#this is like. an unresolved Thing for me now it is nagging in the back of my mind like pls do it soon 😭

[naomeii]

Hello! Here's my request:

Modern au where Childe and reader get into a particularly heated argument because he always comes back bloody, battered and bruised from a fight. Unfortunately, Childe ends up telling her he liked it better when she was ignoring him instead of nagging all the time, which shatters her heart. He tries to apologize but she's already out the door and staying over at her mother's house. Even when her mother reassured her that Childe does love her, it did little to heal her heart.

On the other hand, Childe was in shambles. He kept on trying to call, email, and text her but she won't pick up. He was left alone at their shared house, the meal she made had gone cold but he still ate it and yet, he didn't feel full. He ends up crying himself to sleep on their entryway.

The next day, reader returns to their home with the intention of packing up her things and leaving but is stopped by an exhausted Childe who follows her even when she tells him not to touch her. He notices her missing engagement ring (she had left it in their bedroom) and is terrified; he begs her not to leave him while sobbing and holding her tight. Eventually, his pleas were heard when she finally forgives him after he apologizes for snapping at her.

Metamorphosis.

—Pairing: Childe x F!Reader

Content: Modern au, angst to fluff, arguments

Childe's entrance into your shared apartment was marked by the tired shuffle of his boots against the floor. The faint odor of blood mixed with the antiseptic scent of a healing agent lingered in the air. He looked up, eyes shadowed with weariness, as you confronted him in the doorway.

"What happened to you this time, Childe?" Your voice was a mix of concern and frustration, and your eyes scanned his battered form with a mix of anger and worry. This had become a routine – him coming back battered and bruised, and you, waiting to pick up the pieces.

Childe sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "It's part of the job, darling. You knew what you were getting into when we started dating."

Your jaw tightened at the dismissive response. "Part of the job doesn't mean you have to come back looking like you've been through a war every single time! Do you even care about how this affects me?"

Childe's tired eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of remorse. "I liked it better when you just ignored me, you know? Instead of nagging all the time."

As the weight of his words sank in, you couldn't help but recall the days when Childe was indeed all over you. His playful antics, the way he made you laugh until tears streamed down your face, and the warmth of his love enveloping you. It was a stark contrast to the current reality, where his flippant remark shattered the remnants of those precious moments.

"Childe, what happened to us?" The question slipped out, laced with a mixture of pain and confusion. "You used to care about us, about me."

He avoided your gaze, a hint of guilt crossing his features. "It's just the way things are now. We both knew my life was dangerous."

A bitter chuckle escaped you. "I knew, but I never thought you'd grow indifferent. I miss the Childe who used to come home to me, not this stranger who treats me like a burden."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The damage had been done. You turned away, tears threatening to spill. "I can't do this, Childe. Not if it means losing myself in the process."

As Childe desperately reached out for your hand, the door swung open, as you quickly left.

"Wait, please!" Childe's voice cracked with desperation, but you were out the door, oblivious to his pleas.

In your tear-streaked haze, you hailed a cab, directing it to your mother's house. The city lights blurred as you tried to make sense of the shattered fragments of your relationship. The cab's interior provided a temporary sanctuary, shielding you from the unresolved emotions that lingered at the doorstep of your shared home.

Arriving at your mother's house, the front door creaked open before you could even knock. Concern etched across her face, your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her worry palpable.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside.

Through choked sobs, you recounted the argument, the hurtful words, and the irreparable damage that had driven you away.

"Sweetheart, people say things they don't mean when emotions run high. Childe does love you; I'm sure of it. Relationships have their ups and downs, but love can overcome even the toughest moments."

Her words, meant to console, offered a lifeline in the storm of emotions. Yet, despite her reassurance, the ache in your heart persisted. The wounds were fresh, the echoes of Childe's indifferent words still reverberating within you.

"I know, Mom, but it just hurts so much," you whispered, tears welling up again.

She held you at arm's length, her gaze filled with concern. "Take your time, dear. Healing doesn't happen overnight. If he loves you, he'll realize the impact of his words and make amends."

On the other side, Childe's attempts to reach you knew no bounds. His phone buzzed with unanswered calls and texts, each message a desperate plea for forgiveness.

+𝟗𝟗 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐦 <𝟑 3:33 am Y/n, please, just pick up the phone. I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said. I love you more than anything. 4:32 am I'm an idiot, love. I messed up, and I need you to hear me out. Let's talk. Please. 4:45 am ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 (Hey, dummy. I know I screwed up. I didn't mean any of it. I miss you... Can we just talk?)

The echoes of your silence were deafening. Each attempt to reach you felt like shouting into the abyss, the void swallowing his words.

Returning to the shared house, the remnants of your presence lingered. The cold meal you had prepared sat untouched, a poignant reminder of a time when warmth filled the home. Childe mechanically picked at the food, each bite a tasteless reminder of the void that now enveloped him.

The once-familiar walls seemed to close in as he wandered through the silent rooms. The solitude amplified the weight of his regret, and a profound loneliness settled over him. Despite filling his stomach, an emptiness gnawed at his insides.

Tears welled up, and he crumpled to the entryway floor, the place where the love you both had built now reduced to a battleground of hurtful words. The cool surface provided little comfort as he cried himself into an exhausted slumber, the entryway serving as a painful witness to the wreckage of a love he feared might be irreparably broken.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, you cautiously returned to your shared home. The air hung heavy with the residue of the previous night's turmoil. With a determined resolve, you planned to pack your things and spend some time with your mother until the wounds of the argument had a chance to heal.

The moment you stepped into the entryway, you noticed a disheveled Childe, still draped in the shadows of sleep. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, widened in surprise at your presence.

"Y/n…" His voice wavered, a mix of regret and exhaustion lacing his words.

"I'm here to pack my things, Childe," you stated, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes pleaded with you, but you remained steadfast. "Please, love, let's talk. I need you to understand."

"No, Childe. We've said enough," you replied, your voice firm. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but you were determined not to let it sway your decision.

As you began gathering your belongings, Childe, propelled by a mixture of desperation and a genuine desire to make amends, rose from the floor. He moved closer, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

"Don't touch me, Childe," you warned, your eyes flashing hurt.

Childe's heart sank as he continued to trail behind you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and he winced at the palpable pain in your voice when you told him not to touch you.

His eyes were red and swollen from the tears that had stained the entryway floor the night before. Yet, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, fueled by the desperate need to salvage what was left of the love that once filled their home.

As he followed you through the house, his eyes caught sight of your left hand. The familiar glint of the engagement ring was conspicuously absent. Panic seized him as he realized its absence, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Y/n, where's the ring?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and desperation.

You glanced at him briefly, the weight of your gaze heavy with unspoken words. "It's in the bedroom. I left it."

Childe's heart raced as he hurried to the bedroom, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. The room, once a sanctuary of shared dreams, felt haunted by the shadows of fractured promises.

He found the ring on the dresser, its absence from your finger a stark reminder of the fragility of the bond they had built. The intricate design, a symbol of their commitment, now seemed like a fragile artifact of a love slipping through his fingers.

Fear gripped him, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a tidal wave. He returned to find you near the front door, the distance between you growing wider with each passing moment.

"Y/n, I—I can fix this. I'll do whatever it takes. Please, don't go," he pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice bared for you to see.

As you moved towards the door, a determined resolve etched across your face, Childe's hand shot out, instinctively reaching for you. He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. His eyes pleaded with yours, mirroring the desperate turmoil within him.

"Y/n, please, I beg you… don't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You paused, feeling the grip on your wrist, the pull of emotions warring within you. Childe's sobs echoed in the silent room, the raw vulnerability he displayed tearing down the walls you had erected around your wounded heart.

"Childe, you can't fix this with just words," you said, your own voice wavering with the weight of the situation.

His grip softened, fingers slipping from your wrist to intertwine with yours. "I know… I know, but let me try. I love you, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."

His tears fell freely, staining the floor beneath him. The vulnerability he exhibited, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, created a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I can't promise anything, Childe," you said, gently trying to disentangle your hand from his. "But I need time to think, away from this… chaos."

Childe, however, held on tighter, his sobs intensifying. "I messed up, Y/n. I don't want to lose you. Please, just stay. Let me try to make things right."

The conflicting emotions battled within you as Childe's sobs reverberated in the room. Despite the anger, hurt, and the shattered trust, a deep well of love still lingered within your heart. The sight of him crumbling before you, laid bare in vulnerability, tugged at those lingering threads of affection.

Taking a deep breath, you relented. Your free hand reached out, gently cupping Childe's tear-stained cheek. Your touch, though soft, held the weight of both love and reproach.

"Childe, stop crying," you whispered, your voice a delicate plea.

His tearful eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside their shared turmoil seemed to fade away. The touch of your hand, wiping away his tears, bridged the emotional chasm that had grown between you two.

"I love you, but this can't be fixed overnight," you admitted, your tone a delicate balance of firmness and compassion.

Childe nodded, his grip on your hand relaxing.

In the days that followed, the atmosphere in your shared home transformed. Childe, once a tempest of chaos and unpredictability, began to change. The realization of the pain he had caused you, coupled with the fear of losing the love he cherished, became a catalyst for a profound transformation.

His actions spoke louder than words. Childe started attending therapy, seeking guidance to navigate the complexities of his emotions and learn healthier ways to cope with the challenges that came with his role in the Fatui. The reckless impulsivity that once defined him began to give way to a more measured and thoughtful approach.

The wounds of the argument were still fresh, and trust needed time to mend, but Childe's commitment to change became evident in his actions. He took on a more active role in maintaining the home, shared responsibilities with newfound diligence, and made genuine efforts to communicate openly.

Gone were the days of recklessness overshadowing your relationship. Childe, now more attuned to your needs and the impact of his words, worked tirelessly to rebuild the connection that had weathered the storm.

While the scars of the past lingered, the metamorphosis within Childe created a sense of hope.

[lyfeofbilly]

Old Thing Back

warnings: angst, angst, angst!

summary: due to riri's infidelity, the two of you have been divorced for months. what happens when unresolved feelings surface?

author's note: this was saurrrrrrr fun writing, maybe a LIL trifling but fun writing. i been thinking about this for a week before i actually wrote it. now i don't condone cheating or taking cheaters back but ya'll know i love angst! enjoy pretties.

taglist: @koffeesfancy @bubbleblowinggirl @pvnks0ul @solanaszn @onyxstones-world @blacksapphhicmaddonna

"You gotta be fucking kidding me bro!" frustration ran through you as your car refused to crank for the sixth time this week. You ran a hand down your face before grabbing your phone and pressing on the contact of the last person that you wanted to hear from, Riri. Although the two of you were recently divorced, the woman was a damn good mechanic, and spending an unfathomable amount of money on your vehicle was not appealing.

The phone rang once before she picked up, the sarcasm in her words irritating you further, "Oh so we back on speaking terms now?"

You sighed, God knows how much you'd rather sit naked on a hot grill than talk to her, but being stubborn wasn't going to fix your problems. "Ri I'm not in the mood for this right now, can you come look at my car real quick?"

"Damn I'm only of use if it's about your car, that's fucked up." The woman feigned hurt.

You rolled your eyes at the statement, letting her get all the jokes she had out now knowing you wouldn't be in the mood for banter when she arrived at your house. After a couple more seconds of silence she finally agreed to help you, "I'll be over, just give me fifteen minutes princess."

The line hung went dead and you cringed at the pet name she called you. If Riri had one thing it would be some nerve. As if her infidelity being the reason for the fall of your marriage wasn't enough, she would always find some way to try and weasel back into your good graces. The affair lasted for three months- with some woman who she had serviced before. You beat yourself up for months for not figuring it out sooner, not noticing before, but there were no signs to pick up on. You were still woken up to sweet kisses every morning, taken on dates often, and overall taken care of. She was still the same woman you married all those years ago.

What felt like an eternity your doorbell finally rang. Beyond the door stood Riri, cornrows draped down her back and shoulders while she sported her greased stained t-shirt and jeans that she worked in. A smirk was plastered across her face as she held up her toolbox, "You rang sweet thang?"

"Took you long enough!," you turned to head towards your garage. "What happened to fifteen minutes?"

The shorter woman kissed her teeth as she shut the door behind her and followed you, "Aight, maybe I got a lil' backtracked, no need to yell." As you two walked further into the house she took time to admire how the home you two once shared looked completely different. "Like what you did with the place too, you always had a thing for decoration."

When it came to settling the divorce, Riri agreed to you keeping the house. It was your absolute dream home. A two story, Victorian style house with a wrap around porch, and the biggest backyard. The day you two closed on it was a dream come true. When the affair was revealed to you, you had the nagging thought of them fooling around in the house you shared. No matter the amount of cleaning or reassurance Riri gave you that nothing happened between the walls of your home, you couldn't believe a word she said. Nine months and thousands of dollars later, the entire space was transformed. Carpet swapped for shiny hardwood floors, the wood for the kitchen cabinets and counters were changed, and every room had a fresh new layer of paint.

"I called you to look at my car, not my house."

She shrugged you off and began to do what she did best, immediately popping the hood. You took this time to go back inside and try to dead the strange sensation in your gut. There was no doubt in your mind that being in the same vicinity as Riri made your skin itch, but some part of you still felt safe in her presence. No matter how much you tried to shake it, there was still this longing feeling that lingered inside you.

An hour had passed before Riri strolled back in, covered in even more gunk that she arrived in, "It'll get you going, but c'mon ma, you gonna need a new car sooner than later."

She was right, the old jeep wrangler that you drove was on its last leg but you couldn't bring it in you to buy another one.

"I wish you would stop calling me that." You took time to glance at her attire, "And you dirty as hell, don't touch nothing."

She held her hands up in a defensive pose and chuckled, "Well can i at least shower here? I don't want all this oil on my car seats."

The question hung in your mind for a few minutes. Having Riri in your house wrecked your nerves enough, but deep inside you didn't want her to leave. You knew having her stay longer than her intended stay wouldn't be a smart decision at all. Alas, you allowed your once lifetime partner this one favor.

"Fine, but make it quick."

You sat at your vanity, finishing up your skincare routine when the door to your connected bathroom opened, revealing a half naked Riri. The big towel you gave her sat on her hips, giving you a clear view of her chiselled v-line. You couldn't lie, the sight was a heavenly one to say the least. Her braids that draped over her shoulders were now tied in a bun, and droplets of water dribbled down the valley of her breasts. The tattoo of your name that was placed just under her left one on display. Seeing it was a shock, after everything was settled you got yours lasered off. Eight sessions later and the tramp stamp that once said 'Rianna' was gone.

"Yes i still have it, you?" Riri's voice snapped you out of your trance.

"That tattoo is the least of my worries." You plainly stated.

A chuckle escaped the woman's lips, "So you still enjoy seeing me naked?"

You turned to face her, "Please don't flatter yourself, but if you must know, I got it removed months ago."

"That's crazy, I never wanted to get rid of mine."

You pursed your lips, "Yea, let me know you fucked another bitch with my name tatted on you, that's exactly what I wanna hear."

The idea of even getting matching tattoos was your idea, the placement however was Riri's. The two of you made the decision after one too many drinks on your honeymoon.

She started to dress in the old sweatpants and tank top that you let her borrow, "Aight I deserved that- that came out wrong."

"You deserve a lot actually."

"Like what?"

"My foot up yo' ass for starters." You snapped.

Throughout the divorce process you did your best to stay calm and graceful even though you had the right to lash out in every way possible. Resentment and anger festered in you for months as you never had a proper outlet for them. Thoughts of bleaching clothes, keying her car, and causing Riri physical harm crossed your mind plenty of times for a number of days. In the end, you could never bring yourself to act on them.

It grew quiet between you two, the tension in the air growing by the second. Riri stood in place, a guilty expression sprawled on her face. From the moment you found out about the wretched affair she tried her best to prove that it was a mistake. Constant calls and texts of her professing her love for you, flowers getting sent to your doorstep, and frequent attempts to try and smooth things over. If you let your heart take control of things, you would have taken her back. Every bone in your body so desperately wanted to pull her into your arms and believe that she meant it, believe that she regretted the choice she made.

"I was wrong, I know that but baby it was a mistake. You know I love y-"

You held your hand up, "Don't tell me that. Just don't." Your fists balled at your sides, the emotions that you never wanted to display in front of her threatening to spill over. "You don't.....you don't get to cheat on me and tell me you love me. Dead that shit right now."

Riri ran a hand down her face, her eyes meeting yours. Deep down she was sorry, and she beat herself up about it every day. "I do though."

Tears began to well up in your eyes. Your skin grew hot with anger and embarrassment. The emotions you were feeling felt like a whirlwind stirring inside of you. "You so full of shit. You dont cheat on people you love Rianna."

And there they were, the salty drops that you tried to hold back finally cascaded down your cheeks. The lump in your throat grew as sobs filled the room. At the moment you didn't care about being vulnerable, or seen as weak.

"We were together for six years! We made vows, bought a fucking house together!" Your voice cracked as more tears fell, "H-how.....how could you do this to me? I fucking hate you!"

Riri stood in silence, the outburst you were having hit her like a truck. Your feelings never went farther than your journal. All the obscenities, yearning for her, and blaming yourself for her infidelity. The guilt she was feeling made her stomach knot up, seeing you just standing in front of her bawling your eyes out made her feel terrible. "I know you do baby, I know you do."

Without skipping a beat, Riri took you into her arms, engulfing you in a warm embrace. It felt so familiar, so warm, as much as you wanted to resist you couldn't do anything more but melt into her arms. Your head rested on her shoulder letting the tears hit her skin. The moment made you feel so nostalgic, and you couldn't muster up the strength to snatch away.

"I hate how I still miss you, how much I feel safe in your stupid arms." You choked out, lifting your gaze to meet hers, "I hate how much I still love you." You never thought you'd see the day that you would ever admit that you still loved Riri. The thought ate at you inside, racked your brain every way to Sunday trying to figure out how and why those feelings were still there.

Riri's thumb swiped across your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that wet your face. Neither one of you were sure of a way to properly respond to your newfound confession. You'd put on this tough facade for so long, resisting any and everything that could put you in a position like this with her again, but here you were.

"We both still love each other, why can't we try again?"

"I wanted.....I wanted to take you back so bad Rianna." You bit your lip hesitantly, "But I knew if you did it once you'd do it again."

Riri took your chin in her hand and brought your face closer to hers, "Well forget allat for a second, what's your heart telling you?"

Your faces got closer and closer, lips centimeters from brushing one anothers. Your body grew hot all over, the pit that formed in your stomach was a sinkhole by now. And as much as you wanted- needed to feel her lips just one more time.

"Ri I can't promise what'll happen if you kiss me." Her lips got even closer before you put a hand to her chest, stopping her. "But what I can promise is that I won't let you hurt me like this again. You need to leave."

The look of hurt and disappointment that flashed across her face did satisfy you a bit, but you knew going through with it would open an entirely new door of confusion and disappointment yet again. Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she nodded, understanding your sentiment. She loosened her grip on you and collected her things before heading towards the door, but not without taking one more glance at you. A desperate glow filled her eyes, almost as if she wanted to tell you one more thing. As the front door shut and the headlights of her car faded off into the distance, you couldn't help but think about what being with her again would feel like.

[kiwriteswords]

The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you

Part IV in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Here is another part of the Flirty!Female reader storyline I shared last week. This story can be read solo or as a companion piece in this universe! I am beginning to plan future installments of this story and some possible 'flashback' one-shots--all of which could be read individually.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 10.8k

Tags/Warnings: mention of past abusive relationship, fear of commitment, unresolved trauma, mention of SA, angst, romantic tension, mild violence, emotional vulnerability, workplace relationships, slight language, hurt/comfort, power dynamics, manipulation by an ex, sexual tension, sexual themes. Part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

Sypnosis: After years away from the BAU, you’ve returned, leaving behind a prestigious career as a professor and best-selling author. Once part of the original team, your reunion with Hotch has reignited long-simmering tension. Now, as your relationship begins to unfold, you’re not only confronting your fear of commitment but also the unresolved troubles from your past—including a case tied to your former life as a professor. With emotions and past wounds resurfacing, you’ll have to navigate the dangers of the job and the vulnerability of opening yourself up to Hotch without letting it all unravel.

Aaron Hotchner stood in front of his closet, pulling on a casual jacket, readying himself to head out and pick Jack up from his Aunt Jess’s house. It was a quiet Sunday evening, and the dim light in his apartment cast a warm, relaxed glow. You sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt, your mind wandering as you watched him quietly.

“You’re welcome to come with me,” Hotch said, his tone calm but warm, as he looked over at you. “Or you can hang back if you’d rather stay here.”

You forced a small smile, trying to play it cool, but your mind was racing. "Oh, I think I’ll just head home,” you replied, a touch too quickly. “You know… laundry."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. He turned toward you fully, his steady gaze softening as he studied your face. “Laundry?” he asked, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone. “On a Sunday night?”

You let out a nervous laugh, shifting on the bed as you felt the tension between the two of you grow. He could read you like a book—he always could. You’d gotten to know Jack a few times, and honestly, you cared about the kid. He was sweet, and you loved seeing how much Hotch lit up when he talked about him. But now that you and Hotch were officially dating, the reality of being a part of his life—not just Hotch’s, but Jack’s, too—was starting to feel a little overwhelming.

“I just... I don’t want to intrude or anything. It’s your time with Jack, and I don’t want to, you know, mess up the dad-son thing,” you said, waving your hand dismissively, trying to deflect the weight of your own words.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could tell he wasn’t going to let this slide. “Y/N, you’ve spent time with Jack before. You know you’re not intruding,” he said, his voice gentle but probing. “And Jack’s shared with me that he likes you there,” He stepped closer, leaning against the dresser, his arms folding across his chest. “What’s really going on?”

Your heart rate picked up, and you could feel your defenses rising. You hated how well he could see through you. 

“Nothing’s going on,” you lied, forcing a smirk onto your face. “I just don’t want Jack to think I’m moving in or anything. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t want to share his dad’s time with someone who’s, you know, kind of irresistible.”

You tossed the joke out there, hoping the humor would deflect the conversation away from the nagging feeling in your chest. But Hotch didn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze remained steady on you, seeing past the joke, past the deflection. He could always see right through the armor you put up, and it unnerved you.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, just watching you, letting the silence hang between you two. Finally, his voice broke through the tension, low and measured. 

“Y/N... do you have issues with commitment?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut, though his tone was gentle, almost too gentle. You blinked, your breath catching slightly as you stared at him, trying to figure out what to say. Your instinct was to deny it, to brush it off like you always did.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head a little too eagerly. “I’m fully committed to you, Aaron. I mean... I just... I don’t have commitment issues. It’s just that... I have to go...you know…”

You trailed off, the lame excuse you were trying to come up with faltering in your mind. You couldn’t think of a single thing that didn’t sound ridiculous. You were backing yourself into a corner, and you both knew it.

Hotch’s expression softened even more, his eyes searching yours as he stepped closer. He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. He never would. But the way he looked at you—the way he could see your fear even when you tried to hide it—made it impossible to lie to him.

