#gauze curtains

[anadytop]

Beautiful White Semi Sheer Linen Curtains

These white sheer window panels have a nice linen look, add softness and texture to your rooms, you can hang them on sliding glass doors or patio doors. All curtain header & size can be customized without any extra fee.

Shop now -> https://bit.ly/3sRCQRy

#white lace curtains #sheer window curtains #lace kitchen curtains #sheer kitchen curtains #outdoor sheer curtains #sheer window panels #tab top sheer curtains #lace sheer curtains #rod pocket sheer curtains #gauze curtains #sheet curtains #sheer curtains on sale

[michelle-anadytop]

Beautiful White Semi Sheer Linen Curtains

These white sheer window panels have a nice linen look, add softness and texture to your rooms, you can use them on sliding glass or patio doors. All curtain header & size can be customized without any extra fee.

Shop now -> https://bit.ly/3sRCQRy

#white lace curtains #sheer window curtains #lace kitchen curtains #sheer kitchen curtains #outdoor sheer curtains #sheer window panels #tab top sheer curtains #lace sheer curtains #rod pocket sheer curtains #gauze curtains #sheet curtains #sheer curtains on sale

[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: a small embroidery hoop that is securing a gauzy white fabric. In the hoop is a crudely cross-stitched black outline of an uneven heart shape. Within the heart, a little bit off center, is a Palestinian flag (three horizontal stripes of black, white, and green, with a red triangle facing right on the left). The right point of the red triangle ended up being uneven and off center, throwing off the balance of the stripes, leaving the green stripe noticeably thin at the bottom. End I.D]

Fuckity. I can live with the wonky heart (I can't even draw a heart without it looking wonky) and the slightly off center flag, but I didn't realize the triangle being uneven and how thin the green is until the literal end of the flag. I'm a rookie to cross-stitch and am unsure how it would look I embroidered red thread over the white and green to even it out, or to bulk up the green stripe by going into the white. Is there any way to salvage this or do I have to start over? I've been working on this for three weeks because my health keeps interrupting it.

[Image Description: a closeup on the flag part, showing also that the bottom of the green stripe is a bit uneven. End I.D]

#embroidery #cross stitch #sewing #patches #also this fabric base was a mistake to use but it was the only white fabric i have #and the looseness of the gauze reminded me of fishing nets which seemed appropriate to me given what i know #but instead of stitching in the gridded gaps like canvas cloth #I've had to stick my needle between the close together fibers or else the thread won't show when it's pulled taut #it's from a window curtain we replaced because it was too sheer #image described #project help

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

//Ok, that's mostly what my hand can take for tonight. I'm gonna go ahead and wrap it back in gauze and maybe read a bit before heading to bed. Will try to type more things up tomorrow <3//

#ooc;the gremlin behind the curtain #//also i swear whenever i wrap my hand in gauze i cant help but feel like a mummy 😌//

[rosanacafe]

Behind the curtain por Rosana Por Flickr: For Crazy Tuesday: "Partly Obscured"... late :o(

#Crazy Tuesday #Nikkor 105mm f2.8 #Nikon z6 #Partly Obscured #Still Life #curtain #flowers #gauze #geranium #little bottle #window #lights #textured #flickr

[qserasera]

👀 we!! love!! court!! intrigueeee!!! 👀👏👏

#hey lady peony where do u get ur chili aesthetics ideas from #me *gesturing* all of this!! i eat it like ice creammm #qserasera watches rebel princess #they do a lot of the film shots behind oh u kno silk curtains and gauze screens for that dreamy dangerous look #cdrama

[azlrse]

➳ unintentionally (a boothill x gn!spouse!reader oneshot)

cw: major angst w/ open ending, reader has a bruise (unintentionally) from their ranger husband, accidental slap (also unintentional), established relationship, married au, lots of apologies and crying present here, ooc boothill (first time writing for him)

a/n: alright, as soon as i saw boothill for the first time, I was like "bet lemme write something for him". he's gonna be ooc cause 1. i didn't play the game yet (cries incompatible tablet) and 2. i am still learning the roots of this game's lore (and him once he's released) lol

!! fic contains sensitive topic, steer clear if this fic ain't your piece of cake !!

"darlin'?" a voice called out in the side of the storage room. "please come out, i-i didn't mean to hit you and im really sorry.." your husband called out for you softly to avoid scaring you further. his constant knocking and coercing you to come out lasted for 5 minutes, making you curl up further within the corner of the walls. "leave me alone.." you meekly spoke, voice still hoarse from your earlier cries as you held your bruised, swollen face.

his constant knocking just faded away as you sobbed, using your free hand to wipe away your snot and tears dripping from your face. if you just steer clear from him and not pestering him because of his anger, you wouldn't be hit and to be screamed by boothil to just leave him alone. you knew that your husband is like a dynamite, ready to explode at any moment due to his occupation. boothill assures you that he will never lay a hand on you, even when the both of you are either arguing or disagreeing over something that's simple and stupid.

but this day, he broke that one promise that kept you safe since the day he asked you out. just because of his anger towards that one outlaw who's on the run for weeks. almost captured but alas, his luck ran out once again as the prisoner kept on taunting him that he will never be caught by him.

boothill, on the other side of the door, won't give up as he waits for you to open the door and letting him treat your bruised lip and swollen cheek. he knows that it's not an excuse for him to let out such anger towards his spouse. guilt kept on creeping through his system, hearing you sobbing telling him to just leave you alone. "im sorry, sugar.." he sadly spoke, reluctantly returning to the sleeping quarters that the both of you shared.

at around 4:30 am, he quietly opens the door of the storage room and looks around to see if you are sleeping soundly; tear stains on your face, a bruised and swollen cheek, and using a rolled towel as your pillow. his heart shattered what he has done to you and knew that he doesn't deserve your forgiveness. he feared that there will be a day that you would leave him all by himself, all because of how he acted towards his own emotions and anger.

boothil scooped you into his arms as your head leaned towards his warm body. he knew that you liked it when you huddled close towards his chest as he placed a chaste kiss on your head. placing you on the shared bed, he cleans your bruises and places an ice pack on the side of you. he stared at your sleeping face for sometime before he murmurs soft apologies to you, even promising that he will never do again.

the soft light from the curtains woke you up from your sleeping slumber after the ordeal last night. 'strange..' you thought to yourself as you saw the ceiling of the bedroom you shared with your husband, not the plain white ceiling from the storage room where you seek safety during your husband's anger episode. you placed a hand on your bruised cheek and felt a small gauze on top of it and a bit of cold from the ice pack he placed on the side of your face last night.

you tried to get off the bed but felt a robotic arm wrapped around your waist. "no, no..." boothill softly murmurs. "five more minutes sugar, needin' you here right now.." a wave of anxiousness just came rushing towards you as you saw your husband on the bed with you, snuggling as he finally woke up from his sleep; his cropped jacket is gone and only had a pair of short as his sleeping attire, his hair smells like newly lit cigarettes from his trip to the saloon yesterday.

if you aren't anxious, you would be flustered of his appearance.

"mornin' sugar.." he softly spoke as he leans in to give you a kiss. afraid, you quickly jumped off the bed and quickly make a beeline for the storage room once again. "w-wait!" his quick reflexes caught your arm. "don't leave me, let's talk it here my love. I know what I did is unacceptable and I'm really sorry for hitting you." Silence looms within the bedroom as you eyes avoided his. "Please.." He pleaded, his eyes soften as guilt crept on his back.

it's up to you to decide of you should stay for him or choosing your own peace...

a/n: not my best work but hopefully you guys liked my take on boothill (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)♡

Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites. Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕

#cw slight violence #cw angst #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr boothill #honkai star rail #hsr angst #boothill x reader #boothill #boothill x you #boothill angst

[eufezco]

BACK TO YOU — CHISHIYA X FEM!READER

MAJOR AIB SPOILERS !!

SUMMARY — you win the games and wake up in the hospital. remembering everything that happened in the borderlands and not knowing if chishiya made it.

your mouth was dry and it tasted like blood. your eyes opened slowly, getting used to the bright lights of the hospital room and you hissed when your hand landed on your temples. you had some cuts on your face, covered with gauzes and medical tapes, and some bruises too, especially around your eyes and on your cheekbones.

you looked around the room and you could see your mom's purse next to your bed, but she wasn't in the room. somethings never change, not even when you were at the hospital after having been dead for a few seconds. once you tried to sit on the bed, you felt a stabbing pain in your lower abdomen and then on your forearm. your hand went directly where it hurt in your belly and you realized that you were wearing a bigger gauze there and another of the same size on your arm, and at that moment a wave of memories hit you making you feel dizzy. the beach. the next level. the king of spades. chishiya.

chishiya.

you gasped and forced yourself to remember when was the last time that you saw him. niragi's gun was pointing at you when he suddenly stepped in the middle of your body and the bullet with your name written in it.

"why would you do it?" you asked him with tears in your eyes. chishiya just showed you a smirk. you told him that he needed to resist, that there were only two games left and everything will be over. a little smile remained on chishiya’s lips as he nodded slowly. he knew that by the time you completed the games he wouldn't be there. you wanted to stay by his side but usagi and arisu dragged you out of there when the zeppelin of the king of spades appeared.

the last thing you remember from that day was lying next to kuina and ann on the cold ground. your back hurt and your wounds didn't stop bleeding as you watched the fireworks and listened to what you were being asked. "i decline." you finally answered, with tears in the corners of your eyes.

you got up from the hospital bed and noticed that you were sharing a room with someone else. that someone in the room with you was separated from your side with a curtain. with small steps and with a hand on your belly, right where your wound was, you approached the curtain, and being extremely careful, you had a quick peek to the other side. you took a sharp breath after you recognized the boy on the other side. his thick brown hair was stuck to his forehead, and just like you, he had some gauzes on his face. he gave a small jump on the bed when he noticed that someone was staring at him from a small opening in the curtain, but his frown relaxed once he recognized you.

"y/n?" he asked, still a bit confused.

"arisu." you removed the curtain completely and his eyes opened wide. he removed the blanket from himself and turned his body to let his legs hang from the bed, ready to get up from the moment he saw you. you were quicker than him and hugged him, maybe a little too hard because you both hissed when your bodies collided. you stayed like that for a few seconds more and then he asked you if you were okay, and how long had been since you woke up.

"a minute?" you asked him. your head hurt. "everything- everything happened in a minute. all the games, all the deaths? in a minute?"

arisu nodded. you gulped. all the things you lived with chishiya happened in sixty seconds. you felt like you could throw up. you shook your head and decided to talk about anything else. "did usagi make it?"

"yes. she was with me when we finished the last game."

you nodded, glad to hear that your friend was alive. "kuina and ann also made it. i think i heard aguni and akane too but i can't remember well."

arisu then understood. you knew that all of your friends made it but not if he did. "i'm sure- i'm sure he's here. i'm sure chishiya got out."

you shook your head with your eyes closed. arisu didn't know that. when the king of spades appeared and him and usagi separated you from chishiya, his white jacket was already soaked in blood. the first bullet hit him in a noncritical area, but the second one, the one that should've got you, went directly into his chest. you didn't need to be a med student to know that that was bad.

"come on. let's go for a walk." arisu got up from the bed and kissed your forehead after noticing how sad your eyes were. you hooked your arm in his. every now and then arisu would stop to check up on you, if you were breathing well, if you were too tired to continue but you assured him every time that you were fine.

you saw aguni in the icu. the doctors that came out of the room were pointing out how that man being alive was practically a medical miracle. akane was on a wheelchair looking at him through the glass. the girl was very pleased to see you both again. she asked about your injuries and she thanked arisu in a subtle way for winning the last game. she didn't know if you were ready to talk openly about what happened. she didn't even know if she was.

you tried to run and arisu had to hold you so you wouldn't fall down the moment that you saw kuina. her face glowed and she had to blink a couple of times to believe her eyes. kuina was kneeling in front of a woman in a wheelchair, a man was standing next to the two of them, and you guessed that they were her parents. she was quick to stand up, her father had to help her to get to you and arisu, and then you hugged her tightly. you were careful though, you saw how bad her injuries were. you remember the king of spades on top of her, stabbing multiple times her stomach, blood coming out of her mouth and you immobile lying on the ground after being shot by him.

"have you seen him? do you know if he made it out?" you held kuina's cheeks. defeated, you let out a sigh after seeing kuina's confused expression. she shook her head to both of your questions. kuina told you that the last time that she saw chishiya was when the king of spades attacked for the first time, and then each of you followed a different path and she never saw him again after that. but when she met arisu again, he said that chishiya was fine.

you slowly turned to look at arisu with raised eyebrows, and the boy just shrugged his shoulders. on second thought, you were sure that arisu didn't do it with bad intentions. you had to explain to her that niragi shot him twice. kuina gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. you told her that the second time niragi was aiming at you but chishiya stood in the middle. that did not come as a surprise to her. she knew him longer than you did. they were already at the beach when you arrived there with arisu and usagi, and as long as she had known him, chishiya had always acted unbothered. he wasn't a big fan of showing affection. he was selfish, arrogant, and really self-centered. but kuina knew that he would take a bullet for you.

she insisted on joining you and arisu on your walk. you three recognized some people who were in the games with you: people from the beach, that kid usagi fought so hard to save, people you tried to kill, and people that tried to kill you.

"excuse me?"

the hospital reception was chaotic, and you barely heard the woman at the other side of the counter humming to your question.

"i'm- i'm looking for someone."

"name?"

you blinked a few times at her sudden question. you played with your fingers nervously. she raised her eyebrows waiting for an answer. "chishiya shuntarō."

you shouldn't have ask. you should have waited for him to find you. what if the woman told you what you didn't want to hear? no. no. no. you should've waited, or had arisu to ask for you. but now you were waiting for that woman to finish typing on the computer and maybe to tell you that he was dea-

"third floor, room 301."

"oh." you said in a sigh. you could feel all your body relaxing, your hands stopped trambling, your legs didn't feel like giving up anymore. but you could also feel your heart beating in your throat, and your chest slowly heaving. the woman raised her eyebrows at you again.

"do you need anything else?"

you gulped, shaking your head softly and coming back to you. "hm?oh. no, thank you."

you turned around and walked towards arisu and kuina, your eyes locked on the floor. your two friends arched their brows worried, by your face both of them expected the worse. kuina could feel that familiar lump that forms in your throat moments before bursting into tears. arisu approached you and his hands gripped your shoulders. your eyes connected with his.

"y/n-"

"he's on the third floor."

arisu sighed in relief. kuina also let out a sigh and she wiped away some tears off her cheeks before you could see her. she approached the woman and asked for an and she told kuina that she was in the operating room, which was also a strong relief.

time passed slowly, and the way to the third floor was the longest you could remember. not when you were walking to the control room with him and kuina, escaping from the militants, not when you were heading to a game, not even when you ran to him after niragi shot him. the elevator was too slow for you.

arisu was checking up on you, kuina was too deep in her thoughts. once the elevator stopped and the doors opened, you gulped and looked at arisu. he nodded for you to be the first one out of the elevator. what you didn't expect was to see chishiya in the middle of the hallway, his body slightly curved and one of his hands pressing his lower abdomen. he was talking to his doctor, probably asking a million questions like why he had put him on that medication instead of the other one, and trying to convince him why the other one was better.

"chishiya."

the boy quickly turned to see who was calling him and his eyes opened wide in surprise. "y/n." chishiya soon forgot about the doctor. one of his arms wrapped around your waist, the other one hugged your upper body, resting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you closer to him. he hid his face into the crook of your neck.

it was weird having him in between your arms in the real world. once you two were completely healed you'd go back to your normal life but you'll have each other. you were going to have to get used to his twenty-four hours shift as a doctor, and he was going to get used to hugs and kisses every day. but now, with his arms wrapped around you and after gone through that much, he thought that he could get used to that easily.

"i knew that you would make it." chishiya said with a small smile on his lips. one of his hands pushed your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear. the other one held your chin up trying to see through the gauzes on your face what type of injuries you had.

arisu and kuina were standing behind you. chishiya shared a glance with both of them. arisu was smirking, kuina was biting her nails with tears in her eyes, probably waiting for her turn to greet her friend but not wanting to separate you. you rested your head on his chest, careful to not touch where he was shot. your lower lip trembled, tears started forming in your eyes.

"i thought that you-"

someone talked before chishiya could. "that could never happen, you know what they say, only the good ones die young."

"you bastard." you looked over chishiya's shoulders and tried to move away from him the moment that you saw niragi at the end of the hallway, approaching the group from behind chishiya. he was quick to hold you tighter against him, to prevent you from hurting yourself even more by hitting niragi.

niragi was smiling. even though half of his body was covered with bandages you could see that disgusting smirk on his lips.

"i'm gonna kill you," you stated. niragi laughed at you. you couldn't see it but chishiya smirked, his arms still hugging you and not letting you part from him.

"it's not that big of a deal, honey. he's is alive and i got to shoot him. we both won."

chishiya could stop you but he didn't have enough arms to stop kuina. the girl passed by your side like a fury. arisu tried to grab her arm but she was mad. her fists were already clenched before she was even close to niragi, and arisu called her name in a last attempt of stopping her. niragi looked down at her with a smile on his lips. he knew what was coming. he had seen that face on kuina before.

her fist closed tighter and with all the strength in her body, she punched niragi. his mouth and nose started bleeding right after but he didn't stop laughing. she had her fist ready again but arisu grabbed her waist from behind pulling her away from him.

"better?" chishiya asked after feeling your breathing slowing down. you nodded and you both looked at kuina kicking in the arms of arisu. chishiya raised his brows looking at the doctors coming to assist niragi. "well, he deserved it." you rolled your eyes at him.

"you have to tell me a lot of things, i guess." chishiya said referring to your bruised face. you nodded, he was going to believe everything that happened between the time he was shot until arisu and usagi won the last game.

"i haven't seen banda and yaba."

chishiya smiled at your innocent. "i'm sure that they are fine but i'm also sure that they decided to stay." you already thought about that. you nodded understanding. what a shame because they were nice to you during the jack of hearts game, and they promised you that you'll see each other again. chishiya knew by your face that you didn't listen when he said that banda was a murderer and yaba was a scammer. people like that could only live freely in the borderlands.

not people like you two tho

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland smut #alice in borderland fluff #alice in borderland angst #alice in boderland x reader #aib fluff #aib smut #aib angst #aib x you #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya imagine #chishiya fluff #chishiya angst #chishiya smut #chishiya x reader #chishiya x fem!reader #imawa no kuni no arisu #imawa no kuni no alice #aib imagines #nijiro murakami #chishiya x y/n #chishiya x you #inkna

[ma1dita]

its 2am and im delirious im so sorry but

jealous! (and maybe clingy!)luke x apollo!reader when he sees the same couple of campers constantly coming to you for medical attention over small scratches or feigned illnesses just to get your attention..and reader is just so kind to everyone they’d never refuse to treat anybody no matter how minor the injury, but it drives luke a little mad teehee 🤭

🐥 also happy (late) birthday jo!!

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x gn!apollo!reader

a/n: i will never get tired of bf!luke.

wc: 947

“Be with you in a second, sweet boy!”

Your hands were fiddling with gauze as you brush past Luke sitting on the only empty bed left in the infirmary. And you weren’t even talking to him! Your words were directed to his half-sibling and with all the others waiting for you, it was obvious that you weren’t leaving your shift anytime soon despite his plans for your date night.

“Doc, what about me? I feel sick too,” he mutters into your neck, big hands pulling at your waist and playing with the smock tied around your frame.

“What’s the matter, my love?” You coo, brushing back his mop of hair and looking into his honey sweet eyes. He grins and it’s a bit boyish and quite sinister, all Luke with a definite trick up his sleeve. 

