#because grace and spike are tiny

[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!)

[paymechildsupport]

"Sink your teeth in me"... // Heian!Sukuna x Reader

He just wants one... teeny tiny bite...

-!! Unsanitary, cannibalism used as a literal form for "love", slight body horror, food play (in a way), Sukuna is genuinely so kitten coded ┍━☽【❖】☾━┑

----- -- ------ ■━■━■━■ ------- -----

He likes food-- eating is canonically his favorite pastime

So what if in the past he got a lil carried away, -- took a lil nibble, a quant chomp outta your flesh? He's entitled to that much, right? I mean, you should feel honored, the King of Curses deemed you as something fit to eat-- that doesn't just happen to anyone now

Back in the Heian Era, he may just stop by your humble abode from time to time, grace you with his presence like the benevolent creature he is.

You're all bloody, and it's not even yours. You feel sick, the tangy taste of bile boiling in the back of your throat, the metallic smell of blood invading your nose. You were going to be sick

But don't worry! Sukuna will be more than happy to clean you up himself-- he's just a nice guy like that.

The river? No, silly! His tongue is a much more adequate bath for you, -- and good thing he has so much of it. Embracing you, cleansing you of the stains of his sins, he'll hold you as he laps the blood from your skin. It may take quite a bit, only working from the top down, -- which is why you're in luck because it so happens that he can always just spawn more! Mouths on each of his four hands, latching on and suckling on tender skin wherever he grabbed, as if you were some fine candy. You yelp, feeling the large, wet mass of the mouth on his stomach. Usually just a simple slit in his torso, you vastly underestimated how big the thing actually was. Its tongue swipes out, licking its lips, smearing Sukuna's saliva all over his own stomach. He couldn't care less. The warm, pink muscle snakes out, swiping a long, wet line all the way up your back, ripping a shudder from your body. You were so slick with his spit, your skin had a watery sheen to it, -- god he was so sloppy with it, making such a huge mess of himself and you, but that was always half the fun, the obscene provocative nature of the act what made it so appealing in the first place. You were so pretty, skin all red and angry from him licking it raw, your entire figure littered with adoring marks. He just loved you like this, laid bare and shivering in his arms, dripping with his spit-- you were so vulnerable, so trusting to leave yourself in such a compromising position at his feet, perfect for the taking. He would ravish you.

He'll start with a lil' kiss, -- something cute. Just a wee lil' sample. Maybe you'll even get more than one, a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck down to your collarbone. You wouldn't mind if he took a little lick, right? Just like a kitten, little careful swipes of his tongue, licking up your spine. You just taste very sweet, he jus' wanna taste some of his beloved human some more, -- because he loves his darling fleshbag human. He adores you so, simply just indulge this for him. He'd start to take small nips at the soft flesh of your neck, his sharp, elongated canines teasing over your jugular..... nahh, he wouldn't do that to you. He'd relish in your slight spike of adrenaline at the immanent death poking at your windpipe-- he quite literally has you in his jaws, -- like a little rabbit in the jaws of a big bad wolf. He's practically drooling, thin strings of his saliva drip down into the crook of your neck. His breaths are long and almost labored, each exhale sending a resounding shudder throughout his body, pressed at your back. He's starving, you the five-course meal that's gonna fill this empty void of his stomach. Certainly, you can't deny him this, this tiny small thing. He takes the skin over your shoulders between his teeth, sucking softly. Just a lil' more, that's all he needs, just one more small bite, you're doing so well for him. Drops of blood peek out from the indents made from his sharp fangs, which he eagerly laps at. Just a lil' more... yeah, just like that, let him gnaw at your shoulder, -- you just taste so good he almost can't control himsel-- oh, there go your shoulder blades, whoops

He really didn't meaaaaaan to, honestly :( you're just so good- you can't blame him for getting carried away-- I mean, it is technically your fault for tasting so damn delectable. He wanted your heart, and he'd tear it out with his teeth if he had to. You just bring out that animalistic side in him, -- hunger is the main utility for survival, afterall. Even the most simplest of organisms have to feed on something. He loved you like a wolf, a ravenous wolf who just came across their next meal-- snarling and slobbering and so, so messy

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

┕━☽【❖】☾━┙

[kingdaddydaichi]

Need a quick break from writing for Daichi. Let me get this out of my system then I'll go write another 10k words for my King Daddy...

k. bokuto x reader (fem)

nsfw. mdni. size kink.

I just KNOW Bokuto has a size kink! I’ve always hc’d that he likes short girls. And I don’t mean just girls who are shorter than him bc that’s…well pretty much all of them. I’m talking about girls who are like 5’4” or less. The closer to 5’0” the better in his book.

