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inorganicone2230 · 2 years ago

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Purity (Finale Part 2 of 2) Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Finale Part 1 of 2

Summary: Overhaul meets a quirkless foreigner who holds some very interesting views on his way of thinking. The more time he spends with her, the more he wants to keep her and her purity for himself. And he has no problem with falling to the depths of obsession if it means getting what he wants.

Other Warnings: Trigger warnings, mentions of past domestic and physical abuse, blackmail, referenced kidnapping, referenced rape, referenced physical abuse/torture, emotional and mental manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, forced pregnancy, VERY YANDERE!!! See tags for more…

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this and future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

“Good night, Mama.” Kazue’s sleepy little voice whispered as you watched him snuggle down so far into his pillow and blankets that all you could see was his head of chestnut hair, a perfectly matched shade and cut to Kai’s.

“Good night, baby. Sweet dreams.” You replied, smiling and quietly closing the door just enough that some light from the hallway would leak in for him before moving onto Eri’s room.

Kazue was such an easy child to raise, probably because he took after his father in so many ways. He adored Kai and wanted to be just like him when he grew up, and it was a notion that you were still slowly coming to terms with. Now that he had a better handle on it, Kai and some of the other Precepts were just beginning to teach him how to fight and use his quirk, which had developed a little over a year ago and it was giving you some major anxiety, even if, rationally, you knew it was a necessary thing to do. He was your baby boy after all, and you hated the thought of him being put in any kind of danger, regardless if it was in a controlled environment or not. But, as Kai had so logically pointed out, he needed to learn how to control his quirk early on, because if he didn’t, he could become a serious threat to himself and to others.

The question of whether or not Kazue would even develop a quirk at all was always a hot topic amongst those in yours and Kai’s ‘inner circle’, what with you being quirkless and all, and a few of them, your sister included, had even started betting on the outcome. So the day it finally happened, when Kazue had been throwing a rarely seen temper tantrum and unintentionally overhauled a small toy that had been in his hand, it came as a bit of a shock.

As expected, Kazue’s own quirk was nearly identical to Kai’s in every way, except for one, that being his didn’t work on organic material. Kai had actually breathed a sigh of relief when that particular detail had come to light.

When you asked him about it that night, as the two of you laid in bed and he rested the side of his head on your stomach while you traced idle patterns on the skin of his bare back. He told you the story of how his quirk was so late to develop, that he was actually thought to be quirkless himself. His birth parents weren’t kind people by any means, and having a supposedly quirkless son was like receiving a slap in the face to them. His mother, thankfully, ignored him most of the time, but his father was much more keen on showing his displeasure via his fists, and one day, during a particularly harsh beating, he’d lifted a hand to try and fend off a punch to the face, and the moment his father’s fist collided with it, he’d exploded in a shower of blood and gore. His mother had come in only a few seconds later, took one look at the bloody sight and fainted before she could even scream. He’d walk out of the house right after that, with nothing but the clothes he had on, and he never once bothered to look back.

He’d only been ten at the time, and he spent the next year and a half living on the streets. He practiced alone and taught himself how to use and control his quirk, learning its limits and what exactly he could do with it, scavenging for food in dumpsters or stealing what he needed from other street rats or homeless people. And that’s how he’d lived, until the old man, Pops, had found him and taken him in.

That’s why he was so relieved that Kazue wouldn’t ever have to worry about accidentally overhauling anyone. He didn’t feel guilty about how his father died, but he didn’t want his own son to have to go through the potential guilt if he unintentionally hurt a loved one.

Kai, as a father, did have many good qualities that you could see your children picking up on, like his excellent manners and his penchant for cleanliness and organization, but there were also many you hoped they would never inherit or try to emulate, like his anger and controlling attitude. But even those traits had tempered over the years since your son’s birth, and though you still harbored a deep resentment in regards to the hand life had dealt you, you were now a big enough person to admit that Kai was a wonderful father. It didn’t erase his past sins or mean he was now an inherently better person, because you knew that his newfound gentleness and more mellow temper only extended to a select few people outside of you and the children, but it was a continued step in a better direction. And given the circumstances that brought you all to this point, you could surmise that this was better than nothing.

As you approached Eri’s bedroom a little ways down the hall, you smiled at the brightly painted purple door. It was adorned with a multitude of colorful stickers, ranging from pretty butterflies and fairies, to cartoonishly styled items of food; like a dancing hamburger and a very shiny pile of takoyaki. But what stood out the most was the chalkboard she had hung there last year. She wrote down a weekly list of everything she planned on cooking for the week and encouraged everyone who had access to it to write down suggestions. There was even a step stool left next to the door so that she and Kazue could easily reach it.

And speaking of Kazue, you noticed right away that he had jotted down, in his own messy script, a suggestion for homemade dino-nuggies, and right below that was an agreement from Rappa, though he had specified that they be manly dino-nuggies, whatever that meant. Even Kai had made a suggestion, this one for the beef stew with star anise, the very same one she’d been making the first time she called him ‘Papa’. It was a personal favorite of his, and while you weren’t sure if Eri knew the specific reason as to why, she always made it every time he asked for it.

Knocking on the door, you waited to be given permission before entering.

Eri, now eleven years old, was sitting up in her pink canopy bed, the room bathed in the twinkling of tea lights and the warm glow of the lamps she preferred to use for lighting over the brighter overhead light.

She was writing down notes in one of her many journals while she watched a cooking show on the TV and smiled when you came in. It came as quite the surprise to you when Kai got her the large flat-screen and set it up with a few streaming services for her, especially since he normally didn’t care for television in the slightest. When you asked him about it, he told you that he just wanted to do what he could to encourage her passions, and since he couldn’t hire a teacher or send her to a culinary school, for obvious reasons, this was the next best option he could think of. He even got her a tablet that she could use for when she was in the kitchen, to look things up and watch videos for more complicated steps and recipes.

Like with all things though, Kai had certainly covered all his bases where this aspect of your lives was concerned.

Any devices you all had access to were specifically designed and programmed to avoid being able to contact anyone from the outside world. Kai controlled all the passwords and had the internet usage heavily monitored at all times, and while you tried your best to ignore that detail, you wouldn’t deny that you had tried logging into some of your old social media accounts on your own tablet back when he first gifted it to you, only to find that access to such sites were totally blocked. You couldn’t even contact site moderators or IT for any of the sites and apps you were permitted to use.

“Hey there, Sweetheart!” You said cheerfully, pushing all those thoughts to the back of your mind as you closed the door behind you.

“Hey, Mama! What’s up?” She asked, scooting over to make room for you on the bed.

You took a seat beside her. “Nothing much, I just got Kazue to finally settle down for the night and I thought I’d come say good night to you.” You peeked at her notebook and then up at the television where a man in a stage kitchen was currently explaining how to make what appeared to be a somewhat complicated looking pastry dish, possibly a soufflé from the looks of it. “What new delicacy are you coming up with now?” You asked her.

“A dessert omelet!” She replied, her eyes shining like they always did when talking about food. “I have some eggs and fruit I need to use up, so I thought I’d give this recipe a try and fill them with fresh fruit and maybe some honey or whipped cream.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the eagerness and joy that laced her tone. This beautiful young lady sitting beside you was so far removed from the lonely, isolated and abused child you had met all those years ago that they may as well have been two completely different people. She hadn’t been triggered or had a nightmare about the past in so long, and you prayed every day that they would never return and she could stay this happy forever and always.

“I look forward to trying them!” You told her. “I never would have thought about treating an omelet like a crepe, but now that you’ve mentioned it, it definitely sounds like it could be a good combination.”

Eri smiled and nodded along happily. “I know Papa will probably want strawberries with his, and since he doesn’t care for anything super sweet, I bet I can replace the whipped cream with slightly sweetened yogurt or cream cheese.” She tapped her pencil against her chin and rattled off a list of all the items she had and what everyone would likely prefer with their omelet before turning to you. “Is there anything special that you want with yours, Mama?”

You thought about it for a moment. “I definitely want some mandarin slices in mine, but other than that, it's the chef's choice.”

She smiled at you, as bright as the sun and quickly made a note of it in her journal and you got up to gather her dirty clothes into the hamper, intending to do some laundry tonight or tomorrow.

“Hay, Mama?” You heard her ask a few moments later, and the suddenly morose tone to her usually chipper voice had you immediately turning to give her your full attention.

Her head was downcast and you could see that whatever was on her mind, it was enough to make her feel like she couldn’t make eye contact with you.

“What is it, honey?” You asked gently, giving her plenty of time to voice what it was she wanted to say while you took up your seat beside her again.

“Well… it’s just…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip and nervously wringing her hands in her lap before she finally got the words out.

“You’re not… upset or anything?”

You blinked at her like an owl, completely confused as to what she could be referring to. Had you done or said something to make her believe you were upset with her? Or had you made a negative looking facial expression?

“Eri, sweetheart, why would you think that?” You asked her worriedly. “What’s this about?”

She shrugged her slim shoulders and ducked her head further down. “I don’t know.” She whispered softly. “I guess I just got worried that my question from earlier today had upset you. You seemed really shocked by it and I can’t stop thinking that I did something wrong by mentioning it.”

It took your brain a second to catch up with what she was saying, but when it did, you breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded to wrap her up in a tight hug.

“Oh, my baby girl, you don’t need to worry about that.” You assured her, kissing the top of her head. “It did surprise me when you asked it, but not in a bad way, and I’d certainly never get upset with you for voicing anything like that out loud. You didn’t do anything wrong and I am so sorry if my reaction made you think that you had.” You gave her another tight squeeze. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t ask me things or be open with me about your thoughts and feelings. You understand?”

You felt her relax, lean into the embrace and nod in confirmation. “Thanks, Mama.” She said, nuzzling her head under your chin and you could hear the smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Always and forever.”

—————

You were in the midst of folding some of the laundry when Kai finally walked into the bedroom and he flashed you a tired smile as he came over to plant a small kiss on the apple of your cheek, one of the few physical touches you permitted him. You weren’t sure why you allowed it, in fact, you couldn’t even really remember when exactly you had started to allow it, but it never really seemed like a big deal, so it continued.

“How was your day?” He asked, his tone sounding exhausted, but he seemed content as he took a pile of the folded clothes from you and walked over to start depositing them in the drawers of one of the dressers.

“Same as usual.” You replied, hanging another one of his shirts on a hanger to put in his closet later and hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the strained nervousness in your voice. “How about yours, did the meeting go well?”

You saw his back go rigid for half a second before he resumed sorting the clothes into their respective drawers. “No.” He replied tightly. “Tensions were high, insults were thrown, and it ended… badly for them.”

You knew that particular phrase was code for ‘they did something to piss me off and now they’re all dead’. It was a notion you wished wholeheartedly that you weren’t so familiar with, especially not when it was an aspect of life your own son was going to have to face and deal with one day when he really started to learn the ropes from Kai, but it was undeniably a part of your life that you had, sadly, just gotten used to. And you hated yourself even more when you felt yourself biting back a small smile, because you knew exactly what it was that had put him on edge and set him off today.

You truly hadn’t meant to let his name slip out last night, but you couldn’t stop yourself from remembering the way his cock used to fill you up so perfectly, and you had been so deep in the fantasy that it had just rolled off your tongue without a second thought.

Kai had well and truly ruined you forever, you couldn’t even get off anymore without thinking of him or having him in the room with you. You knew how wrong it all was, how sick it made you, and you’d certainly berated yourself enough for it over the years. Every time you let your thoughts drift to him when you touched yourself, you hated yourself for not feeling as guilty about it as you probably should have. Every time you watched and listened to him fuck himself with his own hand, with your name on his lips, you felt yourself rising higher and higher to new forms of self loathing because you know your continued participation in, whatever this was between the two of you, was all the encouragement he needed. It was wrong on so many levels, but at some point in the last few years, you weren’t sure when exactly, you had completely given up on trying to quell those feelings and desires. It didn’t make you feel any less guilty about it after the fact, but you eventually learned that, in order to hold onto your sanity, you needed to take what comforts you could in your situation.

And physical touch had been the start of it.

You fought off that need for contact as long as you could, that urge you felt to be held in a strong embrace, and not just anyone’s arms, but his, in Kai’s specifically. And it all came to a head that night, when he’d told you about his adoptive father’s passing and you’d opened up your arms to him for the first time. You told yourself that it was mutually beneficial, that you’d get to have that itch scratched a little and you wouldn’t have to explain your reasoning too much because it could be written off as an act of compassion for the grieving father of your children. It was a win-win situation all around… or it should’ve been, if you weren’t so weak.

The familiarity of his warm body pressing against you like that had been like a balm that you hadn’t even realized you’d needed and missed until that moment.

You told yourself that you would secretly enjoy it only for as long as the night allowed and then you’d go cold turkey again, but when that next evening rolled around and the itch only grew worse, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it again, and again, and again. Every night, for months afterward, you told yourself that it would be the last, but the last night never came, and after a while, you stopped trying to fool yourself all together.

But reacquainting yourself with the intimate feel of Kai’s body during these nightly embraces had the unfortunate side effect of slowly reawakening yet another urge you now seemed wholly incapable of controlling.

Your libido.

When you caught Kai in the act of getting himself off that day in his office, you suddenly realized that your memory did him a great disservice. You had forgotten just how thick he was, even when compared against the size of his own large hand, the way his face looked when he was lost in pleasure, how he would grit his teeth as he tried to hold back his orgasm for as long as possible, even the way his eyes would glaze over and grow heavy lidded when release finally washed over him, all of those details were pale and drab within the confines of your memory. You’d been so desperate to get away, not just because you were disgusted with him and knowing he was watching what could only be his own personal spank-bank material featuring you and he, but because you had a brief thought that maybe you should just put yourself out of your misery and go climb into his lap and sink down on his cock. That thought, no matter how fleeting it might have been, was too much for you to handle and made you feel so unbelievably dirty.

You’d tried to ignore it, had tried to suppress that freshly reawakened feeling for the remainder of the day, but it just got worse and worse as the day wore on. Because unlike Kai, you hadn’t taken the time to get yourself off in the years since Kazue was born, not even once.

Once you were no longer being forced to endure an overwhelming amount of sexual stimulation, you found that you just had no desire to partake in it of your own accord for quite some time. That’s not to say the urge wasn’t there, you just didn’t have the mindset to want to indulge it. Kai’s treatment of your body had left you feeling disgusted with yourself. You knew that it wasn’t true and none of it had been your fault, but all the same, you still felt used and dirty. The day you woke up after your accident and Kai informed you of his decision to end all the intimacy of your relationship, you had accused him of being a sex addict, but for a while there afterwards, you didn’t feel like you were much better.

And the weeks and months following the accident had been… difficult, to say the least.

Without Kai’s hands constantly grabbing for you in his usual touch-starved manner, you almost felt more naked than all the times before when he’d actually had you bare before him. Intimacy with him had become such a common and expected occurrence in your day to day life, and when it suddenly stopped so abruptly, you honestly hadn’t been too sure what to do or how to feel. No matter how uncomfortable and unwanted the feeling was, no matter how much you tried telling yourself that it wasn't true, you genuinely felt like you had no other value outside of what pleasures your body could offer him.

But that one night, after spending the whole day with thoughts of him clouding your mind, all you had wanted was to make him suffer just the tiniest bit alongside you.

Your little stunt with the vibrator had been a risky gamble, and a small part of you had been understandably worried that it would backfire on you and cause him to snap. But a much larger part, that part that was now capable of silently admitting to yourself what a wonderful father he was, that was the piece of you that knew he wouldn’t do anything, that he’d likely never do anything to hurt you ever again.

If nothing else, Kai had proven himself in that regard at the very least these last few years, and…

“(Y/N)?”

You jerked back in surprise when you felt warm fingers brushing your cheek and came out of your engrossing thoughts to find Kai kneeling before you with a look of confused worry on handsome face.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He asked gently. “I called out to you a few times, but you’ve just been staring blankly at that shirt you’re holding.”

You looked down to where he indicated at your hands and, sure enough, you had been wringing the fabric in your clammy hands so much that it was totally wrinkled and would need to be thrown back in the dryer for a few minutes.

Looking back up at him, you did your best to give him a reassuring smile and set the now wrinkled shirt aside and picked up another one to fold.

“I’m fine, I just have something on my mind, it’s nothing to worry about, I promise.” You told him, praying that he’d drop it and leave it alone, even as a small traitorous hope for the exact opposite bloomed in your chest when you remembered that this was Kai Chisaki you were dealing with, the man was completely incapable of dropping anything if he thought it was a hindrance on your well-being or mental state. His forceful pushiness might have mellowed out over the years, but just because his tactics had changed didn’t mean he hadn’t found other ways of getting you to talk to him about the things on your mind.

He stiffened a bit, probably not thrilled that you were keeping things from him, even if you told him they were inconsequential, but he nodded and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before slowly rising back up to his feet.

“If you’re sure, just know that I’m here if you want to talk about it.” He picked up the last little pile of clothes to put away in the drawers and walked back over to the dresser, but he continued to speak. “I know you usually talk to your sister about the things that trouble you, and what with our history together, I can’t reasonably blame you for not wanting to let me in, but I’d truly like for you to share your burdens with me, even if you think I won’t like what you have to say.”

The words he spoke rolled around in your mind at lightning speed for only a handful of seconds as you contemplated just how much what you were considering could fuck everything up for you and everyone else if it went sour, Kai included, but in the end, you found yourself unable to hold them back this time.

“Eri just asked me a question today that I wasn’t sure how to properly respond to, that’s all.”

You tried to say the sentence as nonchalantly as possible, but it still felt as if you blurted them out like utter word vomit and you cringed.

If Kai noticed or cared about that detail though, he didn’t even so much as show it, however, you could see a notable change in his posture, even with his back still turned he now had every single one of his senses trained on you, totally eager to listen to whatever it was you had to say, no matter how mundane or trivial it might be. You didn’t often talk to him about things that you found stressful or upsetting, even when those topics concerned the children, not unless you felt it was important for him to be made aware of. And you supposed this was probably one of those times, as you’d rather bring it up with him first before Eri had a chance to corner him with the same question.

“Oh?” He asked a bit breathlessly and chuckled awkwardly. “Please don’t tell me it’s time to give her ‘the talk’, because I’m not so sure I’m ready for that conversation either.” His attempt at humor to help ease you into the conversation was not lost on you and you couldn’t stop the small grateful smile that tugged at your lips as a result.

But you very quickly wiped the smile off of your face and squared your shoulders in preparation for the inevitable. There was no going back now, and this time, you didn’t let the pacing or tone of what you said next belie any of what you were truly feeling.

“She asked me if she was ever going to get another little sister?”

…

The entire world seemed to pause at that, waiting in stilled silence as the words you just spoke hung in the air between the two of you, and for the life of you, you couldn’t tell what his reaction was going to be. He was as tense and as rigid as a bowstring, but with his back turned towards you, you couldn’t see his facial expression to gauge how he might be feeling. So, you held your breath in anticipation and prayed with all your heart that telling him this wouldn’t prove itself to be a colossal mistake on your part.

When Kai did eventually speak, his voice sounded hoarse and breathless, the sound barely above a whisper. “What-” He cleared his throat as the words caught. “What did you tell her?”

You breathed a sigh of relief when he asked that and it was like a weight lifted off your shoulders.

“I told her the truth.” You said softly, fiddling with the buttons on the shirt in your hands. “I told her that it was something for me and you to discuss privately with each other.”

Kai also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at this and finally turned to face you. His expression was one of the softest you’d ever seen on him and his golden eyes were filled with such hope and stark longing that, had you been standing, it may very well have brought you to your knees. His own legs seemed to be shaking enough for the both of you anyway, and you briefly worried that he might just collapse then and there.

But he quickly pressed for you to go on, urging you to rip the bandaid off and cease the torment.

“And are we… discussing it?”

Before responding, you wondered how it had come to this. How in the span of a single day, you could go from loathing him, yourself, and all the things he made you feel for him, to smiling and wanting to talk about the absurdity of having another child with him, only for those feelings of contempt to circle back around and confuse you all the more. You shouldn’t want this, not with him at least, but you did. You never would have chosen to have your children with him, but now that he was their father, you would never leave or go back and change it, even if you were given the opportunity. Eri and Kazue loved and adored him, and if anything were to happen to him or take him away, it would break their hearts and you would never be able to endure that.

A therapist or even a more rational person might tell you that you had likely developed some form of Stockholm syndrome, and they would probably be right, but you were simply past the point of caring about that anymore. You would never be able to forgive him and forget about all he had done to you, and you were willing to acknowledge that you may come to regret this decision by the time morning came, but for now, this was what you wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you let the words go free and prepared yourself for what was to come, be it either good or bad.

“I want to have another baby, Kai.”

The look of absolute wonder and happiness that overtook his face was enough to make your heart flutter and you wholeheartedly expected him to rush for you, to grab up into his arms in a fit of joy and overzealous passion before dragging you to the bed to keep you there for the rest of the night.

But that’s not at all what happened…

Instead, an almost sad smile replaced the previous exuberance of his expression and he turned his back on you to continue putting away the laundry of all things, while you were left reeling from the confusion of it.

But Kai didn’t leave you in the dark regarding his unexpected behavior for very long at least as his next words answered the unspoken question.

“We’ll go and talk to Dr.Takani tomorrow and see what can be done.” He said, his tone far too even and nonchalant for it to be anything other than forced. “Our options might be limited since we can’t go to a hospital, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make this happen.”

Your mouth was hanging open by this point and you didn’t even try to hold back the note of alarm that made your voice sound shrill and choked.

“What options? What are you talking about, Kai?”

Kai’s chuckle wasn’t one of amusement as he responded very bitterly. “Well, how else are we going to get you pregnant without IVF or artificial insemination?”

Your answer was immediate and without any hint of hesitation as you quietly whispered. “I just assumed we’d go about it the natural way… by having sex.”

You heard him let out a soft sound that was somewhere between a moan of pleasure fueled frustration, and a groan of pain as his hands went white knuckled gripping the top of the dresser.

“I-I’m sorry (Y/N), I just… I just can’t.”

…

The rejection, no matter how confusing and unexpected it was, shouldn’t have bothered you in the slightest, but it did, it really did. It tore something open in your chest that you weren’t sure could ever be repaired as tears, hot and shameful, burned your vision.

“You don’t want me…”

You didn’t intend to say it out loud, but you did, and you honestly weren’t sure if you meant for it to be taken as a question or as an accusation, but either way, it most certainly got a reaction out of him as Kai whirled around to face you, his face a mask of utter shock and confusion.

“What?!” He frantically replied. “Of course I still want you, how could you ever assume anything else after you’ve laid in bed with me and watched me stroke my cock I don’t even know how many times over the years?”

Now you were the one that was confused, even as a sense of uncomfortable relief settled over you at the knowledge that he still found you desirable.

“I don’t understand.” You whispered softly.

He looked as if he didn’t want to continue having this conversation at all, but he must have known that you wouldn’t drop it so easily, because he sighed in that particular way that told you he was about to tell you something that he thought you likely wouldn’t approve of.

“I want you, sweetheart, I want you so fucking bad it hurts, but I can’t have sex with you because I don’t trust myself to have the willpower to stop once you do get pregnant.” Was his quiet confession. “I told you before that if you ever came back to me for sex that things would go right back to the way they were, but over time, I’ve found I don’t want things to go back to that.” It was like the floodgates had opened and now that he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I swear, I will do whatever it takes to give us another child if that is what you really want, but not at the expense of sacrificing all the progress we have made together these last few years.”

Your jaw was practically touching the floor, because that wasn’t at all what you had been expecting him to say, not that you had any idea what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t this level of selflessness.

Over time, you had come to accept and even appreciate that Kai did truly love you in his own way, and that he felt a great deal of genuine remorse for much of what he had put you through. Not all of it of course, there was only so much a person could do to grow and overcome the faults so deeply ingrained in them, but considering how things had started, this was a massive improvement. The old Kai would have taken full advantage of this situation and forced you to continue to have sex with him regardless of whether or not you only wanted it to go on just long enough for you to get pregnant. For him to turn down the opportunity to sleep with you after five years of celibacy, all because he didn’t want to risk turning back into that monster he had been, the monster you had hated so vehemently, it somehow made you all the more confident in your decision to end this standoff between the two of you.