“My heart hurts…. because I pulled a few strings to have dinner with you at the lake and we’re not there right now,” he sighs, hot breath tickling your earlobe, “And I need you to fix me up too.” Cheeky asshole.

You bite your lip and slowly pull yourself away from his embrace, not without kissing the corner of his mouth before the fluttery feeling is weighed down by the reminder of your responsibilities at the sound of a scream from across the infirmary.

The room was filled with campers of all ages vying for your attention and waiting for your gentle hands to tend to everything from a scraped knee to a rising fever (though if you ask Luke, he’s so sure he saw Bradley from cabin 9 standing over the forge in the armory trying to break a sweat earlier).

It was sickening. Someone ought to tell these campers to get in line. Connor Stoll almost skips–excuse me, limps, (now that you’re watching him again) towards Luke with a shit-eating grin at his moody disposition at the fact that he has to fight for your attention.

“Beat it, loser.”

“Baby! Don’t be mean or I’ll ask you to leave. Get up, Connie needs to get his knee wrapped,” you say with a furrow in your brow. Your eyes dart around the room wondering where the rest of your siblings have gone to help you heal these campers, but unlike you, they’ve already clocked out for the day. It’s a wonder how many kids at Camp Half-Blood get brutalized, maimed, or both on the daily, but it’s all in a day’s work of being a child of Apollo.

“Yeah, move it bighead!”

Luke grumbles, rising to his feet and shoving Connor a bit harder than what’s brotherly, so much so that the preteen falls face first into the cot. (Luke thought it was dumb that the kid was acting like a baby since the idiot scraped his knee jumping off the roof of the dining pavilion because Travis and Chris dared him to.)

“OWWW!” he groans, and before you can react, Bradley’s asking for another cold towel and little Lila from cabin 4 starts crying about her sun poisoning from being out in the strawberry field—your shaking hands and wide eyes let Luke know you’re at your limit so he ushers you behind a curtain for examinations.

“Honestly, you’re overworked babe. Take a break,” he says sternly, but softens as you look up at him with a pout and a whole lot of love. He smooths your hair down and hands you a glass of water.

“Just need to see the rest of the patients for the day and send them on their way. I don’t want anyone to be hurt,” you mumble through sips, leaning against the wall and shutting your eyes. To Luke, it sounded like the quicker you get through this the more time he spends with you— and so he moves so quickly that you barely process what he’s doing until you hear various complaints from campers (who are annoyed that their new nurse isn’t as pretty as you and dons a fierce glare and curls that hang over his forehead like a dark cloud).

Nurse Luke models after what he’s seen you do here countless times, but in a way that’s very much his own. He gives out ambrosia and nectar, cleans up booboos where needed, tells Bradley to fuck off and take a cold shower, tapes Connor’s mouth shut, and awkwardly jokes to a kid from cabin 6 that he probably shouldn’t be the one doing stitches or he’ll get a scar that looks like the one running down his cheek. They agree to wait until later, holding bloody gauze to their chin.

By the time you’ve calmed yourself down, you pull back the curtain to see an eerily quiet infirmary (and you’re not sure if they’ve been threatened into silence) but everyone is bandaged, fed and watered—to the best of Luke’s ability. It brings up a sunny smile on your face that reminds him of the first rays of morning light which is a view he never gets tired of, and you finally throw in the towel when Leo and little Will come in for the evening shift. 

A resounding sigh is heard from the infirmary’s patients as you leave with your boyfriend, to which you don’t think much of as you look at Luke like he’s the answer to all of your problems. He kisses you in the doorway like its a cure, whispering sweet nothings and promises of a nice dinner at the lake even if it’s pitch black outside now.

It also serves to those damn kids as a reminder that he’s the one who gets to fuss over you and though he doesn’t like starting fights, boy, does he love ending them, in his own little way.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩ #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎ #for my gn babies (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

[berryzxx]

i really like ur theo headcanons so is it possible if u could do a fic based off of the 11th one. If not could u do a fic where he's had a fight because of you. thanks

I'll try harder

11) Ends up in the infirmary a lot, Madam Pomfrey thinks he's a "troubled yet entertaining student"

Hope u like it x

"Where is my boyfriend?" I asked Draco, my annoyance increasing with his obvious distractions so he didn't have to answer my question.

He gave me a once over, his cool gaze unaffected by my anger "Your boyfriend is currently busy. I'm sure you'll see him tomorrow...or in a few days depending on the situation"

I was going to pull my hair out if I didn't get a direct answer soon "Draco Malfoy if you don't tell me right now I will drag Pansy here and tell her you like her"

His blank expression didn't change except the flicker of annoyance in his grey eyes "And where did you receive that false information from?"

I smiled at him "Just because it's false doesn't mean people aren't going to believe it. Did you know all it takes is one little whisper for a rumour to be spread across the whole of Hogwarts?"

Draco smirked, crossing his arms "Blackmailing me, y/l/n? Looks like Nott does benefit you in some way." "Tell me"

"He's in the hospital wing and before you run away to mother him, if I hear a single word about me liking that awful witch-"

"Your threats don't matter to me right now, Malfoy. But thanks anyway" I rushed off to where he had said Theo was, trying to rid my thoughts of everything that I imagined had happened to him. He was fine walking off the quidditch pitch and there were no serious injuries while he played so why was he there?

I knocked on the door, making sure it was loud enough for someone to hear. If the door didn't open I would barge in myself. Before I could do just that Madam Pomfrey opened the door giving me a sympathetic smile "Here to see Theodore?"

I nodded my head trying to see behind her to no avail. All I could see were a few drawn curtains and another few beds unoccupied.

"Go on in then, he's the third one." I rushed past her muttering a quick thank you. She was probably fed up of having me to see me at her door every other day.

I approached the third bed and pushed the curtains to the side. I didn't know what I expected but it wasn't Theo sat up reading a book with his head wrapped in white gauze. Otherwise he looked completely fine.

"Hey" I left a small kiss on his cheek and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for him to answer the questions I was too afraid to ask.

He let out a sigh and placed his book near his pillow, shifting further to the left so I had more space on the bed.

"Who told you I was here?"

I furrowed my eyebrows in annoyance and confusion "That's not important. What's important is what are you doing here? Don't tell me you got into another fight"

He gave me a slight smile, his expression showing discomfort.

"Theo. Why? Why are you always fighting?"

"For the record I won the fight, sweetheart."

I scoffed "Well clearly not if you've got that on your head and your opponent isn't even in the hospital wing right now"

He grinned as if he found something funny "He's having a meeting with Snape that's why."

He wasn't getting the point. He just didn't seem to care that what he was doing was wrong and it affected others as well. "What happened? I want the truth"

His smile dropped, becoming suddenly serious to when I asked for the truth.

"Well, the guy who asked you out the other day and you rejected him. He was talking shit about you so I decided to fuck him up a bit. You know, so he'd know that he didn't have the right to talk about you like that...no one does"

I sighed. The fact that he was fighting because of something said about me was nice of him but I didn't want him hurt because of that.

"Theo he said something about me. Not you. I don't want you hurt every time someone says a single thing against me"

He sat up suddenly, anger evident on his face "And why the fuck not? If he's going to talk about my girlfriend like that do you think I'm just gonna stand there and not do shit all?"

"But Theo your hurt because of it! I don't want that for you"

He slumped back down and didn't bother looking at me "I don't fucking care about being hurt. If I hear a single word against you-"

"Just ignore it!" I was getting annoyed now. Why was he so desperate to be hurt because of something I didn't even care that much about?

"Ignore it? Your fucking crazy if you think I'll ignore something like that"

I stood up ready to do something. Ready to shout at him, to push him off the bed, to do anything but sit there and tell him time and time again that I didn't want him hurt because of something so irrelevant. Tears welled up in my eyes, I tried blinking them away but instead a few fell down making their way down my cheeks.

"Well your good at ignoring one thing! Our fucking date that your missing because of your detention. Is that what you wanted?" I wiped the remaining tears from my face, anger coursing through my veins. Theo finally deigned to look at me after having raised my voice, something I rarely did.

His eyes widened in shock "I didn't realise. Fuck. I'm sorry Y/n, I didn't even realise and- I didn't mean for you to cry. I'm so fucking sorry"

"It's a little late for that isn't it. What does it matter when you've missed the second date this month because of some stupid fighting you can't control"

He leant toward me, reaching for my hand the warmth of his hand seeping into me. "I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry, sweetheart. What do you want me to do? I swear I won't fight again...unless the person deserves it"

I sat back down, the anger vanishing from me, Theo's comforting hand grounding me.

"Lay down with me. Please." He asked quietly, eyes full of sorrow.

I turned so I could lay down next to him his arm coming around my waist to pull me closer to him. He dropped a kiss to the top of my head "I really am sorry Y/n. I don't want you to be upset over something I've done"

I shook my head "I'm not upset. I just don't want my boyfriend to be in the hospital wing for half the year"

"I'll try harder" He whispered.

"Just try harder on the fighting aspect. Otherwise your perfect"

I smiled at him and the one he gave back made my heart melt. I loved him.

(Not proof read)

#theodore nott fic #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #theo #theo nott x y/n #theo nott fic #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott #slytherin boys #slytherin #draco #draco malfoy #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott #theodore nott imagine #pansy #pansy parkinson #y/n x character #hogwarts #hogwarts houses #madam pomfrey

[moondirti]

give peace a chance

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 3.4k summary: you’re always there, waiting on him warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.

You don’t hear him come in. 

Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.

Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home. 

His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else. 

There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry. 

Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar. 

You’re glad you’d left that life behind. 

Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass. 

“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks. 

His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead. 

“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.” 

You pour him a glass regardless. 

He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh. 

“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him. 

“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down. 

His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home. 

You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them. 

For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood. 

You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition. 

Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.

You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres. 

When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep. 

“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace. 

“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces. 

You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for. 

“They’re alright.” 

You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm. 

Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up. 

He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head. 

You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer. 

He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause: 

“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost. 

“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”

You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment. 

Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral. 

“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.

“Need you.” He says. 

The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway. 

“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you. 

His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs. 

You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles. 

He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything. 

He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back –  was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign. 

You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any. 

“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips. 

His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?” 

It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him. 

“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up. 

“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time. 

Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain. 

His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth. 

“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base. 

He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head. 

A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,

“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”

With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring. 

You don’t have to try as hard to believe it. 

Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster. 

Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you. 

A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in. 

“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair. 

When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust. 

“Go ahead.” You coax. 

He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement. 

Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain. 

Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.

He guides you to straddle his thigh. 

You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact. 

Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you. 

“A-Ah! Simon, y–” 

“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.” 

Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood. 

You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing. 

Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you. 

“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple. 

He slowly removes the mask. 

The balaclava follows soon after. 

Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow. 

And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid. 

He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man. 

“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him. 

You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.

permanent taglist: @saintbedelia @tusk89 @cactuswaterscactusfields @lexloon

since i've only written for star wars previously, if you're on this list and want to be moved to a character specific one instead, i've added the option on my form!

join my taglist!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod mwii #cod mw22 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #fanfiction #x female reader #x you #x f!reader #smut #angst #simon ‘ghost’ riley x female reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader

[keerysfreckles]

secret - peter parker (tasm)

pairing: tasm!peter x f!reader

summary: peter goes to y/n, his best friends twin sister, to help patch up his wounds.

warnings: use of y/n and she!her pronouns, maybe two swear words, small makeout seshhh

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

y/n wasn't doing anything unusual on her saturday night. she always watched a movie before falling asleep so tonight was no different while high school musical was displayed on the tv in her bedroom.

however the only difference tonight was a knocking sound came from her bedroom window. y/n, now confused, walked towards the sound and opened the curtain. she was most certainly taken aback by the brunette boy crouching on her fire escape.

"peter? what the hell are you doing here?" y/n asks while opening her window. the question having two meanings; why peter was in her room, or why peter was on her fire escape. she's quiet with helping peter threw the small window, not wanting her brother to hear from the room next to hers.

"i'm supposed to hang out with josh, but-" before peter finishes his sentence he lifts his shirt, revealing three giant gashes across his torso. y/n gasps before covering her mouth.

"peter what happened?"

"i uh- tripped?" he simply shrugs it off before sitting at the foot of the bed. he places his backpack down and is quick to zip it up, encasing the red and blue fabric inside.

"just stay here," y/n starts to walk to her bedroom door, "and please dont make any noise."

peter only laughs, at y/n's words and the disney musical playing on her tv. his head turns as y/n walks back inside with a white box. peter guesses it's a first aid kit.

y/n walks around the boy, and sits on his right side. "lay down," y/n instructs. peter obeys, as he lays back on the comforter. his eyes watch the slow moving ceiling fan to distract him from the cold wipes y/n uses to wipe the excess blood off of his skin.

"sorry," y/n whispers, and peter lets out a small response, before grimacing again.

"how did this even happen?" y/n asks, while starting to patch up the open wounds with gauze and medical tape.

peter doesn't respond at first, as he's not entirely sure if he should lie or tell the girl the truth. her own brother doesn't even know about peter's secret.

"pete?" y/n voice is softer than before, and she looked him in the eyes now. she had just finished patching up the third and final wound.

peter sits up slightly and leans on his elbows. "can i tell you something?"

y/n simply nods and watches peter take a deep breath.

"do you ever notice how i disappear a lot whenever i hang out with you and josh?"

y/n nods again.

"it's not because i have catchup homework or i remembered aunt may needed something," peter looked up at y/n, before taking in another breath. "i'm spiderman."

"what?" peter could barely hear y/n's voice, but he could certainly hear the confusion.

peter gets off the bed and hands the girl his backpack. she only looks at him once before unzipping it. a small gasp leaves her lips when she pulls out a red and blue spandex suit.

"so you're really spiderman," y/n looks over the suit.

she looks up at peter who only responds with a dopey half-smile, which only makes her laugh. "how did this even happen?" she asks, and refers to the suit in her hands.

"i was sorta bitten by a radioactive spider at the place gwen used to work at," peter explains.

"wait so what exactly did that do?" y/n's genuine curiosity shocks peter. he was mostly worried she'd never want to talk to him again, or freak out and tell her brother.

peter rolls the sleeves up of his longsleeve shirt and shows the girl the black bands on his wrists. he chuckles as her eyebrows furrow. peter simply shoots a web towards the backpack on the bed, and is quick to hold it in his hand.

he chuckles again at y/n's reaction. "holy shit!" y/n's jaw is to the floor as she's amazed by the boy in front of her. "what else can you do?"

once again, peter lets out a laugh, before he drops the backpack on the ground. y/n watches peter stand on her bed and jump. his hand touches the ceiling which leaves the boy hanging there. y/n laughs before covering her mouth and watches peter bring his other limbs up as he starts to crawl on her ceiling.

"that's so cool!" y/n exclaims while peter lands on his feet with a thud.

y/n stands with the first aid kit to put it back in the bathroom, however she feels a small tug at the back of her shirt.

"i can also do this," peter states, before y/n twirls back towards peter until she's right in front of him. she looks down at the white stringy web now wrapped around her waist.

before she can get a single word out, peter's lips meet hers. his hands hold her waist until one moves to cup her cheek. after y/n's first reaction of shock fades away, her hands rest on peter's shoulders, before her hands interlock behind his neck.

the kiss is quick to heaten up. peter moves y/n to her bed and leans her down, with him hovering over her. y/n's hands are now on peter's jaw as she caresses over his skin, and peter feels nothing but butterflies in his stomach.

much to the two teenagers dismay, they pull away from each slightly and both catch their breath.

both y/n and peter's heads turn at the sound of a rattling doorknob. peter's quick to lock it as he shoots a web across the room.

"y/n?" josh calls from the other side of the door. "i heard a loud thud from my room. you okay?"

y/n's eyes scan her floor and she internally groans at herself for dropping the first aid kit from earlier.

she's quick to come up with a lie, "yeah i uh- just dropped my history books."

y/n's shoulders relax as josh responds, "oh okay, just checking."

as soon as josh's door closing could be heard from y/n's room, peter questions, "where were we?"

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield peter parker #andrew garfield #spiderman #the amazing spider man #tasm #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader

[confused-pyramid]

One Step From Grace | s4

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: 19.2k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, abortion mention, implied SA, gun violence, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 4x01, 4x02, 4x03, 4x09, 4x11, 4x16, 4x17, 4x18, 4x23, and 4x26

a/n: Some more tension in the slow burn! I included some more specific episode details in this one, because some of the eps and characters are important to future seasons :') P.S. I love hearing all of your thoughts and comments (it's honestly what makes all of this worth it) so lmk what you think:) Title is from Grace by Rag 'n Bone Man

series masterlist

"Garcia, is everyone okay?"

You can hear the sound of sirens blazing down the street a few blocks away from you, but you're too far away to make it there in time.

"Oh, thank god, you're alright," she gasps over the phone, her voice thick with tears. "Rossi and Reid called me just now, and Derek's on the line."

He greets you with a frantic urgency. "Hey, Y/N, I'm heading to the explosion site to see what happened."

"Okay, sounds good, keep calling people," you instruct Garcia, before swerving across the lanes and turning at the next intersection.

She calls Emily, who tells you that she's also going to the NYPD's critical incident command posts. When she tries JJ, the call doesn't go through, and then suddenly the line goes quiet.

"Garcia?" you call into the void. "Penelope, are you there? Derek? Emily?" No one responds, and your heart rate spikes again as you pull over in front of the command center and rush inside.

Rossi and Reid envelope you in big hugs when you find them in the main bullpen, and soon after, Emily and JJ join you inside.

"Do we know what happened?" you ask them as you crowd around the city map where Reid pinpointed all the prior crime scenes. "What street was the explosion on?"

Reid opens his mouth to answer, when Emily's phone rings. "Yeah, Garcia, I'm back. JJ's here too."

She listens for a few seconds, before her eyes widen and she glances over at you. Lifting the phone from her ear, she puts it on speaker and says, "Can you repeat all of that?"

"Derek's chasing after the bomber," Penelope says, her breaths coming out in short spurts. "The bomb... it was in Kate's SUV, or under it. Hotch is out there with her."

Your heart stutters and you press your palms against the back of the chair in front of you, leaning over it to get closer to the phone. "Is he okay?" You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. "Are they okay?"

"He seems okay, but she looks really hurt. He hasn't moved her."

You release the breath you didn't realize you were holding and stand up straight, turning around to catch your breath. If something had happened to him...something irreversible...you don't know what you would've done. Especially after the last thing you said to him.

It's not your place to have this discussion.

Screw you.

"Where was Kate's SUV parked?" Rossi asks from behind you as you rub your eyes and turn back to face Emily's phone.

"2 blocks East of Federal Plaza."

***

You keep picturing the security camera feed of his SUV blowing up as you rush into St. Barclay's hospital. The moment Morgan called with the update that Hotch was taking Kate there in an ambulance, you all piled into an SUV and drove straight over.

You know Garcia and Morgan said he was fine, but not all injuries are visible. You're the first person inside, and you rush down the hallways until you spot a nurse in the ER. After you flash your badge, she points you to the curtains behind her.

When you push past them, he's standing up, working on the last few buttons of his shirt. His face is covered with tiny abrasions, and there's a piece of gauze stuck to his right ear.

"Aaron," you whisper, not wanting to startle him. He looks up as he grabs his tie out of the bag they put his clothes in. "Let me do that."

You take the tie from him as he sighs and closes his eyes for a long moment. It's silky against your fingers as you loop it around his neck and slide it under his collar.

"How are you feeling?" you ask him, trying to keep your voice soft.

He dips his chin to meet your eye and he squints as he shakes his head. "I'm fine, but Kate's in surgery. It didn't look good."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, forgetting about any prior gripes you had with her. "I'm sure she'll pull through."