Bo thinks it’s the cutest thing when you tug on shirt and pout up at him when you want to give him a kiss.

His heart swoons when he leans down to kiss you and you stand on your tippy toes bc it shows him that you’re doing your best to meet him halfway.

The first time y’all are at a concert together and Bo can see over everyone’s heads, and he notices you standing on your tip-toes, craning your neck this way and that trying to see over people’s shoulders. Then he squats down so you can sit on his shoulders with the back of his neck between your legs. And when he slowly stands up to give you a better view, your eyes light up and you're like Princess Jasmine when she sings 🎶 IT’S A WHOLE NEW WORRRRLD 🎶 “so THIS is what the world looks like from almost 9 feet up!”

In typical himbo fashion, Bo has been known to scan the area wherever y’all are, looking for you and when he calls your name, you flatly say, “down here, Bo.” And he looks down while the biggest grin graces his sweet face bc he’s just so happy he found you. “Hey, baby! I thought I lost you there for a second!”

When he’s hitting it from behind, it turns Bo on to no end to be able to hunch all the way over you and give you little love bites on the back of your neck. He can kiss you without straining with his arms right next to yours, your fingers interlaced together. It makes his cock throb inside you when you moan in his mouth, his big hands pressing yours into the mattress while he slaps his strong, wet hips against your ass.

Missionary is a little awkward with Bo because your face is level with his chest, but it does provide the perfect opportunity to tease his nipples with your tongue. Mans has the most sensitive nips so when you lick and gently nip at them, Bo's pretty golden eyes roll back while his whole body shudders with pleasure. But he does try his best to kiss you while he's making love to you. You're making him feel so amazing all over, he doesn't even notice the discomfort in his back from forcing his spine to arch into an unnatural position sksskkksss. Then again, his back is pretty damn flexible. Have you seen the way it curves when he goes for a spike? 👁👄👁

Leaves you breathless when he's about to cum bc he throws his weight against you, fucking into you harder. He just doesn't know his own strength? But you don't mind bc the grunts and groans that leave this man's lips when he's about to bust a fat nut inside you give you life, and you swear you don't need to breathe anyway.

Is there anything sexier than making a brick shithouse of a man whimper your name when your orgasm hits and your tight pussy clamps down on his monstrous cock? No. No, there isn't.

Let me tell you, getting railed against the wall by Bo is a religious experience. The way he's effortlessly got your relatively tiny body pinned against the wall with your legs dangling over his forearms? His cock hitting spots that it just won't reach in any other position? His long fingers squishing into the fat of your ass as he guides you up and down all 9 inches of his slippery dick. And you're babbling between whimpers of his name while he presses his forehead to yours and grunts, "I'm so in love with you, baby owl. Always gonna take good care of you and treat you right," the force of his thrusts audible in his needy voice as he desperately tries to fuck all his love into you. He'll have both of you seeing the promised land. 🙏

There. I feel better now. This list is by no means exhaustive, but at least I got some of it off my chest. Thanks for listening.

tagging my fellow bokuhoes: @yuujispinkhair @luvkun4 @briokayama @chaoskrakenuwu @crystal-lilac

bokuto mlist | haikyuu mlist

[m1d-45]

small miracles

summary: washed up on the sands of ritou, inazuma’s famous helper lends you a hand.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: n/a, just standard imposter au things. you are on the run, technically. very minor gore i guess(like veeeery tiny)

-> lowercase intended!

< masterlist > || second part >>

dirt collapses beneath your feet, your torn shoes skidding on the edge of the cliff north of liyue harbor. you can hear the waves lap at the rock thousands of feet below you, layered under the huffs of the people in front of you.

steel blades shine in the hot sun, the millelith wielding them just as fierce. you can see the hatred in their eyes, the need for your end, whether by the spears in their hand or the waters behind you. the only reason they haven’t struck is because of the woman behind the ring of them.

a dark oak pipe balances on the tip of ningguang’s finger, her eyes as sharp as their ruby hue. she lets it tip to one side, her head following the tilt, before she spins it back into her palm. every action is defined with grace, not so much as a hair out of place. every golden ornament shows off her prestige, her power, how without even lifting a finger she has you pinned in place against a cliff.

perhaps if you weren’t at risk of dying, you might feel different about it.

one of the millelith asks if they’re allowed to strike. the red tassel on her forehead swings as she shakes her head.

