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confused-pyramid · 5 months

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I’d Like to Think That You Would Stick Around | s6

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 15.5k

warnings: SMUT, oral (m!receiving), masturbation, canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, guns, drinking, angst, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 6x06, 6x08, 6x17, and 6x18.

a/n: Sorry for the long wait guys, school has been kicking my ass, but here's the next part! We're getting a lot of angst this chapter, but we're so so close to the good times ;) Hope you enjoy! Title is from Love Song by Lana Del Rey

series masterlist

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You are talking to Prentiss across the bullpen, laughing about something he can't hear, and he's freaking out. He shouldn't have left that night. He knows that. He just didn't know what else to do.

Never mind the fact that he has no idea how much you remember.

When you bumped into him on the way out of the elevator this morning, he swears you jumped back, but then you smiled at him, and he was able to convince himself that it was all fine. So why does it still feel like you are avoiding him?

He can still picture the dark expanse of your pupils as you leaned in closer after stumbling into him; he can still feel the rush of your breath as your gaze met his and his fingers tightened on your hip.

He walks into his office, before sitting at his desk and dropping his head into his hands. His blinds are just shut enough that no one from down in the bullpen can see into his office, and he welcomes the privacy as he rubs a hand over his face and forces his eyes away from the photograph of the two of you on his desk.

'Aaron...'

Your voice had sounded so soft, so hurt-

He shuts his eyes again and tries to think about anything else (maybe even the paperwork he's supposed to have been doing for an hour now) but every time he blinks, he sees your face again.

He has suspected the shift in your feelings for a little while now, but that night at the bar confirmed something he isn't sure he's ready to handle. He feels it too - of course he does - but he can't think about it. He can't.

He's floundering with Jack, with trying to be there for both him and the team, and he just lost Haley. God, he just lost Haley, and the idea of losing you too because he fucks it up just like he did with her is unimaginable. They were together for decades - they had a child together - and still he couldn't give her what she needed. Your friendship means everything to him, and if he does something to ruin your relationship too, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He glances out his window and sees you still talking to Emily, both of your heads now bent down to look at an open case file. She says something to you, and your face lights up as you grin at her. Something that feels like lava pools in his gut and he swallows thickly as he turns back to his paperwork.

***

You head back to your desk and drop the case file down as you resist the urge to glance up at his office window. He hasn't looked at you once today, and you can't help it as your mind goes to the worst case scenario of losing him forever because of one stupid moment.

You had considered pretending that you don't remember anything from the bar, but he just left you there. That isn't something you can forget so easily, and even as you're trying to ignore it, you don't want to avoid him. But it isn't that simple.

You're simultaneously hurt and embarrassed, but it isn't even your own feelings that are at the forefront of your mind. You haven't been to his place in over a week, and you miss Jack and you miss him. You haven't gone this long without talking to him in years.

Fuck.

***

Your quest to stay out of trouble results in you staying late at the office to get ahead on all of your work. Most nights you were staying even later than JJ and Aaron, but then JJ got sent to the DoD as a media liaison, and the work started piling up.

You did what you could to intercept some of the paperwork before it landed on his desk, especially since Jack was so close to starting preschool and you know Aaron wants to take any extra moment of face time he can get, but it wasn't a foolproof system.

That's why it's almost midnight after getting back from a case in Ohio, and Aaron's office light is still on. Knowing it's about time you broke the cone of silence you've been under, you walk up the stairs, giving yourself ample time to change your mind.

A minute later, you knock on his door, before pushing it open gently, waiting to see the look on his face.

"Oh, you're still here," he says, his eyes lingering on you for an extra moment before turning back to his work. "Come in."

You shut the door behind you and sit in the chair in front of his desk. It doesn't sink like it usually does, and it takes you a second to realize that he finally replaced it. After all this time...

"Are you heading home soon?" you ask, trying to feign nonchalance. You can't remember the last time you overthought every single thing you said to him.

Yes, you do, your brain mocks you. A film reel of your awkward senior year of high school starts playing in your mind and one lone thought sticks out among the cacophony of memories. You loved him.

"Yeah, I'm almost done," he says with a sigh, his eyes still trained on his paper.

You frown. "Really?"

"No."

That surprises a chuckle out of you and you lean forward in the chair. It's stiffer than you're used to, and it creaks as you slide in closer. "Want any help?"

He shakes his head. "You should head home. It's late."

You don't say anything and when he finally meets your eye, you shoot him a look.

He sighs, begrudgingly handing you a stack of files. "With JJ gone, it's been a little hectic. I have to go through the new cases coming in, as well as completing the post-case paperwork."

"Shit," you whisper, not knowing what else to say. Even as you tried to cut down his workload, it wasn't even scratching the surface. "I didn't realize that was all on you."

"Yeah, for the time being," he shrugs, raking a hand through his hair to push it back, even as it bounces right back into place. "But it'll be easier when they bring us someone new."

That stops you in your tracks. "How new? Because you know I really liked Jordan, but she was too green for the BAU."

"Newer," he says, his voice tinged with amusement. "They're considering some Academy cadets who are finishing up their remedial training."

"Cadets?" you echo, your voice rising an octave. "They're babies."

"They're at least 25," he states, the corner of his lip twitching. "Besides, their remedial training would have been with the BAU, so they'll know what they're getting into."

They'll know what they're getting into.

It's not a dig, but the juvenile corner of your brain hangs onto his words, trying to make out some double meaning.

"That's some relief, I guess." You flip open the first file, trying to pay attention as you scan the brief, but it just reminds you of how much you miss JJ.

"She was so much better at this," you groan, flipping the page. "I'm not sure anyone can replace her."

"I'm definitely sure that no one can," Aaron says simply as he glances up at you, "but we'll take any help we can get at this point."

There's a layer of subtext behind his tone, and you don't know if you're equipped to decipher it right now, after being up for almost 24 hours. Nevertheless, you don't give in as he looks at you, refusing to break eye contact.

Please be okay, your mind begs as the corners of his eyes crinkle. Please say I didn't fuck this all up.

His eyebrows raise slightly, checking in on you for the first time in so so long, and another thought takes over your mind. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Blinking away the thought, you nod, but you can't stop yourself as you clarify, "It's just a temp assignment, right?"

He finishes the sentence he was writing before looking up. "Yes. It's only temporary."

***

"Daddy, don't look at me."

Jack's voice filters out from his bedroom and he looks at Jess with a small laugh as she pretends to lock her lips and toss away the key.

"I'm not looking," he calls out. "Are you almost ready?"

There's a small sound of affirmation from down the hall, so he stands up from the couch and reaches for the little jack-o-lantern bag that Jack wanted to use for trick-or-treating.

When he looks up, his son is emerging from his room, dressed incredibly unlike the comic book character he wanted to be for Halloween.

"Whoa," Aaron says, his voice a low rumble. "That is definitely not Spider-Man."

Jack just shrugs. "He's not a real superhero."

"He's not?" He looks at his son again, trying to discern which superhero wears a suit. "Okay. I give up. Who are you supposed to be?"

The answer is immediate. "I'm you, Daddy."

Jess nudges his shoulder with a laugh before she walks forward and swings Jack into the air. "You look just like him, bud!"

He opens his mouth to add onto that sentiment, but his throat thickens with emotion and he has to clear his throat to get a word out. "You tied my tie so well." It's the best he can do with his eyes burning. All he wanted was for his son to feel safe and loved. Maybe I'm doing something right.

"Alright, buddy," Jess smiles, setting him down. "Grab your coat and shoes and we'll head out."

Jack runs off and she smiles at him again, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're a great dad."

"Thank you," he says simply, his lips curving up into a smile. She says it a lot, but for the first time in a while, he's finally starting to believe it.

Jess opens her mouth to say something, but she pauses for an extra second, piquing his interest. "I haven't seen Y/N around here in a little bit."

There it is. He should've seen it coming. "Yeah, she's just busy."

His words don't sound convincing, even to his own ears, and Jess shoots him a look to match. "I happen to know you quite well, Aaron. So if you're overthinking something you shouldn't be, let me be the first to say, you're being an idiot."

He lets out a surprised snort. "Thanks, Jessica."

"I'm just saying," she shrugs, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. "I see things...and I know both of you, so it's not hard to read into things."

He takes a deep breath, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "It's not like that."

He expects her to push back, but she just presses her lips together and shrugs her coat on. "Either way, Haley saw it too...and she seemed happy about it."

Before he has a chance to fully process her words, Jack rushes out, barreling into him. "I'm ready!"

"Alright, my little G-man," he grins, pushing her words out of his head for the night. "Let's go get some candy."

***

Things have been shifting at the office. Ever since JJ left, the team has felt smaller, and with your unintentional (okay, maybe a little intentional) avoidance of Aaron, the office hasn't felt the same in a long time.

Everyone has been taking on more than they're used to, and when Penelope had to fill in for JJ in a press conference during your last case, you couldn't help but notice how she turned to Aaron for support whenever she felt unprepared.

Your curiosity about their shared secret was eating at you all day, until you received a mass email from him to the whole team. Re: Garcia's play, Tolgate Theater, 8pm

You didn't have any plans tonight anyway, and after long days in a seemingly endless rotation of slacks and blazers, you welcome the chance to dress up a little bit. It's not like you go out often (or at all) unless it's with the team.

Pushing to the back of your closet, you rifle through the longer dresses and gowns you own, before landing on a light green, silk number. It has a halter neckline that drapes loosely around your neck, and you haven't worn it since before Jeff died, because it always felt like too much.

But Emily messaged you after getting home with a photo of her dress too, and even though it may be a lot for a little neighborhood theater, you're excited about something for the first time in a long while.

After putting on the dress and doing your makeup a bit darker than usual, you grab your keys and head out.

He got to the theater a bit earlier than the rest of the team, mostly to apologize to Garcia and warn her about the onslaught of support she was going to be getting, but he also wanted to get there before you did, so he could save a seat for you beside him.

From an outsider's perspective, he imagines there wouldn't seem to be anything different or wrong with your relationship, but he has been feeling the frustrating tension between the two of you since that night out.

Speaking with Jess on Halloween felt like a welcome reprieve from his cycle of self-loathing, and he finally feels more free than he has in ages.

Emily, Derek, and Spencer arrive a short while later, and he points them toward the seats he booked out, before heading back to the lobby, where family and friends of the performers are milling around.

When Dave arrives, he's also dressed in a suit. "We certainly clean up nicely."

He coughs out a laugh. "I haven't pulled this suit out in years."

"Well, aside from the cobwebs," Dave jokes, brushing an imaginary piece of dust from his shoulder, "you look classy."

"Thanks," he smiles, patting the older man's arm. "You should head inside. We're sitting about halfway up."

"You coming?" Dave asks as he steps around him.

Aaron shakes his head, glancing back at the door again. "I'm going to wait for...everyone to get here. I'll meet you inside."

He nods, before smacking his shoulder once and walking into the theater. When Dave's out of sight, he turns back around and pulls his phone out, trying to look busy.

He scrolls through a couple of his latest emails before tucking his phone away. The front door of the theater opens then, and when he looks up, all of the air leaves his lungs.

It feels like the world is moving in slow motion as you glide inside, your dress billowing down as the breeze from outside settles. You look incredible, and he feels like a teenager again, when he was so in love with you he couldn't breathe.

He watches you glance around, clearly searching for a familiar face, so he walks up, approaching you slowly to give you time to notice him.

"Oh, hi!" you say, your lips curving up into a smile as he tucks a hand into his pocket. "Am I late?"

"Not at all," he says, hating how strained his voice sounds. "The play starts at the top of the hour."

"Perfect," you smile, removing your shawl from your shoulders and folding it in your hands. "You clean up well, by the way."

There's a slight tinge of humor in your voice, and you're looking at him expectantly, likely waiting for him to lead you to the seats, but he can't move. He's terrified of what he's feeling, but you look amazing, and he's surrounded by people he doesn't know, so he doesn't overthink it as he reaches out and slips a hand onto your waist.

You clearly aren't expecting it as he pulls you in closer, his fingers sliding across the silkiness of your dress. You smell like flowers, and he can't help himself as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. "You're beautiful."

Reality doesn't set in until he lets you go. Your cheeks are slightly flushed and he can't think straight, but the moment you step away from him and head to theater doors, the fog clears.

What is he doing?

The rational part of his brain takes over and he mumbles a curse under his breath before jogging forward to follow you inside. At least for the time being, he has the play to cover himself, but when morning comes, and brings with it the harsh light of day, he's fucked.

***

His skin is burning. The temperature in his office feels like it has been turned all the way up, but even as he undoes his cufflinks and rolls his sleeves back, the heat doesn't abate.

He is loosening his tie when his office door opens, revealing you in your rumpled button down and slacks. He opens his mouth to ask why you're still here, but before he can get a word out, you're shutting the door behind you and locking it.

"What are you doing?" he asks as you saunter over to him, stepping around his desk and pressing your hands to the armrests of his chair. "Y/N, it's late-"

"Shut up," you say firmly, twisting his chair toward you with a strong pull. He moves to get up, but you push his shoulder down to keep him in his chair.

He already doesn't know what to say, but every thought leaves his brain as you sink down to your knees before him.

"Don't move," you whisper, your eyes glinting up at him as you deftly undo the buckle of his belt and yank his pants open. "I'm in charge now."

He lets out a gasp as you tug his pants down in one go, and before he can do anything, your fingers are on him. Your lips curve into a smile as his breath hitches, and even with the thin fabric of his boxers between you two, the sensations coursing through him feel so magnified and new.

He is already hard as a rock, and you've barely even touched him. Teasingly slow, you pull his boxers down, watching as his cock springs free from the confines. Without wasting another second, you run your tongue up his length, and he grits his teeth to keep the groans in his throat from spilling out.

Your lips slowly close around his tip and the wet heat makes his head fall back as he tries to calm his breathing down. His chest is heaving like he just went for a run, but when you hollow your cheeks around him, he can't keep the moan inside. He loses control for a moment as he reaches forward to grasp onto your hair, but that only seems to spur you on, as you bob your head even faster.

The wet sounds of your mouth sliding over his cock fill the office, and he clutches his armrest with one hand and uses the other to guide your head.

He's already so close, and the soft grip of your hands on his thighs aren't helping as he tries to hold off, to prolong this feeling. At the last second, you swirl your tongue around the tip, and he chokes out a gasp, but then-

His eyes fly open to the lonely darkness of his bedroom. The room is warmer than it usually is, and his skin feels sticky with sweat under his covers. His mind, on the other hand...

He doesn't remember every moment of the dream, but the message was clear enough. His boxers are still tight from the memory, and he tries as hard as he can to think about anything else, but he keeps going back to the image of you, in front of him, kneeling-

Throwing the covers off, he sits up quickly and climbs out of bed, needing to clear his head in the only effective way he knows of. He shrugs his clothes off on the way to the bathroom, and he turns the shower on, making the water steaming hot, before stepping inside. The steam fogs up the glass around him, but he can still see the bare outline of his shame in the mirror across from the shower.

But now isn't the time, not with his skin burning and his cock pulsing in his hand. He pumps a few times as the hot water cascades over him, trying to set a rhythm, but it doesn't feel right. He keeps nearing the edge before the wave pulls back, and he lets out a soft groan in frustration as he presses his forehead to the glass.

Just once, he thinks as he grips himself again, his mind shifting back to his dream. Only this once.

His brain fills with the images from earlier: you on your knees, your mouth warm and wet over him, the pinpricks of sweat across the swells of your chest where your shirt was unbuttoned. He pictures your mouth as he ruts into his own hand, pretending, wishing, it was you instead.

It only takes a few more pumps before he finishes, spilling onto the white floor of his shower. The energy leaves him as he slumps against the wall, twisting the knob to a cooler setting, before shutting it off completely.

He still has a few more hours of sleep left before he has to get up for work, but he spends all night tossing and turning in the wide, empty expanse of his bed.

***

"What do you think he meant?"

"Maybe it's like a new manual, or guidebook."

"What are you two on about?" You walk up to your desk and slump down into the chair as Emily and Spencer look up with meek smiles.

Spencer is the first to crack. "We were discussing what Hotch might have meant by a 'different tactic' to solve this case in New Mexico."

You frown. "The gated community one? I thought Dave was just flying over ahead of us to get a head start."

"Nope," Emily shakes her head, before turning around. "He's in Hotch's office right now."

You look up just as Aaron and Dave exit the office and begin their descent down the stairs. Dave is ahead of him, with a big smile on his face, as he pushes past all of you.

It's only after you turn around that you realize who he's looking at. The woman he pulls into a hug is young - Academy cadet young - and she's pretty too.

"Ashley!" Rossi exclaims as he lets her go.

Hotch walks up behind them and shakes her hand. "Agent trainee Seaver is on loan to us from the Academy."

He introduces her to each of you, and you reach forward to shake her hand, a big smile on your face. After he told you that the bureau was considering someone new, you have had your guard up, but you don't want to make a bad impression in case she's here to stay.

"It's great to meet all of you," she says with a meek smile.

You pat her shoulder before walking past her to speak with Aaron about whether Seaver was the the new addition he was talking about. But when you lift your hand to get his attention, he turns away without looking at you, and leads Rossi out of the bullpen.

In the New Mexico gated community where three women have been murdered so far, Emily and Derek split off to check out the last crime scene, so you stay with the rest of the team and Seaver at one of the model homes to go through the evidence.

You can't help but notice how Spencer's eyes keep flitting over to the new girl, and a grin crosses your lips as you nudge his shoulder later.

"You totally have a thing for the new girl."

"Wha-what, no?!" he sputters, his face twisting into an unconvincing frown. "I don't even know her."

You just shrug. "You can still think she's pretty."

"That's irrelevant," he mutters, nudging you back and grabbing one of the files in front of him. "Do you think we can trust the local police?"

"I don't know," you sigh, letting him change the subject. "We definitely can't rule them out, especially in a community as clustered as this."

You glance across the room to Aaron and Dave, who are standing hunched over a laptop with the local detective. They're brows are all equally furrowed, and Aaron looks so focused you doubt he would hear you if you yelled his name right now.

Dropping the file onto the counter, you step around Reid and walk over to the trio, listening in as they start speaking.

"You interviewed every adult male in the community?"

The detective nods. "More than once. They're all digitized."

Aaron glances up as you approach, but when he realizes who it is, his eyes dart back to the screen. His eyes meet yours for the briefest of seconds, and he sees a frown cross your face out of his periphery. Fuck. He has to be more careful. You're a fucking profiler, for god's sake.

"Were all the interviews confrontational like this?" you ask as you come up beside him. He can feel the warmth of your arm inches away from his, and he leans his weight to the other side, trying not to think about his dream while you're standing this close to him.

"Is that wrong?"

Rossi raises his eyebrow. "You didn't get much out of them, did you?"

The detective shakes his head before skipping to the next interview, and everyone leans in closer to get a better look. With four of you surrounding the screen, it's harder to see, and when you press your hand to his shoulder to balance yourself, he all but flinches back from your touch.

The movement is harsh enough that everyone but the detective notices. His eyes fly to you as shock and confusion cross your face, and before anyone can say anything, he mutters something that sounds like 'sorry' before rushing out of the model home.

You're chasing after him the moment he's out of sight. Dave reaches forward to catch your arm but you shake him off, rushing out of the house and onto the street, which has been cleared by the local police since you arrived.

"Aaron!" you call out as he walks ahead of you, his hand raking through his hair. To his credit, he comes to a stop the moment he hears your voice, and you catch up to him quickly, stopping just short of him on the sidewalk. "What is going on? I thought we were okay?"

His eyes close for a beat, before his face hardens into a steely calm. You can no longer pretend like everything's fine. It hasn't been for a long time - not since the bar, and maybe even before - but you've always been good at compartmentalizing what you don't want to feel. With your mom, and Jeff, and Haley, you could push down the hurt until it dissolved into your bloodstream, spreading everywhere. It wore you down and thinned you out, but at least it wasn't overwhelming.

Looking at him now - your best friend, the man you...love. Your breath catches in your throat and he shakes his head, not looking at you. "What do you mean, Y/N?"

You wish you could keep pretending, like he seems to be able to, but it's just not fair anymore. Not to him, and especially not to you. "No, don't do this. Don't act like I'm the only one who sees how wrong this has been for the last few months. I used to talk to you everyday, Aaron. We've barely spoken in weeks!"

His face cracks for a moment and you see the glimmer of pain in his eyes before the wall comes up again. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" you yell, your tone more forceful than you expect. "What are you sorry for, Aaron?"

He looks at you then, the facade falling away as your words sink in. The lines of pain and tension settle in and you're almost relieved that he's finally showing you the truth instead of hiding away what he's feeling. But then the despair returns as his lips thin into a line, unable to answer your question.

"What," you repeat, your words tinged with malice, "are you sorry for?"

He whispers your name softly, like it's an apology on it's own, before using his next words to tear you to pieces. "Don't make me say it."

A soft gasp leaves your mouth and you involuntarily take a step back, like he's slapped you in the face. He runs a hand over his neck and a sudden feverish anger rushes through you as you shake your head, blinking back tears. "Don't do that. I know it's not just me, Aaron. It's not-"

"Please," he whispers suddenly, cutting you off. "Please don't do this."

It's almost like he's begging you, and you jerk back, unable to look at him. Men have hurt you before, in so many ways, but nothing has ever cut deeper than this. You don't think your bullet wound hurt this much, and at least then you had him to support you. Now you're all alone.

The aching heartbreak hits you all at once and you brush a loose tear off your cheek before turning around and leaving him out on the sidewalk, watching you walk away.

***

"Something's up."

Penelope bumps Emily's shoulder to grab her attention. After a second, she looks up from her desk. "What was that?"

"Something," Penelope repeats, her eyes darting back and forth between you and Aaron, "is up. Y/N and Hotch haven't looked at each other in like four days. Earlier, she was talking to someone on the stairs and he literally walked out of his office and then back inside again."

Emily looks at her. "Are you sure you aren't reading into anything?"

Penelope shoots her a look that can only mean 'you're kidding, right?' "They're inseparable. Something must have happened in the last few weeks that we don't know about."

Before she can stop her, Penelope stands up and barrels over to you, with Emily on her heels like an owner who just dropped her dog's leash.

"Y/N!" Penelope calls out as she approaches you. You look up from your desk with a frown, before your face breaks into a forced smile that both of them can see through immediately. "We wanted to catch up."