Sex with Kai, as well as the prospect of having another child with him had both been subjects that were on your mind for far longer than you cared to admit, and in truth, you had settled on your decision a while ago, you just hadn’t been able to find the right time or way to broach the topic with him before now. But when Eri had so casually asked you her question today as you came into the kitchen to make some tea, you had known right away that now was as good a time as any. And your sweet, perfect daughter, who always knew how to help others, even when she wasn’t aware of it, had given you, not just a reason to bring it up, but the courage to do it as well.

Now you only needed to convince Kai that you wanted this just as badly as he no doubt did.

“And if I told you that I wouldn’t want it to stop even after I got pregnant?”

Kai shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed as he leaned back against the dresser for support. “Please don’t do this, (Y/N).” He quietly begged you, his voice straining as if he were in pain. “Not unless you are absolutely certain that this is what you want.”

You watched him for a long while, taking in the way he held himself back, all because he was scared that he might ruin the progress you and he had made together, and you suddenly knew what you needed to do.

By now, you knew that words alone weren’t going to be enough to convince him that you were confident in your decision on this matter, you were going to need to show him that you wanted him. So you didn’t give yourself the opportunity to second guess your choice in action as you stood up from the loveseat and slowly began stripping away articles of your clothing, piece by piece, never once breaking eye contact with him.

You had long since stopped being nervous or ashamed of your body and the way Kai would ogle it at every opportunity he was given, so even after five years, getting naked for him was an easy task, even if it should have made your skin crawl. You had once been indifferent to it, but not anymore, now you wanted his eyes on you, and wanted his hands and mouth and cock on and inside you even more.

He watched you now, every movement you made, with an all consuming intensity that had never been stronger, not even at the very beginning of all this madness. You once felt like he looked at you as nothing more than an object, like a doll or a piece of art, but not this time, now he looked at you dumbstruck, as if he was seeing you for the very first time. And you found you rather appreciated it now.

Once you were fully naked, it only took a handful of strides to reach him and you had to bite back a small smile at the way he gripped the top of the dresser even harder, like he was needing to fight for control of his own body, or else he’d lunge at you. You really wished he would, because you wanted him just as needy and desperate as you felt. You were so wet at this point, the moisture slicking up your thighs enough that Kai could likely already see the evidence of it himself. He wouldn’t even need to bother with the foreplay, though you wouldn’t object if he ended up needing to have a taste of you beforehand, you certainly wanted to taste him just as badly. You were surprised to realize that he had never insisted on the two of you trying out a sixty-nine position, so perhaps that’s something you could convince him to try with you later, once you’d taken him inside of you a few times.

Standing less than a foot away from him now, you had to tilt your head up to look at him, but not before taking a long and obvious look at the already hard and straining bulge in his pants before dragging your eyes up to meet the molten gold of his own.

“Can you honestly tell me that you don’t believe I know what I’m saying, Kai?” You quietly asked, your voice steady and strong, though breathy and full of want.

He swallowed thickly, the sound so audible that it may as well have been a curse word for all it gave away about what his decision would ultimately be.

“(Y/N)… I-” He dragged his gaze over every bare inch of your exposed body and you felt it like a caress on your skin. “Fuck…”

“I know who it is that I want.” Reaching out, you boldly placed your hand on his chest, just over his heart and rubbed your thumb back and forth against the spot as you took that final step forward and pressed yourself flush against him, your aching breasts and tender nipples pressing into his beautifully chiseled abdomen.

“And who I want, is you, Kai.”

—————

Kai was going to combust into flames, he was absolutely convinced that this conversation was going to be the final death of him and very soon his soul was going to be thrown down into some burning cell deep in the blackest pits of Hell.

He had never seen a more beautiful or seductive sight in all his life, and were it not for the way his cock positively throbbed in the confines of his pants, he might very well have thought he was dreaming this up right now. But none of his prior dreams about you, and there had been a lot of them over the years, none of them had ever been quite so vivid and true to life as this moment right here.

He had imagined this so many times before, each fantasy more beautiful and too painful to hope for than the last, and yet none of them could compare to the real thing.

The instant you’d mentioned having another baby, he’d felt his heart soar with unbridled happiness for one blinding moment, and then the fear had taken hold of him. The same fear that had plagued him every night since the first time you had been brave enough let him watch while you pleasured yourself beside him in bed, the fear that he would very soon lose control of himself and once again begin taking what he wanted from you by force. His decision to cut out all forms of intimacy with you for the last five years had been one of the hardest endeavors of his young life, but it had also been the most fulfilling. He’d never realized just how little he knew about you until he no longer had the haze of sex and carnal pleasure clouding his mind, and what he’d learned and witnessed had made him love you all the more. He still viewed you as his, he didn’t think he was capable of not feeling entitled to you, but the overwhelming sense of territorial possessiveness had lessened considerably over time.

He so desperately wanted to believe that he was capable of showing you the restraint and patience that you deserved, but he was truly terrified that one taste of you would be all it would take to undo the years of progress he’d made. Because if he took this step with you, and in the morning you said it was a mistake, he didn’t know what he’d do. The last time you willingly sought him out for sex had ended disastrously, not that you had any memory of what truly happened that day, but he did, and the thought that it could potentially happen again was terrifying to him.

However, he also knew you well enough to know just how stubborn you could be, and that you were always the type of person who would never willingly do or say things you didn’t mean. And the way you were looking at him right now, combined with the confidence in your tone and posture, it was cracking his already weak resolve.

So maybe, just maybe, if you, the one most harmed by all of this, were willing to set aside the past and try to move forward, perhaps he finally could as well.

“(Y/N)…” His breath hitched when your smile turned a little devious and you pressed your bare chest more firmly against him.

“Yes, Kai?” You asked sweetly.

Kai didn’t know where this teasing sensuality you were displaying had come from, but it was driving him mad. He wanted to touch you so badly, to drag his lips and hands over every single part of you and listen to you moan for him, to reacquaint himself with the familiarity of your beautiful body, and to see up close all the ways it had changed since you had first given birth. He was especially fascinated by the handful of stretch marks you had gained during and after your pregnancy. He knew you bore them on your breasts and stomach, but the ones he really wanted to see were the ones on your inner thighs. Those ones he had only ever caught brief glimpses of and he always fantasized about tracing them with his lips and tongue while he slowly made his way up to feast on your sweet and needy little cunt.

But, before he could even consider getting to any of that, he needed to make sure that this is what you truly wanted, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“You’re sure this is what you really want?” He whispered. “I swear to you, sweetheart, I won’t hold it against you if you say ‘no’. We can find another way for you to get pregnant that doesn’t involve crossing this line, but if we do this, you need to know that I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to show this same kind of restraint again if you change your mind in the morning or even later on down the road.” He paused and took a deep steadying breath before continuing. “I don’t want to be that monster you knew me as ever again, (Y/N). So if you have any doubts about this decision, then I beg of you, please, back out now, before this situation has the chance to escalate past the point of no return.”

There, he’d said what he needed to say, and now the ball was in your court, the decision was now yours to make, the way it always should have been, and he quietly waited with baited breath, both eager and hesitant at the same time to learn what your final response was going to be, and thankfully, you weren’t cruel enough to make him wait for too long to hear what that response was.

—————

You slid your hands up his body until one cupped his cheek and the other rested at the back of his neck, then you flashed him another soft smile as your eyes darkened with raw want and desire, desire for him.

“Kai, my answer is still the same; I want you.” Your thumb traced lazy circles on the back of his neck while you continued to speak, and the way he practically melted into your touch sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “The fact that you are so concerned about potentially hurting me and regressing back into your old habits is enough to give me confidence that you won’t. I trust you to take care of me and to respect my limits in a way you never did before, and if I ever feel like it’s too much or that I can’t take it, I promise I’ll let you know and we’ll figure it out together.”

You watched him close his eyes and slowly exhale a few seconds later, all the tension leaving his body at once as one of his hands reached up to rest over top of your own. He gently squeezed your fingers and turned his face into your still open palm to lay a kiss there, and you could have sworn he was breathing you in while he did it. The you from five years ago would have found the display annoying and disgusting, but the you of the present couldn’t seem to adequately focus on anything past the pounding of your own heartbeat sounding in your ears and the unbearable ache pulsating between your legs as Kai turned his ravenous gaze back to yours.

Once again you were expecting him to leap upon you with five years worth of pent up passion and need, and once again he thoroughly surprised you by finding yet another way to stall what you now knew was an undeniable inevitability as he shifted to pull out his phone and scroll for a number before bring it up to his ear.

The whole while, his eyes never left yours and they all but screamed the one single word that you knew your own were echoing back…

Finally.

—————

Kai’s hyper focused attention never once left your face as he pulled out his phone and selected the first number on his speed-dial list.

It rang three times before the recipient answered, and Kai was far too preoccupied to even care as he watched the tip of your pretty little tongue slip out to wet your lips, lips he soon planned to have his own against, and possibly wrapped around his cock later, if you were willing.

“Hello?”

Hari’s voice sounded raspy and breathless as he answered and Kai didn’t need more than one guess to know what must be causing it so late into the evening, especially with Rappa out of town at the moment.

Under normal circumstances, he might have been jealous or even envious over such a fact, but considering why he was making this call to his second in the first place, he couldn’t bring himself to give two flying shits this time. As long as his order was fallowed to the letter, Hari could still be sliding his cock between your sisters legs for all the fucks he had to give, all he cared about at the moment was passing along his message and turning his full attention back onto you.

“I need you to personally handle everything we have going on for the next week.” He quietly ordered, smirking down at you when your eyes widened and you mouthed back the words, ‘a week’. “Reschedule, shuffle things around, go to the meetings and distributions in my place; I don’t care what you have to do to make it happen, but I don’t want to hear one word about our business or dealings for the next seven days, not unless the issue is of apocalyptic proportions. Have I made myself clear, Chrono?”

Kai knew that Hari likely wanted to ask a series of questions, and he no doubt would the next time they saw each other, but for now, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and simply do as he was told.

“Yes, I understand.” His second in command responded obediently, but with obvious confusion. “I’ll see to it that you are left completely undisturbed for as long as you wish, and I’ll make sure everyone else is aware of it as well and the consequences that will come if they disregard the order.”

“Good.” Was all Kai said before he ended the call and tossed his phone aside with a careless flick of the wrist, and all the while his attention never strayed away from you. In fact, it only seemed to grow more intense with every passing second as he debated on whether or not he should be the one to make the first move and end this rather enticing stare down the two of you were having.

Thankfully though, and much like all of this evening so far, you took the decision right out of his hands as you smiled up at him and said the words that ripped open the floodgates.

“Well then, Kai, you have an entire week away from work to spend with me.” You said, your voice light and teasing as you pressed ever closer to him, stretching up on the tips of your toes to brush your lips against his own trembling mouth. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

—————

Hari’s confusion was near palpable as he stared down at the dark screen of his phone wondering what in the hell that was all about. It wasn’t like Kai to take that much time away from work and the organization, and if there was some kind of emergency in the compound or with you or the children, his phone would have already been blowing up about it.

So what then could it be?

“Are you so obtuse that you can’t see what this is?”

Hari looked over to the other side of the bed and frowned to see that (Name) was already in the process of getting dressed to leave and the now familiar disappointment that followed that realization was more than enough to make him temporarily forget about Kai’s mysterious order.

“You’re leaving already?” He asked, not caring if he sounded like a petulant child.

“Yes.” Your sister responded, rolling her eyes as she wiggled herself back into her pants and proceeded to put on her bra. “I’m likely going to be responsible for the kids for the majority of the week, and I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”

Hari cocked his head, still confused. “Why do you think that?”

She raised one eyebrow and gave him an expression that just screamed, ‘Are you fucking serious right now?’. It was a look he’d grown accustomed to receiving from her over the years and somehow, it always sent a spike of pleasure zinging through him. He’d never admit it aloud, but he rather enjoyed letting her dominate him in bed and take the lead on occasion. Unlike Kai, he didn’t always feel an overwhelming urge to be in control of all things at every moment of the day, and he’d never been shy about being upfront with his bedroom partners in that regard. It just so happened that the woman standing before him now was perfectly comfortable with such things. Of course, he wasn’t at all opposed to being the one in charge either, but when he spent everyday ordering others around, it was something of a relief to not have to worry about it once in a while and be the one getting pampered.

“Because him and my sister are, in all likelihood, currently in the process of fucking each other’s brains out as we speak.” She replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on, you must have picked up on the way they’ve been eye-fucking one another at every opportunity they get lately, they haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

Hari’s facial expression didn’t give it away, but as the words settled over him, he had to admit that he felt rather inept for not having thought of it himself. There were only so many things that could pull Kai away from his duties for such a long period of time, and if all was well with Eri and Kazue, then your sister was right, the only other option was you.

“What do you think brought this on?” He asked casually, hoping that if he kept her talking long enough, he might just be able to convince her to stay for another round, or even the whole night.

“Hard to say.” She was currently in the process of looking for her socks and shoes as she went on. “But I’m betting it probably has something to do with Eri asking for a little sister and (Y/N) having baby fever.”

At the mention of pregnancy, Hari couldn’t help but imagine what (Name) would look like all round and full with his own child and he silently wondered if she herself ever had thoughts of being a mother. But he shook those thoughts away, there was no point in dwelling on them at the moment, especially since she’d gotten an IUD a few years ago and was still more than regularly sharing herself with Rappa.

The thought of the lumbering buffoon and the following wave of jealousy was enough to soften his cock when he remembered that she never had any qualms about sharing a bed with Rappa afterwards, but never did so with him.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight instead of going back downstairs?” He quickly suggested it before he could rethink the offer. He could already see that she was opening her mouth to object, but he interjected before she could even get the words out. “Just to sleep.” He clarified, raising his hand in a peaceful gesture. “I know you prefer your room downstairs, but if you have to spend the week up here in the house anyway, why not stay here with me tonight and we can get you a room set up near the children tomorrow .”

(Name) didn’t say a word to him for a few long moments and just as he was about to rescind the offer, she finally spoke.

“I suppose that could work.” She said, eyeing him wearily.

Hari felt his face beginning to light up, only to have that joy dim just the slightest bit when she continued on.

“But I’m sleeping with my shirt and underwear on, and I am sure as fuck not going to cuddle with you. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine, got it?” She spat, her tone leaving no room for arguments or anything else as she stiffly began taking her clothes off again.

Despite his disappointment that he wouldn’t get to feel her in his arms tonight, Hari still couldn’t keep the small smile off his face as he watched her strip and stiffly climb back into the bed and wiggle under the covers.

Perhaps there was some hope for him after all, and he’d just need to take some baby steps to get there.

—————

Buttery soft sunshine was what you awoke to, but it was the soft kisses being left all along your shoulders and the back of your neck that kept you from dozing back off into peaceful slumber.

You smiled in contentment and lifted your arm, reaching it behind you to tangle your fingers in the soft chestnut strands of Kai’s hair while you arched your back in a small stretch, making extra certain that your bare ass rubbed against his already straining cock in the process.

“Good morning.” You whispered, your voice still thick with sleep and a tad bit hoarse from all the moaning and screaming you’d done the night before, even as your body fully responded to his gentle ministrations.

You felt him smile in response and his grip on your hip tightened as he groaned, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck and grinding his pelvis against the plump cheeks of your ass.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” He moaned, and opened his mouth to suck on the soft skin just below your ear. His hips were already picking up a steady rhythm as he slid his cock up and down between your ass cheeks and you pushed back with equal fervor. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you, my love, never.”

You shifted to roll over onto your back and look up at him, smiling as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. The sunlight streaming in through the windows highlighted him like a halo and made it seem as though his golden eyes were sparkling, although, from the blissfully happy smile on his face, that sparkle may not have been entirely a trick of the light.

The previous night had been wonderful and amazing, it had been everything you wanted and yet nothing like what you had expected. You had anticipated being tossed down on the bed and fucked hard and fast like a bitch in heat for the first few times, because there were definitely multiple rounds, but instead, Kai had been insistent on treating you with such tender love and care. He asked you at every opportunity throughout the night if what he was doing was to your liking, not because he wanted your enthusiasm to help inflate his ego, but because he just genuinely wanted to make sure you were comfortable with everything he did. From the way he kissed you, to every position he put you in, every new-not-new action was followed through only after he had received your verbal consent. It was very much appreciated, but after a while, you had gotten so amusingly annoyed by it that you had at point told him that if he did so one more time, you’d gag him with your underwear.

The look of shock that had overtaken his face had been purely priceless, as had been the uproarious laughter that had erupted from him a few moments afterwards.

“How are you feeling this morning?” He asked cautiously, no doubt worried you might have come to regret your decision while in the cold light of the day.

You grinned up at him fiendishly. “A little sore and stiff, but it’s in all the best ways possible, so I don’t mind.”

Kai frowned a bit, pulling back the blanket to scan your body from head to toe, as if he expected to find your body littered with bruises and other injuries. Then he turned his eyes back towards your own and you could easily see the lingering guilt that shined there. It would be some time yet before he felt relieved enough to let go of it, if ever let go of it at all.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” He repeated. “You can tell me, I promise I won’t be angry.”

“I’m sure.” Then you lifted your arms, opening them up and motioning for him to return to them. “Now would you please come back over here, I was enjoying those cuddles.”

Kai, for his part, was convinced that this all must be a dream, a very wonderful one to be sure, but still a dream. But as he slipped back into the warm cradle of your arms and felt you begin your usual habit of tracing teasing lines and patterns across his back with the tips of your fingers, he knew this was real. Somehow, you had found it in your heart to try and move past the horrible things he’d done in order to have a fresh start with him. He knew you hadn’t necessarily forgiven him, he wasn’t even sure he deserved this second chance, let alone forgiveness, not when he couldn’t entirely forgive himself, but if this is what you wanted, then he would happily accept whatever bits of yourself you wanted to bestow upon him.

The two of you laid there in peaceful silence for quite some time, occasionally running a hand over one another or laying kisses wherever your lips could reach, just to remind one another that this was indeed real and not some fantasy.

“What are you thinking about?” Kai asked softly when you had been silent for longer than usual.

The two of you had switched positions at one point and now you were the one resting your head on Kai’s broad pectoral, still idly tracing patterns on the skin of his stomach and smiling devilishly whenever his hips would jerk and his cock gave a noticeable twitch. It wouldn’t take too much effort to slip a little further down and wrap your lips around him, and had he not just asked you a question, you would have done just that without a moment's hesitation.

“Nothing really, just thinking about how much I lo-”

The words slipped out so naturally that you almost didn’t catch yourself in time.

Both of you stiffened and the room went deathly quiet as the gravity of what you almost finished saying hit you both like a freight train. Your mind was in a tizzy, trying to come up with every line in existence to excuse what it was you almost just said. You don’t even know where the words came from, they just slipped out so smoothly, like saying it was the easiest thing you’d ever done.

As if they were true!

But they weren’t true, they couldn’t be true…

Could they?

Yes, you had grown to care for and appreciate Kai as the father of your children and even as a companion, enough so that you wanted to have more children with him, but that didn’t mean you… felt that way about him… did it?

“(Y/N)?” Kai called out your name softly, pulling you from your wild and chaotic thoughts.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I couldn’t quite make out what you were saying. Can you repeat that for me?” He asked with forced casualness.

You were so blindsided and confused that it took a moment for you to recognize what was happening, but when you did, the painful tension drained away in an instant as you realized what he was doing.

Kai was offering you an out, to chance to back away from this topic for the time being, until you were ready to face it, IF you were ever ready to face it.

You wished wholeheartedly that you weren’t such a fucking coward, but so much had happened in so short a time between the two of you, and dealing with this, on top of everything else, was just asking for too much.

So you took that out, shelving the topic to be addressed at another time… or possibly never.

You cleared your throat. “I… I was only saying that I love… love what a wonderful father you are.” You said quietly, and patted yourself on the back that at least you were able to admit this truth. “Mistakes of the past or not, you always take such good care of them, of us, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Kai’s arms tightened around you instantly as he laid a gentle kiss to the top of your head, breathing in your delectable scent, now mingled with his own. “I will always take care of you. The three of you, hopefully soon-to-be four, are my whole world. I love you all from the bottom of my heart, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, even if it kills me in the process. I swear it, my love.”

Your answering nod was all he needed to know you understood and believed him, and soon, the two of you once again lapsed back into that easy and comfortable silence, basking in the morning sun and perfectly content to let the future play out however it saw fit to do so.

And while you might not ever be able to say those three little words back to him, that was fine, because for now, this was all either of you needed.

The End

That is a wrap folks! Purity is officially completed!

3 years, 30 chapters, and nearly 200k words later and I honestly can’t believe I managed to finally finish it! It has been one hell of a ride from start to finish, and I just want to thank all of you for the absolutely amazing support you all have shown throughout the entire process. Whether you’ve been here from the very beginning or if you came in halfway through, or even if you’ve only just now found this, thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

But the one I want to thank the most is one of my best and dearest friends, @talpup, who has been with me from the very beginning, before I even started posting. Brainstorming ideas with me and allowing me to subject them to my never-ending slew of scene and detail changes, they have been my biggest supporter by far and I can quite honestly say this blog would not be active anymore were it not for them. I probably would have given up on this story and writing post worthy content a long time ago had I not met you my friend, this story is as much yours as it is mine and I hope you know how much I love and appreciate you! ❤️

So, to conclude, if ever there was a time to let me know your thoughts on the story as a whole, now is that time. I know this kinda happy/bittersweet ending might seem very lackluster and an ill-fit for what this fic started out as, but I hope that everyone who reads it can find at least a few satisfying conclusions throughout it. But this is how I always intended for the story to end and I, as the writer, am very pleased with it, and to me, that’s really all that matters. 😊

Thank you all, enjoy!

74 notes · View notes

tildeathiwillwrite · 8 months ago

Note

My time has come!

A writing request! Could be OCs or generic whump, whichever you're more comfortable with!

Whumpee and Caretaker got into a bad argument, and Whumpee leaves. Caretaker left them alone for a few days until they learned that Whumpee has been kidnapped and being held as bait for them. Despite the fight and the fact it was a trap, they rescued Whumpee from their kidnappers. Cue apologies and hurt/comfort ❤️

Thank you so much for the request! (Rules here)

It took me about two weeks but I managed to get 3600 words out of this prompt, and I chose to go with the Gunblade Duo (Draven and Octavian). I had a lot of fun with this, enjoy! :D

CW: swearing, blood, guns, concussion, passing out, tied up, knife wounds, implied mauling, abduction, referenced abduction, arguing, death, alcohol

A/N: This takes place during The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and is not canon to the story. There is some reference to the events leading up to this one-shot, and implied reference to the events of The Watcher and the Thief. None of that is relevant for reading and enjoying the story :)

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @pigeonwhumps

The trek back through Zariya was even more tense than the initial trip. Octavian must’ve sensed Draven’s displeasure. He was silent for much of the journey, only speaking to point out notable sounds and scents. Draven should’ve offered thanks. It was what a decent person would have done, considering any of the people they avoided due to Octavian’s warnings could have had ill intentions.

Draven, however, wasn’t in the mood to be a decent person.

“I apologize that the party was a bust,” Octavian finally said. They were drawing close to the safe house where the devar and Reese were staying until Draven felt it was safe for them. Octavian was, for some reason, even more paranoid than Draven about keeping the kid safe, so even if Draven decided the search for her had subsided, they might still be stuck with her for a while yet.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Draven muttered as they rounded a corner, dodging around the pool of light illuminated by a nearby street lamp. The party had been his idea; to draw out some of the higher-profile targets the evening before a full moon. The smart ones would decline. The foolish ones would accept and try to depart early.

Unfortunately, only one of them was clever enough to avoid the party. Of the ones who attended, only one tried to leave early. And that was because she hated staying around the crowd of partygoers for too long.