“no. this fake is not worth liyuen metal.” ningguang tucks the pipe away in a smooth motion, crossing one arm over her chest to rest the opposite elbow on it. a clawed finger swipes an invisible hair back into place on her bangs. “send them to the sea. their bones will serve as an excellent toothpick for osial.“

well, that was a horrific visual.

in an instant, the millelith spin their spears around, careful to keep the blades away from themselves and each other to jab to dull ends at you. behind them, ningguang barely looks fazed, examining a geo crystal in her hand. you know the nonchalance is manufactured, a subdued silence, but that doesn’t make it any better. she doesn’t care that she’s sending you to your death. she knows it, wants it, and what would the millelith be if they couldn’t remove one person from the tianquan’s presence?

your left foot is standing half on air. the part that is on ground is shaky, uncertain, dirt nowhere near as stable as stone.

you risk a look at ningguang.

ruby eyes are the last thing you see before you fall.

you wake up on a beach, sandy and exhausted. invisible wounds bleed harder as sand gets into them as you sit up to look around. your clothes are hard with saltwater, and it’s a miracle you made it here alive. though teyvat has been kind, fruit and clean water always within reach, you didn’t think that you would live long enough to hit land.

you stand—nearly falling—and shake out as much sand as you can, looking around. across the sea is a small island, within swimming range, but youre not inclined to explore when your limbs still feel so heavy. to your right, the beach narrows off, overtaken by the cliff behind you, but it seems to open up more to the left.

you decide to stumble that way, passing a spike of driftwood, and stop just as quickly.

you can see green roofs of houses, spires and what is maybe a watchtower in the distance, the architecture familiar. red and orange trees are interspersed between them, and your hopes fall.

you’d hoped you were in the stone forest. you’d hoped that you’d have a chance, knowing the abundance of hilichurls on the small islands, but now you’re…

you start walking, hoping to find some clues to prove your hunch wrong.

you see an okay looking boat, but youre preoccupied by the path branching to the left. wooden boards seem to make a walkway, and you step over them on your way inside. theres a small tent, a lantern, a block of supplies and a cooking pot. in the tent is a bed fashioned of hay, but embers light up the wood beneath the pot.

it would be a cozy enough place to stay, but you can’t risk whoever owns it coming back.

you head back the way you came and continue towards the city. the sand slides beneath your ragged shoes, but theres flowers following the breeze in the grass near the cliff. purple and a soft blue, they distract you long enough that a guard walks to their post further down the beach.

oh.

oh no.

you recognize the uniform, and the logo of the tenryou commission embossed on the armor. if inazuma is the same as any other nation—likely worse, considering the way its run—you need to avoid those guards at any cost.

you look to the cliffside. its steep, too steep to climb when youre still soaked from the sea.

you sigh, and decide to find another way up.

youre not quite sure how none of the guards saw you, but under the dwindling light of dusk, you manage to make to the southern(?) outskirts of what appears to be ritou.

…not that that means anything. you still don’t know how to get off the island, and trying to forcibly get deported will only result in an arrest. though there’s a food cart that most certainly can see you, the worker didn’t report you to the guards when they passed. you don’t remember her name, but know she sells some kind of food. maybe a fish dish? or was it egg? not that it matters, food is food, and if you’re lucky you’ll have enough mora for some.

you sit against a wall, checking your pockets. most of your stuff was either stolen or lost to sea, but your mora was still securely tied to your waist. after checking twice that you were out of people’s line of sight, you started to count, stacking the coins in piles of 10 on the grass in front of you. after a hundred, you moved them into one bigger pile.

you had more than you expected. though your pouch always seemed to weigh about the same, you didn’t think you could fit almost three thousand mora inside- or that you even had that. then again, chests typically had a few hundred, and you’d been pretty lucky in mondstat…

you set aside five hundred and hope it’s enough, but knowing teyvat’s economy… if salt was 60 mora, who knew how much you’d need?

whatever the case, you needed to eat. cradling the coins against you as you attach your pouch back at your waist, the go to move for the food stall.

your plans are dashed the second you stand.

a familiar face walked up the path towards the food stall, but quickly diverted towards you.

shit.

you step away, behind a tree, hoping against hope that he’d only seen somebody next to you instead of-

“hello there!”

you jump at how quickly thomas voice appeared at your side, taking another step back.

shit. that’s definitely him. weird horn headpiece, blonde hair, too-short jacket, dog tags and all.

you lick at your lips. they taste of salt. “hi?”

you hate how shattered your voice is. how quiet and rough it’s gotten.

“hey! i’m thoma.” he extends a hand, the small ribbon on the back of his glove rippling in the soft breeze. “it’s nice to meet you!”

you hesitate. it feels like you do a lot of that lately.

you remember him being affiliated with the kamisatos, which means he’s almost certainly heard of everything you’ve been accused of. but… there’s no way he would come up to you so casually if that was the case, right?

you want to trust him. you do. but there hasn’t been anybody else yet that you could.

carefully, you meet his hand with your own weak grip. the cloth on his gloves is leather, unsurprisingly, and though it is cold with the dusk chill, his fingers are warm. you have a feeling it’s from his vision, and your mind flickers to the last time you slept by a fire.

it’s been months.

