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yaespook · 1 year ago

Text

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame.

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant.

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems.

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.)

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.”

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face.

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place.

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks.

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight.

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up.

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises.

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him.

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down.

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth).

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery.

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground.

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly.

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him.

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-”

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.”

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years ago

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Apotheosis Upon Your First Feast (Yandere!Wanderer & Pantalone/Reader)

Commissioned by: @leftdestiny-posts/@eternally-frozen (ilysm. Feel free to kill me later lmao)

unreliable synopsis: After being reassigned to Vanarana when your previous coworker became the Acting Grand Sage, with the help of Ararycan, you reunited met a wanderer on an abandoned machine. Unfortunately for someone, your childhood friend "Pantalone" has ears and eyes everywhere. (Avoid this fic if you’re not a fan of dark content. It’s not too dark but your mental health matters!)

IMPORTANT NOTE: Please use the InteractiveFics extension and change “(Y/n)” to whatever name you want, “[Wanderer]” to his chosen name, and lastly, also change “(wood/salt)” to… whichever option you feel like. It’s a surprise mechanic *wink*. If you're reading this on a phone, just pick between wood or salt right now, keep your choice in mind and commit to it : )

Afterwards, would you be so kind as to answer this fun poll after reading the fic? Danke ♡

“Why doesn't Nara (Y/n) eat what Arasaka prepares for them? Does Nara (Y/n) lack appetite lately?”

“O-Oh, well, that’s…” You paused, looking down at the broth, “in all honesty, your cooking tastes bland…”

“H-Huh?!”

Time had passed since Lesser Lord Kusanali's official ascent to power and now is the fifth month since you first made friends with the Aranaras. Many events took place before you found your pyro vision becoming Arasaka's torch as they cooked– and if any of your coworkers saw you now, they probably wouldn’t identify you as Alhaitham’s (only) friend and Ex-Sage Azar’s lazy employee.

Maybe they would've if you helped Alhaitham and his teammates secure Sumeru’s future.

Sure, your name isn’t listed in the coup d’etat, but that’s only because you wished for the Akademiyan scholars to make the epiphany for themselves. As Azar’s ex-assistant, you laid low from projects as a prerequisite so that the populace may acquire a personality of their own to make the nation truly deserving of the title “Land of Wisdom.”

Alas, that did not happen.

Alhaitham’s tactics were not wrong, but you felt like his group spoonfed Sumeru citizens with the Fatui’s crimes rather than having their own realizations. It did not feel like growth to you. It felt like the people casually learned from a one-sitting textbook rather than a hands-on experiment when they should’ve personally learned how minacious blind ambitions could be. In turn, he argued that your ideas were barbaric and that scholars revolting was not in the realm of possibility– hence, you did not lend your aid. Perhaps your inaction had pissed him off, but it’s more likely that he finds that sending you to Varanara was ideal for his workload.

And in some strange domino effect, refraining from helping a coup d’etat meant eating the tasteless food known to man.

Since you were personally assigned a senseless task to patrol and report weather patterns in the area (which is unnecessary and quite frankly boring), you had befriended the infamous aranaras children from Port Ormos hear stories about.

But the mundanity doesn’t hurt your pride as a graduate scholar. It's been fun so far.

“I'm sorry, 'Saka, it's just that I think your food lacks a bit of salt–"

"ASSISTANT (Y/N), THERE YOU ARE!!!"

Both of you flinched, causing Arasaka to topple over. The sound hurts. You snapped your neck towards the sound. An adventurer– Baharak– stood with both hands wrapped on her bag's shoulder straps with a silly grin on her face.

… You’re turning the setting of your hearing aids down.

“Baharak, it’s been a while,” you spoke. “Would you mind not yelling whenever you call for me?”

“Oops– Sorry (Y/n)! I mean– sorry, Assistant (Y/n).”

Changing her volume doesn’t undo the pain she inflicted on your ears. Gently, you pushed Arasaka behind an elevated jag of root to cover them. To escape suspicion, you continued to stare at Baharak while feigning sleepiness.

“What are you here for?”

“The Forest Watcher received a letter addressed to you. The sender doesn’t have a name again, it just has the coin-seal thing.”

“Please hand it over.”

“Aight!– I mean, alright.”

After dismissing the loud adventurer and giving her spare mora as thanks, you waited until she was out of sight. Arasaka suddenly rose and jumped onto your lap, equally curious about what was written on the salt-scented parchment. Arasaka's preppy manner soon turned sour as they discovered who the sender was.

It’s a letter from your best friend, "Pantalone".

“Aww…” Arasaka whined. “Arasaka was hoping it was the Verdant Nara instead.”

You tore it open.

"My dearest, (Y/n),

If it's not too much to ask, may I trouble you to visit my office in Northland Bank soon? I merely wish to see you. Spending Lantern Rite alone this year was not a pleasant experience. It's just for a mere chat- I'll reimburse your traveling and dining expenses. Care to make it up to me?

Your beloved,

As per tradition, you threw the letter in the fireplace. Pantalone doesn’t like leaving a trail of evidence, naturally, you assumed the same applies here.

It's never a chore to visit a friend. Maybe you'll head there tomorrow–

“Arasaka doesn’t like Nara Pantalone.”

The aranara lowered their head, continuing, “Nara Pantalone reminds Arasaka of the Taste of Sadness.”

Cute.

Every time Pantalone comes to visit, the aranaras behave like envious little siblings. Ever since you started patrolling Vanarana, the place had become the harbinger’s premiere leisure destination. The woods critters frequently tried to undermine his gifts, but they were adorably ineffective. Even if Pantalone cannot see them, the situation is nonetheless amusing.

If you remember correctly, the Taste of Sadness means salt to aranaras, right?

“Ah, well,” you laughed. “I guess you must be incredibly sensitive to his smell. He took quite a liking to salt-infused perfumes last year.”

“Don’t like perfume.”

“But I am wearing one though… Has the scent been bothering you all this time, Arasaka?”

“No, Arasaka was wrong. Arasaka likes perfume, and Arasaka hates salt. Taste of sadness. The scent of sadness.”

“Oh, no! If Pantalone’s smell makes my dear Arasaka sad, then maybe we should drown him in Varunastra,” you chuckled darkly, expecting the aranara to react loudly over your out-of-pocket remark.

“Of course. Salt Nara would make for decent spare rations!”

You laughed out loud at Arasaka’s even more out-of-pocket reply. Out-of-pocket is an understatement, that comment straight up sounded out-of-the-CASKET.

Before standing up, you ruffled Arasaka’s nonexistent hair like you would with your deceased sisters.

“I’ll come back in a few days, okay? In the meantime, why don’t you read a cookbook?”

“Hmph! Nara (Y/n), you’re being mean! Just wait! My sisters will make a dish Nara (Y/n) can’t say “no” to!”

“It’s a dumb risk.”

“It’s a new business venture, dearest.”

“The market for new eyeglasses isn’t going to rise any time soon.”

“Why are you so adamant on opposing this idea?”

“Stagnation breeds putrefaction, especially in business, does it not?” You raised an eyebrow, preparing for a harangue.

“Je suis d’accord!” The man spoke softly, accentuating his Fontaine pronunciation somewhat boastfully. Knowing your disability, he never raises his voice to the point of it hurting. “And it is precisely why I want to invest in an eyewear conglomerate in Sumeru.”

“Then why are you dropping your prior investments?!”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You sighed, annoyed.

Pantalone is an amazing businessman, but without your council, he wouldn’t amount to who he is now. Unlike most people, “sneakily ambitious” are not the words you would describe your visionless friend. Such a moniker sounds insulting given his lack of celestial blessings and you know Celestia itself never took kindly towards his well-versed dirty tricks against his opponents.

In your humble opinion, the term “industrious” is a better-suited and less backhanded compliment for him.

You’ve known Pantalone— no— “██████” since childhood. Your history stretched back so much that you no longer recall the circumstances of how you befriended him. He acted as your ears when it came to haggling and normal day-to-day chores. As far as you know, he has always been an older brother to you. In times of extreme poverty, you both prayed and starved together, scraping by using salt rocks as entrees.

There was no one else that made your deafness bearable except for him. With no family left, he was your only beacon of hope and dear Morax– you’d rather not remind yourself of the time your dead sisters mistakenly ate mud for rice cakes when famine struck.

You chose Amurta out of the Six Great Schools for a reason:

You can’t afford to watch anyone die of hunger ever again.

When you began living in Sumeru, you had pledged your alliance with the region but never forgot all the toil you had to go through. As a malnourished child, you quickly fell in love with the nation. In Sumeru, healthcare was free– in Liyue? You heard nothing, and you wished that “advantage” doesn’t make you blind from the evil you witnessed in the slums. Poverty ate away your hearing, your family, and your childhood dreams…

In a way, the only reason you see aranaras in the first place may be that you didn’t have the chance to experience any childlike wonder until you escaped Liyue.

Pantalone scoffed, “whether you agree with my financial decision or not doesn't affect my resolve. Do not press more about this, dearest.”

… But you’re convinced that your closest confidant “██████” had already perished from starvation long ago.

The man before you calls himself “Pantalone” nowadays and you lose all sense of indolence whenever his presence looms. When he watched your last sister perish in your arms, an epiphany gave birth to his cold demeanor towards deities. He found it challenging to worship the Archons who had no need for mora but were eager to take it away from destitute mortals who needed it as you and your sisters did. The death of your younger sibling was his final straw, and in a sense, you also buried your old friend that night.

Unlike ██████, Pantalone cannot forgive nor trust the Archons for their broken promises. If Lesser Lord Kusanali had abandoned withered forests, Rex Lapis had abandoned those whose blood and tears cannot amount to any mora. You were only allowed to study at the Akademiya after he decided the former was the lesser evil.

Although Pantalone never condemns you for calling him by his birth name, you cannot tell yourself that he and ██████ are fully the same person. There is an unspoken need to straighten your posture and greet him with a semi-scowl to demonstrate your maturity despite him acting cozy and warm. Worse, his lax demeanor never ceases to remind you that despite his uncomfortable reputation, Pantalone is the only companion you’d entrust your soul to even when the world warns you not to deal a contract with the devil.

“You just want to use new brackets every day—”

“I am a businessman, love.”

You speared Pantalone with a pointed look.

“—And why Sumeru? Have you landed a deal with a reputable Amurtan optician? And why didn’t you ask ME first? You weren’t cornered by Dottore or the Tianquan to kickstart an eyeglasses company, were you?”

He scowled, unamused before firing back without skipping a beat.

“Summer, seven years ago. You accidentally bought six bunraku puppets from Inazuma—”

Your eyes widened. Not this embarrassing anecdote again.

“Woah, woah! Now, why are YOU extorting me?”

“So you’d be silenced quicker.”

“…”

This reticence was slowly exasperating the harbinger, but he never utters a complaint when you're whom he's conversing with. Pantalone cleared his throat with an elegant smile. In that moment of cessation, you figured that he had a seemingly innocent proposal in mind.

“(Y/n), my most dearest baobei…” The harbinger ventured.

“Pantalone…”

He pulled out his desk drawer and ferreted out a parcel that you suspect contains a pair of glasses.

“Would you care to be a test sub—”

“No.”

You have a gut feeling as to where this is going. He’s going to propose that it’s “just” glasses until you find out he’s been using you to track or spy on someone without your knowledge. Classic Pantalone. You won't be duped by that TWICE in a row. If you knew better, you wouldn’t have accidentally leaked intel to the Fatui that Katheryne was being controlled by the Lord of Verdure. All because Pantalone hid a recorder on one of his “gifted” hearing aids...

Listen— just because you refused to lend a hand to the Archon when she was in need and was subsequently confronted by the 2nd harbinger in Sumeru City doesn’t mean you were colluding with these fools.

You just wanted to remain neutral in any given situation. Unlike your childhood friend, politics bore you to death. And just like the Acting Grand Sage, you’re too lazy to act as a beta tester no matter how minimal the effort the task requires.

“I only ask that you wear this pair of glasses and test its comfortability.”

“I refuse.”

“We can negotiate how much mora you’ll earn—”

“Just stop.”

“Hmm, if I phrase it as a “gift”, would you accept—”

“Hell no.”

Pantalone paused.

“Hmm…” He tapped his desk, gazing at the paperwork neatly piled up.

“Word of advice, (Y/n), it’s highly probable that the price of cocoa will rise next week,” he shrugged. “That fact is, of course, most definitely unrelated to our current discussion.”

Is he…

Is he threatening to generate chocolate inflation over a pair of glasses?!

You scoffed, eyes wide.

“██████, you worthless SCALPER.“

“The majority prefer to call me a ‘regrator’, but that new nickname is acceptable as long as it is you who makes such mildly unpleasant utterances.”

“GAH! You— YOU—” Even though he may completely ruin your usual routine of buying chocolates after work, it's difficult to curse him out. You have no choice but to spout illogical syllables without a valid clause. “JUST— YOU!!! YOU.”

Smack.

Upon hearing your facepalm resoundingly, he laughed uncontrollably, removing his glasses to wipe his eye with an uneven grin on his face. He tried to keep his composure but he kept snorting.

You took a peek between your fingers. What a precious noise. You haven’t heard him laugh like this for over three years now.

At that moment, you thought ██████ was alive.

“F-Fine— give me those damn eyeglasses.”

Pantalone drifted the parcel above your palm until he quickly retracted it as soon as you reached forward.

“But before I do that, can you promise me one thing?”

“What is it this time?” You groaned.

“Don’t lend it to anyone else, understand?” Pantalone slightly ruffled your hair. “I had it custom-made for you.”

You rolled your eyes, “that thing is definitely wiretapped. You’re not even bothering to hide it anymore.”

“Oh no, it’s not just that—”

“Just that?”

He shrugged smugly, which was not a good sign.

“The eyeglasses function similar to an Akasha Terminal, but of course, the information you’d find there is directly from my database.”

Pantalone opened the box and swiftly put the white-framed glasses on your face. He lightly tapped the frame—

and a control panel window flickered open.

Just like an Akasha.

“H-How on earth—”

“The Doctor and I had a deal. He’ll recreate at least 80% of a regular Akasha’s functions while I help him track down a few… crops. It’s a quid pro quo, I promise. It’s less of him exploiting me and more of me exploiting…— well, that doesn’t matter right now. C’mere, let me see your lovely face...”

Pantalone tilted your chin up with his thumb. His face was inches away from yours, and his piercing lilac eyes observed your glasses and what was behind them, calculating. His breathing was notably strained in a subconscious attempt to make you feel less uncomfortable from the position he trapped you in— ever the perfect gentleman— but you see his entire face flushed in a pinkish hue. A few seconds have passed, and you feel the glove pressed against you twitching.