“Personally, I don’t see it as a total loss.”

Draven exhaled sharply. “Really? How so?” When they’d returned to the party, he’d been pissed to discover that two of the attending targets had slipped out while they were distracted with the noblewoman. This little piece of information had turned one confirmed suspect into three. Three more lycanthropes they had to track down. Draven was beginning to get sick of the whole thing. But money was money, and he was getting paid a lot of money.

Octavian indicated a pair of figures ahead of them on the street, and they ducked into an adjoining alley. “I spoke with a former Draigo contact. Most of the human confidants were never made public, we’re lucky I recognized him from a previous mission.”

Yeah. We. “And?”

“He all but confirmed what I already suspected. The stronghold in the south burned down before the plague claimed its first victims. It was unrelated.”

“And this is relevant because…?” They emerged from the alley. Draven quickly glanced around before turning south. Almost there.

Octavian hesitated. “I… it means that I can trust my memories from right before… you know….”

Draven rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Are you still annoyed that those targets got away from us?”

“Of course I’m annoyed!” Draven snapped, stopping in his tracks. “More than annoyed, I’m fucking furious! The plan was to eliminate four difficult targets from my list, not one!” He folded his arms, glaring at Octavian. “And your ‘relevant’ information was all but useless. It was a complete dead-end, and the cost is definitely coming out of my pay, and—”

Octavian hissed through his teeth sharply. “Of course it all comes down to money for you. Typical.”

Draven folded his arms, hands clenched into fists. “At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade!”

Octavian’s mouth snapped shut, and his expression changed from mild annoyance to barely concealed rage. If looks could kill, Draven would be six feet under and decomposing. “I can see myself to the safe house.” He finally spit out through gritted teeth, “Good night, Cozenson.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, quickly melting into the shadows between the buildings. Draven gritted his teeth and walked in the opposite direction. He needed a drink.

- - - - -

Of course it all comes down to money for you.

Typical.

Draven knocked back the remnants of his drink. The alcohol did little to numb the shame that curled around his mind, threatening to pull him under. He slammed the shot glass on the counter, causing the other empty glasses to rattle. Since when did he care about what de Silv thought... of all people!

A few feet away, the bartender of the random tavern Draven had stormed into eyed him with a questioning look. Draven waved him off. “I’m done for the night, I’ll settle my tab now.”

He fumbled with the strings on his coin purse with numb fingers, growing more annoyed by the second. Drinking away his frustrations had never worked in the past. Why would it this time? And now he was guaranteed a hangover in the morning.

This was all de Silv’s fault.

The door to the tavern opened, and several pairs of feet stomped on the wooden floor. A bit late for a party. Draven finished paying for the drinks, frowning as the bartender grabbed the money with a fearful expression on his face and quickly ducked into the kitchen. As he turned to leave, he found a group of five well-armed men, all wearing identical black metal masks, standing behind him. “I was just leaving,” he said, moving to walk around them.

The group moved with him, keeping between him and the door. “Look,” Draven snapped, words slurred from the alcohol, “As much as I’d love to settle whatever score you got with me, I’m surprisingly not in the mood. So if you could just get out of my way and we could go on with our merry lives….”

No response. All five men stared at him in silence. Well, he assumed they were staring at him. He couldn’t tell, what with the masks completely obscuring their faces.

“‘Kay,” Draven muttered, reaching for his pistol, “I did warn you.”

His attackers sprang into action, surrounding him on all sides. But Draven only focused on the one directly in front of him.

Crack! Cra—!

He only got to aim one shot before he was tackled from the side. Even with unsteady hands, his aim was true, and he earned a cry of pain and a spray of blood for his efforts. The second shot went wide, the bullet embedding itself in the far wall. Draven stumbled sideways as his assailant tried to wrestle the gun away from him, the other three advancing.

Temporarily freeing his gun arm, Draven slammed the butt of the pistol against the side of his attacker’s head and pressed the business end against the bare skin of his neck. The other man stumbled back, one hand clutching his head, the other pressed against the burn caused by the hot metal.

Draven whirled around and almost fell over as the world continued to spin. He swore and drew his other pistol, blindly firing with his non-dominant hand as he stumbled backward towards the door. He didn’t notice the movement behind him until it was too late.

Thud.

Pain exploded in Draven’s head. The force of whatever had hit him sent him to the floor, his weapons falling from numb fingers and clattering out of reach. What…?

What… in the depths…?

Strong hands seized him and began to drag him away. Draven watched through half-open eyes as one of the remaining masked men picked up his pistols. Darkness bled into the edges of his vision.

They… they don’t want me dead…?

That… that’s not…

…not good…

…fuck…

…

- - - - -

Octavian dealt with his anger in the only way he knew how: sharpening his knives. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he realized, especially since he officially started working with Draven. It wasn’t just anger that prompted him to do something repetitive like knife sharpening, it was also worry, and stress. Both were also incredibly prominent in his life.

As a result, they had become incredibly sharp over the last couple of years. So sharp Octavian didn’t notice he had cut his hand until Reese pointed it out. “You’re, uh, bleeding.”

His jaw clenched as he carefully set the offending weapon aside and accepted the handkerchief she handed him. “I must’ve been more distracted than I thought,” he muttered, wiping away the pale red liquid from the cut. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, but it was long, cutting along the side of his left pointer finger.

Octavian stared at the cut, watching the blood drip down his hand in morbid fascination. At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade! Even if the words had come from a place of emotion, intending to hurt, he couldn’t deny the truth behind them. Call it optimism, call it hope, it was all the same.

Denial.

He pressed the cloth against the cut as Reese returned—when had she left?—with one of Draven’s spare bags. She handed Octavian the augri and bandages before sitting down next to him. She picked up the knife, still wet with his blood.

“…It’s been three days.”

Octavian hissed out through his teeth. The clear liquid was cold against his skin but searing hot like fire on the wound. Three days since the party, yes. Three days since we last parted, yes. “And?”

Reese carefully cleaned the blood off the edge of the weapon. The edges of the bandages on her forearms peeked out from underneath her sleeves. Her own wounds were healing, but they still needed to be covered. In a couple more days, she wouldn’t need the bandages. “I just… three days… is kind of a long time… to be left alone…?”

“You’re worried about Cozenson.”

She nodded.

Octavian sighed through his nose as he wrapped a thin strip of cloth around his finger. “He can handle himself.”

Her jaw tightened, and she hesitated before speaking. “You’re still angry with him.”

Octavian made a noise of indifference.

“So… so you don’t think any one of his enemies might have gotten him? You’re not worried at all?”

He opened his mouth to argue that no, he wasn’t worried, and if the hunter had gotten himself into some sort of mess he could very well get himself out of it, but the look on Reese’s face made him reconsider his words. He exhaled slowly and held out his hand. She handed over the knife, and he slid it into his sheath.

The truth? Octavian was concerned, now that Reese had brought it up, that Cozenson had left him alone for so long. Granted, Octavian hadn’t gone out to meet him at the guild over the past three days, but even so, Draven barely went a day without checking up on Reese. He pretended otherwise, but he was as interested in the girl’s safety as Octavian was.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he began, rising to his feet, “I’ll go check up on him.”

Reese jumped up and thrust the bag at him. “Here. You might need it.”

Octavian nodded and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. You know the rules.”

She all but shoved him towards the door, bolting it behind him as soon as it was closed. Octavian wasted no time setting off northeast, towards the Hunter’s Guild. He would ask around there first. And if nobody knew where Cozenson was, the next step would be breaking into his apartment.

And if the apartment offered no clues? Octavian brushed the thought aside as he turned up his hood to hide the tell-tale silver of his hair. It was early morning, and few people were nearby, but he didn’t want to risk running into Reese’s abductors, who were no doubt on the lookout for him. He still received odd looks from passersby, but it was better than nothing.

He wasn’t a skilled tracker for nothing. But he’d rather not have to go that far. A trail three days cold was going to be a nightmare to follow.

Octavian had only just gotten into the northern district of Zariya when he was approached by a familiar face. Thaddeus Kaneson? Octavian had worked with him briefly back when he first joined the Hunter’s Guild. As far as he was aware, Thaddeus would have no reason to know about his and Draven’s current job. Their partnership, maybe. Why is he here?

“De Silv,” the hunter greeted softly, joining him.

“Kaneson,” Octavian replied, not slowing his pace, “I thought you were in Caenum.”

Thaddeus shrugged. “I was. Got called back.”

“That’s not why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not.” Thaddeus stopped and pulled out a sealed envelope from a hidden pocket on his duster. “This was dropped off late last night. Nobody saw who did it.” He held it out. “It’s for you. I got the short straw of trying to deliver it. Glad I found you quickly.”

Octavian hesitantly took it. His name was scrawled on the front with thick, dark letters. Thaddeus turned to leave, but Octavian touched his arm, stopping him. “Have you seen Cozenson? Within the last couple of days?”

The hunter paused, thinking. “Can’t say I have,” he said, cracking a grin. “Why, did you lose your partner?”

Octavian sighed. “I’m concerned that he might have gotten himself into a situation that I will need to rescue him from before he gets himself killed.”

Thaddeus’ grin grew wider. “Celestials, you did lose him! Well, if I find him before you do, you’ll owe me drinks at the Laughing Bear.”

“I highly doubt that will happen, Kaneson.”

Thaddeus turned away, chuckling. “We’ll see about that, de Silv.”

Octavian let him go, fiddling with the envelope until the hunter was out of sight. Shaking his head, he ducked into the shelter of a nearby alley and turned it over. He ran a finger over the wax seal. Unbroken, but he knew there were ways to open it without damaging the seal. No design was imprinted on the dark red wax, the color oddly similar to human blood. Either no signet or the person who’d sent the letter did not want to be known.

Octavian’s suspicions grew as he broke the seal and pulled out the letter. One page, same messy lettering.

We have your partner. If you do not turn over Reese Takari, we will kill him. You have one week.

The paper crinkled under the force of Octavian’s grip, but he didn’t care. It was dated the night of the last full moon, three days before, with an address scrawled below the note. No signature, but he didn’t need it to guess who had sent it.

And he’d rather be damned to the depths than give Reese’s abductors what they wanted.

- - - - -

“I think I finally figured out what your mask reminds me of.”

The guard who had been assigned to watch Draven did not obviously react, but Draven noted the way his jaw visibly tightened under the stupid metal face mask.

Draven smirked despite the pounding in his head and the aching in his joints from being tied to the chair for so long. “Your mask specifically looks like a little obedient watchdog. One who only knows how to follow the orders of someone who’s done nothing but bitch at you.”

The guard, celestials bless his patience, remained motionless, holding his handgun, as he stood about as far as he could get from his charge without leaving the small, windowless room where Draven was kept. He had originally been in the main area of the random warehouse in the merchant district, but with the front door right there, he couldn’t help but almost escape twice. Now, he was about as far away from the door as he could get, though there were plenty of windows just outside the room.

“Personally,” Draven continued, “I don’t see why your boss—whoever the depths that might be—makes you wear those stupid masks. It’s not like I couldn’t identify you by the way you stand or anything.”

The guard’s knuckles turned white as he resisted the temptation to strike Draven across the face. Or at least that’s why Draven assumed he was gripping his weapon with such strength. Any more force and the gun would probably snap in half.

“So… when did your boss say the time limit was again? Three days left, now? I have a job to get back to.”

No response.

Dammit. Worth a shot.

Draven sighed and ran his fingers along the ropes tied around his wrists for the hundredth time since he’d been bound there after the second escape. Both of the knives hidden in his sleeves had gotten confiscated, all he had left was the one in his boot. Which was currently out of reach.

Not that it would do him much good at this point. With the one guard between him and the only exit, and at least two more standing outside between the door and the nearest windows, he wasn’t getting very far. They might actually shoot him this time if only to keep him from attempting escape with a more permanent solution.

Draven opened his mouth to ask another question, but before the words left his lips, the sound of shattering glass pierced the air. The guard jumped, startled, and darted out the door. Draven cocked his head, listening as chaos reigned. Screaming, shouting, gunshots, and running footsteps as his captors tried to contain whatever had gotten inside.

The person in charge, who wore an identical black metal mask with a single gold stripe across where the forehead would be, had claimed they could handle Draven’s partner if he chose to fight his way through. “De Silv would have no choice but to accept,” he’d gloated, “I have thirty men armed to the teeth. What does a single hunter have against that?”

Besides, Octavian had no reason to risk the kid for Draven.

Why would he, after what Draven had said to him?

If Draven were in his position, he would have just left him and gotten himself and Reese out of Zariya days ago while her abductors waited in vain.

Just as the thought crossed Draven’s mind, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. “Cozenson,” Octavian said in greeting. He was covered in human blood, the dark red liquid dripping from his knives and smeared on his face and clothing.

“De Silv,” Draven returned slowly.

“Surprised to see me?”

He sighed. “A little bit, yeah.”

Octavian casually tossed one of his knives into the air and caught it deftly. “I couldn’t just leave you to die at the hands of these masked imbeciles. I’m not you.”

The last sentence was unspoken, but the look on Octavian’s face implied it well enough. Draven opened his mouth to argue, to deny, but he hesitated. Octavian would know it was a lie. “Look,” he said, after a moment of thought, “I’m sorry. For what I said to you. I wasn’t being fair.”

The look of pure shock on Octavian’s face was priceless. “I….”

“I know, I’m apologizing. Big shocker.” Draven jerked his head to the side, indicating the ropes binding him to the chair. “Could you let me out? My hands are getting numb.”

Octavian blinked and slowly nodded. He crossed the small room in two strides and quickly sliced through the ropes. Draven jumped to his feet and staggered, vision tunneling. “Shit,” he muttered as Octavian steadied him. “Don’t get a concussion while drunk.”

“Noted.” Octavian considered the blood on his knives, lips pressed into a thin line, before wiping the blood off and sheathing them. “I also apologize. For leaving you alone. However much I detested your company at that point, we are partners.”

Draven sighed. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more.” He slowly stepped out of the room, noting the copious amount of blood and broken glass littering the warehouse floor. The bodies of the dead lay scattered about haphazardly. Most had died by Octavian’s blades. Two appeared to have been mauled. “So… thirty men?”

“Some of them fled,” Octavian said softly. “They assumed they were dealing with an elven hunter. They were half-right.”

Draven’s eyes landed on his guns, which rested on a table across the vast room. They appeared undamaged, thank the celestials. He could always get new guns, of course, but those were his guns. They’d seen him through many a hunt and duel and scuffle. He began to pick his way over, avoiding the corpses and the worst of the blood. “You seem conflicted.”

Octavian trailed after him “I think anyone would, in my position.”

“Has everything gotta be a damned riddle with you?” Draven reached the table and picked up one of his guns. Empty. The boss must’ve unloaded it. Pretty clever for someone working with limited knowledge. He gave the room another glance. From what he could see, none of the masks on the dead guards possessed the golden stripe. “Octavian, did you happen to kill a guy with a stupid-looking gold streak across his mask? ‘Cause that guy was a particular brand of asshole. And also the one in charge.”

He glanced back to find his partner staring into space, eyes moving back and forth. “No,” Octavian finally said, refocusing his attention on Draven. “He was one of the first to flee.”

“Damned coward.”

“‘Damned coward’, indeed.”

Draven returned his guns to their rightful places on his belt and gave the warehouse one last cursory look. “Guess I’m rooming with you and the kid for a little while.”

Octavian nodded. “Her abductors are surprisingly resourceful. She must’ve been a valuable prisoner.”

“Still hasn’t told you anything?”

“No.”

Draven sighed. “I don’t know what they did with the knives I kept up my sleeve, but I’m tired, my head hurts, and I want nothing more than to go home.”

“Shall we depart then?”

“Celestials, stop being so formal. Let’s get out of here.”

Meme Summary

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thats-by-the-by · 2 months ago

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Secrets Revealed

This fic is crossposted on Ao3. Find it Here. Mind the tags.

Jacob is dragged into the office, blood flowing heavily from the wound on his head. He lets his legs drag behind him, determined to make everyone's lives harder before he looses his own. It doesn't stop them - barely even slows them down - but the small act of rebellion makes his heart hammer slower. Calms him down.

The two Blighters drop him in the middle of the office, in the exact same spot as the dead Blighter he had seen only last year. Jacob ignores the green eyes that stare up from him where the body had once been. There isn't even a blood stain there - though that won't be true for long, since he knows he's bleeding onto the expensive rug. His body will end up in the same position as the Blighter. As the maid. As the footman.

"Leave." Father barks his order coldly, and Jacob's heart stops. Everything is eerily silent, Jacob can't even hear the footsteps as the room empties. He remains kneeling, frozen in time as his father sits, drinking his tea and glaring down at him.

He keeps his mouth shut, the thin green fabric the only thing protecting his identity from his father's ire. Well, perhaps nothing can protect him from his father's ire, but he's certainly protected from his wrath now. Jacob will just be shot, his body left somewhere that the Rooks can find. Hopefully they'll know how to continue without him. If Jacob dies before his mask is taken, if he can manage to keep his mouth shut, he wont be tortured again.

"I have some questions for you." Father says, and Jacob keeps his eyes on the floor. He doesn't try to twist out of the ropes that bind his wrists anymore, and something stops him from panicking. He should be panicking, right? "You are going to answer them honestly. If you do so, and you agree to my terms, I might let you live. Understood?"

Jacob remains silent, and Father sighs deeply. He stands, walking over to Jacob, and puts a gun to Jacob's forehead. Jacob closes his eyes, trying to keep his breathing slow and steady as his heart restarts at an alarming pace. He can panic - but he can't show it. Won't show it. He won't die a fool. He wants to die brave, if he can't die fighting.

Father reaches down to Jacob's face, yanking the mask off his face. Jacob gasps as his head is snapped forward, panic truly setting in as his Father freezes, looking at him. His eyes are wide, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. Jacob and his father don't move, the gun cold amongst Jacob's scalp.

"I'm sorry." Jacob breaks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Father's hand doesn't waver as he lowers the gun, and Jacob nearly collapses from relief. He slumps over, a sick dread pooling in his stomach. Father doesn't put the gun away, doesn't do anything with the mask. Jacob can't look at his father, and instead looks down at the green, disembodied eyes. Maybe his Father won't kill him. Maybe he can survive this.

The hope is hollow. He knows what happens to traitors.

"Why." His father's voice is flat, angry. Jacob looks up, and Father's face is almost icy with rage. "Why have you done this? What possessed you to betray everything I bought you up for?"

"I can't-"

"Can't what, Jacob." Father spits. "Explain yourself? Tell me why you are working with someone who wants me dead, wants you dead? Don't kid yourself, Miss Frye and Mr Green will slaughter you moments after they kill me, if they aren't planning on killing you first."

"They won't kill you, I won't let them." Jacob protests weakly. "Please, Father, I-"

"You what." Father laughs, anger in his eyes making him look wild. "Decided to infiltrate the assassins, without telling anyone? Decided to return home months early and not only tell no one, but found a gang while you were at it? Decided to kill several of your own men by founding the gang, some of them having trained you in the methods you used to kill them? Decided to kill your Aunt to keep all of this a secret?"

"Father I-" Jacob tries, he really tries. He doesn't get very far, his father hitting him across the head with the gun.

The world spins, and Jacob collapses onto the floor. Father stand over him, his gun pointed directly at Jacob's forehead. Jacob stares up at his father, silently pleading with him. Maybe he'll stop. Maybe he'll recognise him. Maybe he'll pause for long enough for Jacob to explain himself.

"You are going to pay for betraying me." Father spits. "And once you don't remember who you are again, I am going to make you kill every single Rook. And I am going to make Miss Frye and Mr Green watch you do that."

"No." Jacob begs.

"Men!" Father yells, and the doors to his office open. "Take the traitor down to one of the cells. Fetch Doctor Archer and Miss Thorne. I'll require their assistance."

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober2024 #no.27 #secrets revealed #altprompt #assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #fic #kidnapping #referenced torture #implied torture #death threats #guns #templar jacob au

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riahlynn101 · 3 months ago

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Whumptober 2024 - Day One: "Search Party."

Word count: 1,106

Trigger warnings: Implied kidnapping, referenced child death, heavily implied child neglect, feelings of guilt, and talk of depression.

Welcome, everyone, to year 2 of me writing FNAF whump for a month straight! I hope you all enjoy :D!!

Fandom: FNAF movie (pre-canon)

Mike wants to cry. He wants to sob into his mom’s shirt, while she holds him. But he’s too old for that, and his parents are needed by the police.

He wraps his arms around himself, listening as the police talked in hushed whispers to his grieving parents. The small amount of hope they had, had been whittled away by the constant media presence camped outside their home, and the calloused looks of people that ‘would have never let their children get taken.’

It had been like this for weeks, and Mike honestly didn’t know how much more he could endure. He knows he has to be strong, if not for himself, for his parents. His parents are already cracking at the seams.

His mom either sleeps too much or not at all. Mike sometimes hears her, from his place in his room, screaming Garrett’s name.

And his dad isn’t much better, though he somehow manages to keep going to work. He argues with his mom a lot, something that Mike wishes he would stop doing (there exists a fear in him that, if his dad keeps pushing, mom will crumble and break). And when he’s not arguing with mom, he’s drinking away their leftover money. Money that could be better used on finding Garrett.

His dad, in a way, seems convinced that Garrett is gone. That it’s a waste of resources trying to find him.

Mike feels hopeless and more hopeless still when, after the officers stop talking, his mom lets out the most heart-wrenching cry. He hasn’t heard her cry like that, ever. Not when Garrett disappeared. Not when dad screamed at her, begging her to stop looking. And not even when a reporter shoved a microphone in her face and asked if she thought this was her fault.

It pierces Mike’s soul, like an icepick. He feels it in his chest.

He places a pillow over his ears, trying and failing to block out the sound. It doesn’t work. His mom’s screams of anguish carry all the way down the hall.

Mike knows then, without being told, that his little brother is dead. That he’ll never get to play with him again or tell Garrett he loves him. All the maybes are shattered with the force of his mom’s cries.

Maybe if he hadn’t turned away-

Maybe if his mom hadn’t spilled the pop-

Maybe if his dad looked over his shoulder, just once-

Maybe if Mike had gotten chicken poxs like the rest of his seventh grade class-

And maybe if his dad hadn’t decided to remarry-

There are so many things that had to go right for everything to go so horribly wrong.

His dad had sunk into a depression after Charlie and momma’s deaths (his first mom, the one that abandoned them. The one that his dad told him to never talk about). And despite what his dad might say now, he had loved momma. Loved her enough for Mike to be shocked when he started dating his mom.

He had been young at the time, maybe four at the oldest, but he remembered feeling confused and a little angry. It felt like his dad tried to fill the gaping hole in his heart with a new family. A new wife and, later, a new son.

Mike found he didn’t have any vitriol for his new mom. She didn’t look at him with eyes full of sorrow, or brush him off whenever he needed a hug. She forced them to sit together as a family every night, and helped give life to Mike’s very best friend.

He hugged his pillow, nausea growing with every passing second. He knows that, at some point, his parents will need to talk to him about Garrett. Or maybe they won’t.

Maybe they’ll just forget to tell him, letting Mike stew in a hell of his own making. Reliving the moment he failed Garrett, over and over and over again.

He cries.

“Mike,” a familiar voice calls. Instantly, all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Part of him wants so badly to look up from the pillow he mashed over his face, but the other part of him fears what he may see.

Tiny footsteps come closer to his bed. They sound so loud, standing out even against his mom’s sobs. “Mike,” Garrett, his supposedly dead little brother, calls again. “Look at me.”

He shook his head. “Nuh, no. You’re not real. Go away.”

Hands, smaller than Mike’s own, grip his bicep. They’re cold, inhumanely so, and when they clamp down, shocking him enough to drop the pillow, he sees the partial decayed body of his brother.

He’s dressed the same as he had been that day. His skin is tinged gray and his eyes have a film over them. “Mike….”

He screams, thrashing around.

“Mike?” His brother says, hands wrapping around his wrists. “Mike, wake up.”

“Mike?”