He purses his lips and nods, just as the rest of the team pushes past the curtain. You step back quickly without thinking, and you don't miss the flash of confusion in his eyes before he turns to Morgan for the latest update on the bomber.

You swallow thickly as you look at your feet, letting everyone else walk around you. You don't know why you stepped back. Maybe it's the freshness of his divorce. Maybe it's the way Agent Calvert from the Portland office looked over your shoulder after you told him you weren't ready for dating again.

Whatever it was, you know you hated how it felt.

***

"There's a bomb on the ambulance."

Fear spikes through him as he turns around. "The ambulance which I drove in here." This day has already been longer than any of them expected it to be, but each passing minute seems to bring another surprise.

Rossi shoots him a knowing look that he reflects. "The hospital is their target."

He glances at you and you look back at him, your eyes filled with what he can only guess is fear. His mind flashes back to your interaction earlier, but he pushes it out of his brain as he realizes that they are down a man. "Where did Morgan go?"

Emily turns back. "He went to find the ambulance."

"Alone?" you gape at her, reaching for the gun in your holster.

He figures they only have a few minutes before the cell signal returns, so he grabs his own gun and nods. "Let's head down."

The ambulance is gone when they find the bomber in the parking garage, holding a knife to his throat. Before any of you can approach him, he slits his own throat. He can't help the grimace of disgust that crosses his face as the terrorist falls to the ground.

Once the immediate danger to the hospital is alleviated, everyone starts to relax. The rest of the team stays behind to clear the scene as he sprints up to the seemingly empty surgical ward. He finds the operating room that Kate was supposed to be in, but when he pushes through the doors, all he sees is a few janitors mopping the blood off the floor.

"What happened?" he gasps out. "Where's the surgeon."

A man in a blue scrub cap comes forward and pats his shoulder, a resigned look on his face. "We did all that we could. I'm so sorry."

All of the momentum leaves his body as he releases his breath, his shoulders deflating along with it like a circus balloon. The surgeon leaves the room and he looks down at her blood seeping down the floor drain. He watches as it mixes in with the cleaning fluids, and he can't help but wish that her death could've been less painful.

***

You wait outside the hotel the next morning, your go-bag hanging heavily off your shoulder. When the doctors told Hotch he wasn't cleared to fly yet, you told the NY agent assigned to drive him that you could take over.

"What are you still doing here?"

You turn around to see Hotch walking out of the hotel, the bag in his left hand evening out his gait after the explosion gave him a temporary limp.

You smile, pushing your sunglasses down from your head. "I'm your ride."

His eyes twinkle in the bright sunlight. "You really didn't have to. The flight is much quicker."

"It's okay," you shrug, before grinning. "Besides, I would never pass up an opportunity to annoy you for three hours."

That makes him laugh, before he winces slightly. Got it. No jokes.

He doesn't complain as you take the driver's seat, and that's when it hits you how much pain he must be in. For as long as he's had his license, he has preferred to be the one driving, sometimes even when he's in your car.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, but eventually you need to fill the silence. "I'm really sorry about Kate."

"Thank you," he sighs, his eyes squinting at the sun as you pull onto the highway. "I've known her for a long time." He exhales sharply. "Knew her."

You remember him telling you about a case he worked, years ago, that took him to Scotland Yard. He had sounded almost excited as he recounted the differences in how the British government handled procedure, but he had kept one thing to himself.

"You never told me about her," you say gently, trying to keep the blame out of your voice. You're not angry, you just don't understand why it would have been a secret.

He turns his head to gaze out the window for a few moments, before he looks back at you. "I wasn't sure about how that case would go when I agreed to take a look, but we ended up working really well together. I had spoken to her a few times before, mostly over the phone, but it was our first time meeting in person. We caught the guy we were looking for in just a few days, so before I left, she invited me to join her team for dinner."

You can guess where this is going, but you let him finish, in case you're wrong.

"When she dropped me off at my hotel that night, she made a... suggestive remark that I would've ignored if the implication hadn't been so clear. I shut it down immediately, but I didn't tell Haley when I got back, and I guess I just felt so guilty about it that I couldn't bring myself to tell you either."

Hotch feeling guilty about something. There's a shocker.

You glance over at him with a small smile. "I get it."

The "Welcome to New Jersey" sign flies past as you cross the bridge, and you both sit in comfortable silence as the sun glints off the water and reflects onto the cars around you. You see him looking out the window, and you wonder if he's thinking about Haley again, but then he turns to you with a curious expression. "The unit chief job here is yours if you want it."

Do you want it? You know you like leadership, and you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about the possibility of moving up the ladder at some point, but now that you're confronted with the opportunity, it doesn't feel how you thought it would.

The thought of leaving this team, when they've become your second family, tastes bitter on your tongue. You know you could assume that other teams are like this too, but when you actually try to picture it, it doesn't feel possible.

"You can think about it," he says after a minute, "but not for long. They need a replacement ASAP."

You glance over at him and a realization clicks in your brain. "Wait, they needed your recommendation before offering me the position, didn't they?" You crack a smile. "You tryna get rid of me, boss?"

He laughs, before it turns into a small grimace from the pain. "No, of course I don't want you to leave. I just know you're destined for more than this. You could be doing so much good work, leading your own team."

The sun peeks out from behind the buildings in front of you, and you reach up to pull down the sun visor. "Maybe one day. But not today."

His eyes flit over to meet yours and you share a smile before you turn back to the wide expanse of road ahead of you.

***

You've been watching him all day. He was cleared to fly again, but you saw how pained he looked when the jet took off, and again when they exhumed Cortland's grave. The way he's been flinching back at the slightest sound, and cowering in pain after the louder screeches.

You tighten the strap of your kevlar vest and glance over at him again as he whispers something to the local sheriff on the Angel Maker copycat case. You've cornered the unsub in the latest victim's house, and Morgan got her out before she could be killed, but Emily continues to speak to the unsub through her megaphone, coaxing her out and into custody.

"It's over, Chloe," she says calmly as Morgan deposits the woman into the awaiting ambulance. "We have Faye. You have nowhere to go."

After a few moments, the front door creaks open and everyone lifts their weapons. She looks surprised when she sees the dozens of guns pointing at her, but then she lifts her own and Hotch steps in.

"Chloe, drop the gun."

The sheriff, with much less composure, jabs his weapon forward. "Damn it, lady, drop it!"

She takes a step forward and the sheriff fires, taking her down in one shot. Hotch goes down at the same time, doubling over in pain, his hands going up to cover his ears as he lets out a low groan.

As everyone else goes to Chloe, you rush to him, lifting your hands to press them over his in an attempt to help him hide from the external chatter and noises. "Aaron, it's okay, you're gonna be okay."

His body folds into yours as you wrap your arms around his head, clutching him to you, unable to help. "It's okay, it's okay."

It takes a few seconds for him to relax in your arms, and then a few more for him to remove his hands from his ears and stand up straight again.

"I'm okay," he sighs, his brow still furrowed with tension. "Thank you."

"Of course," you whisper, your chest heaving as the stress slowly seeps from your body. "You're not flying home."

He takes a deep breath before slowly dipping his chin into a nod. "It's a much longer drive. You don't have to accompany me this time."

The corner of your lip quirks up. "What makes you think I was offering?"

"Okay," he chuffs, rolling his eyes. You can still see the image of him doubling over in pain splashed across your eyelids, but you manage to push it out of your mind long enough to return his smile.

***

"Stand!"

You look up from the young girl you were interviewing with Emily and Spencer as Cyrus storms into the room with a gun, his second in command hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Emily asks as she and Nancy Lunde, the state officer you came onto the cult compound with, stand up and approach him.

He squints, scrutinizing each of you. "We just got A very strange phone call from a news reporter. Is there anything you want to tell me, about a raid, maybe?"

You frown, genuine confusion coloring your expression as you shake your head. "We told you, we're child victim interview experts."

He takes another moment to consider your answer before nodding and instructing the man with him to lead you to the tunnels for safety while the raid continues.

You let Spencer, Emily and Nancy go ahead of you as the sounds of gunfire from the back get louder. When you reach the tunnels, they head further in to help the children take cover as Nancy turns back and gives you an earnest look. "I can talk to him."

You're shaking your head before she's done speaking. "No, you can't. It's too dangerous."

You try to grab her arm, but she rushes forward and past the small crowd of children that safely made it out of the school. You run after her as she calls out, "Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them."

She's too close to the window. You reach forward to grab her arm and pull her back but then another round of gunshots fires off and she drops to the ground in front of you. You start to crouch down, out of the line of sight of the window, when a searing pain shoots through your abdomen. You keel over, falling forward into the wall of the chapel as you gasp out in pain.

It doesn't hurt as bad as it probably should, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins won't last forever. You press your hands against the bullet wound that ripped through the side of your abdomen, and try to calm your breathing as fear washes over you. The team knows you three are in here, they'll figure out how to get you all out.

You know the minimal loss scenario by heart, and the BAU was the one who wrote the CIRG playbook, so it's a small comfort to know that you'll be able to predict their moves. You can only hope that they will be able to predict yours just as well.

Another wave of pain shoots through your side and you grit your teeth as the adrenaline starts to wear off. They better hurry.

***

He knows he's emotionally involved. They all are, but if his people aren't the ones leading this negotiation, he won't be able to forgive himself for any outcome that doesn't end with the three of you coming out in one piece.

He's listening in as Dave speaks with Cyrus, and he can't help but notice how cavalier his tone is after his followers were just shot at. He continues to rant about the final battle he has foreseen, until Dave manages to get him back on track.

"Now, the four child services workers..." he says slowly. Hotch can hear the concern coloring his tone even as he tries to act detached.

Cyrus's voice is crisp over the line. "One of them is dead."

His heart jumps to his throat. Your face flashes in his mind and he closes his eyes as he silently begs whoever is out there for it not to be you. Not you, not Prentiss, not Reid. Please.

"Her name was Nancy Lunde."

His breath comes out like a gasp, and Dave turns to him with an equally relieved expression. He's so thankful that the guilt for wishing harm on anyone takes an extra second to take over.

But Cyrus isn't finished talking. "One of the other child service workers was shot during the same raid. Once again, by your people."

He looks up at Dave, waiting for him to ask who it was, but he doesn't have to. The next word out of Cyrus's mouth is your name, and his stomach twists with nausea and anguish even as he assures Dave that your wound has been cleaned and properly dressed.

He turns to look at the compound, as though he could see you if he squinted hard enough. Hold on, he thinks, hoping you can hear him somehow. You've always had a way of reading his mind. Please hold on.

***

You wake up on a small cot, with a woman bent over you. You hiss as she presses down the edge of the bandage on your abdomen, and you bring your chin to your chest to see the current state of your gunshot wound.

You're surprised to see the blood washed off, a clean bandage and gauze left in its place.

"You got lucky," the woman says when she realizes you're awake. "The bullet went all the way through."

"Thank you," you whisper, before turning your head to look around the room. "Where are the people I came in with?"

"I'll take you to them," she nods, reaching her hand out. You take it and let out an involuntary groan as she helps you into a standing position. You try taking a step, but another spike of pain shoots through you, so the woman latches her arm under your shoulder to help you walk.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually you get back to the main chapel, where Emily and Spencer are sitting with the rest of the followers. They turn when the doors open in front of you, and they immediately jump out of their chairs to take over for the woman helping you.

"How are you feeling?" Spencer asks, his eyebrows pinching as he looks at you.

"I'm okay," you assure him, even as your vision blurs from the pain of having to walk so far. "Can we just sit down, though?"

"Of course," Emily nods, helping you sink into a chair. "I'll get you some water."

Spencer sits down next to you when she rushes off, and you don't miss how he keeps glancing down at your stomach.

"It'll be okay, Spence." He meets your eye and you nod again. "We know the playbook. We just have to follow it."

Emily returns with a water bottle that she opens and hands to you, and you chug half of it before setting it down. Hotch, please hurry, you think, wishing he could hear you.

***

The next morning, you wake up to a knock on the front door of the compound. You peel your eyes open and try to sit up, before remembering what happened the night before. Your skin feels wet as you run your fingers against the edge of the gauze, and you look down to see that you're bleeding through the dressings.

"Emily," you whisper, pushing her shoulder gently to shake her awake. "I need you to get the first aid kit again."

You feel more blood drip down your stomach, and your vision turns hazy for a moment, like a confirmation. She walks across the room to get the kit, and you almost forget about the knock on the door, until Cyrus opens it, revealing a stone-faced Rossi.

They shake hands as Emily removes your dressings before tearing open a new packet of gauze and pressing it into your wound.

"The children," Cyrus tells him, gesturing to the crowd. He then points at the three of you. "And our guests."

Rossi meets your eyes for a split second, and you make sure to keep your expression neutral as he nods and turns back to Cyrus. You're glad it's him who came inside, and not Hotch, because even though you want nothing more than to see him right now, you also don't want him to see you like this.

Rossi tries to get him to release the children, but he ends up leaving with nothing more than a promise to send food and supplies.

***

"Prentiss, Reid, and L/N are okay," Dave says as he jogs back to the tent outside. He turns to Hotch then. "She's been shot in the abdomen. They've tried to dress her wound, but she's losing blood."

Shit. He shuts his eyes as he tries to think about what he can do from out here to speed up the playbook.

"I have a signal!" Morgan beckons them over as he lifts a few sets of headphones for them to wear. With the bug Dave left on the compound, at least they have ears on the inside. It's not all he wants, but it's something, at least.

***

"Which one of you is it?"

Cyrus storms into the basement, where Spencer and Emily are sitting next to you as you lay down on the small cot from earlier. After Emily changed your bandages, Spencer managed to convince him to let you rest away from the followers.

"Which one of you is the FBI agent?"

Spencer jumps in before you can react. "Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?"

You haven't had the time or capacity to properly profile this man yet, so you don't know if his evasive tactic will work, but you also know he's smart enough to have thought this through.

Cyrus sighs, almost like he's disappointed. "God will forgive me for what I must do." He steps forward and points his gun at Spencer's head. You gasp, trying to keep a look of confusion on your face as you fight the urge to step in.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer says, stumbling over his words. His eyes are wide with fear, and you can't tell how much of it is real and how much is for show.

Cyrus tuts. "One of you does. Who is it?"

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract him, but then Emily stands up. "Me. It's me."

The moment of relief you feel when he lifts his gun from Spencer's head is gone as soon as he grabs Emily by the hair and drags her to the door. Your legs burn with the desire to leap off the cot and tackle him to the ground, but you can't move as the door shuts behind them.

***

It's almost night fall by the time Emily joins you again. You and Spencer were moved back up to the chapel after Cyrus took her away, and seeing her now, she looks awful.

Splotchy bruises of purple and blue paint her neck and chest, and there's dried blood on her temple and the corner of her mouth.

"Emily," you gasp, trying to control your expression so that Cyrus and his diehard followers don't think you know her as well as you do. You hate the feeling of letting her take the brunt of his punishment and blame, but it won't help to expose yourselves as agents too.

Spencer leans over you to get a better look at her. "Are you okay?"

She nods, flashing him a small smile. "Yeah, it looks worse than it feels." You can't imagine she's seen her reflection today, but you still appreciate her trying to relieve his stress.

Right then, the front door opens again and a shipment of food containers are carried inside. Men lift the boxes and bring them around the room to feed everyone inside, and when they set a box in front of you three, you notice a familiar scrawl of handwriting on top of the to-go container. 3AM. They're coming in at 3AM.

***

When the followers leave to go to bed, Cyrus takes Emily away again to separate her from you and the others. You fight the exhaustion pulling your eyes shut as you sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Spencer has been talking to Cyrus's second in command, trying to convince him that the Bible can be used to manipulate anything, but Cyrus catches on quickly.

You keep glancing at the door, hoping that Emily will find her way back up before 3AM hits, but as each minute ticks by, the idea becomes more futile.

You saw the diehard followers rigging the compound with explosives earlier in the night, and the detonator is clutched in Cyrus's hand like a lifeline. The irony doesn't escape you.

"Something's wrong," the follower reports, his eyes scanning the darkness outside through the window of the chapel.

Cyrus walks over to check, and you use the moment of distraction to lift the edge of your shirt and check your bandages. You're starting to bleed through the gauze again, but it's not bad enough that you need your dressings changed just yet.

When Cyrus realizes that he's been lied to, Spencer tries to distract him by spouting off verses at a rapid pace, but Cyrus just rams the butt of his rifle into his head, sending him to the ground.

"You cannot convert my brothers," Cyrus says before hitting him again. You crawl over to him, ignoring the screaming pain in your side, and clutch his arm for some semblance of comfort. Cyrus looks down at the both of you, his eyes squinting. "No one had to follow. God could have stopped me."

"He just did."

There's a gunshot, and you whip your head around to see Morgan and a young girl racing out of the tunnel before he crouches beside you. "You two alright?"

You nod, reaching your arm up to let him help you into a standing position. "Where's Emily?"

"We got her out of here," he explains, before turning to the girl. "Sweetheart, come with me."

She looks at each of you, her face twisted with panic, before bending down and picking up the detonator from where Cyrus dropped it. Your eyes widen and you yank Spencer in front of you before pushing him down the tunnel. "Run!"

Derek wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding half of your weight as you both sprint down the tunnel after Spencer. You're almost outside when the explosion goes off, pushing you to your knees with a strong gust of air and smoke.

***

He yells out your name as the blast engulfs the compound. His throat feels ragged as he yells out for Reid and Morgan too, but he can't see anything until three figures stand up from the plume of smoke and stumble down the steps.

He rushes up, meeting you halfway as you collapse from Morgan's arms into his. He grabs onto you as your knees buckle, and he manages to pull you towards him before you hit the ground.

He can't breathe as he clutches you to him, trying to be mindful of your wounds. Your breath comes out in gasps that mix in with his own as he sags with relief that you're here, back in his arms, where he can keep you safe.

He pulls back when he sees the paramedics approaching, and it's only then that he finally gets a good look at you. Your skin is gaunt, and his heart thuds loudly in his ears as he sees you wince in pain.

When they load you into an ambulance, his feet finally start working again and he races after you. "I'm coming with you."

You nod as he climbs through the doors and you reach your hand out over the side of the gurney. Your fingers feel cold when he clasps your hand in his, and he syncs his breaths with the sound of the sirens as your eyes fall closed.

***

The first thought that goes through your head when you wake up is that it's too bright. You squint as your eyes peel open, and in the few moments it takes for them to adjust to the light, a chorus of quiet 'she's awake's filter around the hospital room.

"How are you feeling?" JJ asks, stepping closer to stand at your bedside.

"You gave us a real scare, Mama," Penelope adds with a gentle smile.

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat is so dry, no sound comes out. Emily darts forward to grab the cup of water on the counter, and you glance over to see the yellowing bruises on her cheekbones.

After a few sips, you clear your throat and say, "I'm good. How long was I out?"

"Just a day," Derek responds from the foot of your bed, where he's standing with Spencer and Penelope.

Spencer chimes in. "You got out of surgery a few hours ago, and the doctors said you can go home tomorrow morning."

You nod slowly, stretching out your arms and legs to test the limits of your mobility. When you push yourself up into a sitting position, it doesn't hurt as much as it did on the compound.

"Ah, you're awake," Rossi smiles as he joins you all in the hospital room. It's not exactly huge, so everyone has to stand to make room, but it still doesn't escape your notice that someone is missing.

You return Rossi's smile before glancing over at the door, trying to see if he's just outside. Noticing your gaze, Spencer walks forward and takes your hand, giving it a small squeeze. "He's on the phone with your father. I think he got a flight for tomorrow morning."

You exhale slowly and take another sip of water. "Thank you." He nods and moves to release your hand, but you grip it tighter, holding him back. "Seriously, Spence, thank you." You turn to Emily, who is on the other side and her eyes shine, reflecting the tears in yours. "That whole operation sucked, but I'm really glad you two were in there with me."