You glance at Emily, who shrugs, earning a look of chagrin from the other agent.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" you ask, your forehead crinkling in a manner reminiscent of your boss.

Penelope pauses for a moment, like she's trying to think. "Uhh, I'm not sure. Maybe about...you and Hotch?"

"Subtle," Emily mutters under her breath as your face scrunches into a confused frown. "She just means that you two have seemed kind of off lately, and we were wondering if everything was okay."

You press your lips together, unsure of how to broach this topic, even with some of your closest friends. "It's nothing."

That pulls a frown from both of them, and you sigh, doubling down on your feigned nonchalance. "It's really nothing, guys. I just...can't see him right now."

You turn back to your work and Emily and Penelope share a look, twin realizations clicking in both of their minds. They rush back to Penelope's office, and Emily shuts the door behind them, before they both blurt out something that sounds like: "We all know what's going on here."

"We have to make him jealous," Emily agrees with a nod.

She pulls open her desk drawer and pulls out her address book. "I have just the thing."

***

"I messed up, Haley."

The ground is hard from the chilly December air, and he sits uncomfortably on the familiar granite bench before her grave. There is a bouquet of dried-up flowers leaning against her headstone, and he doesn't have to think too hard to figure out who they're from.

"I'm trying not to," he whispers, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets to warm them up, "but I keep messing up."

A cool breeze wafts over him and the rustle of the nearby trees feels like an acknowledgement. Like she's really listening.

"She hates me," he sighs, his chin dropping to his chest as he shuts his eyes. The wind picks up slightly, and it's like he can hear Haley's voice in his head. She doesn't hate you. She's hurt.

"I know." He runs a gloved hand over his face, the cold sending a small shiver through his body. "It's my fault. I just don't know what to do or how to fix it."

Her reply in his mind is almost immediate.Yes you do.

He shakes his head, feeling like an idiot for talking to himself, even though it's helping him work through his emotions. "I don't. I really don't."

For a few moments, all he can hear is the rustle of tree branches and the low whistle of the wind blowing around the headstones. You have to tell her how you feel.

His chest tightens and he lifts his face, letting the cold air sting his skin, like some kind of penance. "Don't you think I want to? Every time I look at her, I'm terrified it's going to come out, but I can't say it." He takes a deep breath as the words start to flow out. He hasn't said them out loud to anyone, but right here feels like the safest place to let them out. "I love her."

Three simple words and it's like a weight lifts off of his chest. He still doesn't have the answers, but at least he can admit it to himself. "I'm in love with her, Hales. The only person in this world that I love more is Jack."

He can practically see her smile as he glances down at her name etched in stone. Then what's the problem.

"I'm gonna fuck it up. I always do." The words come out before he has a chance to think, almost like they've been sitting on the tip of his tongue for ages. He looks down at the ground again, imagining her sitting in front of him. "I did with you."

This time, his mind doesn't have the answer for him. He's finally in a good place with his son, and with the addition of Seaver to the team, his work load has been marginally cut back, so he doesn't really have an excuse anymore. It's just his fear of losing one of the only good things in his life that keeps holding him back.

But you're already losing her.

It's his own voice berating him this time, instead of Haley's.

You're trying so hard to hold her at arm's length that you haven't even noticed that she has stopped pushing her way in.

The wind rushes over him and he looks at the headstone again, his eyes tracing over Haley's name one more time, before he stands up and walks back down the hill.

***

Dave's annual new year's eve party has always been a fairly large spectacle, but when Aaron leads Jack up his driveway that evening, the sheer number of (expensive) cars lined up outside is nearly staggering.

He knew it wouldn't just be the team here tonight, but he wasn't expecting the sheer scale of the party, especially while his mind has been so pre-occupied with the prospect of seeing you outside of work for the first time in weeks.

The front door is unlocked when they reach the top of the porch, so he carefully pushes it open and leads Jack inside. He's only an hour late, but the hallways are already crowded with groups milling around, having loud conversations with a drink in their hand.

He doesn't recognize anyone until he gets to the kitchen, where he sees the rest of the team (minus Dave) chatting around a small snack table.

"Y/N!" Jack shrieks when he sees you, letting go of his hand immediately and running forward. You turn at the sound of his voice, and your face breaks out into a wide smile as the boy barrels over and throws his arms around you.

"Jack-o-lantern!" you gush, lifting him up and hugging him, your eyes falling shut as you squeeze the boy tightly.

Any onlooker can tell that his son loves you. For a while after Haley's death, Jack was closed off to every female figure in his life - even Jess - but he never shied away from you.

I love you, a voice in the back of his mind whispers as you set Jack down and press a kiss to the top of his head. I love you I love you I love you.

After Dave returned from the back patio and whisked away Aaron and Jack to meet some of his other friends, you loitered around the kitchen for a while, chatting with Derek and Spencer about their resolutions for the new year.

You're refilling your glass with some diluted punch when JJ and Emily sneak up behind you with matching mischievous expressions.

"What did you guys do?" you ask, gulping back some punch in preparation for whatever they're about to spring on you.

"There's someone we want you to meet," Emily grins as she reaches forward to loop her arm through yours.

"Oh, no way," you say, already shaking your head before they can elaborate. "You are not setting me up with some random bureau guy again."

"That was only one time," JJ pouts, before beckoning to the hallway across from the kitchen. You glance over her shoulder and spot Will standing with a man you've never seen before. "I had Will bring one of his single friends tonight. He's an architect, and he's super smart and super cute. Totally your type."

You raise an eyebrow as you inspect the man from across the room. He's definitely easy on the eyes, but he's also not your type. There's only one man who fits into that box.

"I don't know," you sigh, setting your glass down on the table behind you. "It's very sudden."

"C'mon," Emily urges, her eyes glinting with amusement. "It'll be good. Just talk and flirt a little, and if you're into it then you have a new year's kiss locked up!"

Kissing someone you just met in front of all of your colleagues sounds like nightmare fuel, but you can't think of another way to get your friends off your back. "Okay, fine, I'll meet him."

After leaving Jack with Henry and the other children, he heads back into the main section of the house, hoping to run into you. He doesn't know what he would say if he does, but anything is better than the avoidance game you've been playing.

He sees Penelope and JJ first, but you're not with them, so he continues forward, deftly stepping around throngs of people conversing in little pockets around the house.

"Hotch, over here!"

He whips around to find Derek, Will, and Dave waving him over to join them in the kitchen. He grabs a piece of cheese off a platter on his way over, and Derek pats him on the back when he reaches the three of them.

They return to their prior topic of conversation, and he tunes them out as his eyes dart around the room, still looking for you. He's about to give up when he spots the familiar hue of your hair down the hall. His lips curve up in a small smile as he watches you lean your head back with a big laugh that he swears he can hear even from all the way over here. He's about to excuse himself from the guys when a hand reaches out to gently touch your forearm, and you don't shake it off.

It's only then that he notices the man you're talking to, and how enamored he looks as you burst into another bout of laughter. Something that feels like ice settles in the pit of his stomach and he turns back to the guys just as they notice what he's been looking at.

"They seem to be hitting it off," Will grins, crossing his arms over his chest. "My friend's a good guy, and he mentioned wanting to meet her after they crossed paths at one of me and JJ's dinner parties."

He notices Dave glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he can't bear to look at the older man, for fear that he'll give something away. Aaron feels the nauseating pit of jealousy in his stomach, but it's not fair. He pushed you away.

He turns away from you and tries to focus on literally anything else, but it's not long before he's unable to fight the urge to look at you from his spot in the kitchen. You can't see him watching you, and it gives him the obscurity he needs to observe you from afar, but it also makes it much more conspicuous to his friends.

You don't leave the company of Will's friend until much later in the night, and soon it's almost midnight. The countdown starts as everyone in the house lifts their glasses and latches onto their significant others.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

He's turning before he knows what he's doing. He can't help it, it's almost magnetic, the pull you have on him.

You're not looking at him, and he can only see your side profile as you glance up at the clock as it ticks down.

"Five, four, three, two..."

He turns away at the last second, unable to stomach the thought of you kissing someone else, but when the crowd erupts into cheers, he looks back to find that you're gone. His heart rates spikes and he pushes through people, ignoring the pats on his back as people wish him a "Happy new year".

He eventually spots you through the back windows, and he steps out into the frigid air to accompany you on the back porch steps. You're sitting on the top step, your bare arms wrapped around your body for some semblance of warmth, and for a moment, he can't move.

He can't decide if he should go to you or let you have the space you so clearly wanted, but then a voice in the back of his skull yells at him through all the noise. She's your best friend in the world. A few months ago, the answer would have been obvious.

A switch flips and he steps forward, sliding off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. You let out a soft sigh as he sinks down next to you, and he watches as your eyes glisten in the lamplight.

You don't look at him as you press your elbows into your knees and rub a hand over your neck. "How did this get so fucked up?"

He sighs too, a heavy sound. "I don't know."

He's still looking at you, at the tears in your eyes, when you finally take a deep breath and turn to face him. A tear slips down your cheek and his brain fires off sparks again. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He wants to say it so badly, but then the newest factor in all of his confusion jumps back into the forefront. The Pakistan assignment. He has been trying to push it off, but he's getting so much pressure from the brass, and that's just one more thing he's hiding from you.

He breaks your eye contact and you let out a slow breath, almost like you felt him lose his nerve in real time. Without another word, you wipe the tears from your face and stand up, leaving him out in the cold once again.

***

The bureau gives you a week off at the start of the new year, but you can't enjoy any of your alone time. Every second you let your mind wander, your thoughts are invaded by the look on his face as he turned away from you.

You had seen it in his eyes out there, in the freezing cold air as the clock struck midnight. At least a small part of him felt for you the same way you felt for him. But it's not enough.

You've been alone for so many years. When you married Jeff, you were done. You didn't think you'd have to ever feel this kind of heartbreak again, but now that you feel that kind of love again, you refuse to settle for anything less than what you deserve. And what you deserve is someone who can show you how he feels.

Nevertheless, you can't control your subconscious.

That's why you're laying in bed at the end of the week, staring at your nightlight across the room and somehow managing to simultaneously miss him and hate him. It's well past midnight and you can't sleep, but you don't want to give in to the urge that's been tugging at your gut all night.

You're so angry with him, but he's also the only person you want to talk to when you're feeling anything you can't explain. It only takes another minute before you're giving in and snatching your phone off your bedside table.

It rings for a long time before he finally answers.

He whispers your name softly, his voice gravelly as though he just woke up. He sounds confused, but it has to mean something that he answered his phone at this hour.

"Are you okay?" Aaron asks, his voice still a bit gruff from the tiredness. "What's wrong?"

I miss you, you want to say. Instead, you panic and ask the first question that pops into your head: "Why do you think The Beatles broke up?"

The line goes silent for a moment before he sighs quietly. "Everyone blames Yoko but you know I think they just stopped working well together creatively."

"It was probably Lennon deciding to leave the band," you say, unsure where you're going with this. "Yeah, that makes the most sense."

"Maybe," he says, his voice a low hum.

There's no tinge of impatience or irritation in his tone, but you still feel awful for waking him up in the early hours of the morning to chat about a band.

You take a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for what you're about to say, but the breath catches in your throat as a small sob escapes. "I'm so mad at you."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, before Aaron exhales sharply. "I know."

Your resolve fades almost immediately and you sink back into your pillows. "I'm not mad at you." He quietly huffs out a laugh, but you can tell his heart isn't in it. "I'm hurt, and yeah, I'm kind of mad at you, but the only person I want to talk to is you."

You can hear his breath stutter over the speaker, and he rears up to say something, before thinking better of it. "It's late, Y/N. You should go to bed."

"Yeah," you say eventually, rubbing tears of frustration from your eyes. "I'm sorry, yeah."

"No," he says quickly, his voice hurried as though he's afraid you'll hang up. "Don't apologize. I'm glad you called."

Your heart flutters pathetically. "Okay."

"Why were you up anyway?" he asks after a moment.

You shrug, even though he can't see you, wiping away the last remnants of your tears. "Couldn't sleep."

Something that sounds like a quiet chuckle floats into your ears. "Try turning off that massive nightlight."

Your eyes widen and you inadvertently glance over at the beacon of light plugged in across the room. "What nightlight?"

He hums again. "Goodnight, Y/N." I love you.

"Goodnight, Aaron." I love you too.

***

It started when Emily arrived late to the briefing. She was never late, so that itself was enough to set off your alarms, but then you noticed her fingers. She's biting her nails again.

Aaron finishes briefing you all about the two families murdered in house fires in the DC area, before you disperse and head back to your desks to read up about the evidence.

When you drop your bag down and sink into your chair, you don't miss how Spencer visibly flinches in his seat, his eyes twitching with exhaustion.

"Sorry, Spence," you say earnestly, turning to him with an anxious look. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he answers quickly, his eyes darting back down to the case file. "I'm... I'm...I'm sure these victims overlap somehow. Garcia pulled their phone numbers, but so far I can't find anything."

You've been working with him long enough to notice when he's deflecting, especially when he's doing such a bad job of it. "Spencer, you just jumped."

He takes a deep breath and you're suddenly grateful that his shorter haircut allows you to get a better view of his expression, even with his head down. "I've been having these really intense headaches lately." "Have you seen a doctor?" you ask, sliding your chair in to get a better look at him. "Yeah, a few. None of them have been able to figure it out." "I'm sorry," you say genuinely as guilt and shame flood your veins. You've been so preoccupied with your own drama that you haven't been paying any attention to your friends. First Emily, and now Spencer. "Does anyone know?"

His lips press into an adorable line. "You." "I won't tell anyone," you assure him, your eyebrows scrunching down. "I'm glad you're telling me now." "I know," he nods. "I just didn't want you to worry."

"I won't make a big deal out of it," you tell him, your lips curving up in a playful smile, "if that's what you were worried about."

"Thanks," he mutters, but you can tell his heart isn't really in it.

It's been so long since you sat down and caught up with your teammates, and given how weird Emily has been acting, you figure it's about time.

"Have you noticed anything off with Emily?"

It's Penelope who comes to you first about the change in your teammate's disposition. You had clocked the small jab Emily had thrown at her after the briefing, but didn't want to intrude in case it was personal. You're starting to realize it might be a lot more personal than you originally thought.

"I have," you say simply, glancing back at her across the bullpen. Her head is down and her shoulders are hunched forward as she quickly types something out on her phone.

She waits for another moment before jolting upright and standing up. Before either of you can get a chance to ask what's wrong, she is jetting off to the bathroom.

"I got this one," you tell Penelope before strutting off to follow her.

She's looking at her phone again when the bathroom door shuts behind you, and you approach her slowly so as not to spook her. "Hey, I just wanted to check up on you. You sped out of there."

"I'm fine," she says, trying to brush away your worry with a wave of her hand.

You frown, taking a step forward. "Are you sure? I noticed you've been biting your-"

"Don't profile me, Y/N," she snaps, her head turning to level you with a glare that would have scared the shit out of you if you didn't know her so well. It doesn't last long though, and before you can get another word out, she's already apologizing. "I'm sorry. I-I'm gonna be alright. I promise. I'm just having this nightmare."

She details her dream to you, and the profiler in you can't help but relate it to her own lack of trust, but then she looks at you with a genuine smile and you just have to smile back.

"Somehow, you.." she pauses for a beat. "You always make me feel better. I don't think I've ever thanked you for that."

Her words feel so final, like she's saying goodbye, and a bolt of terror shoots through you before you decide you're being dramatic.

She's your friend. She's gonna be alright.

Emily's gone. She slipped out during Aaron's multi-agency task force briefing, and none of you noticed.

How could you not have noticed?

You're kicking yourself as Spencer pulls out a sheet of paper from one of Emily's contacts, with a list of undercover names all with the initials L.R.

"Prentiss is the last name on the list," Rossi deduces as you mentally check back into the conversation. Your eyes scan the board with the name 'Lauren Reynolds' written at the top. "That means she's on Doyle's list too."

"Guys," Aaron calls out from Emily's desk, holding up her things in his hands, "she left her badge and gun."

"Why would she do that?" Penelope asks, her voice small like a child's. "We're her family."

That's when you finally find your voice. "She ran to protect us." You turn to Aaron then, your eyes flashing over his like it's the first time you've ever really looked at him. "How do we find her?"

"We need to profile their behavior," he instructs, moving to the front board. "Doyle is our unsub and Prentiss is our victim. We treat it like any other case."

There's the small sound of a door opening and Aaron looks up, beckoning his chin to the back. "Because terrorism isn't an area we specialize in, I've reached out to an expert from the State Department...someone who can also shed light on Prentiss' past."

You whip around to the sight of a familiar head of blonde hair walking into the briefing room. The tension in your shoulders abates for a split second as gratitude cascades over you. God, you missed her.

JJ saunters forward and nods at each of you, her expression already rigid with concentration. "Let's get to work."

Profiling Emily takes you all to Boston, where the evidence from the previous victims adds up to the conclusion that Doyle is a family annihilator. When you also find out that he has a secret son, you and Derek lead the team to the warehouse where the son was last taken, in the hopes that Emily would have made the same connection.

The sound of a loud crash sends you running, but Derek is faster and he gets there before you. You enter the back room to find Emily bleeding out on the floor, a large wooden post stuck through her abdomen.

"I got her!" he yells into his comms before pressing his hands onto her wound. "Prentiss. It's me, I'm right here."

She mumbles something that sounds like his name and your chest floods with relief. You step out of the room to call for a medic, but when you get back, she isn't moving.

"Emily!" Derek yells as you sink to your knees beside him. Your pants are wet with her blood, and it feels like ice against your skin. How can there be so much blood in the human body?

"Come on," he pleads, tightening his grip on her hand. "Stay with me!"

"Emily, please," you whisper, your throat hoarse from the unshed tears. You press your fingers to her pulse. "Please."

The medics come eventually, and she is taken to the hospital, where the whole team is holed up in the waiting room. Spencer hasn't stopped pacing since she was taken into surgery and you can't seem to take your face out of your hands, even as people press comforting pats on your shoulders.

You don't notice anything going on around you until JJ comes back from speaking with the doctor with tears in her eyes. No, oh god no.

You barely register her words as she whispers, "She never made it off the table."

It's only then that you stand up. You're not sure what you're planning to do, but as soon as you try to move, your legs start shaking, like you're slipping in quicksand. Aaron steps towards you just as your body gives out and you collapse onto him, quiet sobs bubbling out of your throat.

"She was just here," you cry into his chest while you clutch his shirt as though your life depends on it. "How can she be gone?"

His hands rub comforting circles into your back as his arms tighten around you, keeping you upright, and you can't help but imagine that this picture looks vaguely reminiscent of his home last year when you held him up as he broke down.

Emily's gone.

You can't even remember why you were so angry with him before. Everything outside of this moment feels so trivial, like you've been wasting so much time. You need him now, and you're so thankful he's here to hold you up even though his pain is just as big as yours.

Aaron wraps himself tighter around you, fighting the tears that are rushing forward, because they just aren't fair. His whole team is falling apart in front of him, and he's one of two people here who knows the truth.

You choke out another sob and he tugs you upward, helping you stand again as you wipe the tears from your face. Out of the corner of his periphery, he sees JJ pull Spencer into a hug, and she meets his eye over the younger agent's shoulder. So much pain.

"What are we supposed to do now?" you ask suddenly, your voice so small he's sure he's the only person who can hear you. "How are we supposed to keep going?"

The familiar echoing emptiness of guilt swallows him whole and he sucks in a sharp breath in a futile effort to keep himself from drowning. Your glistening eyes are so wide with despair, and he pulls you back into his arms, mostly for comfort, but also because he can't stand to see you in pain for much longer. When he finally finds his voice, all that comes out is, "I don't know."

***

You can barely remember the funeral.

When you try to think about it, there are flashes of white gloves and red roses and rough, brown dirt, but the only thing that really sticks out is the pressure of Aaron's hand over yours as you stood in front of her casket while they lowered her into the ground.

So many funerals, so many gravestones. The eery familiarity that has made you numb to the loss, even as it threatens to tear you apart each time you let yourself think about her.

It has become a regular passage in the story of your life: meet someone new, learn to love again, and then lose them.

Tears prick your eyes as you settle into the stiff wooden chair in your kitchen. The team has been organizing impromptu get-togethers all month, mostly at the last minute and usually late at night. That's when the loneliness hits the hardest.

You figure you should be used to it by now. Deep down, you know it's not something anyone ever gets used to, but believing that the pain will abate is easier than realizing it'll always be there, buried in your bones.

The pain of your mother's death is still a phantom bruise under your skin, always there, but never at the forefront until you press hard enough. Losing Jeff was a whole other monster, hiding under your bed and within the confines of your mind, ready to pounce the moment you closed your eyes. Haley, on the other hand, was a fresh wound; sometimes, you still aren't sure that the gash has fully closed, but with time it has gotten easier to pretend that things aren't awful all the time.

You wipe a loose tear from your cheek as you check your phone messages and tidy up some of the plates from your table. Aaron came over last night, and you both sat in silence for a long time, until a photo of Emily on your computer brought you to tears again. He held you for hours as you shook in his arms, trying to keep yourself together, but ultimately failing.

The silver lining of his renewed presence in your life doesn't feel as sweet as it should, given the circumstances, but you'll take any win you can get. If nothing else, you missed the feel of his arms around you.

You flinch as the dishes clink together loudly when you set them in the sink, and you watch the water dribble from the faucet for a long time, pretending that all you see isn't her blood.

***

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to be there for you more than anything else in this world, but seeing you break down is like being stabbed all over again, only this time it's his own fault.

When you called last night, he couldn't stay away. He misses you like he's missing a limb, and even if he wanted to stop himself from seeing you, he knows he couldn't. Your grief has brought you back to him, but it feels wretched, even as he shoves aside his guilt for an evening to comfort you at this low.

He had lost count of the number of work-related things he had kept from Haley when they were married, but he always had the excuse that she didn't need to know. That her life would be better without the knowledge of all the horrors that circled them everyday.

He doesn't have the same excuse with you. You are well-acquainted with the tragedies that life brings, and if it was up to him, he would spill every secret he has ever hidden, because he loves you, and you're one of the last people in this world who still trusts him, and he's so scared that after this, he'll lose that too.

But he keeps his mouth shut. And when Garcia invites him to a get-together at your place, he politely declines, because if he knows you all have each other, then he can take one night off from the debilitating guilt he somehow still hasn't learned to shoulder after all these years.