He blinks open his eyes. His room is dark, only lit up by the hall light streaming in through the open door.

“What’s going on?” He asks, groggy and a little shaken up. His dad stands above him, imposing and unreadable as he’s always been.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Just a nightmare,” Mike says, feeling silly. His heart continues to race, though, unperturbed by stupid things like “reality.”

“Was it about him?”

Mike doesn’t need to ask for clarification. They both know who him is. It hurts to talk about him, and it hurts to say his name. So, they don’t. They talk in circles, pretending that he never existed.

“No,” he lies. “Just a monster.”

His dad hums, not convinced in the slightest. But he does what he always does, and ignores the problem until he can’t anymore. “Okay.” He ruffles Mike’s hair. “Try to get some sleep.”

And despite being fifteen now, a sudden urge to be held and comforted by his one semi-functioning parent courses through him. “Dad?” He calls out.

His dad pauses in the doorframe. “Yes?”

“Can you ho-”

A high-pitched cry echoes throughout the house, signaling Abby’s wakefulness. It was both a blessing and a curse having a new baby in the house. And one that he’s usually grateful for, but right now he just wants his dad.

“Duty calls,” his dad jokes, hurrying out of the room. He shuts Mike’s door behind him, leaving the room in pitch-black darkness.

“Hold me,” he finishes. He turns over, facing the wall. “Goodnight, dad,” he murmurs, already drifting off.

In the quiet of the room, unheard by the sole occupant, a tiny voice responds, “goodnight, brother.”

#whumptober2024 #no.1 #search party #fnaf #fnaf movie #fanfiction #tw implied kidnapping #tw referenced murder #tw childhood neglect #tw childhood trauma #tw crying #cross posted on ao3 #fnaf fanfic #queue

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ollieofthebeholder · 8 months ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 116: May 2018

Jon was not strong. Physically or otherwise. But adrenaline could do wonderful things, and right now it was enabling him to keep Martin’s shoulders and back steady while Melanie tried to find a good place to start cutting the web away from him.

“It’s not sticky,” he said. “Not really.”

“Good, that means that probably won’t hurt when we peel it off him,” Melanie grunted. Despite her words and tone, her eyes were worried. “Jesus. How far behind him were we? How long has he been wrapped up like this?”

“I—I don’t know.” Jon was trying not to think too hard about that, actually. If he let himself wonder how early Martin had arrived at Hill Top Road, how long he’d been tied up and dangling and not knowing if he’d be rescued, he would start panicking. Only the fact that he’d been moving earlier, and the fact—all right, the belief that if Martin was—if Martin was—if they were too late, he’d have known, kept him from collapsing in despair.

When was the last time he’d told Martin he loved him? Yes, they had gone to sleep in one another’s arms the night before—they always did, even if Jon always seemed to wake up wrapped in nothing but blankets that still held Martin’s scent if not his warmth—but had they actually said anything? It was silly. Jon knew Martin loved him, and he knew Martin knew that Jon loved him, and they didn’t need to say the words any more than Martin and Melanie and Gerry needed to say them to one another. Still, he liked to say them every once in a while…and he’d like to know that Martin had that to hold on to when he was scared. This had to have been terrifying.

Maybe it still was.

“I love you,” he murmured into what he hoped was Martin’s ear. He’d like to have said Martin wriggled in response, but in truth, he was as still as he’d been since Annabelle Cane left.

“Hold him steady. And stay behind him,” Melanie ordered, scrambling up onto a stack of wooden crates that had no real reason to be in a room that had never been lived in.

Jon glanced up at her briefly. “I can’t see his face. How am I supposed to know which side is front or back?”

“His feet, Jon. They haven’t changed direction. Besides, his arms are behind his back and his left leg is bent behind the right one.” Melanie stretched up to just below where the web bound Martin’s ankle to the ceiling.

“Oh.” That made sense, Jon had to admit. Then he paused. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“The Hanged Man. Hold him steady,” Melanie said again. She pulled back the knife, hesitated, and inserted it into the mess of webbing.

She barely had to cut it. The whole thing split open like an overripe pea pod with a somewhat unpleasant cracking, tearing noise. Melanie fell back, nearly toppling from her box, and Jon couldn’t help it—he jumped away to keep the webbing that had encased Martin from dropping over him like a blanket. It fell in two halves like a plaster cast but landed like a small cloud of cotton wool and spread itself over the floor.

Martin himself didn’t seem to move. His leg remained perfectly bent, his hands pressed to his back, but Jon could tell they weren’t bound there, just…resting. Melanie gave a small yelp and did fall off the box this time, with a muffled curse. Even though Jon was behind Martin, he could guess why. Even from where he stood, he could see the green glow radiating as if from a pair of twinned spotlights, directly in front of his face.

“Martin?” Jon said, hearing the barely controlled panic in his voice.

Martin let out a gasp, although that was a mild term for it—it sounded like the gulp of air a previously drowning man might take upon breaking the surface, the sort of sound often followed by a great bout of hacking coughs. What followed this time, however, was Martin managing a single word in a hoarse, scratchy voice, even as the light vanished and his arms dropped to hang loosely at his side. “Jon?”

Jon looked around desperately and spotted what he’d been looking for on the tilted wooden slat serving as a windowsill under the improbably boarded-up window—Martin’s glasses, lined up neatly alongside a tape recorder. He left the recorder for the moment, picked up the glasses, knelt beside Martin—who had indeed closed his eyes—fumbled for a moment to get them turned in the right direction, and slid them onto his face, then leaned forward and kissed him softly. “I’m here, Martin.”

Martin took one or two slow, deep breaths, then opened his eyes. They were, if possible, more intensely green than they had been just yesterday, but at least they weren’t glowing. They were also full of pain and contrition. “Jon. How—why—”

“Shh.” Jon kissed him again, just for sheer relief of being able to. He was still shaking with adrenaline. “You didn’t think we were going to leave you here, did you?”

“We?”

“We,” Melanie said, standing up and adjusting her shirt. “Hold on, let me get your ankle undone…”

Martin, with seeming difficulty owing to the blood rushing into it, managed to angle his head to look up at his ankle, then sighed and let his head fall back. With a sharp but simple twist of his leg, the webbing binding him to the ceiling came undone and he collapsed rather heavily to the floor. He groaned softly as he sat up.

Jon threw his arms around Martin and clung tightly. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he only just stopped himself from bursting into sobs. “Promise me you won’t ever go off on your own like this again. Please. Just…please. I-I don’t like worrying about you like that, and…and I…”

Martin hugged Jon back and kissed the top of his head gently. “I promise. No more…solo adventures. Certainly not investigating statements.”

Melanie came over and hugged both of them; Martin freed an arm from Jon to hug her, too. Jon didn’t, but he glanced up at her face and saw that she understood he was too scared and relieved to let go of Martin just yet. For a few moments, none of them said anything.

At last, Martin sighed heavily. “We should probably get back to the Institute. Please tell me the others knew you two were coming.”

“Tim loaned us his car.” Melanie got to her feet and held out a hand, a bit uncertainly, like she wasn’t sure which one of them she was offering to help up.

Jon accepted it, on the probably not unreasonable suspicion it would take both of them to help Martin up. “Speaking of, we should probably call…oh,” he said with a small grimace. The image floated to his mind of his phone, sitting on the desk in the Archivist’s office, still plugged into the charger. “Melanie, do you…?”

Melanie assisted Jon in levering Martin to his feet, then reached for her back pocket and sighed. “Unless it fell out in the car, no, damn it, I left mine at h—at the Institute, too. I wasn’t thinking about it. Martin?”

Martin bent down and picked up a small object Jon somehow hadn’t noticed—his phone, held together in the loosest possible sense with fragments of web, but there were enough bits missing from the screen that it was clear to Jon that even if it turned on, it wouldn’t work for long. “I wonder if the Institute will reimburse me for possessions with damage caused by being kidnapped in the line of duty.”

“Basira does all the paperwork. She’ll probably sign off on it,” Jon muttered. “She likes you.”

“I’m not having this conversation again. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Martin looked around, then crossed over to the windowsill—Jon only just stopped himself from clinging to his hand like a small child desperate not to lose his mother in a crowd—and reached for the tape recorder.

The soft click was the first clue Jon had that it had been running the whole time.

“Well,” Melanie muttered in his ear, “at least we’ll get some idea of what happened before we got here.”

Jon glanced at her as briefly as possible. “You don’t like it either?”

“I don’t think Martin left that tape for me. I definitely don’t think he dug through fifteen years’ worth of rubbish to find my tape recorder. Or his,” Melanie added. “Because if that isn’t the recorder Granddad gave him, I’ll eat it.” Louder, she asked, “Did you bring that on purpose?”

“No.” Martin was staring at the recorder as if he’d never seen it before…or, Jon supposed, as if he hadn’t seen it in a very long time. “I didn’t remember I had it until I got here and it turned itself on. And…Jesus. It looks almost like the one Granddad gave me for Christmas, but Mum smashed that when she had one of her temper tantrums.”

“If she wasn’t dead, I’d kill her,” Melanie said. “Turn it over.”

Martin did—and went pale. Jon went over to him and touched his arm tentatively. “It—Melanie found hers, too. I-it had—look, let’s, let’s talk about this on the way back, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Melanie came over and looped her arm through Martin’s. “Fuck this place. The Web can have it.”

“Sure.” Martin shook himself and pocketed the recorder, then reached for Jon, who tucked under his arm willingly enough.

It had stopped raining, but the clouds hung awfully low to the ground. Jon found himself eyeballing them nervously and tightening his grip on Martin’s waist. It probably wasn’t the Lonely, not this close to the Web’s stronghold, but that didn’t mean he was going to take any chances. Martin, however, stopped and stared at the small tree at the foot of the path, then at Jon, before turning to look at Melanie.

“Is it the twenty-fifth already?” he asked.

Melanie punched him lightly. “You forget every year.”

Martin smiled faintly in reply, then reached up and broke off a sprig of lilac, which he tucked into the pocket of his shirt.

Jon had…a number of questions. Most of them could, and probably should, wait until they were in the car and away from here, but there was one that couldn’t wait. “Martin?”

“Mm?”

“What were you dressed as?” In response to the look Martin gave him, Jon clarified, “For Halloween. The year you…Melanie told me about your, ah, encounter with the—well, the Dark—and she said she was dressed as the Beast and that you had a coat, but…”

Martin blinked, then laughed softly. “Dmitri. From Anastasia.”

Jon looked up at Martin and managed a smile. “I can see that.”

It was a stolen moment in a world gone mad, and Jon was going to cling to it as hard as he could. He had a feeling things were going to get worse before they got better.

“I hate your instincts,” Melanie said when he voiced that. She unlocked Tim’s car and looked in the driver’s seat. “Nope, no phone. Let’s get back before the rest of them panic.”

Jon hesitated, torn between sitting in the backseat with Martin and sitting up front. Finally, reluctantly, he took the seat next to Melanie. Martin reached his hand through the gap between the seats to hold his, though, which helped a lot.

As Melanie navigated onto the A240, Jon plucked up the courage to ask the least important of his questions. “What’s so significant about the twenty-fifth?”

“Nothing really,” Martin said. “It’s a Discworld reference.”

“The Glorious Revolution,” Melanie explained, shifting lanes to avoid yet another unsuspecting, law-abiding motorist. “Citizens pushing back against a bloody and homicidal regime. It’s just a silly little thing.” She was quiet for a moment. “We always loved those books.”

“I’ll dig them out for you sometime,” Martin promised. “You’ll love them.”

“I’m sure.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand gently.

Martin squeezed back. “You…said you found your recorder from Granddad, Neens? I thought yours wore out.”

“It did. But it was sitting on my desk. Had my name scratched on it and everything.” Melanie’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror briefly. “The tape you recorded…this morning, I guess…when you talked about going to Hill Top Road was in it.”

“I didn’t remember recording that, either,” Martin murmured. “It clicked off when I said I was coming here…I assumed it was approval.”

“More likely it was trying to get downstairs before you got too far for us to catch you,” Jon said. “Except we…didn’t find it quickly enough. I wonder where it was before it turned up on your desk?”

“Probably a lot of really fucking obvious places,” Melanie said. “Tim and Sasha probably moved around it getting breakfast together. Hell, the cats were probably playing with it.”

Martin’s hand tightened around Jon’s. “You’re talking like they’re sentient.”

“You don’t think they are?” Jon twisted around to frown at his boyfriend. “We’ve all seen the tapes, or the recorders, turn up in odd places. You said even back when—even last year when I went after the Not-Them, the tape I’d been recording just…appeared at the bookstore. You always find the ones you need right when you need them, and there’s always something recording when you’re in a truly desperate spot.”

“You even said it turned off when you asked it to,” Melanie pointed out. “When you were in the shack in the swamp.”

“Yes, but…that was the recorders, not the tapes,” Martin said.

“I had the recorder I’d been using with me when I went up to smash the table,” Jon said. “I don’t know how the tape got to you without it, but…”

Martin sighed rather heavily. “I’ve always felt there was something comforting about them,” he admitted. “Certainly I feel less alone when they’re around. That doesn’t mean I understand them.” He glanced down at the recorder in his hand and added, “Still, thank you for fetching them. Bit stupid of me to expect I could just walk into the Web’s stronghold and walk out again.”

“Did you know that’s what it was?” Jon asked. Which, he realized a moment later, was a silly question. Martin was the nearest thing to omniscient there was, of course he’d known…

“Do you know,” Martin said, sounding a bit surprised, “I don’t think I did, actually. I, I knew the Web had been there, but…I just assumed it was the table. Not the place itself.” He shook his head. “Gertrude was right, I guess. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations.”

“Why did it want you there?” Melanie asked.

“Dunno. To Mark me, maybe, although I can’t think why.” Martin paused. “Or it just wanted me away from the Institute.”

“Or us.” Terror suddenly struck Jon. “Annabelle said it was for my protection—”

“Annabelle. Cane?” Martin leaned forward. “The one from the spider experiment?”

“Were you awake in there?” Melanie asked. “Could you hear what was going on?”

“Not really. I was…” Martin hesitated. “Once she started wrapping me up in the webbing, I…sort of went inside myself? Or something took over. Something was keeping me alive, anyway. I, I was trying to See through the web, but it was…I-I must have pushed too hard. It was like trying to drink the entire ocean through a straw. I was getting everything all at once—every statement I’ve ever read or listened to or taken, every Leitner I’ve ever touched, every encounter I’ve ever had, all playing on top of each other like an overexposed film. But I could—there was something, some kind of truth, something that I—I was reaching for it, I almost had it, and then you called my name and—” He broke off.

“And you lost it,” Jon completed quietly. “I-I’m sorry. If—”

“No, don’t be. Whatever it was, I think actually reaching it would have been the last straw. Something would have come out of that cocoon, but it sure as hell wouldn’t have been me.”

If it had been safe to crawl into the backseat, Jon would have. As it was, he tightened his grip on Martin’s hand, and they drove the rest of the way back to London in silence.

There was more sun near the Institute than there had been in Oxford, but it was still cloudy enough that things felt a bit oppressive. Jon shivered and tucked up against Martin’s side. Weather aside, he needed the comfort. From the way Martin’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, he evidently felt the same.

The three of them made their way in through the side door into the Archives. The second it banged shut behind them, Melanie yelled into the space, “Got him!”

Gerry appeared out of nowhere and tackled Martin in a bear hug that nearly knocked Jon off his feet. “Martin, Jesus, we’ve been trying to get hold of you three for ages and both of these impulsive idiots forgot their phones…”

“Mine got, uh, Webbed.” Martin hugged Gerry back. “I’m okay. I promise. We’re all okay.”

“You won’t be for long. That’s not a threat.” Gerry tugged his arm. “Come on. Something’s up.”

Jon trailed after Gerry and Martin back to the main cluster of desks. Daisy was prowling back and forth like a caged animal, Wynken trotting at her side like a small calico shadow and wisely staying clear of her feet; Tim stood in front of the door to Martin’s office, arms folded across his chest and face grim; Sasha sat on the edge of her desk, looking worried. She leaped up when she saw them and hurried over to hug Melanie, which probably shouldn’t have surprised Jon as much as it did. Daisy, her attention drawn by Sasha’s movement, pounced on Martin in all ways but physical. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Martin blinked at Daisy, looking totally nonplussed. Jon, too, was lost.

“She’s gone, Basira’s gone.” Daisy looked agitated—not angry, not really frightened, but like she was mentally hopping from one foot to the other. “Something’s happened.”

“How can you tell?” The words that came out of Martin’s mouth crackled with static, and he looked instantly contrite. “Shit, sorry, I—”

Daisy didn’t seem to notice, though, or if she did, she didn’t care. “I just…can. Even when she’s in the Lonely, I can feel when she’s around, but she’s not. It’s not like she left for the day, she’s just…gone. And this was in my desk.”

Jon suspected what it would be, even before Daisy held it up, just from the laser-sharp way Martin focused on her hand. He was right. Clutched in Daisy’s long, slender white fingers was a cassette tape. Martin started to reach for it, then stopped himself. “Have you listened to it?”

“No. Listened to the statement you took this morning, tried calling the three of you, spent a while arguing over whether we should go after you or wait until you got back.” Daisy laid the tape on the desk. “Found this in the top drawer, on top of a new pack of gum. It’s from Basira, it has to be. She knows I like the purple pack.” She hesitated, then added, “Besides, it was just the tape. No recorder. Whatever’s putting them in your way didn’t want me to listen yet.”

Martin hesitated, then pulled out the recorder from his pocket. Gerry’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “May I?”

“Please.” Daisy pushed it towards him.

Martin picked up the tape, opened the recorder, removed the tape that was already in there, inserted the one Daisy had given him, and pressed PLAY. He then sat on the edge of the desk to listen.

Jon sat next to him, as close to on his lap as he dared, and listened to the statement. Basira had never got as deep into the statements as Jon or Martin had, but she read in a flat, emotionless voice that nevertheless conveyed everything that needed to be conveyed. She seemed…distant from the whole thing, and while Jon was certainly a bit creeped out by the statement, the whole thing seemed to bore her, merely making her express a wish that Peter Lukas would simply tell her what they were going to do about it.

And then he turned up to do just that.

Or at least, he told her some of the things about it. He asked if she remembered about the tunnels. He told her there was a “device” in the center that would enable them to see what was allegedly going on with the Extinction. He told her it would be hard to find without a map, which made Jon a bit uneasy, especially when he claimed he would have one by “tomorrow”, whenever that was, and that they would be going.

“I suppose I’m not coming back then.” Basira’s voice was as flat and emotionless as it had been reading the statement, and Jon found his eyes flicking briefly over to Daisy.

“You’re not going to die, if that’s what you’re asking, but—no.” Peter Lukas’ voice was calm but surprisingly jovial, considering the topic of conversation. “If all goes well, you won’t be. How does that make you feel?”

There was the shortest of pauses, in which Jon could hear the static building, and then Basira’s voice replied. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Excellent.” Peter sounded really pleased at that. “I’m so proud of you, Basira.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Perfect.”

Click.

Sasha’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Melanie wrapped an arm around her. “Fairgrounds. Great. That didn’t sound like the Web, though. Didn’t sound like any Extinction to me, either. Dekker’s right, he’s looking to confirm his own bias. That was the Flesh. Maybe a bit of the Spiral.” She wavered. “I think.”

Tim put a hand on Daisy’s shoulder and squeezed absently; she reached up and covered his hand briefly with hers, which surprised Jon just a little. He rallied and tried to think rationally. “‘By tomorrow,’ Peter Lukas said. When did she record this?”

“Yesterday,” Martin replied immediately.

Daisy looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

“Has to be.” Martin slid off the desk and popped open the recorder, handing the tape back to Daisy. “The tape wasn’t there last night, but it was this morning. She probably slipped in and left it there for you on her way down to the tunnels. Either she was giving us—giving you—a hint to stop this, or she was saying goodbye. Either way, she and Peter are down there looking for…whatever it is.”

“Can you find it, too?” Daisy pressed.

“I—I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not knowing what it is…I-I don’t know that I could find it just by Knowing. Besides, those tunnels are hard to See in. Whatever’s hidden at the center of them, it’s there by design, and it’s probably something meant to be hidden from us.” Martin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I wish I could, but…”

“Well, maybe I can.” Daisy glanced at the trapdoor. “Or maybe if we work together.”

Melanie grunted. “Shit, do you think that might be why the Web lured you to Hill Top Road? To get you out of the way so Peter and Basira could get down there without being Seen?”

“It’s possible, but…” Martin shook his head impatiently. “That doesn’t…feel right. I don’t know. The Web never explains itself.”

Tim poked at something on the desk nearest him. “Think there’s an explanation on one of these?”

Jon looked—and did a double-take. Tim was nudging a pair of tapes sitting on Jon’s desk, right at the foot of the photograph he’d printed off and framed, the one they’d taken in Regent’s Park the month before for Gerry’s birthday: Melanie perched on Gerry and Martin’s linked arms, Jon standing practically on Martin’s feet, Sasha laughing as she leaned against Gerry’s shoulder, and Tim and Daisy lounging on the ground and posing outrageously. They had definitely not been there before he left to go after Martin.

“What on Earth…?” he began, reaching over to pick the closer one up. It had more than a few cracks in it, like someone had dropped it a few times or run it over with a lorry or slammed it in a door, and was labeled with two simple words in Gertrude’s by now familiar handwriting: Head Archivist.

He passed it to Martin. “I think this is for you.”

Martin stared at it for a moment, frowning, then slid it into the tape recorder. He didn’t even have to touch it; it began playing almost as soon as it closed. Gertrude Robinson’s voice sounded unusually determined. “Right. If you’re listening to this, it is extremely likely that—no. Let’s not beat about the bush. If you’re listening to this, it means I’m dead. And you have been chosen to be my replacement as Head Archivist.”

Jon glanced up at Sasha in surprise, and not a little guilt, as Gertrude addressed her directly, obviously having selected her as her successor. Sasha didn’t seem particularly upset, though, and he realized—though how he couldn’t tell—that, whatever she may have felt three years ago when Jon took the position she’d wanted, she sure as hell didn’t envy him or Martin now. She probably wouldn’t have at the time, either, if she’d had this tape. Gertrude was laying everything out, up to and including the fact that the Archivist was part of a ritual to bring the Eye to ascendancy, and that Elias was likely behind it.

“Oh, yes,” Gertrude’s voice said, almost as if it was an afterthought. “On the subject of Elias: Trust nothing he says. He was originally known as Jonah Magnus, the founder of this Institute—”

“What?” Jon, Melanie, and Sasha all cried out at once.

“Shh,” Tim said, face pale but eyes fixed intently on the recorder.

Jon listened, his heart in his throat, but Gertrude gave no further explanation for her extraordinary assertion that Elias was, or had once been, Jonah Magnus; she only went on to explain more things they already knew, that Martin as the Archivist was in great danger and that the world was now on his shoulders, before stating that she hoped she would be able to prevent him from having to listen to it.

“But if you are hearing it, then—good luck. Do what you have to do.” There was a heavy sigh, and then a brief pause before Gertrude’s voice added, a bit tremulously, “One last thing. Should you have the opportunity…please pass the message to Martin Blackwood that—that Mrs. Smith regrets he was unable to complete his studies, and regrets even more that he works here, but that she is thankful he is only in the Library…and that she is very, very proud of him.”

The recorder clicked off, much more quietly than usual.

“What,” Melanie finally said, “and I cannot stress this enough, the actual goddamn fuck.”

“Elias Bouchard is Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, his voice shaking as the realization settled on him.

Gerry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“He’s been body-hopping,” Daisy said. “Like Rayner. No wonder your dad was so surprised Bouchard became head of the Institute. He was a white streak of nothing and shouldn’t have got the job. James Wright—or Jonah Magnus or whoever—must’ve picked him out because nobody would miss him.”

Tim suddenly slapped his hand on the desk in front of him, making Jon jump. “Fuck! The tunnels!”

“The—what about them?” Martin jerked his head up and focused on Tim.