“You don’t have to make excuses,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not pushing Jack or any of the family stuff onto you. I want you to be comfortable, and I’ll never force you into anything you’re not ready for. But... I need to know what you’re feeling. If there’s something you’re scared of, you can tell me.”

Your throat tightened as his words hit home. The truth was, you were terrified. You were beginning to love him, and the idea of being part of his life—really part of it, including Jack—was more serious than you ever allowed yourself to get before. But you couldn’t admit that to him. You couldn’t admit how scared you were of the possibility of getting hurt. So instead, you plastered on another forced smile, trying to hide the vulnerability bubbling up inside you.

“I’m not scared, Aaron,” you lied again, your voice betraying the uncertainty you were trying so hard to cover. “I’m fine. Really.”

But even as you said it, you knew he didn’t believe you.

Hotch stood quietly in the doorway, watching as you slipped on your coat, preparing to leave his apartment. He could tell by the way you moved—hurried, slightly fidgety—that something was bothering you. He knew you weren’t being entirely honest with him, but he didn’t press further. Not yet, anyway.

As you reached for the door, you glanced back at him with a tight smile, your voice softer now. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Hotch nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. “Okay,” he said simply, though his mind was far from settled. “Drive safe.”

You gave him a quick wave and hurried out the door, closing it behind you with a soft click. Hotch remained standing in the same spot, staring at the door long after you were gone, the familiar quiet of his apartment settling back around him. His mind, however, was far from quiet.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall, his thoughts churning. He and you had agreed long ago not to profile each other, a mutual understanding that was meant to keep things simple. But right now, he couldn’t help himself. The profiler in him was already working, analyzing every piece of the puzzle that you had left behind.

He knew you cared about him. He also knew you were great with Jack—there was no denying the way Jack’s eyes lit up when you were around. You were patient with him, playful, and you always found a way to make him laugh even after a tough day. Hotch wouldn’t be with someone if Jack didn’t like them, and he definitely wouldn’t have let you into his life if he didn’t think you were good for both of them.

So why were you pulling away now? What was it about commitment that made you so uncomfortable?

Hotch crossed the room slowly, his footsteps soft against the floor as his mind pieced together the details. It wasn’t just about Jack—he could see that much. This was about more than his son. The way you deflected, the way you tried to cover your unease with humor... it wasn’t about being around Jack. No, this was deeper than that.

He thought back to the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes when you told him you were fine, the way your laughter was a little too quick, too forced. You were scared, that much was clear, but scared of what? Being in a relationship with him? Or was it the idea of permanence—of letting someone in?

Hotch pressed his lips together, considering. He wasn’t blind to your past. You’d mentioned bits and pieces before, always in passing, never lingering too long on the details. He hadn’t pushed you for more, respecting your boundaries, but now... now he couldn’t help but wonder if those past experiences were what was making you retreat.

Commitment. The word echoed in his mind. It wasn’t just a fear of being with him—it was a fear of what being with him meant. A future. A life. A family.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to the jacket you had left slung over the back of the chair, a small reminder that you weren’t really gone, not in the way his mind feared you might be. You were still here, still in his life. But the hesitation you had around the idea of permanence, of family... it worried him. Because for Hotch, being with someone wasn’t just casual. He was past that. And he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t see something lasting.

He let out another slow breath, his mind running through possible explanations for your discomfort. Was it something from your past? A relationship gone wrong? A family situation that left scars you didn’t want to reopen? He had seen enough in his career to know that fear of commitment usually had roots in something much deeper, something more personal.

And as much as he wanted to respect your boundaries, Hotch knew that if this relationship was going to last, you couldn’t keep running. He wouldn’t push you—not now—but he also couldn’t let this go unresolved.

He made his way to the couch, sitting down and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor. He wasn’t the type to force things. He’d always been patient, methodical, both in his work and in his personal life. But with you... he felt that familiar pull. He couldn’t help but want to protect you, even from yourself. He wanted to know what you were afraid of, and more than that, he wanted to help you face it.

Because the truth was, Hotch wasn’t afraid of commitment. Not with you. He wouldn’t have let you into his life—or Jack’s—if he wasn’t serious about the future. And he needed to know if you were ready to face that with him or if you were going to keep running.

Hotch’s eyes flicked back to the door, his mind still working, still piecing together the small details you had left behind. He could wait. He could give you time. But he also knew that at some point, the truth would have to come out.

He wasn’t going to let you slip away that easily.

The next few days passed like any other—business as usual at the BAU. Cases came and went, paperwork piled up, and the team fell into their familiar rhythm. But you? You were doing your best to stay out of Hotch’s orbit. It wasn’t overt—just little things. Sitting a little further away during briefings, excusing yourself before the team headed to lunch together, or leaving the bullpen just a moment earlier than usual to avoid being caught in conversation.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him. You did. But that was the problem.

Every time you thought about him—about Hotch, and about Jack—your chest tightened with a mixture of affection and dread. The feelings were overwhelming, and you couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that loving them, both of them, would end in disaster. Because that’s how it always happened, didn’t it? The moment you admitted to yourself that you loved someone, it all fell apart.

You weren’t blind to your own patterns. You’d seen it happen over and over again—every time you let someone in, every time you allowed yourself to love, something went wrong. Past relationships had crumbled the moment you showed vulnerability, the moment you trusted someone enough to share your insecurities. It was as if, once they saw the cracks, they lost interest. They grew tired of you, sick of the very parts of you that you couldn’t hide forever.

And Hotch? He was different. He felt different. You’d built walls for so long, kept people at arm’s length for years because it was easier to be alone than to deal with the heartache of being left behind. But now, with Hotch, the stakes were so much higher. This wasn’t just some casual fling. He had Jack, too, and you’d started to care about him—really care about him. Losing them both would be unbearable.

What if Hotch got sick of you? What if the moment you opened up, told him about the fears that kept you up at night, he realized you weren’t what he wanted? What if he saw all the things that made you unlovable? That thought was like a knife to your chest, and every time it crossed your mind, you could feel yourself retreating, brick by brick, back behind the walls you’d spent so long building.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Hotch. You did, more than anyone. But that didn’t erase the fear—the fear that, if you gave him the chance, he might use your insecurities against you one day. You’d seen it before, how the people closest to you could turn your vulnerabilities into weapons when things got tough. Past lovers, boyfriends... even family had done it. Once they knew where your weak spots were, they treated you differently, and eventually, they all left.

You couldn’t afford to let that happen with Hotch. Losing him... losing Jack? It would break you.

So, you avoided him. Not in any dramatic way, but enough to keep yourself at a distance. Enough to protect yourself. You told yourself it was just temporary, that you needed space to figure things out. But the truth was, you were terrified—terrified of what would happen if you admitted to yourself that you loved him. Because you did. You could feel it, and that terrified you more than anything.

Because loneliness? Loneliness was something you knew how to handle. It was easier to bear than heartache.

You stood in the copy room, staring at the machine as it hummed softly. The bright fluorescent lights overhead felt harsh, too revealing, but you needed the escape. You’d volunteered to make copies—something you never did. It was usually Penelope or JJ’s domain, not yours, but anything was better than sitting at your desk, where you might have to face Hotch.

The door creaked open, and you jumped, nearly knocking over the stack of papers in your hands. You turned around quickly, and there he was—Hotch, leaning in the doorway, his eyes fixed on you with that familiar, steady gaze.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you were sure he could hear it. You scrambled to regain your composure, putting on your usual front as quickly as you could. “Avoiding you?” you echoed, forcing a smile. “No way. I’ve just been... really busy. You know, super swamped with all this copying.”

You gestured awkwardly to the copy machine, as if that would somehow make your excuse more believable. You immediately regretted it. Hotch’s expression didn’t change, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t buying a word of it.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. “You don’t make copies,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt the walls closing in, but instead of admitting anything, you did what you always did when things got too uncomfortable—you deflected. “Well, you know me,” you said, tilting your head with a smirk, “I like to shake things up. Keep things... interesting.”

You punctuated the sentence with a playful wink, hoping the flirtation would steer the conversation away from the real issue. But this time, Hotch wasn’t having it. His eyes narrowed slightly, and though you could see the faintest trace of amusement in his gaze, it wasn’t enough to let you off the hook.

He took another step closer, his voice lowering just a touch. “You’re deflecting,” he said softly, his tone a mix of concern and patience. “I’m not going to let you avoid this, Y/N. Not this time.”

Your heart raced as you realized there was no escaping the conversation. You could feel the tension between the two of you, but it wasn’t the usual kind—the playful, teasing tension that you thrived on. This was heavier, more serious. And the way he looked at you, so intent, so knowing, made it impossible to keep pretending.

“I’m not... avoiding anything,” you lied again, though the words felt hollow even as you said them. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

But Hotch didn’t budge. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could tell he was waiting—waiting for you to drop the act. He had always been patient with you, always let you use humor and flirtation to dodge the hard conversations, but this time... this time he wasn’t going to let you.

He stepped even closer, his presence grounding you in the small room, and his voice softened in a way that made your defenses start to crumble. “Y/N,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to hide from me. Whatever it is... you can talk to me.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. You felt the weight of his words settling in the pit of your stomach, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t pushing. He was just... asking you to let him in.

But letting him in meant tearing down the walls you had built for years. It meant showing him the parts of yourself that you had spent so long hiding—the parts that had driven other people away. And that scared you more than anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

But Hotch just watched you, quiet and unflinching. He wasn’t going to let you use your usual tactics this time. You could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way his jaw tightened slightly as if he were holding back his own frustration. He wasn’t asking you to be perfect. He wasn’t asking you to have all the answers. He was just asking you to be real with him.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, all you could hear was the soft hum of the copy machine in the background. You felt your resolve weakening, the familiar comfort of your usual bravado slipping away as you stood there, face to face with him.

“Why are you really avoiding me?” Hotch asked again, his voice so soft now that it felt like a whisper. “What are you afraid of?”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought about lying again. But the way he looked at you—the way he had always seen through you—made it impossible.

You swallowed hard, your gaze falling to the floor as you tried to find the words. “I’m not afraid,” you started, though the words felt fragile. “It’s just... I’m not... good at this. I don’t know how to be...” You trailed off, your mind racing, trying to figure out how to say the things that had been gnawing at you for days.

“I’m not... good at relationships, okay?” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I’ve let someone in, it’s... it’s backfired. I’m scared that if I show you who I really am, you’ll... you’ll get tired of me. Or worse, you’ll see all the things that make me unlovable and... leave.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as soon as they did, you felt exposed, raw. Vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in years.

Hotch’s expression softened even more, his gaze filled with understanding rather than judgment. He stepped closer, his voice steady and reassuring. “Y/N, that’s not going to happen,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before Hotch could say anything more, the door to the copy room swung open, and JJ appeared, her expression urgent but apologetic.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” JJ began, glancing between the two of you, clearly sensing the tension. “But we’ve got an urgent case. We need to head to the briefing room now.”

Hotch straightened up immediately, the shift in his demeanor instant. He was back in work mode, but before he turned to leave, he glanced at you, his eyes softening for just a moment. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” he said, his voice low but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You, of course, couldn’t help yourself. You leaned back against the copy machine, crossing your arms with a defiant smirk. “I don’t know, Hotchner. I might be busy making copies.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought back a smile, his gaze flicking back to you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Knock it off,” he said lightly, his tone still professional but with that familiar warmth. “Don’t be a brat.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk widening just a little. “No promises.”

Hotch shook his head, clearly not fazed by your antics, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned to follow JJ, already shifting back into his role as Unit Chief. You followed behind, the moment lingering in the back of your mind, knowing that this conversation was far from over.

The air in the briefing room felt thicker as the case unfolded. JJ was going through the details, but your mind was already reeling from what you saw. The university. The professor. The past you thought you’d left behind.

The team listened intently, no one yet aware of just how personal this case was about to become for you. You had worked with these people before, years ago, when you were part of the original team with Rossi, Gideon, and Hotch. They knew your reputation—how you’d left the BAU to teach at an Ivy League university, write books, and shape future generations of agents. But they didn’t know the deeper connections, the ones that were resurfacing now.

JJ clicked to the next slide, and that was when you felt the pit in your stomach form. The suspect’s possible protector: a law professor who had once been the person you thought you’d build a life with. The one you left behind when your priorities shifted.

As the details about the professor emerged, Morgan looked over at you, furrowing his brow. “Wait, didn’t you teach at this university for a while?”

You nodded, keeping your voice steady, though your pulse was anything but. “Yeah. I taught there for a few years.”

Prentiss leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “And this professor... you know him?”

You hesitated for just a moment, the weight of your words settling in your throat. You hadn’t expected to be forced into revealing this now, in front of the entire team, but there was no avoiding it. You glanced at Hotch, and for a brief second, you saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. But it was Rossi’s calm presence that grounded you, reminding you why you had come back to the BAU in the first place. Because he had called you. Because he had known you belonged here.

With a small sigh, you gave a tight nod. “He’s my ex. I was with him for a while when I was teaching there. We broke up years ago.”

The room went quiet for a beat, the team exchanging glances as they processed the information. Nobody had known. You had always kept that part of your life separate from your professional world, but now it was colliding head-on.

“I’m not surprised he’s involved in this,” you continued, keeping your tone as even as possible. “He’s always been good at covering things up, especially when it comes to protecting his students. I’m guessing he’s helping the suspect in more ways than we realize.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t leave you. While the rest of the team focused on the new revelation, he was watching your demeanor, analyzing the subtle shifts in your expression. He could see you trying to keep it together, but he knew you too well. He knew there was more to this than you were letting on.

The timing of it all couldn’t have been worse. Just when he had been starting to understand why you’d been so distant, now this—an ex, the kind of connection that could explain more than just your avoidance in recent days. Hotch’s mind was already working through the implications, but now wasn’t the time to push. Not yet.

“We’ll split into teams,” Hotch said, taking control of the situation and pulling the focus back to the case. “Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, and I will meet with campus security. JJ, Reid, and Y/N—you’ll talk to the students and see if anyone’s noticed anything suspicious about the professor or the suspect.”

You nodded, trying to push down the anxiety creeping up inside you. You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, still watching, still waiting for the conversation you both knew was inevitable. But for now, you needed to focus on the case. You couldn’t afford to let your past get in the way of the job.

But you knew, deep down, this wasn’t over.

The steady hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin as you sat in your usual seat, staring out the window at the clouds passing by below. The rest of the team was engaged in quiet conversation or reviewing the case files, but you had remained silent, your mind elsewhere. Too calm. Too collected. You knew it. But this was the only way you could handle the situation—by shutting it all down, pushing it far enough away that it didn’t touch you.

Hotch sat across from you, his eyes flicking between his file and you. He was subtle about it, but you could feel his gaze. After everything that had come out in the briefing room, you knew he’d want to check in, and you’d been dreading it.

He cleared his throat softly, leaning forward just enough to speak quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear. “How are you holding up?”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady and flat. Too steady. “This is just another case.”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat. “You seem... detached.”

You felt your jaw tighten as you flipped through the file in your lap, though you weren’t actually reading it. “I’m not detached,” you replied, too cold. “I’m focused.”

He was silent for a moment, then tried a different approach. “This professor—your ex—was there anything about him that we should know? Anything that could help us?”

You froze for just a moment before you snapped the file shut and finally looked at him, your eyes hard and unyielding. 

“He was an asshole, Aaron. That’s all you need to know.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t stop there. “He was manipulative, controlling, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself. And I was an idiot for staying with him as long as I did.”

Hotch blinked, clearly taken aback, but not by your anger—by the venom in your voice, the way you talked about yourself. He didn’t respond right away, his mind already processing how someone like that could have hurt you. Why you would have tolerated it for so long. But before he could say anything more, you turned away, ending the conversation with a wall of silence.

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of silence and tense focus. Hotch didn’t push further, but you could feel the weight of his thoughts as he processed what you’d said.

When the jet finally landed, and the team moved into action, there was little time for personal conversations. The team split up into teams, like Hotch requested, but there was little to no developments. You spent the day…tense--radiating off of you. 

It was Morgan who broke the tension once things had settled into the routine.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, sidling up next to you as you tossed through the files. “I’m surprised you haven’t given Hotch much hell today. Must be hitting close to home, huh?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Too close.”

Morgan’s grin faded, and he gave you a knowing look. “You okay?”

You shrugged, shaking your head a little. “Honestly? I don’t know how to express that to him—how to say anything to him.”

Morgan leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Hotch? The cold drill sergeant?” He raised his eyebrows. “Come on. You’re his one exception. To most things, actually.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Morgan said, his tone more genuine now. “Look, we trust each other with our lives every day in the field. You’ve got to start trusting him with more than just that. The guy trusts you. I mean, really trusts you—his life, his messy past, all of it. Maybe you should think about trusting him with yours.”

You bit your lip, considering his words, knowing there was more truth in them than you wanted to admit. You hadn’t let Hotch in—really let him in—but not because you didn’t want to. You just didn’t know how. And Morgan was right, it could not be easy for Hotch to let someone in after Haley. Bringing you around Jack, into his life that he once lived with someone who he thought would be there forever? Could not be something easy, yet he was allowing you in anyways. 

Before you could respond, Hotch’s voice broke through the moment. “We’ve got a lead on the professor,” he said, his tone all business as he approached. “I want you to stay back.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly stopped yourself. Instead, you quipped, “Come on, Hotch. Don’t tell me you don’t want me to have all the fun.”

Morgan chuckled and shook his head, walking off with a muttered, “Good luck, man.”

But Hotch didn’t laugh. His eyes narrowed slightly, not unkindly, but with that familiar look that told you he wasn’t buying your deflection. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he said quietly. “When we get him into custody, I want you to talk to him. You know him, and that personal connection might be an advantage we can use.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Hotch didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on you, his voice lowering just enough so that only you could hear him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If you’re not comfortable—”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted softly, the seriousness of your voice surprising even yourself. “None of this is comfortable, Hotch. But I’m learning. Learning how to... express that. Trying. And hoping I can share more. Soon.”

Hotch studied your face for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something softer in his eyes. Something that told you he wasn’t just your boss right now—he was someone who cared about you. Someone who wanted you to be okay.

“Okay,” he said, his voice just as soft. “But if you need to step back at any point, I need you to tell me.”

You gave him a small, almost sad smile. “I will.”

He nodded once, his professional mask slipping back into place as he turned to the rest of the team. But you knew this conversation wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

The interrogation room was colder than you remembered, the sterile fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the table. You stood by the one-way mirror for a moment, watching as your ex—the professor—sat with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression unreadable. It had been years since you’d seen him, and though you had prepared yourself for this moment, it still felt like a punch to the gut.

Hotch stood beside you, silent but present, his gaze fixed on the man in the room. His anger was palpable—another body had been found on campus, escalating the urgency of the case. You could feel his tension in the air, but as always, he kept it under control. For now.

“You don’t have to do this,” Hotch said quietly, his voice low but steady. “If you’re not ready—”

You cut him off, straightening your shoulders and pulling your gaze away from the glass. “I’ve got this,” you said firmly, though your heart raced in your chest. “I need to do this.”

Hotch’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. He gave a small nod, but before you walked through the door, he spoke again, his voice softer. “If he crosses a line, I’ll be right there.”

You met his gaze, grateful for his support, but you forced a confident smile onto your face. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

With that, you stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. The professor looked up, his eyes meeting yours, and you could see the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, casually, like he wasn’t sitting in an interrogation room, suspected of covering up for a student who had committed unspeakable crimes.

The interrogation room felt suffocating, the air thick with tension. He sat casually in his chair as if this were a simple chat. His smug demeanor, the arrogance in his eyes—it all brought back memories you’d tried to bury. But you weren’t the same person who had tolerated him back then. You had changed.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice oozing with that familiar arrogance. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

You remained standing, refusing to sit across from him. “I wasn’t expecting to be here either,” you said coldly, your voice sharp. “But here we are.”

He leaned back in his chair, arrogance radiating from him as he crossed his arms. “You always had a way of getting yourself involved in things that didn’t concern you,” he sneered.

You didn’t flinch. “This concerns me,” you said sharply. “You’re covering up for a student who’s responsible for these crimes. Just like you’ve done before.”

He chuckled, low and condescending. “You’re still so self-righteous. Always thinking you could save everyone. But we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”

Your jaw clenched, but you refused to let him get to you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back again, his smirk returning as his eyes swept over you. “You were always so eager to please. You put up with so much... for so long. I was surprised, actually. Surprised you stayed with me as long as you did. Guess you just couldn’t help yourself.”

Your jaw tightened, the memories of the past pushing forward, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You weren’t going to let him get to you, not this time. “I stayed with you because I didn’t know any better,” you said, your voice low and sharp. “But I see you now. You covered up a sexual assault on campus. A student you treated like one of your ‘bros.’”

For the first time, his expression flickered. You pressed on, your voice cutting through the tension. “I’m not surprised you’re involved in this. You always looked out for the worst kinds of people, because you’re just like them. Terrible. You might not have laid a hand on anyone, but you enabled them. And I’m done letting you hide behind that smug façade.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the cocky façade slipped. He straightened up, his expression hardening. “I protected my students, just like I always did. If one of them did something stupid, that’s on them.”

“Another body was found,” you snapped, your voice suddenly sharper. “So forgive me if I don’t buy that you’re just an innocent bystander in all this.”

The professor leaned back in his chair, a smug grin curling across his face as he sized you up. His eyes darkened, his tone dripping with disdain. “You know, for someone who spent so much time pretending to be better than everyone else, you weren’t exactly a prize yourself. You were so desperate for approval. Clinging to me, hoping to be part of something important, but you were nothing more than a scared little girl. Pathetic, really.”

Your stomach twisted, his words slicing through the air like a knife. The familiar manipulation was back, but this time it was uglier, more personal, and aimed right at your insecurities. For a moment, you felt that old sense of dread creeping in, but you quickly shoved it down, refusing to let him see how much he affected you.

Before you could respond, the door swung open with a loud bang, and Hotch stormed in, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Enough,” Hotch growled, his voice seething with anger. His usual calm, collected demeanor was gone, replaced by a fury you had rarely seen. He wasn’t just angry—he was livid. His eyes blazed with barely contained rage as he glared at the professor, his fists clenched at his sides.

The professor opened his mouth to say something, but Hotch cut him off, his voice rising. “We just found another body on campus,” he snapped, his tone almost a yell. “So unless you want to be charged as an accessory to murder, you’ll stop playing games and start talking.”

The professor paled, his smug attitude faltering for the first time since you’d entered the room. He glanced between you and Hotch, clearly rattled by the sudden shift in the room’s energy.

“I... I’ll tell you what I know,” he muttered, his bravado slipping.

Hotch didn’t move, his dark gaze fixed on the professor. “If you lie, you’ll regret it,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous, “You have no idea what I’m willing to do to make sure you answer for this.”

The professor nodded quickly, his confidence crumbling under the weight of Hotch’s fury.

Without taking his eyes off the professor, Hotch finally spoke to you, his tone much softer. “You’re done here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You turned on your heel and left the room, your pulse racing from both the confrontation and the way Hotch had stepped in. Once you were outside, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

The door closed behind you, and Hotch appeared at your side, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. But when he looked at you, there was something else in his eyes—something softer, more protective.