***

"Come on in."

Spencer, Derek, and Penelope shuffle into your house, handing you bottles of wine and bags of assorted snacks, before plopping down on your couch and making themselves at home. They've been over so many times in the last few weeks that you figure it basically is their second home at this point, not that you mind.

None of you want to be alone, and that's why it works.

"What are we watching tonight?" Derek asks, his voice nonchalant, like it's just another movie night with your colleagues. He always starts the night acting like everything's fine, and it really irked you the first time he came over, until you realized it was a front that he just needed time to shed. "Didn't you say last time that you have the original Jaws DVD?"

"What if we watched The Empire Strike Back?" Spencer asks timidly from under a slew of blankets that Penelope has covered both of them with. His nightly ritual involves suggesting one of his favorite movies, even though it always gets immediately shot down.

Derek chuffs, snagging some of the blanket from off your lap. "Maybe another night, kid."

"I don't care what we watch," Penelope sighs as she pulls open a bag of popcorn and chucks a handful into her mouth, "as long as it isn't sad." That's her only request. Nothing sad, please. Your nightly ritual is like a practiced dance. Each of you playing your parts, reciting your lines the same way, keeping it familiar. Establishing a routine.

You stand up, taking your cue, and grab a random DVD from your cabinet. Ten minutes later, you're all watching The Empire Strikes Back, and Spencer cracks something that looks like a smile for the first time since before the funeral.

You watch the movie in silence, and when the credits roll, you watch the names scroll over the screen as you muster up the energy to find the remote. When you finally click the TV off, the silence feels suffocating, and you hear Penelope sniffle from next to you.

Throwing your arm around her shoulder, you all squish yourselves together, like the pressure will keep the emotions in.

After a long pause, Spencer is the first to speak. "It'll get better, right?"

"It has to," Derek sighs, his chin falling to his chest as he takes in a deep breath. You know him well enough to be able to translate his exasperation into anguish, even as he tries to hide it.

"It will get better." You glance around the couch at your friends - the people who have been here for you through all of it - and nod your head, choosing this moment to really believe it. "It will."

***

It doesn't.

A week later, you are storming into Aaron's apartment after he dropped Jack off to stay with Jess, your words already pouring out even before he can shut the door behind you.

"How could you take the assignment?"

Your tone is laced with malice, but he can still hear the hurt underneath.

"How could you leave us here after everything that happened?"

This time the pain is clearer. Your voice breaks at the end and he steps forward to do something, but you twist your body away.

His hands fall hopelessly back to his sides and he doesn't know how to explain this to you, when he can't even explain it to himself.

"Strauss left your brief in the conference room." Your words are stronger now, and he looks up, his eyes squinting with anticipation. "You've known about this since before the new year."

You're right. He's known about the prospect of this assignment for almost a year, and then after, when it became a real possibility, he still chose not to tell you. Maybe before, he had the excuse that you weren't speaking to him, but after Emily...he doesn't have a leg to stand on.

"Why wouldn't you tell us?" you ask, the anguish coming forward in full force. "We need you here. Jack needs you. I need you."

He needs you too. But he also needs to stop hurting you. And he can't see that happening while he's still here.

"I'm sorry," he whispers softly. I love you, I'm sorry.

You let out a sigh and your shoulders fall, like you've lost all of the fight within you. You look so defeated, and it feels worse than when you were yelling at him.

You're right here, but you feel so far away, like he's looking at you through tinted glass.

"Fine," you say after a beat. "Call me when you're leaving."

Your shoulder brushes his as you whip past him, and he doesn't muster up the courage to speak again until you're already gone.

***

The call comes soon. Too soon.

You meet him at his apartment, and Jack immediately gives you a hug before latching himself back onto his father. You don't know what Aaron told him, given how you don't even know how long he's going to be gone, but you can't imagine it was helpful to a six year old boy who only understands that his father is leaving for a long time.

"I called Jess to pick him up," Aaron explains in a hushed whisper as Jack runs out to get his shoes, "but she's busy until the afternoon."

"That's okay," you say, crossing your arms in front of you. It's a defensive maneuver that's about all you can muster up right now. "I can drop him off at her house after we get you out of here."

You try to say it lightly, but your tone sharpens at the end, making him flinch. You sigh, an apology in itself, because you're trying so hard to be supportive. You know you're mad at him - no matter how hard you try not to be - but this isn't the time to show your anger.

Jack comes back into the living room, and you usher the young boy out the door as Aaron lugs his duffel bags behind you and out to the car. The drive is mostly silent, and Jack doesn't say a word until you help him out of his carseat and onto the tarmac at the base.

"I'm gonna miss you, Daddy," he whispers, his little hands reaching up to grab his father's hand. "Come home soon."

Aaron picks him up and squeezes him in a big hug, before setting him back down on the ground. He looks at you then and you shrug, pressing your lips together. "What he said."

"I don't know how long this is going to take," he says, mostly directing his words at Jack, even though he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Probably a few months though."

A few months. That shouldn't feel as long as it does.

"Bye buddy," he says then, kneeling down to hug his son again. "Go sit in Y/N's car so I can talk to her about some grown up stuff for a minute."

Jack bounces back to where your car is parked, and you watch him get in before turning back to look at Aaron. There's a resoluteness in his expression that shouldn't surprise you, given how driven he is by his sense of duty, but it still catches you off guard.

"You'll be okay there?" you ask, needing to get that out of the way before the rest of it.

He nods, before inching his hand forward to brush against yours. It's a small gesture, but you're not ready yet.

"I'm still angry," you whisper, pulling your hand back slightly. "I don't want to be, because you're leaving, and I want you to have a clear head out there, but I can't help it."

"It's okay," he says softly, his brow furrowing.

"No," you sigh, shaking your head. Your throat is thickening with the threat of tears and you don't want to cry in front of him now either, but there are too many emotions swirling around your brain to keep any of them straight. "I'm not really mad, okay. I know you're trying to do the right thing, but she's gone, and the team is not okay right now, and I need to find a way to handle it on my own."

I can't do it by myself, you want to say. I'm in love with you and you're making it seem so easy to leave me here to shoulder the burden of everyone's grief.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice softer this time.

You're so much better than me, he thinks as he watches you stand so stoically before him. I love you and I can't bear to see you in pain when I'm part of the reason why.

"It's okay," you repeat after a beat. Then you reach forward and take his hand, like he tried to do earlier. His hand is warm and calloused, and it feels rough against your palm, but it grounds you, tethering you to this moment. "I'll see you when you get back."

He nods, before pulling you forward gently into a hug. Your chin tilts up to sit on his shoulder and he squeezes you to him once before letting you go.

When he lifts his bags and walks toward the loading ramp, Jack leaps out of the car and grabs your hand as you both wave goodbye.

He flashes you both one last smile before waving back and disappearing into the plane.

***

The first month is the easiest. You let the futile anger take over; let yourself pretend that you don't actually miss him.

Seeing Jack and Jess makes it less painful, and you slowly find yourself spending more time with them than at home. Jess tries to spend time with Jack at Aaron's apartment to help him maintain a stable environment, but with his father gone, it doesn't help you notice the absence less.

"He's not eating as much," Jess mentions to you one night after she puts him to bed and joins you out in the living room. At first, being at his place without him felt intrusive, but you've gotten used to being there. "He was picking at his food all through dinner."

"I noticed that," you agree as you pat the spot beside you on the couch. "I'm sure it's just a picky eating phase. Once he settles back into a routine with you it should be fine."

"With us," she corrects with a small smile. "I need all the help I can get, and I really appreciate you being here so often."

"Oh, honey, of course." You give her forearm a squeeze before grabbing both of your empty glasses from the table and taking them to the sink. "I was worried I was becoming more of a burden on you by being here so much, but I'm glad it's welcome company."

"Always," she says, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. You set the glasses down and turn back to see her staring at the tiny picture frame of her and Haley on her counter. "She always made it look so easy."

You nod, not wanting to interrupt her moment. After a beat, Jess releases a heavy sigh and shakes her head. "She was the perfect mother. If I can be half as good of a caretaker for Jack as she was, I'll know I'm doing something right."

You smile unconsciously, remembering a moment from years ago. "I swear Aaron said the exact same thing once. He was upset about leaving work late again when they first had Jack, and I had to assure him that he wouldn't miss every childhood milestone just because he had to work late once in a while."

He was so terrified of being anything like his father. You tried your best to show him how impossible that was, but those are the kinds of things people have to learn on their own.

Jess looks down, deep in thought, and your phone chimes then with a new message. It's from Derek: Hotch sat phone call, 15 mins

"Jess," you whisper, getting her attention again. "Aaron is scheduled to call us over the satellite phone in a little bit. I'm gonna go into the office to see if I can talk to him. Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

She thinks for a moment before shaking her head. "Just that Jack and I are doing well. And we miss him."

You nod and press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing your coat and driving over to the field office. The sky is dark by the time you arrive, and it feels foreign to walk into an empty bullpen. The team has shrunk so much since he left, and lately it's just been you, Spencer, Derek, Rossi, and Penelope around here.

You knock on Aaron's office door once before stepping inside.

"Sounds good," Derek is saying as you shut the door behind you. "Yeah, keep us updated." He sees you then and beckons you closer before turning back to the phone. "Y/N's here. I'll hand it to her."

You take the phone from him and tentatively press it to your ear. There's a slight buzzing sound and when he says "Hello?", his voice sounds far away.

"Hi," you say softly, turning your back to Derek for some semblance of privacy, but he has already pulled out his phone and started typing something. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," he says, sounding slightly distracted. "It's really busy over here. How are yo- you all doing? Jack and Jessica?"

"They're good," you tell him, hoping he can't hear the tightness in your voice over hearing his for the first time in weeks. "They really miss you. We all do."

"I miss you guys too."

You hear some muffled voices on the other end of the line, and you jump in with your questions before he gets called away. "Any updates I can ask about? Like when you'll be done."

"Not right now," he says with a sigh. "It's still need-to-know."

"Right," you whisper rigidly, even though it's not fair. He's trying his best, and he's doing what's right, but you keep punishing him. Because of your own feelings, your brain adds at the end.

"It's protocol," he says, even though you're both well aware of how this works.

"I know," you sigh, your fingers gripping the phone tightly. "I have to go back to Jess's."

"Y/N, wait-" he starts, but you are already handing the phone back to Derek.

He takes it uncertainly, but you just shake your head and exit the office.

***

"Did you watch the other movie I gave you?"

You whip your head around to look at Spencer, who is looking at you intently. You had been staring at Aaron's office door for the better part of the last hour.

You frown apologetically. "Not yet, Spence." He had loaned you his DVD of one of his favorite Star Wars movies, and each time you tried watching it, you were just reminded of the immediate aftermath of losing Emily. "I'll find time soon, though."

"That's okay," he shrugs as you inadvertently glance up at the door again. "I know it isn't everyone's thing. I just thought you seemed to enjoy the one we watched at the movie night."

"I did," you assure him, reaching out to pat his hand. "I promise I just haven't found time yet."

He smiles at you, and you return it before your eyes dart up to Aaron's office door at the sight of movement. A small, unrealistic part of you expects Aaron to emerge, but it's Derek instead. Derek took over his office a month after he left to Pakistan, because the secure line was already set up.

"He has a lot on his plate these days," Spencer says, drawing your attention back. He's watching Derek speak to someone at the top of the stairs, his forehead crinkled with stress.

"We're down quite a few hands," you nod, pursing your lips. "Maybe we can convince Derek to bring JJ back permanently."

Spencer lights up and you can't help but grin too. "We definitely should."

***

The cases start piling up, and you welcome the distraction as the passing months begin to weigh on you. The whole team has been under a lot of pressure from the brass, and Strauss has been hinting at a prolonged assignment in Pakistan that may take up even more of his time.

After a particularly grisly case, you invite Penelope over to unwind with some wine and chatting. It doesn't escape your notice that you're missing half of your usual girls' night attendees, but you keep the wine flowing, and soon you aren't focusing on anything other than the new guy Penelope met at her grocery store.

"He's so sweet," she gushes as she leans over the table to grab another chip. You're both sitting on the floor of your living room, and you reach out hastily to steady her glass as it gets precariously close to spilling over. "And I think it says a lot that he shops at such a high quality grocery store."

"Oh, absolutely," you nod, lifting your own glass in a mock salute. "You can tell a lot about a man by how he eats."

"Tell me about it," she sighs, her words starting to slur. Maybe opening the second bottle was too much. "I once dated a guy who only ate protein bars and steak."

Your face twists in disgust, and you set your glass down, feeling the rush of tipsiness hit you. "That's definitely not a balanced diet."

"I tried to tell him," Penelope says, before her face falls into a sad frown. "I really tried."

"Okay, okay," you say, trying to change the subject as her eyes fill with drunk tears. "Back to the grocery store man."

Her face breaks into a wide smile comically fast and you let out a high laugh. "He's so sweet. He really is just the sweetest guy."

"So I've heard," you grin, taking another sip of wine.

Turns out your last glass was one too many, because an hour later, after sending Penelope off in a cab and clearing away your dishes, you're still feeling the buzz from earlier.

Your face feels comfortably warm and you grab your phone from the counter, with the intention to call Emily, when you suddenly remember-

Your smile falls in an instant and tears are rushing forward before you can clearly form a coherent thought. You drop the phone and rush upstairs to take a hot shower to wind down and calm yourself, but even as the burning water washes over you, you still feel wound tight, like your emotions are trapped inside of you.

She was the first person you would always call after a tipsy night, and now she's gone.

Everybody's gone.

JJ, Emily, Aaron. Aaron.

A sob chokes out and you press your hand over your mouth, your body caving forward under the billowing steam fogging up the glass. You miss him so much, it's like you're not even yourself anymore.

You let out another soft sob as the water begins to calm you down, but you can still feel the echoing hollowness inside of you. You wish he was here, holding you, telling you it would all be okay. That you didn't ruin everything by pushing too hard, too fast. That you love him and he loves you, and it can all be perfect again.

"It'll be okay," his voice whispers from behind you, and suddenly he's there. Not really, but with your eyes closed and your mind still foggy, it almost feels real. "I'm sorry I left. I should've been here."

"You should be," you gasp out as his arms close around you from behind, holding you tightly under the soothing warmth of the water. "You left me."

"I know," he says, his breath tingling the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I'll never leave again. I promise."

"You promise," you whisper, mostly to yourself, as you turn around. His lips glide over your shoulder and up your neck, and suddenly his mouth is on yours.

You gasp as his hands slide down your body, his fingers gently caressing the sides of your breasts as he makes his way to your waist. His lips are so soft against yours and when his tongue runs along the seam of your mouth, you moan loudly, letting him swallow up the sounds.

He feels so real under your hands as you trace the jagged scars along his abdomen, and when his tongue glides down your-

You sit up with a gasp, your head pounding with the beginnings of an oncoming wine hangover. Your sheets are messily strewn around you, and your skin is sticky with sweat, but you can't bring yourself to get up. You take a large gulp of water from the glass on your nightstand and check the time: 3:02 AM.

Falling back with a huff, you run a hand over your face and fruitlessly try to sleep through the rest of the night.

***

Summer brings its own set of struggles.

The heat makes each case feel ten times longer than it already is, and with September fast approaching, Jack gets more and more antsy about starting school for the first time.

"He's been shut in his room all day," Jess sighs over the line as you make yourself coffee with your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear. "I think he's sad that he's starting school without either of his parents here."

Your heart breaks as you imagine Jack alone in his room, waiting and wishing for his dad to come back in time for his first day of school. Then an idea pops into your head.

"I think I know what to do."

An hour later, you, Jess, and Jack are waiting in line, under the beating sun, to get into the Smithsonian's zoo. Even tho you can already feel the sweat starting to drip down your back, Jack looks downright giddy, so you take the win.

When you finally get inside, he makes a beeline for the monkey exhibits, and you and Jess meander along behind him, chatting about her new side gig.

"I'm starting the part-time job in the fall," she explains as you stop behind Jack at the front of the chimpanzee enclosure. "It works out with the start of the school year, in case Aaron is gone for a while longer."

"That sounds great," you smile, giving her a small side squeeze. "You deserve something to take your mind off of everything too."

She shrugs, ever the neutral party, before looking at you with a smirk. "I hear there are some changes happening at the BAU as well?"

"Right!" you grin, following Jack to the next exhibit. "JJ was helping out temporarily, but she's officially back on the team. She also mentioned to me that she might be considering enrolling in profiler training so she can be a full-time field agent."

"Good for her," Jess smiles. "Lord knows you guys could use some extra manpower right now."

It's right then that your phone chirps with a text from Derek saying that Aaron is calling in again this afternoon. The urge to speak to him for the first time in weeks tugs at your gut, but then you glance over at Jack, who looks happy for the first time in just as long, and before you know it, you're typing back your response: Not today. Busy with Jack.

***

The next time Aaron calls in, you don't have an excuse.

You're at work, scribbling out the last few lines of your latest case report, when Derek tries to call you into his office. You haven't spoken to him in over a month, and he's asked for you each time he called, but still you refuse.

"Y/N, come on," Derek chuffs, running a hand over his face. "You know he wants to talk to you. He's by himself over there."

That's what gets you. By himself. As though you aren't alone too. As though you hadn't been completely fucking alone when, over the weekend, you found a pair of socks Emily must have forgotten at your place months ago, and had a full body breakdown on the floor of our foyer.

Each time you're close to forgetting that he left you here to fend for yourself, it comes back in full force, and right now, you would rather do just about anything other than put on a neutral face and ask him how he's doing over there.

"Next time," you say, hoping the finality comes across in your tone. It must have worked, because although Derek shakes his head disappointedly, he doesn't ask again.

When you go to Aaron's place after work to see Jack, Jess pulls you aside, a worried look on her face.

"We spoke to Aaron yesterday," she explains, her arms crossed over her chest. The bureau set up a secure line for them so she and Jack could speak to him periodically. "He seemed to be doing well."

"That's great," you say with a nod, unsure of why she's updating you when she thinks you spoke to him today. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," she says, waving away your concern. "I told him about Jack starting school in a few weeks, and about my new job. Then when I mentioned you - how you've been coming here a lot - he looked really happy that you were involved, but...he sounded off for the rest of the call."

Your shoulders tense up and you try to relax, so as not to give yourself away. "Damn Jess, they should make you a profiler."

She says your name sternly, and you can hear the Haley in her voice. "I'm serious. Have you guys not been speaking?"

"It's okay," you say, shaking your head. "I just need some more time, but I'll talk to him soon."

She twists her lips into a sad frown and you sigh, not knowing what to say, but she beats you to it. "He misses you...and I can tell you miss him."

You don't have an answer that she will want to hear, so you stick with the usual. "I'll talk to him next time."

***

"Do I have to go?"

Jack's bottom lip juts out in a sad pout as you adjust the straps of his little backpack on his shoulders.

"It's your first day of school, bud!" Jess is trying to sound excited, but you can hear the sadness in her voice too, now that she won't have Jack all hours of the day anymore. "It's an exciting time!"

"You got this, baby," you smile, pressing a loud kiss to the top of his head. "Your dad is so proud of you."

"Your mom would be too," Jess adds with a sad smile. "Now go on in, Jack. I'll be right here waiting for you when the last bell rings."

He considers this for a moment, before nodding. Then he looks at you. "What about you?"

"I have to work," you say softly, matching his pout and making him let out a small giggle. "But you can tell me all about your first day when I see you this weekend, okay?"

"Okay," he nods, before grabbing the straps of his backpack and marching toward the front door.

"There he goes," Jess says wistfully, linking her arm through yours.

You let out a small sigh before shooting her a smile. You love him so much, and you're so glad you get to be here as he grows up, but you're so sad that Haley is gone and he's missing out on this moment. "They grow up so fast."

***

The next time Aaron calls in, you're talking to Dave in his office about his latest cabin trip. He is filling you in on the species of fish that live in the lake behind his place when Derek walks in with the notification that Aaron is on the other end of the line in his office.

Dave nods, saying he'll speak with him at the end, and Derek almost skips over you until you follow him out the door.

"You sure?" he asks as you follow him up the stairs.

You nod, bracing yourself for the guilt as you pick up the sat phone. "Hello?"

"Morgan?" Aaron asks, his voice confused over the line.

"No," you say, shaking your head even though he can't see you. "It's me."

There's a moment of silence before he clears his throat. "Oh, I'm glad you could come in."

You say something that sounds like "of course" and suddenly he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He hasn't heard from you in weeks, and even though he's probably coming home soon, he's so happy to hear your voice he could cry.

"Jess said you were there for Jack's first day," he says slowly, trying to find his voice. "Thank you for doing that. I know it's a lot before coming into work."

"It's not," you say genuinely, momentarily alleviating all of the anxiety he has been having around missing everything in his son's life. "He's the perfect kid. I'm lucky to be a part of his life."

He closes his eyes, wishing with every fiber of his being that he was there with you right now, and not thousands of miles away. "Thank you."

"Any time."

There's silence for a few moments before your breath stutters. "Do you know when you're coming back?"

His heart cracks at the soft sadness in your voice, but he still isn't allowed to share anything that is strictly need-to-know. "I don't."

Your breath catches in your throat and he hears the quiet sob as it breaks over the line. "I miss you, Aaron."

His fingers grip the phone so tightly he's afraid it may shatter in his hands, but there's nothing else tethering him to his life back home. This metal box is the one thing that is keeping him alive out here, and even though he left home so that he could stop lying to you, he's still doing it.

That's why he swallows thickly and says the one thing he knows isn't a lie: "I miss you too."

***

The team got called into the office for an emergency that no one has explained to any of you, and you take a seat in the briefing room as everyone else files in, matching looks of confusion all around you.

"Anyone know what we're doing here?" Dave asks as he leans back in his chair.

You're about to shrug when a figure walks into the room in a dark blue button down and an unfamiliar scruffy beard.

Your eyes widen and your breath leaves your body as you start to stand up, but then he motions for you all to take a seat, so you sink back down. He glances at everyone in the room before his eyes finally land on you. You can't believe he's here. That he knew he was coming back and still didn't tell you.

"What's going on?" Derek asks, breaking your eye contact with a jolt. "Everything all right?" Aaron ignores him. "Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle."

You don't know why he's bringing this up again but then he continues. "The doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under covert exfiltration."