“oh, you’re freezing! what are you doing outside?” his voice jumps a few octaves and his hand tightens around yours. “oh jeez, you’re going to catch a cold if you’re not careful. what are you doing without a coat in the middle of winter?“

is it winter? you don’t really remember the last time you knew the date for certain, but if that was true, then it was bad news. the clothes you wore you got from hilichurls and abyss mages, but the main enemies in inazuma were nobushi…

your worry must show on your face, because thoma’s frown deepens.

“now that i look at you… you’re not from inazuma, are you?”

you shake your head no.

“oh no… did you get caught up in the outlander affairs agency? they haven’t gotten any better after the decree, have they….”

“no, i-“ you cut yourself off with a coughing fit, tasting a bitter mixture of salt, blood, and bile climb up your throat. it’s disgusting, and alarmingly salty. you must have drank more ocean water than you meant to; it’s a wonder you didn’t choke on the trip over.

(how did you make it over? the distance from liyue to inazuma was too large for you to have simply floated, surely? but didn’t thoma himself float over?)

thoma’s other hand lands between your shoulder blades, patting lightly. “hey, it’s okay. it’s good you haven’t ran into the agency, but that cough doesn’t sound good at all…”

you adjust the tattered mask on your face, straightening and doing your best to look like you haven’t been on the run. “i’ll be fine.”

your chest tightens with the need to cough, but you set your jaw. you can’t afford to get involved with the yashiro commission. you’re certain the mora clutched in your grip is enough to buy you a decent meal and—alongside the rest of it—some kind of warm herbal tea.

gentle green eyes catch the money in your palm and widen. you can see the gears clicking inside his head, and he speaks before you can.

“is that all the mora you have?”

“i-“

“and you don’t even have a- ah, i can’t leave you out here like this. could you come with me to the teahouse? there’s a waypoint just inside ritou, and i’d feel a lot better if i could get you some tea and clean clothes. it won’t be the fanciest, but i know there’s some spare sets and anything would be better than risking an illness. inazuman winters aren’t kind, and the shogun hasn’t been in the best mood as of late.”

the pros and cons weigh in your head. you could go with somebody you know is kind, and get what is certainly good food and hot drinks with clean clothes to boot. or, you could risk walking into a trap with, arguably, one of the most influential people in the yashiro commission at least, if not all of inazuma. it’ll either be the best choice you’ll ever make, or one that’ll land you in front of tenshukaku in chains.

thoma picks up on your hesitation, taking his hand off your shoulder and giving you space, though he keeps your hands linked. “can i at least bring you some dinner, then, if you don’t want to come with me? or a blanket? or- or something?“

he’s awfully worried for somebody he just met. you’re not sure if his determination is evidence of his benevolent nature, or if he’s trying to make you trust him as he calls over some shogunate soldiers.

…you also can’t decide if it’s your desperation for connection with somebody you can rely on or your need for a better environment that makes you agree.

maybe his bright smile has something to do with it. or the comforting warmth in his hands as he leads you away? maybe it’s the way he holds you tightly against him after you ask to go to the teahouse and are nearly sick coming out of the teleporter.

or maybe, by chance, it’s the light in his eyes when you say ‘thank you’.

[blainesebastian]

thankful

words: 2,538 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (combined anon requests) would love to make a req where the readers niece has a crush on austin and he’s the SWEETEST to her + aunties are flirting with Austin at the thanksgiving dinner  notes: thanks for reading! hope everyone had a nice holiday :)  warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted

It’s been a few years since your family was in the rotation for Thanksgiving—it was Austin’s family two years ago, and the year before that movie filming had taken you to another state with flights getting canceled in the midst, and then last year were the waves of distance created in the preparation for Elvis that took months to repair. Luckily you did, something definitely be thankful for.

Regardless, this is the first year after many absences that Austin is joining you and your family for the holiday and despite the time spent apart, you can count on a handful of things: your mom offering many under her breath judgmental remarks about your acting career, your gram’s sweet potato pie being absolutely to die for, your cousin’s newborn baby being there and somehow looking like the cutest newborn and a tiny old man all at once, and lastly your aunts flirting with abandon towards your boyfriend across the dinner table.

It's one thing for your niece to do it, she’s fifteen and it’s somewhat adorable because she’s often too shy to get a lot of words out.

Austin’s always handled your family with grace though, like…you know it always feels slightly more ridiculous and embarrassing to the person who’s actually a part of the family. You’re probably exaggerating a little but Austin’s family always feels so put together when you visit. Granted, you’re practically bringing Elvis to your dinner table, so.