“You didn’t have to do that alone,” he said, his voice low.

You met his gaze, feeling the tension between you ease just a little. “I needed to.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid hanging in the air. There was something unspoken between you—something that had been building for a while, and you knew this was far from over.

But for now, you were grateful. Grateful that he had been there, that he’d stepped in when you needed him most. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to realize that you didn’t have to handle everything on your own anymore.

With the information you’d pulled from the professor, the case came together swiftly. The team tracked down the student responsible for the crimes, arresting him without further incident. It was a victory, but there was a lingering bitterness in the air, especially after the confrontation with your ex.

Back at the precinct, as the local PD prepared to release the professor, you kept your distance, standing with the team as they processed the final details. You had just turned away when you heard his voice behind you.

“Y/N,” he called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice dripping with false charm. “You still look as good as ever.”

You froze, your blood boiling as the comment hit you like a slap. The arrogance in his tone made your skin crawl, and the fact that he had the nerve to say it in front of the entire team? It took everything in you not to react, but you clenched your fists at your sides, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Hotch’s eyes snapped toward the professor, his anger flaring again. That comment—so condescending, so disrespectful—cut deeper than he’d expected it would. It wasn’t just the insult itself, it was the way the professor wielded it, trying to assert power over you even now. Hotch could see the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you were trying to hide your reaction, but he knew that the words hit a nerve.

As much as Hotch kept his emotions in check, this was different. He felt a flash of protective instinct rise within him. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that—no one did. Especially not you, who had held your own in that interrogation, who had stood firm even when the professor had tried to tear you down. But you hadn’t been forthcoming with your emotions, not with him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was why. If your past with the professor—the manipulation, the control—was part of the reason you kept so much of yourself hidden.

Without missing a beat, he turned to the local PD officers. “Get him out of here,” Hotch ordered, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

The officers nodded quickly, rushing to escort the professor out, and as they led him away, Hotch stepped closer to you. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed against your back, a subtle gesture of reassurance, letting you know he was there.

Inside, his thoughts were racing. He had seen you deflect before, using humor or bravado to keep people at a distance, but now he could see how much it cost you. You were strong, sharp, confident—even when facing your ex—but there was something deeper beneath that exterior. Something you were still guarding, even now. And Hotch, who prided himself on being able to read people, knew there was so much more you weren’t saying.

Rossi, always quick with a comment, muttered under his breath, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The team burst into quiet laughter, the tension in the room easing just a little. You couldn’t help but smile, though the weight of the professor’s words still lingered.

“I thought Hotch was going to kill the guy,” Morgan chimed in, grinning. “Or at least rip his head off.”

You glanced at Hotch, catching his dry expression. “He’s lucky I didn’t,” Hotch replied, his tone deadpan, though you could see the spark of humor in his eyes.

Feeling the tension lift, you couldn’t resist the chance to tease him. You leaned a little closer to Hotch, your voice low but playful. “Careful, Hotch. I’m starting to think you enjoy playing knight in shining armor.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile. “Only when it’s necessary.”

The team snickered at the exchange, and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as Prentiss grinned. “Alright, you two,” she teased, “get a room already.”

Morgan laughed, nudging JJ with his elbow. “Yeah, for real. We don’t need to see all that.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. Just trying to keep things... interesting.”

Hotch shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation, and for a moment, you could see the corners of his mouth lift in a smirk, but he kept his professional mask intact.

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” Hotch couldn’t help but respond with his own dry sense of humor. “All right,” Hotch said, raising his voice just enough to regain control of the room, though the humor in his eyes remained. “Let’s wrap this up.”

The flight back to Quantico was quiet. The case had been solved, the suspect arrested, and the weight of the entire situation seemed to hang over everyone. Hotch had given you space, knowing that you needed time to process everything that had happened. The rest of the team kept things light, but you remained quiet, lost in your thoughts as you stared out the window of the jet.

Once you landed, the usual bureaucratic routine followed. Paperwork. Debriefs. You went through the motions, wrapping up the final details of the case with the rest of the team. Hotch, always efficient, had finished his reports quickly, but he lingered in his office afterward. He knew you weren’t ready to talk—not yet—and he wasn’t going to push. He had learned over the years that you would come to him when you were ready.

Eventually, the bullpen emptied. The rest of the team had said their goodbyes, eager to head home after the long case. Hotch stayed in his office, reviewing a few last-minute reports when he heard a soft knock on the doorframe. He looked up to see you standing there, peeking into his office.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your tone hesitant. “Can I... go home with you?”

Hotch blinked, surprised by the question, but he kept his expression neutral. “Of course,” he said, his voice softening. “I’d love that.”

He quickly collected his things, and the two of you left the BAU together, walking side by side through the empty hallways. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a heaviness to it. Hotch could feel that you had something on your mind, but he didn’t push. He was happy you were with him, and that was enough for now.

It wasn’t until the two of you reached Hotch’s car, standing alone in the quiet of the parking lot, that you finally spoke. The weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long seemed to press down on you, and you knew this was the moment you needed to say what had been on your mind for days—weeks, even.

You took a deep breath, your voice shaking slightly as you began. “Hotch... Aaron, I know how much you’ve been through. I know how hard it is for you to trust someone after everything. But you still trust me. You’ve been there for me this whole time, and I haven’t been able to show you the same.”

Hotch turned to face you, his eyes soft, patient. He didn’t say anything, just waited, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking a little as the words tumbled out. “I’m scared of losing you. Of getting close to Jack and then losing him, too, if something goes wrong between us. I’m afraid I’m not good in relationships because I’m so independent—to a fault. I don’t know how to let people in, and I’m scared that I’m overstepping by being in Jack’s life.”

You paused, trying to steady your breath. Hotch remained silent, listening intently, his gaze never leaving yours.

“And I’m terrified,” you continued, “that one day you’ll resent me for it. That I’ll hurt you, or worse... that you’ll see the real me, and you won’t want me anymore. That you’ll find me... unattractive, or ugly, or just... not enough.”

Hotch took a small step closer, his expression softening even more. He could see how hard this was for you—the vulnerability, the fear that had been weighing on you for so long. Slowly, gently, he reached out and placed his hand on your arm, the touch grounding you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure, “I’ve already seen the real you. And I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt your heart tighten, the words hitting you harder than you’d expected. Hotch’s eyes were filled with a tenderness you rarely saw, but it was there—real, honest.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of losing me or Jack,” Hotch continued. “We’re here because we want to be, because we care about you. You’re not overstepping. And as for your fears about relationships... you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

You swallowed hard, the tears you had been holding back finally starting to well up. But they weren’t tears of sadness—they were tears of relief. For the first time, you felt like you could breathe.

Hotch’s hand slid from your arm to your back, pulling you into a gentle embrace. He didn’t say anything else—he didn’t need to. The quiet comfort of his presence said everything.

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

After the emotional exchange outside Hotch’s car, the two of you quietly climbed inside. The drive began in a comfortable silence, but as the minutes passed, Hotch felt compelled to dig a little deeper. He had seen how much your past with the professor had affected you, and though he wasn’t one to push, he also knew that sometimes the right question could help.

He glanced over at you briefly, his voice soft but steady as he broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Depends,” you teased, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “If you’re planning to ask about my ex, I’d be careful. If you want to get laid later, you’re walking a pretty thin line right now.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a subtle smile, surprising you. His wit wasn’t usually at the forefront, but when it was, it always caught you off guard. “Noted,” he replied dryly, his eyes flicking to the road. “But if that’s the line, I guess I’d better make it worth crossing.”

You blinked, surprised by his response, and then burst into laughter. You didn’t expect him to meet you at your level of humor, but there he was, speaking your language, making the tension in your chest loosen just a little more. Somehow, it was easier to talk to him like this—lighthearted, comfortable.

You exhaled, your amusement fading into something more reflective. The joke had disarmed you, and now, the floodgates felt cracked open. You stared out the window for a moment before speaking again, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“I almost let him ruin everything,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “After we broke up, it wasn’t just the relationship that fell apart. It was me. I lost... everything.”

Hotch glanced over at you, his expression softening as he listened intently. He didn’t interrupt, sensing that this was something you needed to say.

“I had a third book deal,” you continued, your voice tightening as the memories surfaced. “It was one of the biggest opportunities of my career. But when everything fell apart between us, I just... I couldn’t handle it. I had to take a leave of absence from teaching. I lost all sense of who I was, of what I’d worked for. I almost lost everything I’d built for myself.” You paused, swallowing hard. “I let him... I let him make me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I couldn’t do it on my own. And the worst part is, I believed him.”

Hotch tensed. “You didn’t lose everything,” he said quietly, glancing at you again. “You’re here. You came back. You built yourself up again.”

You nodded, though the heaviness of the memories still lingered. “Yeah, I did. But it took a long time to get back to myself. I almost let him take everything from me, and the idea of... of trusting someone again after all that, it’s terrifying.”

Hotch was silent for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. He knew exactly what it was like to be broken by someone you trusted, to rebuild from the ruins of a relationship. And he understood why you were scared.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said gently. “And you don’t have to do it on your own anymore. You’ve been through hell, but you came out stronger. And whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I feel kind of stupid, you know,” you admitted, your tone laced with self-deprecation. “Here I am, whining about my stupid ex and my lost book deal when you... you’ve been through so much more. Losing Haley, raising Jack... I’m over here complaining about my ‘trivial’ issues, and you’ve survived all that.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, not out of frustration with you, but with the idea that you would belittle your own pain in comparison to his. He had always hated the notion that suffering was something that could be compared or ranked. The losses and hardships you had faced weren’t trivial, and he could see how much they had affected you. He wanted to tell you that pain was pain, no matter the source. That what you went through mattered.

He glanced at you, catching the guilt in your expression, and a small, dry smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t call them trivial,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ve all been through our own versions of hell.”

In truth, Hotch had never really talked about what happened with Haley in a way that felt... open. Most people treaded lightly around the topic, and he let them because revisiting that part of his life was often too painful. But at this moment, sitting next to you, he realized that maybe you were more similar than he had ever allowed himself to consider. You had both been through losses that had shaped you, and you both carried the weight of those losses in your own ways.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah. Quite the pair, aren’t we?”

Hotch’s smile deepened, a rare lightness settling over him. “We are,” he agreed, glancing at you before turning his attention back to the road. “Quite the pair.”

As he drove, Hotch couldn’t help but feel the subtle shift in the air between the two of you. For so long, he had thought of himself as the one with the heavy burdens—the one whose past dictated his present. 

But hearing you open up about your fears, about the way your past had nearly destroyed you, made him realize just how much you had in common. He wasn’t the only one who had been broken and rebuilt. 

And it wasn’t about comparing whose pain was worse; it was about understanding that, in each other, you had found someone who could shoulder the weight together.

He hadn’t expected to feel this kind of connection, not after everything he had been through. But now, sitting beside you, he felt a sense of hope, the possibility that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

After the conversation outside the car, the drive to pick up Jack was filled with a sense of quiet contentment. There was still a lot to process, but for now, things felt... lighter between the two of you. When you arrived at Jack’s aunt’s house, Hotch stepped out of the car first, greeting Jess before Jack came bounding out of the house, his energy immediately filling the air.

“Dad!” Jack’s voice was filled with excitement, but when he spotted you stepping out of the car behind Hotch, his smile widened even more. “Hey, Y/N!”

You smiled back, watching as Hotch crouched down to catch Jack in a hug before turning toward you. “Hey, buddy,” you said, your tone softening as you knelt to greet him. “How’s it going?”

Jack launched into a story about what he had been up to, and you listened intently, smiling at his enthusiasm. Hotch watched the interaction from a short distance, his heart swelling as he saw how natural you were with Jack. It hadn’t taken long for Jack to warm up to you, and now, seeing the two of you together, he felt a deep sense of contentment. This was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time—someone who could fit into his life, not just with him, but with Jack too.

The three of you spent the rest of the evening together. Dinner was easy and filled with laughter, and afterward, you and Jack played a game he had excitedly explained to you, while Hotch watched from the sidelines, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He could see how much Jack enjoyed your company, and watching the two of you together, he felt more certain than ever that you belonged in his life.

For your part, you were starting to let yourself enjoy it too. Getting to know Jack, laughing with him, seeing Hotch’s softer side as he interacted with his son—it was more than you had ever expected. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel the warmth that came with being part of something bigger than just yourself.

Later that night, after Jack had fallen asleep, you and Hotch found yourselves curled up together in bed, the quiet of the night settling over the house. You had your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in years.

Hotch’s hand gently traced along your arm as he spoke, his voice soft in the stillness. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him, your brow furrowing. “For what?”

“For opening up,” he replied, his gaze steady. “Not just to me, but to Jack. He’s... he’s everything to me, you know that. And I wouldn’t bring you into his life if I didn’t think you were someone I saw a long-term future with. Someone I care about. Someone I trust.”

His words settled over you, and though he didn’t say the words outright, you knew what he meant. This was Hotch’s way of saying he loved you, without needing to say it directly. It was in the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, the way he had brought you into the most important part of his life—Jack.

You felt your heart swell, the depth of your feelings for him clear as day. You knew you loved him too. But as the realization hit, so did the familiar fear—the fear that if you said it, if you voiced those words, everything might fall apart. It was an irrational thought, you knew that, but it lingered nonetheless. You didn’t want to lose him or Jack. And sometimes, it felt like admitting how much you cared might make it all disappear.

You shifted slightly, your voice soft but sincere as you responded. “I’m... I’m glad you trust me with that. With him. It means more than I can say.”

Hotch’s hand moved to cup the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your hair. “You’re not going to lose us,” he said, his voice firm but filled with warmth. He didn’t need to say more—you both understood what was left unsaid.

You gave him a small smile, resting your head back on his chest. The fear was still there, lingering in the background, but in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—everything would be okay.

A few days after the case, the BAU was settling into its usual rhythm, and the team was catching up on paperwork. The atmosphere was light, and you glanced over at Hotch, who was going through some files at Reid’s desk.  

A familiar mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. It had been a while since you’d stirred the pot, and with the team now fully aware of your relationship with Hotch, there was plenty of fun to be had.

You sauntered over to his desk, leaning against it with an exaggerated sigh. “So, when exactly are you going to give us a break, boss? Or are you planning to work us into the ground?”

Hotch didn’t look up right away, but the corner of his mouth curved slightly. “Are you lobbying for the team or just yourself?” he asked dryly, finally meeting your gaze.

You smirked, tapping your fingers on his desk playfully. “Oh, definitely the team. I’m always thinking of the greater good. Right, guys?”

Morgan chuckled from across the bullpen. “Sure, Y/N. You’re always working so hard... at avoiding paperwork.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that I’m a very dedicated team member.”

Prentiss chimed in, grinning. “Dedicated to getting Hotch to lighten up, maybe.”

You flashed a flirty smile at Hotch. “Someone’s got to. Imagine how tense you’d all be if I wasn’t here to keep things... engaging.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Engaging?” he repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice just enough. “Yeah, you know... keeping you on your toes. Wouldn’t want things to get too boring around here, would we?”

Hotch remained unfazed, though you could see the barely concealed smile tugging at his lips. “If by ‘engaging’ you mean ‘relentless,’ then yes. Inappropriate at times? Yes. Mission accomplished.”

Morgan laughed. “Man, Hotch’s got jokes now. You’ve really rubbed off on him.”

Prentiss rolled her eyes, but her grin gave her away. “Honestly, it’s kind of scary how well they balance each other out.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “Scary? I think you mean inspiring.”

Rossi, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, it’s definitely something.”

You turned back to Hotch, raising an eyebrow. “See? They love me.”

Hotch leaned back, giving you a look that was both challenging and amused. “That’s one word for it.”

You were about to come up with another flirty retort when Morgan, always quick to jump in, added, “Honestly, I’m just impressed Hotch puts up with you.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch deadpanned, “Someone has to.”

The team burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the lighthearted teasing. But beneath the banter, there was a warmth between you and Hotch—a mutual understanding that ran deeper than the jokes. Even though he never said it outright, you knew how much he cared for you, how much he valued your presence not just in his life, but in Jack’s, too.

Rossi, sitting across the bullpen, added with a chuckle, “If anyone needs an HR manager around here, it’s definitely for the two of you.”

You laughed, looking back toward Hotch with a wicked grin. “Please, HR wouldn’t stand a chance with me.”

Reid, ever the innocent one, looked between you and Hotch, furrowing his brow. “I mean, technically, you’re not violating any workplace policies... yet.”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, give it time, Reid. She’ll find a way.”

You threw Morgan a mock glare. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Before Morgan could respond, JJ, who had been listening from her desk, suddenly chimed in with a sly grin. “Oh, trust me, she will. After overhearing one of your... conversations, I was this close to putting soap in my ears.”

The team burst into laughter, and you glanced at JJ, raising an eyebrow, grinning shamelessly. “What can I say? When I’m passionate about something, it shows.”

Hotch, ever the stoic, kept his expression neutral but gave you a side-eye that conveyed more than words. “I’m sure it does,” he said simply, his tone cool but with that underlying sharpness.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping just a little closer to him, your voice dropping into a teasing tone. “Careful, Hotch. I might have to make it my personal mission to drive you crazy.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch replied, “You’ve been doing that since day one.”

You glanced back at him, leaning in once more, your voice low and teasing. “You know, for someone who pretends to be all serious, you’re pretty good at this.”

Hotch finally allowed a small smile to break through. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed softly, brushing your hand lightly against his arm as you straightened up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Prentiss laughed, sipping her coffee. “HR would probably quit on day one.”

Reid, ever curious, chimed in, “Actually, technically, as long as there’s no misconduct—”

Prentiss interrupted, patting Reid’s shoulder. “Reid, it’s just an expression.”

Morgan, still laughing, added, “Yeah, but with these two, who knows? They might break the system.”

The team exchanged knowing glances, still teasing, but there was no hiding the fact that everyone knew how things had changed between you and Hotch. And as you returned to your paperwork, you caught Hotch’s gaze once more, that subtle connection between the two of you always there—steady, unspoken, but undeniably strong.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

[ssa-dado]

6 - Synthesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, slow burn

Summary: After an intense case, you and Hotch struggle with unresolved tensions from a previous argument. On the train back, Hotch overhears Peter comforting you about a recent tragedy, realizing he’s been blind to your pain. Later, Hotch unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, opening up and apologizing for his emotional distance, leading to a heartfelt moment of mutual vulnerability. That evening, you attend Peter’s welcome-back party, feeling lighter and reconnecting with the team. That's when Peter makes an unusual bet with you.

Warnings: death, grief, emotional abuse, domestic violence, family dysfunction.

Word Count: 7.6k

Dado's Corner: Phi posting two chapters in less than 12 hours? More likely than you think. I was supposed to wait until tomorrow, but I just couldn’t help myself. Thank you all so much for the love and support you’ve shown for the series so far! Each of you holds a special place in my cold little heart. Please don’t hate me after this - it hurts me, too - but hey, there’s some interrogation room Aaron to sweeten things up. I’m particularly proud of this cute, lovely chapter. It doesn’t make me want to jump out the window. Not even a little bit. Embrace the pain.

previous part ; masterlist

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

●

The observation room was dimly lit, casting long, uneven shadows over you and Peter as you stood behind the two-way mirror, your heartbeat seemed to echo in the quiet, barely audible over the hum of the fluorescent light. You watched Hotch on the other side, preparing to interrogate the suspect, he appeared calm as usual, wearing his mask of stoicism proudly on his face, but you could tell the tension was palpable.

The room beyond the glass was stark, the suspect sat at the metal table gleaming under the harsh light with a smug expression, arms casually draped over the back of his chair, utterly unbothered. Te view was borderline infuriating.

The hair on your arms stood up, not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had settled over the case. You couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you were grasping at straws, the weight of the local police’s blunders pressing heavily on your chest. They had fumbled, and badly. Critical evidence had slipped through their fingers, lost or contaminated in the chaos. You didn’t even want to hear the whole story—you were too furious, your senses shutting down as the same detective who had once doubted your work stumbled through a pathetic apology. All you had now was Hotch. No physical proof, no solid evidence to tie this man to the crimes you knew he’d committed.

Your gaze flicked back to the suspect, his arrogance nauseating. He knew the game, knew the system, and worse, he knew how to manipulate it to his advantage. There was a clock ticking in your mind, every second precious, the sense of urgency suffocating. If Hotch couldn’t break him - if he couldn’t find a way past the layers of lies and smug indifference - you’d lose him. You couldn’t afford that, not now.

Peter’s jaw clenched as he observed the scene, his frustration evident. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We warned them not to bring him in without something solid. Now we’re stuck trying to clean up their mess.”

You nodded, your mind still reeling from the argument with Hotch the night before, as if all of this mess wasn’t already enough for your nerves to handle. The tension between you two had lingered, unresolved and heavy, adding another layer to your frustration. You tried to shake it off, but it clung to you, making it even harder to focus. “Yeah, and now Hotch has to pull off a miracle,” you said, your voice tinged with both a tinge of annoyance and worry. “He’s got one shot to get this right.”

Peter turned his attention back to the interrogation room, his eyes narrowing as Hotch sat across from the suspect. “If anyone can do it, it’s him. I’ve seen Hotch work multiple times, and somehow he even looks sharper, more intense.”

Inside the room, Hotch began his interrogation with a measured calm, his eyes locked on the suspect, who lounged back in his chair, exuding a quiet confidence. Hotch started with the basics, the routine questions meant to establish rapport, but the suspect was playing his own game, answering with a smug smile and evasive nonchalance.

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms as he observed the suspect’s every move, every twitch. “You’ve been careful,” Hotch said, his voice steady but probing. “I’ll give you that. You’ve covered your tracks well. But you slipped up, everyone makes mistakes, especially when they think they’re untouchable.”

The suspect smirked, feigning boredom. “You’re wasting your breath, Agent Hotchner. You and I both know you have nothing on me - no evidence, no witnesses. You’re grasping at straws.”

Hotch’s gaze remained unflinching, but you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he leaned in just slightly, narrowing the space between the two of them. “You’re right, we don’t have physical evidence, but we do have you, and that’s enough. Because here’s the thing - you’re not as smart as you think you are. You’ve made this personal, and personal is messy.”

The suspect chuckled, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as if this were a game to him. “Oh, please. I’ve seen every tactic in the book, and I’ve got an answer for all of them. You can’t intimidate me, Hotchner. I know my rights. You’ve got nothing.”

Hotch’s expression remained stoic, but there was a flash of determination in his eyes. “You think this is about intimidation? You’re missing the point. This isn’t about fear, it’s about you and the mistakes you’ve made. You’ve left a trail, little hints of who you really are. You think you’ve hidden them, but they’re there, buried in the details.”

The suspect’s confident facade faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, scoffing. “You’re reaching. This isn’t some TV show where the bad guy breaks down in a dramatic confession. I’m not saying a damn thing without my lawyer.”