Your heart falls. No, there's no way. "Her identity was strictly need-to-know. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to, for her security." Your teammates break their silence at the same time.

"She's alive?"

"But we buried her..."

You're still unable to suck in a big enough breath to regain the ability to speak, but then another figure walks in and you suddenly understand what people mean when they say their heart skips a beat.

"Oh my god," Penelope whispers from behind you as your feet unconsciously carry you forward and toward her. Toward Emily.

You pull her into your arms, relishing the feeling of your friend hugging you back after you thought you would never see her again. Her arms squeeze you tightly and you suck in a shuddering breath, trying to calm down your heart rate.

She's alive. Emily's alive. Aaron's back and Emily's alive.

The thoughts ping pong around your brain, fighting for dominance, but another one buried deeper in your mind floats to the surface, refusing to be ignored.

He lied.

TAGLIST:@citrusiove, @yiiiikesmish, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog, @madesavage05, @littlemisskavities, @love13tter, @domithebomi, @guacam011y, @averyhotchner, @silver-studios, @whosmys, @mimi-sanisanidiot, @chronicallybubbly, @shilphy87

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sayruq · 2 months

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fraugwinska · 1 month

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I'm so in love with your writing!!!! If you are doing requests could you write about the first time Alastor and his darling spend the night together? Maybe they are up late listening to music and his darling suggests he stay the night. They are new to the whole relationship thing and Alastor is awkward but agrees. Could be a touch spicy but mostly just fluff. <3

I did a unique take on this, I hope you don't mind, my lovely Anon? I had the inspiration for it in a fleeting moment and just started to type, remembering your ask... And I kinda love what came out of it! :> As always, @macabr3-barbi3 was my rock and my anchor during the writing process - you have too much patience with me, love! <3

And a huge 'Thank you' to the lovely, ever-so-talented @minkdelovely for prereading this for me to find the perfect title for this story. You are both an inspiration and a delight, and I truly appreciate you, my darling!

Kissing was something Alastor had slowly gotten used to. Kissing you, that is.

You had made it easy for him, he'd give you that. Patience is a virtue rarely found in hell, but when the turning point in his friendship with you tipped the scale to the side of more amorous realms, the Radio Demon, normally superior and confident, had found himself to be exceedingly useless. The lines between companionship and partnership were drawn by his mind rather than physical barriers, and crossing them alone had been a tremendous effort for him. Alastor had never thought he'd feel anything for another sinner, hell, the bare concept of feeling was generally strange to him.

Love was something that had been intimately intertwined with the feeling he had for his mother. So pure, and so lost and unretrievable after her untimely death. To feel this similar yet completely different kind of love for you? Unimaginable, and yet, there you were. And with an unbelievable ease you slowly took root in his mind, weaving your way into his thoughts and settling in his heart without you putting in real conscious effort. Had your encounters been mostly accidental and brief at first, Alastor found himself longing to walk into you more and more before actively seeking your company. To you, he was never unwelcome, in complete contrast to the other residents of the hotel, who tended to avoid or flee from him whenever they could. Whether he would be annoyingly chatty in amusement, hurtful in cold anger or buzzing with excitement (and sometimes murderous glee) - you entertained his whims, listened intently or soothed him with a few chosen words, always finding the right ones.

You shift in his arms, your head leaning a little in to grant his hungry mouth better access to yours with a small, delicious sigh, ignoring or maybe even blissfully unaware that your lips must've caught on his teeth somewhere along the line and ripped open, thin, beautiful crimson lines slowly running down the sides of your mouth. He always said that red suited you best.

Your differences made you quite an odd sight in hell's scenery. What many could only admire with a good dose of fear was never scary to you and the fact you openly regarded the Radio Demon with polite respect and genuine endearment left quite an impression on the others - so much so that it had earned you the hushed title 'Daddy-Deer Whisperer', bestowed by the ever-so-childish Angel Dust. It was when he caught you scolding Angel for using that expression and spreading his usual slander about him with a rare display of open anger that he first felt the gentle tug in his chest that has since remained whenever you were near Alastor. At first, he had shrugged it off as another of his eccentricities, or perhaps hunger pangs he hadn't fulfilled for a while (A very likely thing given his... appetite). But it persisted whenever you looked at him with that little smile on your lips, and he knew. Knew that he had to have you, and that you would be his, in good time. He could never have imagined how easy that would turn out to be, how accommodating to his needs you were from the moment you acknowledged his advances, and were able to keep up with his admittedly glacial pace from then on. While no one dared to ridicule him to his face, the others were comfortable enough around you to tease you for having a partner that seemed so uninterested in physical attention. Well.

While they were not completely mistaken, they didn't know all there was to Alastor the demon with the eternal smile. The foreignness of what it meant to touch and love and the, he had to say it, pitiful lack in experience made Alastor hesitant for the first time in both of his lifes. How could he publicly display his affections when he could barely bring himself to show them in the confines of your company alone? Yet you never demanded anything physical from him, and he realized with a startle that you were perfectly content with just being with him. Where it had taken him weeks to consider kissing you for the first time, it took another couple or so to slowly allow his touches to drift from a brief grasp on an elbow or waist to a tighter grip, resting a hand at the small of your back, enjoying the sensation of your hip bone gently pressing into his palm, pulling you a little bit closer as your hands ran over his arms. In his embrace your arms found their natural place on his shoulders, the weight becoming familiar and calming to him. Until one day, it wasn't anymore. One day he noticed, truly recognized the feeling of you in his arms and found himself struggling not to pull you even closer. And without much thinking, his lips had been on yours, chaste almost and testing, savoring the contact and tasting you without the need to devour. And he found that with you, only you, just a taste was so much more satiating.

It was the first of many kisses shared, but to Alastor, this one held a special significance. You had been stunned, yes, but when he withdrew, overstimulated and unsure of his actions, he found neither judgment or reproach, only a silent smile and a hint of blush on your cheeks before you had returned the affection in your own, respectful way that he appreciated so much - soft pressure and warmth enveloping his hands - and a change of topic, easing him into a lighthearted conversation that had lasted hours, just to calm his nerves. Since then, Alastor has held on to these memories, his firsts with you. And there were countless - all kept near to your heart. Charlie, Angel and Niffty could pester you with any intrusive, interrogating question, you would only smile at them and repeat the same sentiment: What you see is the only thing you get to know.

"Alastor?"

"Hm?" Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and his eyes focus on your beautiful face where he sees your brows furrowed with what he learned is concern.

"Is everything okay? You seemed to be somewhere else."

Ah, you were worried. For him. As you always were, so susceptible to his needs, as if it was natural to you. Another peculiarity and yet an incredibly welcome thing for a creature like him who found himself on the receiving end of unreciprocated concern very, very rarely.

"Just a little lost in thought is all, my dear."

"We can stop you know, it's almost midnight anyway." you say softly, your hands streaking soothingly over his arm as they slowly retreat from his shoulders.

He pauses, debating if the sensation of your fingertips touching the soft skin below his buzzed undercut, coupled with a very, very warm and inviting kiss had been enough. Had it ever been? Enough? It wasn't that you ever had any expectations of what would come after, seemingly content with anything he'd allow you to have - a softly spoken praise, an elegant compliment or even just peaceful silence before he'd take his leave. And knowing this Alastor suddenly is... displeased with the idea of this moment not lasting.

His claws wrap around your hands, a gentle pull guiding them back to their rightful place, back to the nape of his neck. He enjoys the rare sight of your surprised and red-flushed face before he let his lips trail your jawline, relishing in the way your skin breaks into goosebumps under his mere breath and fleeting touch before he speaks.

"I'm not so sure about that. Being able to stop, that is."

And he's true to his words. A searing fire is lit when your lips meet his again and his body tenses as he tries and fails to restrain the feeling it coaxes within him. Alastor wants to stay this time, wants to hold this miraculous thing that loves him so undeservingly close, wants to experience the feeling of skin on skin in your pristine bed sheets as he allows himself a rare night of sleep, with your sweet sighs as his lullaby and soft body as his covers. Another first with you, to add to the collection. And while you were always willing to indulge him, he feels, in the way you were pressing into him in cautious urgency, the whine that slips beyond the restriction of your bitten lips and the tremble of your fingers that you weaved into his hair, that this is - finally - what you, maybe for the first time, selfishly crave for, too.

Patience is a virtue, yes, but after all this saintly time he'd allow the both of you the sin of greed for a night.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #alastor fluff #the fluff fairy strikes again!#A pinch of tension #Alastor is bad at having feelings #what else is new #gravitational pull #kiss the deer

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mononijikayu · 19 days

Text

non ho l’eta — nanami kento.

“I’m okay, sensei.” you managed to say, though your voice wavered with the effort of holding back. “It’s just... a lot to adjust to, I guess.” He nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a question left unasked, and you wondered if he knew—if he could see the turmoil in your heart. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.” he said after a moment, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Whatever it is you’re going through... you can talk to me.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Modern AU!;

WARNING/s: Angst, Fluff, Safe For Work (SFW), Age Difference (Reader is in early 20s, Nanami is in late 30s), Unrequited Romance, Falling In Love, First Love, Emotional Hurt, Comfort, Confession, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Loss, Letting Go, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Loneliness, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Age Gap;

WORDS: 11k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i told myself this was going to be only five thousand words but it ends up being so long. i'm really sorry. you've been dealing with how long this is. but i love this a lot. i wrote it listening to the song with the same title as this fic and just as much, i think about that manga i read years ago, after the rain. its a good story and the ending, where the ml lets the fl lead go because he cares about her youth - it was great. i hope you like it anyway. thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3

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A NEW BEGINNING MUST ALWAYS COME YOU THINK. As you settle into the quiet, unfamiliar countryside, the weight of the loss still clings to you. The days are filled with the sounds of nature—birds chirping, the rustle of leaves—but they feel muted compared to the life you left behind. The house is smaller, the town quieter, and everything around you seems to move at a slower pace. But inside, the grief swirls like a storm, refusing to be tamed by the peaceful surroundings.

Your beloved brother Yuuji, always so full of energy, has been quieter since the move. He’s trying to be strong, to put on a brave face for you, but you can see the sadness in his eyes. It was obvious, with how his smile never reaching his eyes like it usually does.

And it felt odd, it felt weird. You weren’t used to your brother being in this. And it hurts you. But you know that you didn’t know what to do to comfort him. You don’t want to drive him away by speaking to him about it. And you don’t want to hurt him by making him feel like you were overbearing either.

Your new house was still quiet. And you weren’t used to that either. Grandpa Wasuke’s voice would be ringing out through the house today, telling you both to go and start washing up so you could eat dinner. Or sometimes when you guys got home late because of sports practice, he would be too loud to scold you because you both forget to tell him that you were going home late and making him worried.

You miss your grandfather. And you were sure of Yuuji’s feelings being the same too. The silence was too loud, even between you and your brother. You wished it wasn’t. Because you were all you had now. One evening, as you both sit on the porch, the sky painted in the soft hues of sunset, Yuji breaks the silence.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he begins, his voice softer than usual. “Being here, without him."

"Yeah." You mumble under your breath. "It...it is."

Your brother lets out a soft sigh. "I thought moving away would help, but...”

He trails off, staring at the horizon, his usual spark dimmed by the weight of unimaginable grief. You nod, understanding exactly what he means. The move was supposed to be a new beginning, but it feels more like an escape that didn’t quite work. And yet, you were stuck. And so was he too.

“I miss him so much, you know?” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “I thought...maybe if we came here, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But everything just reminds me of him. Even...even the silence......"

Yuuji looks at you, his lipspursed in a line. "I....I know."

"Grandpa’s voice is not here anymore and not hearing it anymore is just….” You feel the tears threatening to fall.

Yuuji turns to you, his expression a mix of sadness and determination. “We’ve still got each other. At least there’s that, sis.” he says, his hand reaching out to rest on yours. “And we’ll get through this. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but...we will.”

His words are simple, but they carry a weight of hope that you cling to. The grief might not vanish with a change of scenery, but at least you have Yuji by your side. And that, somehow, makes the pain a little more bearable.

The new town was picturesque—a small, idyllic place with rolling fields, charming cottages, and a slower pace of life that starkly contrasted with the frenetic energy of the city you had left behind. The local college, with its ivy-covered walls and quaint architecture, offered a promise of new beginnings and opportunities. Yet, beneath the serene surface, both you and Yuuji felt an underlying emptiness that was impossible to ignore.

As you and Yuuji navigated your first weeks at college, you found yourselves struggling to adapt to the quieter, more insular environment. The once-familiar hum of city life, with its constant activity and vibrant energy, was replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. The silence of the countryside, while initially soothing, soon became a reminder of the profound solitude you both felt.

The college itself was a small, close-knit community, where everyone seemed to know each other. The interactions were friendly and the atmosphere warm, but the sense of being an outsider in this new world was palpable. The academic workload was manageable, but your focus was often fragmented by the persistent ache of grief. Classes that once might have been engaging felt distant and abstract, overshadowed by the weight of your personal loss.

Every corner of the town seemed to hold echoes of the life you had left behind. The quaint coffee shop that you frequented, with its rustic charm and homemade pastries, became a bittersweet reminder of the comfort you once had. The local park, with its winding paths and serene pond, offered moments of reflection but also highlighted the contrast between the peaceful surroundings and the turmoil within.

The routine of daily life was a constant struggle between embracing the new and mourning the past. Each day, you and Yuuji tried to immerse yourselves in your studies and social activities, hoping to find distraction and connection. Yet, despite your best efforts, the shadows of grief seemed to follow you, making it difficult to engage fully with the present.

Yuuji’s energy began to return with the arrival of new friends. He introduced you to them one day—Kugisaki Nobara, a fiery and confident girl with a sharp tongue, and Fushiguro Megumi, a quiet and serious boy who seemed to understand more than he let on. You watched as your brother slowly began to resemble his old self, the grief loosening its grip on him with each laugh he shared with them, each story he told.

There was a joy in his voice that you hadn’t heard in months, a tenderness in the way he spoke about his new friends, and it warmed your heart to see him healing. You felt truly happy for him—how could you not? He deserved this chance to move forward, to find light in the darkness.

And yet, a small, stubborn pain lodged itself in your chest, growing a little each day. You couldn’t help but notice the way you were falling behind. No matter how much you tried, the sorrow still clung to you, as if you were trapped in a place where time stood still, unable to reach the same place of healing that Yuji had found.

You tried to join in, to share in his happiness, but it felt like you were on the outside looking in, a spectator in your own life. The laughter that once came so easily to you now felt forced, and every smile was tinged with a sadness you couldn’t shake.

Yuuji didn’t notice—or maybe he did, but he didn’t know how to help. He was so caught up in his new friendships, in the joy of finally finding some semblance of normalcy, that your struggles seemed to fade into the background. You didn’t blame him for it; you were glad he had found something to hold onto. But the loneliness was there, a constant reminder that while he was moving forward, you were still stuck in the past, unable to move on.

A lot of this was on you—that much you were painfully aware of. Yuuji had nothing to do with your unhappiness; he had been nothing but supportive, trying his best to bring some light back into your life. No, it was you who clung to the sorrow, who let it seep into every corner of your being until it became a part of you. You were the one at fault, wallowing in the pain because it felt like the only way to hold on to the past.

Maybe, in some twisted way, you were punishing yourself. The guilt gnawed at you, whispering that you hadn’t been a good enough granddaughter, that you had failed him in some way. And the thought of moving on, of letting go of the grief, felt like a betrayal. Because if you forgot, if you let the pain fade, what would be left of your grandfather? Wouldn’t that mean he didn’t exist anymore?

You couldn’t bear the thought. He was all you and Yuuji had, the one who had raised you, who had been your anchor in a world that often felt too chaotic to navigate alone. Clinging to him, to the pain, to the loneliness he had left behind—it felt like the only way to keep him close, to make sure he wasn’t forgotten.

You knew it wasn’t healthy, that it was holding you back while Yuuji was moving forward. But you couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not when it felt like losing him all over again. So you held on, hoping that by keeping the pain alive, you could keep a part of him with you, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.

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YOU REALIZED THAT YOU WERE A NIGHT OWL. Because the night felt like a relief. Even if it was too loud, the night was kinder than the day. It was two sides of the coin, a mercy and a pain still, you think. The silence of the countryside was both a comfort and a torment.

The absence of city noise left space for your thoughts to swirl, allowing the grief to settle in more deeply. The memories of your grandfather, so vivid and cherished, felt both near and painfully out of reach, teasing you with their closeness yet reminding you of the distance that now separated you.

The quiet of the countryside, which had once promised peace, now seemed to amplify the emptiness left by his passing. During the day, you could distract yourself with the mundane tasks of settling into a new home, but when night fell, the stillness felt oppressive, as if the world had stopped moving just to remind you of what you’d lost.

It was a strange paradox—the night brought a certain relief, a break from the pretense of normalcy that the day demanded, but it also intensified the ache within you. The darkness was both a sanctuary and a prison, offering solace in its quiet yet refusing to let you escape the sorrow that lay just beneath the surface. In the night, you could almost feel him there, his presence lingering in the shadows, but it was a comfort tinged with the sharp pain of knowing he was gone.

The countryside, with its vast, empty spaces and endless quiet, had a way of magnifying your loneliness. What was supposed to be a balm for your grief had instead become a mirror, reflecting the void his absence had created in your life. And so, as you lay in bed, staring into the darkness, you couldn’t help but feel that the night, though kinder in some ways, also held a cruelty of its own—one that forced you to confront the depth of your loss in the silence that surrounded you.

During the day, you tried to lose yourself in the routine of university life, hoping that the distraction would somehow ease the ache. But even the familiar rhythm of lectures and assignments couldn’t drown out the emptiness that had settled within you. It was in one of these moments, as you sat quietly in the college library, as he approached you after the lecture, his usual composed expression softened by concern.

“May I ask you something?” he said, his voice low and measured. There was no judgment in his tone, only a gentle curiosity that made you nod in response.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, his gaze steady on yours. “Why are you still in university?”

The question caught you off guard. It wasn’t something you had given much thought to—not really. You had simply kept going, attending classes, completing assignments, because that’s what you were supposed to do. But now, confronted by professor Nanami Kento’s calm and earnest inquiry, you find yourself struggling to answer.

You hesitated, searching for words that didn’t come easily. “I don’t know, sensei.” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess... It's what I’ve always done. For relief….But I just….I don’t….”

Nanami nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “But is it what you want? To be here?” he asked, his tone gentle but insistent. “Or are you here because it’s easier to keep going than to stop and face what you’re really feeling?”

The honesty in his words cut through the numbness that had settled over you. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze as the truth of his question sank in. Why were you still here? Was it because you truly wanted to be, or because it was easier to bury yourself in routine than to confront the grief that was still so raw and overwhelming?

“I don’t know, sensei.” you repeated, your voice trembling now. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Nanami didn’t push you for more. Instead, he simply stood there, offering his presence as a quiet support. “It’s okay not to know anything.” he said after a moment. “It’s okay to take time to figure it out. But don’t be afraid to ask yourself these questions. Don’t be afraid to face what’s really going on inside.”

His words lingered with you long after he had left, echoing in the silence of your room that night. For the first time, you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to pause, to question, to not have all the answers right away. Maybe it was okay to admit that you were still hurting, still lost, and that you didn’t have to have it all figured out just yet.

From what you remember, the first person to truly notice your pain was your professor in Philosophy—Nanami Kento. He was always composed, with a stern exterior that didn’t betray much emotion, but there was a kindness in his eyes that softened whenever he looked at you and Yuuji. Perhaps it was because he understood, on some level, what it was like to carry the burden of loss.

Nanami–sensei never pried, never asked questions that would force you to confront what you weren’t ready to face. But there was something in the way he looked at you, a quiet understanding that made you feel seen, even in your darkest moments. He didn’t offer empty words of comfort or try to tell you that things would get better with time. Instead, he acknowledged your pain with a simple nod or a gentle word, as if to say that it was okay to feel what you were feeling.

You often caught him watching you during lectures, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary, as if he was trying to assess how you were holding up. He’d ask you how you were doing in a way that suggested he wasn’t just asking about your academic performance but about you as a person, as someone who was grieving. His presence was steady, a quiet anchor in the storm of emotions you were struggling to navigate.

In those moments, you felt a strange sense of comfort. Nanami didn’t try to fix you, didn’t push you to move on before you were ready. He simply let you exist in your pain, offering a silent understanding that you weren’t alone in it. And though it didn’t make the nights any easier or the grief any less suffocating, it was a small comfort to know that someone else understood, that someone else had been there too.

Somehow, it was easy to see in his eyes that he had gone through something similar, and that pained him in some way. And he hated that someone were to be in a position akin to yours, in a similar conundrum so young as you were. He took it upon himself to make sure you were both doing okay, often checking in on you, offering guidance, and making sure that neither of you felt alone.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the office window, illuminating the neat rows of books and papers that lined Nanami’s desk. The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room as you sat across from him, feeling the weight of your emotions as you tried to make sense of your new life.

“Nanami–sensei.” you began, your voice soft but determined, “I’ve noticed you’ve been going out of your way to check in on me. I appreciate it, really, but I can’t help but feel like there’s more to it. You seem to understand what we’re going through in a way that’s more than just professional.”

Nanami looked up from his papers, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of sadness. He leaned back in his chair, taking a moment before responding. “It’s not easy to see young people struggling with grief and loss. It brings back memories of my own experiences, of times when I had to navigate similar challenges.”

You frowned slightly, sensing the depth of his feelings. “You’ve been through something like this yourself?”

Nanami nodded, his expression reflecting the weight of past pain. “Yes. I’ve had my share of losses, and while each experience is unique, it is normal. Seeing you in such heavy burdens….I must help in that. It is my duty.”

A moment of silence passed between you, the gravity of his words settling over the room. You could see the empathy in his warm brown eyes, a deep well of understanding that went beyond mere sympathy.

“I didn’t realize you had experienced something like this, sensei.” you said quietly. “It’s comforting to know that you understand, but it’s also hard to see how much it affects you. I’m so sorry about what happened to you, sensei.”

Nanami’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “Please don’t worry. I don’t mind. And I try to keep my personal experiences separate from my role as a teacher, but sometimes it’s inevitable. I can’t help but empathize deeply with students who are struggling. If it helps you, then maybe it would make it easier on you.”