Just as Austin blends into whatever company he joins, he does the same on holidays—like he was always meant to be there. You feel like he has that gift though, to relate to people, to make them feel welcomed, accepted, included. It doesn’t matter whether he’s talking to a producer, an actor, someone on set, a stranger at a coffee shop or a fan he runs into on the street. It’s one of the many things you love about him.

So he talks with your grandfather about Christmas in New York and that somehow turns into a ten-minute discussion about bridge construction because that’s what your gramp used to do when he was younger. And Austin is sitting there with bright eyes and a smile as he holds onto spiked cranberry cider, letting your grandfather carry important parts of the conversation.

He helps your mother in the kitchen while she’s making the sides, even though she’s the type of person who insists she doesn’t need any help. She lets Austin do it though, because she likes him, and he’s the perfect combination of nonchalance and charm that it lulls her into a sense of trust and openness. That’s usually when he’s able to give his very best advocating for what you do in the industry—it’s not ironic to you that your mother is more willing to accept that Austin is an actor compared to you being an actress. But Austin handles those conversations with tact, warmth, and overwhelming support…it means a lot to you. He always turns it into a discussion, not badgering your mother to accept you, but the things he says clearly come from a spot of love and admiration.

Your mother can see that.

After grabbing your glass of wine, you make your way towards the living room to find Austin in a sea of family members. You’ve always felt really lucky in having a big family even though you’ve only got one sibling—plenty of aunts, uncles and cousins to make things warmly chaotic during holiday seasons.

Pausing near the couch, you smile a little as you see Austin on one of the cushions with your cousin’s baby, Logan, on his lap. It’s…quite the sight to take in and you can’t help but absorb every single moment that you can before your boyfriend notices you’re there. He’s speaking with Sydney, your cousin, nearby about something so mundane—Christmas trees, from what you can hear. Austin, in his blue jeans and navy-blue sweater, slight scruff on his face because he’s in-between projects right now, is holding both of Logan’s hands in his own. His attention splits amid looking down at Logan and carrying on his conversation with Syd.

You swallow down a wave of emotions, heat fluttering in your stomach and swooping downward as Austin manages Logan, a bright smile on his face. He’s so…at ease that it nearly makes your heart ache in the best way. Not to mention it never hurts to see a beautiful man who knows exactly how to hold and handle a baby.

Your niece, Robin, seems to be having similar feelings nearby, hanging on Austin’s every word and unable to tear her eyes away from him.  

Relatable.

“About ten minutes!” Your mother calls out from the kitchen and Sydney stands to pick Logan up from Austin’s lap.

“Better feed him now so I can eat dinner in peace.” She chuckles, moving towards where she set the baby bag down with bottles.

Robin uses this opportunity to inch a bit closer to where Austin is sitting, a bright (yet nervous) smile on her face as she sips on her Cranberry Sprite. Your boyfriend glances up and sees you, giving a warm smile in your direction and looks like he’s about to get up but then notices Robin and doesn’t. He seems very much aware of your niece’s crush (not that it’s very hard to notice, practically spelled out on her forehead) and has always gone out of his way to be nice to her.

One of the things about Austin that makes him so wonderful is that he’s got a great memory and that he’s able to recall past conversations he’s had with people, remembers personal pieces that they’ve shared with him. It’s no different when it comes to Robin.

“You still tryin’ out for that theater class?”

Her cheeks kiss pink and she nods, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, “Yeah, I got in but…” She shrugs, “Not sure if I’m gonna stay. Can’t really figure out if I’m any good.”

Austin shakes his head, “I’m sure you’re a natural like your aunt,” And that definitely makes her blush a darker shade, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth as you listen, “Just gotta keep at it if it’s somethin’ you love.”

She nods, curling her hair around her ear, “I do love it, I just…don’t think I’m nailing lines like I think my teacher wants. She says I got a lot of potential but,” She chews on her lower lip, “I’ve been trying to practice to get the lead of this musical we’re doing.”

Austin hums as you walk closer, looking up at you before standing from the couch. He runs his hands over his jeans, his shoulders straightening as he semi-stretches from being in a sitting position for too long,

“Well, if you want, next time you practice you could Facetime Y/N—I could give you some feedback and encouragement. Only if you want.”

Robin’s eyes grow as big as saucers and you’re convinced Austin has promised her to hang the moon. “Really?” She laughs, her one hand covering her mouth, “That—that would be amazing.”

You smile, taking a long sip of your drink before sliding your hand down to lace itself with Austin’s, “Gonna steal him for a few minutes, Robbie.”