Hotch’s demeanor shifted, a cold, calculating edge creeping into his voice. “Your lawyer? You think your lawyer’s going to save you? They’ll do their job, make sure you’re comfortable, make sure you feel safe. But at the end of the day, they’re not in here with you, they’re not the ones facing the consequences of your actions - you are. And you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Hotch methodically chip away at the suspect’s arrogance. Each line of questioning was a carefully placed strike, designed to weaken his resolve, but the suspect wasn’t giving in easily. He deflected, twisted Hotch’s words, and tried to turn the conversation back on him.

“You think you’re so righteous, don’t you?” the suspect sneered, leaning forward with a glint of disdain in his eyes. “Sitting there, acting like you’ve got the moral high ground. You don’t know me, Agent Hotchner. You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through, the people I’ve dealt with - you think you’re better than me?”

Hotch didn’t flinch even if the last words reminded him of the argument he had with you down at the lobby. “No, I don’t think I’m better than you, but I do know who you are. You’re the guy who blames everyone else when things go wrong, the guy who hides behind his intellect because he’s too scared to admit he’s just another coward trying to prove he’s not afraid. But guess what? That act doesn’t work on me.”

The suspect’s composure slipped, his anger flaring as Hotch hit a nerve. “You don’t get to judge me! You sit there like you’re some kind of saint, but you’re just as flawed as the rest of us. You have no right—”

Hotch cut him off sharply, his voice cold and unyielding. “You’re right. I’m not perfect. I’ve made my mistakes, and I own them. But I’m not the one hiding behind excuses, you are. You’re the one who thinks he can play God, decide who deserves to live or die based on your twisted sense of justice. But here’s the thing: you’re not in control, not anymore.”

From the observation room, you felt your chest tighten. Hotch was relentless, pushing the suspect further than you’d ever seen him push anyone before. It was as if he’d tapped into something raw and unforgiving, something that drove him to keep going, to tear down every last defense the suspect had.

Peter glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never seen him go this hard. It’s like he’s on a mission.”

You nodded, the tension from last night’s argument still simmering inside you. You knew why Hotch was pushing himself like this: because of you, because of the unresolved words between you, and because he needed to prove something, maybe even to himself. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

Inside the room, the suspect’s attitude was crumbling. Hotch leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with a quiet menace. “You think you’re untouchable, that you’ve covered all your bases. But I’ve spent years in courtrooms taking down men just like you, men who thought they were too smart to get caught. I know every trick, every lie, every pathetic attempt to weasel your way out of the truth.”

The suspect’s face tightened, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to maintain control. But Hotch was unrelenting, his gaze piercing through every layer of the man’s defenses. “You don’t want to admit it, but you’re scared, I can see it in your eyes. You’re terrified that the truth is going to come out, that all your carefully crafted lies are going to fall apart right in front of you - so, here’s your last chance. Tell me the truth. Tell me why you did it.”

There was a beat of silence, a heavy pause as the suspect’s composure finally shattered. His shoulders slumped, his defiance giving way to resignation. He looked up at Hotch, defeated and angry, his voice breaking as he finally confessed, each word a bitter surrender. “Fine. Fine, you want the truth? I did it. I killed them. But you have no idea why. You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless.”

“No you’re right, I don’t.” Hotch sat back, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, though his expression remained guarded: he had what he needed. The confession was out, raw and unfiltered, pulled from the depths of the suspect’s desperation.

Peter let out a low whistle, still reeling from what he’d witnessed. “That was... intense. I’ve never seen Hotch like that, he’s kind of intimidating.”

You nodded in agreement, your gaze still fixed on Hotch as he calmly gathered his notes, preparing to leave the room. You could see the toll it had taken on him, the emotional weight he carried even as he walked out victorious, and as much as you wanted to celebrate the success, the confrontation from the night before still lingered, leaving you with the unsettling realization that this fight wasn’t just with the suspect - it was within Hotch himself.

When Hotch stepped out of the interrogation room, the tension in his posture seemed to ease, but only slightly. His face was set in its usual mask of calm control, yet there was a heaviness in his eyes, a flicker of something raw that he couldn’t quite hide. Peter clapped him on the back, a mix of admiration and relief in his expression. “Hell of a job, Hotch. You tore him apart. I’ve seen you work, but that was something else entirely.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, his jaw still clenched, but his gaze was already shifting past Peter, landing on you. His eyes were searching, almost like he was trying to gauge your reaction, seeking some unspoken acknowledgment from you. “Thanks,” he said, his voice measured but tinged with exhaustion. “It had to be done.”

You stood there with your arms crossed, leaning against the wall, trying to maintain a composed exterior, but inside, you were anything but calm. Watching Hotch in that room, ruthlessly tearing down the suspect’s defenses, stirred something deep within you. It was impressive, yes, but also unsettling. You had never seen him so relentless, so driven - and you knew exactly what was fueling his determination.

As Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, there was a silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgment of the emotional battlefield you both were navigating. The words from your argument the night before still echoed in your mind, sharp and unresolved, like an open wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. The case had forced you both to set your personal issues aside, but now, in the aftermath, they were still there, hovering between you like a shadow neither of you could ignore.

Peter glanced between the two of you, sensing the charged atmosphere but choosing not to comment. He knew better than to pry, but even he could tell that whatever was going on between you and Hotch went deeper than the usual tension of a difficult case. “We got what we needed,” Peter said, trying to break the silence. “That’s what matters. Now we can finally put this bastard away.”

Hotch nodded, but his eyes never left yours, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded away. It was just the two of you, caught in a silent standoff where neither of you knew how to take the next step. You wanted to say something, anything that would bridge the gap that had formed between you, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the emotions you’d been trying so hard to keep in check.

The triumph of the confession felt hollow against the weight of what was still left unsaid. You and Hotch had always been able to read each other, but now, standing on opposite sides of this unspoken rift, it was as if the connection you’d relied on had fractured. There was so much you wanted to ask him: why he’d pushed so hard, why he seemed so desperate to prove something today, and why he couldn’t let his guard down, even for a moment. But instead, you just nodded, swallowing back the questions that burned at the back of your throat. “You did what you had to do,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though it wavered slightly. “Good work, Hotch.”

Hotch’s gaze softened for a brief second, a flicker of regret or maybe gratitude crossing his features, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice lower, more personal than before. “We all did.”Peter’s presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone, but it didn’t ease the tension that thrummed between you and Hotch. As Hotch turned to leave, the weight of your argument still hung heavy, unresolved, and painful. You watched him go, the distance between you feeling wider than ever, despite being just a few feet apart.

And as you stood there, with Peter by your side and the echo of Hotch’s footsteps fading down the corridor, you realized that the hardest part of this case wasn’t just about catching a killer, it was about facing the fractures in your own relationships, the ones that no amount of profiling or interrogation could ever fix.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks was a dull, constant noise that filled the otherwise quiet cabin. You sat alone, your head down and your pen moving steadily across the paper as you filled out your case report. It was a task you’d thrown yourself into, your way of avoiding the one thing you weren’t ready to confront: Hotch.

Hotch sat a few rows behind you, his back to you, mirroring your actions as he worked on his own report with a similar intensity. It was almost poetic how the two of you were so much alike: both of you throwing yourselves into your work to avoid the harder truths, and neither willing to make the first move toward reconciliation.

As you focused on your writing, you heard footsteps approach. You didn’t need to look up to know it was Peter; you’d recognized the casual confidence in his stride from a mile away. He slid into the seat beside you without asking, his presence a familiar and oddly comforting interruption.

Peter glanced at your half-filled report, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You never could sit still, could you?” he said, his voice soft but laced with a hint of fondness. “Always working, always thinking.”

You tried to muster a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just trying to get this done before we get back,” you said, your tone evasive. You knew why he’d come over, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the conversation you’d been avoiding since you’d seen him again.

Peter watched you for a moment, his expression shifting from casual to serious. He took a deep breath, glancing at the report before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this since I got back, but I didn’t want to bring it up while we were in the middle of the case.”

You stiffened, knowing exactly what he was going to say but hoping he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your dad’s funeral,” Peter said, his voice heavy with regret. “I wanted to be, but I was stuck overseas. I hate that I wasn’t there.”

You clenched your jaw, staring down at the paper in front of you, your pen hovering uselessly above the page. The memories of that day flooded backstanding at the grave, the heavy weight of loss pressing down on your chest, and the overwhelming feeling of being completely and utterly alone. You’d been surrounded by people, but none of them had truly understood, none of them had been him.

“It’s fine, Pete,” you said, though your voice was shaky. “You were doing your job. Besides, it’s not like it would’ve changed anything.”

Peter shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “No, it’s not okay. You were always there for me, even when we were just kids trying to figure out what the hell we were doing with our lives. And I couldn’t even show up when you needed me the most.”

Peter studied you, his eyes searching yours. He could see the cracks you were trying so desperately to hide, the way you were holding yourself together with sheer willpower. “I should have been there,” he insisted gently. “I know how much you went through with him… I remember everything you told me about him.”

A knot formed in your throat as you thought back to your childhood, your father’s relentless work ethic, his unyielding drive for perfection. He had been your hero in so many ways, but he’d also been your downfall. You’d inherited his toxic trait of overworking yourself, the constant need to be better, to be more. It was how you’d coped with the chaos at home, the screaming matches between your parents that had been your daily soundtrack. Your mother, exasperated and exhausted, would often switch languages mid-argument to keep you in the dark, to protect you - or maybe just to exclude you - from the mess they had created.

“I was just a kid, you know?” you said quietly, your voice tinged with bitterness. “All I wanted was to understand why they were always fighting. I started learning every language my mom switched to, Italian, Spanish, anything that would give me a clue, but instead of finding answers, I just… found more reasons to stay away.”

Peter’s eyes softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he listened. “You drowned yourself in books, in knowledge, just to escape,” he said, his voice low. “I remember you telling me that once, how you’d sit in those lecture halls at the university, absorbing everything because it was better than being home.”

Your childhood had been filled their voices rising in heated exchanges that always seemed to end in silence, your father retreating to his study to bury himself in more work, and your mother seeking solace in her books. To escape the turbulence at home, you’d thrown yourself into your studies with a fervor that bordered on obsession. You’d devoured literature, philosophy, psychology, anything that could distract you from the reality of your parents’ failing marriage, to gain a semblance of control in a world that often felt chaotic and out of reach.

You had become fluent in the languages they used to hide their pain from you, and in doing so, you became fluent in the art of distancing yourself from your own emotions. The habit of overworking, of pouring yourself into every task with unrelenting focus, was something you had learned from your father, a toxic legacy that you couldn’t quite shake, even now. It had been the source of countless arguments with your mother, who had begged you not to follow in his footsteps, to find balance, to live a life that wasn’t dictated by the demands of work. But it was easier said than done, and as the years went on, you found yourself mirroring his habits more than you cared to admit.

You nodded, swallowing hard against the emotion that threatened to choke you. “I kept pushing myself, kept chasing after something I couldn’t even name. My dad… he always told me that hard work was the only thing that mattered, he never slowed down, never stopped, and neither did I. Even when their marriage fell apart… even when he got sick. I just… I couldn’t stop.”

You hesitated, your eyes welling up with tears that you refused to let fall. “I didn’t even cry at his funeral, I just stood there, feeling nothing. And I haven’t been to visit his grave since.”

Peter gently reached out, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, tightly hugging you. “It’s okay not to be okay, Y/N,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this all on your own. The least I can do is be the shoulder you can lean on.” Peter squeezed your shoulder gently, his eyes filled with compassion. “Your dad was tough, but he loved you, Y/N. And you don’t have to prove anything to him, not anymore. You’re allowed to grieve, to feel lost, to not have all the answers.”

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. “I know. But sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”

Hotch sat just behind you, his back facing yours, he had intended to keep to himself, to give you the space you needed, but the quiet murmurs of your conversation had carried over. He couldn’t help but overhear Peter’s words, and as he listened, a wave of guilt and realization washed over him.

Hotch had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to see through the masks they wore, but he hadn’t seen through yours. He hadn’t seen the pain you’d been hiding, the grief that had been eating away at you just beneath a slim surface. And suddenly, your words from the night before came crashing back: how he didn’t know you, how he’d never bothered to look beyond the professional facade you’d built.

His own mind flickered back to his childhood, the memories of his father’s anger, the violence that lurked behind every door. Hotch had spent years burying and hiding those scars, never letting anyone see how deeply they ran. He had kept it all locked away, just as you had, believing that the only way to survive was to keep moving, to never let the pain catch up.

For the first time, Hotch truly understood why you had lashed out at him. You had seen in him the very thing you feared in yourself: the relentless drive to work, to control, to avoid facing the hurt that lingered beneath. He realized now that you were so much more alike than he had ever imagined, both of you haunted by the ghosts of your pasts, both trying to outrun the pain that always seemed to catch up.

As Hotch stared out the window at the passing scenery, he felt a deep sense of remorse. He wished he had known, wished he had been able to offer you the support you so clearly needed. But all he could do now was hope that you would one day trust him enough to let him in, to share the burdens you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Peter’s voice broke the silence, pulling Hotch from his thoughts. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that? But it’s okay to let someone else be strong for you, too.”

You nodded, wiping away the tears that had finally escaped. “Thanks, Pete. It’s just… it’s hard.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Hotch listened to the quiet exchange, the raw honesty between you and Peter striking a chord deep within him. He knew now that he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that the walls he had built were enough to protect him or you. As the train sped toward Quantico, Hotch made a silent promise to himself: he would do better, he would be better. For you, and for himself.

Because in the end, you both deserved more than just the comfort of solitude. You deserved to be understood, to be seen, and to finally let go of the burdens you had carried for far too long.

Peter on the other hand had always been the kind of friend who could read you like a book, even when you tried to keep the pages closed. And after this emotional confrontation he knew he didn’t have to push further. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way you were holding yourself together by the thinnest thread. So, he did what he always did best, he tried to lift your spirits, if only for a moment.

He leaned back in his seat, studying your expression with a knowing smile. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to unload everything on me right now. You’re allowed to keep some things to yourself. You don’t owe anyone your pain.” His tone was light, but there was a deep, unspoken understanding beneath it. He knew you were struggling, and he wanted you to know that it was okay to take your time.

You gave him a small, tired smile, grateful for his patience. “I know, Pete. It’s just... hard to talk about. I’ve been so focused on work, it’s easier that way. It’s all I know.”

Peter nodded, his eyes softening with empathy. “I get it. But maybe it’s time to leave work behind, just for a little while. You don’t have to think about everything right now. Start small. Maybe try coming out of your room every once in a while?” He said it with a teasing grin, nudging your shoulder playfully, hoping to coax even the smallest laugh out of you.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at his attempt to lighten the mood. “I know, I’ve been a bit of a hermit lately. I guess it’s easier to just shut myself away.”

Peter’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, lucky for you, your presence is strictly required at my welcome-back party tonight. The team’s putting it together, and you have no excuses not to come. I already told them you’d be there.”

You groaned, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Seriously? Peter, I don’t know if I’m up for-”

He cut you off, holding up a hand. “Ah-ah, no excuses. We’ll be back by early afternoon, you’ll have plenty of time to rest, take a shower, and then you’re going to show up and have a good time, even if I have to drag you there myself.”

You rolled your eyes, but his enthusiasm was infectious. There was a warmth in his insistence, a reminder that you weren’t alone and that there was still joy to be found, even in the smallest of moments. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there. But only because you’re the most obnoxiously persistent person I know.”

Peter laughed, giving you a mock bow from his seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, Y/N, it’ll be good to see you outside of the office for once. We all miss you, and I promise, you’ll be glad you came.”

You nodded, feeling a small flicker of anticipation amidst the exhaustion. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t work, something that didn’t involve endless reports or painful memories. It wasn’t a solution to all your problems, but it was a start—a chance to reconnect with the people who mattered, to take a breath and remember that there was more to life than the shadows that had been chasing you.

As you looked at Peter, his familiar smile reminding you of all the good things you’d shared over the years, you felt a small surge of hope. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The train ride back to Quantico had felt endless, but the weight of the unresolved emotions made the journey back to your apartment even more suffocating. Peter’s words lingered, tugging at wounds you hadn’t dared to touch, and Hotch’s distant presence weighed heavily on your mind. The familiar solitude of your apartment was supposed to be comforting, but tonight, it felt more like a reminder of all the things you’d been running from: your grief, your past, and the fragile, fraying connection with the person who had come to mean so much to you.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, letting it fall with a thud that echoed through the empty space. You leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling the cool surface against your palms as you tried to ground yourself. You wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. It was as if you’d locked them away, buried them beneath layers of duty and distraction.

But then there was a knock at your door, soft and tentative, almost like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they should be there. You hesitated, wiping at your eyes quickly as if to compose yourself, and moved to answer. You half-expected to find Peter, still worried about you after the train ride, or maybe even no one at all, just a mistake. But when you opened the door, it was Hotch who stood before you.

He looked different, more vulnerable and uncertain than you had ever seen him. His usually composed demeanor was frayed, and there was a rawness in his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. He stood there awkwardly, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, his face etched with a mixture of hesitation and determination.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a fragile thread, one wrong move away from snapping. Hotch looked down, swallowing hard as if searching for the right words. He wasn’t in his usual pristine suit but rather dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, his attire as out of place as the uncertainty written across his face.

“Hotch?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, tinged with both surprise and concern. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, as if he was struggling to find the right words, struggling to let down the walls he had spent a lifetime building. He stepped inside, and you quietly closed the door behind him, your heart pounding as you waited for him to speak. He took a few slow steps into the living room, glancing around as if trying to ground himself in the unfamiliar space.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice strained and brittle, every word heavy with unspoken pain. “I know this isn’t… I shouldn’t have just shown up like this, but I needed to talk to you. About… about what you said last night, and today on the train. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with Peter.”

This wasn’t the composed, confident man you knew at work, this was Aaron, someone you never got to see, someone who was barely holding it together. “ You were right, Y/N. You were right about everything.”

You stood there, frozen, as his words hit you like a wave. You had never heard Hotch sound so vulnerable, so broken. He was always the strong one, the unshakable agent who never let his guard down, but tonight, he was just Aaron, and he was struggling.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep things separate,” he began, his voice trembling. “I thought if I could just focus on the work, I could ignore everything else—everything that hurt, everything that felt out of my control. But I can’t keep doing that. It’s not who I am, and it’s not who I want to be anymore.”

Hotch’s hands shook as he tried to steady himself, his eyes brimming with emotions he had kept buried for so long. “My father... he was abusive. He was cruel in ways that I can’t even put into words. He’d tear me apart with his words, his fists, anything to remind me that I was never good enough. I grew up in a house that felt more like a battlefield than a home, where silence was never safe and every day was just another fight to survive.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the weight of those memories in his eyes: the fear, the shame, the endless need to be perfect because nothing less would ever be enough for a man who thrived on control. “I tried so hard to protect my mom, my brother, but I was just a kid. There were nights when I’d lie awake, praying he’d leave us alone, praying I’d be strong enough to make it stop. But it never did. And I swore that when I grew up, I’d never be like him. I’d never let anyone see that weakness.”

You listened, your own tears finally breaking free as his pain washed over you. You had never imagined Hotch’s past had been so brutal, so deeply scarred by violence and fear. He had always seemed so put together, so composed, but now, you could see just how much he had been hiding, how much he had been carrying all this time.

“I thought if I kept that part of myself locked away, I’d be able to move on. I thought… I thought if I became Hotch, the profiler, that it would erase all the things he said I’d never be. But it’s just made me more closed off, more afraid to let anyone in. And I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even know how to stop.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and you could see the desperation there - the plea for understanding, for forgiveness, for something he couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know how to let people in, Y/N. I don’t know how to not be this… this guarded version of myself. But if I’m going to try, if I’m going to let anyone see me, I want it to be you. Because you were right when you said I don’t know you, but I want to. And you deserve to know me, too—the real me.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside you, and without thinking, you closed the distance between you and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. Hotch tensed at first, unaccustomed to such unguarded intimacy, but then his arms wrapped around you, and you could feel him finally letting go. His head bowed against your shoulder, and his entire frame shook with the silent sobs he’d been holding back for too long.

You clung to him, your own tears mingling with his, and in that moment, it felt like the dam you’d both been holding back had finally broken. You were no longer the stoic agents who always had the answers, always kept it together. You were just two people, scarred and hurting, trying to find solace in the only way you knew how: by holding on to each other.

Hotch’s hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he held you closer, as if you were the lifeline he had been searching for. He whispered apologies between his tears, his voice cracking with the weight of his regrets. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you.”

You shook your head, burying your face into his neck, your tears soaking through his t-shirt as you let out all the grief you’d kept buried: the loss of your father, the unresolved pain of your parents’ broken marriage, the way you had thrown yourself into work to keep from falling apart. You had been running for so long, hiding behind your accomplishments, just like him.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Aaron,” you whispered through your tears, the use of his first name slipping out naturally in this moment of raw honesty. “I had no idea. I was so angry, and I—”

He shook his head, his voice soft but firm as he whispered back, “You don’t have to apologize. You were right… about all of it. I needed to hear it. I needed to face it.”

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in each other’s pain and understanding, the weight of your shared burdens finally feeling just a little bit lighter. There were no perfect words, no easy fixes, but in that embrace, you found something neither of you had expected—comfort, solace, and the beginning of a new kind of trust.

“It’s okay,” you whispered through your tears, clutching him tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

For the first time, it felt like you were truly seen, truly understood, and the relief of it was overwhelming. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to be strong or perfect or put together. You could just be, and he could just be, and that was enough.

Hotch pulled back slightly, your eyes finally met, both of you still teary but no longer hiding. There was a silent understanding there, a promise that from now on, things would be different. “No more walls. No more hiding.” He murmured, his voice shaky but filled with a quiet determination.

You nodded, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. You didn’t know what the future would hold, but as you held each other in that quiet, tear-stained moment, you knew that you weren’t alone anymore. You had each other, and that was a start. It was messy, and it was painful, but it was real. And in that, you found hope - hope that maybe, together, you could begin to heal. You weren’t just partners in the professional sense anymore; you were something more—two people learning to let each other in, to lean on each other’s strength when your own wasn’t enough. And in that simple, fragile moment, you both knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone, that your new friend would be right there at your side.

The evening had settled over the city, and the Irish pub next to your apartment block was buzzing with energy. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of lightness, excitement bubbling at the thought of spending time with Hotch, Peter, and the rest of your colleagues from the BAU. After everything that had happened, the weight of unresolved emotions had eased, if only slightly, and you found yourself looking forward to reconnecting with your team outside the pressures of the job.

Earlier that afternoon, you’d stopped by a bookstore, the small shop tucked between a row of cafes and boutique stores you often passed but rarely visited. As you browsed the shelves, your eyes fell on a book titled "Hegel for Dummies." It was a perfect, lighthearted gesture, a small symbol of your newfound friendship with Hotch, and a callback to the night you’d spent poring over Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs at the library. You thought that maybe, after his recent dive into architecture, he might take an interest in philosophy too, especially Hegel, one of your favorites. The book felt like a tiny olive branch, a way of letting him into your world a little more, just as he had let you into his the night before.