You nodded, appreciating the honesty and vulnerability he was showing. “It’s been hard for us to adjust, with everything that’s happened. I understand, sensei. But….. Your support has made a difference, even if we haven’t always known how to express it.”

Nanami offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I want to make sure you and Yuuji know that you’re not alone in this. Sometimes, just knowing that someone cares and is willing to listen can make a difference.”

There was a sense of mutual understanding in the room, a connection forged through shared experiences and empathy. The conversation had brought a sense of clarity, revealing the depth of Nanami’s compassion and the personal struggles he had faced.

“You’ve been a source of support and I want to thank you for that.” you said, feeling a sense of gratitude. “It’s good to know that...we have someone. It's...good. That I...I have someone, sensei.”

Nanami’s expression was one of gentle encouragement. “You’re welcome. If you ever need someone to talk to or guidance as you navigate this transition, don’t hesitate to reach out. My door is always open.”

At first, it was just a relief to have someone looking out for you, someone who cared enough to notice the cracks in your armor. But as time went on, you found yourself longing for more of his attention, craving the comfort he provided. His presence was steady, reassuring, a shining new light that gave you warmth in the cold uncertainty of your new life.

Every glance, every word of encouragement, every moment spent with him, stirred something deep within you. You began to realize that it wasn’t just gratitude or respect that you felt for him. It was something more, something that made your heart race and your thoughts linger on him long after he had gone. You were falling in love with Nanami Kento, and as frightening as it was to acknowledge, it was also something you could no longer deny.

The realization that you were in love with Nanami Kento crept up on you slowly, like the dawn breaking over the quiet countryside. At first, you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that it was just a fleeting infatuation born out of your need for comfort in a difficult time. But the more you tried to suppress those feelings, the stronger they became.

It started with the way your heart would skip a beat when he entered the room, the way your eyes would search for him in a crowd, hoping for just a brief moment of connection. You found yourself hanging onto his every word, cherishing the conversations you shared, no matter how brief. His calm demeanor, his quiet strength, the way he seemed to understand you without needing to ask too many questions—it all drew you in, making you feel safe in a world that had felt so unstable for so long.

The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself yearning for his presence, even when he wasn’t around. You would replay your interactions in your mind, searching for hidden meanings in his words, wondering if he felt even a fraction of what you were feeling. The thought of being in love with him was both exhilarating and terrifying, a delicate balance between hope and fear.

You knew it was risky, that opening your heart to someone else meant making yourself vulnerable again, something you weren’t sure you were ready for. But the warmth you felt in Nanami’s presence, the way he made you feel like you weren’t alone in your pain, was something you couldn’t ignore. And so, despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, you allowed yourself to embrace the feelings growing inside you, no longer able to deny the truth: you were in love with Nanami Kento.

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IT FELT WRONG TO FEEL GENUINE FEELINGS FOR HIM. But you just can't help yourself. You had found something warm in your life for the first time in a long time. And you wanted to hold onto theat feeling, even just for a little while.

You found yourself looking forward to Nanami's lectures with a new sense of anticipation, one that went beyond the academic content. It wasn't just about the subject matter or the intellectual challenge; it was the way his presence seemed to anchor you in a world that often felt tumultuous.

His voice, calm and measured, had a soothing quality that cut through the noise of your internal struggles, providing a sense of stability that was both comforting and invigorating. It felt like the sun in the morning sky, greeting you with all the warmth it could offer.

Every lecture became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the outside world faded away and all that remained was the rhythmic cadence of his speech and the depth of his insights. His voice had a way of wrapping around you like a soft blanket, offering warmth and clarity in moments of confusion. It was as if he spoke directly to your soul, providing the reassurance you craved without even realizing it.

You began to pay closer attention to the little details of his presence, each one becoming a part of the mosaic of your growing affection. You noticed how he always carried a thermos of coffee, a small but meaningful ritual that seemed to add a personal touch to his professional demeanor. It was a simple thing, but it spoke to a side of him that was both grounded and familiar, like a quiet reflection of his everyday life.

The way he adjusted his glasses when he was deep in thought fascinated you. It was a small, habitual gesture that seemed to signal his immersion in the subject, his focus and dedication to his work. In those moments, when he was lost in contemplation, you saw a different side of him—one that was entirely absorbed in the pursuit of knowledge and understanding. It was a reminder of his depth, his passion for what he did, and it drew you in further.

And then there were the rare but genuine smiles that occasionally graced his lips. These smiles were not frequent, but when they appeared, they were like fleeting glimpses of sunlight breaking through the clouds. They were unguarded and sincere, revealing a side of him that was warm and approachable. These moments were precious to you, a sign that beneath his composed exterior, there was a person who experienced joy and kindness in the midst of his professional life.

Each detail, each nuance of his behavior, seemed to create a rich tapestry that captivated you. The combination of his voice, his habits, and his rare smiles painted a portrait of someone who was both steadfast and deeply human. As you became more attuned to these subtleties, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn't anticipated. The more you observed, the more you appreciated the intricate layers of his character, each one adding depth to your feelings and making it even harder to keep your emotions in check.

In the quiet moments between lectures, when you would reflect on these details, you felt a growing sense of connection to him. It was as if the little things he did were speaking directly to your heart, creating a bond that was both profound and fragile. And with each passing day, the realization that you were falling for him became more undeniable, a truth that both comforted and challenged you as you navigated the complexities of your emotions.

Each day with the distance, your heart kept making a way towards Nanami–sensei, slowly weaving themselves into the fabric of your life in ways you couldn’t have anticipated. You found yourself looking forward to his classes with an eagerness that surprised you, your thoughts consumed by the anticipation of seeing him, hearing his voice, and perhaps catching one of those brief, meaningful glances that seemed to hold a world of unspoken understanding.

Your interactions with him took on a new significance. Every exchange, no matter how small, became a moment to savor. You began to notice the little things about him—the way he would adjust his tie with meticulous precision, the way his eyes softened when he spoke to you, the subtle way his lips would curve into a faint smile when you managed to make him laugh. These details became precious to you, feeding the growing affection in your heart.

But with that growing affection came a gnawing anxiety. You were all too aware of the delicate nature of your feelings, and the fear of rejection loomed large in your mind. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if your admiration was one-sided, a product of your own need for comfort and connection? The thought of losing the quiet understanding and support he offered terrified you, and so you kept your feelings hidden, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried to keep your emotions in check, they found ways to surface. You noticed that you began to linger after class, hoping for a few extra moments with him. You found yourself volunteering for tasks you knew would require his guidance, just to have an excuse to be near him. And when he asked you how you were doing, his concern evident in his voice, you felt a pang of longing so intense it nearly took your breath away.

And then, one afternoon, as you were gathering your things after class, Nanami Kento and you bumped into each other. You blinked as you stopped. When you realized who he was, you gasped and bowed. You started to apologize to him. There was a hesitation in his movements, an uncharacteristic uncertainty that made your heart race.

“I’m so sorry, Nanami-sensei. I didn’t mean it—” you stammered, your voice trembling with the weight of unsaid words. The apology slipped out before you could fully process it, driven by a fear that you had somehow crossed a line, exposing too much of yourself.

Nanami’s expression remained calm, his eyes studying you with an unreadable intensity. For a moment, you feared that you had made things awkward, that the fragile connection between you might shatter under the pressure of your emotions.

But then, with a gentleness that both surprised and reassured you, he spoke. “May I walk you to your next class?” His voice was low and steady, grounding you in the moment. But there was something else in his tone, a subtle shift that hinted at a deeper concern, a connection that went beyond the formal boundaries of teacher and student.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. The offer was simple, yet the way he framed it made it feel like more—a gesture of care, a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that had been building between you.

Unable to trust your voice, you nodded, grateful for the reprieve. Together, you fell into step, the silence between you heavy with unsaid thoughts, yet comforting in its familiarity.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but wonder if Nanami sensed the turmoil within you, if he understood the depth of what you had tried to keep hidden. And as the campus buzzed quietly around you, the world outside seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in a moment suspended in time.

Finally, he spoke, his voice breaking the silence with a gentleness that caught you off guard. “You seem... different lately.” he said, his words careful, as if he was treading on fragile ground. “Is everything alright?”

The concern in his voice was genuine, and it took everything in you to hold back the flood of emotions that his words triggered. You wanted to tell him everything, to pour out your heart and confess the feelings that had been building inside you for so long. But the fear held you back, kept your words locked away.

“I’m okay, sensei.” you managed to say, though your voice wavered with the effort of holding back. “It’s just... a lot to adjust to, I guess.”

He nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a question left unasked, and you wondered if he knew—if he could see the turmoil in your heart.

“You don’t have to do it alone, you know.” he said after a moment, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Whatever it is you’re going through... you can talk to me.”

His words were a lifeline, and for a moment, you were tempted to grab hold, to let yourself be vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be since your grandfather’s passing. But the fear of what might happen if you did—if you let him see how deeply you had fallen for him—kept you silent.

Instead, you offered him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Nanami-sensei. That means a lot.”

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer before he looked away, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. But even as the silence returned, you couldn’t help but feel that something had changed between you.

Yuuji, ever the perceptive brother, began to pick up on the changes in you with his usual blend of curiosity and teasing. He’d comment on your newfound enthusiasm for school, his tone lighthearted and playful.

“Wow, someone’s really getting into their classes these days.” he’d say, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Are you trying to impress a certain someone?”

But behind his teasing, there was always a hint of concern in his eyes. He knew you well enough to sense when something was amiss, even if you were trying your best to mask it. The bond between you and Yuuji has always been strong, built on shared experiences and mutual support. Now, with only the two of you facing the world, his worry for you was palpable.

You were acutely aware of his concern, but discussing your feelings for Nanami–sensei felt like navigating a minefield. It was a topic too delicate, too intricate to lay bare. The emotions you were grappling with were still forming, shifting and evolving in ways you couldn’t fully articulate. The fear of misunderstanding, the potential for things to become awkward or strained, made it almost impossible to open up to Yuuji about it.

So you chose to keep your feelings close, wrapped in the quiet spaces of your heart. Whenever Yuuji’s concern for you surfaced, you would offer a reassuring smile and change the subject, deflecting his probing questions with practiced ease.

“Just trying to find my footing, bro.” you’d say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “You know how it is, trying to make the most of a new start.”

“You sure?” He asks you, a warm concern in his eyes.

You smiled at him. “I do. I’m fine. Really.”

Yuuji would accept your evasions with a nod, his worry temporarily set aside as he shifted his focus to lighter matters. But you could see the question in his eyes, the unspoken concern that lingered even as he attempted to mask it with humor.

In your heart, you appreciated his concern more than you could express. But the feelings you had for Nanami remained a private struggle, something you needed to work through on your own before you could even begin to share it with anyone, even Yuuji. For now, you hold onto the fragile hope that, in time, you would find a way to navigate your emotions, to understand them and perhaps, one day, to share them without fear.

As you continued to go through your days, the quiet moments with Nanami remained a solace and a source of intense longing. His presence in your life was a beacon, guiding you through the uncertainty of your new surroundings. And though you struggled with the weight of your feelings, you found a measure of comfort in knowing that he was there, a constant, reassuring presence in the midst of the turmoil.

Your interactions with Nanami–sensei became the highlights of your day. You’d catch his gaze during class, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world faded away. There were times when he’d linger after class, asking if you and Yuuji were settling in okay, if you needed anything. His concern felt genuine, and every time he spoke to you, you felt a warmth spreading through your chest.

But with that warmth came uncertainty. Nanami was your sensei, a mentor figure, someone who had taken on the role of a protector for you and your brother. The lines between student and teacher, between gratitude and affection, were blurring in ways that scared you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he could ever see you as anything more than just a student or a young person in need of guidance.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself drawn to him more and more, despite your best efforts to keep your emotions in check. There were moments when you thought you caught something in his eyes, a softness that made you wonder if he might feel something too. But those moments were fleeting, gone before you could fully grasp them.

Still, the longing grew, becoming an ache that you couldn’t ignore. You yearned for more than just his care and concern; you wanted to be closer to him, to know him beyond the walls of the classroom. But the fear of rejection, of ruining the fragile bond you had with him, kept you silent.

The conflict within you was a constant companion, as you tried to navigate your feelings while maintaining the façade of normalcy. You knew that falling in love with Nanami was risky, that it could lead to heartache, but your heart seemed to have a mind of its own, pushing you toward him despite the potential consequences.

You lingered in the classroom long after the other students had left, your movements slow and deliberate as you packed your bag. The quiet of the room was comforting, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. Yuuji had already gone off to his club activities, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and with Nanami.

As you reached for your bag, you felt a pair of eyes on you, an almost tangible weight that drew your gaze. Glancing up, you saw Nanami watching you from his desk, his expression thoughtful, a subtle crease forming between his brows.

His eyes, usually so composed and distant, now held a depth that seemed to reflect his internal contemplation. The warmth of his gaze made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the world around you felt like it had narrowed to just the two of you.

You could feel the pull of his attention, the way it lingered on you with a quiet intensity. It was as if he was searching for something, trying to understand a part of you that you hadn’t yet revealed. The weight of his gaze was both comforting and unnerving, a silent conversation that spoke volumes.

Trying to steady yourself, you offered him a tentative smile, hoping it would convey the reassurance you struggled to articulate. But his eyes remained fixed on you, and you wondered what thoughts were running through his mind.

“You’re still here this late.” he said, his voice gentle in the stillness. “Everything alright?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to put your feelings into words. “Yeah, I just… needed a moment to myself.”

Nanami nodded, rising from his chair and walking over to you. He stopped a few feet away, leaning casually against the desk beside you, his arms crossed. Despite his composed demeanor, there was something warm in his gaze, something that made your heart flutter.

“It’s been a lot to adjust to, hasn’t it?” he said, his voice low and steady. “A new town, new school, after everything that’s happened.”

You looked down, your fingers nervously playing with the strap of your bag. “Yeah, it has. But… having you here has helped. More than you know, sensei.”

There was a pause, and when you dared to look up, you saw that his expression had softened even more. The usual sternness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a gentleness that made your breath catch.

“I’m glad I could help you.” Nanami replied quietly. He uncrossed his arms, his hand almost reaching out to you before he stopped himself, letting it fall to his side. “You have been through a lot. It’s only natural to need support.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. The way he spoke, the concern in his voice—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much his presence meant to you, how much you looked forward to these moments alone with him. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you just nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

Nanami Kento seemed to sense your inner turmoil. He stepped a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you know you can come to me, right?”

The sincerity in his voice, the closeness of his presence—it made something inside you ache. You wanted so badly to close the distance between you, to feel his arms around you, to find comfort in his embrace. But you knew you couldn’t. Not yet.

“I know, sensei.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Thank you… for everything.”

He smiled then, a small, rare smile that sent warmth flooding through you. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… take care of yourself. And your brother Yuuji, too. He seems like a good young man too.”

You nodded again, but as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at him one last time. He was still watching you, that same gentle look in his eyes, and you knew then that your feelings were undeniable.

As you walked out of the classroom, your heart felt heavier with the weight of your unspoken emotions, but there was also a small, flickering hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that Nanami could feel the same way.

But even then, you were acutely aware of your limitations and the vast knowledge gap that existed between you and Nanami. He was older, more experienced, a man who had seen and done so much more than you could even imagine. It wasn’t just his age or his wisdom that set him apart—it was the way he carried himself, with a quiet confidence and a sense of purpose that you found both admirable and intimidating.

As much as you were drawn to him, a part of you couldn’t help but doubt whether your feelings could ever be returned. You were still so young, barely stepping into adulthood, while Nanami had long since found his place in the world. What could someone like him possibly see in you? The thought lingered in the back of your mind, a constant reminder of the distance between you.

And then there was the fear—the fear that he might not like you in the way you hoped. He was kind to you, yes, and he looked out for you and Yuuji with a care that went beyond mere duty. But did that kindness stem from affection, or was it simply his nature to protect those who needed it? You didn’t know, and the uncertainty gnawed at you.

The truth was, you couldn’t see how he would ever reciprocate your feelings. He was your professor, a mentor figure, someone who had taken on the role of a guardian in your life. To him, you were just a student, someone who needed guidance and support, not a romantic partner. And yet, despite all your doubts and fears, you couldn’t stop the way your heart leapt whenever you were near him.

The rational part of you tried to suppress those feelings, to remind yourself of the unlikelihood of anything ever happening between you. But the heart has a way of ignoring logic, and yours had latched onto Nanami in a way that was becoming impossible to ignore. You were in love with him, even if you couldn’t say it aloud, even if you didn’t think he could ever feel the same way.

So, you kept those feelings locked away, hidden behind polite smiles and carefully chosen words. It was safer that way, less painful than risking rejection. But even as you tried to push your emotions aside, you knew that they were there, just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest opportunity to break free.

After a particularly long day of classes, you and Yuuji walked home together under the fading light of the setting sun. His friends were going to be busy tonight, so you were able to go home together. He insisted to help you with your school bag, but you kept insisting that it was fine. Yet, he was your older brother (by four minutes) and had pulled that card and carried your bag for you anyway.

The countryside was quiet, the only sounds being the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes and the distant chirping of crickets. Yuuji had been unusually quiet, and you could feel his eyes on you every now and then, as if he was trying to gauge something. Finally, as you neared your home, he spoke up.

"Hey, you’ve been acting kinda different lately." Yuuji said, his tone light but tinged with concern. "Is everything okay?"

You glanced at him, caught off guard by his sudden observation. "Different? What do you mean?"

Yuuji shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I don’t know. You just seem… I don’t know, distracted? Like your mind’s somewhere else. I noticed you’ve been staying late at school a lot too."

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks and quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. "It’s nothing, really. Just trying to keep up with everything, I guess."

But Yuuji wasn’t so easily convinced. He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "It’s more than that, isn’t it? You know you can talk to me, right? We’re in this together."

There was no escaping it now. You sighed, knowing that Yuuji wasn’t going to let this go. "It’s just… there’s a lot on my mind. And yeah, I’ve been thinking about someone."

Yuuji raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Someone? Like who?"

You hesitated, the words stuck in your throat. Finally, you admitted, "It’s Nanami-sensei."

Yuuji blinked, processing this information. "Nanami-sensei? Our professor Nanami? Who’s like… way older than you?"

You winced at the bluntness of his words. "Yeah, I know. It’s not exactly… ideal."

Yuuji softened, realizing that this was something you were struggling with. "Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… didn’t expect it, that’s all. I mean, he’s a good guy, but… you really like him, don’t you?"

You nodded slowly, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety at finally saying it out loud. "I do. But it’s complicated, Yuuji. He’s older....and I don’t even know if he’d ever see me that way....I doubt it. I feel like I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. And it’s not…It’s not right. There’s so much wrong with it. I know.”

Yuuji frowned, deep in thought. "That’s a tough spot to be in. But you know, Nanami-sensei seems to care about you a lot. He’s always checking in on you, making sure you’re okay. Maybe there’s more there than you think."

You shook your head, the doubts creeping back in. "Or maybe he’s just being kind because he knows we’ve been through a lot. It’s not like he’d ever look at me the way I look at him. It’s….It’s wrong.”

Yuuji placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, it doesn’t mean you’re not worth it. You deserve to feel some happiness. Even if you never say it to him. Even if you don’t act on it, it’s how you feel. Wrong or right, it’s still human feelings, isn’t it?”

“I just… What should I do? It’s going to be bad, Yuuji. I don’t want to do things that would be bad for me and especially for Nanami-sensei. Over my childish feelings.”

Yuuji’s expression softened, his eyes filled with a mix of empathy and determination. “Listen, it’s not about being childish. Feelings are complicated and real, and they don’t just go away because we want them to. What matters is how you handle them.”

He paused, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe the best thing you can do right now is to take things one step at a time. Figure out what’s best without rushing or putting yourself in a difficult position."

You listened, trying to absorb his words. They offered a sense of perspective, a reminder that navigating your feelings didn’t have to be an all-or-nothing endeavor. Yuuji’s encouragement made you feel less isolated in your struggle, less like you were facing this alone.

“Thanks, bro.” you said quietly, your voice carrying the weight of both gratitude and the lingering uncertainty. “I guess I just need to give myself a bit more grace, and maybe, take a step back to really understand what’s best.”

Yuuji nodded, a reassuring smile on his face. “Exactly. Give yourself the space to figure things out, and don’t be too hard on yourself. Emotions are messy, and that’s okay, hm?”

You looked at him, grateful for his unwavering support. "Thanks, Yuuji. I really needed to hear that."

He grinned, giving you a playful nudge. "What are brothers for? Besides, I kinda want to see how this turns out."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing slightly. For now, the future was still uncertain, but at least you knew you had Yuuji by your side, no matter what happened next. And maybe, he was all you needed. Because at the end of the day, you know how it will all work out. How it will all end. But you let yourself dream anyway.

You were idealistic, often finding yourself lost in daydreams where you would gather the courage to approach Nanami. In those fantasies, you imagined asking him for patience, telling him that one day, when the time was right, you would be ready to offer your love completely. You pictured yourself standing before him, your heart in your hands, promising that with time, you could bridge the gap between your worlds.

But deep down, you knew this was nothing more than romantic idealism—a longing to experience a love that felt as profound as the feelings you harbored for him. The desire to be seen, to be cherished by someone as steadfast and admirable as Nanami Kento, was powerful, but it was also grounded in a reality you couldn’t ignore.

As much as you wanted to believe that your love could transcend the differences between you, there was a part of you that understood the truth. You were too young, too inexperienced, and no matter how much you grew, there would always be a gap that time alone couldn’t close. Nanami–sensei wasn’t just older—he was wiser, more grounded, and had already lived through phases of life that you had yet to experience.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that he likely wouldn’t want to love someone younger, someone who was still finding their place in the world. His kindness toward you, his care and concern, came from a place of responsibility, not from the kind of romantic interest you wished for. You knew that he saw you as a student, maybe even as someone who needed guidance, but not as an equal partner in love.

This understanding brought with it a quiet, bittersweet resignation. You loved Nanami, perhaps more than you ever thought you could love anyone, but you knew that he wasn’t the one for you. The future you imagined, where you and Nanami could be together, was a beautiful dream, but it was just that—a dream.

As much as it hurt to admit, you knew you had to let go of that dream, to accept that some things, no matter how deeply you wished for them, weren’t meant to be.