Pantalone pulled away, shoulders stiff.

His ears were red.

“I-It’s working as intended.”

If not for the nature of your relationship, you were close enough to kiss– an appealing notion for the harbinger, yet it is not a move he should bring himself to try.

“Y-Yeah, no kidding. That was awkward.”

He gripped his arm, looking at the window.

Pantalone is painfully aware you think of him as an older brother. Or at least, the shadow of one, given how you rarely call him by name anymore.

“My apologies, I simply wanted to take a good look at you.'

He muttered, “you’ve grown into a gorgeous person, (Y/n).”

You didn’t hear him.

“██████– I mean, Pantalone–”

“Go back to calling me ██████, dear.”

“Pantalone.” You put more emphasis on his harbinger name, watching in glee as he rolled his eyes, “I expect to be paid in chocolates and at least two months’ worth of food.”

Indeed, your proposed exchange pleased him. ██████ knows how much you value healthy eating and abhor it greatly when others waste grains of rice. Time and imagination had transformed his early memories as you as a human so close to a skeletal figurine with sunken cheeks and broomstick-like limbs. Those thoughts cause him much sorrow. Pantalone would have pampered you for free if you had only let him– seeing you eating healthy gives him life. Almost like how a father would tell his children that seeing them full is enough to make him full as well.

Let him spoil you with food. Please.

Seeing you thin makes him feel sad.

“What do you want to eat for dinner later? My treat, as always.”

“Mint salad sounds lovely.”

“Just mint salad?” Pantalone smiled thinly.

His dearest baobei, no longer skin and bones. No longer barely fueled by rice and salt. No longer skipping meals. It warms his heart more than the exclusive springs offered to him because of his mora and title… But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Hmm… Would it be okay to request a plate of Triple-Layered Consommé?” You muttered, gazing at the floor. “I kind of miss your cooking… Just. Just kind of.”

His heart skipped a few beats as he saw your shy expression.

You straightened up, coughing, “not that your cooking is anything special, it’s just that I don’t want to eat anything too bland and–”

“Of course! Anything for you, my love.”

Pantalone grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“My baobei, you’d be too full to walk once I’m done spoiling you…”

“D-Did you have to word it so seductively?!”

You blushed once again, which only served to worsen his urge for making you undeniably satiated.

Oh, how he wants to keep you in a cage, locked up, and fed until he’s satisfied that you’ll never starve again…

Maybe then, you’d let him spoon-feed you like years before...

There's no rest for the wicked. When you returned to Vanarana the next day, the aranaras pulled you in for another chore at Devantaka Mountain.

“Hey, little man, get down there, right now!”

You screamed with your hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your voice. The aforementioned "small man" scoffed, not shifting an inch from his posture, as the blue aranara crept up behind you.

Ararycan worriedly relayed that a “Wood Nara” had been trespassing the large abandoned Khaenri’ahn machine. The little vegetable-like creature had grown to trust you when it came to scaring off unwanted guests, which usually entailed eremites or treasure hoarders scavenging for scrap metal.

“Ararycan wants to stop Wood Nara.”

You gently pried the wire off their hand, keeping it in your pocket in a very definite fashion.

“I know, ‘Rycan, but Naras are stubborn beings.”

“Just like Nara (Y/n)?”

You gasped, eyes widened.

These plant-like beings are surprisingly masterful at the art of roasting.

“Just like Nara (Y/n), you say?! Rude, Ararycan, rude.”

You laughed humorlessly, masking your jadedness with forced laughter.

In all honesty, you’re inclined to believe that this job reassignment was Alhaitham’s way of punishing you for remaining neutral. But surprisingly? An Amurta alumnus like you have been enjoying the task and in no small part thanks to these silly little creatures.

It's absurd to imagine that you would consent to be pulled by these vegetable creatures. You initially believed that they were paracosms produced by a lack of stimulation. You once tried to ignore them. Regrettably, that frail facade didn't survive due to a couple of slip-ups. The first to catch you drawing their likenesses next to your weather reports was Arapas. The second was Arabalika, who overheard you whispering about how powerful they were after they defeated a ruin grader, and then Arama who heard you humming their songs. They’ve built up quite the case against you, and you had to fess up before they start giving you a hard time.

By “hard time”, you were referring to how a crowd of tumultuous aranaras huddled up and tugged your hearing aids’ wire with their teeny hands incessantly.

Which was what Ararycan is doing right now.

“Get us up there, Nara (Y/n).”

"Careful, Rycan– you might damage the wire."

Suddenly, the hatted man's eyes widened after seeing you. Call it intuition, but it seemed like this total stranger knew who you were.

You made an exaggeratedly loud inhaling sound, turning off your hearing aids momentarily.

And then, a scream.

“STOP, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!! RIGHT!!! NOW!!!”

The difference between stupidity and bravery is measured by outcome, and neither are variables you wish for this “Wood Nara” to test out. Alhaitham would have you write two pages detailing an incident if the stranger broke something and eight more if the machine awakened. And sadly, you are only a small percent less lazy than that man.

Despite your words droning childishly, you made no move to approach him. His eyes sharpened, but you felt no scrutiny—

This man you’ve never met wore a blatant look of disbelief.

You looked down.

Maybe he could see Ararycan…?

“Hey— can you see them?”

You swiftly swept Ararycan off the ground, who made a surprised yelp.

The man winced.

"P-Please… Leave the forest alone…"

"And why should I care about your pathetic request?"

"Please, have mercy… T-There are creatures that live in this area… Creatures you cannot see because you lacked a human heart."

“–Ngh!”

Those memories were hard to swallow, like reading an inked sloppy handwriting submerged in water.

“G-Good riddance…”

The man coiled in pain, gripping his scalp with his lithe fingers. You cannot view the expression on his face, nor were you able to verify that he had yelped. The distance between you two was too great to conceive a communication that did not rely on shouting.

“Nara (Y/n), what are you doing?!”

Although your proximity with the aranara doesn’t cause any communication barriers, that didn’t stop Ararycan from yelling.

For some reason, the stranger flinched after seeing you carry what appeared to be air around “normal people”’s vision. Perhaps he found your actions cringe-inducing… or perhaps it made his migraine worse. Then again, both possibilities are not mutually exclusive. However, you have a feeling he didn’t flinch because he saw Ararycan.

The blue aranara leaped off of your hands.

“Ararycan is worried… Ararycan thinks Wood Nara is going to destroy the giant iron mountain…”

You stared up at the man again, wanting to go on for a long rant but refrained after realizing how immature that is. While you do have a hunch that the stranger possessed a vision, you’d bet mora that he is no match for Arabalika’s accumulated Ararakalari.

“Say, why do you keep calling him Wood Nara? Is it because of his ginormous hat?” You whispered to Ararycan.

“Huh? Did Nara (Y/n) not notice?” They tilted their head.

“Ararycan calls him “Wood Nara” because he’s made of white wood. Ararycan is not sure if he is a real Nara.”

Their answer entered from one ear and exited in the other. You’re used to hearing the Aranara lexicon that you never take any sentence at face value since you’ve learned your lesson back when Arasaka made you scout the market for a “Taste of Happiness.” Thank the Lord of Verdure that it was only Pantalone who laughed at you for describing sugar as “white, cubic, crumbles when crushed, becomes sand, and can be eaten.”

“Hah, well, he better not be made out of wood 'cause I might burn him.”

“Ararycan doesn’t think that’s easy to do. Wood Nara smells like the taste of anger,” once again, you ignored their riddled words.

You clutched the pyro vision dangling in your cloak’s right shoulder, located opposite where Alhaitham places his. Your skill set does not differ from that dendro user’s repertoire, and you calculated what vertice you should drop upon teleporting. Grabbing Ararycan, you rushed forward...

Without making it past the one-minute mark, you leaped effortlessly to where the stranger stood.

“Excuse me, young man, but do you have an Investigation Charter from the Akademiya?”

With an unused voice when it comes to dishing out commands– much less an implied threat– your approach wasn’t even a fraction of what makes authorities like the General Mahamatra intimidating. Yet, you still tried. You crossed your arms and hovered your hand near your claymore.

This stranger gazed up, boasting his soft face and beautiful lilac eyes topped with a complexion quite like a sheltered princess. He had the finest eyes you had ever seen. Yet, even with a heaven-sent face, his eyebrows were knitted. He continued kneeling on the cold metal of the giant mossed and corroded machine.

One closer look should’ve made you hyper-aware that his joints were not bound by mortal flesh, but your heart was more entranced by his glassy pupils.

“We meet again. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

He muttered inaudibly, hence, you did not hear him. Since you also just came back from visiting Liyue and their post-festival fireworks, you’ve turned your hearing aid settings lower than usual. You bent your knees slightly, offering a hand.

“Nana korobi ya oki,” you said. The stranger looked like he hailed from Inazuma, so you thought you’d put your knowledge to good use. “It means–”

Unbeknownst to you, you uttered the same thing in a past long forgotten.

“I know: fall down seven times, get up eight.”

His gloved hand grasped your own, and you tried not to think about how soft yet firm it was as you pulled him up. You grunted slightly from the shifted weight while he didn’t breathe at all.

“No, I don’t have any clearance permit,” he said. “And I still don't have a heart, if that still matters to you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

‘Still’? What the hell is he talking about? Aaru village is miles away from here, but is it possible that the man you’re talking to is a mad scholar? That’s concerning.

Pushing your glasses farther up the bridge of your nose, you tried to search his face in Sumeru's records– which might be more unlawful than whatever this man's doing, but who's policing you anyways?

…

Nothing.

There's not a single official record on this man.

Not even in the Fatui's database.

Almost like the man in front of you doesn't exist.

"What the hell are you wearing?" The man sneered. "Since when did you have awful eyesight too?"

“No Investigation Charter, no clearance, just what do you think you’re doing here?” You digressed. “May I at least have your name?”

The man tilted his hat up, “and why should I stupidly give my information away?”

Your eye twitched. He kinda reminds you of Arabalika. Maybe if you gave him a cane he’ll calm down a bit.

“I do have a use for your name, awkward stranger.”

“And that is?”

Writing a report to the Acting Grand Sage regarding suspicious individuals.

“Something to call you,” you shrugged with a child-like candor, renewing your request with bold obstinacy. “I’d rather not recount this tale to various parties as That One Time An Awful Little Man Tried To Pry Open A Giant Machine And Failed.”

He exhaled curtly.

… Was that a laugh?

“How childish. Even if you don't know my name, your "friends"– assuming you have some– will remember me by that stupid description.”

“I mean, it's a memorable first impression,” you met his gaze smugly. “But why are you hiding your name, hmm? Suspicious.”

“It’s called respecting one’s privacy. Something you don't understand.”

How rude of him to make assumptions about you, “are you some covert government official?”

“No.”

“Then what? Are you some inhuman being?”

“...” He didn’t say a word.

Something tells you that the answer is close to your hunch.

“[Wanderer].”

He muttered, once again, you did not hear it so he spoke louder.

“That's my name. Don't you dare make me repeat it.”

“[Wanderer]…”

You missed the way he tipped his hat, hiding an uncontrollable smile from your view.

[Wanderer]... That does sound like a fitting name. It reminded you of a character from a franchise or mythological tale you thoroughly enjoyed as a teenager. It might be rude to share that information, though. You’re not certain how this bratty person would react upon hearing that his name might as well be the name of your lotus from a botany class.

Normally, [Wanderer] would snap a “speak up– is there something wrong with my name?” upon listening to hushed whispers or a resounding silence after his many introductions. But you’re different for a reason.

There was no way in hell he would take the traveler's suggestion over a name you had given him.

Ararycan tugged your pants.

“Hey, don’t just stare at him, Nara (Y/n)! Tell him to leave!!!” Araycan trashed around. “Nara (Y/n) must be a brave Nara if you like the taste of anger.”

[Wanderer] is the taste of anger? Is that what Ararycan was trying to say?

You blushed, fake-coughing behind your hand.

You wouldn’t say he reminds you of the taste of anger– especially with that winsome face. If anything, his appearance looks a lot like the bunraku dolls you accidentally bought years ago.

“Well, [Wanderer], it’s nice to finally put a name to a face,” you said. “But this is a dangerous area. What are you doing here…?”

“I just wanted to look for traces of the Doctor,” [Wanderer] crossed his arms. “Unfortunately, I can’t pry this stupid machine open.”

“The Doctor? Who’s that?”

“The Harbinger who sits at the second–”

“Aah, The Outcast. I see–” you shook your head. “Wait, no, I don’t get it. What does he have anything to do with this machine here? This is a Khaenriah’n creation.”

“I know, I’m not dumb like you. I'm here because The Doctor had plans for these automatons, that’s why I’m here.”

“But even so, it’s not advisable to wander these parts alone. You ought to have asked for a travel companion. Who knows if you run into a hoard of vanaagnis in marana?”

“Hmph. Do you think I can’t handle a few whooperflowers in a withering zone? The audacity.”

“Arrogance is the capital stock of misfortune– wait, how’d you know Vanaagnis is a term for whooperflowers?” You blinked expressively. “And the meaning of marana too– so you ARE a mad scholar.”

“I’m NOT,” [Wanderer] glared. You noticed how he seemed unimpressed when you mentioned that proverb about arrogance and “capital stock”, and his expression soured more when you accused him of being a lunatic.

“I just… I just learned from the best.”

[Wanderer]'s stare not wavering away from you.

Your silence did not go unnoticed by the other two.

“...Why do I have a feeling you’re trying to say that you’ve learned from me?” Those words had escaped from your mouth before you could stop them.

[Wanderer]’s eyes widened.

“Can… Can you remember?”

“Remember…?”

He frowned, eyes reflecting his disappointment.

“No, no, it’s probably just a fluke,” [Wanderer] frowned with a finger tracing his lips. “Maybe my expression just gave it away…”

“Nara (Y/n)!!! Tell Wood Nara to leeaaaaveee!!!”

You tried not to flinch at Ararycan’s whining. They don’t seem to understand that having poor hearing doesn’t mean you can’t register their commands.

[Wanderer] walked past you.

“Fine, I’ll leave this device alone, but on one condition.”

“What makes you think you’re the one in control–”

“Go out with me.”

“...”

“... What?”

Your eyeglasses flickered red.

But that red light was gone in a blink, you weren't even sure if it existed.

You laughed nervously, “sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly–”

He refused to meet your eyes like a coward.