You imagined him reading it, piecing together Hegel’s ideas on thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and maybe learning something about you in the process. And who knew? Maybe one day, if you were lucky, he’d hand you one of his favorite books, offering you another glimpse into the parts of himself he rarely showed.

When you walked into the pub, the warm light and chatter were an immediate comfort. You spotted your team at a long wooden table near the back, and to your surprise, you saw Gideon sitting there, crutches leaned against the wall, his leg injury having kept him out of the latest case. Rossi was beside him, the two of them looking as inseparable as ever, trading stories and laughs over pints of beer. It was a sight that immediately lifted your spirits.

“Look who finally made it!” Rossi called out, waving you over. “Come on, we saved you a seat.”

You grinned, making your way through the crowd. “Rossi, Gideon, you two didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

Gideon leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, you didn’t think we’d miss the party, did you? Besides, someone has to make sure Peter doesn’t get too full of himself.”

Peter shot you a wink, raising his glass in greeting. “They’re just here to bask in my glory, Y/N. But don’t let them fool you, they’ve been talking about you all night.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you took a seat between Gideon and Peter. “I’m sure they have. So, what did I miss?”

Before anyone could answer, Hotch walked in, his presence as commanding as ever, though there was a new softness in his eyes when he spotted you. You exchanged a smile, a silent acknowledgment of the night before, and of the steps you were both taking toward something new, something vulnerable.

“Hotch!” Rossi greeted, patting the empty seat beside him. “Come sit, we’re debating where Peter’s new desk should be. Since Y/N’s parked herself at his old one, we might need to reshuffle the whole bullpen.”

Hotch took his seat, glancing at you with a teasing smile. “I think she’s gotten too comfortable. I doubt she’s giving it up.”

Peter leaned in closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial whispering into your ear “Wanna make a bet?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “See that woman behind Hotch’s shoulder? If she doesn’t come talk to him, you get to keep your desk.”

You eyed the woman briefly, noticing her casual yet elegant demeanor, but she seemed engrossed in her own conversation. Hotch was engaged in a discussion with Rossi, showing no sign of noticing her. You were confident this would be an easy win, especially given Hotch’s typically reserved nature. “Alright,” you said, turning back to Peter. “And what do you get if you win?”

Peter’s grin widened, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. “A date. With you.”

The unexpected proposition caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt your cheeks warm. You glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was serious, but his expression remained light, teasing. You brushed it off with a laugh, pretending he was just messing with you. “Okay, you’re on.”

But no sooner had you accepted the bet than the woman, as if she had somehow overheard your conversation, moved toward Hotch with an expression of surprise. You watched in stunned silence as she approached, her voice soft and familiar. “Aaron? What were the odds?”

Your heart sank as Hotch’s face lit up, a rare and genuine smile crossing his features, his cheeks flushed slightly, and there was a familiarity between them that made your chest tighten. You felt Peter nudge you, his voice breaking through the shock. “Looks like you owe me a date.”

You barely registered his words, too fixated on the interaction unfolding in front of you. Hotch returned to the table with the woman by his side, her presence seeming to fill the room in a way that made you feel suddenly small and out of place. Hotch’s voice cut through the noise, introducing her with a casualness that belied the weight of the moment. “Everyone, this is Haley.”

You barely managed to hold your composure, the pieces of this unexpected puzzle falling into place as you processed Hotch’s flushed expression and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. This wasn’t just anyone, this was someone from his past, someone who clearly was very close and definitely had shared some sort of romantic history with him. The bitter thoughts stung more than you wanted to admit.

Before you could say anything, Gideon, ever the observant one, leaned over, catching sight of the corner of a book sticking out of your open purse. “Hegel for Dummies?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement flickering in his voice as he picked it up to inspect.

You nodded, still too stunned to fully engage, your mind elsewhere. “Yeah. It’s… it’s just a little joke,” you managed, though the words felt hollow in the moment.

Gideon smiled knowingly, his eyes shifting between you and Hotch. “Thesis, antithesis, and synthesis,” he mused, almost as if he were speaking to himself but loud enough for you to hear. “Funny how life always seems to come back to that, doesn’t it?”

The words hung heavy in the air, and as you sat there, watching Hotch interact with Haley, you couldn’t help but feel the truth in them. Life was messy, a constant push and pull of opposing forces, and you were caught in the middle of it, trying to make sense of what it all meant.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

Why Her and Not Me?

Gojo Satoru x F.Reader x Geto Suguru (Angst) Part IV

Hello my lovely readers! I am back with part IV, so I’m just gonna cut to the chase and let you all read! Thank you all for the support, I really appreciate you all so much <3333 Now, without further ado…Enjoy~

Masterlist

A few more weeks had slipped by, each day bringing Toru closer to the edge of his sanity. The once familiar rhythm of his life had been disrupted, thrown into disarray by the growing distance between you and him. No matter how hard he tried to push aside his feelings, they continued to gnaw at him, a relentless reminder of what he had lost.

Every passing day seemed to deepen the void that had formed in his heart, leaving him feeling hollow and incomplete. The ache of longing grew more pronounced with each passing moment, a constant presence that refused to be ignored. And as much as he tried to distract himself with work and other activities, his thoughts inevitably circled back to you, to the warmth of your smile and the comfort of your presence.

But it wasn't just the absence of your friendship that tormented him; it was the way you seemed to be drifting further and further away, drawn to Suguru like a moth to a flame. Every shared laugh, every whispered conversation, served as a painful reminder of the bond you shared with Suguru, a connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

Toru's frustration boiled beneath the surface, simmering with a volatile intensity that threatened to consume him. He couldn't understand why you were pulling away from him, why you seemed to prefer Suguru's company over his own. Was it something he had done? Something he had said? The questions swirled in his mind, each one adding fuel to the fire of his insecurity and self-doubt.

And as time continued to move forward, Toru's relationship with Osaka began to move backwards. It was becoming evident that their relationship was starting to suffer under the weight of his internal turmoil. He found himself growing increasingly distant and aloof, unable to fully commit to their relationship. He couldn’t, not when he felt his heart quickly being tethered to you. Their once easy bond had been replaced by tension and unease, their conversations strained and stilted.

Osaka, sensing the growing distance between them, had tried to reach out to Toru, to bridge the gap that had formed between them. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to break through the wall he had erected around his heart. It was as if he was a million miles away, lost in a world of his own making. And Toru felt horrible for it.

His guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, a constant companion that refused to be ignored. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was betraying Osaka, the girl who had stood by his side through thick and thin during all of this. She didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire of his internal struggle, yet he couldn't deny the growing chasm that had formed between them.

Every moment spent with Osaka was tinged with a sense of guilt and remorse, a nagging reminder of the pain he was causing her. He could see the hurt in her eyes, the confusion and frustration that mirrored his own. And despite his best efforts to reassure her, to convince her that everything was okay, he knew deep down that their relationship was crumbling beneath the weight of his unresolved feelings.

But try as he might, Toru couldn't bring himself to end things with Osaka, couldn't find the words to shatter her heart into a million pieces. The thought of hurting her, of breaking her trust, filled him with a profound sense of shame and self-loathing. He had promised to be there for her, to love and cherish her with all his heart, and yet here he was, torn between two worlds, unable to give her the love and devotion she deserved.

And as the guilt gnawed at him, Toru couldn't help but wonder if he was doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. Was he destined to hurt the people he cared about most, to leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake? The thought filled him with a profound sense of despair, a fear that he would never be able to escape the cycle of pain and regret that seemed to define his life.

Yet, despite his fear and uncertainty, Toru knew that he couldn't continue to live in limbo, caught between the past and the present. He needed to make a choice, to either let go of his feelings for you and move forward with Osaka, or risk everything for a chance at true happiness.

But amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of light that refused to be extinguished. It was the memory of you, of the warmth of your smile and the kindness in your eyes. You were his anchor in a sea of uncertainty, the one constant in his ever-changing world.

Despite his best efforts to push you away, to bury his feelings beneath a facade of indifference, Toru couldn't help but be drawn back to you. It was as if an invisible force was pulling him towards you, a magnetic attraction that defied reason and logic. And as much as he tried to deny it, to convince himself that he could live without you, he knew deep down that he was fighting a losing battle.

With each passing day, his feelings for you grew stronger, more insistent, until they consumed his every thought and action. He found himself longing for the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch, the comfort of your presence by his side. But it seemed like you were doing your best to avoid him at every turn, adding to his frustration and confusion.

No matter how hard he tried to close the growing divide between you, to repair the fractured bond that had once held you together, it felt like you were slipping further and further away. And as Toru grappled with the realization that he might be losing you for good, he couldn't help but feel a sense of desperation and despair creeping in.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he had pushed you away too far. And as he contemplated the daunting prospect of facing a future without you by his side, Toru knew that he would have to confront his demons head-on if he ever hoped to find the redemption he so desperately craved. And he needed to do something about it now before it actually is too late.

——

As Suguru reflected on the past few months, he couldn’t help but marvel at how swiftly his bond with you had transformed. What had begun as a casual friendship had bloomed into something far more profound, a connection that seemed to defy explanation.

He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, captivated by the melody of your laughter, the radiance of your smile, and the sparkle in your eyes that hinted at hidden depths. Each moment spent in your company felt like a stolen treasure, precious and fleeting yet infinitely valuable.

He absolutely cherished and loved the way you laughed at his jokes, the way you listened intently to his stories, hanging on to his every word as if it were the most important thing in the world. It was a feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a sense of belonging and connection that filled him with joy and contentment. It was one of the main things about you that was unique compared to everyone else he’s known.

Of course, Suguru had always known there was something special about you. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he felt a spark light up between you two. It was as if fate had brought you into his life, weaving your presence into the fabric of his very being.

In the past, he found himself often watching you from afar, admiring your grace, your kindness, and the way you lit up the room with just your smile. After that, it didn’t take too long before Suguru found himself falling head over heels for you, unable to shake the feeling that you were meant to be together.

However, Suguru kept his emotions carefully concealed, fearing that they would jeopardize the friendship he cherished so dearly. He had convinced himself that it was enough to simply be near you, to bask in the warmth of your presence without expecting anything more.

And despite his growing feelings for you, Suguru had always been aware of your connection with Toru. He had seen the way you looked at him, the spark of affection in your eyes whenever he was near. And knowing that you liked Toru, Suguru had chosen to keep his feelings to himself, burying them deep within his heart where they could never be discovered.

Before Toru shattered your heart with his confession about loving someone else, Suguru maintained a careful distance, knowing that being close to you would only intensify his own feelings of longing and heartache. He watched from afar as you navigated your feelings for Toru, silently suffering as he witnessed the love and admiration etched on your face whenever you spoke of Toru.

However, he wouldn’t just straight up ignore you. He could never do that to someone like you. Whenever you needed comforting, Suguru made a conscious effort to be there for you, offering a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to lean on whenever you needed it. He knew that his own feelings had to take a backseat to your happiness, and he was willing to endure the agony of unrequited love if it meant easing your burden, even if just a little.

But when news of Toru's and your situation finally reached Suguru's ears, it was as if a floodgate had been opened, unleashing a torrent of emotions he had long kept buried. The sight of you, heartbroken and vulnerable, stirred something deep within him, igniting a fierce determination to protect you from further harm.

It was in that moment that Suguru made a silent vow to himself: to do whatever it took to help you heal, to be the rock you could lean on in your time of need. And as he took the initiative to reach out to you, offering his unwavering support and understanding, he couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be the beginning of something more.

———

Suguru found himself unable to resist the urge to reach out to you. He knew that you had been pretty busy the past few days with work and all, but all he wanted to do was to see your face and hear your voice.

So, with a sense of determination burning in his chest, Suguru picked up his phone and sent you a message, inviting you to join him for a walk in the park. He knew that the tranquil beauty of nature had a way of soothing the soul, and he hoped that spending time together in such a serene setting would help distract you from your work.

As Suguru awaited your response, he felt a familiar tug of nerves fluttering in his chest. As he stood beneath the swaying branches of the park's trees, Suguru couldn't help but wonder how you would react to his invitation. Would you be intrigued by the idea of an impromptu outing, or would you see it as nothing more than a casual gesture between friends? Either way, he was determined to make the most of their time together, cherishing every moment spent in your company.

When your reply came, filled with warmth and gratitude, Suguru felt a surge of relief wash over him. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of eager anticipation as he prepared to meet you.

About 10 minutes had passed and not even a second later, Suguru read a message from you saying you were at the park. He texted you his exact location, showing you where he was.

When you arrived, Suguru was struck once again by just how breathtakingly beautiful you were, your smile lighting up the evening air like a beacon of hope. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as he watched you approach, your eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement.

"Hey, you," he greeted you, his voice soft and warm as he reached out to take your hand in his. "I'm so glad you could make it."

As you fell into step beside him, Suguru felt a sense of peace settle over him, as if the world had suddenly slowed to a gentle rhythm just for the two of you. The park was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the air alive with the sound of birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

For a while, the two of you simply walked in companionable silence, content to lose yourselves in the beauty of the world around you. Though, it didn’t take long before you two decided to situate yourselves somewhere nice to relax.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, Suguru and you found yourselves seated on a weathered wooden bench, bathed in the warm glow of the fading daylight. The air was filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets, lending an air of tranquility to the bustling city around you.

"You know," Suguru began, his voice soft and gentle, "I've always loved coming to this park. It's like an oasis of calm in the middle of all this chaos."

You nodded in agreement, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, it's definitely one of my favorite places to escape to when life gets a bit overwhelming."

Suguru agreed, taking in every second.

For Suguru, every moment spent with you felt like a precious gift, a fleeting glimpse of paradise in an otherwise ordinary world. He couldn't help but be drawn to you, captivated by the gentle curve of your smile and the sparkle in your eyes. And as you sat side by side, the distance between you seemed to shrink until there was nothing left but the space you shared.

"I'm really glad you invited me to come here today," you said, your voice soft and sincere. "It's been a while since I've just sat and enjoyed the beauty of nature."

Suguru smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest at your words. "I'm glad you came too. It's always better when you're here."

You sighed contentedly, leaning back against the bench and closing your eyes for a moment, relishing in the peace and quiet of the park. Suguru glanced at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as he saw the light outline your beautiful figure.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he continued to bask in your presence.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, it really is.” You finished, clueless to the fact that he was actually talking about you and not the scenery around you two.

For a while, the two of you sat in companionable silence, lost in your own thoughts as the world continued to spin around you. But eventually, Suguru broke the silence, his voice hesitant as he spoke.

“You know,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About life, and where I’m headed, and… well, everything, really.”

You turned to look at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. “Oh? And what kind of things have you been thinking about?”

Suguru shrugged, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “Oh, you know, just… stuff. Like, where I see myself in five years, and what I want out of life, and… yeah.”

You nodded, sensing that there was more to Suguru’s words than he was letting on. “It sounds like you’ve been doing some serious soul-searching.”

Suguru chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you could say that. I guess I’ve just been feeling a bit lost lately, you know? Like I’m drifting aimlessly through life, without any real direction or purpose.”

You reached out and placed a comforting hand on Suguru’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I think a lot of people feel that way sometimes. Life can be so unpredictable, and it’s easy to feel like you’re just along for the ride.”

Suguru smiled and nodded at you, his eyes shimmering with love and admiration for you.

“Yeah, exactly. That was when I realized,” Suguru said, his voice tinged with a hint of self-deprecation, “that maybe it’s okay to not have everything figured out. Maybe it’s okay to just take things one day at a time and see where life takes me.”

As Suguru finished speaking, his words lingered in the air, carrying with them a sense of introspection and hope. You took a moment to absorb his sentiments, letting them sink in before offering your response.

"You’re right," you replied, nodding thoughtfully. "Life can be overwhelming when we try to plan every step of the way. Sometimes, it's about embracing the uncertainty and trusting that things will fall into place in their own time."

Suguru's eyes lit up with understanding, his smile widening at your words. "Exactly," he agreed, a sense of relief washing over him. "It's like...learning to dance in the rain instead of waiting for the storm to pass. Finding joy in the journey, even when the destination is unclear." He finished, chuckling to himself at his metaphor.

You couldn't help but smile at Suguru's metaphor, touched by the wisdom in his words. "I like that analogy," you admitted, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "It's a reminder to appreciate the beauty in life's unexpected moments, to find happiness in the midst of chaos."

The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of Suguru’s and your words hanging in the air between you. But eventually, Suguru spoke again, his voice soft and vulnerable.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us, too,” he admitted, his gaze flicking nervously to meet yours. “About our friendship, and how much it means to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at Suguru’s words, a warmth spreading through your chest at the sincerity in his voice. “I feel the same way, Suguru. You mean a lot to me, too.”

Suguru smiled, a genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Because, honestly, I don’t know what I would do without you, Y/n. You’ve been such an important part of my life, and I don’t ever want to lose that.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached out and took Suguru’s hand in yours, squeezing it tightly. “You won’t, Suguru. I promise.”

There was a warmth in your gaze, a kindness in your smile, that made Suguru's heart swell with emotion. In that moment, he knew that he had found someone truly special, someone he could share his deepest thoughts and feelings with without fear of judgment or rejection.

As the air crackled with anticipation, you couldn't help but feel the intensity of the moment washing over you. Slowly leaning in closer to Suguru, the distance between you seemed to vanish, melting away in the warmth of your shared breath. His proximity sent a shiver of excitement coursing through you, each exhale drawing you nearer to him.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. Your lips hovered mere inches apart, the tantalizing promise of a kiss hanging between you like a delicate thread. The anticipation built to a fever pitch, your heart pounding in your chest as you teetered on the edge of something monumental.

Caught in the throes of desire, neither of you dared to move, the magnetic pull between you holding you captive in its grasp. The electricity in the air crackled with unrestrained passion, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing second.

In that suspended moment, it felt as though the entire universe had conspired to bring you together, binding you to each other in a dance as old as time itself. And as you stood on the precipice of possibility, you couldn't help but wonder what lay on the other side, yearning to bridge the final gap that separated you from Suguru's waiting lips.

”Y/n…” Suguru said, his voice barely above a whisper as he felt heat rise to his face from the closeness.

But just as the tension reached its peak, the sound of footsteps approaching shattered the spell, jolting you both back to reality. Startled, you pulled away from each other, turning to see Shoko and Hime emerging from the shadows with curious expressions on their faces.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Shoko said with a mischievous grin, “but we couldn’t help but notice you two lost in your own little world over here.”

Hime nodded in agreement, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, we thought we’d come over and see what all the fuss was about.”

Blushing furiously, you exchanged a sheepish glance with Suguru, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement at being caught in such a vulnerable moment. As Shoko and Hime joined you, the four of you fell into easy conversation, the interruption quickly forgotten as laughter filled the air.

Though the moment had been interrupted, the connection between you and Suguru remained palpable, lingering like an echo in the air.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars began to twinkle in the evening sky, Suguru knew that there would be plenty of time for declarations of love and grand romantic gestures. For now, he was content to simply be in your presence, to bask in the warmth of your smile. His heart was still beating rapidly from the moment you two just shared not too long ago. Was it truly possible that you felt the same way about him as he did you? Or was all of that just simply due to the heat of the moment. The same question pondered in your own mind.

The both of you had no idea what the future held in store for the two of you, but one thing was certain: as long as you both had each other, you knew that everything would be okay…or at least you hope.

__________________

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[ken-dom]

Ken After Dark

Ken x reader

2.3k words

Gorgeous artwork created for this fic by the wonderful @dranna 💖

Summary: Ken has a dirty secret that you’ll only discover if you skip girls night.

Author’s Notes: I have two headcanons for Ken — excited, needy virgin sub!Ken who cries after sex, and smug, secretly slutty dom!Ken (who also cries after sex if you praise him).

I originally posted this to my main blog but I'm re-posting all my work here to have everything in one place due to an unresolved tagging issue on my main.

Warnings/content: NSFW, 18+, dom!Ken, f!reader, Ken has a huge praise kink, blow job, voice kink if you squint, crying, aftercare, reference to bitter competition between Kens, it’s still light and fun in places so expect talk of disco pants during the blow job and references to the stupid shit he says it’s a Ken fic what do you expect

Ken pulled away, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, leaving you breathless beneath him.

‘You like that?’ he smirked, voice dark and low. It wasn’t the voice you were used to hearing from him at the beach; light, fun… eager. It was almost dangerous, and it caused your legs to tremble.

And yes, you did like it, that hot-blooded kiss that spread from a warm tingle on your lips to searing heat pooling at your core, so you nodded, burning up under the intensity of his gaze as he awaited the answer he craved.

‘Yeah? Well, there’s a lot more where that came from,’ he growled, grabbing your jaw and roughly dragging you back to him for a deeper, more ferocious kiss that frankly didn’t last long enough. ‘I can show you things you couldn’t comprehend.’

Bet Ken couldn’t comprehend them either, Ken thought bitterly as he rolled his hips to press his erection into your thigh with a loud groan. The sensation soothed his nagging jealousy for a moment.

‘Show me, Ken,’ you cooed, desperate for more.

‘Only if you beg.’

Your eyes widened at his response, his commanding voice rolling through you like a vibration.

‘Please, Ken- I- I need you to show me…’ you breathed, hypnotised by the deadly glint in his eyes.

Yeah, that’s right, beg. You’re begging me. Not Ken.

‘On your knees,’ he snarled against your lips, one hand swiftly slapping and then grabbing a handful of your ass. ‘Now.’

You followed his instruction without question, slipping down onto the floor to kneel before him as he stood above you, freeing himself from his disco pants and guiding your lips to his impressive cock. He smiled down smugly when he heard the gasp you couldn’t contain at the sight of it, sparkling precum already leaking from the angry red tip, shaft throbbing within his fist.

When you’d let your thoughts wander, you always imagined Ken would be a gentle lover, easing you into a slow and gentle lovemaking session with soft touches and tender caresses and lingering kisses, focussing entirely on your pleasure before thinking of his own and delighting in sharing himself with you.

This, however, was shaping up to be a fantasy you’d never quite dared to explore, but oh, it felt so dirty and so unexpectedly good.

You suckled teasingly at the tip for a moment, taking your time to taste him. But Ken was impatient. He thrust himself hard into your mouth, choking you slightly as his length reached the back of your throat, and you began to suck, lapping at his slit each time you bobbed your head and pulled back. You were surprised to discover that you were causing him to tremble, his legs growing weak at your ministrations.

‘Ohhh… uhhhghh- UGH!’

A thrill ran through you at the desperate sounds of his pleasure. He was louder with each thrust, with each lap of your tongue and the hollowing of your cheeks, with each muffled hum you couldn’t quite get out around a mouthful of his cock, and every vibration they sent through his core.

You glanced up to see that he was biting his fist with his eyes tight shut, trying (and spectacularly failing) to keep the noise down. With every passing second you craved more, so you sucked harder, bobbed your head faster, worshipped his cock with your tongue, and before long, the first that had muffled his moans was useless.