“They’re the remains of the old Millbank Prison complex,” Tim said, the words falling over one another rapid fire. “And what was at the center of Millbank Prison?”

“The Panopticon,” Melanie breathed. “You think that’s the device?”

“Must be. What does it do? It lets you see everything. Or, more to the point, it makes you feel like people could see everything. But it’s also isolating, which is why Peter Lukas needs someone touched by both the Eye and the Lonely to work it.”

Martin pressed his lips together. “And if that’s where Jonah Magnus’ original body is stored…”

“Basira has to destroy it,” Daisy said. “You think? That’s how it usually works in the stories. To destroy the monster, you have to kill the root.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t know, but—” Martin sighed, sounding frustrated. “There has to be a key. Some way of getting down there easily. A-a statement, or, or something. Peter Lukas can’t be the only one with a map.”

Jon looked over at the shelves, which were in better order than they had been—whether that had hastened whatever was about to happen or not—but were still stuffed with papers and a bit on the chaotic side in the places they hadn’t quite got to yet. “Where do we even start looking?”

Melanie looked at the surface of Jon’s desk and indicated the second tape. “What about this one? It’s not labeled.”

Gerry picked up the tape and went still. His hazel eyes seemed to drain of color, growing pale along with his skin, and he swayed as if caught in a high wind.

“Gerry?” Martin reached out for him, obviously concerned.

Gerry turned to face him. Jon swore he rippled, like he was standing in three places at the same time, as he held the tape out to Martin. “It’s your grandfather.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#jonathan sims #melanie king #martin blackwood #gerard keay #daisy tonner #tim stoker #sasha james #being trapped #kidnapping (mentioned)#panic #manipulation #slight misuse of Beholding powers #death mention #implied/referenced body horror

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

Stars all aligned - Chapter 15

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Penultimate chapter! Bashing of like...every IC member, though we have now reached the point where Rhys and Cassian are the good guys, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

She overheard Rhys and Cassian.

Feyre didn’t mean to eavesdrop…actually she just meant to tell her mate goodbye, as Nesta, Elain and her were meeting for tea at one of the many teahouses dotted around Velaris.

It was weird…the more they did realise how badly they had fucked up with Zahra…the more the three of them tried to at least keep close with each other.

Feye’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she heard Rhys and Cassian’s conversation.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the two of them were being rather…loud.

She heard Cassian’s voice first, his tone animated as he spoke. “You can’t be serious,” he exclaimed.

Curiosity piqued, Feye leaned in closer, her ears straining.

Rhys’s voice came in next, his tone serious but filled with a hint of amusement. “I assure you, I am quite serious.”

Feyre could practically picture the smirk on his face as he spoke.

“They got married?! And didn’t bother telling us?!?” Cassian’s exclamation nearly made Feyre jump. The shock in his voice was palpable.

Married? Who got married?

No. No. No, no… had Zahra…and Azriel… had her sister…had they?

She got the answer seconds later.

"Yes,” Rhys answered simply, amusement threading through the word. “Azriel and Zahra came home a few days ago, all filled with newly-wed bliss.”

And Feyre was done.

This wasn’t funny. None of this was.

Ignoring the conversation still going on between her mate and Cassian, Feyre stalked out of the River House, her footsteps heavy on the cobblestones. Her heart raced as she tried in vain to control the tempest of emotions within her chest.

She was supposed to meet Nesta and Elain for an afternoon of shopping...they were supposed to try and get their mind of the fact that Azriel had pretty much kidnapped their fucking sister and now this.

As Feyre neared the small shop, her and her sisters had arranged to meet up, she paused to take a deep, steadying breath.

Her emotions were still roiling inside her, a mix of anger, confusion, and frustration. She couldn’t even really put it into words why…why this upset her so much. She pushed open the door to the shop. Her sisters were waiting for her, their faces brightening as they spotted her. “Hey Feyre,” Nesta greeted, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in her sister's expression.

"Azriel and Zahra got married," she blurted out.

Elain and Nesta gasped almost simultaneously, their eyes widening in surprise.

"What?," Elain exclaimed, her mouth agape.

Nesta looked like she'd been slapped, her eyes narrowing slightly. "When?" she demanded, her voice low.

“A few days ago, I overheard Rhys and Cassian," Feyre answered weakly.

Nesta's expression darkened, her voice dropping to a low growl. "Damn him," she muttered, her lips curling. "I’m gonna rip his balls off.”

Feyre struggled to maintain her composure. She could feel her own anger simmering beneath the surface, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of Azriel and Zahra’s sudden marriage or the fact that no one had told her beforehand.

She couldn’t help but feel betrayed��couldn’t help but…

"It's just...it's so unlike Zahra to just...run off and do something like this," Elain murmured after a moment of silence. Nesta’s eyes flashed. "And Azriel. Why didn't we know?."

"Maybe because he knows we would’ve tried to stop them," Feyre said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just…aren’t they going at it way too fast?” she said weakly.

“They barely know each other. Who knows what Zahra’s actually getting herself into?” Nesta agreed back.

“She didn’t even bother telling us,” Elain whispered.

"Well, why should she?” Feyre said weakly. "She's an adult. She doesn't answer to us."

Nesta’s expression hardened. "We’re her family," she insisted. "We have a right to know." “Are they still in Rosehall?” Nesta asked.

“No, they came home a few days ago,” she answered absentmindedly and then came up short.

Wait, what?

They came home. Home to Velaris. Which meant that their sister was…

She jumped up, Nesta and Elain scrambling after her, as she strode towards Zahra’s house.

The last time she had seen the cottage…it had been clean but downtrodden. Now though…Now though it seemingly sparkled.

Feyre's breath hitched in her throat as she took in the sight of the house.

It looked…good.

Better than good. The walls that had been patched up before, now gleamed with fresh paint, the windows gleaming with their new panes of glass.

The house looked like a home. There were little bits and pieces dotted around the outside, like the rocking chair on the proch and the windchimes hanging from the overhang…Thoughtful little touches that hadn’t been there before.

“Is this where Zahra lives?” Elain asked. ”It’s a bit small, isn’t it?” she wondered but Feyre was already walking up the steps of the porch, her sisters trailing behind her.

Her heart was in her throat as she approached the front door.

When she reached the front door, she knocked. It took only a moment, but then the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was Azriel. Looking absolutely furious.

His face was set in a fierce scowl, his jaw clenched. His eyes flashed as his gaze flicked from Feyre, to Nesta, to Elain. "What are you doing here?," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“What do you think?,” Feyre snapped back. She could feel her own anger rising to match Azriel's, her skin prickling. "We came to see Zahra.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Azriel said sharply.

Feyre bristled at his words. "She’s our sister."

Azriel's gaze darkened. "She's also my wife,” he snapped. “And she doesn’t want to see you,” he repeated.

"How do you know?," Feyre shot back, her hands balling into fists. "Did you ask her?"

Azriel let out a humorless laugh. "I know her quite well," he ground out. "I’d like to think I have a pretty good idea of what makes her happy.”

“You are locking her up!” Feyre snapped sharply. Azriel was locking Zahra up. He was keeping her away from everybody. “And you are keeping her away from people that care about her, and you think that will make her happy?!”

Azriel reared back like she had slapped him and his expression darkened even further, his eyes blazing with anger.

"How dare you?," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I would never keep Zahra captive.I would never do that,“ he whispered.

“Let them in,” came Zahra’s voice suddenly behind him.

Feyre’s head snapped up to see her sister. She looked…well. Non the worse for wear at least. She was dressed in a comfortable woolen dress, with the sleeves pushed up.

Azriel’s face twisted as Zahra stepped up beside him, her eyes dark. “Let them in, Azriel,” she said softly, her hand coming to rest on her mate’s arm. Azriel’s gaze flicked to Zahra, his eyes softening for a moment.

Then, with a huff of irritation, he stepped back from the door, gesturing for Feyre and her sisters to enter the house.

***

Zahra should have known that their peace wasn’t going to last.

Zahra had hoped for a peaceful day with her daughter and Azriel, but those hopes were dashed by midday.

Azalea was sleeping in the bedroom, stretched out all over the big bed, because their daughter didn’t really seem to enjoy the crib at all. (And quite frankly, neither Zahra or Azriel had it in themselves to insists that she sleep all alone, when they could just let her sleep in the big bed with them and Azalea would snuggle up to them.)

A couple of shadows had self appointed them as Azalea’s babysitters and would alert Azriel and Zahra whenever she woke… or as much as twitched.

Right now, Zahra was in the kitchen cooking, trying to make these spicy meatballs Esmeray had showed her how to make and Azriel, was keeping her company while catching up on paperwork. Azriel's hand had stilled on the page he was writing, his eyes distant.

Zahra noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, setting down the bowl of meatballs she had been forming.

“Az?,” she questioned quietly. Concern laced her words. Azriel didn’t respond, his focus firmly fixed on some point in the distance.

"Your sisters are coming," he said, his voice flat.

Zahra felt her heart seize. How did they …she bit back a curse. “You’re certain?,” she asked warily, though she already knew the answer to that. Azriel’s lips pressed together, forming a thin line of displeasure.

Right.

Zahra couldn't just ignore them for the rest of her life. Even when she wanted to.

Or maybe she didn't want to ignore them for the rest of her life, But she also wasn't particularly looking forward to talking to them about what had happened to her.

"Do you want to talk to them?" Azriel asked her. He was giving her the choice. Respecting any decision she would make.

"I don't but I will," Zahra gave back flatly.

Azriel’s stoic demeanor didn’t waver, but his hazel eyes were filled with understanding. “You don’t have to,” he told her quietly, his voice gruff.

“I know,” Zahra said with a sigh. “But they’ll never leave me alone until I do talk to them.” She was certain of that.

“You don’t owe them anything,” Azriel told her sharply. Zahra glanced at him, feeling a small measure of joy at Azriel’s defense. Her hand found his, a silent thanks for his support. His grip was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to his hardened expression.

“Maybe not. But they’ll keep coming. If I don’t talk to them now, they’ll just come back later.” She sighed. She hated how right her words sounded.

“If you don’t want to deal with them, I’ll do it,” Azriel told her.

Zahra raised her eyebrows, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. “And what would you say? ‘Get lost’?” she suggested drily.

Azriel’s face turned serious, the shadows swirling around him like a cloak. “If necessary,” he said seriously.

Zahra chuckled despite the situation, the sound almost a bark.

The knock at the door sounded in that moment. Startled, Zahra exchanged glances with Azriel.

It could only be the sisters.

Azriel let out a heavy sigh, rising from his chair and stalking towards the door. Zahra watched him go, her heart thudding in her chest.

She could see how furious he was in every fibre of his being.

His voice was harsh as he opened the door, the words sounding like a growl. "What are you doing here?"

She could feel the protectiveness pour all over their fledgling bond. Zahra could feel how furious he was on her behalf.

And there was also that little inkling of fear that was rearing it's ugly little head. She didn't truly want to see her sisters. She didn't want to talk about what happened to her. She had been willing to take that particular secret to the grave.

And now there it was, out there to be gawked at, to be used to pass judgement at her.

“What do you think?” Feyre's voice was equally harsh. "We came to see Zahra.”

Zahra watched Azriel, her heart thundering in her chest. It seemed like Feyre’s words had struck a chord with him, the anger rolling off him in waves. She could feel his rage through their fledgling bond, a fiery storm of protectiveness that coursed through them like a cyclone.

“She doesn't want to see you,” Azriel responded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"She’s our sister," Feyre responded, and Zahra's teeth clenched against themselves. Was she really? Was she really their sister?

Zahra watched, her breath caught in her throat, as Azriel bristled at Feyre’s words.

“She’s also my wife,” Azriel told her coldly, his eyes blazing.

He stood like a wall in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, his shadows circling him like a cloak.

They had never treated her like she was. They had never...never truly accepted her as one of their own. Feyre had…for a time… but then Feyre had been probably too young to understand everything that had gone on...Nesta hated her. And Elain...Elain was embarrassed by her existence.

Zahra's hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Azriel’s words struck a chord deep within her.

She had been treated by her sisters…as a nuisance. An inconvenience.

Nesta had never hidden her animosity, her eyes burning with resentment whenever she so much as glanced in Zahra’s direction.

And Elain had hidden her embarrassment behind a veneer of sweet innocence, but Zahra had always seen through it.

“And she doesn’t want to see you," Azriel said at that moment, his words harsh but truthful.

"How do you know?," Feyre demanded. "Did you ask her?"

Zahra’s heart skipped a beat, her head snapping to Azriel as if to confirm what she had just heard. His jaw was clenched, his anger evident.

Her stomach churned as she heard her sisters speak. She could already see the situation deteriorating, the tension building.

"I know her quite well,"Azriel said through gritted teeth. "I’d like to think I have a pretty good idea of what makes her happy.”

“You are locking her up!” Feyre snapped at that moment! “And you are keeping her away from people that care about her, and you think that will make her happy?!”

What?!

But Zahra didn't really hear that. All her attention was on Azriel...on Azriel who had flinched at the barbed words shot his way.

And the anger built in Zahra's chest.

He had never locked her up. He had done everything in his power to give her choices, to give her agency...to make her feel like she was in control. He had done nothing to lock her away.

Zahra could see the anger flare in Azriel's eyes at Feyre's words. She could feel the tension radiating from him.

And then...then she saw him flinch. A small movement, so fast she almost missed it.

But she saw it.

Her heart swelled with anger, a red-hot fire burning within her. How dare they?

How dare they think that he had mistreated her?

And she could feel how even just the insinuation of this...how much this was hurting her mate, her husband. "How dare you?," Azriel whispered "I would never keep Zahra captive. I would never do that,“ he whispered. She could hear the desperation in his voice. She could hear how hurt he was.

And she was done.

"Let them in," Zahra said icily, crossing the room to stand next to him, facing her sisters. “Let them in, Azriel,” she said evenly, her hand coming to rest on her mate’s arm. Azriel stared at her, and she pushed all the love, all the adoration she had for him onto him at that moment.

He huffed but he stepped back from the door.

Zahra felt a wave of gratitude for Azriel wash over her. She wanted to thank him for defending her, for standing up for her...but she knew he would shrug it off. Still. She would tell him.

Her gaze sharpened as she regarded her sisters. “Come in,” Zahra said coolly, stepping back to allow Feyre, Elain and Nesta to enter.

Zahra watched, her expression stony, as her sisters walked into the kitchen. Elain’s eyes darted around the room curiously, while Feyre’s gaze lingered on Azriel, who had taken up a stance near the door.

Nesta met her eyes with a defiant glare, her chin held high. Zahra gave a silent sigh. Of course Nesta would be the most difficult.

"What do you want?" she asked flatly, crossing her arms.

"What we want?" Feyre echoed weakly. "Zahra, we..." she trailed off, searching for words.

But Zahra was done. "What do you think gives you the right to show up here? To berate my husband like that?" she snapped. "Azriel has done nothing but protect me, to shelter me. What gives you the right to talk to him like that?!" she demanded

"I...I don't want you to be in a...situation like me," Feyre said weakly. "Zahra, we didn't even know the two of you were friendly and now you...you married him!"

"I am an adult. I can manage my private life how I see fit," Zahra shot back, her voice icy. “He’s my mate. Besides, it's not like you actually cared about it before.”

"That's not true," Feyre protested.

Zahra just rolled her eyes. "Look, I get it," she said drily. "You feel bad because you found out that I wasn't a homewrecker with loose morals after all," she told Nesta drily. "But you hate me, so for you to show up here and berate my husband about keeping me locked up is ridiculous," she spat out. "And you, Elain...you have made it very clear what I meant to you when you invited Feyre and Nesta to our father's grave but not me." She had no idea where this was even coming from. But decades of pent up frustration was bubbling to the surface. “And Feyre…we all know which sisters you prefer to spend time with, so what are you even doing here?”

Zahra was fuming. Her heart was pounding furiously beneath her ribcage, her hands balled up into fists by her sides as she confronted her sisters.

But a small part of her was satisfied. Seeing them flounder, seeing them realize how wrong they had been. It was almost cathartic. She could feel Azriel's eyes on her, and she glanced at him, taking in his stoic expression. For a brief moment, she wondered what he was thinking, but she didn't have time to dwell on it as she turned back to her sisters.

"I did not choose to be born a bastard," she spat out. "I did not choose for our father to betray your mother with my own. I did not choose to be an embarrassment that needs to be hidden away from your suitors. I did not choose any of it. And believe me if I could chose, I would have chosen to grow up somewhere else." Zahra was on a roll now, the truth pouring out of her like a torrent. She could see the shock in her sisters' eyes, the realization of how they had treated her sinking in. But she wasn't done. She still had more to say, more to get off her chest.

"But I couldn't choose. Instead, I was stuck in that house with you three. Being a constant reminder of your father's affair. Being the outcast, the embarrassment." Zahra's voice cracked slightly, the pain and hurt from all those years coming to the surface.

She clenched her fists, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"I endured it all. The looks, the whispers. I endured being the bastard, the one no one wanted. But I survived. And now..." Zahra's voice trembled. "And now I'm married to the male of my choice. A male who accepts me, protects me, and loves me." Zahra's gaze darted to Azriel briefly, the depth of her affection for him apparent in her eyes. "And you three want to take that away from me? You want to come here and accuse Azriel, one of the best, most caring, protective and noble men I have ever had the pleasure to meet...you want to accuse him of mistreating me?" Zahra's eyes flamed with indignation.

She took a step forward, her eyes blazing. "No. I won't let you. Azriel has given me more freedom, more support, and more love than I have ever known. And I will not let you come into our home, into our life, and slander him with your false judgment!"

Tears glimmered in Zahra's eyes, but she held her sisters' gaze, her determination unwavering.

There was a long silence. Her sisters were stunned, their faces pale. Zahra felt the weight of her words hang in the air, the raw emotion still pulsing through her veins. Azriel's gaze was heavy on her, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of the emotional storm she had unleashed.

And only then, she realised that golden glow that was covering her...like a thin film, clinging to her skin.

Zahra felt a shiver course down her spine as she realized what was happening. The power, the ancient magic that had lain dormant within her for so long, was stirring once again.

It seemed that her emotional outburst had provoked it, and now it was reacting, awakening in response to her strong feelings.

Zahra's hands trembled as she looked down at them, the golden aura visible as it enveloped her.

The glow seemed to pulse with each beat of her heart, responding to her emotions. With great effort, Zahra calmed herself, taking deep breaths to quell the anger that had initially sparked this power. Soon, the aura flickered and faded, once again sinking back beneath her skin.

Zahra looked up to find her sisters watching her, their eyes wide with shock and fear. The weight of their stares was almost crushing.

"So I ask again, what do you want?" she asked, her voice icy.

Zahra could see her sisters exchange quick glances, their faces still shocked. None of them had anticipated this turn of events.

"I am sorry," Elain blurted out suddenly. "I didn't know."

Zahra blinked, surprised that Elain of all her sisters was apologizing.

"And what could you possibly have not known?" Zahra asked, her voice still hard. The anger hadn't completely left her yet.

"I...I didn't know that you...that...that affair wasn't..."

"It wasn't an affair at all!" Azriel snapped at that moment. Zahra looked over to Azriel. His hands were clenched into fists, his eyes narrowed in anger.

It was clear that he was furious. And Zahra couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for him in that moment.

But she also knew that an outburst from him would not help the situation. She looked back to her sisters, her eyes searching their faces. She could see the shock and confusion there, the dawning realization of how wrong they were.

“It’s wasn’t an affair, It was an arragement,” she corrected her sister drily.

"How can you call it that?" Feyre breathed out.

Zahra shrugged. "Because that's what it was," she gave back, her voice harsh. "I let myself be raped. I allowed it to happen. I let him do whatever he wanted to me and in return, we didn't starve."

Zahra's words hung heavy in the air. The truth, laid out bare and stark. She could see the horror and shock on her sisters' faces, the disbelief in their eyes.

It was a truth Zahra had never spoken out loud, never allowed herself to fully acknowledge. But now, in this moment, she felt strangely calm. As if saying the words, finally giving voice to her pain, was a release.

"I endured it because I had to," Zahra continued with a bitter laugh. "You all have no idea what I went through. You never bothered to ask. And I didn’t tell you. I hid away all the evidence of what he did to me, all the wounds and the bruises and the pain. And you were too busy burying your heads in the sand, too busy pretending I didn't exist."

Zahra's voice trembled slightly, but she pressed on. "But now, for the first time in my life, I have some resemblance of happiness. I have a mate who cares for me, protects me. I have a daughter I love. And you..." Zahra's eyes burned as she looked at her sisters. "You want to take that away from me?!"

"You have a daughter?!?" Nesta blurted out, staring at her.

"Yes," Zahra said, her voice cold, "a daughter. A beautiful, wonderful daughter. Azriel accepted me, married me, even though he knew my secret. Even though he knew and he never judged me for it or scorned me…He gave me a family, a home. And I will not let you take that away from me."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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laffy-taffy-creations · 1 year ago

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Whumptober day 28!!!!

This fic was cross-posted on AO3 here

Copy That, Copycat

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | "You'll have to go through me first"

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Words: 885

Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation/lying, implied/referenced torture

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey uh… Vee?" Izuku asked.

"Hm?" I said, looking up from my homework.

"I know that you are busy and came to the common room for a sense of relaxation but uhm… We're gonna need one of your special skills…"

"Midoriya."

"...Yeah?"

"Just spit it out."

"Jirou, Mina, and Tokoyami were kidnapped!" He blurted. "The only lead we have is a photo, and I remembered you saying you had a knack for tracking stuff without your quirk so uh… I was wondering if you'd-"

"Why the fuck is that even a question, show me the photo." I looked him dead in the eyes. It shouldn't have been a question if I would at least try to track them.

He slid over a printed picture of them being dragged unconscious off to someplace in whatever building they were currently in.

"It's from an anonymous source, I managed to swipe a copy of it cause when you track successfully its usually quicker…"

I scanned it for every detail in the environment then pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote down the address.

"Woah, that was quicker than I thought…" I heard him whisper.

"It's a more zoomed out shot than most so there's a lot more environment for me to analyze and pinpoint."

"Okay, thank you, I'll, uh-"

I folded and pocketed the paper. "You won't do shit. I'll take care of it, they'll be back by tonight."

He looked at me stunned.

"Just trust me on this one alright?" I said.

He nodded and walked away, letting me return to my homework.

The villains who took them were the LOV, who else, and luckily I had a separate persona for dealing with them.

I finished my homework and made my way to the base.

"Hello Copycat."

"Heyo Shigs! Quick question, I heard about some new hostages in our grasp…"

"Hm? Oh, they're all in the 4th room."

"Nice. Are we perchance trying to get any info out of them? Or…."

"Leverage."

"Ahhh, I see. Well then, you don't mind if I pay them a quick visit, do you~?"

He shook his head. "Go on in. Should I get you a drink in the meantime?"

"Just vodka! Regular amount, please and thank you~," I said, and skipped on into the interrogation room. "Hhhoooo-kay, there you 3 are."

Mina perked up instantly. "Wha- WHO ARE YOU‽" she screamed.

"Chill! Chill, I'm an agent on the inside okay? I work with the villains to benefit the heroes. Now, you three are in kind of a tight spot so we're gonna figure out how to work around this okay?"

Had it not been for the handcuffs looped around a bar I'm certain all 3 of them would be backing as far away from me as possible. I noticed a bloody knife that had been used on them was laying on a nearby countertop. Probably Toga's.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do, first I'm checking you all for injuries." I approached slowly and checked as quickly as I could, mentally noting every laceration and wound I saw.

"Now for the fun part," I murmured to myself. I got out my lockpick set. "Once you give me your wrists, we're all in agreement that you follow my instructions until we're out, is that clear?"

"I don't think you'll have much time for that, Copycat."

I turned around. Toga. Of course.

"Oh, won't I?" I challenged, picking up her knife and lunging.

While they were all distracted and it seemed I was preoccupied with fighting Toga, I broke the handcuffs from a distance using one of my quirks. Using my birth one, I sent a telepathic message, 'you three need to run NOW, I broke the cuffs, get out of here.'