[Wanderer] replied brusquely, “look– you're partially deaf, but you’re NOT stupid. You heard what I said, so own it.”

"Hold on– where is all this coming from, [Wanderer]?" You pivoted your heel but were too late to yank his sleeve.

He already hovered a few feet away from you.

"I'll come to visit this place more often," [Wanderer] smirked. "You’ll still be here at the upcoming Festival, right? Mark your calendar. That’s our date.”

“Hey, you can’t just!– Aaand he’s gone.”

Despite his abrupt parting, you couldn’t help but smile over such a cheeky encounter, completely forgetting how that man rummaged through the giant machine you’re standing on without a permit.

Something tells you that you’d see him more often.

And you did.

“[Wanderer]�� never failed to visit you at 10 AM sharp every day, until there was only one day left till the next Sumeru Festival. At first, you thought his eccentric personality would make the following days unbearable, but he was rather civil– just sharp-tongued.

He would show up whenever you wandered in the forest to disseminate knowledge about the local flora and Sumeru's history. Some of them you already knew, while others had you wondering if he knew the Lord of Verdure. While you were trying to interview him for a report, not as a trespasser but as an assistant, you once purposely lightened the atmosphere to get honest responses from him. When you jokingly asked who he was, his reply was unsatisfactory.

“Who I am is not carved in wood nor stone. ᏕᎧᎷᏋᎧᏁᏋ wise told me that it’s a flexible concept and it’s easier to understand through a story, but even then, you’d only see a fraction of who that person is,” [Wanderer] peered dotingly. “If you wish to know who I am, then work for it. I’m not giving you a damn summary.”

Tomorrow is your first "date" with the man and you barely knew him.

Your internalized frustration made him think you’re insatiably adorable.

How the tables have turned.

After all, [Wanderer] only responded with the same answer you had given him before.

In a forgotten history, ᎩᎧᏬ were the one that spouts spontaneous philosophical questions that led him into fits of unintelligible musings. [Wanderer] berated humanity for being sentimental creatures yet look at him now, proudly boasting the name ᎩᎧᏬ gave him wherever he went. It is by no means grander than a title like God of Everlasting Eternity or other such monikers, but when Godhood has stripped away from him, that name provided more solace than a seat in Celestia.

“The Puppet”, “Kunikuzushi”– such utterances are water under the bridge. Only [Wanderer] stays afloat, like a bubble on water. Maybe a bubble is only beautiful for a moment, yet that moment weighs more than a meaningless “eternity” and he knows this well…

[Wanderer] had been played by fate. Attaining freedom, independence, and a vision did not absolve what chokehold you had on his synthetic being.

You're a colorful character, averaging about five meaningful papers per year– all the while considering yourself a "retired" genius. [Wanderer] would've been a kinder and forgiving person if you were his young and impressionable self's creator. He envied your patients, your strange collection of bunraku dolls, and the tenderness you reserve for them.

He missed you, no matter how often you both fought. Your hums used to enchant him when you lull him asleep with aranara songs, but they now haunt him up at night. You were his puppet and he was your dictator until you had grown exhausted of foreign power enough that you abandoned your neutrality and revolted.

But you did not revolt against him in this revision. Without a doubt, his revised “past” still mirrored the pain he caused, but through other means. He can’t say he had no regrets when he tampered with the Irminsul. Niwa’s death had less weight in this world, and for the wanderer, death without sanctification for a significant purpose is unnecessary homicide. And instead of helping Azar’s experiment, you became a “disobedient pet” who saw no need to collaborate with his superiority complex.

Yet, despite being such a disobedient pet– in his opinion, that’s a grave understatement–, he can’t help but cherish you.

The puppet missed the way his delusion marked your body. Fingerprint-like blotches collared your neck before, but when the slate was wiped clean, so too did his inflicted bruises. He missed the way you begged him to stop the pain. He missed the way you defended invisible creatures as “Queen Aranyani’s successor.” He missed the way you begged to keep the forest safe.

He missed the way you begged to be his.

But those marks are long gone– the symbol he carved on the nape of your neck had disappeared. You no longer had anything that resembled signs of his ownership.

Not only that, but seeing you wear eyeglasses– something you haven't before– fills him with anger.

The one saving grace from this situation was when this timeline confirmed that you wouldn’t help Azar if it wasn’t for [Wanderer]. You were interested in his personality and disposition as a puppet longing for a human heart, not just any of Dottore’s run-of-the-mill creations. That observation surely boosted his ego.

Your opinions mattered to him most in that project. Admittedly, he craved everyone’s veneration, even when they lacked true understanding.

But you were the first mortal that made him appreciate his defects…

"Is it so bad to live this way?" You combed his hair with your fingers. "Must you try your hand with such heresy?"

"Know your place," Scaramouche gritted his teeth. "You're nothing more than my maintenance worker- you do not deserve an audience."

"Be that as it may, future faux-god, can't you entertain me for just a moment? If I wasn't worried about you, I wouldn't be helping you with this damn treacherous experiment.

You ignored how he snarled at such a nickname, "it pains me to watch you lust for more power when you already boast an acceptable form. What is it that makes you so desperate? Is it because you can't hide the ball joints that connect your fingers and limbs?"

You continued while adjusting the tightness of his skeletal wrists.

"Is it so bad to live on as a defective being? Does imperfection invalidate a life's purpose? I only ask out of curiosity. I have imperfect ears, so does that make my life devoid of meaning?"

Scaramouche frowned, "do not compare your ears to my heart or lack thereof."

He didn't understand why his voice cracked. Scaramouche did not feel his usual temperament sizzling over but something heavy resided in his chest.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, I know you're not sorry," Scaramouche cupped your cheek, sporting an uncharacteristically loving smile.

"And your unapologetic behavior is what makes you my first sage."

His first sage…

[Wanderer] laughed to himself.

His first sage would know that if he gained a heart, he would've seen the aranara you were talking to earlier.

But this is fine. He can start over again.

This time, he’ll make you love him normally.

Heaven, please help the white wood that fell in love for it will never be human…

…

Out of the blue, Scaramouche spun and hurled three consecutive wind blades toward the woods with precision.

Be that as it may, the walking salt is surely more pathetic.

The “trees” grunted, but [Wanderer] did not miss the smell of salt-infused perfumes.

What a shame.

The next Sumeru Festival, your “date”, is tomorrow, yet there will always be those who lurk in the shadows to see the mighty fall.

"Pantalone…"

The ex-sixth harbinger snarled with unfathomable familiarity. Which was the complete opposite of the ninth harbinger, who coldly greeted him like a new enemy.

"Good afternoon, [Wanderer]."

Pantalone pulled out a gun from his hidden holster.

"No hard feelings, sir," the businessman smiled thinly. "I am but a simple man eliminating a love rival. You see, it’s not nice threatening to steal someone’s possession."

Scaramouche cackled.

How annoying. He never liked this friend of yours– he much preferred the one that planned a coup. Pantalone was not a coworker Scaramouche liked, much less a rival. This ambitious man was always a parasite, pretending to be worried while threatening to withhold project funding behind your back. Scaramouche will never forget how he boasted insolently that he had known you longer as if eternity wouldn't be enough to make up for it.

"You never change, mortal," he laughed even harder. "I knew something was off about (Y/n)'s glasses!"

"Hmm? Is that so?" Pantalone pushed them up closer– reminding Scaramouche that he’s no terrible shot. "How strange. In any case, I quite frankly don't care what you know or do not know."

He pulled the trigger as Scaramouche stomped his feet.

Only a few knew what occurred in Vanarana that day, but there was one thing the forest remembered.

Before either of them parted, a loud bang echoed that even deaf trees can't miss.

You woke up from Araja’s house (which was the only comfortable place to sleep in Vanarana) after passing out from tumultuous loads of paperwork sent directly by the Baharak. She joked that at that point, maybe she had become a bad omen for you– and you confirmed her suspicions. The tasks the Acting Grand Sage laid out for you were taxing, if not, deleterious for your mental well-being, and worst of all–

He sent a notice that this would be your last week patrolling Vanarana.

When you spread the announcement, the aranaras were saddened by the news. Even Arabalika was unimpressed and asked if you can prolong your services. Alas, it can’t be refuted.

Noticing how tired you appeared, the village chief immediately commanded you to sleep while you pretended not to hear whispers of a surprise farewell party. Considering how the place looked positively empty this morning, you’d wager that they’re busy working on it.

But you do smell that someone’s cooking right now…

The enticing scent emanated from a large pot. As you sauntered closer, you noticed how Arasaka was tending to the food. The aranara gave you a friendly wave that you didn’t reciprocate. It’s rather chilly in Vanarana in the mornings– and the sleeves of your jacket were comfy.

“Good morning, Nara (Y/n)!”

“Good morning, ‘Saka. That smells delicious,” you smiled bittersweetly.

“Hehe, really? Glad to hear it! One of Nara (Y/n)’s friends helped gather the ingredients. That Nara was good at hunting down prey!”

One of your friends…? You haven't introduced a lot of people to the aranaras. That can only mean it's either Baharak, Pantalone, or [Wanderer], and you can safely remove the first one since they're positively busy with guild matters.

... Huh. But those two can't see aranaras. Does that mean they stole Pantalone or [Wanderer]'s game?

"Pfft..." You chortled. Yeah, imagining either of them getting confused as to why their hunted boar had gone missing feels like a sight to see.

You took the ladle from Arasaka’s hand and sipped the warm liquid.

…

“Oh, hey, this tastes pretty good!”

“Hehe, Arasaka is glad to hear you liked it! Nara taste buds are hard to please.”

You took another sip as Arasaka watched. The warm soup went down smoothly, but the aftertaste had a serpent-like bite to it. It tastes akin to red sorghums Pantalone would down whenever social drinking was inevitable. Your only critique was that it would’ve been a refreshing experience if there wasn’t a rocky object stuck between your teeth. You awkwardly picked it out.

… And saw a small hint of (wood/salt) between your fingers.

You stared at Arasaka.

Strange…

Something feels… off.

This doesn't taste like happiness, it tastes like…

You shivered and yet the aranaras around you still had that same painted smile.

"Does Nara (Y/n) like the taste now? The taste of friendship?”

… Friendship?

No. That can’t be it.

The spoon splashed back into the bowl. You didn’t say a word, only stared at the boiling pot. You knelt, grabbing both handles to gaze upon the bubbling red liquid. With trembling hands, you picked the spoon back up and swirled the contents. Nothing was of note–

Until you scooped something from the very bottom and found thick strands of dark hair.

A very familiar strand of dark hair.

You adjusted your glasses in an attempt to find out where this human hair came from–

“Nara (Y/n) likes the scent of (wood/salt) Nara so my sisters added him in!” Arasaka innocently cheered.

Your heart dropped.

You turned pale– gagging.

No. It can't be.

Did you just eat…

“So, Nara (Y/n)– does our cooking taste bland now?”

… “him”?

“Oh, Nara (Y/n)’s friend is approaching! Don’t forget to thank him for the food!”

1K notes · View notes

deathbyyoongx · 1 year ago

Text

stuck with you; part 1 — myg

╭ parts: 1, ...

╭ word count: 5.2k

╭ summary: After your best friend Hoseok told you you could stay at his place for two weeks, you couldn’t help but be more than thrilled. A studio in the middle of the city, away from home, and close to every club you loved to go to? It couldn't get much better than that. However, when you heard the news his roommate's plans got canceled, you soon realized you had to spend those two weeks together with none other than Min Yoongi. It wouldn’t have bothered you if you had to spend two weeks together with a hot guy, but unfortunately for you, you already knew Yoongi from high school.

And he absolutely despises your guts ever since.

╭ pairing: yoongi x brat!reader

╭ genre: smut, just smut, okay maybe a bit off fluff, can't help it

╭ warnings: enemies to lovers, angry/stubborn yoongi, y/n is an aboslute brat but that's the usual in my fanfics, ex-friends from high school, he hates you but you don't really know why, back and forth bickering, drinking, hair pulling, name-calling, hate sex (?), spitting, hickeys, slapping, voyeurism, being stuck with a hot guy that secretly would love to fuck you for two weeks, ...

╭ author's note: I had to put some fluff into it, I couldn't help it. It's the hopeless romantic in me. Also haven't reread it (24/08) I'm tired.

btw, use InteractiveFics for a better reading experience ;)

“Are you sure about this, Hobi? I mean, the man despises me.” Today was the day you would stay over at Hoseok’s shared studio apartment. It was only a few rooms away from a full-on apartment, which you were not complaining about. The plan was, that both Hoseok and his roommate Yoongi would be on vacation, which meant that you had this lovely space all for your own. But of course, fate had other things in store for you when you heard that Yoongi’s plans got canceled. His friend got a bad stomach ache after eating at some shady place downtown, pity. If this news had come to you a few years ago, you would be more than thrilled. Yoongi and you used to be good friends in high school, so the idea of spending two weeks with him wouldn’t be anything to worry about. But ever since college…things changed between the two of you.

“Look, I promised you could stay over and you’ve already adjusted your schedule to it as well, so he’ll just have to get used to it. And besides, it’s not permanent, I’ll be back in two weeks. He’s usually in his room anyways, so he won’t be bothered by you too much.” Hosoek explained, trying his best to reassure you about the sudden change of plans. “Plus, he agreed to it so-”

“Yeah, when he was still planning to go on vacation himself. But none of us expected his plans to be canceled because his friend ate a bad lobster.” You felt bad for the friend, but at least the doctors said it would be alright. But still, now you were in this sticky situation.

“Yeah, that's very unfortunate.” Hoseok said pitifully. “Plus, how bad could it be” That’s when you both heard the sound of keys unlocking the front door, which made you turn your heads at the same time. While Hoseok didn’t change anything in his behavior, you on the other side tried your best to stay cool and not to think too much about it. But god, did this make you nervous. Especially since it has been a while since you’ve seen Yoongi. The last time you saw him, he was rocking that bowl cut, which did look undeniably cute on him, but that was already five years ago. Where did the time go? Now you were both in your early to mid-twenties, so you knew that he wasn’t going to be the same boy from before. So when the front door finally swung open, you were captivated by Yoongi’s change of appearance over the years. Fuck. He was painfully beautiful. He grew his hair out, and the back of it even touched his shoulders. He traited his bowl cut for a middle part, and fuck, did it look good. And even though he was only wearing a hoodie and a pair of jeans, you noticed how broad his shoulders had become. Yoongi briefly looked up, and that’s when he finally noticed your presence. It was of short due because your eyes only met for a second before he looked back down. “Oh, good. I was just planning to leave-” Hoseok quickly spoke to defuse the obvious tension.