With a final cry that would have woken the whole street if it wasn’t for girls night occupying all your neighbours a couple of streets over, he firmly wound his fist back into your locks and sharply pulled you away, your lips slipping off his length with a light pop, leaving only a string of saliva connecting you to his leaking, swollen cock as you gazed up at him.

He was a picture, breathless and flushed, barely able to keep himself together.

‘On the bed,’ he snapped after a shaky, deep breath, lips curling in delight as he watched you wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and scramble back up onto the sequin duvet.

Ken might be the coolest but he isn’t getting his dick sucked like this tonight, Ken thought, a rush of power spreading through his body, making him chuckle delightedly.

He crawled over you, pinning your wrists above your head and biting his lip as he took the sight of you in, your swollen, wet lips and dilated pupils making his cock twitch. One light stroke, he thought, and he’d be done for, so he kept himself propped up avoiding the warmth of your body against his twitching length.

‘That felt… mmh… sublime,’ he rumbled, eyes gazing longingly into yours as he bit his lip, and you swore a glint of the Ken you knew flashed behind them somewhere. 

His eyes sparkled, his cheeks flushed, and you thought he would snap out of this and make love to  you like Beach Ken would. Needy and whiny and considerate…

He blinked, shook his head, whipped off his jacket and top and glared at you again, a snarl playing across his pretty lips.

‘I need to fuck you now. You deserve my cock for sucking it so good. Do you want that? Do you want me to make you mine?’

Nodding eagerly, you placed your hands gently on his chiselled chest, breathless as you caressed his perfect body. Ken’s eyes slid closed and he turned his face away, and for a moment you thought he was crying. But before you had a chance to show him any more softness, or notice that he had actually let out a soft sob at the tender way you’d touched him, he gripped your hips roughly to hold you firmly in place beneath him, devouring you with his eyes once again as he pushed himself inside.

Your eyes rolled back as he stretched you, sculpted hips digging hard into your flesh with each delicious thrust, fucking into you so hard you weren’t sure the bed would hold up.

You leaned up to kiss him, but he stopped you with another command; one that he really needed, and his orgasm was so near that he needed it now.

‘Tell me you- ah!- notice me? Tell me I’m- ahh!’

He sounded weaker somehow, quieter, as he tried to hold off his climax for just a few more seconds. He was trying to uphold this seductive, dominating version of himself, but he couldn’t quite keep it up with his peak nearing so rapidly and thoughts of you treating him softly filling his mind. All jealous thoughts of Ken had been overtaken by thoughts of you. There was only you. He needed you.

‘T-tell me… please-’ he whimpered.

‘You’re so hot, Ken,’ you panted, ‘you’re… mmh- amazing at kissing, god, I never would have imagined how good, ohh!- and you’re sexy and handsome and… Ken, I- I need you, my body aches for you- I’m so close-’

Ken intoxicated your mind, fucking you with such abandon you couldn’t quite think of any more words. It was just him. Everything was him, from your fingertips to the depths of your aching core.

You clawed at his back, and his orgasm ripped through him, harder and more satisfying than any he could remember. His throbbing cock was helped along by the timing of your own climax, walls clenching tight around his length and heels digging into his back as his fists gripped the sheets, until he finally collapsed on top of you.

‘Wow,’ he grunted against your chest.

As soon as the last drop of his glittery seed had filled you and he had begun to soften, he pushed himself up to roll off you, turning away as you lay shaky and breathless beside him.

You expected him to leave. As much as you’d enjoyed your experience with this new After Dark version of Ken, it also left you questioning whether he would be decent enough to even kiss you goodnight now he’d got what he wanted. You were just another doll he’d used and had his fun with. Tomorrow he would move onto another. You’d never see him the same way at the beach again, that was for sure.

Shivering, you slipped the covers up over yourself, waiting for the moment he would pull his shimmery pants back on and make an excuse to get back to… whatever he actually did in his free time. Apart from this, of course.

As you sighed and turned away too, not wanting to experience the humiliating sting of actually having to watch him leave, you heard what sounded like a whiny sob.

‘Ken?’

Peering over at him, your hand hesitated midair before softly caressing his shoulder. He was trembling, you realised, and when he moved his own hands away from his face you saw that he was crying, too.

‘Ken… didn’t you like it?’ you whispered, humiliation prickling at your cheeks.

He began to wail then, pressing his face into the nearest pillow in an attempt to muffle the sounds.

‘You said I’m hot,’ he sobbed dramatically, ‘you… you really think that? You said you ache for me! No one has ever even said I’m a good kisser… until today I thought I was only good at beach! Is it too much to want to hear that I’m hot now and again? But you actually think I am! And you… need me? I’m needed?’

He expected you to kick him out. They always did. He was pathetic. The brief moments of feeling safe and in control he experienced during these encounters was never really worth it in the end. He always ended up alone again.

As he resigned himself to picking himself up off your bed and moving on, the comforting warmth of your arm wrapping around him, scooping him to your chest to hold him close caused him to gasp.

‘Everything I said was true,’ you said softly, lips ghosting against his ear. ‘You’ve been doing this because you’re lonely, haven’t you?’

He nodded, shame running cold through his veins. Who would want him now? 

‘There’s no need,’ you soothed, pressing your lips gently against his ear, ‘you are wanted, Ken. You are so incredibly wanted.’

You felt him relax a little in your embrace then, and he sighed, a long and trembling sigh that steadied his uneven breaths.

‘We could do it again? Softer, maybe…’ you leant over to place a lingering kiss on his damp cheek. ‘Slower, too… let me show you another way, Ken?’

‘Show me,’ he whined, finally turning to you. ‘Please.’

You hooked a leg around his waist, dragging his hips to yours as you kissed him softly,  playfully nipping at his lips between deeper moments of finding his tongue to dance with yours.

‘This feels so good,’ he breathed weakly into your mouth, a sad smile pulling at his lips. It was overwhelming, all this affection he’d never before felt.

‘You feel amazing…’ You guided him back to you, feeling his arousal against your core and shifting your hips to take him in once again, rocking slowly to find a much more peaceful, connected release. ‘You feel… incredible,’ you whispered, voice breaking, ‘and you need this, don’t you baby?’

A tear rolled down Ken’s cheek. Lost for words, he simply huffed in disbelief, smiling against your lips.

‘You’re so good at this… at making me feel good… god, I need you, Ken, I need you…’

You guided his hand between your flush bodies to the apex of your thighs, his fingers finding your aching clit as you showed him how to touch you.

He was utterly taken with you, not just consumed with hunger for a hard fuck just to feel desired for a few seconds. Now he was simply filled with awe, eyes wide, watching your face contorting in pleasure he was giving you.

‘That’s it, oh, Ken, don’t stop! You’re doing so good… so goo-ohhh!’

That’s all it took. He came again, harder than before, trying to maintain eye contact with you but falling so weak he could only sob madly into the crook of your neck as he emptied his seed inside you for the second time.

The strength of his grip on your shoulder, the way his head dropped to nestle against you as he panted through his pleasure, the elegant fingers dancing across your sensitive nub, his thick cock buried, seed emptying inside you as you writhed against one another… you could only scream his name as your pleasure reached heights you’d never known.

You slowed the rolling of your hips and held him safe to your chest again.

‘That was amazing. You’re amazing,’ you soothed, fingers stroking through his soft hair.

Ken’s overwhelmed tears quickly turned into tears of joy, his grip still firm on your shoulder and his face pressed against your chest.

‘Please may I… stay here tonight?’ he muttered quietly, nervous you’d take back your affections at the thought of actually sharing your bed with him for more than this.

‘Like a sleepover?’ you smiled excitedly, tilting his chin up so you could see him.

Ken smiled dreamily. ‘Yeah. Like a sleepover.’

‘As long as I get to brush your hair and cuddle up to that hot body of yours and… maybe hold your hand at the beach tomorrow?’

He blushed madly, hand seeking yours, fingers interlocking. ‘You really like my body?’

‘Who wouldn’t like your body? Who wouldn’t like you? Come here.’ You pull him up until you’re face to face again. ‘I really like you Ken.’

‘I really like you, too.’

You really meant it all. All thoughts of Ken or being turned down in favour of girls’ night had long since faded from his mind.

All there was now, was you.

[randomperson99sworld]

Ruffled Feathers 🪶

~ Part 11 ~

Summary: Julia Morgan, Bobby's niece, has always been a royal thorn in Dean Winchesters ass since the day they met 1 year ago at Bobby's memorial. She wants to be a hunter, he thinks she's a dumb kid playing dress up. Will she always be seen as an unwanted load in Dean's eyes or will he see something more?

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, language, sexual themes (used lightly) , physical abuse (Not by Dean).

Word Count: 579

A/N: As stated always, this story is cross posted on my Wattpad, which I’ll be adding more parts to first. But don’t worry, I’ll upload on here some today too :). Happy reading! ♥️

The drive back after Dean stitching up Julia was thick with unspoken words. Dean kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel, while Julia stared out the passenger window. The tension between them was palpable, but they both chose silence over confrontation. It wasn't that they didn't have things to say—hell, there was plenty—but neither seemed ready to open that door.

The Wendigo hunt had been rough, but they'd made it out in one piece. Still, the frustration between them lingered, unresolved. Dean wasn't sure what bothered him more—her constant challenging of his judgment or the nagging sense that maybe she wasn't completely wrong. But that wasn't something he was ready to admit, especially not to her.

Dean pulled up in front of her home, the tires crunching softly against the gravel. The clock on the dash read a little after 2 a.m Julia opened the door, ready to get out.

Dean finally broke the silence. "You're good from here?"

Julia nodded, grateful for the simple question. "Yeah. I'll manage."

He didn't move to say goodbye or offer any other words, just gave a brief nod and waited for her to get out of the car. She hesitated for a second, like she wanted to say something more, but then decided against it. With one last glance, she shut the door and walked up to her place, disappearing inside.

Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and drove off, heading back to the bunker. The thirty-minute drive felt longer than it should, his mind chewing over the hunt, the tension with Julia, and everything in between.

When he finally rolled into the bunker's garage and stepped inside, he found Sam, who had gotten back earlier that day, hunched over the table in the war room, surrounded by books and lore. Sam looked up as Dean entered, rubbing a tired hand across his face.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked, hunkered over all the research he's been reading up on Abaddon.

Dean shrugged, tossing his jacket over a chair. "Got the son of a bitch. Julia's in one piece."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

Dean made a non-committal sound, popping open a beer and taking a long swig before answering. "I'm fine, Sam. It's not me you should be worrying about."

Sam could tell something was off but didn't press the issue. "Good. At least that's one thing off our plates."

Dean sank into a chair across from his brother, staring at the collection of notes spread across the table. "You find anything on Abaddon yet?"

Sam shrugged, "Not much, nothing that we haven't already read."

Dean nodded, though the knot of worry in his stomach hadn't loosened in the slightest. Between having to stop a revived Abaddon and whatever this mess with Julia was becoming, it felt like everything was spiraling faster than he could keep up with. But, as usual, Dean pushed those feelings down, burying them under the surface.

"You need anything?" Dean asked, trying to focus on his brother.

"Nah," Sam said, offering a weak smile. "Just rest. You should get some too."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, right."

The two fell into a familiar rhythm—Dean focusing on keeping busy, while Sam continued his research. But no matter how much Dean tried to focus, thoughts of Julia clouded his mind.

For now, he'd stick to what he knew best: pushing everything aside and taking it one hunt at a time.

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 25b

gif by @idontwikeit

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony figures out why he can’t get in touch with Emory, and 'Agent Harris' takes Emory to meet the scientist whose serum has given and taken away so much from her.

Length: 3,050

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne @thorfics @chibijusstuff

Chapter Twenty-Five: Caustic Echoes

“It’s two in the morning. We have to stop meeting like this, sir.”

Tony couldn’t sleep, so he’s back in the workroom. “There’s a word for this,” he gripes. “Nagging. Nagging is the word! You’re a nag, JARVIS. I went to bed at eight. I got six hours of sleep! What more do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Enough time to do my scheduled diagnostic without interruption, perhaps?”

“Don’t go all Star Trek on me.” JARVIS does periodically perform a subroutine in the middle of the night, and Tony has been keeping an irregular schedule, but lying awake in bed alone has never been his preference. “It’s morning somewhere in the world, pretend that’s where we are.”

Tony expects JARVIS to respond with a crack about a healthy breakfast, but the resulting silence is deafening, even with the torch going full blast and a welding hood on. Blaring music would be admitting defeat, but after twenty minutes, Tony can’t take it anymore. He chooses the lesser of two evils.

“ETA on Obie?”

“Mr. Stane is due to arrive at Teterboro at 1 PM. His assistant has sent a request to meet with you for lunch.”

Tony’s stomach roils at the very thought. Usually he snacks constantly when he stays up late, but the unresolved issues between him and Stane are nausea fodder, apparently. He doesn’t even want to plan to eat something. Unfortunately the alternative is to have Obie visit the mansion, and that’s even worse. Everything Tony’s been trying to change is based here, and he wants to keep Obadiah Stane far from all of those things. He casts his mind around for what to do, but his first instinct, ‘call Pepper,’ is a no go. She and Happy are both undoubtedly asleep in preparation to fly back in the same jet as Obie will. 

“Sir?”

“Ask me about it in a few hours,” Tony sighs. He flips the welding hood up, unwilling to cloud the glass viewing slit with his huffed breath. “Right now I’d rather barf on his shoes, and no, you can’t quote me on that.”

“Beg pardon, but I meant to get your attention for something else. Miss Autumn’s phone has registered at 100% charge for the past thirty-six hours. Its location has also remained static through that time.”

Tony’s completely blindsided. He barks out, “Initiate two calls to Fury’s office number. One from my cell, and one from one of Stark Industries’ main lines. Let me know if one of them connects.”

“Calling now.”

Flipping down the hood, Tony finishes the last few millimeters. It doesn’t take long, but neither should the task he’d given JARVIS. “Well?” Each second represents a chunk of distance between them, and it’s widening.

“Your personal number was routed to a voicemail line. I left a neutral-sounding request for a call-back. The company line is on hold--” JARVIS breaks off, resuming in a mildly apologetic tone. “Sent to voicemail. I disconnected.”

Shit. “Thirty-six hours? She’s already in Sokovia,” Tony says aloud, shutting off the torch. It feels like he’s shut off any hope of helping her in the process. No message and SHIELD is dodging his calls? The mission could be over by now. Time to shift gears and modify his suit for extraction/rescue, if necessary. “Keep calling both lines until someone actually answers,” he says, feeling a vindictive sense of outrage. They know he’s got her best interest at heart, but they’re keeping things from him anyway? He’ll make them work for it. “Bring up the schematics for that shoulder-mounted weaponry.”

“Offensive, Flight, or Hybrid, sir?”

“Hybrid.” He goes over to the silver suit he’d worn to bring her home with him last time. Much of it is solid, because that was the point. It would be better to build a completely new one, but he’s on the wrong coast for that, realistically. Fuck. Tony grabs the table for support as a wave of nausea passes over him. He’s worked himself sick before, but never this quickly. Maybe he can use how he's feeling to Stane at bay?

“Schematics fully loaded and ready, sir.”

This situation can’t be worse than building an arc reactor from memory, miniaturizing it, and then using it to power an armored suit built in a dingy cave with materials from his own weapons.

This time he has coffee.

“Good. Let’s rock and roll.” 

When they arrive at the fortress, Emory’s both comforted and concerned by the place. It doesn't look run-down or evil at all. There are high metal gates surrounding the castle-like building’s extensive grounds, throughout which are scattered various statues. She can’t see any of them clearly, but most are human-sized, and her first thought is that one of her fellow serum-takers had gained Medusan powers.

Even if that isn’t the case, just implying as much displays horrifying genius.

They’re greeted at the large front stairs by two figures wearing what can only be described as modern servant’s livery. The high boots, tight fitting trousers, and buttoned-up vest are all jet black, but the shirt underneath is a pristine white, and the fancy jacket they’re wearing on top of it all is covered with rich silver embroidery that travels from the lapels down to the sleeve cuffs and around to the long ‘tails’ in the back. There’s an immediate sense that, while this group of people have a common bond, maybe even a sense of belonging, it’s not like a family.

Whoever this scientist is, he’s learned his history. HYDRA’s heraldry and cult-like devotion to structure is on obvious display.

Agent Harris’s own cleverness is equally evident, though. Thanks to Emory’s wheelchair and accompanying oxygen tank, they’re led around the front of the building to a side entrance. It’s humid and mossy, a far cry from the grandiose front entrance. Once inside, the scientist’s minions guide them through three different hallways, each angled upwards, until finally they cross through a doorway and into a lavish-looking foyer. 

The second floor staircase arches across the space, leading to a balcony that is populated by at least four similarly-dressed henchmen. If it weren’t for the winding path they’d taken through deserted hallways, past open doors showing empty, unfurnished rooms, Emory would have taken the number of people milling around the foyer to be indicative of the population of the whole building. The fact that they’re all wearing the same uniform and gathered in the same place makes her think they’re making a physical show for the meeting.

“The boss is in the ballroom today. I’ll announce you,” a young woman says. She has black hair pinned up like a crown on her head, and her eyes have a faint blue glow to them. Fascinated, Emory watches her closely, noticing a kind of blue haze around the woman’s hand when she touches the doorknob to the next room.

“Ballroom. Sounds fancy. And big,” Agent Harris says. Something in her faux impressed tone makes Emory wonder if they might need to modify the tank. If the term ‘ballroom’ is accurate, that could mean high ceilings and wide open spaces, or in other terms, a lot of airspace. That’s useful if Emory needs the gas to fight with, but it could also make their secret weapon less effective.

She reaches out a hand to touch Harris’s arm, making sure to do so tentatively, as if afraid she’ll offend.

“Yes, what do you need?” Irritated deference.

“Can you check the flow? I might be breathing a little fast,” Emory says, her voice muffled through the mask. 

“I’m sure you’ll be-- Oh, all right,” Harris says, leaning over to inspect the valve. The actual oxygen connector is hidden in the mount to the wheelchair.

The door opens, and the same young woman leans through, a neutral expression on her face. “It will be a few minutes.”

Emory looks back at Agent Harris to see that she’s at her watch, a pained smile on her face.

“Of course,” the SHIELD agent says.

Emory doesn’t bother to smile, knowing the semi-transparent mask she’s wearing would obscure it anyway. In her head, she chants a mantra that’s true in both original and coded wording.

I want to go home.

Tony ends up using the Disrobe-Bot to better dismantle the suit for modification. Installing shoulder-mounted weaponry takes a long time, longer than he’d wanted, thanks to whatever stomach bug he must have picked up in California. With JARVIS’s help, he sets up a HUD-based firing sequence just in case he’s not able to verbally command his AI to fire. If he looks up and to the left three times in rapid succession, that’s JARVIS’s command to fire available weapons at the most imminent threat. It’s imperfect, and he’ll need to find a place to test it that isn’t in the middle of the city before he’s satisfied with the concept. There’s a non-zero chance that his house is staked out by paparazzi who would love to file a story saying they heard gunfire at Tony Stark’s estate.

Eventually, his ‘hungry, not hungry, nauseated/not nauseated’ cycle forces him to snack on a packet of frozen raspberries that he hopes to hell hasn’t been here since the late 90’s. If it was, it's not like he'll be able to tell. He’s halfway through it when he gets a call from Pepper.

“Hey, you about to board?” Tony says in greeting. Somehow it’s past ten AM.

“No, I’m in my car. I was all set to leave, but Tony, there’s something going on with Obadiah.” She sounds upset, almost frantic.

“Okay pull over, okay? You’re practically hyperventilating,” he tells her, reaching back to find his rolling desk chair. The mere sound of her panic is making him dizzy. 

“I’m parked at a gas station. You need to listen to me,” Pepper says, a note of urgency in her voice. “Just now, before the flight, I went into your office to copy over some of your files to bring back. It’s a big flash drive so I was just throwing everything on it-- but there was a whole chunk of stuff that wouldn’t copy because it’s encrypted. I used your codes but they didn’t work.”

“So when you told me you didn’t know those and hadn’t ever tried them--” Tony starts to tease, but Pepper interrupts him. “Tony, Obadiah showed up within ten minutes of me trying to open those files. He was out of breath. It was barely six in the morning! He had to be somewhere in the complex already.”

“Okay that’s weird,” Tony allows, adding, “But he could have been picking up the palladium, Pep. It’s not something you’d want to keep at home, even if you’re Stane.” He’s still hoping she’s overreacting. Obie and Pepper have never gotten along well, and he wasn’t there to mediate. She wouldn’t even answer questions about what Stane’s behavior had been like during Tony’s kidnapping.

He’s in the middle of tossing the frozen fruit pouch onto the desk a few feet away when her next words make him fumble the throw.

“When he saw the flash drive, he demanded that I give it to him. He was ANGRY, Tony, I’ve never seen him like that before. I didn’t know what to do! You didn’t put anything about your new armor on there, did you? I called as soon as I could.”

He hadn’t, but this is frightening behavior for Stane. Even at his most upset, the man usually displays an almost pathological friendliness. Obie can get cheerfully menacing, but never hostile. Raspberries start toppling from the fallen package onto the floor like blood drops as Tony tries to think about the implications of what Pepper is saying.

Reassurance first.

“Nothing new is on there,” he says firmly. “Did he catch the flight? JARVIS?” Tony looks up at the ceiling.

“The flight plan was filed with no deviations, no delays reported.”

Pepper speaks before JARVIS is finished, because Tony’s not on speakerphone. “They’re about to take off, Happy texted me from the plane. He wanted to keep an eye on Obadiah.”

“Fuck, that’s not the best idea,” Tony blurts out. Pepper lets out a little hiccup of a distressed laugh in his ear. “Okay, so you don’t have the drive, but the computer is still at the office?” As soon as he says this, Tony regrets it. Pepper would have to go in person to check, and Stane has buddies at the company. Fear mixes with the raspberries in his stomach, seasoned by whatever bug he’s been plagued with today. It would be just his luck if he ends up too busy throwing up to figure all this shit out.

“He escorted me out to my car, and his driver was parked next to it when we got out there,” Pepper says. 

“Well that’s not a good sign.”

“I could barely pull out of the lot, I was shaking so hard! What do we do? There has to be something on that computer, something he doesn’t want us to know about, and if that’s true--”

“Then he’ll probably send someone in to nuke it ASAP, yeah. Give me some time to think,” Tony says. “Can you go find another flash drive? I can write something to bypass the encryption, but I can’t do it remotely. We’d have to upload it onto the drive and have you go physically plug it in. Fuck, and Rhodey is in town with me, still.”

“I could go look in the surplus supply office for another--”

“Do not go back there by yourself,” Tony interrupts again. “Go buy one, biggest you can find, but use your card, I’ll cover it. Keep under his radar. I’ll send half of Rhodey’s unit in with you if I have to. Just don’t try to be a hero and go without backup. Happy would never forgive me, and I’m pretty sure I’d miss you eventually,” Tony says, typing a few questions to JARVIS in the window at the top left of his screen they use for nonverbal communication.