Toga seemed to notice but that's where she faltered, giving me an opening.

"You're not gonna touch those fucking kids, you understand me?"

She nodded, and somewhat afraid expression crossing her face.

I left and went to find the others, in time to take a hit for one of them from Shigaraki, whose quirk did not work on me. Not when my others were active and negating his.

"You'll have to go through me first, bitch," I said.

"Why are you even helping them‽" he demanded.

"They're my friends. And the real Copycat looks a little something like this." I removed the illusion surrounding my body.

The revelation was disorienting enough for me to kick him back and herd the others out the door.

"Welp, looks like I can't use that disguise anymore around them…" I muttered to myself leading them to a public area so we could take the transit back to campus.

"OV? Is that actually you? Or are you still that Copycat person posing as them?" Jirou asked.

"It's me alright, I was posing as her to get info. I don't have the time to explain, let's just get back to campus please," I told them.

"I'm sending you a list of all my questions and I expect some answers," Mina said playfully.

"Yeah, that's fair…Nobody tell Deku. He'd be all over me."

"You mean because you kicked ass or because of the ability to sneak into the villian's team?" Jirou joked, breaking the tension for me. I laughed, managing to relax on the train ride back.

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serickswrites · 8 months ago

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Pocket

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced kidnapping, implied torture

Teammate One patted their pockets, "Where are my keys?" They said to no one in particular.

"On your desk," Teammate Three said loudly.

"Where you always keep them," Teammate two muttered under their breath.

Tensions were running high at the base as the days since Team Leader had been kidnapped stretched on. The team knew Whumper had grabbed Team Leader. The team knew what Whumper was doing to Team Leader. But they were powerless to stop Whumper.

Because they couldn't find Team Leader. Couldn't find Whumper. And until the team could find and extract Team Leader, they knew Whumper was taking their time hurting Team Leader. Exacting revenge for some perceived wrong that none of the team knew why.

And there was nothing they could do to stop it.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw referenced captivity #tw referenced kidnapping #tw implied torture #team whump #mwm2024 #mwmday26 #prompt: pocket #queue

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unearthly-doting · 1 year ago

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the wind will guide you home

a/n: idk idk i just really like the anemo characters soso much. kept it pretty vague i think so you can decide if the reader is willing or unwilling. no faruzan or lynette bc i couldn't think of anything for them :(

includes: aether, lumine, venti, jean, xiao, kazuha, sucrose, heizou, and wanderer.

premise: you wandered a little too far away from your partner for their liking. maybe you were trying to escape, maybe not. but don't worry, they'll find you.

warnings: mdni, yandere content, gn reader, implied/referenced kidnapping, overprotective behavior, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, implied drugging, stalking, unhealthy relationships, vague mentions of dependency, uh whatever the fuck is happening in wanderer's section.

AETHER — is immediately panicked the moment he realizes you aren't by his side anymore. he never lets you travel with him, it was dangerous and you were safer tucked away in the little area he kept you in, safe from the dangers of this mysterious world. it was his fault, really. he had forgotten to lock the door the last time he visited, having been in such a hurry for one reason or another. you, for some reason, had decided to leave even though he had told you time and time again that it was dangerous. he wouldn't waste any time looking for you, hurrying outside, and using everything he had to his advantage to search for you. if you have a vision, he's definitely using his elemental sight to track you down. and when he does find you, he's immediately latching himself onto you, clinging to you and breathing a sigh of relief. he was completely oblivious to the horrified look on your face, just glad to have you in his arms again. "let's get you home. it's not safe for you out here."

LUMINE — would more than likely notice immediately when you vanish. she keeps you at her side at all times to ensure that she can protect you, so you're rarely ever away from her. the moment she sees that you're gone, she's abandoning whatever it was she was doing to find you. it doesn't matter if it was a commission or some important task that will help her get a better understanding of this world. you were more important than that right now. you needed to be back by her side. her tracking skills were incredibly good, so you wouldn't get far before she had you in her sights again. it doesn't matter if you were trying to escape or if you were just distracted and wandered off, the grip she had on your wrist was tight once she caught up to you, and she refused to let you go until the two of you were back at whatever inn or camp you two were staying at. she'll bind your hands together and tie the end of the rope to her wrist if you try arguing with her. "i can't keep you safe if you refuse to stay by my side."

VENTI — is honestly the only one here that will find you like almost immediately. even if he isn't paying attention to you and instead wowing a crowd with his amazing bard skills, the wind will tell him the moment you're gone. he'll stop midstory at the news, politely excusing himself and promising to be back later with an even better story. he'll let the wind guide him, listening to the whispers as he hurries down the streets of mondstadt, picking up pace when the wind tells him you were heading for the main gate of the city. if he uses his powers as the anemo archon to cause a harsh gust of wind to knock everyone away from the gates of the city just so he can catch up with you, then... well... it's not like anyone will know it was him. other than you, of course. and the moment you recovered from hitting the ground, venti was at your side and helping you up. he let you keep your freedom, most of it at least, but he didn't want you to leave the city if he wasn't at your side. he doesn't let go of your hand as he drags you back, an upbeat smile on his face as he playfully spoke, "you're missing my performance! you know i can't perform without my biggest fan watching me." you miss the tightly concealed desperation in his eyes as he stared at you. you can't leave him. he won't let you.

JEAN — is so busy with work that she rarely has the time to keep track of every little move you make. honestly, she probably won't realize you're gone until kaeya or amber drop by and tell her that they saw you wandering outside the city, seemingly heading in the direction of liyue. she's immediately abandoning whatever paperwork she had been looking through, hurrying out of her office and rushing past the citizens in the city to get to you. her mind was running wild trying to figure out why you would even think about leaving the city, let alone leaving without telling her. she's almost out of breath by the time she finds you, the sun starting to set as she crashes into you in a tight hug while rapid-fire questioning you on why you were leaving mondstadt and if she did something wrong and what she could do to make it better. it isn't hard to calm her down, cutting off her questions and explaining that you were simply going to visit some family in liyue and that you had left a note for her at home because you didn't want to bother her when she was so busy. whether or not that was the truth, she didn't care. she was pulling you back in the direction of the city, shaking her head. "no, i can't focus on anything when you aren't here. i need you."

XIAO — felt a little hurt, finding you gone. he was one of the hardest to get away from, always at your side unless the traveler called him away or something happened that required his attention. he thought you had gotten used to him by now, seeing as you never shied away from him when he was around anymore. so yeah, he was real fucking hurt when he returned to the inn and found your room empty. not even verr knew where you had gone. he isn't the type to immediately panic, but he is tense and will gradually get more agitated the longer it takes to find you. if he finds you quickly, the most you'll get is a cold glare as he drags you back to the inn. if he finds you after searching for hours upon hours, he will cling to you as if you would disappear if he let go. his breathing would be heavy, his face buried in your neck as he grounds himself. you were back in his arms, and either way, he wasn't going to let you leave his sight until he was sure you weren't going to pull a stunt like this again. if you want to wander around, then just ask and he'll go with you. "don't ever do that again. don't... don't ever leave me like that."

KAZUHA — would feel torn. while he understands the need and desire to roam the world and take in all that one can process, he also felt uncomfortable when you weren't around. a sick feeling budding in his chest, wondering if maybe you weren't wandering off but instead trying to leave him. he wants to trust you, and most of the time he does, but... you've tried leaving him before. many times, actually, that he's lost count. so, as much as he would love to leave you to your own devices, he just didn't trust you enough. he would ask other travelers if they'd seen you by chance, and some would point him in your direction while others would shake their heads. no matter, he took any and all help given to him until he finally spotted you. his approach was quiet, and you were startled when you had finally noticed him. he didn't say anything for a moment, just staring at you. there was something about his gaze that felt more intense than normal. it was like he was studying you, deciphering your actions. it didn't last long, because the look was replaced with a soft smile as he held his hand out, beckoning you to take it. "let's walk together."

SUCROSE — also didn't immediately notice. similar to jean, she can get pretty busy with work and gets so invested that she'll often times forget her surroundings. it's only when albedo or noelle make a comment on you not being by her side that she snaps to attention, looking around with a puzzled expression. when had you left? how long had you been gone? when she had last spoken to you, the sun was high in the sky. it was dark now. she would stutter out a quick departure to whichever friend had told her you were gone before scurrying away to try and find you. she would have the hardest time finding you, nervously approaching strangers on the street and asking if they had seen you or not. one person mentioned seeing you at the barbatos statue, and she immediately darted off in that direction without sparing the informant a second glance. and she was damn near tears when she found you. she wouldn't understand why you had left without telling her first, wondering if maybe she had done something to upset you. she'd be apologizing, telling you she was sorry if she made you mad, and begging you to come home. given how you two were in public, you felt a bit out of place so you agreed just to stop having people look at you. she would hug your arm the entire time, refusing to let go until the two of you were back at her home. and then she'd offer you something to drink! as an apology! and, well... if she puts a little something in it to tire you out, then that's too bad. "o-oh, you feel sick? maybe you should try to rest... don't worry, i'll be here to take care of you."

HEIZOU — would be the second one to find you quickly. he's a detective, so obviously he'll be able to track you down with ease! your attempts at trying to cover were tracks were adorable but futile. he had found you probably a mere hour after you had gone off, though he didn't immediately make his presence known. he was curious as to why you had left so abruptly without telling him, wondering if maybe something had happened or if you were, perhaps, trying to leave him. but you wouldn't do that! right? either way, he's following you in secret. some may call this stalking, but he calls it... lovingly admiring from afar. this'll go on for hours, more than likely. he's not in any rush to drag you home, and he gets to partake in his favorite pastime! so, by all means, continue walking. he'll probably do a few things here and there to startle you, making noises by shaking bushes and branches or throwing rocks. he likes seeing you on edge; he thinks you're cute when you're constantly looking around, searching for him. of course, once you get too close to ritou for his liking, he'll bring the fun to an end and finally make his presence known by hugging you from behind, a cheeky smile on his expression as you tense up. "caught you!" he hums, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck as if to prove to you that he was actually there. maybe he'll lock you up at home for a few days just to keep you all to himself. y'know, as his prize for catching you.

WANDERER — thinks it's amusing, honestly, that you think you can sneak off without him noticing. he'll let you go off on your own and let you think you have the freedom of doing so, but only because he has other pressing matters to attend to. he'll take is time too, going about his tasks at a languid pace, not at all worried about where you may be or where you might go. some people may ask about your whereabouts since you're usually almost always with him, and he'll just offer them a smile that... well. it puts them on edge, to be honest, and it makes them drop the topic. he'll even occasionally take breaks, enjoying a drawn-out lunch with nahida and even deciding to indulge the traveler a bit and walk with them through the city. but the moment he finishes all of his tasks for the day, he's going after you. you've had enough freedom today, and he wants you back at his side. it's where you belong, after all. he won't lie, it's exciting, searching for you like this. he wonders if you know whether or not he's after you. maybe you've been looking over your shoulder the entire day, wondering if he'll be right behind you. the thought alone fills him with an almost gleeful joy. and when he does find you, he's not wasting a single second before grabbing you, lips twitching upwards slightly at the startled shout you let out. "did you have fun?" he'll ask, though it would be hard to tell if he wanted a serious answer or not. he doesn't really care, in all honesty. you're back in his arms, right where you belong. his prized possession.

1K notes · View notes

atlabeth · 9 months ago

Text

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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hhighkey · 7 months ago

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Cry-Baby // Phinks, one shot - part of hhighkey’s phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature Story Contains: implied past kidnapping, emotional manipulation, possessive/overprotective tendencies, rough sex, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, overly sensitive / easy to manipulate reader, phinks is not the good bf reader thinks he is, reader is unaware of the troupe until halfway, panic attacks, anger issues Note: around 13.2k words, ao3 link: xxx , this one shot is a big expansion off the smut headcanon I did awhile ago for Phinks. This has references to my Uvogin oneshot 'Taken' as his partner is the Reader from that (she's unnamed), and my Feitan one shot 'An Ode to...' is referenced slightly. On ao3 I have these one hits in a series for like a ‘phantom troupe universe’ so there's some overarching themes / connections going on. which reading the others aren't needed tho if u don't want!

It didn't take much, the TV channels with the abandoned dogs or a too sappy book, even your favorite ice cream being sold out. You'd be tearing up, lash line wet and moist as tears slowly dripped down. A tightening in your sensitive chest as you desperately tried to stop the looming cries that always found their way out.

Since the day a tall muscular, handsome blonde in a tracksuit walked into your life, everything changed. At first overwhelming joy over the man who memorized your coffee order, brought you tulips after you said you liked them in passing. Even your elderly next door neighbor adored him and she was a tough nut to crack.

You weren't sure when it changed. Six months of spending time together, careful glances as you saw how Phinks had immeasurable strength yet he'd blush at the smallest of things that came to you.

So when did your life take a hard right turn? Had it really been the moment you meant Phinks, or was it when you told him about your new job opportunity with relocation? You remembered the panic on his chiseled features, how he ran his thick fingers through his combed blonde locks. How your back hit the wall as he stood over you, apologies spilling from his lips and then black.

Intense grief over your past life and sudden lack of freedom contributed to the constant tears of your already sensitive state. Did you necessarily care that the man you loved was insanely protective, not allowing you to leave his home? And that your poor, soft head never once considered it to be kidnapping? Once dreaming of the day he asked you out but now he wanted you by his side forever? Phinks tried his best, he really did, leaving the room if a fight got intense, body language the epitome of a dangerous man when angry. Even as his fists clenched in anger because you refused something. Let you yell at him. Let you have your moments to starve yourself just to spite him. But the man knew how to woo- from your favorite music to shows, to learning to bake with you. His hot temper and possessive tendencies meant little when he babied and cared for you every turn.

One day, you supposed you'd just snapped that your relationship with Phinks was more important than being able to have a phone or shop on your own. Or perhaps you gave into the feelings that were already there before he took you. You just stopped fighting the claws of doubt that nudged at your mind that kidnapping someone was not normal, that you can't be with him now. That meant little once you finally pressed your lips to his out of the blue and his tense muscled melted against you. Once you remembered a book you read in school, an intense look into the life of a woman who had intense Stockholm Syndrome and the psychology into it. You cried and cried over the book. Mourned for the fictional character, but somehow, in a messed up way you kept finding yourself rooting for their love. Maybe that was a big reason the author wrote it. You didn’t believe your love for Phinks was based on a psychological abuse based bond.

Phinks took you because he feared he’d lose you, he’d apologized for his mistakes. He never got violent towards you when business went bad or you’d not communicated in a way he needed while traveling. And that was good enough for you.

Oh you could not wait for him to get home, he'd called the landline this morning to let you know he was on his way. You could jump for joy, heart racing with every growing excitement, fluttering nerves as you'd cleaned the townhome all morning.

You glance to the timer, the minutes ticked down to when your garlic butter pull-away bread would be done- Phinks’s favorite. Growing up, your mother always emphasized the importance of a clean home, of cooking and preparing a meal for someone after a long day's work. You hoped she'd be impressed with the life you had with Phinks.

'Alright,' you smiled to yourself as a faint alarm went off. Grabbing the oven mitts, you pulled the perfectly golden loaf out and placed it on the cooling rack. Oven now off you left the kitchen to change.

It was almost time for Phinks to arrive home. You’re too impatient by that point, keep looking at the clock in your bedroom. The scent of him that lingered on the pillow you liked to hug close was no longer comforting in his place. With a smile you wanted to dress up better, so you made your way to the closet to pick a dress.

"Babe?" The front door to your shared townhome slammed shut. Phinks's voice carried up the stairs even though you heard him going towards the kitchen most definitely smelling the fresh bread.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, a gentle smile as you smoothed down your dress. It was a new one Phinks had given you with a blush, saying he saw it and figured you'd look cute. And seeing him so embarrassed made you giddy, excited for him to see you in it.

And of course you'd let him know you missed him the last few days he'd been gone on a business trip.

"Hey, coming down." You called out, making your way to the stairs. You saw his bag dropped at the door with shoes discarded, mentally making a note to straighten them up.

"There you ar-" Phinks stopped mid sentence as his gaze lasered on you, he always hated having you out of his sight, made him nervous. His pupils went big as they traveled along every inch of skin, raking in the dress that fit your body perfectly, "Shit you look good."

"Think so?" You blushed, nervous as you gave him a little spin.

"Know so."

Phinks wasted no time to grab your waist and pull you into him. He breathed in your scent as he peppered kissed onto the top of your head. He relished in how you squeezed him, nuzzling your face into his chest.

"Missed you." You whined before giving him your best puppy eyes, "You aren't leaving anytime soon again right? Been gone a lot lately and I hate sleeping alone."

"Aw baby," Phinks cooed, "You're adorable. Hate being away from you, you know that right?"

You nod, enthused and burning with want. Liquid heat spreads throughout your core as his hands slyly inch closer, "I know." It never took long for Phinks to get you undressed and pliant beneath him, completely at his mercy. The feeling of his warm body encapsulating yours was intoxicating mixed with the smell of his cologne. Light kisses fanned your hot skin as he reclaimed your lips for the nth time, meshing into a feathery pure want.

It was those kisses, how you found yourself stripped, panties discarded and the top of your dress pulled down enough to free your breasts, the skirt hiked up. His fingers dig into your hips and you think you’ll have bruises for days from how his hips had thrusted into your cunt for the last hour. Sounds of slapping skin still reverberated in your ears as beads of sweat littered his skin, muscles always flexing with every movement.

"Oh baby," Phinks cooed as he stroked your cheek, fingers pinching and squeezing your wet stained flesh.

You were a mess. Shaking hips and messy hair, eyeliner smeared under the waterline. Phinks had made you cum more times than ever already since got back and started with his head between your legs. So poor little you was a babbling mess with clouded, lust filled thoughts.

Phinks preferred you this way, well-behaved and hazy, gasping for breath underneath him with your calves resting on his biceps. You're so dazed you barely notice how his thumb flicks to your sensitive clit making your lower body spasm,

"Oh!" you gasp as you see stars. And it's all becoming too much. How hot your body is, how untamable a fire within you is as your hips buck and knots tighten in your abdomen. "Too much Phinks!! Can't-"

And that's when your tears fall. As if all cords and knots snapped at once your mind glittered with pleasure- too much pleasure that it was painful. So much so that you let out an honest to god sob as pools of wetness stain your flushed cheeks. Phinks hips stuttered for a second, coming to a halt as he watched you cry with love in his eyes. The way you were a goddess underneath him, how your face contorted and with hips giving him perfect friction.

"Oh fuck baby- that's hot, keep fucking crying for me." Phinks pressed into you more as he spoke low like a threat, cock pistoning against your cervix as he abused your clit, his thumb determined to stay put as you squirmed. Seeing the puddles fall from your eyes made him shake, a shiver running down his spine.

And tears fell faster from his words alone as your abdomen burned. You barely recognize the whines leaving your lips through sniffles and cries, and snot begins to drip. Your poor wrists burn from the rope that tied them to the bed frame, the helplessness turning you on even more.

Phinks face was inches away as he loomed over you, his pupils blown wide as he grinned past his canines. He found it so fascinating how the tears rolled down staining the sheets around your head. Fascinating that he could give you, his pretty little girl, such pleasure like rapture that you were weeping. Your breath fanning across his face with desperate whimpers from the deep of your throat sent him over the edge. Each intake of air was a job in itself, ragged breathing as you clawed at any of his skin you could grasp.

"Phinks! M' too full- too much-"

Phinks just grunts. Braced himself over you as he suddenly left you empty, just the utmost tip of his long cock inside your gummy walls. A cocky smirk danced across his face and chiseled cheekbones, utterly obsessed with you, twisted feelings in his chest. Your dilated irises, fidgeting and thrashing figure from electricity that corrupted you- made him growl as tears continued to roll down your puffy cheeks. And how as he slammed his hips to yours- to the hilt- deeper- making a cry leave you as a bulge formed in the low plush of your abdomen- made the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. Liked how he could see himself in you- liked how as he pressed down on your tummy you shrieked and cried, begging him to stop as you came, feeling too full, too out of control. Squirt dribbled from your swollen hole as he wiped away at translucent liquid dripping down your face. Blank eyes. All empty on your fucked out face because of him.

He fucked you through your nth orgasm, grunting and gasping as the squelching noises from your dripping, swollen cunt rang through the air. "You're my good girl aren't ya? Such a pretty baby crying while I fuck your tiny cunt. Gonna fill that greedy tight pussy, princess.”

You cried, nodding your head furiously begging him to cum inside you, as if you'd die if he didn't.

"Yeah? Know you like it when I cum inside you- beg me- please- need to hear you." And just like that he fell apart. The side of Phinks only you ever got to see. So demanding, so rough, but just a lovesick fool for your crying form shoved full with his cock.

"Ah Phinks-" you were seeing stars, vision slowly going in and out as intense waves of pleasure took over you as your cunt squeezed the life from your lover's cock, "Love you Phinks—" you were babbling, rambling unable to speak straight, "I need you- inside me- m' my pussy needs you."

"Fuck." He grunted as his climax was raining down on him, "All mine, babe." Phinks saw white as he came, falling down on you as he shoved his face into your neck. His cock was to the hilt, shoved into your womb as you dry sobbed leaving deep nail marks on him. Your stomach expanding as his warm cum swarmed your insides, leaving you fuller than you'd been before. Gasping and hugging him close, legs wrapped around his waist so he couldn't leave you- not like he would. The way he nipped at your skin, sucking and nibbling along your collarbone and lower neck. How he ground his still hard and pulsing cock against your spasming walls that just sucked him in.

His calloused hands soon came into contact with your face as he pushed up, adoringly staring down. He wiped away your loose tears earning him a tiny smile he so loved to see.

"You always take me so well," and your chest soared as he kissed your forehead. You'd done well for him! His good girl!

The tears soon dried completely as you'd find yourself in a warmed lathering bath- Phinks doting on your every move whilst unbeknownst to you, the faint sound of the news in the living room was talking about a specific criminal organization.

"Are you ready to finally meet Uvogin and his girl?"

You nodded ecstatically, "Yes, yes, so excited to meet her, no offense to Uvogin."

"Figured you would be, he won’t care he’s probably only comin’ for the food. Woulda loved to have you meet her a few months ago but her health was bad, Uvo wanted to make sure she was hundred percent before meeting new people. Some disease involving her lungs wasn't paying attention."

"I understand, that's scary." You hummed, kneading dough for its final stretching. Though you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's ability to relay information regarding others, "This needs another 45 minutes to sit and rise some more, then it can go in the oven."

"Which is my job right?"

"Yes don't want to burn myself." You purse your lips, "Feel like something's missing though."

"Like what?" Phinks wrapped his muscular arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Don't know, maybe an ingredient?" You looked about your organized mess before a lightbulb went off in your head, "Oh, the fruit, can you get the cantaloupe out and cut it into cubes?"

"Yes ma'am." He kissed your head again before going to cut the fruit.

Boy did Phinks make cooking an extensive meal easier (though at first it was substantially harder by his lack of knowledge or experience). He’d handle anything too hot, he was better with knives, and no longer did you have to mix until an arm cramped. You liked the cute overly focused look that'd crease his brows and pursed his lips as he focused on a task you gave him. It warmed your insides at how dutiful he was towards you, how he enjoyed your girly hobbies as he’d call them.

Time went by too fast whenever you cooked, and it felt as if you never left yourself enough of it. You cut it too close for comfort, the food ready a minute before the sound of the doorbell went off. You’re in the middle of bringing dishes to the dining room table as two new voices meet your ears. Not able to stop the growing but, still nervous as you brushed along your pink apron.

“Babe,” Phinks voice called out, “C’mere.”

You obeyed as if on cue, “Hi.” As you walked from the open kitching to where they stood in the foyer, Phinks hugged you to his side.

“Uvo.” Said the largest man you’ve ever laid eyes on with a large grin. And Phinks is stifling laughter as you look Uvo up and down with parted lips, head cocked to the side. Even the girl besides Uvo attempts to hold amusement too.