The days that followed were a mix of emotions—moments where you felt determined to move on, followed by others where your heart clung stubbornly to the hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. But as time passed, reality became harder to ignore, and you found yourself slowly coming to terms with the truth.

You still admired Nanami–sensei, still cared for him deeply, but you began to see him in a different light. Instead of focusing on the impossible, you tried to appreciate what you did have—a mentor who genuinely cared for your well-being, someone who had guided you through a difficult period of your life. It wasn’t the romantic love you had dreamed of, but it was something valuable, something that had shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully understood before.

In your quieter moments, when you were alone with your thoughts, you allowed yourself to grieve the loss of that dream. It was painful to let go, but you knew it was necessary. Holding on to something that could never be would only cause more heartache in the long run.

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HE KNOWS THAT HE’S NOT A GOOD MAN. Because what good man can feel like this? Nanami Kento had always prided himself on his ability to maintain control, to keep a clear head no matter the situation. It was a skill honed through years of experience, of facing the harsh realities of life and coming out on the other side with a firm grip on his emotions. But lately, that control had begun to slip, and it all started with you.

At first, he dismissed the subtle changes in his behavior as nothing more than his natural inclination to look after those who needed guidance. You and Yuuji had been through a lot, and it was only right that he, as your teacher, offered support where he could. But as the days turned into weeks, he couldn’t ignore the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you—your quiet resilience, your gentle smiles, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something you were passionate about.

It wasn’t long before he realized the truth: he was growing attached to you in ways that went far beyond the boundaries of a student-teacher relationship. It was a realization that troubled him deeply, shaking the foundations of the discipline he had built his life upon.

Nanami noticed the way your eyes lingered on him, the subtle shifts in your demeanor whenever you were around him. He wasn’t blind to the affection you tried so hard to keep hidden, the way you seemed to seek out his presence, even if only for a few moments of conversation. There were times when he almost allowed himself to reciprocate, to let his guard down and acknowledge the feelings that were steadily growing in his chest.

But each time, he pulled back, reminding himself of the stark reality of your situation. You were young, with your whole life ahead of you, full of potential and promise. You deserve someone who could match your energy, someone who could grow with you, not someone like him—someone who had already been worn down by the world, who had seen and done things he wished he could forget.

It wasn’t fair to you, he thought, to burden you with the affections of a man who had lost his youth, who had seen too much to ever be truly carefree again. You deserved more than what he could offer, and the thought of tainting your bright future with the shadows of his past was unbearable.

So, Nanami Kento buried his feelings deep inside, locking them away where they couldn’t hurt you—or him. He told himself that it was the right thing to do, that maintaining a professional distance was the only way to protect you both. But no matter how hard he tried, those feelings remained, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to break free at the slightest provocation.

There were moments when he questioned his resolve, when the weight of his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him. But each time, he steeled himself, knowing that this was a line he couldn’t cross. He cared too much about you to allow himself to be selfish, to act on feelings that could only lead to pain and regret.

In the end, Nanami chose to distance himself, subtly at first, hoping you wouldn’t notice. He still checked in on you, still offered his guidance when you needed it, but he made sure to keep a barrier between you, a wall that kept his emotions firmly in check. It was agonizing, knowing that he was pushing away something that could have been beautiful, but he knew it was the only way to ensure that you remained unscathed by the harsh realities of his world.

You were too precious, too full of life, to be drawn into the darkness that he carried with him. And so, Nanami resolved to watch over you from afar, to be the steady presence you could rely on, but never more than that. It was his duty, his responsibility, to protect you—not just from the dangers of the world, but from himself as well.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how strong his feelings for you became, Nanami knew he had to bury them deep, where they would never see the light of day. It was the only way to ensure that you remained untouched by the shadows of his past, free to find a love that was worthy of you, even if that love could never be his.

Nanami Kento had been wrestling with his emotions in solitude, believing that burying his feelings was the only way to protect you from the shadows of his past. It was a decision made with the utmost care, a sacrifice he felt necessary to ensure your happiness. But his internal struggle did not go unnoticed by his colleagues, Gojo Satoru and Shoko Ieiri, who were perceptive enough to sense that something was troubling their friend.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day, Gojo and Shoko decided to check in on Nanami. They found him in the teachers’ lounge, sitting alone with a cup of tea, his expression distant. Gojo, ever the perceptive one, noted the pensive look on Nanami’s face and exchanged a glance with Shoko before approaching him.

“Hey, Nanami!” Gojo greeted, his tone casual but with an underlying concern. “You’ve been a bit off lately. Everything okay?”

Nanami looked up, masking his emotions with a practiced smile. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothing to worry about.”

Shoko, who had been quietly observing, took a seat beside him. “It’s clear something’s bothering you. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”

Nanami’s smile faltered, and he sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his hidden feelings press heavily on him. “I appreciate your concern. It’s just… some feelings are better left buried.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Feelings, huh? Sounds like there’s more to it than just a heavy workload.”

Nanami hesitated before speaking, his voice low. “I’ve been trying to protect someone from my own shortcomings. It’s not fair for them to be burdened with my past, my complexities.”

Shoko’s eyes softened with understanding. “It sounds like you’re talking about… someone important. Someone who means a lot to you.”

Nanami nodded, his gaze fixed on his tea. “Yes, someone who deserves better than what I can offer. It’s better this way.”

Gojo, always one to push boundaries, leaned forward, his expression serious. “Nanami, it’s okay to feel like love is unattainable. It’s okay to have feelings and to struggle with them. But don’t forget that you’re human too. You deserve happiness, even if it’s complicated. And even if you don’t act on it. Feeling it is not wrong.”

Shoko nodded in agreement, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been carrying this burden alone, trying to shield someone else from your own pain. But it’s important to acknowledge your own feelings, to give yourself permission to be vulnerable. Especially for this person.”

Nanami looked between them, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. “But what if my feelings could only cause more harm? What if being honest means jeopardizing their well-being? I know it will.”

Gojo shook his head, a small smile forming. “Sometimes, it’s not about whether your feelings will cause harm. It’s about being true to yourself and giving yourself the chance to experience what you deserve. Love isn’t always straightforward, and it’s not always fair. But it’s part of the human experience. Acted on or not, it’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Shoko reached out, placing a comforting hand on Nanami’s shoulder. “You’ve done so much for others. It’s time to think about yourself too. It’s okay to be vulnerable, to let yourself feel and to hope for something more, even if it feels unattainable.”

Nanami’s gaze softened, and he looked down at his hands, the weight of their words sinking in. “I’ve been so focused on protecting them, on making sure they don’t suffer because of me. I didn’t realize how much I’ve neglected my own needs.”

Gojo smiled, his tone light but encouraging. “We all have our struggles. It’s part of being human. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. You have friends who care about you, who want you to be happy.”

Shoko gave him a reassuring nod. “And it’s okay to take steps towards finding your own happiness, even if it means confronting difficult feelings. Even if you don’t think it will be reality. You deserve a chance to experience love, just as much as anyone else.”

Nanami took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you. It’s good to hear that. I’ve been so focused on the right thing to do that I forgot about what I need.”

Nanami had been immersed in his work that day, focusing on grading papers and preparing for upcoming lectures. He had anticipated a quiet day, free from the usual flurry of students and administrative tasks. It was your day off from school—a rare break for you to focus on your thesis, and he had expected you to be busy with your academic responsibilities.

Yet, as the hours ticked by, Nanami couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He had noticed a subtle change in your demeanor over the past week, an undercurrent of sadness that was difficult to ignore. He had hoped you’d find solace in your time away from school, but now, the thought of you potentially seeking him out was unsettling.

When he heard the knock on his office door, he glanced up with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He wasn’t expecting you to be here today, not when you had so much on your plate. The sound of the knock was soft but persistent, and it made him pause, his thoughts drifting from his work to the possibility of seeing you.

You stood outside his office, your heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination. The past week had been particularly rough—filled with long nights and overwhelming emotions. The weight of your feelings for Nanami, combined with the challenge of coming to terms with them, had left you feeling both vulnerable and resolute. You had been wrestling with your emotions, trying to find a way to move forward, but it was proving more difficult than you had anticipated.

The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound that accompanied your thoughts. You had wrestled with the decision to come here, weighing the need for closure against the fear of complicating things further. Yet, the idea of not expressing your feelings and finding some resolution gnawed at you, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to face the uncertainty head-on. You lifted your hand and knocked again, this time with more resolve. The sound echoed through the hallway, signaling your intent to have a conversation that had been on your mind for days.

Inside the office, Nanami’s thoughts were interrupted by the knock. He stood up, smoothing his jacket, and approached the door. When he opened it, he was met with the sight of you standing there, looking both determined and apprehensive.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm despite the surprise and concern he felt.

You looked up at him, a mix of anxiety and resolve in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I know it’s my day off, but… I needed to talk to you.”

Nanami stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. “Of course. Come in.”

You entered his office, feeling the comforting, yet intimidating, presence of the space that had been a backdrop to many of your interactions. The room was orderly, with neatly arranged papers and a sense of calm that contrasted with the storm of emotions you were feeling.

As you settled into a chair, Nanami took his place behind his desk, his gaze steady and attentive. “What’s on your mind?”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing against your resolve. “I’ve been struggling with my feelings for you. It’s been difficult to process, and I realized that I need some closure. I thought it might help if I talked to you about it.”

Nanami listened, his expression a mix of empathy and sadness. He had been preparing for this conversation, though not in the way he had hoped. The feelings he had tried so hard to suppress now seemed to rise to the surface, as he saw the vulnerability in your eyes.

“It’s not easy to hear.” Nanami said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s even harder to find the right words. I’ve been trying to navigate this situation carefully, but I realize now that you deserve more than just silence.”

You looked up at him, finding his smile to be tinged with a deep sadness that made your heart ache. Nanami crossed his arms, his gaze meeting yours with a weight of unspoken emotions.

“Most of all, my little one….” he continued, his voice steady but filled with a profound melancholy. “You deserve better than an old, unpassionate man like me.”

The words hung in the air between you, a painful truth that cut through the space. His admission, though gentle, was laced with a somber acknowledgment of the reality that had become so clear. It was as if he was trying to shield you from the hurt of unfulfilled expectations while grappling with his own feelings of inadequacy.

You could see the strain in his eyes, the conflict of wanting to comfort you while also maintaining the boundaries he felt were necessary. It was a moment of raw honesty, one that left you with a deep sense of both empathy and sorrow.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Nanami's words settled between you. His gaze remained steady, but there was an undeniable vulnerability in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that had become apparent.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession pressing heavily on you. “I didn’t come here expecting an easy answer, or my feelings to be returned, sensei.” you said softly, trying to steady your voice. “I just needed to express what I’ve been feeling and to understand where we stand.”

Nanami nodded, his expression a mixture of relief and sadness. “I appreciate your courage in coming forward. It’s not easy to confront these feelings, especially when the outcome is uncertain.”

There was a pause as you both took a moment to absorb the gravity of the conversation. Nanami leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the desk as if trying to ground himself in the face of his emotions.

“I want you to know that my feelings for you are genuine. Even if they're not what should be. But I also understand that the situation we’re in is far from ideal. It’s not just about what I want but what’s best for you. What you need matters more than what I want.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill. “I understand. I really do. It’s just… hard to accept that something so strong and real can’t find a way to work out.”

Nanami’s gaze softened, and he reached out, resting his hand gently on top of yours. The contact was brief but comforting, a silent gesture of support and understanding.

“It’s difficult, and it’s painful. But sometimes, love means making choices that are hard and painful for the sake of someone else’s well–being. Love is letting go, too. And I believe that’s what I need to do now. Because if my love for you is true, then I would let you go. And let you live a life that you deserve, hm?”

You nodded, feeling the sting of his words but also the clarity they brought. “Thank you for being honest with me. I guess I needed to hear this, to understand where we really stand. To…to have closure.”

Nanami offered a sad smile, one that seemed to carry the weight of his own regrets and hopes for you. “I hope you find someone who can truly cherish you for who you are. You deserve someone who can give you the kind of love and support that I might not be able to offer.”

The finality of his words hung in the air, and you could sense the depth of his feelings—both for you and the situation you found yourselves in. As you stood up to leave, you felt a sense of bittersweet closure, a recognition of the reality that had to be faced.

“Take care of yourself, little one.” Nanami said softly as you made your way to the door. ”I hope you'll always be happy."

You offered him a small, grateful smile, a mixture of sadness and appreciation in your eyes. “Thank you, Nanami–sensei. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you stepped out of his office, the weight of the conversation settled heavily on your shoulders. But along with the heaviness, there was also a sense of resolution. You had faced your feelings head-on, and though the outcome wasn’t what you had hoped for, you felt a renewed sense of clarity and a readiness to move forward.

Nanami Kento watched you go, his heart heavy but his mind clear. He hoped, more than anything, that you would find the happiness and love that you deserved, even if it was not with him. He'd have to leave soon. He thinks that it would be better, if he keeps his distance from now on. You do not need him anymore. And that's for the best.

And as the door closed behind you, he allowed himself a moment of reflection, grappling with the bittersweet nature of his own emotions and the hope that, in time, both of you would find a path that led to fulfillment and peace.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 10: Nobody Likes You, Everyone Left You]

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay, but Maggie Sundays are back, besties!!! And we have a new poll! Be sure to check it out AFTER you finish Chapter 10 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title and chapter title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Here’s how it happens.

Let’s say you’re on a subway, or at a bus stop, or walking in or out of a grocery store, maybe fumbling with your purse or corralling small children, or talking on the phone, or wondering how you’re going to make rent, or trying not to drop one of your shopping bags, and out of nowhere some stranger lurches over and grabs you. They are filthy and noxious and moaning, and you assume they are insane, or on hard drugs, or maybe both. Your fellow upstanding citizens rush to your aid and the assailant is apprehended and carted off, unbeknownst to you surely to infect many more blithely unaware victims.

Maybe you notice that you were bitten, even just barely, even just a scrape of the teeth hard enough to scratch the skin; maybe you don’t. If you do notice and you seek medical attention, the best a doctor will offer you is disinfectant and antibiotics, maybe a rabies shot if they’re extra ambitions. Perhaps you have too much on your plate already without a detour to the doctor’s office (or perhaps you don’t have medical insurance), and you opt for at-home remedies, a vigorous scrub with hydrogen peroxide and a large rectangular Band-Aid slapped on top. Of course, none of this will do you any good. It was over the moment a drop of zombie saliva slipped painlessly into your bloodstream and began to replicate there like an invasive species, like an insurgent force. It only takes once.

You go home, and maybe when you start to feel really bad you call an ambulance and go to the hospital, and when you turn you bite anyone you can get your claws on there. Maybe you die at home and then attack your partner, your children, your parents, your roommates; maybe this new version of yourself ends up chewing bits of gristle off the bones of your dog or cat or ferret. And if any of your victims manage to escape once you’ve gotten a taste of them—no matter how fleetingly, no matter how trivially—they are sure to die in agony and reanimate too, and to pass along this plague you’ve gifted them, the bloodiest game of telephone.

Now millions are getting sick, fevers, headaches, purging, bleeding, but where do people go when they need a doctor? The hospitals are overrun, the clinics are swarmed, and doctors and nurses are falling ill too. There are unimaginable reports of the carnage. There is censorship to smother the panic. There are public figures vanishing from sight. There are zombies-in-progress boarding planes, checking into hotels, tottering onto cruise ships with armfuls of luggage, sweating through their bedsheets in crowded military barracks, silently ticking timebombs as the world as everyone knows it hurtles towards its end.

You would be amazed what people can refuse to believe. Once you believe something, that makes it real.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are no shovels, so Cregan tills the earth with his axe and then you dig with your hands. There are no headstones, so Rhaena finds a large sand-colored rock and writes on it with a jagged piece of slate: Baela and Briar, Summer 2024. Then she hesitates, the slate hovering in afternoon air, amber sunlight and eighty degrees, dust thick in the wind. She wants to say more. There needs to be more. How can two lives end with five words? At last Rhaena adds: Mother and child who perished en route to California. They were loved. They mattered.

“That’s good, Rhaena,” Luke tells her, voice gentle, hands on her shoulders. She stares at the grave for a while, and you don’t have time to waste; the bear could return, there might be wolves or mountain lions, eventually the sun will set and you will be stranded in an infinite darkness like the ocean at night. But Aemond waits until Rhaena is ready. She tucks the shard of shale into her backpack, and then you are fleeing once again: from this day, from this world.

You hike back to I-80 and walk west towards the next ranch. All of you are here in south-central Wyoming, and yet none of you are: you are in the earth with Baela, you are back in Nebraska where Jace died, you are in Ohio where he was swept away by a river, you are in Pennsylvania where you and Rio climbed down from a transmission tower, you are in your lives before the world ended: Saratoga Springs, Boston, cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, a part of Kentucky called the Wildlands. Aegon is limping along on his own and shoving Rio away each time he tries to pick him up.

“Stop,” Aegon says, wincing and exhausted, his bandages coated with dust.

“Come on, Honey Bun. You’re going to rip your foot open—”

“Stop it!” Aegon demands. “I’m not going to slow you down anymore! I’m not going to be a burden!”

There is a sound you don’t immediately recognize: a rumbling, a squealing. A car is pulling up alongside you. Instinctively, you unholster one of your M9s and raise it as you turn.

“No, no, no, we’re cool!” a woman says, showing you both of her hands. She is around fifty and driving a Subaru Outback; there is a man in the passenger’s seat, perhaps her husband, and two wide-eyed, hoodie-swathed teenagers in the backseat. “Are you…are you guys okay?”

All of you stare blankly at her: shellshocked, distraught, covered in dirt and blood. “Yeah,” Daeron says eventually.

The woman peers around, east, west. “Do you have a car or something?”

“We have a Tahoe,” Cregan says. “It’s out of gas.”

“We have a few cans in the trunk,” the Subaru woman replies. “I can give you one, five gallons. That will get you to Rock Springs, and you should be able to find more supplies there. We came through that way, it wasn’t too bad.” And then, before anybody can ask if she’s serious, the woman steps out of the car and opens the hatchback. She lifts out a red can and hands it to Rio, who is standing the closest.

“Thank you, lady,” he says, astonished.

“I’m sorry about that,” you tell the woman, meaning the fact that you were prepared to shoot her.

Rhaena adds: “We’ve had some…bad experiences.”

The Subaru woman smiles. “Haven’t we all. Where are you headed?”

“West Coast,” Aemond answers quickly: vague, guarded, inviting no further disclosures.

She nods; she can’t trust you, and you can’t trust her, and everyone agrees, an unspoken acknowledgement of what the world is like now. “Well, you don’t want to go anywhere near Salt Lake City.”

“But that’s the only direct route,” Aegon says, crestfallen.

“I know.” The Subaru woman is sympathetic. “And it’s going to burn a hell of a lot of gas and time to drive all the way around, but you have to. There are tens of thousands of zombies, and a lot of people are trapped there without fuel. I’m telling you, if someone sees you driving by in a working vehicle, they’ll try to put a bullet in your head so they can take it. So don’t give them the opportunity.”

“Okay,” Aegon says glumly, already pulling his map out of the pocket of his khaki shorts to plot a new course.

“Stay far away from Chicago,” Rio offers the Subaru woman in return. “And any nuclear power plants.”

“We’re headed south,” she says, then grins. “I’ve got a sister in eastern Tennessee. We’re going to learn how to fish and cook moonshine and make clothes out of deer hide, and live up in the mountains where nobody will ever bother us.”

People glance at you, the resident Appalachian; and you remember the crackling of woodstoves, flecks of ice in the creek, kicking up snow as you ran through the woods, following tracks of deer and opossums and raccoons. “It’s a beautiful place. I think you’ll like it.”

Rhaena asks the Subaru woman: “Is there anything we can do for you? To thank you for the gas?”

“Oh, I couldn’t take from a bunch of bloodied people who are stranded on the side of the interstate.” But her eyes catch on the pistol in your hand and stay there, envious, longing. You have another, so you give it to her.

“The safety is on. There are only nine bullets left, unfortunately.”

“That’s nine more than I had before,” the Subaru woman says as she takes the U.S. Navy’s standard-issue Beretta. Then she says to everyone: “Good luck.”

“Same to you, ma’am,” Cregan replies. The Subaru woman gets back into her car and disappears eastbound with her family. The nine of you that are left—ten, if you count Ice—trek back to the Tahoe, where Rio pours five gallons of combustible liquid gold into the gas tank.

Rhaena climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. The rust-red Tahoe growls to life, the engine idling. Then she rests her arms on the steering wheel and breaks down sobbing. In the passenger’s seat, Aegon looks up from his map—which he is annotating with a glittery green gel pen—to gaze at her with shining, wounded eyes. After some hesitation, he extends a hand to hold one of hers. From the seat behind Rhaena, Luke is rubbing her shoulders and murmuring words you can’t hear.

Aemond says softly: “Rhaena, you can take some time if you need it.”

“No,” she insists, her voice quivering but determined. “We can’t wait. We have to get as far as we can before dark.” She shifts the Tahoe into drive, guides it onto I-80, and speeds west towards Rock Springs and the Utah border.

Rio is saying something to you, but at first you can’t grasp it. Helaena is scratching Ice’s ears as the massive grey wolfdog lies sprawled across her lap. Daeron is sniffling and wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his orange t-shirt. Cregan is talking to Aemond about needing to find an auto shop so he can get supplies to change the Tahoe’s oil and filter. One of Aegon’s mixtapes whirls in the CD player:

“My face above the water

My feet can’t touch the ground, touch the ground

And it feels like I can see the sands on the horizon

Every time you are not around…”

You are watching Aemond, your heartbeat growing loud in your ears. He won’t look at you at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the sun begins to set, you find a vacant house on the outskirts of Coalville, Utah overlooking the Echo Reservoir. You wash away the remnants of Wyoming in the cool blue water, dried blood and caked-on dirt, hopes eclipsed by horror. Dinner is soup spooned out of cans from the pantry—Dinty Moore beef stew, Campbell’s condensed chicken noodle—and caffeine-free sodas, Sprite and Fanta and Seagram’s Ginger Ale. Then Rhaena and Luke go straight to bed, and Helaena scuttles through the house with a flashlight to search for clothes, making each person a separate pile on the dining room table: large flannel shirts for Cregan, pastel-colored polos for Aegon. Aemond and Cregan are outside on the front porch, Daeron is carving sticks into arrows on the kitchen floor, Aegon has been passed out in one of the children’s bedrooms since Aemond debrided his burns again and dosed him with the last of the Vicodin. Fortunately, Helaena found a translucent orange prescription bottle of Tramadol in the upstairs bathroom, so Aegon won’t have to suffer too much tomorrow.