She lets out a watery laugh and bends down to press an kiss to your temple. "I'm glad you're okay."

When you start fading again, the team leaves with promises to see you back at work in a month, and you close your eyes to get a break from the harsh fluorescent lighting.

***

"Alright," he says into his phone, nodding. "We'll see you in the morning, Mr. L/N. Yes, she's doing a lot better...okay, good, see you soon."

He ends the call and tucks his phone back into his pocket, before walking over to the vending machine at the end of the hall to grab a few of your favorite snacks. He loads up on chips and pop tarts before heading back up the hallway to your room. When he reaches the door, he realizes that the rest of the team has left, so he steps inside quietly and takes a seat in the small plastic chair next to your bed, before gently setting the snacks on your bedside table.

Your eyes are closed and he figures you must have just fallen asleep, so he crosses his arms over his chest and just sits there, watching you. Your face is covered in little scrapes from the explosion, and you still look a bit ashy, but you somehow still do look beautiful. This isn't the first time he has thought this - it was more of a recurrent notion when you were younger - but he can't deny that you're just objectively a beautiful person. But then again, he's not sure if beauty is ever really objective (eye of the beholder and all that), so he pushes the thought aside and turns back to you.

His thoughts are interrupted when his phone chirps with a text message. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checks the name and sees that Haley has arrived at the hospital. He had called her after you went into surgery, knowing that she would kill him if he didn't keep her constantly updated on your condition.

When he finds her at the end of the hall, she pulls him into a quick side hug that's slightly barred by Jack, who is clutching onto her tightly. He can imagine how scary the hospital looks to a three year old boy.

"Hi, bud," he smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before looking at Haley again. "She's sleeping, but I'll take you to her room."

"She's alright, Aaron." Haley is looking at him like she's worried he may break down, and it makes him wonder what his expression looks like right now. Ever since you got out of surgery, he has felt a weight lifted off his chest, but if he really thinks about it, he doesn't know if he feels all that much lighter at all.

But he doesn't want to say any of that out loud. Nodding, he cocks his head at the other end of the hall and leads her to your room, where you are blinking your eyes open again.

"Oh, sweetheart," Haley coos, adjusting Jack on her hip and walking over to your bedside. "I hope we didn't wake you up?"

You shake your head with a smile, but he can tell you're lying. You look exhausted, and he can see you periodically glancing at the light on the ceiling to keep your eyes alert.

"Well, hello," you grin at Jack as you carefully push yourself up into a sitting position. "How's my little Jack-o-lantern doing?"

His mouth twitches and he reaches his arms out as he lets out a loud, "Good!" You reach forward slowly, likely testing the limits of your mobility, and take him from Haley, who hands him off with a concerned look on her face.

"Be careful, baby," she tells Jack, before stepping back and crossing her arms. "Aunt Y/N is a little fragile today."

To his credit, Jack just slumps down into your arms, absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair as you turn to Hotch. "Reid said you called my dad?"

He nods, taking a deep breath. "He'll be here in the morning. I assured him you were just fine, but he wants to stay here for a bit to keep an eye on you."

"That's okay," you shrug, much to his relief. After your last conversation about your father, he wasn't sure where you stood and how far he was allowed to push. "It'll be nice to have some company while I'm off for the next two weeks."

"Two months," he corrects with a stern look.

"One."

"Fine." The only reason he relents so quickly is because he knows how quickly he would be back at work if he was in your position. "But I'm limiting your field work until you're more healed."

You nod after a second. "I'll take it."

Haley huffs out a laugh and looks at him with an expression he remembers from their marriage. Affection with a hint of exasperation.

"Alright, you two," she smiles, reaching for Jack again. His entire fist is tangled in your hair at this point, but you don't seem to mind. "I should get him to bed. It's already past his bedtime."

You nod and hand him back, before letting her envelope you in a warm hug that you settle yourself into. "Love you, Hales. Thanks for coming by."

"Love you too, honey."

***

Haley leaves with Jack, and you slump down in the bed, feeling tired, but no longer sleepy.

"I can head out too," Hotch says quickly, reaching for his coat, "if you want to sleep."

You shake your head, and he drops his arm immediately, as though he was just looking for an excuse to stay. The thought makes you smile and his brow pinches in confusion. What's on your mind?

"I'm just glad I met you." You reach for his hand he takes it, giving it a soft squeeze, before taking a seat in the chair beside you.

"I brought you some snacks from the vending machine," he points out, glancing over at the pile he made on your table. "I got your favorites...at least out of what they had."

You grin, feeling your chest fill with warmth as you take in the assortment. "Sunchips and cinnamon pop tarts. You remembered."

"Of course," he shrugs. "You're the only person I know, other than my three year old son, who still eats pop tarts."

You make a face, swatting your hand at him, but he's just out of reach. "It's not my fault toddlers have great taste."

He chuckles as you tear open one of the packages and break off a piece. The buttery, sweet taste brings you back to your childhood when your mom was still alive. She would wake you up with two brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts before school, the sweet smell enough to drag you out of bed at eight in the morning.

"What are you thinking about?"

You look up with a smile, your gaze wistful as the memory slowly fades away. "My mom, actually. I don't have a ton of memories of her, but sometimes the most random thing will trigger an emotion or a memory that I forgot I had."

He nods, his eyes thoughtful. "Like the taste of pop tarts."

"Exactly." You break off another piece and toss it into your mouth, before setting the package back on the table. "Last week it was the smell of this perfume I found at the back of my dresser. It wasn't even the exact scent she would wear, it just had the same base notes."

Your voice trails off, and he looks at you, giving you a moment before speaking up. "What else do you remember?"

"I remember her funeral," you say without thinking, before realizing that it's not a lie. You know that grief is weird, that people usually remember everything or nothing, but for some reason, the funeral only comes back to you in pieces. Your dad crying silently, Hotch holding your hand, your dress being too small on you. You wore it anyway, because she had picked it out for you at the store a couple of years before. "I remember you holding me up."

His eyes flash with something that resembles amusement and he purses his lips. "I remember feeling the opposite. I knew I was supposed to be there for you, but somehow, it felt like you were the one holding both of us up that day."

You shrug, realizing the details don't mean anything. "All I really needed was for someone to hold onto."

He nods and that's when your mind flashes back to New York last month. "Did you go to Kate's funeral?"

"No," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Her family flew her back to London to have it there, and I couldn't take any time off."

You want to apologize, but before you can open your mouth, he beats you to it. "I'm sorry for how I acted in New York."

You frown, but he just shakes his head. "I don't really know why I was trying so hard to protect her. I guess after the close call with Strauss last year, I was less sympathetic to bureau politics, but I still shouldn't have taken it out on you. I should've been protecting you too."

His words are tinged with self-contempt, and you find yourself wanting to take away his guilt even though you were hurt by how he treated you during that case. But that's how the two of you work. The protective instincts don't go away just because one of you is angry at the other.

You remember prom night all those years ago, when he was so peeved at you for convincing him to ask Haley to the dance, even though they had just started talking. She had freaked out and said no, so he was forced to take another girl who asked him after the fact (of which there were many), while you went with Kyle Martinez, who had been showing interest in you for a while. You knew your feelings for Hotch definitely weren't just platonic anymore, but he was into Haley, and he was also Hotch, so you had pushed it aside and gone to the prom with Kyle.

You had spotted Hotch the moment he walked into the ballroom that the school had turned into a Gatsby-themed prom venue. He commanded everyone's attention, and you certainly weren't immune, but you had your own date, so you ignored your best friend and danced with Kyle.

As the night wore on, he had grown bored and asked you if you wanted to get out of there and go somewhere quiet, but you weren't exactly experienced back then.

"I'm okay," you had whispered, trying to maintain your smile. "I'd rather just stay at the dance."

You can still remember the change in his expression when he saw you glance at Hotch, as though it was just yesterday. "What, are you into him or something? You seriously think he'd fuck you?"

You hadn't been able to help it as tears flooded your eyes, and before you knew it, Hotch was standing in front of you, glaring down your date as he asked if you were okay.

"Everything's fine," Kyle had sneered, trying to get around him. "Butt out of our business, Hotch."

He looked at you again. Do you want me to go?

You shook your head, a tear falling down your cheek, and before you had time to blink, his fist was swinging. There was a horrible thump as his fist collided with Kyle's cheekbone, sending him stumbling backwards from the force of the hit.

You couldn't move as Kyle swung back, trying to shove him down, but he didn't budge. He could take physical aggression better than most guys his age, but that didn't make this okay.

"Hotch, please," you had pleaded as he landed another punch. The sound of your voice must had cut through the fog, because he looked up then, unaware of the bruises on his knuckles. You helped him up, and the two of you watched as his date stormed out of the ballroom.

Presently, you look at him sitting in his chair and crack a small smile. "Do you remember prom night?"

He groans and you laugh lightly, being careful not to tear the stitches in your side.

"You never actually told me what that asshole did to you." His tone is light, but you can hear the genuine question underneath.

"It was so long ago," you shrug after a beat. "I don't even remember."

***

Your dad arrives at the hospital early the next morning right before you're discharged. The papers are quick, and by the time the sun has risen fully, you are being taken to his car in a wheelchair, despite your best efforts to refuse.

"I can walk!"

"I don't care."

"Dad, come on."

He frowns down at you. "I drove up here to be of use to you. Let me be of use."

You huff in frustration as he wheels you beside his car, and you try to get up on your own, but you twist the wrong way. You gasp out in pain as one of your stitches pulls and your dad immediately comes around to assist you.

"I hate your job," he grumbles, taking your arm to help you into the passenger seat. "If I had my way, you'd be working out of an office cubicle."

"I know, Dad," you soothe, turning your head back to smile at him. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, sweetie."

The drive to your house is quick, and he takes your arm again when you get out to help you inside. Once you're laying down on the couch, you insist that you don't need any more concessions, but he doesn't sit down in your armchair until after he has brought you a glass of water and a blanket.

"Dad, I'm fine, really." He doesn't look convinced, so you paste on your brightest smile, and he finally cracks, smiling back at you. "What do you want to do today?" you ask him.

"Wha- do today?" he sputters. "You need to rest, young lady. I'm not letting you leave this couch until you head up for bed tonight."

You can tell he's serious about this, so you sink back into your pillows with a sigh and grab the tv remote. "What do you want to watch then?"

He leans back in his armchair and brings his palm to his face: his thinking expression. "What's on?"

You click on the television, and the first channel it opens up to is playing a rerun of Breaking Bad. Neither of you seem interested in watching it, so you keep flipping through the channels, but after 20 minutes of mindless surfing, you eventually end up back on Breaking Bad.

"We could just play it in the background," you suggest with a shrug, "while we talk."

"Sure," he agrees, placing his hands on each armrest.

Two hours later, your eyes are glued to the television after having watched three episodes.

"We should probably do something else," Dad suggests at the next ad break. "All of this meth production is rotting my brain."

"Yeah," you agree, taking your time to reach for the remote before clicking the tv off and tossing the remote aside. "We can have lunch in the kitchen..."

"Nice try," he chuckles, before standing up. "Aaron is coming by with takeout soon, and you can eat that right from here."

He had been coming by a lot after your movie night a few months ago, and while hanging out with your best friend isn't an anomaly, it does reinforce the reminder that neither of you have anyone to go home to at the end of the night.

It's another half hour by the time he shows up, Thai takeout in hand, and by then you're starving.

"Thanks for bringing food," you say genuinely after your dad lets him inside the house. "I was worried I would have to live off Dad's cooking for a week."

"Very funny," he says with an eye roll. "But yes, thank you, Aaron."

"Of course," Hotch says simply, before handing your dad a fork and napkin. "I'm also hoping to convince Y/N to take more time off."

"Not fair!" you complain, feeling like you're reverting to your high school self with your dad and best friend sitting across from you. "I'm not starting field work for a couple of months. I just want to come in soon to meet the new press liaison."

"Is JJ leaving?" Dad asks as he takes a bite of green curry with rice.

"Just temporarily," Hotch says, reaching for the pad kee mao container. You nod, chiming in, "She's due in a couple of months, so she's gonna start training someone soon to take over while she's gone."

"Is she still with that cop from...where was it again?"

"New Orleans," you answer with a laugh. "Yeah, she and Will are still together."

You can feel the conversation getting dangerously close to (ex) spouses, so you steer your father away from the topic by having him try all of the food Hotch brought. He ends up staying for a couple of hours as he explains some of the more tame cases you've handled to your dad, who actually seems interested in the finer details of each profile.

Eventually, he heads home, with the explanation that he has Jack that night, and you say good night to your dad before heading up for bed. You cover the stitches with plastic the way the doctors instructed you to before taking a fast shower and getting into your bed.

You can hear the sound of your father's quiet snores from the guest room down the hall, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine that you're back in your childhood home, sleeping in your pink and purple bedroom after spending the day with your best friend.

***

It takes a lot of convincing, but at the end of the month, your dad drops you off at work before making his drive back home. Emily had called you before the team's plane took off, and you timed it right so that you'd get to the office just as they arrived.

The elevator doors open on your floor, and you hear a loud conversation happening between Morgan and Prentiss just before they spot you from the bullpen.

"Y/N!" Emily grins, rushing forward to give you a hug. "How's the healing process been?"

"I feel a lot better," you tell her with a smile as you pull back and drop your bag next to your desk.

"You look a lot better," she nods, before Derek grabs you and pulls you in for a surprisingly gentle bear hug.

"You look great," he says, grinning at you. "Are you cleared to come back to work?"

"Not field work," you sigh, pushing your hair back behind your ear. "I'm just here to turn in some paperwork and then I'm stuck to my desk for a few more weeks."

Derek takes the files from your hand and tosses them on your desk before throwing an arm around your shoulder. "You should come out and get burgers with Prentiss and me."

"Tempting," you say, "but I just came by to meet-"

"Hey guys," JJ calls out from the hallway. "I want to introduce you to someone."

She walks up to you all with another woman by her side. "This is Agent Jordan Todd. She'll be taking over for me while I'm on maternity leave."

You grin, clasping your hands together in front of you as she smiles sheepishly at all of you. "Agent Jareau's told me so much about you all."

She turns to Emily first. "You must be Agent Prentiss."

"Yes," she smiles, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Spencer walks up at that moment and Agent Todd nods at him. "Hello, Dr. Reid."

He waves back, and she then looks at you. You reach out first to shake her hand and she smiles. "Agent L/N, I presume?" When you nod, she takes your hand. "I heard about the cult incident."

"Yeah," you let out a laugh. "Incident is definitely a word for it."

Derek drops his arm from your shoulder and Jordan turns to him with a cheeky grin that piques your interest. "And Agent Morgan. Nice to see you again."

He nods, not giving anything away. "Nice to see you, too. So, this must be the good news."

"This would be my brownie."

Emily frowns, pointing between the two of then. "Uh, you two have met?"

Derek doesn't turn away from her. "Briefly."

JJ shoots him a look before steering Jordan away to meet the rest of the team, and you and Emily turn to Derek with matching expressions. "What was that about?"

"I met her at a coffee shop this morning," he explains, rubbing a hand over his face. "She knew my name then, and I guess this is how."

"JJ's about to pop," Emily says, glancing at you with a small smirk. "Looks like it's about to get interesting at the BAU."

***

Your first case back in the field takes you to Atlanta, where Vanessa Holden was murdered after going home with a man she met on a night out clubbing. Jordan briefs you all on the details back in the office before you get on the plane.

You're still not used to JJ being gone, and you heard all about Jordan's drive from Hotch when he came by your house with dinner periodically over your bureau-mandated leave, but you don't want to make any judgments before getting to know her yourself.

You sit across from Hotch on the plane, and you don't miss the way his eyes follow each of your movements from the second you sit down. Your bandages are still on, but you've regained almost all of your mobility.

As the jet takes off, you lean forward slightly to adjust the back of your blazer, and his gaze shoots to you, his brow furrowing with concern.

You flash your eyes at him, cutting the tension with a small smirk. I'm fine, I promise.

He squints slightly, scrutinizing your expression for a moment, before letting out an inscrutable sigh and turning back to the case file.

When you land in Atlanta, you start off at the police department with Hotch, Morgan, and Todd, and her continued insistence on being the first to meet with the local officials and debrief them surprises you, given JJ's more subtle nature when working with those who call your team in.

The local police let you know that the Holden family has stopped cooperating with their investigation, but the four of you head over to their home to try and speak with her mother and sister one last time. Jordan gets you in the house by sharing a story about her older sister who passed away, and you find yourself feeling awful about your misjudgment of her, until you notice the look of Hotch's face.

"Did you know that about Jordan?" you ask, trying to understand why he looks so miffed.

"No," he says simply, his brow pinched together, "and neither did she. According to her file, she's an only child."

You flash your eyes at Derek.

The conversation gets you a basic profile of the unsub, based on the cocky way he held himself with Vanessa and the way he was dressed when approaching her at the club, but when the moment you exit her home, Hotch corners Jordan on the driveway.

"The information about Vanessa Holden being the responsible sister," he fumes. "Where did you get that?"

She has the gall not to look ashamed, and you can't decide if you respect her resolve or detest her lack of responsibility. "Some of it was online, and some of it was an educated guess based on birth order."

"A guess."

You practically wince and Derek stares at her, as though trying to hypnotically get her to backtrack.

She looks down then, and he delivers the kicker. "And in the process you lied."

You step forward to insert yourself in the conversation (for what purpose, you don't yet know), but Jordan just stands up straighter, ready to defend herself. "That mother was shut down. I needed to salvage some rapport."

Hotch doesn't back down, and as his brow locks into place, you step back again. "I don't know how you did things in counter-terrorism, but we don't make it a habit to lie to get the job done."

"I got you in the door, didn't I?" she spits out one last time. It's both, you realize. Respect and distaste.

"Not only do you represent the FBI, you represent this team."

He shakes his head, and you cock your head at Derek, gesturing for him to head back to the car. You hear the tail end of their conversation as you yank open the passenger side door.

"From now on, everything goes through me."

Jordan gets saved by the literal bell as his phone rings, and when he steps away to answer it, she comes back to the SUV and gets in the back. "So, how bad did I just screw up?"

Derek heaves out a sigh, looking at her with his characteristic stoicism mixed with compassion. "On a normal scale of one to ten, I'd say a six."

He glances at you and you press your lips together. "But on Hotch's scale...an 11."

She rubs a hand over her face and you turn back to face the front, watching as Hotch paces back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. He doesn't look up until he's back in the SUV.

***

The profile becomes clear when a new victim emerges: an unsub with a possible scar or birthmark above his left eye, who went to a class for pickup artists. After doing some researching with Garcia, Emily returns with a flyer for a man named Viper that makes your stomach twist.

You, Morgan, and Hotch join her at one of his classes later that day, and it takes everything in you not to sneer in disgust as he describes his approach to meeting women.

"This is the jungle, my friends," Viper finishes off, lifting his hands in the air theatrically, "and your prey wants to be caught."

You and Hotch share a look, and he raises his eyebrows as you cringe. What, not a fan?

You shove his shoulder with yours, but it's not hard enough to actually make him budge. Hilarious.

"Will you listen to that language?" Emily whispers from next to you. "He's training serial killers."

"Great," Derek sighs. "We're dealing with a rampant narcissist and misogynist who's turned himself into a snake oil salesman."

Hotch nods. "That's one more thing he has in common with our unsub."

The class ends soon after, and you get the distinct pleasure of meeting Viper in the flesh. When he approaches the four of you, he makes a clear effort to keep eye contact with only the men, likely trying to use his self-prescribed techniques to make you and Emily feel vulnerable. Instead, it just makes you want to laugh in his face.

"So you think this- what did you call him- unsub, took my class?"