“Enjoy your holiday, Hoba.” Yoongi quickly said before locking himself in his room.

“Very bad, alright.” Hoseok looked at you, almost apologetic that this was the situation you had landed in. “Make the best of it.” Was the last thing Hoseok said before hugging you goodbye. He grabbed his luggage and headed out of the door. You just chuckled to yourself. If this is how Yoongi wanted to be me, let him. You were going to enjoy yourself, whether he liked it or not.

Day one went by faster than you expected. The best option for you was leaving that grumpy man alone for the first day, letting him slowly accept the situation on his own. You just went to the bar with your friends, enjoying the fact that everything was so near to you now. You still lived with your parents, but you were slowly earning enough money to move out. It was just a matter of time. That’s why Hoseok did you the favor to stay at his place while he’s on vacation. He only suggested it because he knew Yoongi would be away as well, not knowing that his plans were short-due. Besides the fact that out of all people you were staying at their place, it’s the fact his expensive vacation got canceled that made him extra annoyed. Leading to situations like you bumping into each other, saying ‘hi’ to Yoongi, and him completely ignoring your ass. Nice. But today was day two. Another day of playing another game of: will Yoongi finally speak one word to me, or will he act as if I don’t even exist? Let’s find out!

So there you were, sitting on the couch Tuesday morning, eating your honey cereal as you were watching one of your favorite shows. The sound of Yoongi’s door opening up made your ears perk up, making you turn your head to the right to look at his sleepy figure walking towards the kitchen. "Good morning." You greeted, but without any luck of getting a greeting back. You child. “Hope you slept well.” You turned your head back to the television as you listened to Yoongi grabbing something out of the fridge and heading back to his room. “Great talk.” You said in a sarcastic tone, mouth full as you heard his door slam shut again. You knew he was a stubborn little guy, but you weren’t planning on giving up. Maybe he still needed some more time to cope. Yes, that’s obviously the answer.

[10:18] y/n: Joonie

[10:18] y/n: Wanna go on a coffee date with me?

Namjoon was one of your best friends, who is conveniently enough also friends with Yoongi. You could always go to him for advice or just a good time. I bet he knows what to do with Yoongi, right?

[10:21] Namjoon: of course

[10:21] Namjoon: I’ll pick you up around 12

“I tell you Namjoon, he just fully ignores my ass whenever I’m there. It’s like I’m a ghost.” As soon as you two sat down in the little café down the street and ordered, you started venting your heart out about this whole ordeal. “I’m real right?!” You started poking his cheek, making him scrunch up his nose and telling you to stop. It made you giggle.

“I just think he needs some time…maybe. He really started disliking you ever since college, you know.” Whenever Namjoon talked, he sounded wise. Even though he wasn’t that much older than you, he managed to sound like he had years of experience. “I never really knew why though, you two seemed to be good friends before.”

You took a quick sip from your coffee and quickly regretted it since you burned your tongue. “I know right?! It’s super weird. Besides Yoongi, is Hoseok the only one who knows, but he doesn’t want to tell me.” You sighed out of defeat and a pout formed on your lips. “I don’t remember having a fight or saying something inappropriate to him, so I have no clue what the reason is.” You took a moment to think and recollect your memories, but there wasn’t one that could indicate the reason for Yoongi’s sudden hatred towards you. You graduated high school one year after Yoongi, you went to college, and all of a sudden he stopped replying to your texts and avoided you at all cost.

Namjoon softly smiled as he gently placed his hand on your arm. “I know he’s stubborn, but he can’t ignore you forever. You’ll get through him one way or another.” His words were warm and sincere, making you feel more at ease about the whole situation. “Besides, you’re stubborn too, so I know the only option is for him to talk to you eventually.”

His comment made you laugh, ‘cause you knew it was true. “We’ll see.” You sighed. “I just feel bad for him that he needs to live with someone that he heavily dislikes. I wanna make it up to him, you know? One way or another.”

Namjoon thought for a second, stirring his little silver spoon around his coffee cup. “Maybe Hoseok’s knows what to do? You can always text him, he won’t mind”

A hopeful smile appeared on your face. “You’re right, but enough about me! How have you been? I heard you started writing a new book, that’s exciting!” After college, Namjoon started writing books. His first one wasn’t as successful as he hoped to be, but he had not lost heart, and luckily for him his last release was a hit. It’s kind of impressive how fast he could come up with new ideas. He also had a very poetic way with words, so to you it was just a matter of time until he got recognized.

“It’s going okay. I have a bit of writer's block, but I’ll get through it. And coming out of the house is fortunately one of the key factors of breaking it.” He smiled, his dimples shining through. The sudden buzz of Namjoon’s phone caught the both of you off guard. He fished his phone out of his bag, letting out an annoyed sigh as he read the caller ID. “It’s Jungkook, this is gonna take a while, sorry.”

Of course. Jungkook, your mutual friend, was known to keep himself busy with things that he knew he shouldn’t. You were just wondering in what kind of trouble Jungkook got himself into this time.

Day two wasn’t as successful either, but you weren’t planning on giving up. Besides, Yoongi and you used to be friends. Weird, right? Yeah, sure, it was high school, but you didn’t expect him to change his demeanor towards you that much. Besides, what could you have done to make him hate you so much? That’s why day three, you decided to ask for some help. And hey, the third time’s a charm, right?

[17:41] y/n: hobi istg this man doesn’t budge

[17:42] Hoseok: It's that bad huh?

[17:42] Hoseok: Maybe ask him to drink with you? I’ve never seen him say no to alcohol

[17:43] y/n: bet

Now you had a plan and all you had to do was wait until he got home. You just had to ask him to have a drink and he will finally be nice to you, easy right? So tonight, you decided to stay home, trying to socialize with Mister Grumpy. You were patiently waiting for him to get home as you were watching TV again. It was already 22:05, so he would arrive any minute now. So hearing the magical sound of the keys turning in the keyhole made you as ready as ever. “Welcome home, you wanna-”

“I don’t know why you keep on trying, but if it wasn’t obvious yet, I’m not interested in talking to you.”

Excuse me?! “Excuse me?” If Yoongi’s first sentence wasn’t enough to make you offended, his cold tone only added to it. Yoongi however, just ignored you again. He took his shoes off, took something from the fridge, and just went to his room again. You just scoffed before you yelled “Look, it’s only for two weeks. Then you’ll have your precious Hobi back.” But the lack of response made you even angrier. “It’s also not my fault your plans got canceled, so no need to be so mean!” You just pouted in your seat, not sure what your next move could be, if you even had that. Should you just ignore the fact that Yoongi was ignoring you? Absolutely not, you still had 11 days left with that bastard. So when day three arrived, you decided on a different approach.

“Yoongi, can you-“ And with that, he closed the door in your face. Nevermind. You thought if you were more direct, he would finally be less of a jerk, but alas, you were wrong again. The weather seemed to be in your favor, however. It had been raining cats and dogs ever since this morning, meaning you were stuck with one another whether he liked it or not. You planned to stay in the living room for the entire day, so whenever he needed to leave to get something, he had no other choice but to be in the same room as you. But Yoongi wasn’t naive, he knew what you were doing. So this morning he grabbed enough resources to keep himself fueled for the day. The bastard.

But there it was, a sign from above.

It was already close to midnight when all of a sudden you heard a certain man curse every curse word you could imagine in the comfort of his own room. Not only that, but the living room light suddenly shut off, leaving you alone in the darkness with the only light source being the one from your phone screen. But before you could fully comprehend what was happening, Mister Grumpy had finally left his room. “Did you turn the electricity off?!”

You couldn’t help but scoff at his accusation. “First of all, I don’t even know how to do that. Second of all, how dare you accuse me of such a thing! I’m not that desperate for a man's attention…” You nagged. “The power just cut off. I bet it’s from the storm from outside, but maybe you haven’t noticed it since you locked yourself in your room all day.”

“I have a window in my room you know-“ A loud thunder interrupted Yoongi’s sentence. “Jesus.”

You placed your phone away, looking sheepishly at Yoongi who was wearing an oversized black shirt and gray sweats that didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. “I guess you’re stuck with m-” But before you could even finish your sentence, Yoongi was already heading back to his room. Oh no, I don’t think so. You bolted out of your seat and jumped in front of Yoongi’s door, blocking his entrance. “Not so fast!” Even though his annoyed expression was enough for you to move out of his way, this was just a perfect opportunity that you couldn’t let go to waste. “You wanna drink with me?”

Yoongi scoffed at your suggestion, crossing his arms as he spoke to you. “Why would I wanna drink with you?”

You forced a smile. “Because Hobi says you like drinking and we are gonna be stuck with each other for some time.” You explained. “Besides, because of the weather the internet is cut off. So I need some sort of entertainment.”

“So you only wanna talk to me 'cause you are bored.”

This bitch. “Ugh, stop being such a drama queen. You’re the one who keeps ignoring me.” How dare he imply that you were the reason you guys haven’t properly talked the last four days? “Now sit!” You said in a demanding way, making him well aware you weren’t planning on backing down tonight. Yoongi just did as he was told and placed himself down on the couch reluctantly. Pleased with your accomplishment, you quickly headed to the liquor cabinet, grabbing the first bottle that seemed decent to you. You placed it down on the coffee table, together with some glasses, but by Yoongi’s expression, you could tell he was not pleased.

“You got the wrong one.” He spoke softly.

“What?”

“This is the cheap alcohol Hobi picks for parties and stuff. Wait-“ You and Yoongi switched places, you sitting down on the couch and he headed over to the liquor cabinet. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, quickly swapping the previous bottle with another one. “Here, this is the good bottle.” As Yoongi placed the bottle down, together with himself on the couch, a good distance away from you, you couldn’t help but notice it seemed a lot more expensive than the previous bottle.

“You ignore me for days, but at least I deserve your expensive liquor.” You say backhanded. It didn’t help the he-hates-my-guts situation, but hey, you couldn’t help it.

He just scoffed as he poured a drink for the both of you. “Need to enjoy a quality drink if I want to tolerate talking to you.” He handed one glass to you. “Here.”

“Ah yes, of course.” That made more sense. You accepted the drink, waiting for him to clink it. “To a lovely night.” You said, forcing a smile again. You noticed he did the same before you clinked glasses, simultaneously taking a sip from your drink.

By the way you scrunched up your face as you took your first sip, Yoongi quickly realized that you usually didn’t drink stuff like this. “Not used to the hard stuff, huh?” He said in a cocky manner.

“Absolutely not.” You said, face full of disgust. “But hey, if it makes you hate me less-”

“I don’t hate you.” Yoongi quickly added, cutting off your sentence. “You just annoy me.”

You just laughed as you took another sip. “I guess that’s something.” The more you drank from it, the better it got. “Why though? We used to be friends in high school, but ever since college you started to act…different.” Yoongi didn’t answer, all he did was shrug his shoulders before he finished his drink in one sip, quickly pouring himself another glass. He was hiding something, but you didn’t know what yet. “Fine, don’t tell me then.”

“The fact that you can’t remember the reason why, makes my annoyance to you even more justified.” Yoongi explained as he was swirling his drink around. “But I guess you do have a weird sense of memory. Like that one time, when you forgot what color rose I gave you, but you seemed to have remembered I cut off the thorns so you wouldn’t prick yourself.” He said slightly annoyed. “It was lavender by the way, but I also don’t think you remembered the meaning behind it.”

“Wait, you remember that?” After all those years, Yoongi still remembered that? It was a very early memory of you two, you were both 15 at the time. It was Valentine's Day at school, and since you knew neither of you would have a valentine, you decided to be each others’. He gave you that lavender rose while you gave him a weird videogame that he was into back in the day. You were slowly sipping that nasty drink Yoongi handed to you as your mind was lost in a sea of nostalgia.

He tried to brush it off, not acting as if it was anything special. “Just a random memory I have.” But he couldn’t. “Or maybe I just treasured our friendship more than you did.” There it was.

You forgot to tell Yoongi you were a lightweight, so the dramatic gasp you let out was partially that dramatic because of the alcohol. “That’s not true! You were one of my closest friends.” An angry pout formed on your face. “But then you started to act like a meanie.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh, I was a meanie?! You were the one that started forgetting about me ever since she got into college.”

“Heh?!” You could feel yourself getting more drunk by the sip. “You were the one who started ignoring my texts!” Yoongi’s lips parted for a second, ready to snap back, before closing them again. He was saying too much. There was a reason for his change of behavior, but his pride was the reason he couldn’t say it. “Yeah, now you don’t know what to say, huh?!”

“Whatever.” Yoongi mumbled as he took another sip of his drink, finishing it as well, making him pour another one. He wasn’t planning on staying sober tonight, especially after exposing his feelings too much.

The alcohol was starting to get to you, because the longer you started at Yoongi, the cuter you found him. You also noticed his cheeks were redder than before, but you weren’t sure if it was out of embarrassment or because of the alcohol. Unlike him, you couldn’t handle your liquor that well, making you say things like “You know, you’d be a lot cuter if you weren’t such a dick to me.”

Yoongi stayed quiet for a second, swirling his drink again as if he were searching through all the possible comebacks to that comment. “I thought assholes were your thing?” He scoffed.

You tilted your head out of confusion, mixed with a pout on your lips. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, by all the guys you’ve been fucking, I can tell there is a pattern-”

“Are you slut shaming me, Min Yoongi?!” You gasped, a bit over the top maybe, but still justified. “Never expected that from you, I’ve never been so disappointed.”

Yoongi’s face turned a pale white, not expecting for this conversation to turn out this way. “No, wait-” You crossed your arms and dramatically turned your head away from him. “That's not how I wanted to come across.”

That’s when you started to overthink this situation, which made a grin appear on your face, making Yoongi even more concerned. “Wait…so are you being an asshole because you thought that was my type?” His eyes were wide and his lips were tightly pressed against one another. He truly didn’t know what he just got himself into.

“No, not like-”

“Waaait-” You moved a bit closer to Yoongi and words escaped your mouth before your mind could fully understand them. “So, you saw me fucking a bunch of so-called ‘assholes’ and thought, lemme do the same? Didn’t know you actually liked me that much, Yoongi.” You teased.

“I think you’re looking a bit too hard into this-”

“So you were not trying to be my type?”

“Not intentionally, no.”

“What if I said that you are my type though?”

The words came out casually, but you didn’t realize how impactful those words were to Yoongi. “W-what?” he stuttered.