She nods, watching as you walk off with Austin, that bright look still in her eyes as a smile decorates her pretty face. It’ll probably stay there the entire night.

You weave through a few busy rooms until you enter a hallway on the way towards a bathroom that’s quiet and blissfully free of your family. Setting down your wine glass on a nearby table, you turn to look up at your boyfriend, giving him a small smile as your arms wrap loosely around his neck.

“Pretty sure my niece wants to marry you.”

“I have that effect on people,” Austin teases, leaning his head down to nip at your lower lip with his own.

You tilt your head a little bit into the action, humming, “I know it’s a family-filled day and everything? But I’m kinda glad for the few minutes I can have you all to myself.”

“All yours.” Austin whispers against your lips, reaching his hand up to cup your cheek before he kisses you.

It’s something that doesn’t last long enough but it’s intimate and perfect in a way that makes your toes curl. Austin’s arms wind around your waist to keep you close, smiling along your lips and kissing the corner of your mouth a few times when you attempt to pull away.

“If you’re trying to convince me to sneak out early with you?” Austin plays with a strand of hair near your ear, curling it between his fingers as his thumb brushes your jawline, “All you had to do is ask.”

A soft laugh leaves your lips—as if it were that easy. There’s no way you could miss dinner and you’re sure you’re going to have to sit through at least two helpings of dessert before you can escape. At least there’s pie, cookies and ice cream. Not to mention spiked coffee.

“Alright, time to eat!” Your mother calls from the kitchen, rallying the troops.

Sighing dramatically, you tip your head back a little before leaning further into your boyfriend, “An hour?”

He smiles, licking his lips before he steals another kiss. “Deal.”

--

Sitting across from your aunts Rose and Christie, you can see the conversation percolating before it even begins. Austin is seated next to you, most of the table quiet as everyone enjoys their first (or second) round of food. You lean back in your chair and take in a soft breath, mentally checking yourself to see if you can fit another scoop of potatoes. You might risk it.

Your hand slips over Austin’s thigh in a soft squeeze and he automatically keens his head down to listen intently as if you’re about to share some sort of private thought. Regardless that this is just about mashed potatoes? You kinda love that he does that. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, motioning with your chin,

“Potatoes, please?”

Austin hums and reaches, grabs the bowl and hands it over to you but not before pressing a kiss to your temple. It’s short and sweet but you can hear your aunts clucking like busy hens across the table, thinking they’re being discreet with their conversation but they’re really not. It’s amusing and definitely embarrassing.

“Still can’t believe you were Elvis,” Aunt Rose says and Austin smiles, a soft pink blush kissing his cheeks as if he can’t quite believe it himself. He’s still so humble about that role.

Before he can say anything, Aunt Christie chimes in with— “Please tell us you took the sixties special outfit home.”

A soft laugh tumbles from Austin’s throat and you widen your eyes, “Aunt Christie.”

He shakes his head, his hand gently resting on yours under the table, giving a soft squeeze. “It’s alright,” He takes a sip of wine and nods his head, “I did keep it actually, along with two of the lace shirts,” Austin shrugs, “Just a few perks.”

Aunt Rose raises her eyebrows, glancing between you and him, “Only a few?”

Your face is definitely a bit red now, heat spreading along the back of your neck. Austin squeezes your hand again, a smirk painted on his lips that you swear he’s going to pay for later. He knows exactly what your aunts are like and you have no idea why he encourages them—that mixture of genuine, sweet and charm that Austin usually reserves for interviews is being spoon-fed to Aunt Rose and Christie and they are eating it right up.

You shake your head, smiling a little as you add more gravy to your potatoes. You think the commentary might have settled down or at the very least the conversation could move elsewhere, but then your Aunt Rose starts it up again—

“Quite the natural with Logan,” She then gives you a pointed look, “Nothing like a beautiful man with a baby, right?”

A laugh sounds from your brother at the same time you mumble oh my god, bringing your hand up to run over your face. While admittedly you were thinking the same thing not too long ago? The last thing you want to hear is this running explanation from your aunt.

“Successful, very handsome,” Christie grins, “And great with kids? Quite the catch.”

Rose hums as she looks over at you, playfully nudging Aunt Christie with her elbow, “Sign me up.”

Now Austin is blushing, shaking his head as he smiles and looks down at his dinner plate. “Oh my god!” You say again, looking at the rest of the table in exasperation even though you’re smiling, “Can someone help me please?”

Your father chuckles, waving his arm in the direction of your aunts, “Alright you two, cut it out—Y/N’s cheeks are red enough that they might catch the good tablecloth on fire.”