He raises his eyebrows at Emily then, in what you can only hope is meant to be a seductive nature, and she practically snorts. Using his clear attraction to her to the team's advantage, she steps forward and takes control of the conversation. By the time she's finished, she has managed to secure his location for later tonight, and get him just flustered enough that a chance meeting later would have him ready to divulge anything she wants to hear.

'Please tell me we are not giving up on that guy." Emily heaves out a breath as you all walk back outside after speaking with Viper. She was just talking to him, but she looks like she's ready to take another shower.

Hotch flashes his eyes with uncharacteristic mirth. "We're just getting started."

***

His eyes keep darting back to the door of the locker room. Prentiss is going undercover at Club Aqua to get more information about the unsub from Viper, and when she suggested that you and Agent Todd join her, he couldn't think of a good enough reason to quash her idea.

He knows he's been hard on Todd. He figured it out on his own, even with your furtive glances from the passenger side of the SUV after leaving the Holden household.

He wishes he could say it all came from a place of protecting bureau leadership, but he knows that isn't completely true. It's been almost two weeks since he last saw Jack, and every time he drops him back at Haley's, that feeling settles back in his gut, like clockwork. The feeling that tells him he's just like his father.

The locker room door flies open and he averts his eyes, trying to maintain some level of subtlety, but it's only Prentiss and Todd. Where are you?

His unspoken question is answered when Prentiss announces that you told them to get started without you. He's still worried that you're not ready for this kind of assignment so early in your return to field work, so, before he can regret it, he stalks forward and pushes open the door.

The regret immediately comes when he sees your bare back, underneath your unzipped dress, on the far end of the locker room.

"Oh, sorry," he blinks, turning his head back. "I didn't realize-"

He moves to shut the door again, but you look over your shoulder and raise your hand, beckoning him inside. "Wait, I could actually use your help."

He steps through the door and crosses over to you, where you turn your back to him after a small glance. "Zip me up?"

The bottom of the zipper is at the small of your back, and he tries to avoid touching you as he pulls it up to the base of your shoulder blades. He isn't able to avoid it completely, and he tries to ignore the heat of your skin as he drops the zipper and nods. "All set."

You turn around and he forgets to step back in time, leaving you only a few inches from him as you glance up with a confused smile. "You okay?"

He nods again, stepping back and clearing his throat. Why is his skin burning? "I should be asking you that. Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm getting the bandages taken off later this week," you tell him, partly misunderstanding his concern. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."

That's definitely a lie, but he allows it for now. "That's not all I'm talking about. You haven't been in the field in months. I just worry that I'm tossing you into the deep end on your first day back."

"I'm fine," you insist, reaching out to put your hand on his forearm. "I would have refused the assignment if I didn't think I could handle it."

He's not sure if he believes that either, but in this case, the assignment itself seems odious enough that he can let it slide. "Okay. Are you ready to head out there?"

"Yeah, just one second."

He waits as you pull a thin necklace from your bag and clasp it around your neck. When it's attached, you spin around with a goofy smile. "How do I look?"

"Amazing," he says without thinking. "I mean- you look great, of course."

You just smile at him, before patting his shoulder and walking out the door to meet the Prentiss and Todd at the club. Your hair brushes past him as you leave, and the scent of your perfume lingers in the air behind you, a flowery aroma that persists even when the door swings shut.

***

Emily waves at you when you approach her and Jordan in a crowded part of the club. "Y/N, I'm sure you remember Viper. God's gift to women."

You smile at him sweetly, before glancing at her. "Sure hope he came with a receipt."

"Another friend," Viper says, letting out a weak laugh.

Emily uses this moment of distraction to pounce. "You promised if I met you on your turf, you'd show me something special. So...let's see it."

He starts spouting off some nonsense about chemical signals, and you're about to take Jordan's arm and pull her aside to give Emily some room, when Viper turns to you with a mock-sincere expression. "Does the boss man you're out here, with me?"

You turn back with a frown. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and he practically grins as his bravado grows. "What I do for a living is pretty similar to what you all do. I read people...and from what I could tell during your little ambush of my class earlier, there's something going on between you and the supervisor."

You let out a laugh that feels surprisingly forced as it leaves your throat. "I really can't believe there are people out there who pay you for assessments like that, because you're dead wrong."

He shrugs, looking back at Emily, and you roll your eyes at him before turning away under the guise of giving them some space. When you're out of his line of sight, you let out a breath that was caught in your chest. You know you and Hotch are closer than most friendships are at your age, and you're not unaccustomed to people reading more into it than there is, so you're not sure why Viper's words feel like a fist around your gut.

"Hey, you okay?" You turn back to see Jordan approaching you with a glass of water. "He's really trying everything to get under our skin."

You accept the glass gratefully, and swallow a few gulps, before nodding. "Thank you. I think I just needed some air. I forgot how stuffy these clubs get."

"I hear that." She laughs and you feel your chest loosen with relief that she didn't believe Viper's insinuation. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm almost excited to get back into my work clothes."

You let out a breathy chuckle, before sending her back to keep an eye on Emily as she works on breaking Viper. Later that night, when you get back to the station to meet up with the rest of the team, you excuse yourself early to head to the hotel, and you allow yourself to pretend, just this once, that you weren't avoiding him, and you really were just tired.

***

You're sitting in your car in front of the hospital at seven in the morning, because you didn't want to take any work off just to get your bandages removed. You know this is likely the exact sort of thing the bureau mandates time off for, but a small part of you didn't want anyone knowing you were coming here. Or maybe you just didn't want him to know.

You haven't been trying to avoid him. You may be a little embarrassed by how far under your skin Viper got with his one little comment, but you can't help it. The notion stirred something you don't recognize inside of you and you don't want to take the time to think through it.

You take a deep breath and get out of your car, before walking into the hospital and checking in for your appointment. When you called to secure a time slot, the nurse mentioned that, barring any complications, the appointment shouldn't take more than half an hour.

You're a few minutes early, so you sit in the waiting area, flipping through a fashion magazine from the table next to you. After a minute, you're so engrossed in a page about returning trends that you don't realize he is sitting next to you until he taps the side of your foot with his own.

"Oh shit," you blurt out when you see him, more out of surprise than the shame of being caught. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Garcia saw it in your calendar and told me." You turn to look at him with mock-exasperation, but you're caught off guard by the genuine hurt in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me the appointment was today? I could've driven you."

You open your mouth to come up with an excuse, but all that comes out is, "I don't know." He doesn't look convinced, but the doctor calls your name then and you stand up, pressing your lips together. "Will you come with me?"

He stands up immediately, without another word, and you both follow the doctor into a back room, where she proceeds to remove your bandages and check where you are in the healing process. The wound is closed, and is almost entirely scarred over, but she recommends that you continue to take it easy - a point which you see Hotch take mental note of immediately - and limit excessive physical activity.

"The wound is healing very nicely," the doctor says as you walk back to the front. "Give me a call if anything changes, but as long as you keep applying the salve, there shouldn't be a permanent scar."

You thank her before she heads back to meet with another patient, and Hotch holds the front door open for you as you walk out into the parking lot.

"Thank you for coming," you tell him earnestly, "even though I didn't ask you to. I should've told you."

He exhales through his nose, bumping your shoulder. "Yeah, you should have."

He loops his arm through yours as you step off the curb and you lean your head on his shoulder for a second before unlocking your car. You were stupid to let Viper's words get to you. He's your best friend.

He's your best friend, and you love him.

***

One of the first happy memories at the office in a long time comes in the form of JJ coming in with baby Henry. It feels like a welcome relief to see her face back in the bullpen, and for a few peaceful moments, everything feels like it's back to normal.

You know firsthand how much this job takes from people, and Jordan's absence in the office now doesn't go unnoticed, even with a sweet baby boy here to take your mind off of it.

Is this my fault?

Rossi had tried to talk her down after discovering that the unsub had killed his entire family in their home, seemingly after her press release, but sometimes the words aren't enough.

I'm not sure I can do this job.

There had been so much anguish in her voice as she admitted to Rossi that she wasn't cut out for this line of work, but no part of you judged her for it. A bigger piece of you almost envied her ability to recognize that she was in over her head - that she couldn't keep going like this.

Looking at JJ now though, you feel a sense of hope again, like maybe this job doesn't take everything from you.

"I thought you could use a surprise," she smiles, cradling Henry in her arms under a swath of blankets.

"He's beautiful," you whisper, stepping in closer to get a better look at his little scrunched-up face.

Penelope comes back into the room with a freshly warmed up bottle of milk, and JJ starts to feed him as everyone leans closer in wonder. "I wanted us to have at least one good memory to hold onto in this room."

Before you can react, Derek is pushing past you and Spencer. "Excuse me, kid. Um, JJ, can I..."

He points to the bundle in her arms and she looks at him with a soft grin. "Of course."

She carefully transfers Henry into his arms as all of the women worriedly chime in with reminders and comments on his form.

"You gotta hold his head up."

"Careful, you're smothering him!"

"I got it," Derek chuffs, before rocking Henry in his arms. "Look at that, what's he doing? He's smiling at Derek Morgan."

Penelope and Emily share a look. "Gas."

He shoots them a pointed glare, before grabbing the bottle from Garcia's hand and feeding Henry himself. "Hey, little man."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face as you step back to give them some room. Your shoulder bumps into Hotch as you step around JJ, and you look back at him, noticing the little curve of his lips. "You're smiling."

He glances over at you with an eye roll. "Gas."

***

"What's up, Hotch?"

You roll over and turn your bedside lamp on as you press your cellphone to your ear. The alarm clock beside you says it's just past five in the morning.

"We have a case."

You frown, pushing yourself up. "Wouldn't JJ usually call us to come in?"

"This one's different." His voice sounds slightly muffled and his tone is colored by a familiar tinge of irritation. "Dallas AG called me last night to come down here, and it looks like they may have a serial."

"You went alone?" you ask, trying to blink the grogginess from your eyes as you get out of bed. You are distinctly aware of how many questions you're asking, but your brain is still fuzzy from being woken up.

"Yeah," he says simply, before you hear someone call his name from the other end of the line. "I convinced them to bring the team in as well. Anyway, I have to go, but I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, see you-" The line cuts and you sigh, tossing the phone down.

So much for a full night of rest.

***

Spencer briefs all of you on female serial killers on the flight over, and once you land, Hotch is waiting at the hotel. You drop your things off in your room and meet with him, Rossi, and Morgan to head over to the location of the latest crime scene, when another man is murdered.

"Victim was Joseph Fielding," Rossi explains when you enter the office building. "He was CFO here."

"Poisoned?" you clarify.

"And staged," Morgan adds, glancing over the body. This time, the victim was left out in the open, naked and tied up. There's no way the company can keep the media away from this one.

"Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?"

You turn around to see a man in a fancy suit stalking towards the four of you. You step back to let Hotch get around you, and he approaches the man with a frown. "I'm Hotchner."

"Larry Bartlett," he introduces himself. "I represent Mr. Fielding and Webster Industries."

Hotch angles himself to stand between the man and the body. "This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett."

"I spoke to Ellen Daniels," he explains, his eyes glinting with over-confidence. "She said you're a very reasonable man."

You resist the urge to snort as Hotch moves to get the attention of the police officers nearby. "Escort him out, please."

"No, wait! The press is outside, and they can smell blood. Any way we can handle this discreetly?"

This time it's you who frowns. "We're not about to lie for you."

"Don't have to lie," he says, gesturing with his hands as though that will help his case. "Just don't comment."

Hotch looks at him for a moment, before excusing himself and pulling the rest of you aside. "Is there any reason to go public yet?"

Rossi shrugs. "Validating her is exactly what she wants. If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake."

You almost smile. "He doesn't need to know that."

Hotch meets your eye for a beat before spinning around and putting his lawyer face back on. "We need everything you have on Fielding. Bank accounts, tax records, emails...everything."

***

When Penelope uncovers that the victims have all been withholding child support from their ex-wives, Hotch meets with the city's high-profile corporate lawyers to present the profile. You're not sure how helpful this will be, given that their primary motive is to protect their clients' companies, but it proves useful when one of the lawyers reveals that the unsub may have a penthouse to her name.

The apartment is massive. You walk around the living area, trying to find anything the unsub may have left out, but she has clearly been covering her tracks.

When you don't find anything by the bedroom, you head over to the walk-in closet where Derek and Emily are poking around her jewelry box.

"Hey, Prentiss," Derek suddenly says, lifting up a leather bodysuit and holding it in front of her. "Got a whip?"

Rolling your eyes, you smack the top of his head with the evidence baggy in your hands and walk back out to find Hotch. He's poring over her antique book collection when suddenly the apartment phone starts to ring.

You all argue for a few moments over who should take the call, and Derek quickly alerts Garcia to trap-and-trace it, before it soon goes to voicemail.

"Hi, it's me," the woman's voice says brightly in the voicemail message. "You know what to do." There's a beep, and then her voice comes back, more present this time. "Aaron."

Your eyes snap over to him, but he's still looking at the phone.

"I know you're up there," she continues. "Aaron Hotchner."

He reaches forward and carefully lifts the phone with his gloved hand. He walks over to the window as he presses it to his ear. "I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours."

You bend down and press the speaker button on the main console as he moves across the room.

"I thought I could trust you, Aaron." Her voice is tight over the line, the tiny speakers still enough to amplify the emotion in her voice. She sounds so...disappointed.

"Who says you can't?" he responds slowly, clearly testing the range of her emotion.

"I want to," she says quietly. "I even looked you up online. I watched the presentation you gave on school shootings...and for a moment, I actually thought there were still good people in the world."

You remember that presentation. There had been a shooting at an elementary school in Virginia, and the moment the news hit, he had been on the phone, discussing procedures to ensure it wouldn't happen again. You went with him that day that he gave the speech, and you could tell he had been thinking of Jack the entire time he was up there.

Hotch closes his eyes for a beat. "But I've disappointed you, haven't I? Just like all the other men in your life who've walked out on their families."

The line is silent, before: "Did you walk out on your family?"

Hotch looks down for a moment and you fight the urge to walk over and pull him into a hug. "No. My wife left me."

You can feel the team's eyes on you as you keep your expression neutral, your eyes focused on him.

"Do you have kids?"

Your mind flashes to Jack, and your chest feels warm as he nods, before muttering a quick "yes".

The woman speaks up again, her voice stronger yet more emotional. "How often do you see him?"

"I try to see him every week."

She scoffs. "Do you see him every week?" Her question is like a jab, trying to push him into doing or saying something that will prove he's just like the other men in her life.

"No," he admits, glancing back at you. You nod, trying to let him know that you're right here. "I don't get there as often as I want."

"I believe you." Her voice softens and you watch as Hotch's expression turns back to his thinking face. He has an idea.

He lets her talk for a minute, listening in to Garcia's updates on the trap-and-trace, until he chimes in again. "But I'm just frustrating you, aren't I?"

You can hear the confusion in her tone. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you wanna show the world all these bad men, and my investigation's just getting in your way."

"No, Aaron," she sighs heavily. "You just want me to disappear, just like they do."

He shakes his head, turning to look out the window. "Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you. You don't know who to trust. Am I right?"

There are tears in her voice as she quietly whispers an acknowledgement.

"Come to me and turn yourself in." He walks back to the living area. "I will make sure that you get the help you need. I won't let you disappear."

His voice is a comfort, and for a brief moment, you think that he could probably convince you to turn yourself in if you had to.

There's a beat of silence, before a small rustling sound. "If we met under different circumstances...I could believe that."

The rustling continues, before her tone changes completely, going from soft and meek to strong and icy. "I won't let you cover this up."

There's a gunshot right before the call cuts out.

***

You follow Hotch and Derek into the hotel room, checking behind you as you aim your gun out in front of you. Once Garcia found Megan Kane's address and client list, everything else fell into place.

The room is empty, except for a gun and a bottle of champagne placed theatrically on the center table.

"Hotch," Derek whispers, pointing out at the balcony, where a figure is laying down on one of the lounge chairs.

His brow furrows and he lifts his hand. "Wait here."

"You sure?" you ask, stepping forward to get a better look.

He nods. "It's over. She knows it."

Derek steps out to call 911, and you watch as Hotch approaches her slowly, tucking his gun into his holster before sitting on the chair beside her.

"Nothing will change," you hear her whisper, her voice overflowing with despair. "They'll just go back to doing whatever they want and they'll keep getting away with it."

He shakes his head. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

The response is almost corny, but his voice is so earnest that you find yourself believing him anyway.

He reaches forward and takes her hand, holding it tightly as her head lolls to the side to look at him. "How could your wife have ever left someone like you?"

He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the sadness permeating off of both of them as he comforts her in her final moments. Haley is one of your good friends, and you know she would've made their marriage work if it was something she could control. This job just isn't that.

Megan lets out a soft sob and you avert your eyes, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. "You're the first man I ever met who didn't let me down. Will you stay with me?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He holds her hand for a long time, and he doesn't stand up until you're certain she's been dead for minutes. The walk back to you is slow, and you can see the extra weight on his shoulders as he trudges across the hotel room.

You open your arms and he all but falls into them, letting you pull him into a tight hug that you can tell is holding him together right now.

"You did good," you whisper as his face presses into your shoulder. "You kept your promise. It's the last thing she wanted, and you gave it to her."

You feel him nod, and a moment later, he stands up, letting his arms drop like deadweights. His hair is slightly disheveled, so you reach up and push the front strands back from his forehead, before resting your hand on his cheek for a quick second. "Let's go home?"

He nods again. "Let's go home."

***

It's snowing. You don't realize it until you step out of the car and onto the sidewalk in front of the Georgetown brownstone where the priest was taken in.

Emily and Derek caught him in the middle of an attempted exorcism, and you didn't arrive with the rest of the team until they were already bringing him out in cuffs. She looks shaken as she leads her friend out of the house and to the ambulance waiting on the street.

Once the paramedics take him from her hands, her body all but deflates, and she exhales deeply, as though releasing the pent-up tension from the day.

"Em," you whisper, approaching her slowly. "Can I drive you home?"

She doesn't look at you at first. Whites flecks of snow dance across your vision and stick to her coat and hair as she stares at the ground. After a moment, she shakes her head. "I'm gonna walk for a while."

Her feet don't move, and you're reminded of a conversation you had years ago, when she comforted you and offered you a quiet place to just be. Gently looping your arm through hers, you ask, "Do you want some company?"

She nods almost immediately, and you let her lead the way as you walk away from the red and blue flashing lights. You can't imagine how tough this case must have been for her, especially because the people she loved were so deeply involved.

The walk is silent, and you look down, watching the patterns the soles of your boots make in the snow. You only stop moving when Emily does, her sudden stillness tugging you back as she stands in front of a small church that she must have seen from down the street.

She lets go of your arm as she turns her face up to the sky, hugging herself in an effort to stay warm or shield herself. Maybe a mix of both.

"You don't have to say anything," you say softly as you turn to face the church as well, your shoulder pressing lightly against hers, "but if you want to, I'm always here to listen."

Emily glances up at the church, her eyes shining in the cold, and presses her lips together as she takes in a shaky breath. "My friend...who died...Matthew. He knew the Bible inside and out, and one day he started to question everything."

You think you know where this is going, but you don't want to interrupt her when she's letting out emotions she has clearly kept inside for years.

"We moved around a lot when I was younger, because of my mom's postings, and when you're 15, it's really hard to get accepted."

She's silent for a few moments and you take the opportunity to fill in the gaps for her, so she doesn't have to say it out loud. "You got pregnant?"

She nods, taking a deep breath. "Matthew wasn't the father. It-it was...something else. But I didn't know what to do. He told me to talk to our priest, but he just said that if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation."

Your throat tightens with tears and you blink them back, swallowing thickly. "What did you do?"