Uvogin introduced her to you, his fiancé, which had been news to Phinks. And earned him a glare for not knowing his friend got engaged when they recently moved right next door. The audacity of men.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You said, politely pulling the large man's partner in for a hug. Everyone was small compared to Uvogin you thought, but this woman had an aura to her that pulled you in as if the giant didn't exist. Her smile was so warm and she smelled of fresh rose and pine. You note she’s frail, remembering what Phinks said about her health, and you loosen your arms on her.

“So,” You rub your hands together motioning for people to follow, “People hungry enough to eat?”

“I’m fuckin’ famished.” Uvogin helped his way to where the food sat out at the table; Different vegetables, cantaloupe, roasted lamb and a cinnamon loaf. From the corner of your eye you see his fiance scolding him as he tried to grab a piece of meat, and for a moment you felt a surreal sense of belonging. To see them seeing so content together, you hoped that was how you and Phinks came across, since interactions with others were so limited.

You gave the table a final look as the three of them sat down, needing one last thing you moved to the kitchen. The sound of cell phones going off is easily recognizable as you grab napkins and a serving spoon. Glancing across the island you see Phinks typing away at his phone. A chime went off and then another. You watched as Uvogin and Phinks looked semi-annoyed scowling at the screens, “Huh.” Uvo muttered as he wrapped an arm over the back of his fiance’s chair. “What’s normally on Channel 5?”

“What?” She asked him, sending you an annoyed look that read ‘Men’ as you placed napkins around the circular table.

“Dunno. Y/N could you grab the remote since you’re up?” Phinks asks.

“Of course, one sec, the remote is over there.” You say, padding over to the loveseat on the other side of the room where Phinks was watching something earlier.

Clicking the TV on you find it was already set to Channel 5, immediately fixated on the news, showing pictures of a gruesome crime scene. Turning the volume up, your stomach drops at the banner flashing on the screen in red ‘Phantom Troupe Strikes Again: 35 Dead, 12 Missing.’

“Oh my god,” You say with a gasp taking in the horrid sight, “That’s horrible.”

As you glance to where the other three stand, you immediately notice the discomfort. Uvogin and his fiance are staring dead at Phinks, while Phinks fingers flex at his side unblinking, directed at you.

“What?”

“She doesn’t know?” Uvo’s fiance asked in a hushed voice, you barely hear it.

“Know what?” You move forward, while she stares at you with wide eyes, immediately looking down at her plate.

“Oh- uh,” Phinks stammered as he quickly got up to make his way to you, “Just that news has been all over, she probably assumed you knew. Pretty scary.”

What you can see of her, Uvo’s partner didn’t have the ability to play it off. She seemed as if mentally transported elsewhere as she played with her fingers.

“We’re gonna get going...” Uvogin says abruptly. He shot Phinks a look and it makes you want to scream, feeling as if left out of one big joke.

“Turn that shit off.” Phinks is at your side faster than you’ve ever seen him move. You jumped back in shock, flinching from the dark look on his face. You’re frozen at the sound of the remote shattering against the wall.

It’s then that Uvogin is dragging his girl out with none of the food yet to be touched, but you catch her lips moving your way, you think she’s mouthing- ‘It’ll be fine.’ Not that it comforted you. The front door slammed. And then there were two.

Tension that could be cut with a knife. You inch away from him, gaze flitting from the now black screen of the TV to Phinks. Something tells you his outburst has to do with the news, why he always told you your soft brain couldn’t handle it. That he just wanted to protect you from bad things that’d make you cry.

“Phinks?” He doesn’t respond; fists clenched as he stares downwards. A bulging vein on his forehead tells you this is serious. “Tell me what's going on, why did they seem nervous? Why’d they leave so quickly? Did I do something wrong?”

“Thought I told you not to watch the news.”

“It was on when I turned it on Phinks, you were the last one who used it.”

“Shit.” He had been. He didn’t flip the stupid fucking channel or bother to remember which channel numbers lined up with which station.

“Please be honest, you and Uvo were having a conversation with your eyes! I feel like an idiot being left out of this. Why did she say ‘I didn’t know’ when I brought up the Phantom Troupe? And what you responded with doesn’t add up.”

“You’re gonna hurt your brain thinkin’ so hard babe. Let’s drop it.”

“You broke the remote by throwing it against the wall, Phinks.” You place your hands on your hip, frustration bubbling in your chest. “That was uncalled for especially in front of guests.”

“Fuck.” Phinks breathes heavy into his hands before pressing them against his forehead, “Fuck!”

You step back, swallowing hard. His outburst has your brow lining in sweat, terror pulsing at the back of your mind.

“Phinks?” The watergates opened as fat tears fell down your cheeks, “Y-you’re scaring me.”

You think he’ll comfort, explain it and take your fears away. But he doesn’t.

“Y/N.” His eyes look as if they’re screaming for your forgiveness. Slowly, Phinks tugs off his sweatshirt. Suddenly you felt as if the room increased a hundred degrees, you’re too hot, feeling like you’ll choke from the dense air. Then he strips off his shirt, “You know how I keep this covered, told you it was an embarrassing scar?” You nod. “It’s a tattoo.”

“Tattoo of what?” You whisper.

You were never bothered by the fact he kept a bandage-like piece on his right shoulder blade. You assumed it was so personal that eventually he’d open up. Because you trusted him.

But as his fingers peel it off, you catch sight of black ink.

A black spider with a number 5 inked in the middle stares back.

An incessant ringing blares in your ears. You’d heard of that tattoo, that it signifies the person is a spider, a fearsome thief of the underworld. A member of the Phantom Troupe. An urban legend your mom once told you about so you wouldn’t sneak out with a boy at 15, that you only recently learned was true.

“You’re- when you leave for work… What is it you do again? And don’t say some business- Tell me.” You say between your dry heaves, your sobs as you furiously wipe away tears.

“I’m a member of the Phantom Troupe babe, one of its founding members.”

Your head is spinning, legs wobble as you lose your balance. Phinks hurries to catch you as they give out, placing you on the couch, between your legs. But you push at his head and squirm back to get away. Shying into the couch cushions as you stare at him, eyes red.

“I- Don’t play with me. Please tell me you aren’t in that group! You can’t be.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t touch me.” You spit venom in your words as you rip your wrist from his grasp, holding it to your chest.

“Y/N this doesn’t change the fact I love you, doesn’t change anything here for us. Shouldn’t it prove to you that my vows to protect you are legitimate, that I’m strong enough to do so?”

“That’s your attempt to convince me?” It won’t stop, the downflow of tears and the running snot you wipe at. Your words turn to pathetic blubbering. "You.. kill people?"

Phinks nodded, huffing into his hands. The man is panicking, his chest tight with knots when all he wanted was to pull you into his arms. He considered forcing you down so he can explain, maybe fuck you so you feel good easily compliant. He needs you to give him a second, needs you to stop asking questions.

"Uvogin? Is he a member? Feitan too?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Your world’s collapsing, you’re certain of it.

“D-Did he kidnap his fiancé too? Did Feitan kidnap his girlfriend as well?"

"Baby it's complicated, and well Feitan hasn't exactly made her his- Shit... Saying it like that sounds bad but-"

"It is bad! I-I forgot? I swore I was here because I realized there wasn't anything for me at home.. I loved you and.. Do you actually love me?" Your eyes welled with tears, sudden realization came back over you. You grieved for past life once, how did you forget that?

"Baby I do love you, you're safe with me, promise. It's me."

"You're a murderer." You emphasized, horrified and unable to push yourself against the wall anymore if you tried, "How many people had their lives ruined because of the Phantom Troupe?"

"I.. don't know. A lot."

Conflicting emotions wash over your fragile mind. The man who crouched a foot away from you looked as if his world was shattering down around him, like he was terrified to lose you. Yet he was a thief, a killer, and you realized he wouldn't let you walk out that door regardless of what you decided.

"You lied to me. I don't know who you are."

"Y/N fuck, it's me, promise nothing about who I am is a lie, only my occupation. I love you, I'd do anything for you." You flinched as he moved to sit in front of you on the edge of the couch, taking your face between his palms even as you flinch, "You're safe with me, I promise."

"Phinks..." You sniffled, "I.." At the end of all things, did that matter? What Phinks did for a living? He'd been nothing but a loving, supportive partner. The whiplash hurts. Your chest felt heavy, your breathing was too heavy as if your air was cut off. You think you’re going to pass out as you reach for him, eyes blinking furiously.

"Baby? Shit." He pulled you into his chest, rubbing your back in soothing circles, "Breathe for me, yeah? In. Out." You follow his orders, "Good girl, see?"

One deep breath after another and you regained your senses, his eyes boring into you.

"I need space tonight." You whimpered.

"Yeah, that's fine, I know you need to think."

You rubbed your arms, "I'm going to lay down to sleep, alone tonight. If you could please clean up the kitchen and table."

"I-" Phinks went to argue, no way in hell would he let you sleep without him while he was home. But he knew he needed you to have time to think, even if it were an illusion or lie because he'd join once you were asleep. Paranoia was heavy in his mind, ever growing as he thought of her without him. Even not knowing what she was thinking was close to setting him over the edge. But he loosened his imaginary grip and nodded, "Of course."

Your home moved by you as if you were a zombie, legs heavy as lead as you closed the door to the master bedroom. Locking it. Then unlocking it.

Sobs choked out. You clamped your hand over your mouth. Your legs gave out, back slid down against the door as your butt met the ground with a huff. Tears flooding once more, you let out a broken wail into your palms as you shoved your face into your flesh. Hugged your knees to your chest as painstaking agony pierced your limbs. You're gasping for air. Begging for a sense of relief. Crying that it hurts so bad.

You could feel Phinks's aura on the other side of the door after fifteen minutes, knowing he was sitting with his back against the wood the same as you. An unknown force had you wanting to shove your fingers under the door to get a touch of him, wanting to already fling the door open and collapse into him. Were you really that pathetic? Already compartmentalizing the fact the man you loved was a killer? When Phinks had told you about his upbringing it'd pulled your heart strings, having to survive with no parents, no money, no home? How uncanny that his hints slowly made sense. Could you... even blame him?

Groaning through your heavy gasps as you couldn't stop weeping, you felt light headed. You sucked in air far too sharp that had you spinning, ready to topple onto your side.

With wobbly legs you force yourself to stand, clumsily making your way over to the king sized bed. Collapsing atop you stare off at the wall, wetness falling down to your eyes, to your mouth, dripping down your neck. Oh it hurts. How your head began to pulse with heavy stabs up against your temple. Lips quivered. You pulled the blankets tight letting your fingers twist and tangle within them, needing anything to ground you.

Two questions spiraled. Would you really face the reality of your situation and that leaving a man like Phinks was smart? Or would you stay because you loved him? It alarmed you how easily you were willing to ignore Phinks was in the Phantom Troupe, that you'd already forgiven him. Forgive him? No, no, it wasn't you he needed to convince it was those he affected... which, deep down, you were glad he'd taken you. Because your kidnapping gave you a beautiful partner and life! Maybe you should tell him that!

So as exhaustion and confusion overtook your trembling form, you were plunged into a restless sleep. One that played the same nightmare on repeat, the cycle of meeting Phinks to the kidnapping, to your life together, and to now. Stuck at a crossroads of swirling doubt manifesting in dark fog that would only come to fruition if you made a choice. Your dream-self, your heart, wanted to be selfish, wanted to head down the path to Phinks no matter what. While your brain told you it'd make you complacent, that it'd be ridiculous to stay with a man like him. That one day maybe you’d become a victim in the crosshairs. Before the morning sun streamed unto you forcing you awake, your dream-self chose a path.

When you opened the bedroom door, stomach fluttering with thousands of butterflies that made you want to puke- to your surprise Phinks fell back, woken and onto his feet in seconds. He'd fallen asleep against the door, respected your decision to sleep alone which tugged on the depths of your heart.

Gazes locked and it was a battle of who'd speak first, though you hoped he'd leave the ball in your court. Phinks looked... scared? His eyes low, heavy bags beneath them. You desperately wanted to brush his messy hair back, to reprimand him not to sleep on hardwood! And you almost reached up but caught yourself, he glanced down to your hand.

"I.." You wonder how bad you look. Wonder how bloodshot your eyes are, how puffy your face is. And if he noticed, "Lets talk?"

Phinks grunted his answer. He wasn't always a man of many words, it took months for him to be more open, so you'd hate for him to shut down on you now.

You followed him downstairs, taking your places on the couch, an awkward space in between how your bodies turned to face the other. Phinks wanted to scoop you up to take all your troubles away, wanted to pepper your face with kisses until you'd cry of laughter. Didn't like how far you felt, a foot feeling like a mile. Even being able to hold your hand would have helped the torrential storm that raged within him; fear so strong he thought he couldn't breathe last night until he passed out in front of the bedroom. Like losing a piece of him that only you could complete.

You'd made up your mind that morning.

Staring at your fingers you tell yourself it would be okay, that you could tell him everything you wanted to get out.

“I have a lot to say.”

“Alright.” His voice sounds strained as he cracks his knuckles, never breaking eye-contact.

“You know, I’m still mad you kidnapped me and won’t let me have contact with anyone I used to know.” Phinks eyes became unreadable, his jaw tense, fingers flexing as if it was the only way to push his anger away. “I told you about my new job opportunity way back when because I wanted to see if you’d want to come, which now I know wouldn't have worked. But also to see if you’d ask me out and give me a reason to stay, I knew after you took me on that garden tour even though you were clearly uncomfortable, that I’d fallen for you. It’s weird after all this time I never told you that.” Seeing the tension that’d built within him start to evaporate, eased your churning stomach. He looks better, suddenly getting back color in his cheeks, chest inhaling a large breath.

You continue, “I think.. I think I had and continue to have a hard time because my heart knows I’ve always loved you, but my brain wants me to keep remembering you technically kidnapped me, and that’s a horrible thing for a partner to do. That even now you’re dangerous to an extent I may never understand since you’re a spider. That you could hurt me one day. I register the anger in your eyes on phone calls, I see how often you flex or crack your fingers to stay sane if I did something you didn’t agree with. There’s cameras in every room. You’d monitored my body for weeks to make sure I wasn't self harming or losing weight. Had to sit in on all my showers. I remember hearing Feitan quip at you that you’re a hot head. I saw Uvogin’s fiance’s fear towards the news.”

Tears prick at your lash line as you attempt to wipe them away, sending Phinks the slightest of smiles you could muster, “And I now know it’s because you're scared something will happen to me because you've seen horrible sides to our world. You are a piece of that horrible side, the Phantom Troupe… You and your friends are considered a giant threat. Anyone who’s capable of the things you all are, have to have something off in the head, I’m sorry to say it like that. So I understand you now more than ever. But you’re still my Phinks. You rub my back at nights, you put things on a high shelf so you can laugh at me as I try to get it only to swoop in. You watch those horrible holiday romance movies because I love them and you’ll never admit you do too.”

“What are you saying?” He asked hoarsely.

“I hope you don't want me to leave, I love you.” You say bashfully, pink dusting your cheeks.

Phinks never planned to let you leave. None of the outcomes in his mind consisted of it. But there you sat with a cute, happy face telling him you want to stay and be with him, thinking he was going to let you go if you asked. So Phinks lets out a sigh of relief knowing he doesn’t need to become the bad guy, he can let you think he’d have given you the autonomy to leave. Because you knew he loved you regardless of everything and you never considered other more darker options. You’re a softy, so innocent and naive, someone who cries at anything, and this further proves to Phinks you need him.

The last two years this very conversation weighed on him. Knowing the day you found out about the Troupe your loving relationship would come to an end, you’d hate him. And then when he’d have to inevitably chain you up or threaten to break your legs to keep you from going anywhere, you’d despise him and yourself. You’d be petrified of him.

But none of that was going to happen and Phinks is thanking whatever God is up there with his entire doomed soul.

“I never want you to leave.” Phinks was across the couch, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His warm lips meshing with your own in a desperate dance as if one would disappear. A whine from the back of your throat made his heart race, made him melt like lava, all consuming that he couldn't stand the emotion that warbled through him. Like he could burst with the emotion of a thousand suns yet it still wouldn’t be enough to describe what you did to him.

Before the kiss gets too intense to the point of no return as you feel your thighs rub together in want, you push at his shoulders. You stroke his cheek as you study his face memorizing each inch shaped from the gods themselves to you.

"I want you to tell me everything, okay. No lies, I want your real childhood, real everything that you changed to leave out the Phantom Troupe. And don’t hide the tattoo anymore."

"I can do that." He nodded fervently, squeezing your waist, “I love you with all I got, okay? Tell me you know that.”

“I do, I know.” You pull him in for a quick kiss, giggling as he attempts to deepen it, “Uh uh big guy. You have a lot of explaining to do before you get any of that.”

He groaned, pressing a wet kiss to your neck, “I don’t know where to start babe.”

“Well..” You think. “What do you… do? That’s not what I mean, so are you good with guns or something?”

“Ahh, I don’t think you understand Nen at all then if you’re askin’ that.”

“What’s Nen?” You cock your head, having zero idea what that three letter word meant. You hadn’t learned of it in school.

“Oh fuck me.” The mood he attempted to create to get your clothes off was ruined, but his genuine amusement makes him laugh, uncaring. He settled himself to get comfortable around your smaller frame, readying himself for a brutally open conversation with you.

And as you two sat on the floor, Phinks relaying his story and the Phantom Troupes, you were glad you chose to stay even as you let him know you weren't happy every time he explained a heist. Because loving someone was the most important, at least you hoped that was enough. Because your heart couldn't fathom losing the blonde man who filled you, cared for you, protected you. You weren't sure if he'd survive losing you, or maybe it was the other way around. But you knew as he explained, that it didn’t matter at the end of the day, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not with the type of man he truly was with his work, dread consumed you, but you locked it away in the back of your mind.

MONTHS LATER

This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

One hand was shoved over your mouth, the other held to the wall for dear life. Your heart was in your throat as you listened to the different sets of footsteps outside. They’re talking but it wasn’t loud enough to hear, as much as you strained to listen. God you hoped they’d leave soon, decide this place was abandoned and move to the next.

The day started out like any other, waking up besides Phinks, having to convince him to start the day by luring him into the shower.

He attempted to make your coffee while you made pancakes.

Then Chrollo called and the way his face dropped, you knew something bad had happened. The basis of newfound trust between you two was a fine line, probably would be for awhile. But for once you felt secure as he told you head on, he couldn’t tell you what was happening, because the stress he projected was more than usual.

“Babe, why don’t we go out? There’s a farmer’s market on the other side of town, can find cute shit or something.”

“Really? Let me find something nice to wear!”

Phinks held your hand as if he’d lose you in the crowd at any second. Even as you told him he needed to let up or else you wouldn’t have a hand for him to hold if he kept cutting off circulation. While the sudden outing was pleasant, you’d found a few fresh ingredients for cooking you had to have, Phinks was off. Knowing it had to do with his earlier phone call, you brushed it off.

While you hadn’t been to the market in quite some time, it’d never been this busy. Crowds of people pushed through to see the stall uncaring as they bumped shoulders. The sun beat down and without a cool breeze it was uncomfortably hot, you were itching for reprieve, something cold to drink perhaps.

Your eyes caught sight of an ice cream storefront past the main square, just far enough to where not many people gathered. Perfect. You tugged on Phinks arm, your fingers still locked with his. It takes him a second to notice as he’s too intent on watching the crowd. Eventually he cocks a brow your way, nodding as you motion to follow.

You (foolishly) assumed Phinks had you in his sights, had a hand on your back or something. You lived in a rose colored world with your boyfriend where you never needed to worry, so your hand slipping from him wasn’t of your concern, he’d have a handle on things.

Panic strikes you, you whirled around desperately trying to spot Phinks. But you’re too short stuck in a group and suddenly everything feels like it’s a skyscraper around you, closing in as the air feels too heavy to breathe in.

But then, “Babe.” You jump, a gasp leaving you as you ready yourself to shove someone away. But staring down at you with hands on your shoulders was Phinks, “Fucking hell, scared me.” Pulled hard against his chest, hearing his pounding heartbeat as his comforting scent washes over you- and you’re okay again.

“L-Lost you. Didn’t mean to.” You whimper as you stare at him, fingers twisted into the material of his shirt. His features soften due to your terrified state.

“I know, come on, let's get somewhere with less people.”

This time Phinks is more aware of you than ever before, not taking any chances. Hypervigilant on the tightness of your grip, any time it loosened slightly his tightened. And this was why you needed him, you, so uncaring of dangers walking around with your head in the clouds. It’s as you go to wriggle yourself free to weave a sharp right, he acts.

“You don’t fucking let go of my hand.” He hissed, one hand firm on your shoulder while the other wrapped around your neck, you whimper from how tight his hold is.

“S-Sorry, got distracted, saw something-”

“I don’t care, in public you know the damn rules.” As your bottom lip trembles, Phinks does his best to shove down his sudden raw temper, “Just- what if you get hurt? Or someone takes a liking to ya? Tell me if you wanna go somewhere all of a sudden, I can’t read your mind.” You nod, his gentler tone building back up your mood as he lets go of your frail neck. Your neck that he’d be able to snap faster than you could blink.

Ten minutes later and you were sitting happily at a table with ice cream, Phinks sitting beside you with an arm tucked across the back of the private booth. He watches you with a faint smile, still coming down from his heightened senses when he lost sight and feel of you. And how quick he’d lost control, especially over an innocent situation. He pushed back pieces of hair as they fell from your updo, letting his fingers graze the soft skin of your face down to your neck, then to the collarbone he desperately wanted to mark.

“So,” Phinks said, “Remember when I told you what actually happened to Uvogin’s fiance? How she’d been kidnapped by Hunters while sick?”

“Mhmm.” You hum, spooning strawberry soft-serve into your mouth.

“Guess uh- her name and picture got put on the Hunter database, as a missing person in danger so to speak.” You quirk an eyebrow as the look he gives you tells you not to say the obvious that well… Uvo did kidnap her. “Shal found your name with hers, but they only had an old pic of you, from when you were 14, I guess. This shit complicates things, there was talk of a group, lead by someone who worked with those obnoxious ass Hunters, saying they have possible locations on ya.”

As if on cue your fingers tremble, color drained from your cheeks, forcing you to place your ice cream down with a sudden drop. “Huh?”

“Shal wiped all the chats, the pictures and info. But right now, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Phinks I don’t understand.” You can hardly hear the former bustle of the shop around you. A numbing high pitched tone starts up and your throat’s suddenly so, so dry.

“That’s what Chrollo called me about this morning.” He waved his hand as if motioning to the prior call. Veins peeking out from his shirt are tense, you realize quickly he’s trying to keep his mood together for your sake, “Wanted us to come out and do something nice before we gotta leave for a few weeks.”

Your appetite- gone. A sour taste wipes the sweet strawberry one you’d been enjoying. “I-I don’t want to leave. I-”

“We’ll be back. Uvo and some others gonna handle it, throw them for some loops. Probably..” He stopped, “Kill them.”

At that point you were certain you were going to throw up on the table then and there. As total honesty was a part of your lives since finding out Phinks was in the Troupe, you’d asked for a gentler version of any details regarding a job. Hearing him speak of taking lives in a nonchalant way, never sat right.

“Where do we have to go?”

“Meeting Shal outside the city, he’ll take us to Base. It ain’t bad, Uvo and the missus go there a lot, stayed there after we rescued her, maybe once before too. Primarily where I lived before you.”

“Okay, do we have time to get some stuff?” You mentally began to race through the things you’d need for an extended time away.

“See, we don’t, so wish I thought of that before we left.”

“I swear to-” Phinks’s poorly timed laughter cut you off, “Glad my soon to be suffering because I won’t have my favorite pajamas is funny.”

The rendezvous with Shalnark turned into a shitshow. That was how you found yourself hiding in a closet in an old apartment complex, the furthest away place you found cover as nen (what Phinks called it, you think at least) brought the area to destruction. You can still hear the storm outside, the thunder boomed shaking the walls, the patter of rain. It came out of nowhere, along with all the people and crashing bricks of the buildings.