“And not because you suddenly became a dick to me, just for clarification!” You quickly added, we wouldn’t want any misconceptions. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that second glass, what even was that drink? It sure wasn’t anything like the cheap stuff you got at the bars. You looked up at Yoongi and you could tell the red of his cheeks wasn’t from the alcohol. “Hehe, someone’s flustered.”

Yoongi’s body language had changed, he wasn’t as relaxed as a few minutes before, which was understandable. He was more tense and you could tell he was nervous all of a sudden. “You’re just saying things now.” Was all he could say, almost like a defense, like he couldn’t believe you just said that, let alone mean it.

Your sudden laugh caught him off guard. “Why would I lie about such a thing? You know me better than that.” You looked up at Yoongi, his eyes almost as innocent as a deer. His gaze was fixated on you and even though his mouth was shut thigh, you could tell more than a thousand words were going through his mind right now. “Ah, you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed, Yoongi.“ You leaned in ever closer, surprising him with how little distance there was left between the two of you.

He couldn’t help but look away, this was just getting a bit too much for him. “You don’t mean that.” He said under his breath.

You pouted again as your eyes were studying Yoongi’s features. The way his black hair fell, the fluttering of his lashes, the rosy color of his cheeks, he really was a work of art. “Maybe I can prove it to you?” Yoongi’s eyes slightly widened at your suggestion, making him turn his head back to you. It painted a smile on your face. “What’s going through your mind right now?” You teased, noticing you piqued his interest.

His breathing got heavier, and you noticed the quick glance he took at your lips before he fixed them back to your eyes. “The same that’s going through yours, I hope.”

A smirk formed on your lips as you looked at his. “Is that so?” Yoongi wanted to say something back, but he couldn’t. “Is that why you’re so nervous all of a sudden?” You moved your hands up to his cheek, slowly caressing it with your fingers. “Because a lot of dirty things are going through my mind right now.” Yoongi seemed to be starstruck, unable to make a move. “You really can’t find your words, huh?” That’s when you noticed…“But your little friend says more than enough.”Your eyes drafted towards the tent in his gray sweats, making you smirk out of satisfaction at the sudden surprise. You moved your hand away from his face, laying them down on his thighs. “Can I?” You asked as you slowly caressed your fingers on his thigh, just inches away from his ever-growing erection. Yoongi took a deep breath before slowly nodding, almost seeming like he was fighting himself to give in. His response made your eyes twinkle, and you moved your hands up to caress his aching bulge. Your eyes were still focused on his’ as your hands were doing it’s own thing. You loved seeing his reaction to you touching him. The look of annoyance slowly faded into pure lust. His breathing got heavier with every caress your hand made, making his dick twitch out of response. Yoongi’s eyes moved down at your lips, almost looking desperate to have them against his’. “If you want to kiss me, then do it.” You teased. You wanted him to give in to his desires. You wanted him to admit it to himself how much he wanted you right now. And oh, did it drive him mad. You could see the hint of frustration in his face, his pride and desires were arguing, but one was obviously the winner since it only took him seconds before he leaned in to kiss you. His lips hesitated a bit to move as they touched yours, but when you were the one to start the motion, he had no choice but to follow along. You felt his hand creep in around your waist, pulling you in closer. A raspy moan left his lips since your hands had found their way underneath his gray sweats. “Nice to hear you haven’t lost your voice.” You whispered teasingly.

“Shut u-fuck.” With circular motions, you spread his precum all over his tip before giving him a hard stroke. “Please, y/n-” You never expected Yoongi to moan your name so desperately, but here you were. The man who had been ignoring you for the last couple of days was now more than desperate for your undivided attention. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you pressed your lips against Yoongi again, the sweet taste of his liquor still lingering. For a brief second, you let go of his twitching dick, leaving the comfort of the couch to sit on the ground, just the right height for easy access. You grabbed Yoongi’s sweats at its hem, dragging it down, making his erection even more visible. You were surprised by his size, making you even more excited to touch him. Saying you never expected to be in this situation would be a lie since you’ve fantasized about it multiple times during your college days. But unfortunately for the two of you, that’s when Yoongi decided to start ignoring you…

Yoongi’s eyes were fully focused on you, admiring the view you had given him. You tucked your hair behind your ear before grabbing his cock by its base, giving it a slow lick from there all the way to the top, without breaking eye contact. You circled your tongue around his tip before fully taking him in, making him let out a long heavy moan, almost sounding like a sigh of relief. Your hand followed the motion of your lips, starting out slow. The sound of you sucking Yoongi off in combination with his heavy breaths filled the room, which for you, was music to your ears. Occasionally, he would let out a small whimper, making you ever so proud of what you were doing. Yoongi’s head was thrown back in his seat, unable to continue looking at you as his hair fell in front of his eyes. He was getting lost in the pleasure, moaning your name under his breath mixed with cuss words. You removed your lips from his cock, making him let out a moan out of reflex. You quickened the pace of your hand as you kissed the inside of his thighs, eyes fully focused on him. “Don’t stop-” Managed to come out of his mouth as his heavy breathing became full of moans, making it clear to you that he was getting closer. You wrapped your lips back around him again, making him let out a raspy moan. “Fuuuck-“ You felt Yoongi’s hand finding the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair, moving your head even further down so he could enjoy the gagging sounds you made. “Just like that.” Like the good girl you were, you went along with the pace Yoongi had set for you, not caring that the tears in your eyes were ruining your mascara. “You’re taking me so well.” You looked back up at Yoongi, noticing he had his eyes back on you. How could your eyes look so innocently up at him as you were absolutely ruining him at the same time? “Where do you want it?” The twinkle in your eye and the lack of response as you continued to suck him off made it clear to him where you wanted it. He threw his head back again and the subtle twitch in his legs made it obvious he was nearly there. “Shit-I’m gonna-fuck-“ You made it hard for him to speak as you increased your speed, making it all harder for him to suppress his orgasm. A raspy groan left Yoongi’s mouth as you felt him filling your mouth with white ribbons of his cum. The feeling of it against the back of your throat made you whimper for a second, but you tried your best to clean it all up. But fuck, was there a lot of it. You tried your best to clean every drop of Yoongi, and when his dick left your mouth, it was already turning limp. You couldn’t help but smirk as you wiped the excess off of the corner of your lips, enjoying the view of Yoongi being absolutely worn out. Yoongi gathered the last of his energy to sit up straight, leaning towards you to kiss you again. “I wanna make you feel good as well.” He whispered in between kisses.

A menacing grin appeared on your face, however. “Hmh, no.” You whispered back before pulling away.

“Wait, what?!” Your answer made Yoongi snap out of his high, not sure why you would refuse his offer.

You stood up from off your knees, feeling them being red from sitting that long. “Maybe if you’re a bit nicer to me the next couple of days, I’ll let you. But for now, no.” You said nonchalantly and full of attitude, even though this didn’t seem to be in your favor, ‘cause shit were you horny. You walked away from the couch and towards Hobi’s room. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

Yoongi was dumbfounded and confused for a good minute, not sure what just had happened. All he knew was that he wished had made you cum first.

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captainleviswifee · 7 months ago

Text

Summer heats...

Tags: Modern AU Levi, established relationship, fem reader, summer, saturday, day offs, MDNI,

Please reblogg if you like this content!

Edit: you can use extensions, or apps to replace y/n with the name of your choice. I personally use interactivefics extensions, but let me know if you know others!

It's a Saturday summer and it's your day off. The heat waves of the glaring sun is upon you. Despite the sun setting down this afternoon, it did not discount to the simmering heat of the weather at all. The air is dry and warm, the air conditioning barely helping to the rising temperature. So you turn the fan on and wear comfortable clothing. You're wearing shorts that's nearly exposing your cheeks way above of your thighs. A lose thin cotton tank top that you'd usually wear under a blouse, or a dress. You are a conservative, a little reserved kind of person, but none of that matters against this sweltering heat. "Well I'm at home anyway, this is fine." You say as you wear the tank top on you. If not for common decency you would've gotten rid of your tank top and just go wearing bra or bra less in your home. It's just that you're not alone at home. Levi is with there with you too, he's not one to go hang outside on weekends, day offs or not. You just don't want to flash anyone with sudden nudity even if you're in a relationship with him.

You walk past behind him, his form wearing a thin lose shirt. Subtly outlining his toned form as he sits on the couch reading the news on his phone. You catch the headlines from over his shoulder, saying: 'Man collapses at work, doctors say the summer heat induced his hypertension.'

The both of you originally planned to hang out for today's day off, but the heat just took away all that mood for going outside. And decided to spend the day away from each other even just because of this heat.

"It's a little too hot isn't it? You want something cold?" You ask stealing glances at his focused blue gray eyes reading the news, offering him a cold drink to ease this heat. He catches your question, looking at you from the fringes of his dark bangs, with a nonchalant expression. "I want iced water please," He responds, and you push for a follow up, "Sure you don't want any iced tea?" His eyes dart sideways in contemplation for a moment. Seemingly tempted at the idea, before turning his gaze back to you to reply, "I prefer water today," He replies, he's never really one for carbonated drinks, alcohol, or juice. More often than not, his options just consists of tea, coffee, and water. And the only juice you actually see him drink is iced tea and nothing else.

"Alright, if you say so." You smile to yourself taking out two glasses for the both of you from the cupboard, placing it on the kitchen counter. Your form walk towards, the fridge getting a pitcher of cold water and poured it on the two glasses that's on the counter. You give the other to him, his eyes now glued to a book he just picked up. His blue gray eyes gazes up to you from behind his dark bangs that frames his face. "Thanks," He curtly responds, taking the glass of water from you hand. His fingers briefly brushing from your own, before he takes a sip and continued reading his book.

You take a peek at the book he's reading as you settle down on the other side of the couch beside him. He replies still focused on what he's reading, "Hm, crime fiction," He responds, his steel blue gaze finding you sitting comfortably, your head now resting on the arm of the couch as you prop up your phone to read something, "You?" He adds gruffly. "Webtoons, I'm liking this new find I saw so far." You reply, crossing your legs comfortably as you lay down on the other side of the couch. The exposed skin of your cheeks and inner thighs, catching up the warm air blowing from the fan.

You hear him close his book and put it down on the coffee table to crawl closer to you, "Oh? What's it about?" He asks, squeezing himself closer to you to take a look on your screen. You move a bit to give him room to share with you. "It's about a super nanny kind of protagonist finding a job, to babysit a mafia boss' son." You reply with a pleased look on your face. He reads along on your screen as you scroll, "And let me guess, you simp for the mafia boss right?" He replies his gaze displaying a deadpan expression. "Hah! Pretty much yea," You quip, "No surprises there," He sighs shaking his head with a slight smirk tugging on his face. He reads along now a little more invested in the webtoon the two of you are reading.

You feel him wrap his arms around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. A much more comfortable position for the both of you as you read the webtoon in focused interest. His warm breath slow and gentle on the skin of your neck.

You two read a long, the webtoon now displaying a confrontation scene with a borderline romantic interaction between the nanny and the mafia boss. "Oh, that's an interesting development," He mumbles, the humming of his voice on your neck sending tingles on your spine.

"H-huh? Yea I know right. But it's not gonna progress to that until later chapters. That's how romance stories like these work," You say, fighting the urge not to get flustered at his voice and warm breath on your neck like this.

The webtoon panels now pulling up at the two characters having their faces a little too close to each other. Your heart quickens, not because of what the two of you are reading. But because of Levi's breath on your sensitive skin, the tingles his voice gives you as he whispers close to your ear his breath warming up your ear and your neck as he wraps his arm around your waist. You can't focus at all on what you're reading. "Your heart is beating fast, you really like this story hm?" He comments further, his voice low on your ear, vibrating through your neck, and sending tingles down your spine. "Levi...stop it," You tell him. You know exactly what he's doing. "Stop what?" He asks pulling away as little as he'd allow himself as his blue gray irises looks at you quizzically from his dark fringes. "I'm not doing anything," He curtly responds snuggling close with you again a subtle smirk playing on his lips momentarily. He caught you off guard after he plants a kiss on your neck.

Now this is where you put down your phone. "Not doing anything huh?" You say wrapping your arms around him in return, your cheeks a little ticklish from that kiss alone. "Mhm," He replies his voice vibrating against your sensitive skin as he snuggles closer to your neck, before moving up to whisper in your ear. His voice rough and low, "Like you're not swaying that ass of yours as you walk past me earlier," You're eyes widen, "Huh? I wasn't." You reply a whisper. "You're not?" He asks, planting another kiss on your neck, his hands wandering to find your ass cheeks. "Lies. If so, you have no business waking up this hot." He finishes his words, his hands squeezing your ass. "Fuck," You sigh a quiet groan as you feel something hard and throbbing up against your exposed thighs.

It seems like the weather is not the only thing in heat this summer.

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #captain levi #levi aot #aot #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #attack on titan fan fiction #fan fiction #fanfics #reader x canon #levi x reader smut

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darkomoth · 1 year ago

Text

Insomniacs

Chapter 1: Violets

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: You and Hotch are both workaholics, but when you start showing up earlier and staying later, he starts getting concerned. A case will give you something to preoccupy yourself with, but something goes severely wrong.

Cause when doesn't it?

Notes: I recommend getting the InteractiveFics extension for chrome! It's really good and will replace the y/n and l/n with your name :)

Also uploaded on Ao3 under the same title

Word count: 9.7K

Ch. 2 Ch.3

It was another night of not being able to sleep at all. Not that you hadn’t tried. After the plane touched back down in Quantico, you should’ve felt relief at the thought of home and a comfortable bed to lie your head, but you felt nothing other than anxiety at the thought of nothing to do.

You got to your apartment, dumped your used go-bag clothes into the washing machine, showered, cleaned up the dishes that cluttered in your kitchen, even vacuumed up a bit in the living room. You looked over at the clock on the end table by your couch, it read 3:33 am. With a sigh, you decided to give rest a shot.

Your bed was made perfectly already, not wanting to mess it up, you decided the couch was good. You grabbed a blanket and pillow and turned on the TV, volume all the way down. The time passed achingly slowly. Seconds crawled by and the silence was unbelievably deafening. You looked at the clock once again, 3:39 am. Another attempt to close your eyes and you were met with 20 minutes of tossing and turning.

“That’s enough.” You mumbled to yourself before throwing the warm blanket off your body and getting up. You made a pot of coffee, moved your clothes to the dryer, and packed a new go-bag. 4:05 am. It was agonizing, every second you waited for your phone to ring. You watched it, the dark screen with no new notifications taunting you. You sat on your couch, watching the characters on your screen move and laugh silently, your eyes drifted closed once or twice, but never long enough for it to be called sleep.