"Matthew found a doctor." Her arms tighten around her abdomen, and she lets out a small shiver. "He took me there, and he stayed with me. Then, when we got back, he held my hand and walked me into the church." Her voice cracks as she continues. "Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up and we walked to the front pew."

Her arms fall then, and you look up to see the wetness on her cheeks, pink from the cold. "Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like I was worthy of...love, and friendship, but then his anger and questioning started." She finally looks at you, and her eyes are wide with grief and anguish. "He saved me, and it's my fault that his life unraveled."

You're shaking your head before she's even finished speaking. "Em, honey, it's not your fault. He was your friend. He loved you, and everything he did for you was his choice. Anything he discovered after that was already within him."

Another tear falls down her cheek and you reach forward to pull her into a hug that she accepts gratefully. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

Her hands clutch the back of your coat as she cries silently into your shoulder, and you don't let go until she finally stops shaking.

***

Hotch is ending a phone call when you step into his office. He sets it down and nods when you step inside, but you can see the lines of tension just in the way he's standing.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, walking inside and standing in front of his desk. "What was that call about?"

He doesn't look up. "Shaunessy died last night."

"Oh, Aaron, I'm so sorry." You squeeze his forearm over the desk, but he still won't look at you. "He was your first boss here at the BAU, right?"

He nods, before clearing his throat and straightening his back. "He was sick. This isn't a surprise, but there's something else we may need to talk about-"

He's interrupted by JJ coming into his office, a case file in hand. "Sorry, but you wanted to know immediately about any unusual Boston homicides?"

You see his jaw twitch as he takes the file from her and flips it open, scanning the first page quickly. JJ glances over at you, a confused expression on her face, but you can only shrug.

He looks up after a minute. "We're going to Boston."

JJ sputters. "Wha-what, but we haven't been invited?"

"We will be." He grabs his coat and sidesteps the two of you, before booking it out of his office. You're hot on his heels as he grabs his briefcase and alerts the team that they need to be ready to leave within the hour.

"What was that about?" Morgan asks, turning to you.

You shrug again. "I have no idea." You turn to the glass doors swinging shut behind him, and rush outside before you can second guess your actions.

"Aaron!" you call out, forcing him to hold the elevator for you. "Tell me what's going on."

He sighs as you step inside, and he sets the briefcase on the floor. "It's the Boston Reaper. He's back."

"The Reaper?" The name sends a shudder through your body. "That was your first case as a profiler, wasn't it?"

He nods, and you wait for him to continue. "He offered Shaunessy a deal that if he shut down the investigation, then he would stop killing."

His words take a moment to register, but then your face falls. "He took the deal. And now that he's dead..."

"The Reaper has started killing again."

***

The next crime scene comes in the form of an older couple, who were killed in their car on the side of the street. When you arrive, you discover that the unsub left behind the previous victim's watch, as well as a note.

You sidle up next to Hotch, bumping your shoulder against his to alert him to your presence. "Looks like he went through her purse. Any idea what he was looking for?"

He's so focused on the letter in his hands that he doesn't respond, so you lean in and read it from beside his shoulder. "The question mark is new."

"It's for us," he says suddenly, dropping his hand and looking at you. "He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had 10 years to save them and that these latest ones are on us."

You frown, trying to scrutinize the lines of tension on his face. "You got all that from one question mark?"

"I may know him better than I've let on."

Your brow furrows and you grab his wrist, bringing his attention back to you. "What does that mean? Aaron?"

"It means that there is a profile on The Reaper."

"You said you were called off before you could make one-"

"We were," he cuts you off, shaking his head. "I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done, but..."

You purse your lips. "But this case stuck with you."

He nods. "I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone."

You can imagine young Hotch, in his first years at the bureau, poring over the case file late into the night, because he couldn't put it away when the unsub was still out there. You realize, all of a sudden, that it reminds you of Gideon.

Looking up at him, you release his wrist, letting your fingers drag on his pulse for a moment before letting go. "We need to hear your profile."

***

After he gives the profile alone, you all head back to the hotel to get some rest before the long days ahead of you. In your heart of hearts, you know that no one will really be sleeping tonight, least of all Hotch, so you go up to his room with him to keep working on the case.

"Can you imagine living with the fear that the man who killed your fiancee, and nearly killed you, is still out there?" Your question is mostly rhetorical, but Hotch still lets out a soft grunt from the bed where he's poring over crime scene photos from the last few victims.

"It explains why Foyet went so underground," he says with a frown. "The multiple residences under different names, always taking the bus...I just wish he had taken us up on moving him to a safe house."

"I think that's actually the one part I do understand," you muse, looking up from the file on your lap. "Part of the reason why I came back from my dad's house so soon after Jeff died was because I needed everything to return to normal. I needed my life back."

He glances up at you then with a slight raise of his eyebrow and you shake your head before looking back down. It's okay. Not now.

He looks like he wants to say something, but then the hotel room phone goes off, piercing the air with a high ringing sound. He gets off the bed and picks it up, answering with a stern, "Hotchner."

He's silent at first, but you only look up when you hear him say, "You've misjudged me. I'm the guy who hunts guys like you...I'll see you soon." He slams the phone down on the receiver, and even though you know exactly what that was, you still need him to say it.

"Hotch, what was that?"

He rubs a hand over his face, pacing back and forth across the small space in front of you.

"Was that him?"

He doesn't respond, instead mumbling something under his breath that you can't make out. You stand up and cross the room, before grabbing his forearms so he's forced to look at you. "Aaron! What did he say?"

His eyes are frantic as he finally meets your eye. "He offered me the same deal...and I didn't take it."

***

"Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun and finished them off with his knife."

The scene inside the bus is horrifying. Blood is dripping from each of the seats, and the words "No Deal", along with a series of numbers, are painted in blood on the windows.

Rossi comes up beside you as you watch Hotch survey the scene, an eerie stillness to his composure. "What's going on with him?"

You glance at him, before turning back to Hotch. "The Reaper called him at his room tonight, offering the deal...and he hung up on him."

Rossi nods, before patting your arm and stepping around you. He nods at Hotch, grabbing his attention away from the scene he hasn't been able to look away from for minutes. "Y/N told me what happened earlier. So, what, you think this is your fault?"

"It is." His voice is shakier than you'd expect based on the resolution in his choice of words.

"Okay," Rossi shrugs, reaching for the gun in his holster. "Here, use mine." Your brow furrows and you step forward, making sure you're nearby in case this gets out of hand. You love Dave, but he can be a bit heavy-handed sometimes.

"You convinced me," he continues, shoving his hand forward. Hotch shakes his head, but he doesn't let up. "No, no, you hung up on him. You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us. We'll get this guy without you."

Hotch closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, they're shining with tears. You realize, with a shock, that you haven't seen him cry in decades. Not since the day after his father's funeral when Sean shut himself in his room for hours, because he truly believed that his brother didn't care about their family.

When he looks at Rossi again, a few tears have fallen down his cheeks. "I had ten years to do something about it."

"Look," he says simply, lowering his gun, "if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, then you go ahead. But that voice in your head, it's not your conscience. It's your ego."

Hotch deflates, and you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his wrist, maintaining a steady connection. He looks at you, and you dip your chin into a tiny nod. It's not always your fault.

He looks back at Dave with a heavy sigh, but he doesn't pull his hand from your grasp. "You can put that away now."

Rossi raises his eyebrows as he tucks the gun away. "You sure?"

Hotch shakes his head, unable to hide his smile, and you let out a little chuckle. "It's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic."

You and Hotch speak up at the same time. "Which one?"

Rossi shrugs. "All of them."

You laugh, before squeezing Aaron's wrist once more and letting go.

***

George Foyet is the Reaper.

You can't believe it even as the words circle around your brain. The team was able to catch him before he killed Colson, the journalist who wrote a book about him, but the victory still doesn't feel sweet.

I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.

His last words before Derek cuffed him and handed him off to the police. They won't leave your head even as you step off the elevator into the office. Emily and JJ are chatting about some new restaurant in town as they step out ahead of you, and you walk to your desk in a trance, unable to figure out why you aren't able to let out the breath you've been holding since you left for Boston.

Your question is answered when JJ runs back from her office a few minutes later, her phone clutched in her hand and a panicked expression on her face. "Foyet escaped."

***

It takes a while for Derek to get over the Foyet news. He took his badge and credentials when he knocked him out, and even with the replacement he was given, you know the knowledge that Foyet is out there is still irking at him.

Hotch isn't much better. He's been throwing himself into work extra hard, and you're worried he's going to burn out or simply combust if he keeps at it.

This is exactly what Foyet wants, you want to scream. He's trying to get in your heads and mess with your life, without even being here.

But you don't say it.

***

He's been so immersed in work that he doesn't really get to talk to you until a case in Oregon, where an unsub has been killing people by hitting them with his car.

You're grabbing a cup of coffee at the local police station, pouring in an uncharacteristic packet of sugar, when he approaches you, perching on the edge of the counter. "Sugar?"

"I know," you sigh, tossing the empty packet into the trash can next to you. "I just wanted something a little sweeter today."

"Can't argue with that," he says softly, making you smile. It drops almost as fast as it appeared, and he scoots closer as he hands you a wooden stirrer. "How are you holding up?"

This case can't be easy for you, especially knowing how your mom died. You don't talk about it often, but when you do, he can tell it's because you need to let it out. He's the same way with his father, only the feelings he is hiding from are different.

"I'm fine," you say quickly, like it's an automatic response. You both know it's a lie, and you close your eyes for a beat, dropping the stirrer into your cup. "I should be fine, but...I don't know." He follows your gaze over to the open case file across the table, and notices how your eyes hang on the crime scene photos. The car wreckage. The tread marks on the road. "I don't know why this case is affecting me so much. I didn't even see the crash when my mom died."

He reaches forward and closes the file. "Grief works in interesting ways." If there's anything he has the authority to speak on, it's grief. But then again, so do you. He doesn't know if he would've gotten through the aftermath of his father's death without you. Thinking about it now, he doesn't think he's told anyone else the whole truth about his family. "Anything can be a trigger."

"What was your trigger?" you ask suddenly, turning to look at him. "After your dad died?" Your eyes are full of curiosity, and for a moment, he wonders again if you really can read his mind.

He takes a deep breath before answering. "For a while, almost everything was. The smell of his beer, the material of his favorite coat...it all made me so angry."

"I remember," you whisper, setting your coffee down, "but soon after, that changed." You look at him with a small smile. "You met Haley."

His jaw twitches and he realizes that he wasn't even thinking about her. The first person that came to mind when he thought about his healing process was you. Haley was everything to him, but she wasn't built for the life he grew up with. She wouldn't have been able to understand the rage flowing through his body when he thought of his father's death. The anger and hurt he felt, that somehow always transformed to guilt when he went back home for the night.

"Yeah," he says after a moment, accepting your judgment, even if it is a lie. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore, so he diverts back to the original subject. "Your mother was different. She loved you exactly how you deserved to be loved. Even if it hurts sometimes, it's just a reminder that you had something great."

That makes you smile, and he feels warmth fill his chest. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

He nods, patting your knee. "It's been known to happen."

***

You're in the passenger seat next to Derek when you see it. You watch him swerve his SUV into the unsub's truck in real time, but you still don't believe what you're seeing until the cars come to a stop, smoke billowing out of the front.

Derek screeches to a stop and there's glass everywhere as you throw yourself out of the SUV and race towards the collision site.

Aaron is stumbling out of his car when you reach him. There's a gash on his forehead, dripping blood down his face, and another on his arm. He tries to reach for his gun, but you grab his arms, holding him against the SUV.

"Sorry," he mutters through gritted teeth as you reach up to swipe the blood off his forehead before it falls into his eye. Your hand stays on his face as you survey the rest of him for any other wounds that may need your attention.

Once you're certain that he'll be okay, you turn back to him with a glare. "You scared the shit out of me." Your thumb is unconsciously rubbing circles on his jaw as he looks down at you. You are well aware that danger comes with the job description, but he also knows you would kill him if he ever put himself in serious danger, especially when it wasn't necessary. "Don't ever do that again."

He takes a deep breath as you pick a piece of glass out of his hair. When you return to meet his gaze, he reaches out to grab the strap of your vest. "I'm sorry."

You tug each other forward into a hug at seemingly the same time. You don't get the chance to be careful with his wounds as you collide into his chest, but you forget about everything else the moment his arms close around you. He's okay. He's alive.

"You don't get to die on me," you whisper into his collarbone as you tighten your grip around him. "Promise me."

You know it's not fair. You know it's not something he can control, especially with the kinds of people you chase on a daily basis, but it doesn't matter, because he knows you. He knows when you need the facts, and when you need reassurance, so instead of uttering a funny quip or a painful truth, he just says, "I promise."

***

Are you sure it's okay that I'm coming?

You type back a response as soon as you see the message on your phone. Of course. Dave invited you and Jack, and I would love to see you too.

A few minutes later, you get a simple Ok, so you set your phone down on the table and stand up to join the rest of your friends. With summer around the corner, Dave wanted to host a garden party, and after the last few months, you definitely don't mind the respite.

"Come get some more food," he tells you the moment you approach them by the edge of his huge yard. He's standing with Derek, Spencer, and Penelope by a long table adorned with steaming dishes of bread, pasta, and salad.

"I'll explode if I eat any more," you say with a laugh as Spencer stuffs another piece of bread into his mouth. For a small as he looks, he can be a bottomless pit when it comes to good food. "Have you guys seen Hotch?"

"He isn't here yet," Penelope notes as Derek wraps an arm around her. "I'll keep an eye out though."

"Do you think he'll bring Haley and Jack?" Spencer asks as JJ approaches with Henry in her arms.

"I told her to come," you say, tickling the baby's chin with the tip of your finger. "It'll be nice to see everyone together."

As though conjured by their questions, the door to the backyard opens and Jack steps out with Haley and Hotch right behind him.

"You're here!" You walk across the lawn and give her a quick hug, before bending down and lifting Jack into the air. "What's up, Jack-o-lantern? You're so big now."

"Yeah," he giggles, wrapping his arms around your neck. You press a loud kiss to the side of his head and he bursts into a fit of giggles as you tickle his belly with your free hand.

"I'm so glad you made it," Dave says from behind you as he comes over and gives Haley a hug. "We love having you here."

She raises her eyebrow at Hotch, but there's no intention behind it. Divorce seems to have treated them well, reminding them of all of the good that was there before everything else got in the way. "Thank you for inviting us."

"Seriously, thank you," Hotch agrees, before reaching out to take Jack from your arms.

"Any time," Dave says sincerely, before nodding at him. "Come help me grab some more wine from the cellar."

They disappear into the house, and you pull Haley down with you into two of the chairs by the edge of the sprawling yard. "Hotch and Jack are sweet together."

She nods, looking wistfully at the door. "He loves any time he gets with his dad."

"It can't be easy," you say slowly, hoping you aren't breaching a boundary unknown to you. "I've seen firsthand how busy the job has been getting recently. I haven't been home before midnight in over a week."

She's silent for a moment, and you worry that you crossed the line, but then she just smiles. "He's trying so hard...and that's all I can really ask for, isn't it?"

You suppose she's right. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a person who fights as hard as Aaron does to get home to his family at the end of the day.

"You're good for him, you know." You look at her as she crosses one leg over the other. "You always have been."

"You are too."

"I know," she says, before shaking her head. Her expression is warm as she smiles at you. "It's not the same, though. Even when you weren't around, you were in everything he did."

You don't know exactly where she's going with this, and you're acutely aware of the choruses of laughter floating over to you from across the lawn as she reaches out to squeeze your arm. "He loves you."

Your face transforms into what you imagine is a look of confusion. "I love him, too. He's my best friend."

Haley looks at you for a moment, before shaking her head with a nearly inscrutable sigh. "Anyway, thanks for convincing me to come. I'm gonna get some food."

~

Eventually, the sun sets, and the string lights in Dave's backyard turn on, along with the soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald and Sam Cooke. He helps Derek and Will push the tables and chairs aside to make room for a dance floor, and soon, Haley is in his arms as they swing along to the lilting tunes filtering out over the yard.

It feels natural, dancing with her like this, but at the same time, he knows it's different now. He holds her firmly as she tilts in his arms, loose from the wine that Dave made sure was pouring all night, and she lets him swing her around the lawn, no care in the world.

Soon, the song changes, and she looks at him with a dreamy smile. "You love this song."

It's a soft tune by Sam Cooke, one he can't remember the name of right now, but he smiles at her as he nods. "I'm glad you're here. You and Jack."

"I missed you all," she says, before cracking a smile. "Mostly just Y/N though."

That makes him laugh, and before he knows it, Dave is walking over, with you on his hand, asking to trade partners for the song. "I haven't gotten to talk to Haley all night."

It's not the best excuse, but Haley doesn't seem to mind at all. "Of course, I'd love to dance."

Dave whisks her away, and Hotch holds a hand out for you, pulling you into another steady swing.

"I love this song," you whisper as the two of you fall into a rhythm. "I Wish You Love."

Right, that's what it's called. His hand settles on your waist as you grip his shoulder, and he can tell you've had a bit of wine too, but only because of the red tint of your cheeks.

"This is nice," you say after a few beats of silence. "We don't get to do this often."

He nods, turning you to make room for Derek and Emily, who are swinging heartily across the yard. "It's nice to see the kids together." He glances over your shoulder to peer at JJ, who has Henry and Jack in each of her arms. She has jumped head first into motherhood, and it suits her.

The song changes to something a little slower, so he steers you to the edge of the dance floor, taking control as your feet glide after him. Maybe you've had a bit more wine than he first assumed.

The thought makes him chuckle and you look at him with a quizzical expression. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, and clasps your hand tighter to hold you to him. He glances over your shoulder again and finds an excuse for his laughter almost immediately. "Garcia is trying to teach Reid how to dance."

You tug his arm immediately, spinning the two of you around so you can see the situation he described, and your face breaks out into a wide grin when you spot them a few paces over. "The poor kid has no coordination."

As you watch them dance, he watches you. The way the string lights glance over your exposed shoulders. The sparkle of your eyes under the waning moonlight. He realizes, not for the first time, how beautiful you are.

He could give himself the usual excuse, that it's just the time of the night, or the single glass of red he drank a few hours ago, but tonight, he lets himself just be there.

You're his best friend, and he loves you. He's here, dancing around the grass with some of his closest companions, and you're with him. For once, he can just be.

***

You can't the pile of shoes out of your head. Derek and Emily were able to find the girl before Lucas Turner killed her, but even after arresting him and getting her back to her mother, the case is still sticking with you.

89 pairs of shoes.

You shake the thought from your head as you get into Hotch's car in the field office parking lot. He insisted on driving you home after seeing the look on your face in the plane, and for once, you didn't argue with him.

"I can't stop thinking about them," you whisper as he pulls out of the lot. "So many lives that are forever changed because of two men."

You saw how Derek reacted when he found the box of muddy shoes. You saw JJ's face after she had to shoot Hightower for murdering the man who experimented on his sister.

"I'm thinking of giving everyone a few days off," he says, glancing over at you. "We all need some time to get away from this job. I'll put the request in tomorrow morning."

You nod, unable to voice your opinion. You feel depleted, without having even witnessed the horrors you know occurred up on that farm.

It takes a second, but eventually you regain the ability to speak. "Do you think it's worth it?" Your voice feels like sandpaper, but the question hurts more than anything else. "This life, I mean."

He mulls it over, and you notice his grip tighten on the steering wheel in front of him. "I think it has to be." Your brow furrows, and you don't know whether you want to scream or cry at how terrible that answer feels right now, but he isn't finished. "We have put too much of ourselves into this job to allow us to forget about all of the good that has come out of it too. If we choose to forget the good, then none of it means anything."

You look at him in wonder, realizing he has voiced exactly what you needed to hear. You're constantly awestruck by how he always seems to know exactly what to say to bring back your sense of purpose.

