of the series first, then my normal Dean tag list.

@curlycarley @chubby-teddybear @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @deans-spinster-witch @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1

@icequeen1371 @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @shadowcrowsworld @thespnlover @this-is-me19 @stevenknightmarc @leigh70 @syrma-sensei @brain-has-left

@hobby27 @ashbatz @saranghaey @jori21 @lillyrob @adoringanakin @agirlwithdemonblood @mimaria420 @nephil-with-a-gun @writethrough @iamsapphine @definitelymentallyderanged @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer

#the old-fashioned way #bonus tracks #never say goodbye #bonus track 4 #spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x soulmate!reader #soulmate au #soulmates #castiel #jody mills #bobby singer #zepskies writes

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