Groaning lightly, you run a hand over your forehead, managing a sneak peek at your boyfriend. He leans over and plants a kiss to your cheek, his fingers lacing with yours underneath the table. You suppose this is nothing compared to the first year you brought Austin to Thanksgiving—you’re just lucky he accepted your family’s antics and didn’t run away.

When dinner eventually comes to a close (and the blush manages to stop splotching on your face), there’s a small lull between cleaning up the dining room table, washing dishes, and putting the desserts and coffee out.

As you turn to grab your sweater from the coat rack, Austin reaches for your arm and tugs you into the foyer—a quiet, private pocket, at least for a few minutes. You smile up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he does the same, his one hand quickly tucking your hair behind your ear as he kisses your lips.

“I’m sorry for my aunts.” You offer, giving him a soft squeeze.

“They’re harmless,” He assures, smirking, “Besides—isn’t that how you talk about me to people when I’m not around?”

You laugh, playfully smacking his chest, “No.” He grins, taking the hand resting along his sternum and bringing your fingers up to kiss. You roll your eyes with a semi-dramatic sigh, “Maybe.”

Austin chuckles, squeezing your fingers before letting your hand drop. You share a comfortable silence, a few moments of gentle tenderness between you before he leans down and kisses you again. This one is slightly drawn out, a few pecks following,

“I’m thankful for you.” He says and you smile warmly, your heart fluttering ridiculously in your chest.

Before you can say anything, your mom calls out that desserts are all set. Aunt Rose follows up with a, “There’s a snack missing though!” And you know she definitely means your boyfriend.

Austin grins, “And for your family.”

You can’t help but laugh, leaning up on your toes to press another kiss to his lips before you lace fingers and make your way back to the dining room for dessert.

--

Thank you for reading! Definitely thankful for anyone who takes the time to leave a request, an ask, a comment, any likes or reblogs! Hope you enjoyed :)

[vamp-domme]

Choose Your Own Gothic Horror Adventure, Part XIII

You turn down the hall and head for the office, trying to move as quietly as you can. You try the door, and find the old, brass handle agreeable, opening the door with a dense click.

Inside, barely discernible in the torchlight, you can see a small room, a heavy desk at its other end, the surface covered in dusty ledgers, a ring of keys hanging on a hook behind it, next to a painting you cant make out, save for the image of a demon crouching over what appears to be a weeping woman. On the right hand wall is a large wardrobe, its handles shaped like crouching gargoyles, while on the left countless torture implements hang on the walls. You espy several riding crops, some ending in cruel, downward-pointing spikes, whips and flails ending in cruel barbs, along with rods and iron pokers, some stained with blood. You shudder at the thought of how long some of these tools have been used at this purpose, your mind thinking of poor Olivia at their mercy.

Hearing the footsteps grow closer, you carefully open the wardrobe and slip inside. Hanging within are a number of aprons, thick affairs heavy with the scent of musk and blood. You press between them, coarse leather wrapped around you as you do your best to still your breathing.

You hear a sigh, almost like a deep intake of breath.

"Stand up." Lady Midnight's voice is cold as ice, same as it was with Mathilda.

You hear a deep, wracking sob in reply.

"Who else?"

"There was no one!" Olivia's voice breaks under the weight of her confession, trying to hold back the tears you know she wants to shed.

"I have been gentle with you, because I am aware just how fragile you are," Lady Midnight replies. "But that ends tonight."

"Please! I was scared, I didn't know what to do! I would never hurt you!"

Lady Midnight sighs. "Such a waste of good blood."

You hear the sound of heels clicking on stone as the door to the office opens. You clap your hands to your mouth, your breath hitching in your chest.

She walks slowly into the room, and you can see her shadow pass by the crack in the dresser doors. You feel your heart thud in your chest, realizing where you are, where she is, and the absolute horror of what could happen to you.

Lady Midnight runs her fingers across a cruel whip coiled on one of the wall hooks, hooked barbs pitted along its length, metal glinting in the torchlight.

She takes the whip off the wall, coiling it in her hands. "Do you recall the tenets of Castle Midnight?"

"Treat well your siblings, and serve your betters!" Olivia's voice rings out, hoarse from sobbing but positively electric with hope, and the desire to please her Mistress.

"Remain within the grounds unless given leave!" She stammers slightly, tripping over her words with all the grace of a child learning to waltz. You feel your lungs beginning to cry out for lack of air.

"Treat the castle's secrets as your own! Do not pry, nor reveal!" Olivia's words fall out of her mouth like a torrent. You bite down harder, forcing yourself not to breathe, not to move.