Rio tosses and turns on the living room couch. You know what’s wrong, but you have to wait for him to say it. You stay with him, kneeling on the beige carpet in the murky artificial luminance of Rio’s Moonbeam flashlight, threading your fingertips through his dark curls. And then at last Rio asks something that you know must have crossed his mind a thousand times since you left Saratoga Springs, but he’s never voiced aloud: “What if Sophie and the baby are dead?”

“They’re not.”

“But you don’t know, nobody knows—”

“Bryan, they’re not dead,” you say, and he is listening.

“I joined the Navy for Sophie.” And of course, you’ve heard this before. “I was just a stupid kid who couldn’t commit to anything, not work, not school, not a future with her, so she dumped me. And I decided I was going to get her back by proving I could make commitments after all. I could sign my life away for five years, and come out of it as someone who would be a good husband and father. And now…what if by enlisting and being so far away when everything happened, I abandoned her? What if…what if she’s gone, and she died terrified and in pain and alone, and I’m the reason why?”

“Sophie and the baby are waiting for you in Odessa. You have to believe that until we get there.”

“Because if they’re not, my life is over?” he asks bitterly, this man you have never known to be wrathful, defeated, weak, hopeless. But these are beasts that live inside all of us, waiting to be shaken awake by the perfect string of calamities.

“I believe they’re still alive.”

And Rio looks at you, wanting desperately to be convinced. “Why?”

You’ve never believed that you are someone who knows the right things to say; but you have to try. “If your parents’ community in Odessa is like you’ve always described it to me, I can’t think of a better place for someone to hide from all the disorder and the violence. It’s remote, but there’s support from other families who are living the same way. People have gardens, cows, goats, pigs, chickens, enough canned food to live on for years, homemade clothes and systems to collect rainwater. There are women who’ve had five homebirths and men who’ve built houses with their own hands. And the people in Odessa have guns and know how to use them. I think when you told Sophie to go there, you saved her life. And now she and the baby are both waiting for you to come home.”

“We’ve crossed this country by raiding dead people’s homes.”

“Yes. And we’ve seen plenty of living ones too.”

Rio takes a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling; and now he is calmer. “Okay,” he says, grabbing your hand where it rests on his head and smacking a noisy kiss onto your knuckles. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I think I’m done freaking out for tonight.”

“You good?”

“I’m good.”

“Try to sleep.”

Obediently, Rio closes his eyes, and within five minutes he’s snoring.

You rise and open the door to the front porch, thinking of what you’re going to tell Aemond when he is low, distracted, wary: You did everything you could, Aemond. It’s not your fault. It’s this world, it’s poison, it’s cursed, and you can’t turn back the clock to when it wasn’t. You’re just one man. But you can try to save the people who are left.

Yet Aemond does not speak to you, doesn’t even notice you; when you peek outside you are on his blind side, and he is deep in conversation with Cregan as they keep watch in the moonlight.

“I mean, yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too, man,” Cregan is saying. “A mansion by the ocean sounds nice and all, don’t get me wrong, but that ain’t me. I don’t see myself somewhere like that forever. Hell, I’ve never even seen the ocean, and to be honest I never really cared to. But a community of folks who are living off the land out in the woods? Those are my kind of people, that’s a place I could be useful…”

You retreat back inside the house, flashlights and shadows, doubts and fears. You stand there in the quiet for a while, then go to Aegon’s bedroom, where he is awake now and snuggling with Ice in a child’s bed shaped like a red racecar, listening to his pink Sony Walkman—Ava, the gleaming rhinestones proclaim—through one earbud.

Aegon coos as he ruffles the dog’s shaggy grey coat: “You’re so sweet, Blue Raspberry Icee. You were always my favorite flavor. Do you miss 7-Elevens too? Wrinkled old hot dogs and taquitos on rollers, drenching tortilla chips with the nacho cheese and chili dispenser? Did you guys even have 7-Elevens in Iowa? No offense, but your home state kind of sucks. It’s just fields and barns and whatever. You would have loved Boston. You could have fetched my golf balls when they rolled into ponds.”

Then he sings along to the song he’s listening to, effortlessly melodic but so softly you can barely hear him:

“You really had me going, wishing on a star

But the black holes that surround you are heavier by far

I believed in your confusion, you were so completely torn…”

Aegon spots you in the doorway. He smiles, then turns serious when he gets a good look at your face. “You okay, Mint Chocolate Chip?”

He feels like the only person you can say this to. You confess in a weak, hoarse whisper: “I hate this world.”

Aegon offers you the other earbud. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on,” you say to Rhaena as Rio and Luke rummage around inside the Shell gas station for food, drinks, batteries, medicine. You know they’re fine; you’ve already cleared the store, and you can hear them in there laughing. Rio is telling Luke about the bizarre Thanksgiving dinner you once had in Chinhae, South Korea: duck instead of turkey, fried rice with pears and squash instead of stuffing, candied sweet potatoes for dessert, a choir of solemn schoolchildren brought in to sing—for reasons you will never understand—Africa by Toto. You take your remaining M9 out of its holster. “Target practice.”

“Really?” Rhaena asks excitedly. She volunteered to stay back at the little blue mobile home with Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena—only a mile away—but you knew she needed a distraction. Truthfully, you do too. Aemond is in the Tahoe somewhere searching for gas with Cregan, a strange new alliance. He still hasn’t really spoken to you. You are trying to give him what he needs, but you don’t understand what that is.

It took all of yesterday to navigate around Salt Lake City, stopping every few hours to scrounge for gas, gallons siphoned piecemeal from cars, trucks, motorcycles, boats on trailers, four-wheelers left forgotten in garages and backyards. It was after nightfall when you rolled into Battle Mountain, Nevada, a gold mining town in what is known as the Cowboy Corridor, beginning at West Wendover just over the Utah border and ending in Reno. Today supplies must be replenished; tomorrow I-80 will take you to Winnemucca, where U.S. Route 95 branches off north towards Oregon while remaining on I-80 leads southwest through the Sierra Nevada Mountains and into the Bay Area of California. A decision needs to be made, which means Aemond will have to talk to you tonight. You’re relieved. You don’t want to have to be nervous and watchful with him, studying every inflection of his voice, reading some dire premonition in each line that creases his face. You’ve spent enough of your life that way already.

Battle Mountain is cloudless and hot and sandy, dry shrubs and gnarled mesquite trees, flat secretless earth. Staggering towards the Shell are three zombies, all dressed in faded blue uniforms like a mechanic’s or a miner’s. You hand Rhaena your M9.

“How many bullets do you have left?” she says, still a bit giddy.

“Fifteen. And you can have five of them.”

She raises the pistol and closes one eye. “I’m going to miss.”

“Well you’re not going to hit anything if you don’t turn off the safety.”

Rhaena giggles. “Oh, right. Whoops.” She clicks the tiny lever, then takes aim again.

“Line up your sights. Front looks like an I, back looks like a U. Put the I in the center of the U, and keep looking at that front sight. That’s where your bullet is going. Don’t blink when you fire. Don’t be scared of the recoil, that’s not your problem, your priority is getting the shot. Your arms are a little stiff…yeah, perfect, nice and limber. The recoil won’t hurt so much that way. Don’t try to fight it, just accept that it’s going to happen. If you’re all tensed up because you’re anxious about the recoil, it’ll throw off your aim, so forget about it.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. “I am actively attempting to forget.”

“Remember, try not to blink.”

“Don’t tense up. Don’t blink.” A few seconds pass, and she pulls the trigger. There is a spray of dark curdled blood from one of the zombie’s collarbone, but it’s still stumbling towards the Shell. “Damn,” Rhaena says defeatedly, then tries to pass the M9 back to you.

“What are you doing? You have four more shots.”

“But I’m going to miss. I’m going to waste them.”

“Practice isn’t wasteful. You have to know how to do this in case something happens to me.”

“You do it,” Rhaena insists. “I’m terrible.”

“Is it alright if I help you?”

“Yeah,” she says, her doe-like eyes brightening. “Okay. Totally.”

“Go ahead and aim.”

She raises the pistol and peers through the sights. You stand behind Rhaena, place your hands lightly over hers, adjust her angle just barely. When she fires—she’s still tensing up just before she pulls the trigger, a common mistake—you hold the M9 steady. The bullet explodes through the same zombie’s rot-soft skull and the corpse tumbles facedown into the dust.

Rhaena gasps, exhilarated, triumphant.

“No celebrating yet. There are two more.”

“Right.” Very businesslike, she lines up the next shot. You provide your slight adjustments; a second zombie receives a lethal dose of lead.

“Want to do the last one on your own?” The third zombie is quite close now, maybe ten yards. It should be an easy kill.

“Okay…but if I miss, you have to save me.”

“Obviously.”

All on her own, Rhaena aims and pulls the trigger. She hits the zombie near the top of its head; an inch higher, and it would be functionally unharmed. But the corpse’s skull snaps back and its blood and brains spill out onto the asphalt of the parking lot, and it is of no further danger to anyone. It is carrion for the scavengers: raccoons, foxes, condors, vultures, crows.

“And with one of your allocated bullets to spare,” you say with a smile, accepting the M9 when Rhaena surrenders it. “Good progress.”

“That felt great,” she admits, perhaps a little dazed.

You know what she means. “It’s nice to have some control over what happens in your life.”

Luke is saying to Rio as they reappear from inside the Shell: “Maybe those Korean children were singing Africa because they knew your unit had been in Djibouti. Maybe they thought you were homesick for it or something.”

“Oh my God, you know what, kid? You might be right. I never even thought of that.”

“Find anything?” you ask.

Rio shrugs, adjusting the straps of his backpack. “A few bags of trail mix, a box of Band-Aids, some Life Savers, cans of Arizona tea. Oh, and Marlboro Golds for Honey Bun.”

“You shouldn’t be encouraging Aegon to smoke. It’s bad for him.”

“Give him a break, he’s sad and crispy.”

You can’t think of a rebuttal. The four of you walk back to the mobile home.

In the small patch of parched dirt that serves as the driveway, Cregan is—with great difficulty—shimmying out from beneath the Tahoe. Then he reaches back under to grab a pan of old motor oil. “Just about done here,” he announces. “Gotta put the fresh oil in and then we’re set for another 5,000 miles.”

You glance around. Ice is panting in the narrow aisle of shade of a mesquite tree. Aegon is napping on the tiny front porch, sprawled on his back and snoring, his plastic neon green sunglasses shielding his eyes; Helaena is surrounded by a jumble of empty cans and stirring a pot of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs as she heats it over a fire. She begins dishing out bowlfuls of it. Rio, Rhaena, and Luke all graciously accept their dinner.

“Did you guys find gas?” you say to Cregan.

“Not much. A few gallons.”

“Where’s Aemond?”

“Said he’d be back soon.”

“What?” You are incredulous. “You left him? He can’t be alone out there, Cregan. Someone has to watch his blind side.”

“He ain’t alone. He took Daeron.”

“What’s Aemond looking for?”

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.” Now Cregan is pouring a bottle of Pennzoil into the Tahoe, and Rio is prodding you with a bowl of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs, and Aegon is waking up and yawning loudly.

“What’d you bring me?” he says, lazy and grinning; and when he receives his pack of Marlboro Golds, he immediately sticks one between his teeth and lights it. Luke goes to sit by a shrub and then jumps up when he hears a rattling noise. Almost too swiftly for you to process it, a streak of red-gold scales slithers across the earth and vanishes into the desert.

“Western diamondback rattlesnake,” Helaena notes. “Venomous. Potentially fatal.”

“Great,” Luke says, carrying his bowl towards the front door of the mobile home. “I think I’ll eat inside.”

Aemond and Daeron don’t return until shortly before dusk, the sky turning to rust, lavender, gold, fire, blood. When they walk in, Rhaena is curled up on the floral couch—shredded in spots by a cat, though there are no signs of it now—and reading Mockingjay. Luke is sitting with her and keeping watch with periodic peeks out the window. Ice is resting with her muzzle propped on her large front paws. You, Rio, Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon are playing Uno on the floor.

“What color?” Aegon asks Helaena when she puts down a wild card.

“Blue.”

He groans. “How do you always know what I don’t have?!”

“Rhaena,” Aemond says, and then tosses something to her that glints in the artificial, sickly yellow radiance of the flashlights. She catches them in midair: a set of keys. She is mystified.

“What are these for?”

“The Ford Expedition that’s parked outside.”

“What?!” Luke says, twisting around in his seat to snatch the curtain aside and peer through the window. “Oh wow. Yeah, it’s out there.”

Rhaena is staring confoundedly at Aemond. “Why do we need a Ford Expedition?”

“Because that’s what you’ll be driving tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with the Tahoe?”

“They will be driving the Tahoe to Oregon,” Aemond says, pointing to you, Rio, and Cregan. “We are taking Expedition to California.”

Everyone is too stunned to speak at first; even Daeron looks at Aemond doubtfully, as if this is the first time he’s learning of it. Aegon’s hand hovers frozen in the air above the draw pile of Uno cards. Ice whimpers.

Rio chuckles uncertainly. “You’re…you’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Aemond says. “When we leave Battle Mountain tomorrow, you’ll take I-80 to Winnemucca. We’ll take Route 305 south to Austin and then head west so we can get off the interstate and avoid the Reno area.”

Your voice comes out dark and poisonous. You can feel your eyes glaring, searing; Aemond won’t look at you. “What are you talking about?”

“We can’t stay together?” Luke asks.

“No,” Aemond says again, and now he’s getting impatient. “We have two different destinations. That’s been the situation since the day we met, and now it’s time to split up.”

“Why can’t we all travel to one place and then the other?” Rhaena says. “We could drive to the Bay Area, see what’s going on at the beach house, and after—”

“I can’t wait,” Rio interrupts. “My wife and baby are in Oregon, I’m going straight there even if no one else is.” As distracted as you are, you touch your palm to one of his broad shoulders. You’re going too. You promised.

“So we’ll drive to Oregon first,” Aegon says agreeably. “Right? We could do that. Go north and then swing by the Bay Area later.”

Aemond shakes his head. “It’s almost impossible to find gas now. There is just enough in the Tahoe to last it until Winnemucca, and just enough in the Expedition to get it down to Austin. There is no guarantee we’ll be able to find more. Every day there’s less gas and food and bullets, because there are less places that haven’t already been looted. There are 400 miles between where we are right now and either Odessa or San Franscisco. There are another 400 miles that separate those two destinations from each other. So let’s say we drive all the way to Oregon and then can’t find any gas to go south to the Bay. How long do you think we’d last like this on foot? A month? Because that’s how long it would take us, assuming not a single rest day. So if we travel to one location together, there’s a good possibility we’ll all be trapped there.”

“Maybe I’m okay with getting trapped in Oregon,” Aegon mumbles.

Aemond lashes out fiercely. “Are you serious? What about Criston, what about Mom?!”

“Maybe there are some things about home that I don’t miss!”

“Then go the fuck to Oregon!”

“You know I have to stay with you!”

Aemond scoffs. “Because you’re so capable of protecting anyone.”

Aegon rubs his sunburned face with both hands. He murmurs softly, miserably: “I’m trying, Aemond.”

“So that’s it?” Rhaena says, staring at you and Rio and Cregan, stunned and mournful. “We’ll just never see each other again?”

Aemond shrugs and averts his gaze. He doesn’t have an answer; maybe he doesn’t care.

Aegon turns to Cregan accusingly. “You helped plan this?”

“Nah,” Cregan says, avoidant and downcast, which is unusual for him. “I mean…I said I didn’t really see myself spending the rest of my life with a bunch of millionaires in a California mansion on the seashore, and that’s still true. I’d rather live in Oregon with people who are more like me. But that’s different than wanting to split up forever. I could always try to find y’all later for a visit, I guess…”

“Sure,” Aemond replies briskly. “Whatever you decide to do afterwards isn’t my problem. But you get them to Odessa first.”

Rhaena bursts out with sudden urgency: “This feels wrong. Don’t you see how this is wrong?! We’ve been through so much together, and now we’re just going to wave goodbye and disappear? Leave them to fend for themselves?”

“You want to add 400 miles to our trip?” Aemond asks her, and Rhaena falls silent.

“You know,” Luke begins. “We…we’ve already lost people. Maybe Aemond’s right. Maybe we’re forgetting how dangerous the world is now. It would be great if we could stay in contact, but the most important thing is to get everyone safely to where they need to be.”

“Exactly,” Aemond says, and something jolts awake in you as you remember what he told you in Nebraska, and in Wyoming, and in so many quiet moments that you’ve shared since you met, each an oasis in the desert. He said we would figure it out. He said he wasn’t going anywhere.

“So you were lying when you pretended not to know what we were going to do when we got to Nevada.”

Aemond nods towards the front door. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

You stand up; Rio watches you apprehensively, wondering if he should follow. Your eyes flick to his. I’m fine. He relents, redirecting his attention. Aegon is slumped and despondent; Helaena is starting to cry, and Cregan tries to console her. She’s saying that something bad is going to happen, but she doesn’t know what.

On the porch of the mobile home, beneath a lilac sky pierced with stars, Aemond does not attempt to hold your hands or kiss you goodbye or give any other indication that you have ever been someone who mattered to him. “This isn’t personal. This is what gives everyone the best chance of survival.”

“You’re afraid of making a mistake and getting hurt,” you tell him. “And I understand, I know what that feels like, but Aemond…with the way the world is now…you can’t afford to wait for things to happen or cut them loose to see if they’ll come back to you. You might not get another chance.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Aemond says flatly. “Your route is safer than ours. Less cities, less zombies.”

“You’re honestly going to act like you are completely unbothered by the thought of never seeing me again?”

“I don’t know what you expected. I’m just some guy who helped get you off a transmission tower back in Pennsylvania.”

“Really? That’s all you are?”

And then Aemond smirks to himself, a cynical, mocking twist of his lips, something so dismissive and so cruel you almost believe for a razor-thin second that you could hate him. “Look, I’m not the one for you. Go to Oregon. Fuck Cregan.”

“There is nothing romantic between me and Cregan!”

Now Aemond seems annoyed. “Well, you two seem exceptionally suited for each other.”

“Because we both grew up shopping at Dollar General and know what it’s like to have an alcoholic parent?! That makes us soulmates, that’s the end of the calculation?!”

“Then find a man like him!” Aemond flares. “That’s what you really wanted, right? That’s what you were after this whole time. Some hero to convince you he’s worth it. Someone to break you in.”

You are seething, thunderstruck. “And you just said that in the most hurtful way possible to…what, prove how little you care about me?”

“I didn’t say I don’t care about you.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“We were never going to end up in the same place.”

“Except we were, you told me that, you told me we’d figure something out, I mean, you…you…you said you’d be there if I wanted kids someday, what was that if not some kind of commitment?!”

“You don’t trust me,” Aemond says, so sharply and so abruptly it startles you.

“I do,” you object softly.

“No, you don’t. And I don’t blame you. But there’s nowhere for us to go from here.”

You can feel yourself becoming young and powerless and desperately afraid. “Please don’t do this, Aemond. It won’t bring Jace or Baela back. If we don’t have a plan before we split up, this is over. We’ll never find each other again. We’ll never have another chance.”

And he shakes his head like this was such a needless mistake. “I knew you’d fall in love with me.”

He’s leaving, you think, hazy and omnipotent like a nightmare, the present inseparable from the past and the future. I left my family and now my family is leaving me. “I’m not in love with you,” you reply as ruthlessly as you can. “I think you’re right. Cregan is a better man.”

“Yeah,” Aemond snaps.

“And I need someone like him.”

“Yeah,” Aemond says again, staring into the west where the last rays of the sun are sinking below the horizon, you erased as you stand where his left eye would once have seen you.

“And you need someone who’s going to fuck with your head so much you can’t possibly mistake it for something real.”

You walk back inside the mobile home and leave him speechless in the dying light.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I drew this for you,” Aegon says, handing Rio a folded piece of paper torn from Helaena’s spider notebook. It’s a map, illustrated in forest green gel pen ink. “Your route is actually really straightforward, it’s impossible to get lost. You’ll follow I-80 northwest to Winnemucca, then Route 95 north until it intersects with Route 140, and you stay on 140 all the way to Odessa. The only real city you’ll go near is Klamath Falls in Oregon, and I’ve marked that. Route 140 mostly stays along the outside, but you can cut it wider if things look dicey. The whole trip is just a couple days by car, assuming you don’t have to spend too long hunting for gas. But listen…” He points to the green dot labelled Winnemucca. “Between here and Denio Junction up by the Oregon border, there’s 100 miles of nothing, just desert. So make sure you have more than enough supplies to last you in case something happens. Then from Denio Junction to Adel is another 85 miles with no towns in between. So just…be careful, okay? You’re not back east anymore. Things are a lot farther apart, and it’s harder to find everything. If you run out of gas or bust a tire, you can’t just call AAA to come pick you up.”

“We got it,” Rio says, touched but trying not to dissolve into too much sentimentality. The three of you are standing in the short dirt driveway the next morning, Aegon putting most of his weight on his good leg. Cregan is waiting behind the wheel of the Chevy Tahoe that once belonged to his parents. Ice is peering out at you through one of the rolled-down windows. “Thank you, Honey Bun.”

“No problem. Now flip it over.”

Rio does; on the back of the first map is another, this one from Odessa south to the Bay Area, a place just north of San Francisco called Bolinas.

“Go all the way to the coast and follow it down,” Aegon says. “You don’t want to bump into Santa Rosa, Sacramento, Stockton, Modesto, San Jose, any of those places. Too many people.” Then he smiles, kind and warm. “I’m going to see you guys again, one way or the other. But first I have to make sure Aemond is safe. And Rio has to meet baby Otter.”

Rio laughs. “Man, don’t even joke about it. I’m seriously concerned that’s my firstborn’s name.”

“If you end up not staying in Odessa, leave me a note carved into a tree trunk or something so I can track you down.”

“You do the same at the beach mansion.”

“Totally.” Then Aegon turns to you; and although he’s still smiling, his eyes—those pools of murky, melancholy blue that remind you of the Gulf of Tadjoura, Corpus Christi Bay, the East China Sea, the Indian Ocean—are catastrophically sad. “Tortilla Chip, it’s been real. Don’t forget about me.”