People you don’t know were looking for you now. Even if it was a member of the Troupe you hadn’t met before, you were certain they’d say so, while the strange voices only yelled thinly veiled threats. You’re trying so hard to listen in, to gauge where people are, if they’re leaving or staying. Or even if a fakeout would be attempted. Staying put might be your best option, but you’re not fit for these situations! No experience, no self defense skills, just a girl with a racing pulse that might pass out any moment. You were one more crackling thunder away from just giving up.

You wanted Phinks. You needed him. Praying for him to find you and make everything better, whisk you away and pretend this didn’t happen. What would these Hunters do to you? Would they listen if you tried to explain? Phinks said it hadn’t mattered for Uvogin’s girlfriend when she tried, so you assume right then that it wouldn't for you. One plan out the window.

“Y/N!” You flinch each time your name is said by a voice you don’t know. Your stomach lurched. You pressed your hand against your lips harder.

“I checked all these rooms, we should check the other apartments in this complex before we move on.” Another voice said, and you know what he said was a lie. They hadn’t checked in here or else they’d have found you behind boxes in the small closet.

“Fuck this chase is getting annoying. I say we split before running into a Troupe member.”

“Yeah.” A new voice added in sounding further, “Those fuckers are scary strong, the infamous Zoldyck assassins don’t even fuck with them.”

“The big one took out Bates's entire team for his girl. I don’t want to end up like them. Dead, missing basically, no bodies ever found.” Retreating steps made you perk up.

“If Y/N were here she’d probably be running to us for help, she isn’t here.”

You don’t dare move a muscle, but it’s so hard. You’re weak, cramping, emotionally crumbling, and unable to think of a viable plan. Minutes pass by like hours, time they continue to search getting so close but not close enough. A creaking door in the distance then a slam. Grating noises that sound all around. Playing with your mind, making you doubt your senses. And it hurts. Blood pounding in your ears and you don’t know how your stress isn’t enough to give you away to trained Hunters.

An eerie silence. The hairs on the back of your neck standing talls, a chill down your spine.

So you wait.

And wait.

You count up to 60, then back down to 1. Then you do it again. And again. Your body screams at you to relax, you’ve balled up in the same spot for god knows how long now. Time was irrelevant to your plight when you couldn’t see outside your hiding spot. Had no way to tell if the men actually packed up and moved on, the rain was too loud to hear car engines starting to rev off. The silence was beginning to morph as your brain seemed to make noises that kept your heart racing like you couldn’t lose your wits, and you wanted to scream.

Phinks will find you- he had to. He’ll find you. You keep telling yourself that as nausea rises up your throat, you gag against your sweaty palm. Eyes squeezed shut as they moisten. Maybe this was the world punishing you for being selfish and choosing to stay with Phinks after finding out his real occupation six months ago. Karma’s way of saying you deserved to suffer, to understand even a fraction of what your boyfriend’s victims went through.

Your hand dropped from your mouth. You brace your palms against the floor, knees burning from how long they’d had to hold you up. Carefully, slow as could be you changed your position to sit back against the closet wall still behind a cardboard moving box. This is comfier at least, less awkward for your shaking limbs.

Your head lulls. No no no. You suck in a sharp breath. Blood pressure dropped. Adrenaline crashing. Black crept into the crevices of your vision, slowly invading as you try to stay awake, begging yourself to do so. But you can’t give yourself away, not even as you go limp falling to the ground on your side with a thump.

A man sat bound and gagged, blood seeping from his empty eye sockets, fingers bent in unnatural positions. Kneecaps lazily removed, the bones absentmindedly feet away. He was lax because he bled out an hour ago, a thick gash along where his intestines would be.

The next man who watched his coworkers torture, whimpers as he watched a short black haired man pick up a pair of pliers.

“Where is Y/N?” He asked in his soft, yet sinister voice. Feitan’s dark eyes struck terror into the Hunter, who started to flail against the ropes.

“D-Don’t know! No-None of us found her!” He begged, “You gotta believe me!”

“I do.” Feitan shrugged, “Tell me where others are.”

There’s conflict in the Hunter’s eyes, like he weighed his options.

“Won’t say.” He finally said, tone defeated, he practically physically deflates knowing he’d be dying in the abandoned warehouse whether he said locations or not.

Blood seeped into the cement floor, a single bulb illuminating the room as it crackled.

Feitan heard the approaching footsteps when they’d entered the building itself minutes ago. He waits, feeling a familiar aura.

Phinks takes the sharp turn into where Feitan set up camp, distress and unkempt written all over him. The normal cool and collected (until pissed off) spider with a ridiculous pharaoh hat, was struggling. His heartbeat hadn’t settled in hours and he’d chugged most of the coffee Paku showed up with two hours ago.

Their prisoner won’t answer questions. Not even as he screeches, fingernails ripped out one by one. Not as he convulsed from the pain, a disgusting snap of breaking bones, blood spurting on his face.

Phinks can only see red. He wants him dead. Dead. Dead. “Where the fuck is she?” He gripped the man’s cheeks, letting his fingers dig into his jaw, popping then the crack, gargled moans following. “Gone all quiet now, huh?” A maniacal grin pulls at his lips, his teeth brace and over, and over- again- and again- more- his fists pummel against flesh and organs. It’s when the prisoner is nothing more than a lump of mushed flesh does Feitan pull him off.

Feitan smirked, “Got it all out?”

His knuckles burn, but the pain is nothing compared to the excruciating terror that’d made its home inside him. All Phinks can imagine is you tied up being transported between hunters as they mindlessly care for you, while under the pretense of helping. They wouldn’t care for your tears or pleas to let you go. He’s imagining them doing to you what Bates did to Uvo’s girl. How when they rescued her she’d been drugged up for months, bruised, with poorly stitched up gashes, and health deteriorating she couldn’t stand to walk. Phinks saw first hand how Uvo never left her side for the week she’d been unconscious with IV’s sticking in her veins.

The thought of that happening to you makes his head hurt, sharp pulsating behind his forehead. He presses his fingers into his temple, prodding along his eyebrows for any sort of reprieve. Twisting anxiety, dense uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Need to stay calm.” Feitan said, “Almost hear your thoughts.”

Phinks lets out a weighty exhale, shooting his ‘friend’ a glare, “I don’t know if she’s okay. I’m- supposed to protect her. This is fuckin’ ridiculous, these fucking Hunters are imbeciles.” It was getting out of hand, now the second Troupe member to have a partner taken by the same group. To Phinks, this had to be a declaration of war. And as he peers at Feitan who seemed deep in thought, he can tell the torturer felt the same, who had someone of his own too, “Your girl can be next, Feitan.”

“I know. Stop speaking.” Feitan spat, fingers involuntarily twitching.

“We should go find Shal.”

The rain had stopped; was the first thing you noticed as you groggily pushed yourself up. The air inside the abandoned room was sweet with the aftertaste of a storm, yet it made your head spin. Gathering your bearings you stare at the closet door as if it mocked you, dared you to open it.

You weigh your chances here, assuming you’d fallen asleep for one hour or ten, no one found you. And who’d wait that long to lure you out with malicious intent?

Legs wobble as you stand, they feel filled with lead as you approach your exit. Hand shaking as it grabs the handle, the thudding of your mind almost painful. Twisting. Opening. The hinges didn’t creak and you’re now staring at an empty room. The same as when you entered. Shit. The window shows you it’s night now, not mid afternoon anymore. All the heavy dark clouds were gone leaving the dark sky clear and dazzling with stars.

Hugging your arms taut around yourself for warmth, you know what you need to do. You need to be strong and begin to make your way out, see if you can get to a phone or find someone willing to take you into the city. That was risky but you were desperate. And with the amount of nooks and crannies of the dilapidated buildings that once were a vibrant living compound, there was always going to be oversight. Maybe getting outside would help Phinks and the other members find you.

You're somehow at the bargaining stage of grief and you almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Trying to stay quiet as a mouse while imagining dozens of scenarios, when you probably needed to be on the lookout. With each hall you walk through, you strain your ears for signs of life. As your weight shifts on floorboards and steps, if they make a sound you're frozen as you wait. But nobody came each time. It’s safe.

The exit to the entire building is finally in sight. You begin a slow descent of the stairs, still doing your best to be diligent.

But it’s the sudden rush of voices, that has you screeching to halt practically holding your breath.

“Per GPS maps, these two complex buildings are all we have left.” That voice. You recognize its higher tone, like it held a cheery imposition even at the large task at hand.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Another familiar voice. Their feet crunched on the gravel outside.

“Nobu said no sign of the cars that peeled out earlier, not sure whether they decided being alive was better or if it's because they have Y/N.”

“Why can’t I just start screaming her name loud as possible? She’s gotta know it’s me.”

“Uvo she’s probably terrified and you’ll manage to burst her eardrums. You know your girl is safe at home while Phinks is losing it right now.”

Uvogin. Shalnark. Faking their voices would be too elaborate of a hoax for anyone.

“He on his way over?”

“Him and Feitan, yes. Others are tracking the rogue vehicles.”

Phinks was on his way. Your chest blossomed in joy, you could weep happy tears as your body felt a million times lighter. Relief coursed through your veins and you went back to going downstairs.

But what you hadn’t realized in all this time was your body struggled from the temperature drop. Your teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. The sundress you’d adorned did nothing to protect you when you laid unconscious in the closet. Your lips tinted purple. Your face flushed from the chill. The tips of your fingers numb. But all you felt was the anxiousness, the hiked pulse, and your fears rather than worry about your physical state.

Shalnark spots you first, your meek trembling form with reddened skin appearing through the doorway like a ghost. He’s on you as he strips his jacket to get it around your shoulders. He’s checking for injuries before you're scooped up into bulking arms of a giant who exuded heat. You can’t speak, only nodding as Shal throws questions your way. The surrounding area is blurry, you squint for any sign of Phinks. But you could barely see Uvo, who was the one carrying you as you looked up.

A commanding presence makes you subconsciously relax.

“Shal what- Y/N- Thank fuck,” Phinks is out of breath, filled with desperation as he raced to you, his heart plummeting when he saw you all small in Uvogin’s arms. Like your whole world is back on its proper axis, you’re trying to reach for him but you only muster up a whine in recognition.

Uvogin hands you to Phinks, who cradles you in his strong hold as they take off to the car sitting idle. His touch sets you aflame as you begin to tear up, babbling nonsense into the crook of his neck, now wet from your tears..

“I got you.” Phinks whispered in your ear as he studied your face whilst his hands felt every inch of you. Needed to feel every inch as reassurance. Your smile is loopy, your eyes so distant as you reach to stroke his cheek. “Safe now, okay?”

The sky moved by fast, but you’re not paying enough attention. Having to will your heavy eyelids to remain open, so you can continue to look at your boyfriend. Taking in his severe face that was littered with worry.

You’re tucked into Phinks’s body as he holds you so tight, murmuring sweet nothings as you try to engage. You try to appreciate his roaming hands as they stroke along your neck, squish your cheeks in comfort; and as a way to remind himself you’re okay, he has you. A piece of you isn’t even hearing his words, nor the conversations taking place amongst Troupe members in the car.

You couldn’t stop shivering even as heat blasts from the vents and as different articles of clothing had been offered up to cover you. Or as Phinks tries to rub your bare arms to generate heat.

“Babe you can sleep, s’okay.” Phinks said, and you realize his eyes are bloodshot. His heart still hammered against you and you physically feel the fear he had and now the relief that now swirled around him.

“Are you- okay?” You ask, concerned for him.

Your question clearly threw him off but he shakes his head, slightly amused you were thinking of him after everything you went through, “I’m good, I got you back. I don’t want to think about what could have happened, thought I was losing my mind trying to find you.”

“I ran, I didn’t know what to do.” You sniffled, shuddering as you remembered the chaos, “Ran up some stairs, found a closet and hid. I was so scared I thought I was going to die and eventually my body gave out. I woke up and it was night.”

His gaze softens, before he leans down to kiss your cool lips, lingering before moving to peck your forehead, “We’re heading to Base now and we’ll get you warmed up.”

You cling to the blonde as if you’d be swept away any second. In and out of sleep for the drive, uncertain of the day or time at this point. It’s with the glint of orange rays that you’re alert to sunrise as the car comes to a halt.

“I can walk.” You try to say to Phinks but he’s having none of it, sweeping you up bridal style before your feet even had a chance to touch the ground after the car door opened.

“Babe stop, no reason for you to exert yourself. You can rely on me.” His lips press to the top of your head, the sound of him inhaling your scent as a comfort makes you shiver.

You weren’t sure what to expect in a Base for the spiders, but a sprawling warehouse that just peaked above the surface level was not it. It has large, empty and tattered looking windows, run down and well- maybe that was to be expected for a group of criminals. Phinks carries you to a path and makes his way down a set of stairs that descend down to a single rusted door.

You’re not sure if you really understood a wink of Nen when Phinks explained it months ago, or when you’d ask him questions. You’re not sure if it's some form of magic as when you two enter, it’s like stepping into a portal. From the outside looking in it would be expected to see continued dilapidation; rotted furniture, mold, rodents, general disarray of buildings left for time to handle. Yet what you see as the entry door opens to a platform with a metal staircase going down, was a perfectly normal space. Decorative pillars and art (surely stolen) haphazardly on the walls, with rugs in peculiar places. A long table for 12 was the grand room centerpiece. And from Phinks’s arms you see multiple doorways that must branch off into other spaces of the hideout, for a second you forget this belonged to criminals as you wonder if he’d let you explore. But that reality goes out the window when Phinks sets you down in a chair and you catch sight of Feitan entering from outside. He’s covered in blood and you’re nauseous at the sight.

You look away, attempting to focus on the tiled floor, counting the squares you can see. Your legs are covered in goosebumps and as you feel along your arms, they are too.

“I’ll be right back.” Phinks pats your head and you want to cry out for him not to walk away from you. Leaving you as a fish out of water in a new place, an intimidating place where his friend who’s covered in blood watches you from the corner. Bookshelves line empty spaces, which most of the shelves are in disarray but present collections look ancient.

You think it’s been five, maybe seven minutes since Phinks left the room, but you’re becoming antsy. Anxiety claws at you as you want him near, want to touch him and see his face to know everything’s okay.

“Hey,” When you look up, the familiar face of Uvogin’s fiance greets you. She stands there looking frail, adorned in jeans and a sweater, but giving you a warm smile.

“Hey, how are you?” You stammer out, the sight of her making you more nervous than calm. She takes a seat across from you at the grand table.

She shook her head, “I should be asking you that. You okay? You’re not hurt are you?”

“I’m not physically, just… scared and now really cold.”

Her eyes went wide, “Oh would you like my cardigan?” But you stop her by holding up your hands before she can touch a button, “If you’re sure.”

You hadn’t seen her since the day you found out about Phinks being in the Phantom Troupe, even though she resided literally next door. You’d slowly learned that while Phinks allowed you the ability to go out, Uvogin did not allow it for her. At least he stopped, though you aren’t sure why. Health?

“I’m sure, thanks.” You want to say it’s because she looks like she’d need the extra body heat, that she shouldn’t look so malnourished.

An awkward silence falls over you and her, only Feitan’s faint shuffling breaking it up. You’re curious, sometimes too much for your own good and there’s suddenly a million questions at the tip of your tongue but you wonder if you should ask. Phinks gives you leeway because you accepted him full-heartedly, you wonder if she despises Uvogin’s work or something along those lines.

“Are you-” Her glower makes your mouth snap shut. And it’s when Feitan tells you two to behave with a cackle as he leaves, does she lean in.

“Why didn’t you run?”

“What?” You ask. Your stomach flutters with something unknown.

“This was the best chance you ever could have had- more than…” She sighs, “Since my health’s not getting any better, I feel more awake than I ever have before about- life..”

You’re confused. Her eyes look glazed over, you chalk her whimsical mood up to her illness, “I don’t fully understand… Sorry.”

“You know Feitan carved his name into a girl's ribcage? Keeps her locked up in his attic. And you know where she’ll probably be in a year? Sitting here with us acting like a good dutiful lover.”

“Stop.” Your mind races as your pulse begins to climb up. And up. Fingers go numb as a tingling spreads along your limbs, “That- I don’t have stockholm syndrome.”

She shrugged, “I might have it, might not. You can’t truly know either.”

“I loved him before he took me.”

“Does he let you have free reign of a phone?” You shake your head for ‘no,’ “What about, can you talk to old family or friends.” You don’t answer. “Cameras in every room? Constantly panicked if he can’t see or hear from you within seconds?”

“Would you… Want a new life away from Uvo?” Whether it was fear or anger that caused you to ask it, the pounding of your heart made you snap her.

“No. I’m content, I don’t know how much longer I have anyways. He’s in denial about it.” She seemed morose at the thought of her death, like she didn’t care, like her current life wasn’t worth fighting for. Just sitting there waving her hand in a simple gesture, “I guess I selfishly, while I’m alive, want to see one of them suffer like they’ve made others suffer. Like if Phinks lost you today.” You squirm at her words, “I know Uvo may not recover when I die, so guess it’ll be karma enough for his actions.”

“Don’t you love him though?”

“Does it matter? I had a tiny crush on him before he took me, the big strong stranger that tried to make me laugh when he tried my creations at the bakery.” She pauses and the quirk of her lips doesn’t slip past you as she recounts a good memory, “But, it doesn’t mean I wanted to be taken away or that it was okay. He killed someone in front of me then re-routed my life. I can look at you right now and say I’m irrevocably in love with Uvo because I am, at least my heart and body completely are. My brain always wants to be around him until it reminds me of who he is. That only started after he rescued me from my second kidnappers, same ones who tried to nab you. It isn’t logical to love someone who does all that yet, I do? Weird psychological stuff but… That’s all I want to say Y/N, don’t forget who these men really are. They’re no better than the Hunters with hero complexes trying to drag us to ‘safety.’ None of it is for our best interest. Because if it were, then both parties have left us the hell alone.”

“Just… Who’s the lesser evil?” You whisper.

“Precisely, and after what I went through with those Hunters, it appears the Phantom Troupe is the better choice, for me at least.”

You agree, cringing at the memories of the way the Hunters talked about you in the abandoned building while you hid. Nothing about them was kind or willing to lay their lives down to protect you. This was an ego boost for them, bragging rights to say they fooled the spiders. That taking you and her were like trophies to boast about.

Uvogin’s fiance suddenly stood up, her chair almost knocking completely back. She brushed her hands off along her jeans. Clearing her throat, she speaks to you one last time-

“Ah, sometimes I say such strange things when I don’t feel well, sorry about that.” She smiles like a flip switched before she heads towards an entryway, you guess it leads to wherever Uvogin is.

You nod, “Of course.” But your eyes exchange something far deeper, more meaningful and you know you’ll keep her words private. An understanding that left you feeling comforted in an odd way. And yet a part of who hates her for dragging you out of your rose colored world. But she was right. Even as a sour taste scratches the back of your throat to admit such a thing.

An unsettling feeling settles itself in your stomach, you think if you have to sit at the table any longer you’ll go mad. Like a ball of twine was slowly unraveling, you want out of the room where you partook in such a strange conversation. And the fact you’re still cold, though your teeth stopped chattering during the car ride.

Technically, Phinks never said to stay put so you aren’t doing anything wrong by trying to find him. Technically. He’d walked down the hall behind you so you figure you’d run into him eventually.

Your legs ache with each step, painful stabs against the bottom of your feet as you begin the trek. It felt like a maze the second you left the main room, the only light present from lamps every few feet flush with the ceiling. ‘Spooky,’ You think to yourself, hugging your arms close.

The first door you pass is shut firmly. No sense of what could be behind it. You linger for a few moments debating whether or not to knock, but the lack of light from underneath deterred you.

Taking a sharp turn, you practically collide face first into what felt like a wall, but when you looked up– Phinks.

“Babe, what’ya doing?” You don’t have time to argue as he’s picking you up, “You shouldn’t be walking around.”

“Wanted to find you.” You pout. Though as you cradle the side of his face, the earlier conversation slowly replays at the back of your mind.

Phinks noticed the slight drop in your face but chalked it up to the long day you’d had, “I was coming to get you.” Nuzzling your face into his collarbone you take a deep breath, letting his touch center you. Being against him in your state, getting a smidge of his body heat had you on fire for him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he started walking back the way he came.

Exhaustion nudges its way back unto you, a yawn eliciting to show as much. You want to keep track of the path he takes, a right and then a left- then… You aren’t sure. The halls look the same but he eventually nudges an ajar door open.

“Alright, here we are.”

The room was fairly big but rather plain. As Phinks sets you down on the bed, handing you a change of clothes, you realize- this was his room. Simple furniture scattered about but strewn magazines of things he was interested in forgotten on a coffee table. An alarm clock that matched the one at home that had a layer of dust on the nightstand. Some art, definitely random pieces he probably didn’t care to have.

“This is your room isn’t it?”

“Yep. Needed to clean up, dust coated fucking everything been months since I last stayed.”

“Why..?”

“If I’m ever beaten up after a job-” He explained, “I don’t want you to see that. But with you to go home to, there's no reason to be here. Wasn’t bad for the bachelor life.”

It’s nice to learn something new in that respect, to see something that’s been a piece of his life first hand. Soreness screams through you as Phinks helps you undress to slip on the heavy sweats and hoodie. A mound of blankets pulled over you next, you cuddle happily into the new warmth that spreads over you, almost as if you’d never been in that abandoned closet.

You wait for him as he changes, admiring the way his back muscles flexed, “You’re coming to bed, right?”

“What a dumb question, babe. Need to hold you after this fucking day.”

“I want you to stay by my side.”

His weight sinks into the bed, and he repositions so you can slot yourself against him. God he loved how small, weak you were compared to him. His fragile little girl he needed to treat like glass when all he wanted to do was fuck you into the mattress. Having to hold his urges back for your sake was the right thing to do though. He can’t scare you after the day you’ve had while all he wants to do is relish in your body because the adrenaline high he’s coming down from fucking hurts. So close to losing you. So close to understanding the anger and sadness they put others through when the troupe kills their loved ones. It’s a strange sensation really, to even think about empathizing, but after the day you two have had, he doesn’t care. Just wants to hold you in his chest as your breathing slows. Wants to squeeze the plush of your skin to remind himself you’re his. His. No one else's. Not the Hunters who think they’re the saviors of the Phantom Troupe’s women.

God he wished he could make all your thoughts of everything and everyone else but him go away.

“I love you.” Your tired voice, sleep about to drag you under, makes him melt inside.

“I love you too.” He says back, since he knows he loves you in his own fucked up way. A way you probably wouldn’t understand, would probably be scared of, “I’ll keep you warm tonight, you’re safe.” Right now he knows what you need to hear.

“I was so scared I’d never see you again.”

Good. It’s secured in Phinks’s mind that you never thought to run away from him having had the perfect chance to. Hours he couldn’t find you- you could have gotten back to town and jumped ship in that time. Yet you stayed in your little hiding place hoping for him to save you. You’re just so cute. And he’s lucky to have someone who relies on him so heavily. That made his chest burst with dark possessiveness over you. Not that there’s anyone left to take you from him. Every Hunter who’d been there was now dead, even the ones who left by car, with all that’s left to find the remaining stragglers involved with this effort. If more came out of the woodwork to take you after trying with Uvo’s girl, he’s sure there’ll be more eventually.

He soon drifts off thinking of you in tears, sobbing for him as he splits you apart on his cock. Sobbing that he’s ‘too big’, that you’re ‘too full’, and begging for him to stop- but gods he won’t stop not when you’re broken like that with big red eyes and wet skin from the pleasure turning to pain. And he won’t stop, never does, until you’ve gone dumb in the head drunk off his cock and filled with his come like you need it to breathe. And Phinks knows as his consciousness slips away, that his little daydream will become reality come morning time because he’s not a good man. Because a good man wouldn’t fuck his girl to break her poor little mind, to make her fall apart into tiny pieces so he could be the one to put her back together again. To get her nice and reliant. Especially not after a traumatic event. But you should know by now that he’s not good.

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