You sipped your coffee, hot and caffeinated and perfect. 4:17 am. When the drink went cold you decided it would be a good time to get ready for the day. You got dressed, black slacks and a dark blue long-sleeved button-down. You brushed your hair and did your makeup. 4:29 am. You considered whether to just go straight to the office, ultimately deciding it best to grab some food first.

You arrived at the building at 5:02 am. It wasn’t too early, you decided. After all, there have been nights that you’ve seen your boss not leave until past 5:00 in the morning. Hotch’s car wasn’t in the parking lot this morning, however. That was good, it meant he was getting sleep and time with his son.

The bullpen was dark, you decided to only turn on one light, enough for you to see. The case report on your desk was already finished since you worked on it during your team's flight back home, but there would be no harm in going over it. You wouldn’t classify yourself as a perfectionist or even a workaholic, though you presented that way to others. You just didn’t enjoy doing nothing like other people.

Footsteps coming from your left made you pause what you were doing and look up.

“Good morning.” You said as Hotch came walking into the bullpen with that perfectly pressed suit of his. The time on your watch read 5:30 am, he was very punctual.

“Good morning.” He said, with that usual furrow of his brow and the tight-lipped look that meant a question was coming. “You’re here early.”

Okay, not really a question.

“So are you.” You say, too tired to engage in your typical banter.

Hotch only nodded once in response, then took a few steps towards his office before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. “Did you actually go home last night?”

“Yes.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers beneath your desk. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm.” He hummed in response. “Don’t burn yourself out, we need you alert.”

“Do we have a case?” You asked, maybe a little too quickly.

“Not until the rest of the team gets here... but yes.”

You nodded and any trace of tiredness from the night dissipated. Blood pumped in your veins and your anxiety disappeared, anticipation for the new work ahead of you completely replacing it.

“Okay, would you mind if I got the case file now? I have nothing else to do.” You asked.

Hotch studied you for a moment with that serious frown of his, “I’ll make copies now.”

“Thank you.”

Sometimes you felt like Hotch was the only one that understood you. Maybe it was because he was the resident workaholic in the department before you showed up, and he still is, but it feels deeper than that. Most days you come in at the same time, leave at the same time... honestly the only time you don’t see your Unit Chief is when you’re home. You hated being home.

In the very late hours when the whole building was quiet and not a soul lingered, you would see that one light from Hotch’s office and feel comfort. His blinds would be open, and you could see him reading and writing, looking like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Since the death of his ex-wife, Haley, he’s stayed later and later, coming in earlier, only departing when he knows Jack needs him. It’s a heartbreaking thing to watch.

But often you would be sitting at your desk, getting lost in the paperwork as your eyes strained to read every bit of information in the dim lighting, when a warm hand would land on your shoulder. Hotch’s soft, tired voice telling you to take a break, rest your eyes. It made your chest warm, and body relax if only for a few minutes. He knew better than to try to get you to go home, it never works out. Unless of course, he leaves at the same time. It was a very rare occurrence, to say the least.

Right now, Hotch is in his office making enough copies of the case files to be passed around to the team when they get in. You tap impatiently on your desk, drumming your fingers along to a song that only exists in your head. When you can’t stand it anymore, you get up and make your way over to him.

You knock once on the open door, “What is it?”

Hotch turns to you with a serious look. “You’re very impatient this morning.”

“I know. So?”

With a sigh, he hands over a manila folder with the FBI logo.

“Three women in three weeks, all were strangled and beaten to death, abducted from their homes. Last victim was found 4 days ago.”

“That’s a strict timeline... and they’re just calling us in now?” You ask.

“Local sheriff thinks it could be even more and I’m inclined to agree. So far, this presents as organized. No one starts out like this, there are no hesitation marks on the bodies and no DNA was left behind on the scenes.”

You nodded along as he spoke, already going over the possibilities of this unsub in your mind. Organized means older, that rules out teenagers and younger. No hesitation could mean psychopathy, lack of remorse, etc. Most likely white given the victims were, possibly sexually frustrated.

“Any sign of sexual assault?”

“We’ll go over everything when the team arrives.” Hotch states firmly.

“When were they called in?” You asked.

“If you check your voice mail, you’ll see.” He says with a small smile. “Look, go to the conference room and read over the files some more, I’ll make some more coffee.”

You want to argue, but you know he’s right. You were definitely getting ahead of yourself here. With a grateful nod, you head to the conference room.

The pictures were gruesome, but when aren’t they? The girls were pretty when they were alive, their faces were mutilated during the attacks. Could have something to do with the unsub’s view of women. You turned over theory after theory in your head and before you knew it, Hotch was back and sliding over a mug filled to the brim with coffee, just the way you like it.

“Thank you, Hotch.” You say, taking a sip. He nods and sips his own cup.

“How long were you here before I came in?” He asks you, glancing up from the file in his hands.

You shrug and say, “Not long... half an hour?”

“You need to rest.” He says, in his usual commanding tone. It makes you smile a bit, though you try to suppress it.

“I know, and I will.” You look him in the eyes to try and convince him, but he looks doubtful. “Promise.”

Hotch nods, seemingly satisfied for the time being. You knew he was just checking in on you out of concern for a team member, but you hoped it was just a little more than that. Anytime he looked at you, it made your heart rate pick up a little. You weren’t as sure of yourself as usual when you were around him.

Five minutes later the team starts filtering in, first is JJ, then Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid. Then it’s Garcia, who did not seem very happy to be awake at 6:30 am, followed by Rossi. When everyone finally gathered into the conference room, you could feel your body relax. Your work could finally start for real.

After the initial ‘good mornings’ and bantering, Hotch started to present the case to everyone. You suggested the same preliminary profile traits from earlier and most everyone agreed.

“Well, if this unsub has killed before, it will most likely not be in the exact same spot.” Reid says. “We should widen the range to a fifty-mile radius to see if there were any similar murders in the past couple years or so.”

“I’m so on it.” Penelope says.

“What else did the unsub do?” Prentiss asks, looking at the photos of the victims’ neck wounds.

“A call was placed to each of the victim’s significant others, a voice modifier was used but the message remained the same. ‘Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.’” Hotch says. “He keeps them for at least a day, given the various stages of healing with the victims bruises.”

“Well, that’s definitely sadistic, torturing not only the victims but those close to them as well.” You add.

“Was the call placed before or after their deaths?” Rossi asks.

Hotch’s eyebrows knit further together, “Before, according to the coroner's report.”

“Which gives the victim’s family hope only for that to be snuffed out almost immediately.” Reid says.

“If this guy’s seasoned in his kills, why risk dumping the bodies in such a public way?” Morgan asks. “All of the victims, Susanne Yearly, Brenda James and Larissa Buckly were all found in public parks, somewhere he could’ve easily been seen even at night while disposing of them.”

“Maybe there’s a part of him that wants to get caught? Wants people to know that this was his work.” You say.

“If that’s the case, we’re dealing with a narcissist.” Rossi adds.

Prentiss jumps in again, “Yeah, but this level of body mutilation feels personal. Their faces were left nearly unrecognizable, I’m willing to bet his stressor involves a woman that has similar features.”

“The families are distraught.” JJ says. “They confirmed in the police reports that all the girls lived alone, having just moved into new places weeks or even days before their abductions took place.”

“Well, that’s certainly a connection.” Hotch states. “Chicago PD will be expecting us when we arrive, wheels up in 30.”

Arriving less than three hours later, Hotch orders you and Reid to establish a timeline in the precinct while Morgan and Rossi take the newest crime scene where Larissa’s body was found. Hotch has JJ speaking to family members and Prentiss goes with him to the morgue.

Garcia’s on the speaker with Reid, “I did what you asked and widened the range for possible attacks fitting this creeps M.O., however absolutely nothing came up. Soooo, I changed the parameters. Hotch and L/N mentioned that most likely this guy wouldn’t have been as confident as he is now, meaning the kills may not have been as brutal. I included any and all deaths as a result of suffocation from the last ten years surrounding the Chicago area and wouldn’t-ya-know-it I got a hit. Well, hits.”

Garcia explains that there were at least 5 possible victims, all of them died of various forms of suffocation. You and Reid went through the past reports of the deceased women and ruled out two of them since they both drowned, which didn’t fit this unsub’s specific fantasy. That left you with three girls, one found in an alley behind her work with a bag around her head, no other injuries except a hit on the head with a blunt object. The other two were covered in bruises and strangled with rope. Since then, the unsub’s gotten smarter, switched from rope to wire making it less bulky and conspicuous. He’s also leveled up his damage to their face and body, becoming more intense with each kill.

You and Reid explain your findings to Hotch and Prentiss when they return from the morgue. They corroborate the theory with their own findings, since each body was more disfigured than the last. The thin lines on the necks of the victims were so deep, you wondered if that’s what the unsub focused on the most.

“There was no sexual assault present on the bodies.” Prentiss states. “But there were marks on their wrists and ankles, they were most likely tied to something while the unsub beat them.”

“Which means the act of killing is more than enough for him,” Hotch adds. “He derives all of his pleasure from brutalizing the women, then watching them die in front of him.”

“The bag around the head on the very first victim, Miranda Jall, along with the hit on her head suggests a sort of de-personalization.” Reid says. “He didn’t make a call to her fiancé and there was no abduction. He hit her over the head as she walked out of her workplace, and the bag obscured his view of her face, he couldn’t have gotten off on it.” He says.

“It was practice. He was figuring out how he was going to incapacitate his victims.” You say. “He probably felt a rush after the initial hit, and realized he wanted more of that aspect.”

“So, he amps up the beatings.” Hotch adds. “He isn’t satisfied with just the kill, he wants more time.”

“And then he switches to rope so he can see their faces.” Prentiss says.

“The two victims that were strangled with rope still have yet to be identified. He started out by blitz-attacking his victims in isolated areas, where-as now he targets newly independent women inside their homes.” Reid says.

JJ walks up with a look on her face that you all know means bad news, “The victims' families have no idea who the caller could be, all the young women appeared to be well-liked, in stable relationships. They can’t think of a single person that would want to do this to their daughters.”

Just then, a call comes through to Hotch’s phone. “Hotchner.” He listens for a moment and then nods, “Okay.” He hangs up. “Morgan and Rossi found violets at the crime scene.”

“The flower?” Prentiss asks.

“Yes.”

“Was that present at the other dump sites?” You ask.

“If it was, it wasn’t mentioned in the files.” Hotch answers.

“If he’s leaving flowers for his victims, it could potentially be a sign of remorse.” Reid says.

“This guy isn’t capable, he’s narcissistic and psychopathic, the flowers have to mean something else.” You say, frustrated now.

So far all you’ve really gotten is the confirmation that this guy has killed at least six women, and not a whole lot else. You decide to call Garcia.

“Speak and be heard by residing genius PG.”

“Hey Garcia, can you get me everything on the early victims? I think the unsub knew one of them personally.” You say.

“What makes you think that?” Prentiss asks.

“Well, if the first kill was a trial, maybe he was practicing for a specific target. He could have already gotten who he wanted and now he’s chasing the same high.” You reply. “While you’re at it Garcia, see if you can find any mention of violets being present at the crime scenes.”

Everyone had converged back to the precinct nearly an hour ago. The last victim, Larissa Buckly, was found 4 days ago. If the unsub is continuing at a consistent rate with no sign of slowing down, the police will be finding a new body in 3 days.

You all knew this, the stakes were high and given the profile of the unsub, he wasn’t someone that was going to stop unless he was behind bars. Still, the team needed sleep.

“Alright, we’ve done all that we can for the night. The profile is out there, the press conference warned women of Chicago to remain vigilant, you all can head to the hotel.” Hotch says.

Hotch could tell that the team wasn’t in high spirits and exhaustion wasn’t going to make it any better. It’s usually a good idea to take a step back, take a break, and come back with fresh eyes. And yet, as the profilers filed out of the precinct, still talking back and forth about victimology and M.O., he noticed not all of them were leaving.

Y/N stayed planted where she was at the round table, eyebrows knit together in frustration or confusion. She tapped her fingers the way that she does when she's nervous or focused, or both. Hotch takes a step towards her, his arms crossed, and a frown set on his face.

“I said you all can head to the hotel.” He says pointedly.

“Yes, I heard you. I’m not tired.” Y/N says, still not meeting his eyes.

Hotch’s jaw tenses a bit. She can be incredibly stubborn and, in some cases, it was an asset. Not right now, though.

“It wasn’t a suggestion, L/N. Go get some sleep, come back tomorrow morning with everyone else.”

“Are you going to sleep?” She asks, finally snapping her head up and meeting his stoic gaze with her own.

“Yes. I have to do a few more things here, and then I will be heading back to the hotel.”

“I’ll leave when you do.” She says. It was a challenge, he knew. He was used to it. It was also extremely frustrating.

Hotch swipes a hand across his face tiredly, “Y/N. You haven't slept since our last case. It’s been over 48 hours, and our judgement is severely impaired after 24 hours without sleep. You can become drowsy and irritable, your memory is affected, your coordination will be off-”

“You think my judgement is impaired?” She asks, sounding offended. That would be the part that she focuses on, Hotch thinks. “Hotch, I have been trying to put all of these puzzle pieces together for over 12 hours now and nothing is going to get done if I’m knocked out.”

Hotch understands where she’s coming from, truly, but right now, he doesn’t care. “L/N I am giving you a direct order, leave the precinct. Go to the hotel. Do not come back until at least 6:00.”

She huffs out a frustrated breath, and it’s hard to not find that a little bit cute. The thought makes Hotch feel guilty, that’s definitely not what he should be thinking about right now. Before he can dwell on it though, Y/N is gathering up all of the papers that were scattered around the table.

“No- leave it.” Hotch commands with his hand coming down on top of the file so she can’t take it, brushing her hand in the process. It spreads a warmth through him, but he thinks he does a good job at not showing it. “I know you won’t sleep if you take these with you.”

Y/N’s angry, he knows by the way she doesn’t even respond, just shoots him a look and grabs her bag to leave. It’s fine though, if that’s what it takes to get her to finally rest. Hotch lets out a long sigh once she’s out of sight, taking a seat at the table and finishing collecting all of the papers on the table. That’s when he notices an image of one of the Jane Doe victims, she’s wearing a necklace, gold and dainty around her slim, pale neck. It was blurry, hard to make out, but certainly a cursive “V” pendant hung in the middle.

“Violet?”