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

He pats your backpack and winks, and you don’t understand why until ten hours later when you’re lying on the rooftop of an abandoned RV in Winnemucca, Nevada, gazing up at the stars as Rio and Cregan swap stories to weave affinity until it’s thick like a braid: Rio hiding a dead lemon shark in the Jeep of an officer he hated when you were stationed at Key West, Cregan’s fiancé leaving him after she got a field hockey scholarship to the University of Iowa. You haven’t found any gas for the Tahoe yet. You’ll have to search again tomorrow. You reach into your backpack for a pack of Life Savers and instead are surprised to discover Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. The rhinestones spelling out a doomed little girl’s name glint in the moonlight.

You slip in both earbuds and press play. Aegon left it paused at an Enrique Iglesias song; you assume he must have been thinking of Rio.

“You look at me and, girl, you take me to another place

Got me feelin’ like I’m flyin’, like I’m out of space

Something ‘bout your body says, come and take me

Got me begging, got me hoping that the night don’t stop…”

You try to see constellations in the night sky instead of random, indifferent distant suns. You try not to remember the way Aemond was when you thought his mark on you was permanent.

“Girl, I like the way you move, come and show me what to do

You can tell me that you want me, girl, you got nothing to lose

I can’t wait no more

I can’t wait no more…”

You spot a glimmer of light among the stars and choose to believe it is a comet rather than a fighter jet, or a forgotten satellite, or the refracted remnants of a solar storm, or something you only imagined and that never existed at all.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n

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buryustogether · 1 year

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lilac - chapter 2

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: a pre-work visit to the bank goes horribly wrong.

wc: 4.7k

tags/warnings: unhappy relationship, gun violence, bank robbery, blood, scars, stripping, pole dancing, sexual fantasy, semi-public sex, praise

author’s note: yeah he got me fucked up

They called him Spiderman.

He appeared seemingly from thin air overnight - specifically, the night you’d stayed late at the school to watch Gabriella O’Hara until her father could pick her up. They were hailing him a vigilante, a hero, an aggressor. No one could quite seem to agree on just what he was other than supernatural. Like the multiple self-titled supervillains who had taken over your city without someone to stop them, he possessed abilities no regular human was capable of. Shooting webs from his wrists, climbing walls, moving and propelling himself at unimaginable speeds. He was something unimaginable.

People theorized, over the week since his city-wide premier on shaky cellphone footage and breaking news coverings that interrupted regular shows, that he had escaped from a cage in Alchemax. How else could they explain his powers? They couldn’t. Others said he was an alien. Some said he was a fake, said that the clips that captured him beating the absolute shit out of car thieves and back alley thugs and would-be kidnappers, were all photoshopped with a fancy computer and an advanced program.

Either way, no matter where he’d come from or what he was, whether he was a do-gooder or another villain searching for glory, no one could deny that what he did was incredible.

It was too bad some people were out to get him despite what he was doing for your city.

“He’s a menace!” shouted the anchor of the news show playing in the bank’s lobby. J. Jonah Jameson’s voice brought a migraine to the front of your head, one that wouldn’t go away with just simple ibuprofen. You tried to block him out as you waited in line for a teller, attempting to focus instead on the story your boyfriend was barking in your ear on your phone. Your attempt was unsuccessful. “He’s just another villain trying to have his five minutes of glory in the sun. He’ll burn out just like all the others; Doc Ock, Kraven, the Vulture… Please, people! Wake up and take a deep breath of reality! He’s not helping the citizens of New York - he’s getting in the way of our police!” He fixed the camera with a hard, stony stare that made you look away when you saw one of his eyes twitch. What in fuck did that dude put in his cereal every morning? “Spiderman is just another villain. Give him another week, and see where he ends up.”

You felt your lips tug down as you turned away from the television and moved up in line. What a sad, pathetic city you lived in, where someone attempted to use whatever powers they had to do good and got blasted for it instead of praise. God knew New York needed all the help it could get. With the highest crime rate in the country, who would turn their nose up at what little help was offered to them?

Dickwipes, that was who.

“Hello?” shouted the voice on the other end of the phone you held up to your face. You jumped slightly and pulled it from your ear, earning yourself a few strange looks from the other people in line. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, babe,” you exhaled into the speaker. Blocking out the television and the rest of the distractions in the bank, you upped the volume on your phone. “Just kind of busy at the moment. I’m in line at the bank, and then I’ve got to catch a taxi in this fucking traffic and haul ass to work before class starts, and -”

From his end, Ferris released one of those breathy sighs that he did when he wanted you to stop speaking so that he could talk what was on his mind. You knew the sound well - well enough to shut your mouth and swallow thick. “Could’ve just said it was a bad time,” he grunted, then made the noises of switching his phone to his other ear. You recognized the sounds of his deft fingers fiddling with his guitar strings. God, it seemed like he never put that fucking thing down. A part of you suspected that if your apartment was on fire, he would run to save his instrument before you. “Listen, I’ve got practice here in a while. I’ll let you get back to whatever’s so important.”

Ignoring the pang that resounded like a thunderclap through your ribcage, you nodded your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you. “Uhm, okay.” You hesitated, then added, “Oh, before you go to practice -” you heard him sniff - “could you put away the dishes in the sink? I started the cycle this morning before I left, so it should be -”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Bye.”

“Oh, okay, bye. Lo-” Before you could finish, you heard the familiar click of the other line being hung up. You stood still for a moment, feeling a little numb at your fingers, before slowly pulling your phone from your face and pressing that bright red button to hang up your end. Trying to keep your expression neutral, you stepped forward in line as it moved.

Maybe once upon a time, you and Ferris had been happy together. Maybe… satisfied was the right word. Settled. There to fill the void when you needed someone. Saying ‘I love you’ was never a column to lean upon in your relationship; it was only mumbled under breaths during sex and rare moments when both of you were in the mood to not be so completely alone. But that wasn’t often. He was too busy with his band, spending whatever money from his gigs that he received at whatever bars he trolled when he claimed he was cleaning up after shows. You were too busy teaching your kids during the day and teasing and smiling desperate souls at night, putting lousy paychecks and crumpled tips toward keeping your rent paid and food in the pantry.

The girls at The Menagerie asked you why you didn’t leave him, kick him out of your apartment and change the locks. You couldn’t ever come up with a good reason. Maybe it was because if you did, six months of your life would be down the drain. Maybe it was because if you did, you’d be more alone than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t have anyone besides Ferris. Your parents, shit - they were a lost cause. The girls at the club all had separate lives. And your kids at the school - you had to let them go every afternoon, walk out that door without a glance back.

If you let Ferris go, you would have no one.

Stuffing your phone back into your purse, you held your head high, refusing to let anyone else here see just how deep the cracks in your foundations were. At last, you were called up to the next available teller.

Your heels clicked and clacked along the polished tile floor, the bright yellow dress that you’d bought for yourself for a school spirit day swishing about your ankles. You felt like a sore thumb in this dull, brown-and-white building that was just aching to be updated. Old, vintage chandeliers hung from the high-arched ceilings, illuminating the golden bars the tellers sat behind. Benches with creaky leather occupied the center of the lobby, accented by matching chairs and little desks that bankers in starched collars met with clients at. It was all black and white, neutrals and dark tones.

Greeting the teller behind the gate with as bright a smile as you could muster, you opened your mouth to say hello. Yet just when you began to push the syllables past your lips, your world shattered like porcelain meeting concrete.

Sunlight like a torch in a dark tunnel flooded the bank as a small line of figures crowded into the bank. At first, no one paid them any mind. Then shots like the deafening cracks of fireworks right beside your ear sounded from sleek black rifles into the ceiling, and screams filled the echoey chambers of the building. You immediately dropped and covered your head, breath leaving your lungs like the air had been slammed from your chest by a sledgehammer. People cowered behind the cushions and desks, scrambling for cover as another round went through the roof.

“Everyone put your hands on your heads and take a seat on the ground,” came a booming voice from the figure at the head of the group. There were four of them, a small team who wore identical kabuki masks and black tactical gear fit to be seen on military personnel. “This is a robbery. Not a killing spree, not a kidnapping - a robbery. We ain’t looking to hurt anyone today, unless someone tries to be a hero. No sudden moves. You all follow directions, and you’ll be home in time for lunch.”

Unable to pull in a new breath, you slid to the ground and placed your hands on top of your head. You watched, eyes wide and fingers trembling slightly as the men began to make their rounds to the tellers, plopping wide, fat bags on the counters and demanding money from beneath the desks be placed inside. One took up a stance just beside you, forcefully shoving his bag to the man behind the bars and commanding him to pull out the stacked bills. The teller at once complied, dropping thousands of dollars as sweat began to bead at his temples.

Holy goddamn fucking shit. Holy fuck. You knew this city was dangerous - hell, you’d sit back night after night at home and watch on the news as cars were jacked and people were taken hostage. You’d just never thought it would happen to you; of all the millions of people in this city, you’d never thought it would be you. And yet here you were, hunkered down against a countertop as your bank was robbed with you at the throbbing heart of it all.

And you were all alone.

The man in the mask beside you took a glance down when your trembling brushed up against his leg, his head tilting slightly in a demented way that made his mask look haunted. You were suddenly reminded of your own mask that you wore for work, of the ones the other girls wore, and you were struck with the realization that, perhaps, you and he were not so different. You both wore masks to hide your faces, holding out your hands and moving to a particular kind of dance in order to snatch money right out of pockets without batting a damn eye.

Then again, when you danced, you didn’t hold an automatic rifle strapped to your shoulder.

“Give it to me,” said the man above you. You were barely able to understand his words through his mask.

Your heart skipped yet another few beats as you tried to register what he was saying. Give it to him? Give him what? “What?” you managed to say over the lead in your throat.

He nodded his head to the space beside you, and you whipped around. Your purse lay on its side next to your thigh. He wanted your purse; your wallet. Your money. Everything you had - which still wasn’t much. But you couldn’t give it up.

You looked back up at him while he switched his gaze between you and the teller, who was still busy filling the bag with cash. “No,” you said, and when he snapped his gaze to yours, you added, “please. I don’t have much, I don’t have anything compared to this place.”

The man in the mask turned away from the teller to grip his rifle tighter, tilting it slightly so that it was level with your leg curled up against your chest. “I’m not going to ask again, lady.”

Just as your hand began to scrabble for the purse laying beside you, knocking around a few papers and loose change that had fallen out, the man was struck in the face with a mass of white substance that clung to his mask. He cried out and dropped his rifle, hands flying up in an attempt to pull the stuff from his eye holes. You watched, frozen in place, as another masked man across the lobby was stuck to a countertop by his hand with another mass that appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Before anyone else could react, a dark, sinewy figure dropped from the arched ceilings overhead and kneeled on the tile just a few feet from where you huddled. When they stood up straight, your breath hitched in your throat. It was a man, donned head to toe in a blue and red suit that popped with color here in this bleak interior - like your yellow dress. His face was covered with a mask, the only indication of an expression beneath that surface retractable eye lenses that narrowed as he took a glance around the ceiling.

Spiderman exhaled a nearly inaudible huff. “Some things never change.”

From that moment, the bank was painted into a picture of chaos. The masked vigilante expelled a pair of webs from his wrist to slingshot himself across the lobby, landing a jaw-cracking blow to one of the robbers who tried to raise his rifle. The fourth, the last one still able to move, cracked off a number of shots that sent people scrambling and wailing out. The blue and red suit shot off tiny sparks as lead collided with its bulletproof material, nothing but pebbles against a mountain.

Spiderman huffed again, a breathy little chuckle this time. “Cute.”

In the next second, that fourth gunman was sent flying into a marble wall, sliding down onto his face to reveal the large crack his spine had put in its surface. The last two men were taken down quicker than you could have blinked. The second, his hand still stuck to the countertop, didn’t stand much of a chance when webs ripped his own rifle from his grasp and struck him across the forehead with a sickening crack. And the man who had demanded your purse - he’d only just gotten the white mass of sticky stuff off his mask before the vigilante slung across the room, grabbed him by his vest, and raised a gloved hand capped with three-inch long claws. “It’s impolite to threaten pretty ladies,” he growled in a voice that, for some reason, despite the situation, made your stomach churn a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He swung the robber toward you where you sat on the ground, that clawed hand gripping his jaw to force him to keep your eyes. “Apologize - like a gentleman. And maybe I’ll think about letting you keep your trigger finger in one piece.”

By now, with the gunmen either unconscious or being held against their will, almost everyone else in the bank had gotten to their feet and bolted out the front doors. In the distance, sirens wailed and tires screeched. And yet you remained where you were, staring up at Spiderman as he tightened his grip on the man’s jaw. His claws drew tiny dots of blood along his skin. “We’re waiting,” he said in a breathy murmur.

The gunman inhaled a high-pitched, shaky breath and turned his eyes to you from behind his mask. “M’sorry,” he stuttered over his own terror.

The vigilante leaned closer, his eye lenses narrowing. “Sorry for what?”

“M’sorry for threatening you,” came the pathetic cry in response that almost made you pity him. Almost. “It - it won’t happen again, I swear.”

For a short moment, the two men stared at you. One was praying that you accepted the apology, prayed you were going to call off your savior in spandex. The other was waiting for your decision, waiting to see if you accepted such a sorry excuse for a ‘sorry.’ Swallowing the large lump in your throat, you wordlessly bobbed your head in a nod.

Spiderman hummed and turned his head so that his mouth would be close to the robber’s ear. “Seems the lady’s feeling generous today. Consider yourself lucky.”

He spun the man around with those claws of his, and the robber’s gloved hand reached out in a blind panic and grabbed onto the vigilante’s suit just where his neck met his broad shoulders. He dragged the spandex down accidentally as his head was slammed against the marble countertops, giving you perhaps a one second-long glimpse of dark, tan skin and a small scar across his collarbone. Then the man’s grip relaxed as he dropped to the floor and he released the material of the suit, allowing it to snap back into place.

You jumped slightly as the would-be robber collapsed in a heap of limbs and tactical gear beside you, your dress riding up on your thighs slightly from how you sat with your knees huddled to your chest. Before you could think to do much else in this mind-boggling moment, Spiderman was standing before you and offering a hand to help you to your feet. His claws had shrunk back into his glove - or, perhaps his own nails - and his upturned palm suddenly looked oh so inviting. It floored you in the most alluring, gut-clenching way how those very hands had just brought four men within an inch of their life, and yet now they were softer than empty promises just for you.

“You alright?” he asked as you took his hand and stood. “Sorry you had to get caught up in all this.”

He talked to you in such a casual way, like the pair of you had met before, that you could do nothing but stare and clutch your hands to your stomach as he scooped up the fallen items from your purse, dropped them back in, and handed your bag to you. Numbly, you accepted it.

“You’re safe to walk outside now,” he assured, towering over you like a damn stone column. Fuck, his voice was sexy. Low and tipped with a rolling accent. You wondered, in that moment, why it sounded so familiar. “The police should be arriving any time. They’ll just ask you a few questions and send you on your way.” As if he understood that you were frozen in place, he touched your back, turned you around, and urged you toward the front doors that were now flooded with red and blue lights from the squad cars outside. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

You had just barely mumbled a barely-audible ‘okay’ before he was gently guiding you out the doors, and then suddenly you were alone, facing down three dozen cops and a truckload of SWAT soldiers.

They asked you exactly what happened in that bank. They asked what you were doing there, what time the incident occurred, who in the hell could single handedly take down four aggressors with automatic rifles and bulletproof vests? They knew the answer, and so did you. But you told them anyway.

“It was Spiderman.”

And no matter how fucking hard you tried, how much you urged yourself to forget about them and focus on the here and now, you were unable to get that masked vigilante out of your head. You thought about him on the rest of the way to the school, because god knew there were far too few teachers in this city and you couldn’t have gotten a substitute even if you tried. You thought about him while your coworkers, the other teachers, all gathered around you in the breakroom and demanded answers and stories from your little incident that morning. You thought about him while you planned out your day with numb fingers and toes, and while you stood out front and welcomed kids in, and even when Miguel O’Hara appeared to drop off Gabriella safely at your side.

It took a few words out of his mouth, past those gorgeous full lips of his, a quirk of one of those thick brows, to finally bring you out of your stupor. “I’m sorry?” you said when you realized he had asked you a question. You felt your cheeks warm and your palms become sweaty as you begged his pardon.

To your relief, Miguel only smiled slightly and placed a hand on his jutted hip like he did. God, why did he have to do that? Draw attention to the perfect ratio of his body, a beautiful slope from his wide shoulders to his trimmed waist? “Just asking if you were alright,” he repeated himself, and you could have sworn his eyes flitted over you while he spoke. “Heard you were caught up in that robbery down on Fifth.”

“Oh… right.” You cleared your throat and watched as Gabriella spotted a few friends and dashed into the school to meet them, her backpack wagging behind her. “Yeah, I’m alright. Now that it’s over, I realize it didn’t even last that long. Maybe five minutes or so before… before Spiderman showed up.”

“Yeah?” He reached up his other hand to scratch at the underside of his chin, where the delicate skin of his throat was. Your eyes followed his movements like they were a magnet and you had no choice but to watch. Even if you did have a choice, you would have watched, anyway.

You nodded your head once, clasping your clipboard with your kids’ names on it to your thighs over your dress. A breeze blew over Washington Elementary, letting the yellow fabric dance and blow up to your knees. They were scuffed from kneeling on the hard tile floor this morning. “Mmm-hmm. He’s… not like I imagined him,” you admitted, then realized just what you were doing; talking to Miguel O’Hara, the main star in every single one of your late-night fantasies, about the man who had quite literally swooped in and saved your ass. “But, anyhow… No one got hurt. That’s what matters.”

The corners of Miguel’s lips quirked upward ever so slightly, showing off a tiny flash of his white teeth. It then occurred to you that you’d never seen him smile fully - only with a closed mouth. “Well,” he said, and lifted his hand an inch or two, almost like he was going to touch your arm, then stopped himself and lowered it back down. “I’m glad you’re safe.” There came a fraction of a second of tense, charged silence between the pair of you before he added, “Don’t know what we would do if something happened to Bri’s favorite teacher.”

Bri - you’d never heard him call her that before. It was always a full ‘Gabriella.’

Behind you, in the school, the bell rang, signaling the final five minutes before class started. You glanced over your shoulder, feeling your heart sink slightly at the realization that you would have to leave the conversation. “I’d better -” You allowed your sentence to fall away as a number of squad cars came rounding the corner across from the school, sirens wailing and tires squealing on the tarmac. Other vehicles on the road pulled over to let them pass as they blew through a red light; whatever was happening, it must have been serious. But wasn’t it always.

“Heh,” you chuckled gently as you began to turn back to Miguel. “Always something happening, ri-”

He was gone. Vanished, seemingly, into nothingness. No car to watch pull out of the lot, because he walked his daughter to school, and no trace of his hulking, towering form down the sidewalk outside the wrought iron gates that surrounded the building. He’d completely and totally disappeared.

Damn, you thought as you blinked a few times, gripping your clipboard, and entered the school. What an enigma he was.

That night at work, as you spun yourself around and around on the pole center stage in various twisted shapes and contortments, you found yourself divulging in yet another one of your little fantasies. You shut your eyes as you tensed your leg and gripped the pole to send yourself around in a tight, flashing circle that made the train - that your boss had specifically instructed you to wear while you were in the spotlight - flutter and whip like golden water pulled across a current.

You pictured Miguel seated in the leather chair closest to the stage, his chin propped on his forearms where they rested across the edge of your runway. You imagined the neon lights playing tricks and dirty, filthy, irresistable illusions in the gleam of his eyes, following your movements around and around because no matter how many times you did the same cheap trick, he would still watch it as if it were his first time seeing it. You thought of kneeling down in front of him even though it was against the rules to get too friendly with customers if they weren’t going to pay to see you up close, and of gently taking the point of his chin in between your fingers so that he was tilting his head up to look at you.

Fuck, you thought of him taking you on that fucking stage after the place was closed, hovering over you with your legs locked around his hips and your hands gripping the wrists pinned beside your head so tight your knuckles paled. You swore that, even in your little scenario, you could feel his breath fanning across your face as he leaned down to murmur in your ear through his huffs and lustful, breathy sighs.

“Such a good girl, takin’ it all f’me. Pretty girl, pretty baby. All mine. All mine.”

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to return to reality when you felt yourself being watched. Of course you were being watched - there were dozens upon dozens of eyes surrounding your stage, watching from behind the porcelain gaps in their animalistic masks. But there was another sensation of being stared at that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of them, one that sent a certain kind of shiver down your spine. Keeping in time with your routine and the music thrumming through the floorboards of the club, you peered deep into the wide atrium in search of whoever was fixing you with such a gaze.

You found it.

He was standing nearly in the shadows where the lights couldn’t reach him, arms crossed tight over his chest and stance firm so that everyone who looked at him knew to never even think of invading the space he’d claimed for himself. The man was tall and sinewy with muscle, but you had to squint to see his frame clearly through the dark and the dress jacket he wore. Over his face, the edges obscured by the slicked-back mess of dark hair atop his head, he wore the club’s one and only spider mask.

It was a specialty disguise, one that only the top rollers and highest bidders of the evening bribed their way to at the front room. It usually signified that whoever was behind the porcelain wanted attention, wanted drinks to come nonstop to their side tables, wanted every girl in the damn house on their lap and at their feet. And yet, this evening’s spider was nothing like that. He clung to the shadows, to the perimeter of the room, like he didn’t want anyone to know he was there. He took up no more space than necessary. He was practically a no one, despite the delicate, fractured-looking design he wore over his features.

And he was watching you dance like he was mesmerized, like if the doors were chained shut and the place was burning down around him, he’d be content to stay where he was and keep his eyes focused on your body.

When the man realized you had spotted him, that you were staring right back at him through the gaps of your monarch mask, he moved. You nearly wanted to cry out, to tell him to wait, that you weren’t done. But you couldn’t.

So instead you continued to dance, continued to watch him as he flowed through the other patrons toward the exit. Yet when he turned in just a particular way to avoid bumping into a server, you saw it; through the unbuttoned top pair of buttons of his dress shirt, you spotted it, you were able to catch a glimpse of a pale, raised scar running along his collarbone.

The very same you’d seen on Spiderman.

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#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #atsv

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