"You're good at this whole leadership thing," you say softly, cracking a smile when he looks at you. "You help me grow."

He pushes you just hard enough to help you transform into something so much bigger and better than you hoped you could be. His chin dips and he turns back to the road as your neighborhood comes into view. "You help me grow too."

You lean your cheek on your palm as you snuggle further into the seat. "I called Josh Cramer, over at organized crime."

His eyebrows raise with surprise and he glances over at you. "Jeff's old boss? How did that go?"

During your last interaction at the BAU office all those years ago, you weren't ready to see him yet. He still reminded you of the hate and anger and guilt you felt over Jeff's death.

The last few months have been kinder to you, though. It doesn't hurt as much when you think about him.

"It went well," you sigh, looking out the window at the houses passing by. "Even though it'll never really be the same, it felt more like old times, if that makes any sense."

"It does," he says simply, providing you an acknowledgement before letting you fill in the spaces yourself.

You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs, before letting it out again. "He told me a story from before Jeff went undercover. It was just a dumb story about some night his team went out for burgers after wrapping up a case." Your breaths get shallower, but the tears you are expecting don't come. "Apparently, he made the team go to three different burger spots, because he wanted to bring me back curly fries, and none of the places were selling the kind I like."

You clear your throat to dispel the tightness, and when you look back at him, the car has come to a stop in front of your house.

"That sounds like him," Hotch says, smiling at you as you chuckle to yourself.

You nod, closing your eyes for a beat. "I guess I just wanted to say that, yeah, our lives are sometimes changed inalterably, but...it's not always bad. I met him, I loved him...and then I lost him, but I still wouldn't take back any of it."

His eyes crinkle and he looks out the windshield for a brief second. "Me neither."

It's already late, and you don't want to take up any more of his night, so you bid him goodbye and shut your door after making him promise to actually get some rest.

Your front door shuts behind you, and you hear the sound of his car driving off as you exhale heavily. Your house feels big with you here alone, but for once, you revel in the solitude. Finally, a few days of peace and quiet.

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 (message me to be added!)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x female!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner series #criminal minds series #criminal minds season four #hotch fic #criminal minds fanfiction #anchor series #anchor

[pursuitseternal]

“Welcome Me:”Ascended Astarion x F!Reader, a fic to sate your desires, darling in “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x Reader | E | 5.3K Vampire smut

Summary: After the ending of the storyline… After weeks apart, the blink of an eye for you immortals, Astarion returns from consolidating his rule, expecting a “warm welcome.” But you miss your charming, tortured rogue… and you will play whatever games he wants to get him to remember. To make him remember the rogue he was.

Cw: dom/sub dynamics, choking, breath play, spanking, “don’t move unless I tell you😈,” power play, biting (obviously), blood kink and drinking (vampires, duh), NSFW on so many levels.

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

It is late, the candles have all gutted out, the lingering scent of smoke wafting to your nose as you wind your way through hall after hall of the Crimson Palace. Your head would be swimming, should be swimming, with the amount of potent High Fae wine you have consumed.

But you are turned, your body pulses with ascendant blood in your veins. His blood.

Even as your irritation at him burns hot, you cannot deny how your body trembles to think of your master. And even as you leave the long vacant ballroom, you sigh his name to no one but the air… Astarion. He has been so distant of late, pulled from your side all day and night, meeting with important and powerful beings. Consolidating his… your… power as you take what is yours from Baldur’s Gate. No one cuts a deal, turns a profit, threatens your security without the effects lining your pockets or without enemies ending up dead. Drained. Signs to those who oppose Astarion the Ascended. Your mind fills with that shining smirk, those glowing crimson eyes framed in lustrous pale skin.

Your heart skips a beat. For the first time in weeks you saw him tonight, mingling at the ball, turning heads all around him, persuading with words, with promises of power and gold, if not with promises of his body. No. Never that again. That body is yours as you are his. He will never whore himself out anymore. Those days are so far behind him, you must always take caution never to mention what it was for him before his ascension. That vampire rogue that trapped you between his hard, cold thighs to hold a dagger to your throat.

Love at first sight.

You shake your head. No, not love. Obsession. Fascination. His thrall long before he gave you his blood.

You pass open windows, billowing curtains of finest gauze catching in the nighttime breezes. Starlight cuts the darkness in iridescent beams, patches of brilliance flooding the shadows that cling to every corner. You lose yourself, smelling the wine on your own breath as you sigh, looking into the sky at the multitudes of stars above.

Lost and alone. Until you hear that silken voice caress your ear. “There you are…” You whip your head around, catching two glowing red eyes and shining fangs grinning at you from the closest bank of shadows. Astarion turns his head to face you fully, reclining against the wall even as you tremble visibly at the sight of him. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he purrs. That line, the one that first sank his claws deep into your heart even as he sank his cock hard between your folds for the first time— that line still makes your breath snag in your own throat.

And you love it.

Noiselessly, he crosses to you, standing in the window, bathed in the light of the stars. “What, my treasure? Not happy to see me?” His full lips turn in a saccharine pout, all a show, bait to lure you in. “I really expected a warmer welcome home than this.” His fangs glint as he draws to a stop, so close to you, the gems and beads of his velvet tunic brush against you. “Or have you grown so cold blooded since I made you mine… my consort?”

He growls his possession of you, and the blood in your veins does run cold. Chilled. Frozen even as you feel his breath whistle in the stray locks of your hair as he lowers his mouth to your neck. You turn your head on instinct, baring your neck and trembling even as his mouth descends towards your skin. Lips press, soft and attentive, trailing caresses up to the tender spot beneath your pointed ear.

“May I bite you?” He breathes the question down your neck. A lingering vestige of the sad, unsure rogue you met on the road, asking for your yes even though he thrums with power, the power to coerce your every word to assent.

That memory of his tragic eyes and wandering soul, the male that first crossed your path, it haunts you. The moment you feel his lips sneering, raising to bare his fangs ready to bite, you turn sharply. “Who said you could bite yet, my love?” you smirk in return. “Gone for weeks, and you expect such a willing, warm welcome.” You shake your head, the links and gems of your heavy, encrusted earrings jangling with the motion. “No, you tell me first I am more to you than the power you horde now that you are free, and then maybe, just maybe, you may have your fill.”

His crimson eyes narrow, displeasure darkening his expression and tinging his pale skin with ashen pools as he stares in return. “Well now, seems you have forgotten your place. Forgotten that all I do is for us, and our rule of Baldur’s Gate.” His voice is cold and exacting, his arms folding over his chest to square his chiseled shoulders.

It is the same, the same posture he once stood in so often before you. After battles, blood spattered and charming. A mirage. It is a memory, nothing more, as you see only the dark, hungry ascended being he has become.

“Our rule?” You spit, squaring your shoulders, wishing you had some weapon more than the fangs between your own lips. “Doing this… for us?” You place your hands on his chest, pressing into the decadent stitching and beading of his tunic. Hard muscles push and flex beneath your touch. “I know there is an us, you and me, bound together for all time. But, do not deceive yourself, Astarion, you crave the power for you. Not as gift for me…”

“Mmm, my pet, sharpened your claws in my absence, readying your own fangs for my neck now,” he gives a low, rapid laugh. “Simply riveting.” His head cocks back, moonlight spilling into those silver curls that fall with reckless abandon. Haphazard. Sexy. And he knows it, the way you can’t keep your eyes off of him. “Now, be a good girl,” he growls, “and welcome me home.”

You eye him for a moment, but that is all he allows for you. Resisting is futile against your maker. Even without the magic of your blood bond, he knows your heart is and always has been his. That is enough to compel you, knowing how you will cave at the first tangle of his tongue in your mouth, the first slip of his fingers into your wetness.

Faster than the lightning, he sweeps you into his arms and bolts down hall after hall, swifter than wind with his preternatural speed. His laugh tickles your ear as you cling to his shoulders, arms wrapped firmly around his neck, until he bursts through your bed chamber door.

You catch your breath with a gasp, a muffled cry ripping from your throat as he tosses you into the middle of those blood red sheets. Like you weigh nothing to him. His precious toy, his play thing. And by the gleam in his crimson eyes and the run of his tongue over his fang points, he is about to have his fill of playing with you.

Slowly, he creeps on to the bed, the mattress buckling under his hands, his knees, as he slinks closer to cover you with his body. Master of all your desires, he makes certain you feel his arousal pressing on your mound through the layers of your dress and his trousers. So hard for you, you wonder briefly why you pretend to resist. The thrill of the hunt, you suppose, letting him grind into you slowly. His knee catches under yours, insistent, pushing, spreading your legs wider as your skirt naturally rucks itself higher. A slight breeze makes you catch your breath, the chill swirling over your skin, passing the throbbing heat of your mound. And he thrusts that massive and contained cock harder, more demandingly, against you. The friction makes your mouth water, but it is nothing compared to what it is to have him inside.

“Now,” he closes in to cover you, arms bracing firmly to cage you at your shoulders. One hand lifts, fingers closing in around your throat. Not too hard, but enough to make you shiver and open your mouth for air. “I think there is something you wish to say, an invitation, an acceptance that dances on the tip of your tongue. Will you share it….” His eyes flicker to your opened mouth, slack as his fingers press just a bit harder on your windpipe, “… or will you have me pull it from your mouth with mine, my love?”

You struggle for words, your agreement and your dissent fight in equal measure. No words will suffice, and with a press of your own elbow into the bed beneath you, you force your head to lift. Your mouth claims his conceited smirking lips, even as his hold on your throat grows painful with your movement. Stars fill your eyes as you gasp into his mouth. That controlling hand instantly lifts its clutch from your windpipe, sweeping to the back of your head. Fingers tangling into the unraveled strands of your braid. His taste is more intoxicating than the wine tonight. You missed him, his taste, the way his tongue sweeps and explores your mouth. The way it dances over the points of your fangs. The commanding manner he teases your tongue between his lips to do the same. Weeks of deprivation from his passion, and you fall right back into it, letting his lust for you thrum in your veins and race like fire through your nerves. You gasp as he consumes your lips, the slightest thrust of his arousal against your body enough to nearly make you come already.

So attentive, his hands begin to loosen the laces on your bodice, deliberate but gentle as he exposes you inch by inch. What fabric does not fall away, he grabs between his two hands, tearing without even breaking from your kiss. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do that all night. To get you completely bared… naked and mine. My little… treat.”

…with your cheeks all flushed…

That is him, that… was him. Your rogue. Despite the power that now consumes him, the darkness that whispers around him, that creeps into his complexion, your tortured rogue is still within him. No matter how much he tries to deny it, to bury it beneath power and wealth and sex with you.

You want to, need to, coax him out from there.

“Perhaps,” you breathe, “perhaps you need to show me you have missed me before I welcome you in, welcome you home… warmly?”

He breaks from your lips, that arrogant brow raising as his lips twist in that smirk that makes your core even more molten. “I have missed you, every moment we were apart, my love. Your blood inside me would never be enough to satisfy, not until I am inside you, and only then once we have totally…” he places a kiss on the crest of your shoulder, “…completely…” another kiss in the crook of your neck, “… spent ourselves… will we even be close to… “satisfaction.”

You shiver, your whole body shaking as he doesn’t bite, but runs those pointed fangs across your skin. You tap into your own reserves of immortal strength, threading your fingers into those unruly silver curls to pry his mouth from your flesh. “Your words are sweet, my love, but I prefer action.” Your hand pulls his pale neck within your own reach, your tongue running along the edge of his pointed ear, licking and sucking loudly, ignoring the cold metal loops and piercings as you pleasure him. He sighs, his body losing some of that rigid edge, softening under your attentions. “Let me bite you first, my love. Gain my strength as your spawn, so long deprived of her master’s power. Show me that you will put your love for me first, above your… ambitions… and just maybe I’ll let you slip inside without begging.”

“If that is what it will take,” he replies in that deep, honeyed voice of his, “then by all means, bite away, pet.”

That softness in his voice, that supple way his frame clings to yours, you know that the rogue he once was still creeps behind his ambition, his love for you still surfacing through his lust for power. You swirl your tongue over the span of his neck, the taste of his skin is a familiar blend of sweat and spice, cold to the touch as he ever has been.

Your undead lover.

Your own fangs prick his skin, gently, enough to fill your mouth with his blood. Sweet and heady, more intoxicating than wine. A bouquet that satisfies and overwhelms you in one swallow. Instantly, you feel the swirl of his power coursing through you, your limbs cramping as ascendant magic takes over. One more swallow, and you release your mouth, careful not to take too much from Astarion, let you spark his ire. His brows cant as he looks at you again, and you must look… different. More powerful? More lustful? But you can see as he gazes down at you, the trickle of his own blood running down his pale neck, that he is… impressed. Desire ignites somehow more brightly behind those crimson eyes.

You drink in his easy smirk, the soft caress of his fingers over your cheek, his thumb softly wiping away his blood from the corner of your mouth. Then he raises that thumb, his pink tongue licking his own blood from its stained pad. You feel his arousal beat as it throbs between your legs still. So pleased... but pleased with himself. His body instantly shifting to pin you back under him, bending you to his will again.

“Tch,” you make the sound that he so often makes at you, that condescending suck of your teeth. “So close my love, but I’m not through with testing your love.”

“Careful,” he hisses as his eyes narrow with danger and warning, “I bite… too.” He flashes those perfect teeth down at you. “Do not try me too hard, love,” his voice that silken growl.

“But I will try you just enough,” you dare to reply, your words earning that intrigued and sultry smirk from him. Closing your eyes, you picture the doors just beside you, garden doors that lead into the dirt and the trees of your private courtyard. His power courses in you, filling your belly and flooding your frame with your own heightened abilities. You push him off you, making him stagger to his feet on the floor. Your hands find his chest, racing with your own vampiric speed until you force him through those garden doors and into the moonlight. Your feet slip on the dirt, your dress falling off your body in the tatters he made. You stand naked, your strength making him buckle before you, making him lower his body to lie beneath you as you straddle your legs around his waist in the dust and grass and dirt.

He releases a low, feral growl, but he does not resist, letting you now press your body, bared completely to his eyes, to cover his. “Now,” his voice barely audible through the salivating hunger in his throat, “have I earned your assent at last, my pet?”

“Not until you fuck me in the dirt like the rogue you were,” you pant, fighting the urge to bring his long and cold fingers to pierce the molten slick between your thighs. You raise yourself from his chest, gripping your thighs around his waist and letting your slick soak his elegant and refined clothes. You feel him squirm beneath you, bucking his hips ever so slightly, dragging the sensation of his wet velvet breeches through your folds.

He sneers slightly, anger fluttering in that deep crimson gaze, as if you can see the memories of what he was clawing to the surface. His voice is like ice, slippery and cold. “The rogue I was is gone, my pet, but, if you wish me to be roguish, then roguish I shall be…” He barely gives you a warning, a flash of brightness in his eyes before he flips you on your back, your body slamming loudly against the dirt, knocking the wind from your lungs. His long, elegant fingers make quick work of the buttons down his chest. The bright fabric of his tunic flutters as he tosses it, not giving a shit where it lands as long as his skin finally brushes against your round, full, and swaying breasts.

He pauses a moment, kneeling over you, caging you between his cold and hard thighs. He licks his lips at you, the offering for his consumption, splayed in the dirt. Memories flicker over his eyes, a soft smile of recognition, of being here before, with you. Naked in the dirt. Your luxurious clothing crumpled, your sumptuous bed too far. If you close your eyes, you and he are as you first met, lust and love pulsing in the air, your backs covered in the grime of dust and sweat. Your hands press against those thighs that pin you, the black velvet crushed and soft as you run them higher. He smirks, approving your every little inching progress towards that straining erection. The leather ties of his band snap as you tear at them, the more they loosen, the more you can see the pale and glistening head of his cock.

He grinds his hips under your touch, the black cloth, sticky with your slick peeling away to reveal the thing you have craved for these weeks. Long and pale, engorged with his need for you, so hard every vein down its shaft is visible, his cock twitches every time you brush it as you free it.

“Mmm,” he groans to finally bare himself to you. “Just say the word, darling, and you’ll see more stars than are in the sky.” He croons, he preens, running a hand through his own hair as you take his cock in your hand. You stroke his immense length, the rises of each vein along it as familiar to you as if it were your own body.

Darling, he calls you. You run your thumb over his weeping head, spreading the pearl of cum along the ridge of his cock. Your first pet name. Not treasure, not consort, not treat…

“Call me darling again, and I’ll let you slip inside, my love,” you purr, bracing your other hand into the opening of his breeches to softly cup his balls as well.

His brow raises as he shifts himself, his hands lifting your legs one at a time until he crouches between your thighs. “Well then, I best make certain you are ready to welcome me inside…” he breaths, aiming his haughty mouth for your quaking belly before he places a kiss just above your navel, “…darling.”

His lips trail kisses lower, covering your hips, your belly, as if, for all the ascendant power flowing in veins, he can’t help but to adore your body. You moan your approval, slipping your fingers into those tantalizing silver curls, savoring every sway and lift of his head as he nestles himself lower over your mound. His breath is hot, chilling you more than the cold press of his hands as he spreads your folds open. Then, Astarion lifts his head one last time, flashing a taunting pout from between your thighs. “Please, darling,” he raises a brow, expectantly. “Just a little bite…” his fingers trace your innermost thigh, his head turning to lick you, his tongue lapping you in a single broad stroke. “You know how sweet you taste,” he purrs as he presses his nose, nuzzling that supple flesh of your inner thigh.

“Be my rogue, not my master,” you grip his hair tighter, staying him from lowering to feast on you. “Call me your darling, not your consort…” you pant, watching him lick his fang slowly, “and I’ll welcome you home to feed on me wherever you desire.”

“Darling,” he croons, slipping his long, dexterous fingers deep in your walls. “I’ll be your everything, since you are… mine.” Fingers crook inside you as he speaks, his voice low and wicked and dripping with sex, his touch catching your inner spot that makes you moan. The perfect sound of submission to his claim. To his possession of you. And you of him. “Are we… agreed?” His voice rasps against your thigh once more, mouth drooling as it hovers at the ready.

“Yes,” you breathe, you moan at last. The next instant you feel his bite, slicing into your thigh, your body trembling too much from his hooking fingers that thrust in and out of you to even notice the pain.

You feel the tug of his lips, the strong suck of his mouth around his bite marks as he drinks you. His tongue laps at your leg, his fingers ever attentive inside you as he drives you mad, salivating with every stroke and tug and thrust of his touch, every catch of your clit with his thumb.

You buck your hips, trying to catch even more friction as he pleasures you, but instantly he pulls away, taking that soaked hand from inside you to press your belly back down hard. The emptiness makes you cry his name, the strength of his hand on your hips adding a moan to it.

“Don’t move, pet,” he rasps, licking his lips to clean them of your blood. “Don’t be a bad girl, not now…”

You tremble, as he lowers his mouth again, careful to freeze, holding your breath until those mesmerizing fingers return to the demanding rhythm inside you again. You hold still, controlling even your breathing, even your eyes fluttering as you feel sucking once more. Filled with your blood for now, he runs his tongue from your thigh, tracing the distance down your leg until it slips between your folds as well.

Masterful, no tongue can sweep with more precision, more force, than his as he laps your clit. It takes but another swirl over your seam, his fangs catching slightly on your folds, to send you into the oblivion of orgasm.

Your fingers clutch at his hair wildly, clawing so hard you could draw blood if he let you. You pant, unable to say anything other than the muffled syllables of his name. And he just laughs, low and throaty as he watches you writhe in the dirt. You finally open your eyes, meeting his approving smirk, that cocky eyebrow raised in pure dark delight. “I told you not to move,” his grin widens wickedly, “so disappointing, darling.”