Hotch ordered you to leave the precinct, so you did. But he didn’t say you couldn’t make a detour on your way to the hotel. A yawn overcame you as you drove towards Grant Park, where Larissa’s body was found. You knew that if Hotch found out about this you would be in a lot of trouble, but the thought didn’t really faze you when faced with the alternative. How could you sleep when there was a serial killer out there hunting for his newest victim? A young woman was going to be dead in less than 72 hours, who were you to sleep at a time like this?

At the same time, you can’t condemn your friends for needing that sleep. You wished you functioned like they did. You wished you could take a step back and rest and come back refreshed with a whole new outlook. But the truth was that you just couldn’t handle the nightmares.

They started not long after joining the BAU. It was only natural; you were assured by Morgan as he noticed how off you’d been after a few months with the team. He also suffered from nightmares. They were fewer and further between now, which was good. You weren’t so lucky. For some reason they came in waves. Each case you worked on added to your memory storage of gruesome death and horrific imagery that was reflected back at you anytime you closed your eyes.

It’s true that you hated the nothingness of your home life, the boredom of being alone with nothing but your thoughts, but that was only part of it. You figured, the longer you could stay awake, the less you’d have to worry about the nightmares bleeding into your reality.

When you arrived at the spot where Larissa was found, you saw yellow crime scene tape wrapped around trees and some blood on the floor where the body had laid in the center of it. She was positioned laying face up, arms at her sides, clothes intact. No overtly sexual displays, no attempt to cover her up, just a corpse.

Without the files to work off of, you only had your memory of the crime scene photos. You closed your eyes and imagined you were the one dumping Larissa’s body.

“I would scope out the area first, without the body.” You say to yourself. “Take note of how many people were here during the day, how many at night... but I’d have to seem inconspicuous. Can’t be in a black hoodie standing still and staring at people. Someone would notice.”

“So, I don’t cover my face... people saw me, interacted even. I’m not standing out, I’m moving. Maybe running?” You sigh and open your eyes. All that means is that this guy will be harder to catch than most. “What was with the violets...” You walk in circles around the scene, looking from every angle possible. You take note of the shrubbery, all green grass and occasional daffodils, nothing even resembling violets in the area, so the unsub definitely brought it with him.

Before you had a chance to continue, you heard some movement from behind you. You quickly spun around but saw no one.

You moved carefully from where you stood, a hand resting on your hip where your gun was. Taking careful steps towards the parking lot, you glance at your watch. 1:34 am. Anyone out here at this time is either a stoner or a serial killer, you found yourself almost hoping for the latter.

Once you reached your car, you still saw nothing. “FBI, if someone is there come out now and show me your hands.” You said as loud and clear as possible.

Nothing, only crickets sounded in the night. With a sigh, you thought maybe Hotch was right, your judgement was seriously impaired, and you needed some sleep.

As you reached for the handle of the driver's side door, you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head, and everything went black.

Hotch felt confident in his theory that the third victim, Jane Doe #2, was the unsub’s intended target from the beginning. The first kill was fast and sloppy, he didn’t move the body and her face was practically untouched. The second, Jane Doe #1, was also blitz-attacked, but it was in a grocery store parking lot at night, somewhere higher-risk where he could have been caught. So he was getting bolder, he hit her more, but still didn’t take her anywhere new. Just left her body where she was strangled. The third though, that’s when things shifted.

Jane Doe #2 who wore the ‘V’ necklace, was found in a public park, but that isn’t where she died. Hotch has been referring to her as violet for the time-being, since he didn’t know her actual name. No “Violet” was ever reported missing in the area, which means it could most likely be a nickname. Her real name would potentially still start with a V, he thought.

On the phone with Garcia, he relayed all of this information and was waiting for something to turn up on her end. “I did what L/N asked and tried to find everything I could on the first three victims. Miranda Jall, like you said, was a victim of opportunity and a trial-run. Jane Doe #1 though, while similar to the first, was beaten more and found more quickly. Jane Doe #2 was unrecognizable, I mean like, her face was so swollen from being beaten it’s surprising she was found in one piece.” Her voice was tight and rushed, like the words in her mouth made her feel physically sick.

“I know,” Hotch says. “Which is why I need everything you can find on her, search for missing persons from the past few years again, but narrow it down to only women whose first name started with a V. She would’ve been in a relationship, either long-term boyfriend, fiancé, or new husband.”

“Okay, stay on the line aaaandd.... there are four women, Venessa Traer, Veronica May, Victoria Jennings, and Valerie Hill. None of them look like the other victims.” Garcia says, clearly frustrated. “Traer was an elementary school teacher in her late forties, May had gone missing during a boating trip out-of-state and presumed dead, Jennings was reported missing but turned up a few weeks later, apparently on a spontaneous vacation with her friends, and Hill was an elderly woman who was suspected to have left her care-facility of her own free will.”

Hotch sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, until a thought struck him. “What about middle-names that start with V?” It was a long shot, he knew it, but he would try anything at this point.

A few seconds passed as he heard Garcia’s furious typing on the other end, “Aha! Sir, you are in fact a genius. Samantha Vivienne Garner, reported missing only eight weeks ago. She’s a spitting image of the other women, her name shows up on a lease for a newly remodeled home with one Riley Perkins, her soon-to-be husband.”

“Garcia, I’ll need an address for Perkins.”

“Already being sent.”

“Oh...” She said, sadly.

Hotch’s frown deepened, “What is it?”

“Perkins had posted an image of Samantha saying yes to his proposal, it was in the middle of Millenium Park.”

“Where Jane Doe #2’s body was found.” Hotch said, now 100% convinced that his theory was correct.

Hotch knew that he would be at the precinct all night, the irony of his situation with Y/N not lost on him. She was dedicated, maybe too dedicated, but the same could be said of him.

“Good work, Garcia. We’ll call you when there’s another update.”

“Oh, just one more thing, sir.”

“What is it?”

“L/N had asked me to look into whether there were violets at the other crime scenes and the answer is yes and no. It wasn’t reported or even see as a connection because the first Jane Doe had bought a bouquet of violets from the grocery store, which seems like a coincidence, but Susanne, Brenda, and Larissa all had violets show up on their doorsteps after they were found dead. They were presumed to be condolence gifts from friends, but now...”

“Alright, we’ll look into this further, thank you.”

Hotch ended the call and checked the time. 3:00 am. Three more hours before the rest of the team would show up. He was already setting up in his mind where everyone would be assigned once they got here. Hotch wanted JJ to get in contact with Samantha Garner’s parents, Morgan and Reid would pull the missing person's report and find out the details of that. He would keep Rossi and Prentiss in the precinct to dig into Garner and Perkin’s lives with Garcia. He wanted L/N with him to interview Perkins himself, if he had gotten the very first phone call from the unsub about Samantha, why didn’t he identify her?

5:58 am, Hotch read his watch as everyone started walking in. They were tired, but still looking better than they did the previous night. There were only two days before the next body would be found, and if he’s keeping them for one day, he may have already taken someone.

Hotch was half-expecting (half-hoping) that Y/N would show up early. She usually did, even when it was against orders. Still, he was glad that this meant she may have actually gotten a few hours of rest. 6:00 am and no Y/N, Hotch shrugged off the pit-like feeling in his stomach.

“Good morning.” He says to the other members, who’ve taken their spots at the table. Hotch speed-dials Garcia and puts her on speaker so that the two of them can go over what they discovered last night.

“Well, then if this Samantha girl was the real target and he’s still going, there’s no telling when or if he’ll stop.” Rossi says once they’re finished.

“Exactly,” Hotch replies. He assigns them to their designated tasks and just before he can dismiss everyone, Prentiss speaks up.

“Has anyone seen L/N?” She asks.

“I called her when we got here but didn’t get an answer.” JJ says.

The group of FBI agents share some looks but no one says anything. That feeling in Hotch’s stomach has doubled.

“She wasn’t at the hotel this morning?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow together and jaw tenses when no one answers immediately.

“I didn’t see her.” Morgan speaks up.

“Me neither.” Reid says.

Everyone else only shakes their head in agreement.

“I sent her back with all of you, she tried to stay late but I wouldn’t let her.” Hotch says, fists clenched in the position at his sides. “She didn’t take the files with her so she wouldn’t have had anything to work on.”

“Well...” JJ starts.

“What?” Hotch asks.

“If she couldn’t be at the precinct and she didn’t want to sleep, she could’ve gone to one of the dump sites.” She replies.

Hotch’s chest feels tight, his breathing is shallow and can’t think straight at the moment. If that is what she did, it was very, very stupid. They had profiled this unsub as a psychotic narcissist with sadistic tendencies, there’s a good chance he would visit the crime scenes afterwards. Of course she would go straight there, he thought, what else would she do?

“Alright, the plan hasn’t changed. All of you know your assignments, go.” Hotch says, before he turns to stride away.

“Wait a second, if Y/N’s in danger, we need to find her.” Prentiss says, clearly upset and standing up from her chair.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing.” Hotch shoots back, unable to keep the anger and worry from showing in his voice.

He didn’t give anyone else a chance to argue as he stormed out of the precinct, heading towards the car. One of the cars was gone, which means Y/N definitely left here last night, it was just a matter of which scene she ended up at.

With Garcia still on the phone, Hotch has a thought, “Garcia, send me the last location registered on the GPS of the rental car that Y/N used last night.”

“Y-yes sir.” Penelope typed quickly and Hotch’s anxieties grew with each passing second. “Uh, the-the last pinned location was Grant Park, which was where-”

“The last victim was found. Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch hung up the phone and pulled quickly out of the parking lot, heart beating out of his chest.

You were pretty sure you could feel your heart beating in your head. The back of your skull hurt very badly, but when you tried to feel for an injury you found that you couldn’t. Both your wrists and ankles were tied to a chair, which was bolted to the floor.

Your mouth felt dry, all you could think about was water. That was, before someone came walking towards you from the corner of the room.

“How are you feeling?” The man’s rough voice was too close to your ear, making you jerk back. The sudden movement didn’t help your head injury at all. “Ah ah ah...” He said, gripping your face with one large hand. “Stay still.”

He was ugly. That was honestly your first thought while looking at him. Maybe he hated women cause he couldn’t get a date.

His face was scruffy with a patchy beard, his brunette wavy hair receded away from his face revealing forehead wrinkles. He must’ve only been in his late 30’s early 40’s, but his strung-out appearance aged him.

“Where am I?” You ask as levelly as you could in your state. Looking around, the only thing you noticed was a concrete floor and barren white walls, which hung some wire. A house? Maybe a basement, given the musty smell of the air in the cramped space. It was dark, the only light source coming from a small lamp to your right.

“I thought you were the profiler.”

So, this guy knows exactly who he took. You weren’t just a victim of opportunity, but a target. “You’re right, I am. Which is why I know that you are an extremely...” You take a steadying breath in preparation, “weak individual with no genuine real-world skills who overcompensates for his lack of personality with a massive ego.” You say, staring him in the eyes. “Am I getting warm?”

The unsub pulls his fist back before it lands across your left cheek. You knew this would be the response, though. It’s why you did it. The punch snapped your head all the way to the right, where you spit out the small amount of blood that formed in your mouth. You can’t pretend it didn’t hurt; your eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Challenging a narcissist usually incurs some type of violence or retribution, but that makes them emotional which can make them sloppy and prone to mistakes. Maybe those mistakes would reveal to you where you were, or even lead your team right to you. You hoped you were right.

The stranger in front of you takes in a rattling breath and exhales in your face, making you recoil. He grips you by the chin once more, putting some extra pressure on the bruise that was sure to form soon. “You are going to die here. But first, I have to make a call.”

The man reaches into your front pocket, digging around until he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out. Your phone isn’t locked, it never is since you never leave it behind, ever. That of course means the unsub has full access to each number in your contact list. Your heart rate picks up at the thought of who he was about to call.

You didn’t have a significant other, maybe that meant he wouldn’t call anyone? No such luck, though. The man scrolled through your most recent calls and only one name showed up the most consistently.

SSA Aaron Hotchner.

His name made your head light and your stomach churn. This really was a waking nightmare. You pulled yourself roughly against your restraints, feeling the thick rope cut deep into your bare skin. It burned and you kept going until you received a punch to the stomach for your efforts.

“Shut the fuck up.” The ugly man said. Then with a finger raised to his lips as if to demonstrate to you that you need to keep quiet, he presses the call button and raises the phone to his ear. You scream at him and that irritates him enough to punch you once more in the face, harder than the last time.

You groan at the sensation, the pain from your skull and your cheek and your stomach combining to make you feel ill.

“Y/N?” You could hear Hotch’s voice faintly from your phone that the unsub still had in his hand.

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.” Is all that the unsub said, before ending the call and tossing the phone away. It lands several feet behind him on the floor, and you know there’s no chance of you getting it. Not when you’re still bound to the chair.

Your eyes remain fixed on the unsub, watching as he stares you down. He was predictably irrational, moving around you like a wild animal, as if trying to decide what to do with you first.

You may not know where you are exactly, but you know that this unsub likes to keep his victims alive for at least 24 hours after kidnapping them. If he does stick to that pattern, that leaves you with about 20ish hours for your team to come find you. And while you did have complete faith in them, it didn’t stop your heart from pounding faster the closer he came.

Hotch saw the call with your caller ID, and he felt like he could breathe again. He had just stopped in the lot of Grant Park and was walking towards the yellow taped scene when he paused and answered.

“Y/N?” He asked as soon as he hit accept.

“Don’t bother looking, you will never see her again.”

Hotch felt ice in his veins as the line went dead immediately after. The worst thing that could have happened, did. And Hotch felt helpless. His jaw was tense, and his hand curled into a white-knuckled fist around the cell phone. He dropped it to his side, not able to think for a moment.

Then he took a deep breath and dialed Garcia.

“Sir?”

“Can you track L/N’s phone right now?” Hotch asks, feeling the weight of what was happening in his throat as it closed around his words.

“Um, yeah, yes if it’s turned on and if it’s near cell phone towers I should-I should be able to triangulate its location...” While she spoke, she typed. Another few seconds passed without words.

“Garcia?” Hotch said as firmly as he could.

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t- if the phone was turned off or destroyed, I won’t be able to get even an approximation, nothing is coming up at all-”

“Get into contact with the rest of the team, tell them Y/N’s been taken by the unsub.”

“Oh, God. Oh my God, okay.”

Hotch hung up and pocketed his phone. He wipes his hands down his face, frustrated and so fucking angry. With himself, with this case... he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get you back. Now was the worst time to dwell on it, though. You needed the team's help, and he was going to find you.