His AI answers in the same place. Do I have your authorization to request our pilots disable the communication systems on the plane as a security concern on your behalf? It will not prevent Mr. Stane from using his personal devices, but could delay him while you and Miss Potts coordinate on the ground. And yes, there is Pepto Bismol in the upstairs bathroom.

“I don’t think you could tie your shoes without me,” she teases back, a little more confidence in her voice. “What’s your social security number?”

Tony’s busy responding ‘Yes,’ ‘Good idea,’ and ‘thank FUCK’ to JARVIS, missing most of what Pepper says except for the word ‘number.’  Shit. “Seven?” he tosses out.

“Seven? Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Pepper laughs. “Whatever you do, don’t meet with him until we find out what’s on that computer, okay?”

“Not even in the suit? Geez, thanks for the faith in my abilities, Benedict Potts!” Tony teases. He’s found the program he wants to send over, but she’ll still need to physically plug the drive in to use it.

“If we’re talking Arnolds, I want you to be thinking Schwarzenegger, not spies! Promise me? It was hard enough talking Happy down, and I only told him Stane was acting strangely. He’d be going all Air Force One as we speak, otherwise.”

“Spies!” Tony says, snapping his fingers a few times in happiness at what she’s helped him figure out.  “You are brilliant, beautiful, and behind on your responsibilities. Go get a flash drive, I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, he hangs up and heads for the upstairs bathroom, dialing the number for Agent Phil Coulson as he goes.

It takes over twenty minutes for the ballroom door to reopen. During that time, a further two black and silver-clad people join the others on the balcony watching Emory and Harris, but besides a few offhand comments, everyone stays silent. The stress makes Emory close her eyes and try to meditate. She and Natasha had discussed whether it would be a good idea to start gathering energy in the moments leading up to the mission, and in the end, they’d agreed it was a bad idea. Now, in the midst of a situation that she could use to power up, Emory’s glad she doesn’t have that pressure on her as well. It’s very likely that this wait is intended to reveal her powers. 

Finally, the door opens, and the blue-eyed henchwoman steps through, nodding at Harris and beckoning. Emory presses her arm against the shape of the phone in her pocket to bolster her courage.

The room she’s wheeled into is dimly lit and very large. The lack of light surprises Emory until she reasons that most ‘balls’ are evening affairs. It would be useless to design the room with the kind of windows that would stream light into a space hardly ever used in the daylight hours. Still, the absence of sunlight and lack of lamps fills her with dread. What will they be greeted with at the shadowy other end of the room? A lab? A throne?

They pass four columns on the way to an answer to her question. Multiple rich-looking carpets denote a rich-looking office area against the back wall. In the very center is an enormous dark wood desk with a huge winged chair. The lights are all positioned behind the chair, so its occupant isn’t fully visible until they’re feet away.

She sees his hand first, as the scientist reaches toward a small lamp positioned at the close corner of his desk. Everything about the encounter so far is obviously theatrical, so Emory braces herself. Did this man’s obsession with the serum turn cruel after his own use of it backfired into something horrible? 

The light switches on, revealing that the chair is even more disproportionately large than she thought. Seated there is a matronly, slight woman with graying hair pulled back in a generous pouf on the top of her head. She’s dressed in a black suit jacket and stark white shirt, just like her minions, though her clothes carry no embellishments. The desk is meticulously neat, with a few folders and the lamp, and nothing else.

“Welcome, my dear.”

Next chapter, both Tony Stark and Emory Autumn fear for their lives.

[little-engineer-who-cant]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @amethystunarmed and I am very late in responding, but what else is new? I finally get to do one of these now that I've started posting my writing!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

12 as of writing this.

2. What’s your total word count?

203,764 words which is so very many and 159,923 of those words are in one series that's not even halfway done yet.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The fandoms I have published are Skyrim, Batman, Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Black Sails.

One day though, I will start posting my ASoIaF works, I swear.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Act 1: Into the Breach - Skyrim

The Water Under the Bridge to Elysium is Still the River Styx - Batman crossover with Percy Jackson

There's a Waystation in Gotham - Batman crossover with Percy Jackson

Act 2: Rising Until Our Souls Shatter in the Sky - Skyrim

Under the Red Hood Lies Jason Todd's Shattered Dreams - Batman crossover with Percy Jackson

5. Do you respond to comments?

I really love getting them and a lot of people who comment on my fics have hit very close to future plot points! I try to respond, but I also know I'm terrible at keeping secrets because I'm so excited about what comes next, so sometimes I do not respond because I don't want to accidentally spoil my own stuff.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This one is a tie, honestly. If you want angst that gets a resolution in a different work? Then it has to be Screaming Past the Limit, Never to Slow Down Again which is another part of the Batman and PJO crossover series.

If you're looking for unresolved angst, then it is Are You Coming to the (Hanging) Tree? which is a Black Sails fic focused on Abigail Ashe. It is one of my favorite pieces I've ever written and I did it in like 20 minutes while I was at work.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

You're the Torch I'll Use to Burn this World Down, another Black Sails fic but this one focuses on Miranda because I love her and I think she deserves good things all the time.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, but I write in very niche sections of fandoms (crossovers, modded communities, etc) so most of the people that come across my works really want to be there and try not to run creators out. The closest I've gotten was someone nagging on a location in the Damnation Saga because I screwed around with character's perceptions on map locations a bit for worldbuilding flavor.

9. Do you write smut?

To be determined. The Damnation Saga might get some, who knows.

10. Do you write crossovers?

...

That is 98% of my drafts. Literally the only works I have that are not crossovers are the Damnation stories. I have over 20 WIPs that are all crossovers. I love interweaving different stories that have similar themes or lore backgrounds, exploring how they interact and how the myths of one is perceived by the other and vice versa. Butterfly effects and world premise shifts, my beloved.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Fic? No. Original work however, @amethystunarmed and I have never really stopped our nonsense over the last 10 or so years. We still have shared Google Docs that were last modified in 2012.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

What got me into fanfiction, and what I still go back to even after all this time, is Bagginshield. I reread Sansûkh all the time. You should read it too. Everyone should. I aspire to create something that incredible and moving. I cry every time.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Sweet Talk Hides Dark Thoughts. It's a massive crossover and I just tried to do too much. The butterfly effect got so out of hand that the story would no longer be anywhere near where I wanted it to be. It is super unwieldy in terms of both size and plot and I can't figure out a way to reel it in or finish it in a way that I'm satisfied with. Instead, I've sectioned out chunks and reskinned the concepts. For example, the entire Sirens Scream series is based on a bit I had in Sweet Talk where Silena Beauregard lives and vanishes into the unknown. Sweet Talk also explored the ramifications of there being survivors from Kronos' army and how the Titan War affected all the CHILD SOLDIERS that were fighting in it, concepts that I brought into Sirens but looked at from a different angle.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Descriptions and interweaving plot beats. I love a good Chekhov's Gun and I will fire it multiple times. I also am good at pacing. If you feel the story moving at breakneck speed with no room for breathing, it's because I want you to feel that way.

I'm also good at inner monologues, especially about a character spiraling into corruption and despair.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action sequences. Unless there's room for monologues in there, I suck at them and they are a slog to write.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I do it, but I always make sure to add a note asking for correction if I've translated it wrong. I do my best, but I am not a linguist nor do I have time to be. I use a lot of Dovahzul in the Damnation Saga and I am using both Old Norse and High Valyrian in other WIPs right now.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Hobbit. I wanted to make an OC in Laketown so very badly, but I never got anything I was happy with.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

There's a Waystation in Gotham. Hands down. It's the fic that inspired the entire Sirens Scream series because I couldn't get that line out of my head. I wrote it in one swoop when I was in the middle of machine changes and it needed basically no edits. If asked to recommend my own work, this is the top of the list.

I am tagging @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @vice-versa-vane, and @septemberskye

[foxingpeculiar]

FF16 blogging: about to head off toward Twinside with Goetz. Spoilers up to that point.

I figured out what was nagging at me about Byron. It sounds like whoever’s voicing him is doing a John Cleese impression. Not a complaint, just an observation.

Okay, so I was wrong—that wasn’t Joshua/Ultima, that was apparently Harbard. But he also refers to Clive as Mythos and generally seems to be clued in to what’s going on, as does Barnabas. But how do they know what they know (and, again, how did Cid recognize Ultima) if there’s apparently no record of it, “nor even the conspicuous absence that would suggest concealed information” (Tomes)?

It’s clear that Clive is some kind of perfect vessel—that’s why he can absorb powers from other Eikons, plus Ultima basically said as much, and that “you were created for this purpose.” But by whom? My gut says Annabella has something to do with it, and maybe Olivier is some kind of second attempt or something? I still don’t know exactly what their end goal is, though, although it’s clearly… y’know, not good.

Did Kupka see Benedikta (naked, naturally) because the crystal was fucking with him, or was he just kind of totally losing his shit at that point? Might be a small distinction, but might be significant. Also, the way Harbard talks to him like a pet during their exchange in the dining room is suitably creepy.

So, I’ve mostly been avoiding reading anything about the game, but one of the few scraps I’d picked up was that the Titan fight was one of the hardest ones. And I got through the first phase like “pfff… he hit me like once, that was NOT hard.” Then there were two more phases and things got kinda nuts. I managed it in one go, but ended it with like 1/4 health and no Firelight. I did laugh cos like, twice during that fight Ifrit either cuts off his arms or smashes his hands. Like that’s a thing between the two of them.

But I’ve still only died a few times. And like 5 of them were to the Atlas hunt, the first S-rank hunt and the first one where I’m like “maybe I’ll come back to this later.” I was fighting him at level 33 (he’s at 45) and I can allllllllllllmost get him, but not quite yet.

Okay, what’s with the Medicine Girl? Cos she’s shown up 3 times now, and is on Vivian’s “persons of interest” chart off by herself. So there’s something going on there. But she only ever just passes by really quick so I don’t know what they’re doing with her.

So Dion is the queer rep here. Okay, good to know. And damn if Joshua doesn’t know how to make a dramatic entrance. Olivier becoming Emperor… well, I can understand why that would make zero sense to Dion on a couple of levels. But if there’s a “second vessel” type long-game being played here, then yeah. Still seems early to make that move, again, the kid is like 6, but go off, I guess.

I am very excited about the Enterprise, even though the quest-trilogy to get it built was a little sidequesty. I suppose it’s about having a moment with the characters, but when it was making me choose between Otto and Gav (I warily picked Gav), I was like “oh shit, is one of them going to die or something?” And was real nervous for a minute, until he started getting on with the “sappy shite.” Chose Jill over Tarja (whom I like, but c’mon) and hell yes I’ll split some soup and a pie with you girl, that sounds awesome.

The most interesting sidequest so far has been the one I got from the Alliant Reports dude re: Quentin. Cos, first, you get some of his backstory (fuck the system, take direct action and slit some throats), but moreso because it remains unresolved. When the quest ended, he was preparing for “war” and the next time I was in Lostwing for something, it was being evacuated. That and, at the point I am now, I’ve acquired some quests at the Hideaway that are the first ones I can’t just immediately go wrap up, one at a time. It won’t let me go anywhere but along the main story path for now, so I have to let them stack for a second and deal with them later.

Which is kind of an indication that the sidequests, like the Eikon fights, are getting more sophisticated as the game goes on. And that’s kind of interesting.

Okay, Mid’s lifeboat speech was fun, that bit with the flowers on the wind off Cid’s grave reminded me of the intro to FF8, and Goetz is a little TOO excited about coming along on this one. But let’s see what crazy thing happens next.

[sarahthevampyrslayer]

Journal Entry | Dec. 31, 2022

As it inches closer and closer to my 32nd birthday I'm growing more and more nervous about our decision to possibly move back in with my parents in February. The more I think about it the more unresolved trauma springs up and the more unsettling the thought of living with them again becomes. Talking about what I dealt with growing up, especially once I left school at 16, is so difficult for me because my entire family has always gaslighted me into thinking what I experienced was okay or just "normal." And as I've gotten older and learned more, I've realized that what I had to put up with was far from okay and although it's painted as "normal" in our society, it most certainly shouldn't be.

This morning an overwhelming sense of anxiety and dread came over me at the thought of having a day off while living with my parents. I remember when I was 16-19, always working 2 full time jobs and a third part time job, hardly ever having a full complete day off. Partly because I had rent and bills to pay, and partly because I was working as many hours as I could just to avoid being at home. And those rare times, two or three times a month, I would have a full complete 24 hours off of work I would be nagged by my parents for being "lazy" and staying in bed all day. They would come in my room (that I was paying $400 a month for, this was in 2007 btw) and wake me up at 9am. They'd turn on my lights and pull my blankets off of me. They would guilt trip me into believing that relaxing in bed all day wasn't something I deserved to do because I was a high school dropout. I didn't deserve to enjoy my time off because why was I getting to lay in bed all day while they had to do... whatever it is they were doing that day.

So, I'd get up and get dressed and go out. I didn't even need to do anything, but I'd just pretend to be busy so my parents wouldn't nag me about how lazy I was being. And it worries me that I'll be put back into this position again. Having to make myself busy 24/7 around them just to avoid having to spend an hour listening to my father tell me how disappointed he is that I'm not more like my brother. I work for myself now and unfortunately; I've developed a chronic pain condition that sometimes puts me down for a few days at a time. And it's extremely important for my health that I take those days to regain my strength and relax my body and mind. Or else I risk burnout and when that happens, I'm out for weeks at a time. I just don't want to stress my body out like I did back then. I don't want to be in a position where I have to choose between my physical health and my mental health.

Living with someone like my boyfriend for the last 12 years has been an eye opener for how someone is supposed to be treated. He understands what I deal with because he witnesses the toll it takes on my physical and mental health. And he allows me the space I need to deal with the limitations my chronic condition sometimes puts on me. He sometimes complains but not about me taking 3 days off to literally lay around and do absolutely nothing at all, but about the fact that he wishes he could do more to help me beyond just making space for me to exist without expectations. He still doesn't really realize how incredibly helpful just being understanding is for me. Or that just giving me time to regroup is the most helpful thing he can do for me.

My parents have never been like this towards me. The fact that I can remember every serious health scare I had growing up because I was never believed when I would say something was wrong, should be proof enough that I've never had my health taken seriously. That really messed with me. I had to relearn to take care of myself and not wait until I was barely alive to seek aid and treatment when I needed it. I vividly remember sitting on the living room floor at midnight, my mom rocking me back and forth as I'm crying in her arms about a toothache, and my dad yelling at me that I wasn't going to get out of going to school by faking a toothache. The next morning, after my mom gave me some children's Tylenol to help with the pain so I would go to sleep, I woke up and the entire left side of my jaw and neck was so swollen I could barely breath. My mom made me an emergency dentist appointment, where they had to remove 3 of my baby teeth to drain my jaw because I had a blood infection. I was 10.

Want to know what my dad's response was when he got home from work that evening and saw my face all swollen, mouth still full of gauze and leaking blood? "You're not getting out of school tomorrow too just because your mouth hurts." But doctors' orders were that I was to stay home for the rest of the week because I had to wait for the antibiotics to begin working to ensure I wasn't at risk of making it worse or something. I don't remember why. But I remember every single day my dad was an asshole towards me and made me feel so bad and guilty that I, a 10-year-old child, was taking time to relax and get healthy after suffering with a serious blood infection.

The thought of being back there. A 10-year-old again, crying on the floor trying to convince her parents that the pain she feels is real. I just don't think I can do that again. My boyfriend reminds me daily that this will not be like it was when I was a kid. I now have him on my side. I have him to help fight my battles. The thing is, I don't want to fight any battles. I don't want to be at war with my parents. I just want a healthy relationship with them. I just don't think that's possible. He also reminds me that this is only temporary. We're just taking this step so we can get out of current problem. And that dealing with my parents for a few months is going to be much easier than dealing with the lifelong medical conditions we're going to end of developing if we stay living in this black mold infested apartment. He reminds me that I'm already dealing with so much (medically) and that a few months of dealing with my parents is going to lead to a new place for us that's all ours and safe and healthy.

But 10-year-old me is still there, just waiting for the next shoe to drop.

[nocturnaljunipers]

when is awesamponk lore hhhrghhhhh

[calysto1395]

@meggannn tagged me in wip wednesday and i missed it two weeks in a row so its wip thursday now lol

have some future detco AU i clacked out today while running errands

-

“I didn’t know you played.” Heiji said once Shinichi lifted the bow off the string, thin fingers fiddling with the knobs at the end of the limb. He didn’t even look up, not at all surprised at the intrusion.

“Haven’t in a while and this thing is put of tune.” He said with slight annoyance. His brow furrowed in concentration, miniscuel movements before playing a row of notes.

“Don’t you need a thingy for that? To tell the pitch?” Heiji asked and pushed away from the doorframe to walk into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He couldn’t play any instrument so his knowledge was limited but he had the vague idea of those little electronic devices that could determine a note used to tune an instrument. Shinichi pulled the bow along, lips pursed at the sound before his fingers worked at the knobs again.

“I don’t.” He told him.

Heiji paused briefly on his way to the piano bench, taking note that. He didn’t know enough about music to articulate what nagged at him but it seemed significant. Just trusting his hearing on a whim seemed out of character for someone like Shinichi. But he was too confident in his assessment for it to be a fluke. Heiji filed it away for later and sat down on the bench. The piano was huge and sleek. One reason for them keeping the damned music room a music room of all things - rich people. Moving the piano out was too much of a hassle. And Shinichi had mentioned that Ran liked to play sometimes.

Shinichi played an idle melody, brow furrowed ever so slightly before stopping, leaving the little piece unresolved in an unsatisfying way to fiddle with the strings tautness some more.

“Sounds good to me.” Heiji told him and leaned back against the cover over the piano keys. There was a faint layer of dust over the black lacquer. Something on the back of Heiji’s mind told him he ought to clean it, considering how parents were visiting tomorrow morning but he didn’t move from his seat. All he did was draw lazy shapes into the dust with his fingers.

Shinichi clicked his tongue. “It doesn’t.” He muttered, tapping the bow on the strings once more after minor adjustment.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

COULD VC BE A CASUALTY OF VC BE A BIG DEAL

Not us. But in this case it seems more to the point that their culture prizes design and craftsmanship. But due to a series of historical accidents the teaching of writing has gotten mixed together with the study of ancient texts acquired great prestige. The junior people will tend to seem very positive about your company. We don't hear that any more now that Japanese companies are building cars in the US, at least working on problems of minor importance. A company has to be more than small and newly founded to be a big deal, in the course of the conversation I'll be forced to come up with surprising new ideas. I have never once sensed any unresolved tension between them. If you get a call from a VC firm, go to their web site and send them an email. When del. And we were careful to create something that could slot easily into a larger company. If your friends or family happen to be rich, the line blurs between them and angel investors generally want to invest in deals that come to them through people they know. Inexperienced angels often get cold feet when the time comes to write that big check.

For the next fifty years, that's where new wealth will come from. Which means options tempt employees, if only unconsciously, to pump and dump—to do things that will make it fairly hard to fire them later. The idea sounds horrible, doesn't it? Facebook did, you'll face a choice of running with it or not, there's some pressure to claim they thought of the idea after quitting because otherwise their former employer would own it. In a way. Much of the value of investors' connections. Fundamentally an essay is a train of thought—but social and economic history, not political history. So the more confident you are, in theory, merely explaining yourself to the reader. By the end of the process. Both now compete directly with VCs. Which of the two angels in the initial round took months to pay us, and only did after repeated nagging from our lawyer, who was also, fortunately, his lawyer. The way to come up a with a clearer explanation, which I can just incorporate in the essay.

They may if they are extraordinarily fortunate do an IPO, it might not merely add expense, but change the outcome. Whether cause or effect, this spirit pervaded early universities. Also they find they now worry obsessively about the status of their server. I don't want to give the other side of the river. But there are, and this variation is one of the founders quits. A cluttered room is literally exhausting. So, in their hearts, still believe the most important skills founders need to learn about are the needs of your own users, and all the previous shareholders' percentage ownership is diluted by a sixth.

How can it be? It's too perfect. Sometimes, like a river, one runs up against a wall. I had what I thought was a huge fleet of toy cars, but they'd be dwarfed by the number of people who want them. And you end up with better technology, created faster, because things are made in the innovative atmosphere of startups instead of the broken air conditioner in your studio apartment. Boldness pays. I can just incorporate in the essay.

But one thing that might work is to ask yourself, before buying something, is this going to make my life noticeably better? Since most startups are in competitive businesses, you not only didn't know, but that contradict things you thought you knew. And it only does a fraction of what the finished product will do, but that contradict things you thought you knew. The first thing I see when I walk out of the airline terminal is the fat, grumpy guy in charge of the taxi line. The example of a startup's history that I've presented is like a skeleton—accurate so far as it goes, but needing to be fleshed out to be a successful startup founder is not some sort of new, vocational version of college as education for its own sake. Odds are it will be either a view of the New York skyline shot from a discreet distance, or a McMansion—a flimsy box banged together out of two by fours and drywall, or a carefully cropped image of a seacoast town in Maine. Like VCs, one of the most interesting. But if you want to do something, as Nike says, just do it. And of course any VCs reading this are probably rolling on the floor laughing at how my hypothetical VCs let the angel keep his 10. Some investors might expect the founders to make them.

It would set off alarms. If I had to go back almost a thousand years. Not at all. You can't start a startup and tell everyone that's what you're doing, you're now on a path labelled get rich or bust. They go out of their way to ensure their students are well supplied with contraceptives, and yet they're setting up entrepreneurship programs and startup incubators left and right. They're not Goody Two-Shoes type good. The prospect of technological leverage will of course raise the specter of unemployment.

Thanks to the guys at O'Reilly, Patrick Collison, Harj Taggar, and Geoff Ralston for inviting me to speak.

[popitdontdropitwrites]

"New Invention" Engineer/Medic - Chapter 9

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8,

❗ This is a sequel to Mx. Sinister. Events may not make sense if you have not read that fic.

Dell put a smile on for him, though it felt oh so wrong.

He didn’t understand – he’d done everything right. He’d been attentive, affectionate, doting and so, so patient. He coddled Joseph, loved him, and told him so repeatedly – but despite it all, this secret remained, like a nail lodged deep in his skin. He didn’t care how supposedly terrible this memory of Joseph’s was, he would always adore him. No matter how much pain he had caused, no matter how many people he had cheated, no matter how much misery lied in his wake, Dell did not care one bit, he’d accepted him for it already. Regardless of what he had done, or who he had been before, he was still perfect. For all he cared, the boy had never sinned in his goddamned life.

The only thing he couldn’t stand, however, was watching Joseph suffer. Though he tried to hold his hand through this, he was pushed away, again and again until he was completely and utterly alone, with only the marks of nails in his skin to remind him of the man he loved. Now, with cold, empty air and heart-wrenching silence in his palms, the question lied on his lips, only swelling with time, until it would inevitably burst.

What did you remember, Joseph?