“But,” you grimace, groaning, but he just places a single finger over your lips, ordering your silence.

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth, teeth that still drip with your blood, “you will move when I say you can.”

“Is this how you wish to be welcomed home? You have always been fond of such games.” You smirk, watching him slip his breeches completely free from his long, pale legs.

“Mmm,” he assents, “but it will be my turn first, my pet, until you’ve earned yours.”

“Astarion,” you reply, but his finger only returns to press harder against your mouth.

“Shhh, you can speak, too, when I tell you to, darling,” that finger pushes into your mouth, wiggling over your tongue. “Now, suck, my love.”

Suck you do, cleaning his fingers of your tangy slick. He groans as you lick him clean, every swirl of your tongue driving him wild, his other hand flying to his cock as he grips that twitching, engorged length. Rubbing himself, he thrusts his hips in time with your tongue. As his breathing grows sharper, heavier, you know he’s not going to last much longer. And you bite one fang into the thick pad of his finger.

His blood caresses your tongue again, the power within him stronger, headier, as you can almost taste his arousal. He rips his finger from your mouth with a snarl. “I said suck, not bite or bleed me dry, my love.” His hands are at your knees, raising them until your ass lifts from the ground, his hand slapping firmly on your cheek. You cry aloud at the resounding spank. But he only laughs again. “Bad girl, crying when I did not say…” His hand slaps again, just the same as before, deliberate but not painful. A pleasurable punishment. And you swallow your cry this time, careful not to so much as grunt. He smiles his approval back down at you. His eyes whisper, good girl, as he sets your legs back down, positioning them just so.

Your lips purse, fluttering as you bite them to hold back your words, treading along the rules of this game as best you can. For now.

“I can see you wish to speak,” he arches one brow, “you may, until I finally sneak my little way in to start fucking you…”

He moves quickly, crawling over your body, and all you can do is pant his name, pleading with him in incoherent syllables. “A-astar-ion, p-please…”

Too late. He sheathes himself to the root in one thrust. “Ah ah,” he chides to cover you, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders. “Now, busy your pretty, little mouth by kissing mine, and just let me fuck you, understood?”

You tremble under those eyes, your walls stretching as he already presses against the end of your channel.

“You may… nod, my love,” he taunts, a wicked tone of delight in that honeyed throat of his. You obey. “You may also touch me, your hands on my back, but nothing too rough, darling. This is about us, and our pleasure. Now… play nice, dear.” His words rush on his breath between your lips, and then he consumes you, tastes you, the mix of his blood and your slick still both on your tongue. You feel him licking it from you, making him thrust that cool, long cock all the deeper. A growl of satisfaction vibrates from his throat as he savors your mix of flavors. All his favorite things. Achingly slowly, he moves inside, dragging his length so you feel the ridge of his head, the threads of its veins, tug against your walls. Working in and out, you feel his hands behind your neck and shoulders, angling your mouth to just the perfect place for him to plunder it.

Then, his knees do the same, first one urges your left knee, taking you apart even as he keeps his slow and languorous thrusts. The other moves into place to do the same. His long legs press yours, opening you, spreading you, until he can go no deeper. His laugh, low and rumbling, tickles inside your mouth. Then, he fucks. Hard and demanding, swivels of his hips make certain he grazes his cock over that sweet, secret spot inside you. You lose yourself, the rhythm of his thrusts filling you with instant, incessant waves of pleasure.

You missed this. The games, the power plays, the wit and banter, biting with words and fangs. Now, he delves into you with abandon, no more games, no more dominance. In this moment, as he steals your breath and fucks you into the dirt, he is your rogue.

Your hands press into his ass, feeling the ripples of his muscles as he moves within you. The intoxicating beat of clench after clench, his voice growling his pleasure at your attentions. “That’s it, darling, feel how badly I’ve wanted this, wanted you… my darling… my consort…” Your hands run over the scars of his back, tracing over the shadows of his past. “That’s it,” he breathes, “I’ll allow you to…”

You smile, cutting off his words, claiming your chance to take the upper hand in the game. Knees raise to press into the hard surface of his stomach, rolling him quickly over on his back at last. “My turn,” you give a laugh, low and throaty like his. “You’ve allowed it, my love.”

“I wasn’t finished,” he snarls quietly, but you wriggle your hips, his cock still firmly sunk inside you, as you press a finger against his lips.

“Shh…” you cajole him, running your finger to trace those fleshy, arrogant, smirking lips. “You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn, and I will not be called consort…”

“You prefer spawn…?” He taunts his hands running up your thighs, clawing into your hips. Still so reverent in his touch, even as his words throw barbs to get a rise from you.

You take the bait, splaying a hand on his chest, so hard, so pale, pushing him down as your cant your hips over his length. “Not merely consort… queen.”

“Hmmmm yes,” he purrs, flashing a smirk so twisted the starlight shines on his teeth brilliantly. “Oh… I do like the sound of that.”

Slowly you ride him, back and forth, bucking to keep his cock rolling inside you, his hands gripping at your hips. He steadies you, pushes you, thrusts up into you as your hips sink back to almost slap against his thighs. “Say it,” you pant.

“My darling…” he rasps, his breath grating in his throat as he groans with each slam of your cunt over his length.

“Not just that,” you crash back against him with a punishing force. “Not only that anymore…”

“My darling… queen,” he moans, gravel darkening his words, even as his eyes glow up at you, crimson and wonderous.

He is both things all at once, your rogue and your master, your lover in the dirt and on his throne. And as you begin to feel the final throes of your climax, hearing him grunting with each thrust, you lean down, baring your neck for his fangs one more time. He needs no further invitation or consent, the slice of his teeth into your skin pushes you over that final edge. You spasm, trembling, locked onto his lap as he thrusts up into you, mouth at your neck, cock buried deep. He hitches beneath you, face pressing against your neck as he grins in pleasure so intense, it hurts. You feel him pulsing inside you, seed spewing deep inside you adding to the slick between your thighs. You struggle to breathe, collapsed on his chest as you are now. His mouth still takes lazy sucks of your blood, even between his own gasps to catch his breath.

“That’s what I love about you,” he speaks softly, lips brushing your pointed ear. “My good girl, so eager to take the future by the balls, without losing what was the best of me before…”

“Mmm,” you breathe as you turn your head, nestling your forehead against the sharp edge of his jaw. “You can claim the world, but from time to time, you will need to fuck me in the dirt. Keep yourself… grounded.”

“Ha!” he giggles, bursting in hilarious ripples from his mouth as his arms wrap to cradle you tightly. “You sweet thing,” he purrs in silken tones again, “puns are still not beneath you, even as my... conso— as my queen. “Now ready yourself and brush off the dirt, round two in the lap of luxury I think.”

He lifts you effortlessly, pulling you by your hands back towards the palace doors, but now there is a lightness to his step, the grit of dust clinging to both your backs. You follow him in, even as he laughs and tugs you after him. Your rogue, your lord, your lover.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

End Chapter 1 of many… see my Masterlist for more

#reader x astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #vampire smut #vampire #baldur gate 3 #baldursgate3 #baldurs gate smut #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate iii #gamer fanfic #gamers of tumblr #gamer #astarion x female reader #Astarion x fem reader #astarion x you

[gildedkrone]

I’m your little scarlet, starlet, singin’ in the garden

Relationships: John Price x Male Reader Synopsis: John finds a million ways to say I love you A/N: Daddy issue readers beware Master List

The day utterly sucks. Wake up, get dressed and get breakfast. Sleep eluded you all night long with eyelids shutting the early morning, only to be wide awake again with the morning alarm and sunlight filtering through the curtains. Grumbling from the other sergeants you shared a room with are part and parcel of mornings and the sounds of shuffling when they got up and ready.

The communal toilets were packed to the brim. You nose upturns at the smell of piss and deodorant from the entrance. The smell is enough to send your stomach roiling in disgust and at barely past eight in the morning; it is too fucking early for this shit. Throwing in the literal towel, you decide to come back later to try your luck at a less congested toilet. The 141 enjoyed their private toilets and rec rooms, and while you worked with Price and his men, you are—technically speaking—not a part of the 141.

Sergeant by rank, combat medic by trade. Assigned under base command and on loan to Price, you did the work of the devil and enjoyed the luxuries of nothing. Your commanding officer, a prick of a Major, fought tooth and nail to keep you under his command when Price requested for your transfer.

Begrudging was Price when he lost the fight.  

Sleeping in a noisy and constantly busy bunk was hell and you rub the last wisps of sleep from your dull, pallid eyes. The roar of the cafeteria, normally a dull drone, is a sharp knife serrating on overwhelmed senses. A grimace pulls on your face when you see an unknown soldier take the last available seat at the table with the men you worked with prior. The tray clatters onto another table with a migraine forming in your head.

---

“That’s all, come back in three days if the wound doesn’t start healing.” The injured soldier on the bench grits his teeth just as you tighten the bandage around his arm.

He stares at you expectantly. You probe him to just ask his question. He says something about a medical record. Right. A medical slip excusing him from anything physically laborious. Usual protocol for injured soldiers. Ten minutes later with the printout secured, you dismiss the injured soldier and take a sip of water.

The headache is pulsating, evil festering from the deepest recesses of the mind in a barb to the front. Your hands grip the table for support and rummage through drawers for anything to quell the pain. Someone coughs and you look up to find Price at the door. He is a ray of hope spilling into the space as his smile is fond and endearing. Behind him, Ghost and Soap are there too, peeking into the room from the door.

“Hope you aren’t too busy, sweetheart,” Price drawls in that thick, charming accent of his. You tell him it’s never too much for him and he enters the room.

He smells wonderful and you pick up hints of lilac and jasmine. He smells wonderful and suspiciously similar to the bodywash you gifted him over a month ago. You tease him about finally upgrading his hygiene and earn yourself a few snickers from his men. Price shoots them his signature unimpressed look that morphs into a grin.

“It’s wonderful, sweets. Really appreciate the gift, love.”

Oh.

His smile is resplendent, much like his disposition this morning. It fades slightly when he gestures for Ghost to move forward. You slip into medic mode when he lifts up his shirt to expose the red gash running up his chest.

It’s angry and painful and by the looks of it, quite recent too. A fresh pair of gloves are on and Ghost sits obediently on the gurney. You gently prod at the surrounding flesh while assessing the pain he is in. Ghost gives you single word answers and you grab clean gauzes and bandages. Price is an anxious man, hovering beside you while you gently cleaned the wound. Soap holds the lieutenant’s hand and aside from the occasional jerks and hisses, Ghost remains a good patient and you gently bandage his wound.

“Don’t overdo on the training and make sure to keep the area clean and free of pressure for the next three days, minimum.” Your words emphasise minimum, knowing Ghost’s tendency to disregard his own injuries and medical advice. More than what is good for him.

“He’s going to behave. Ah’m gonnae make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb, promise.” Soap perks up and Ghost shoots him a look of withering ire, prompting a laugh from the sergeant and a huff from the captain.

With nothing else, you discharge Ghost and Soap follows the LT out of the room. Price shows no intention to move as he takes a seat on the couch in the room. You tie the used gloves and throw them into the bin and wash your hands.

“How’s my lad doing today?”

You roll your eyes and tell him that it has been a difficult morning. Between the pounding headache and grievances you had with the way things are run by the surly Major. Price smiles empathetically and he pats his thighs. It’s another hour to lunch and the medical wing is quiet at the time being. No harm in sitting with Price and on his warm lap. He chuffs when you scooch to lean your flank on his abdomen. Large hands encircle your chest and they pull you in for a warm hug; the owner of which is extremely happy to give you kisses on the nose then the lips.

His beard is rough and tingly and you let him know. His amused chuckles are tinged with adoration across the tranquil blanket enveloping the room. No complaints when you’re spilling into my mouth, his scandalous retort earns him a chaste kiss on his cheek and a pout on your lips. The mirth in his eyes are a molten gold and you see yourself in the waterfall of Price’s joy in being this close to his lover. His hand trails your flank and fingertips traces up your face to your temple.

Before you can ask him, rough fingers capable of unadulterated violence on the battlefield display a grace dancing across temples in a soothing manner. You moan on instinct at the slowly receding headache under the gently pull and push of Price’s ministrations.

“John, ah, where did you—”

“Learn to do this? You aren’t the only one with medical experience here, sweetheart.” His voice is helping to ward off the discomfort and he brings your face close for another deep kiss.

You are putty under his ministrations and he takes the opportunity to rest one hand on your hip while the other soothes and calms.

“Our poor medic, worked to the bone by his cruel commanding officer.” You laugh as Price admonishes you to listen. “Won’t happen if you are under my command.”

Your chuckles are interrupted by the occasional gasps when Price’s fingers untangle the knots in your mental faculties.

“Well, Captain, what about me is so important to fight with the Major?” Price grumbles something about an unappreciative asshole and you giggle.

“Hardworking. The most faithful combat medic in the company and,” the glint in his eyes is teasing, “the most handsome.”

Smooth talker, but he doesn’t take any heat.

“Tough and disciplined, I’ve never seen anyone so steadfast in their duty to save lives and protect their teammates.” His whispers are gruff and in puffs of warm air against your ear.

“Not afraid to speak up against idiots, like the bumbling fool assigned as his commanding officer.” Price reminds you of the time you yelled at the Major for even suggesting abandoning the 141 on a mission gone wrong. You tell him it is nothing and his sweet lips are firm and plush against yours.

“An asset, through and through.”

“All mine.”

“Stop embellishing, John. I’m not that impressive. Just your usual, everyday medic.” You jokingly sigh and look into contented eyes shining with the pride of the Captain. The same pride that made Price, well, Price. He heart is telling him to rectify it—the way your perceived yourself.

“I only tell the truth and I will keep speaking it. You can’t stop me, love.” Kisses attack you and your squeak of surprise is drowned out in a tilt of the head. “So beautiful and so fucking hot on the field.”

“I’m sure there are much more capable medics than me serving the country, old man.” A finger is on your lips to shush your words.

“None of that now, love. We are talking about you, not some wanker. If it takes this old man every minute of his life reassuring you, then I will.” Then he starts and it’s an avalanche, clearing the negative thoughts and doubt from the roof of your heart.

“I’m so honoured to know someone like you, love.”

“You are the best thing that I have ever chanced upon.”

“I am so proud to be your Captain and more so, your partner.”

He grasps your head gently and cradles your head against his chest.

“This heart beats for you, love. Can you hear how it yearns for you?” It echoes with the rush of rivers, the gentle crashing of waves on shores of his heart you trod with steps of affection and care.

You nod and Price gives you one of his realest smiles. The kind he reserved for only a selected few, including you. You feel something swell in your at the dopey look on his face.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Proud of your accomplishments, the effort you put into your work and this relationship.”

“I’m so damn proud to be together with someone like you, darling. Never change, love.”

“You make this old fart so very happy and there’s nothing I won’t do for you. Nothing is too much or too far.”

“Love you so much. So, so much. My good boy.”

My love.

Tears are obscuring the vision of him in a glow that gives him an ethereal look. Your angel, descended from the heavens. He wipes away the tears and rests his forehead on yours. It brings him close, so close and he strokes your cheeks gently. You run a finger through his beard and cup his cheek in a sweet embrace. Time is lost upon the two of you and nothing else matters.

Nothing but the beating of two hearts in sync in a rhythm you labelled as John.

“The boys trust you. And I do, too. There isn’t anyone else out in the world I trust as much as you and …”

“I want you to know that I’ll always be thinking of you.”

“John, you can’t—”

“Always in here.” His hand envelopes yours and brings it to his chest.

“You have me, until the end of time and for as long as you want.”

“Eternity isn’t long enough then.”

The kiss is akin to light pouring from urns of gold and showering the two men in a lustre the shine of the sun and the intensity of fire. He whispers something along the lines of never enough. The nasty headache fades into a dull ache then into nothing. Being with Price is worth the awful mornings with idiot sergeants and the annoying Major assigned to be your boss. Anything, everything is worth being able to spend time with this man called yours.

“I love you, dearest.”

“I love you too. My bear.”

His eyes twinkle at the term of endearment. A bear? He clarifies. Exactly, and he has a beard to match. He gives your hand a squeeze and you push up for another kiss.

Not just a bear.

Your bear.

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #call of duty

[lunajay33]

Insecure🖤

Summary: Carl and y/n were always attached at the hip, so when Carl got shot and was starting to distant himself she was getting worried, but little did Carl know was that y/n wouldn’t ever stop loving him just because of the way he looked

Pairing: Carl Grimes x f!reader

A/n: This was a request for @anabort hope you like it!!

•Masterlist•

When I heard Carl was shot it felt like my heart shriveled with pain, when the walkers where gone from the town I ran over to the infirmary but Michonne came out stopping me

“Michonne please let me see him” I said tears running down my face

“I can’t” she said holding me back

“Why not? Let me go”

“He doesn’t want you to see him” that stopped my fussing

“But will he be okay?” I asked just needed to know if he’s alright

“He’ll be okay just…..just give him time sweetie”

“Please just……..just tell him I love him” I said leaving to go back home, the room I shared with Carl felt empty now without him, him usually lying on the bed reading or us cuddling and joking around now….now it was just quiet and cold

It went on like this for a week, he did come home and stayed at the infirmary, I kept asking to see him, this was the longest I’ve gone without seeing him in well……forever, growing up next to Carl meant we could hang out everyday so when the world ended and my parents were killed he made sure not to leave without me, along the way we fell for each other, we’d take little glances at each other in the prison or we’d go on walks around the court yard together, then when the prison fell he didn’t let go of my hand the whole fight he made sure we wouldn’t be separated, I was there for him when he was grieving Judith and well everyone just like he was there for me when my parents died, then on the road after terminus we spent every night cuddled together telling each other how much we adored and loved one another, so when we got to Alexandria we got privacy to show each other that love to grow our relationship but now…..now I’m alone and Carl is there in that infirmary in pain and all I want to do is try and make him feel loved and just comfort him

I pulled myself together, I put on carls favourite blue shirt I wore and a pair of jean shorts, freshening myself up and spraying a vanilla perfume Carl once found me on a run

I walked over to the infirmary not taking no for an answer today, I needed to be near him, I got there opening the door to see a curtain spread across half the room

Michonne and Rick came out with the same pity look as they did every day this week

“You know you can’t be here” Rick said sadly

“No, I need to be with him please, I can’t bare to be alone anymore, I need to know he’s okay…….please” I said my lip trembling as my heart felt colder every second I didn’t see him

“Let her in” I heard his voice from behind the curtain as Rick and Michonne stepped aside so I could enter

I pulled back the curtain seeing him sat up against the head board of the bed, his head was down and turned away but I could still see the gauze wrapped around his head, I sat on the edge of the bed as close to him as I could

“Carl I missed you so much, are you okay” I asked as I laid my hand ontop of his

“I don’t want you to see me like this but….i missed you too” he said his voice laced with that sadness that broke me to pieces

“Carl there’s nothing that would change me from loving you, nothing at all” I said tracing my fingers gently over his check so he would look at me

“I’m hideous, how could you still love me” he said as he finally looked at me tears gathering in his water line

“How could you, the Carl Grimes ever be hideous, you know how sexy I think you are plus this patch kinda makes you look like a hot pirate or something, you’re still my Carl and I still love you” I said as I saw his lip rise in a little smile as his cheeks reddened

“Really you’re fine with it?”

“I’m more than fine with it, no please come home, I miss you……a lot”

“Oh really?”

“Yes the bed is cold without you love”

“Well let’s go home and you can show me just how sexy you think I still am” he said bringing back that Carl grimes awful flirting but I loved it none the less because he was back with me now

Taglist: @carlsdarling

#twd fanfiction #carl grimes series #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes smut #carl grimes fic #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes fanfiction #twd carl #carl grimes #carl grimes x you #twd fic