Looking around at the scene, he noticed that the rental car wasn’t here either. That means the unsub took it with you inside. He must’ve disabled the GPS, either broke it or threw it away before leaving. Hotch immediately contacted the local Police Department’s office to put out an APB on the black SUV.

Think, think... “Okay, he had a personal connection to Samantha. Not only knew her, he loved her or thought he did. He was angry that she was getting married.”

Hotch drives as fast as he can back to the precinct where he finds everyone else, back from their assignments and looking at him for answers.

“When was she taken?” Prentiss asks first.

“And from where?” Reid adds.

“Between 1:00 and 4:00 am, from the park where Larissa’s body was found.” Hotch says, trying to remain in his usual stoic façade. “He wouldn’t have risked taking her while it was light out. This unsub is bold but he’s still a coward like the rest of them.”

“Did you find anything at the scene?” Morgan asks.

“The car was missing, the unsub had to have taken L/N in it.” Hotch took a deep breath. “He called me from her phone.”

That made everyone stiffen.

Rossi speaks now, “Same message?”

Hotch nods once, which is all he can manage. The team speaks in hushed tones as anxiety takes over. “Right now, we have to assume that she’s alive. This unsub keeps his victims so that he can... torture them so let’s get to work.”

“Yeah, but Hotch... if he knows that L/N’s an FBI agent, there’s no telling if he’ll remain on schedule.” Morgan says, obviously troubled by the thought himself if his face is any indication.

Hotch had considered it, of course. But he refused to accept it. Until there was a body, Y/N was not dead. She couldn’t be.

“What did you find out about Samantha Garner from the missing person's report?” Hotch asks, ignoring the implication of Morgan’s words.

“It was called in by her Fiancé, Riley Perkins.” He replies. “He called the police once he noticed she didn’t come home from work.”

Hotch nods, thinking that the unsub wouldn’t be stupid enough to call in the missing person’s report himself. As much of a narcissist as he is, he wanted to keep pursuing his fantasies.

“And JJ, what’d you get from her parents?” Hotch asks, fingers curled into fists as his arms cross in front of his chest.

“It’s the same story as the other parents, everybody loved her, there was no one who held any grudges.” JJ says. “Her mother did mention an admirer, though.”

“An admirer?” Prentiss repeats.

“Yeah, I guess Sam was getting love letters. Innocuous enough to not raise alarm, but still out of the ordinary.”

“Did she say who they were from?” Hotch says hurriedly.

JJ shakes her head, “No, she had no idea.”

“Prentiss and I got Garcia to dig into Sam and Riley’s relationship,” Rossi says. “They were together only one year before deciding to tie the knot.”

“They seemed to love each other.” Prentiss adds.

“Well looks can be deceiving.” Hotch says. “Garcia got his address, Morgan and Prentiss, with me. The rest of you stay and find out absolutely everything you can about this secret admirer, he’s our unsub.”

When Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss arrived at the suburban home at the end of a cul-de-sac, all three stepped out and quickly made their way to the front door.

Three loud knocks on the front door from Morgan and a few seconds later Riley came out.

“Yes?”

“Are you Riley Perkins?” Hotch asked, though he knew the answer.

“Yes, I am. What is this about?”

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, these are special agents Morgan and Prentiss, may we come in?” He didn’t leave room for Perkins to answer, as he was already stepping inside.

“Um, what-what is this about?” He asks again nervously, stepping aside to let the three of them into his living room.

The house was a mess, laundry and trash littered most of the surfaces. The man himself didn’t look too good, like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“We’re here about your fiancé, Samantha Garner.” Morgan says.

Perkins shifts his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably, not making eye contact. “Did you, um, did you find her?”

“Yes, sir we did.” Morgan responds.

The man's nodding, fidgeting where he stands. “And?”

“Sir, I’m afraid she’s dead.” Morgan explains as calmly as he can.

Hotch notices the way Perkins handles the news, the tenseness of his shoulders dissipating. Not necessarily relieved by the news but accepting. Like he already knew that she was dead.

“Oh my God...” He lifts a palm up to his face and sobs for a moment.

“Mr. Perkins, I’m going to ask you once and if you’re not honest with me, trust that I will know.” Hotch states after he finally stops. The man looks him up and down and nods. “Did you receive a phone call the day your fiancé went missing?”

“I uh- I don’t remember...” Perkins says, again breaking eye contact.

“Yes, you do.” Hotch says, now invading his personal space. “It was the day your fiancé went missing, you knew something was wrong when she didn’t come home from work, you called the police. And then someone called you, didn’t they?”

“I- I mean no I don’t...” Perkins finally looks up and then sighs. “I don’t know who it was, I really, really don’t.”

“What did he say, exactly.” Prentiss asks.

Perkins looks at her and shakes his head a little, “He said... that I shouldn’t look for her, that I- I'll never see her again.” He starts crying again after that.

“Anything else at all? Was he calm, erratic?” Morgan asks.

“He was like, mumbling, I don’t know.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us, if you’re withholding essential information to interfere with a federal investigation, I will see to it that you are charged with obstruction of justice.” Hotch says, angrier by the second.

Perkins looks like he’s going to throw up and his legs give out. He slumps down onto the couch before he can speak. “He said... he said that he would kill me too if I spoke to the police again.” His head is in his hands as he talks. “I knew, I knew the second the news said they discovered a body in Millenium Park.” He was almost incomprehensible through his sobs. “They couldn’t identify her, but I knew.”

“Mr. Perkins... Riley.” Prentiss takes a seat next to him and speaks softly, trying to establish trust. “This man has killed at least five other women.” His cries stopped for a moment when he turned to look at her, a shocked expression on his face. “We need your help in order to stop him.”

“I told you, I swear, I don’t know who it is.”

“We think that you do, you just don’t know it.” Morgan says.

Hotch jumps in, “Samantha was his target from the beginning, he knew her. He may have even known you. Think, was there anyone new in your lives? Someone who seemed a little too friendly too quickly? He would have made you uncomfortable, he was domineering and egotistical.”

“Well, um I didn’t know him, I mean, I never met him,” Perkins says, “but there was a guy. Sam would complain about how annoying he was at work, a new hire. She said he talked her ear off about his life, asked too many personal questions...” He trails off for a minute looking between the three agents. “Do you think this man killed my fiancé?”

“Possibly.” Hotch replies. “I have one more question and then we’ll leave.” Perkins nods, tight-lipped. “Did she mention that this man called her by a different name, maybe her middle name?”

His face changed completely, mouth dropping open and blinking, “Yes! Yeah, she mentioned that he would call her ‘my Violet’ like every day, it bugged her.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Hours had gone by while you stayed strapped to this god damned chair. The torture felt never-ending. The unsub landed blow after blow to your face and stomach, only offering a reprieve when you had temporarily passed out from the pain. You couldn’t see very well out of your left eye and your fingers were involuntarily twitching. The blood in your mouth was metallic and awful, adding to your nausea.

“You know,” The man said, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I appreciate the way you’re hanging on. It will make the ending a lot more fun.”

If you had the energy, you would recoil from his closeness to your face. His breath repulsed you, but you stayed completely still, barely blinking, shallow breaths lifting and lowering your chest.

“Mm, you really need to wake up.” He pushes your head back so that you’re forced to look at him. With his grip in your hair, he strikes you in the face with the back of his hand. “Nothin.”

You couldn’t say with any real accuracy how much time had actually gone by since you were first taken, but you had a feeling that your time was running out. Your thoughts wandered to your team.

You missed talking and joking with Prentiss and JJ, you missed Garcia’s cheery voice over the speaker phone. You wanted to hear Morgan’s stories about picking up women and Rossi’s input that made everyone laugh. You wanted to hear Reid ramble about nothing and everything. Mostly, you find yourself thinking about Hotch.

You missed walking into the BAU and knowing you would find him in his office. You thought about his stern face and wanted to know what it would be like to reach your hands out and touch him, wipe away his anger and guilt. You wanted another silent morning where the two of you would sit in the conference room and drink your coffees, enjoying the comfortable silence of the early hours.

You wanted to see his rare, but beautiful smile. The kind of thing that had to be earned; it was the best. As you thought more about him, the sadder you got. You should’ve told him, even just once, how much you liked his company... how much you liked him.

When Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss get back to the precinct, Reid’s discovered something. He and the rest of the team have been working the secret admirer angle, which they now knew was a coworker at Samantha’s law office.

“All of the bouquets of violets left at the victim’s families homes came with a note, they all said the same thing. ‘My condolences, -K.M.’” Reid explains quickly.

Hotch knows they’re running out of time, it was already past noon, and the team was restless, but this gave him a spur of hope that they were getting close. He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia’s number.

“Ready and waiting.” She said.

“Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was stern if not a little shaky with anxiety, “was there anyone in Samantha Garner’s workplace with the initials K.M.?”

“Uhhhh, nine.”

“Cross-check those names with anyone arrested for minor charges, assault or something similar, he would be in his 30’s or 40’s now, white.”

“Only one, a Kyle Mazdin, arrested four years ago for breaking into an ex-girlfriend's home and burglarizing it, then arrested again for a bar fight where he nearly killed a man.”

“We’ll need his address immediately.”

“You’ve got it.”

20 minutes later Rossi and JJ were at Mazdin’s office, and the rest of the team was at Mazdin’s home.

Hotch screeched to a stop in the front of the seemingly normal house, “Prentiss with me, Morgan, take the back of the house, Reid through the garage.”

All of them nodded in silent acknowledgment. Morgan and Reid broke off, headed to the side gate, while Hotch and Prentiss entered through the front.

“FBI! Kyle Mazdin, open up!” Hotch yelled. They only waited a few seconds before bursting inside.

The door was unlocked, and they quickly moved from room to room on the first floor with their guns out and ready, yelling “Clear!” before heading upstairs. There was nothing on the second floor either, making Hotch exhale a frustrated breath.

“Hold on.” Prentiss said, stopping Hotch. “You hear that?”

Hotch furrowed his brows and listened. “No, I don’t-”

Just then, a creaking noise from below. Like light footsteps, moving carefully.

Prentiss and Hotch shared a look before running back down the stairs, but there was still nothing. Morgan and Reid were inside, also trying to find the source of the noise.

“The rental car is in the garage.” Reid said quickly and quietly.

“Anything out back?” Prentiss asked Morgan, who shook his head.

Another noise came from behind the team as they stood in the living space, next to the staircase. Hotch moves silently over to the cabinet door that’s connected to the wall under the stairs. It swings open and his gun and flashlight point at nothing. It’s empty save for a few coats hanging on a rack. But looking down, he sees a square-shaped covering with a latch.

Hotch motions for Morgan, who stands ready to open it. As soon as he does, Hotch points his flashlight and gun down, where he sees another set of stairs leading to a hidden basement. Hotch’s jaw tenses and his grip of the glock tightens as he makes his way down, hearing the footsteps of his team behind him.

As he gets halfway down, he sees a lamp illuminating your figure which is tied to a chair in the center of the room. Mazdin is behind you, the metal wire already wrapped around your neck, not tight enough to kill you, but forceful enough to threaten.

“Let her go now.” Hotch’s voice is strained, his anger making it hard to remain still. He can hear the rest of the team coming down the stairs and stopping by his side, also training their guns on the man. “You have nowhere to go, it ends here.”

“Yes, it does.” Mazdin says, pulling the wire tighter against your throat, making you jerk back a little in your chair.

Hotch dared to look at your face, bloody and bruised, and it made his stomach churn. You were conscious, making eye contact with him and taking shallow breaths. Hotch’s heart was beating out of his chest, unable to stop when he took a step closer to you.

“Another step and she’s dead.” The man said, keeping his grip on the wire.

Hotch’s gun was burning in his hand as it was aimed at the unsub’s head, finger twitching on the trigger. “Drop your weapon and no one else dies today.” Mazdin was taking deep, shaking breaths, debating his next move. Hotch knew the man didn’t want to die, but he most certainly didn’t want to go to jail either. “Everyone will know what you did, and why. How the love of your life betrayed you, how you got your payback... even how you managed to abduct a Federal Agent. But only if you let her go.”

Hotch could tell the words were at least getting through to him. His grip slackened, his back straightening a bit. Morgan and Prentiss took the opportunity and rushed him, immediately tacking Mazdin to the floor. He struggled and yelled, but Morgan kept him still enough for Prentiss to cuff him. At the same time, Hotch rushed to Y/N, holstering his gun.

“Get him out of here.” Hotch told Morgan, who roughly dragged Mazdin up to his feet and forced him up the staircase and out of the house where the local police had finally shown up. Reid and Prentiss followed, holstering their guns as well, only after Hotch informed them to grab paramedics for you.

“It’s okay.” Hotch was saying as he knelt down to your level, all anger dissipating and worry replacing it. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He holds Y/N’s head in his hands gently, trying to gauge the damage to her face and body. The blood coming from her nose was extensive, and the blood on his hand indicated a serious head injury. He couldn’t tell if anything was broken just yet.

“Okay, I’m going to get these off of you, alright?” Hotch asks you while tugging on the ropes, but your eyes were drifting closed. “No, Y/N, no you have to stay awake for me, you may have a concussion, the paramedics are on their way, okay?” She met his eyes finally and then smiled a little bit. It made his chest tighten in response.

“Okay.” Her voice was uneven, probably because of lack of hydration and near strangulation. It made his frown deepen, but he made sure to work quickly at untying the restraints. “Aaron.”

He stopped at the sound of his first name on your lips. It was very rare that you called him Aaron, it made his breath catch for a moment as he removed the last bit of rope from her ankles and looked up at her. Y/N was staring at him with an indescribable look on her face, exhaustion and relief but also pain. “Thank you for finding me... I knew that you would.”

Hotch didn’t know what to say. He had sent her away- their last interaction wasn’t a very good one, but she was here, alive and thanking him. It made that warmth from the other night in the precinct return. “Let's get you out of here.” Hotch gently slipped his arms up underneath Y/N so that he could lift her to her feet as the paramedics came down. Her groan of pain made his jaw tense, but he didn’t stop.

The EMT’s asked if she could walk and Y/N nodded, though she leaned most of her weight onto Hotch. He didn’t mind, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist and helping her up the stairs, into the living room. Once the two of you had made it outside, Hotch allowed the EMT’s to take her. She lay on the cot in the ambulance, and Hotch kept his hand in hers the whole ride to the hospital.

He watched as you drifted off, thinking just how much trouble they had gone through just to get you to sleep.

#aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #reader insert #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch fic #angst #hurt comfort #kidnapping #mutual pining #insomnia #protective hotch #concerned hotch #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

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