One thing he knew for certain was what whatever it was, it was a problem, one he despised leaving unresolved. The shadow of this puzzle yet to be solved lingered behind every thought with its clues scattered across the vast, ceaselessly ticking components of his mind. He already had some potential solutions, some far more invasive than others. At this point, he was considering administering another dose just to help him forget it again, though doing so would be dangerous, for several reasons. He could build more mechanical replacements, ones that could render his drug regimen obsolete while providing stable, consistent results. But then again, there were methods outside of robotics and chemicals… practical solutions, tried, tested and far more reliable. Methods that rested deep within his very blood, dating back generations – The Conaghers were well known for their efficiency with machines, after all.

And that sentiment included machines made of flesh and blood.

Though the desire to poke and prod at Joseph like he would with a malfunctioning robot nagged at him, he refrained from it, recognising that efficiency was not the answer here. Such a thing would be insensitive and downright cruel. Impatience would only make things worse, if that was even possible. He had no desire to frighten or upset his lover with things he didn’t understand – while yes, they were… drastic to put it lightly, they were for his own good.

For now, however, he had to wait and observe, though it made his skin crawl with impatience. There was no harm in it – other than of course, the time wasted with this approach – as for now, Joseph’s sudden recollection appeared to be benign.

If this mutated, it’d be a different story.

Dell clutched the bridge of his nose, breathing in deeply to reassure himself. He wouldn’t remember. He couldn’t. This little defect wouldn’t destroy everything he had built, maybe it’d go away on its own if he just… waited instead of meddling as he always did.

“Off in wonderland, are we?” Joseph mumbled with a dry inflection that was uncharacteristically mocking, and not the fun kind. “You didn’t hear a single word I said.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” He said apologetically, surprised that he’d allowed himself to miss a single sound from his lover’s mouth. “Would ya mind repeatin’ what you said to me?”

“It wasn’t important.” He said flatly, though a twitch of his lip conveyed that it had meant something to him. “I was just saying that I think there’s a page missing.” He tapped his index against the morning paper.

He put on a skin of slight confusion, but also a tactful acceptance of the fact. “Ya reckon?” He leant over to Joseph’s side, looking over the newspaper. He flicked the page back and then forward again and nodded. “So there is. It must’ve come like that.”

Joseph said nothing, but his face betrayed the annoyance he felt, and he suddenly wished he’d prepared a better explanation. Luckily for him, Joseph resumed clicking his pen and reading, with the jitter of his irises being far slower than usual, a dead giveaway that his brilliant mind had dulled overnight without the nourishment of sleep.

His expression lacked its typical quiet enthusiasm, for the weighty purplish bags under his eyes prevented any light from coming in, allowing dread to fester like rust. This alone would have set off some alarms, but worse yet, Joseph had barely bothered to dress himself, wearing only a silky robe and fluffy slippers with the clearest indication of his decay being his distinctive lack of grooming. His hair shot off in all different directions from sleep, or rather, the lack thereof and a dark shadow of stubble had begun to grow over his features, intensifying the downward shape of his frown.

Dell thought not to bring it up.

***

Joseph withered before his eyes like a corpse in the sun. Three sleepless nights rendered him sickly, exhausted, and pale, as if he had never been alive at all.

The worst part of all of this was that he could see himself from the perspective of the world’s damning eyes. He could almost hear what everyone else would think – he wasn’t caring for his partner properly, starving him until he was skin and bones, tormenting him until he inevitably snapped and if Dell yelled and screamed that he loved him to pieces, it’d still be taken as a lie from his countrymen. He’d be deemed a crazed lunatic and a sinister force, one only interested in perverse lust and reaping the rewards of the poor boy’s suffering. He’d be locked up, with the real monsters where his genius would be forcefully stomped out, his money ripped from his hands and his only love taken from him.

He shuddered. He couldn’t wait for much longer. He needed to fix this and soon.

The German picked at his food with disinterest, barely bothering to eat anything at all. He failed to appear enthused by anything, not the intricate and often mildly entertaining details of his day, his ideas, his opinions and not even his usual flattery could get a reaction out of his partner. He merely stared vacantly, his eyes an irate pink, shiny with fluid and his expression eerily similar to the moue of the dead. He remembered those eyes well, unseeing, and empty, only, glassier and tinted with a silvery mist. His lips were not quite as pale as they had been then, nor were they splattered with crimson droplets, but they were dry all the same.

“You’ve lost weight, honey.” He said, realising how his wrinkled, unloved clothes draped just a little from his skin.

“I’m aware.”

He clicked his tongue, looking to his still full plate, which had begun to go cold. “Can’t ya just eat half of what I gave ya?” He begged. “Just half. That’s all I want. I can’t have ya starvin’ on my watch.”

“I’m not hungry.” His face didn’t change even a little, uncaring for his pleas. “You can’t buy an appetite, Dell.” He pushed his plate towards him, giving up entirely.

His heart fell into his stomach at the thought of discarding a full plate of food. “Darlin’,” He insisted. “You’ve got to eat and ya know that a heck of a lot better than I do.”

Though his lover’s eyes met his, he said nothing at all, conveying his annoyance.

The gunslinger’s fingers splayed and flexed, imitating the horrific motions playing out in his mind’s eye. He ignored his urges, as he always did. He merely collected their plates and washed up, whistling a deceptively cheery tune, pretending as if the thoughts in his mind were perfectly ordinary.

***

He couldn’t smile anymore.

Lying in an empty bed sickened him. His fingers, though they longed for Joseph’s warm, ample skin, only touched cool, fluffy blankets, utterly devoid of his presence. He rolled onto his side, facing Joseph’s half of the bed, and pulling his pillow towards his chest, hugging it tight. The fabric lacked the pleasant smells of coconut, musky aftershave, and the distinctive kick of cinnamon. Instead, death met his senses, its smell as sweet as it was foul. He threw it aside, disgusted by it and he clutched his own body, foolishly seeking the tangible beauty and warmth only Joseph could provide for him.

He stared at the ceiling for hours, just as his lover had done every damned night this week, waiting for him to come to bed.

But he never did.

Dell sat up with a groan, rubbing his eyes as he eased himself out of the warmth of the blankets. The door squealed as he opened it, similarly mourning the loss of Joseph’s company. He flicked the lights on, grimacing at the sudden brightness as his eyes adjusted to it.

He beelined for the kitchen, expecting to see Joseph there with a book in hand and the radio chittering away. Only an empty table and a steadily ticking clock awaited him, as if a hole had been punched into a familiar image, rendering it alien and unnerving. He stumbled through the house, poking his head into the bathroom, wondering if he’d taken a late-night bath, knowing him to be partial to them. But the porcelain’s pristine surface had dulled from unuse, with dust and stray hairs residing in the bottom. The shower too, remained as dry as a bone and he shook his head, muttering under his breath, vowing to drag the boy into the bath tomorrow whether he liked it or not – this had gone on too long. He checked all of his partner’s usual spots, wondering if maybe, he’d fallen asleep in one of them.

Now standing in a hallway of opened doors and empty rooms, worry crashed over him with such tremendous force that the world seemed to spin. His heart pounded in his chest, pumping concentrated adrenaline into every vein, muscle and thought.

Something clattered nearby, as if it had fallen, putting a sudden stop to the panicked storm raging within him.

He turned in the direction of the sound, relief slowly rolling throughout his body, its featherlike touch calming him. He approached his office, a space he’d never seen Joseph in before, simply because it was for him and his private business matters only, or at least, that was the assumption. He gently turned the doorknob, and peeled the door open, allowing for a slit of light to peek into the hallway. He peeked through to see a figure slumped over his desk, face firmly planted against the wood, snoring away. The desk lamp remained on, its single eye glowing in the dark, casting barely enough light to work in.

Dell stepped inside, tiptoeing as to not make a sound. He gave Joseph a gentle smile, glad that he’d finally been able to sleep, though his back would be making him sorry tomorrow. He nearly tripped as an object slid underneath him and he stopped to see a pen skittering along the ground. He ducked down to pick it up, placing it back on the desk.

He paused, realising that Joseph was lying on top of one of his journals. He craned his neck to see what he’d been working on, but his partner’s dark hair covered most of the details. All he could see were the scattered fragments of words, all of which in German and the scratches of hastily drawn lines, neither of which were enough to sate his curiosity.

He stroked Joseph’s hair, waking him. “Joseph,”

“Mm?” He raised his head, curious as to why he’d been woken up, but oddly enough, he didn’t sound at all annoyed.

“Come to bed, darlin’, I miss you.” Dell uttered gently, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Alright…” He groggily rose to his feet, yawning.

Dell wrapped his arms around him in a tight, loving hug and looked over his shoulder to the open journal.

He met the stern, disapproving blue eyes of a face he too, had forgotten. This man had been redrawn several times, gradually becoming more and more lifelike as the artist fought to accurately capture his ebbing memory. The last, the only one that hadn’t been crossed out, bore his distinctively round, bald head, thin lips permanently scarred by years of hardship, crow’s feet by his tired eyes, deep wrinkles across his forehead and low, bushy brows, all culminating to create an unmistakably unique individual.

A small arrow pointed to the giant, granting him a name, one that had been lost until this moment.

Misha.

Next Chapter

[winterhawk-olympic-bang]

Writer’s Workshop: How To End Your Story

How To End Your Story

Guest Poster: Flawedamythyst

We’re in the final furlong before the deadline for the first draft now, so it feels like a good time to talk about endings, and how to bring your story together to create a satisfactory one.

Have a read and then head over to the Discord Server where we have a channel for you to take part in a discussion based on the post, with chances to share your own ideas too.

How To End Your Story

There are traditionally six types of endings for a story:

Resolved ending - one with no lingering questions or loose ends. (Most murder mysteries and romances fall into this category.)

Unresolved ending - the kind of ending that leaves the reader with more questions than answers. (Usually for books that are part of a series. A lot of the HP books have endings like this.)

Expanded ending - expands the world of the story beyond the events of the narrative itself, with a time jump forward or a change in PoV.

Unexpected ending - a twist ending that the reader doesn’t see coming, but that should seem inevitable in hindsight.

Ambiguous ending - one that’s open to interpretation. Unlike an unresolved one, it leaves things to be interpreted by the reader so they have to decide themselves how it goes.

Tied ending - that brings the story full circle, and ends exactly where it began. Often the case for ‘Hero’s Journey’ type stories, where the hero ends up back home at the end.

You can read more about them here: https://boords.com/storytelling/how-to-end-a-story or here: https://www.masterclass.com/articles/ways-to-end-your-story but also in multiple other articles online just by Googling ‘Six Ways To End A Story’. 

But, of course, they don’t really tell you how to work out which one your story needs, or how to write one of them without falling into any of the traps that ends with an unsatisfying ending.

Motivation

Of course, often the hardest bit with an ending is actually getting there. Losing motivation is so easy, especially when you’re writing something super-long. I know lots of people get motivation by posting as they go and using comments/kudos as a spur, or even just by talking about it on Tumblr or other places and letting other people’s excitement buoy them up, but a Bang event like WHOB doesn’t allow for that. 

I’m going to talk a bit about ways to motivate yourself when you’re having to keep things secret from all but a handful of people, but bear in mind that this is something that really is very individual. Everyone writes for different reasons, and so everyone’s path to staying motivated is different.

For me, I think it comes down to focusing on why am I writing this story to start with? Any time I feel myself flagging, I think back to that reason and re-capture the original feeling I had about it. Often there’s a couple of different reasons. 

For example, when I was writing Look What The Cat Dragged In, my motivations when I wrote the first line were:

I want all of fandom to share with me the image of the Winter Soldier waking Clint up to threaten him while gently cradling a kitten in his hands, and 

I was writing it as a present for @kangofu-cb​. 

So, if I flagged at all, I was able to either reread that moment with Bucky holding the kitten and think ‘wow, I really do thing people will enjoy this mental image’, or I was able to think ‘I want my friend to have a nice thing’, and that helped me drive on and push through.

A lot of my personal motivations come down to ‘I want to share this scene/witty one-liner/visual of Clint pole dancing while dressed as Captain America with people’, so often just rereading what I’ve already done is really motivating for me, plus it also gives me the chance to see just how much I’ve already done, and what I would be dooming to be unfinished if I just walked away without pushing through.

You might well have different motivations though, which are equally valid. Maybe you started a fic for this event because you wanted to get a shiny badge, or to do something that your friends were doing, or you wanted to prove to yourself that you could write something longer than usual or outside of your usual wheelhouse. It may feel harder now than it did when you had that first idea, but that doesn’t change why you wanted to do it, and it’s actually easier now than it was when you started, because you’ve already done some of it.

And, if none of those motivations work for you, there’s always spite. ‘Oh, my brain gremlins think I can’t finish this? Fuck those guys, I’m going to prove those assholes so very, very wrong’ is completely how I powered through to finish my first ever novel-length fic, a million years and several fandoms ago. 

Resolution vs Ending

So, let’s move on to the ending itself. 

There are two parts to writing an ending: there’s the plot resolution and how that all gets tied up, and there’s the actual ending of the fic - the last scene, and the last place the reader sees the characters.

Sometimes the resolution happens only at the very end of a story and so those are the same thing, but I tend to think that makes things feel a bit abrupt. Especially for fics, which tend to be more character-driven than mainstream media and so need a wind down on how the characters react to the end of the plot for the reader. (This isn’t always true, of course, some plots do tie up neatly in the final scene. Every story is different and you’re the person best placed to judge what’s needed in your fic.)

So when you’re thinking about the ending, think about both parts. ‘How does this plot resolve itself?’ and ‘where do I want to leave these characters in the readers’ mind’s eye?’

Plotting a Story Resolution

You may well have already got a resolution worked out as part of your planning, but what if that ending doesn’t seem to fit any more, or you realise just as you get to it that you forgot to think about an ending at all and have no idea where to go?

First of all, don’t panic! If the rest of the story is there, you’ll be able to pull together the strands to create the best ending. Trust the bones of your story.

When I’m facing a blank page and no real idea of how I’m getting from the Depths of Despair moment to the happy ending, the first thing I do is reread the whole story in case that sparks a fantastic, fully-formed idea to appear on how to tie it all up. Mostly that doesn’t work, which is always disappointing, but it’s still a good place to start, because you have the whole run of the fic fresh in your head to plan from.

The next thing I do is make a list of all the things that I know definitely need to happen for the plot to be done. These don’t need to be in any particular order at this point and they don’t need to link up, you just need a list of what needs to go into the framework, however minor. ‘Clint wears Bucky’s hoodie and Bucky is smitten’ is a totally valid plot point to include, or even ‘include mention of recurring joke about muffins’. If you know something needs to be resolved but you don’t know how yet, just putting ‘resolve plot point with badgers’ is fine. Hopefully once you’ve started thinking through all the different bits, you’ll work out what’s going to happen to the badgers, and it’ll make sure you know it needs to be included somewhere.

If you have a beta/cheer reader who can help, it’s also super helpful to ask them what they would expect from the ending based on what they’ve read so far, or what elements from earlier in the story they think will be coming back/will turn out to be foreshadowing. Sometimes you’ll find you’ve written the clues to your ending into the earlier bits without really noticing, and you can throw them down on the list to be included as well.

Once you have everything you know needs to be included, you can shift them around into a rough order you think they need to go in, and start filling in the gaps. For example, if ‘Clint gets injured’ is there, you can add in ‘Bucky tends to his wounds’ as the obvious next step and maybe that would be a good time to throw in a muffin joke, and then Clint might need to borrow a hoodie if his shirt has blood on it, so you can tick those bits off as well.

It gets easier to see where the gaps are once you have it written out, even if it’s only things that you already knew would need to happen. Having it down in black and white helps your brain to move pieces around like a jigsaw puzzle, and start extrapolating on what comes in the gaps between.

Make The Ending Fit The Story

Think about what kind of story it’s been so far, and make sure that the ending you come up with fits in with it. 

You’ll know the general feeling that you wanted for the fic when you started writing, so that will give you a solid idea on how the ending needs to go. (Often for me this feeling is ‘schmoopy and loved up’, because I’m a softie. A lot of what I’m doing when I’m writing a fic is just clearing out of the way any obstacles that are going to get in the way of my characters being schmoopy and loved up. When there’s nothing left in the way, that’s when I know it’s the end of the story.)

You also need to keep the tone and pacing of your fic the same, and make sure that your ending matches up so it all feels like it fits together. This includes keeping the pace the same as it had been, no matter how tempting it is to rush through so you can get the thing finished already, or slow right down so you can add in a few thousand more words. 

Along with sticking to the tone you’ve set for the fic, try not to genre-shift - if you’ve written an action-packed zombie apocalypse fic, resolving the plot with domestic schmoop isn’t a great idea. The reader is invested in the style of story that you’ve written so far, so pulling the rug out on them will only give them whiplash, a vague sense of dissatisfaction or a persistent nagging feeling that zombies are about to attack. 

Unless you’ve written a domestic schmoop zombie AU of course, in which case I would read the hell out of it. ‘Curtain!fic but sometimes the undead interrupt’ sounds like a lot of fun.

And finally, make sure you maintain your characterisation. If the ending you want involves your character doing something wildly out-of-character, then that’s not the right ending. (I like to call this an Endgame!Steve ending. No, I’m not over that.) Even if your audience is invested in your story enough to overlook the incongruence, they will be having to overlook it rather than feeling fully invested in the journey you’ve created.

Chekov’s Gun

The most satisfying endings are the ones that tie up most, if not all, of the loose ends, and provide an emotional pay-off equivalent to the build-up. If you’ve been talking about something big that might or might not happen, and then it doesn’t, it’s narratively frustrating. In the same way, if you drop something big in that doesn’t really fit with what went before, it’s going to make the story feel unbalanced. 

Obviously that doesn’t mean you can’t have a surprise or twist ending but even if the reader is surprised by something happening, they still want to feel like they’re reading the same story. They need to look back with hindsight of knowing the twist and see how it fits in, and not how it stands out.

A good rule to follow is the Chekov’s Gun rule: If there’s a gun on the table in the first act, someone needs to shoot it in the second act. If you’ve been teasing something, make sure the pay-off is there.

And, of course, if someone’s going to be firing a gun at the end, go back and make sure it gets mentioned earlier in the story. It doesn’t need to be a heavy-handed anvil, but if you can drop in casual hints about guns earlier in the story, the whole thing feels more cohesive and thought out. No one needs to know that you only put those hints in after you’d finished the whole thing.

Loose Ends

Something I always like to do when I’m plotting exactly how the ending is going to go, is to go back through the whole fic and make a list of anything that feels like it could be a loose end if it didn’t get resolved. (If I’m having a problem working out my ending, often this happens at the same time as writing down all my ending plot points, as I described above.)

Some of those are obvious, like ‘Bucky and Clint need to kiss’, but some are less so. Did Clint think about how much he just wants to be done with all the drama so he can snuggle with his dog? Maybe throw in some Lucky cuddles somewhere in the finale so he gets the emotional pay-off. Has Bucky mentioned really want to punch a bad guy in particular in the face? Give him a chance to smack that asshole around a bit. Has there been a minor relationship drama along the way, like someone leaving their socks lying around? Have them either make a point of putting them away, or the other person just rolling their eyes and accepting it as a part of being with them.

It’s also important to think about where your secondary characters are going to end up, and if it feels like they’ve had an arc that needs resolving. Has there been another pairing with a bit of screen time or some background drama? Give them a chance to make out/make up. Has the bad guy done something that affected one of the other Avengers? Let them have a slice of revenge along the way.

For example, in my plan for Be All You Can Be, one of the original characters I introduced as other soldiers doing Basic Training, Havelka, didn’t turn up again after he’d been kicked back a level to another training unit. When I reread that, it became clear that he needed to prove himself somehow or his arc would be a depressing downward slope partially instigated by Clint and Bucky, so I brought him back at the end to do some First Aid and gave him a line or two to point to how his future was going to go, so the reader knew he was going to be okay.

You don’t have to completely resolve everything of course, and sometimes it is nice to leave a couple of things up to the reader’s imagination, but it’s nice for the reader if there’s a sense of things being tied up in a little bow. 

Ending

So, you’ve resolved your plot, how are you going to handle the actual final ending? 

Depending on how your story has gone, you might not need much after the resolution, or you may need several epilogue-y type scenes just to make sure everything is wrapped up.

Take a moment to think about what feeling you want the reader to take away from the fic. If it’s a romance, do you want to end with a warm fuzz of ‘aw cute’? If it’s been an angsty dig down into Clint or Bucky’s mental health issues, do you want a sense of optimism or catharsis? If there’s been a lot of action and drama, do you want a bit of peace and quiet for your characters to signal it’s all over with?

The best way to end any story is with a sense of hope, even if you’ve not gone for a completely happy ending, or have left yourself open for a sequel with some unresolved plot points. You want the reader to feel at least in some way uplifted. After all, regardless of whatever else has gone before, that’s the emotion they’ll have when they get faced with the Kudos button and the Comment box, so you need them in a good mood, right?

When you know what kind of feeling you want your ending to have, that will give you a major clue as to what the characters should be doing in the final scene.

One thing that can work well is bringing back something from the first scene or two and twisting it to be part of the ending. For example, at the beginning of Be All You Can Be Clint uses the song Make A Man Out Of You from Mulan as a way to torture Bucky, and then at the end, they watch the movie together while snuggling.

You do have to be careful not to be too heavy handed with that, and it doesn’t work in every fic, but I do like the feeling of ‘things coming full circle’ that you can get from doing it.

Afterglow vs. Too Much Ending

I always think that good stories come with a certain amount of ‘afterglow’: Just a scene or two to round things out and give a pointer towards the future. 

For example, in general, I don’t like stories that end with a first kiss, which is one of several reasons I usually find Hollywood romcoms unsatisfying. It feels like too much of a beginning, and leaves too many questions open about how things are actually going to go for the couple in question. As part of a complete ending, it feels more satisfying to have an ‘epilogue’-y type scene afterwards that will give you a sense of how things went from there, even if it’s just a couple of paragraphs about them planning their first date.

I’m sure we can all think of other times we’ve read or watched something and had a moment of ‘oh, was that it?’ after the last sentence/when the credits rolled. Abrupt endings without a bit of afterglow can leave the reader blinking a little and wondering where their damn cuddles are.

That said, you also don’t want to go too far in the opposite direction. If the plot is over, there’s no need to keep going with multiple scenes of fluff or porn that doesn’t really add anything. We don’t need to see their whole lives mapped out, and it can get fairly dull once the tension of the plot is over. Ask yourself if the three chapters of them having sex on every flat surface in their apartment is actually necessary, or if some of them can be cut and used as one-shot sequel/missing scene fics. 

In general if it’s not adding to either the narrative or emotional arcs, try to cap it at a scene or two. Just enough to feel like you’ve had a bit of post-climactic afterglow, but not so much that it’s starting to drag.

In Conclusion…

Ending a fic is, in so many ways, the most satisfying part of writing. You got right the way through your plot to the end! You did all the writing! Your characters made it through to their happy/sad/ambiguous endings! You deserve all the gold stars!

You just want your reader to feel the same way, by making sure the ending fits with what came before, ties up all the ends that need tying up, and leaves them with a deep glow of whatever feeling you want the overall story to convey.

And then you just need to do the editing, but that’s a workshop for another day...