"Bleed for your Mistress!" You hear the bars rattle as Olivia presses against them, manic in her desire to please the woman holding her life, delicate and fragile, within her hands. You feel yourself growing lightheaded as your body screams for air, Lady Midnight still standing in the office, whip in hand, her piercing gaze barely visible through the tiny slit which you see the world. One more moment and she'll leave, you think, you hope, you pray.

"I was not asking you."

She turns, and in one fluid motion opens the wardrobe.

"Collaborator." Her hand closes around your throat like an iron vice, dragging you out from within. "Someone has been prying where they ought not be. "Did you think I couldn't hear your heart beating?"

She places the whip back on the rack, grabbing the key ring from the wall, ignoring your struggling hands grasping at her, the cold leather of her gloves pressing into your throat. Stars dance at the edge of your vision, and you cannot seem to blink them back. Dimly, you realize she is dragging you back out to the cells.

"You sent them within to break you free, didn't you?" Lady Midnight's voice sounds distant, so far away you can barely catch it. You hear Olivia shout something back, but it's just a toneless buzzing in your ears. Somewhere behind you, a cell door squeals open, and suddenly you are inside, your breath coming in strangled gasps. The door slams closed, and in front of it, inside it, with you - stands Lady Midnight, her eyes cold fire, muscles taut, fangs prepared to strike.

"That one will not admit her conspiracy," she says, flicking a finger toward Olivia. "But now... I have a new wretch to break."

THE END

Previous entries:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Part XI

Part XII

[asliceoftoast]

"might post a part 2" YES PLEASE <3

pt 2 for playing pretend (｀▽´）―━━☆⌒*

here for part 1

--

April shuddered under his touch, his hand pressing against her back. “No, seriously. Jackson, what are you doing here?” 

His breath curled against her skin, teasing her frazzled nerves. “You shouldn’t post about this stuff on Facebook if you don’t want my mother to know. You forget that she likes to meddle.”

“Dr. Avery?” Her face skewed with confusion. “But..”

“Why?” Jackson interrupted, already knowing her question. Why would Catherine Avery, surgeon extraordinaire, care about her high school reunion? Simple. She wanted April to get laid and might have noticed her son’s not-so-secret crush even if the two involved were oblivious. Nothing like a mother’s push to help get the ball rolling. He sighed, “She just said that it was unbecoming to let you show up alone. Besides, she asked - no, demanded - that I bring you to Boston after this.”

Jackson shrugged, pouring a cup of punch for himself. “Well, who do we need to show off to?”

“I think you being here is already showing off and I already know Mary Lou told half the graduating class by now.” His blue eyes poured over April, taking her in. The yellowed lights warmed her pale skin. Her hair was tied back with a white ribbon, half up, half down, stray wisps framing her face. His gaze slowly lowered settling on her perfectly painted lips for a second. He swallowed nervously and looked down at territory typically covered by navy blue scrubs. Jackson wasn’t sure he was supposed to look at his best friend like this. Her dress featured a square neckline and an A-line skirt that ended at her knees, white straps meeting above her shoulders with tiny bows that draped over her thin shoulders. While modest and fitting her innocence, the fitted bodice showed her figure and he knew he wasn’t the only one looking. 

“You look beautiful, April.” A rosy glow warmed her cheeks as she dropped her gaze.

“You’re just saying that because there are people around.” Jackson spread his hand across her hip, bringing her flush to him as he secretly marked his territory to any stray men who wandered to the reunion hoping an old classmate would give them the time of day.

Jackson dragged a finger under her jaw, tilting her head towards him. Long lashes fluttered helplessly as she looked at him. “I’m not. You’re breathtaking tonight.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t look so bad yourself.” April broke her eyes away from his, taking a sip of her drink. She wasn’t sure it was good for her heart to keep looking into the stormy blue expanse for much longer. A thin smile passed across her lips, turning in his grasp as she noticed the trio returning to them. “Jackson. Six o’clock.”

“Don’t worry. I see them.” He put down his cup on the table and brought both hands to her waist. His lips pressed against her hairline forcing her heart to a stop. He was good at this. Too good. 

“April!” Grace’s voice cut through the short distance between them. “Surely you can introduce some old friends to your new sweetheart.” She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Friends was an exaggeration and both of them knew it.

Jackson flashed his patented smile to the trio of women and April swore she saw Grace tuck away her engagement ring. At least Mary Lou and Carly had the decency to blush. “Hi, ladies. Jackson Avery. Board certified plastic surgeon and board member of the Harper Avery Foundation.”

Grace cleared her throat, voice uncharacteristically light and soft as she addressed Jackson. noticing her minions were stuck in a daze. “April says you met at work. What made you fall for our dear April?”

April brought the waxy lip of her cup to her mouth, chugging the rest of her spiked drink as her friend and fake boyfriend turned his attention back to her. His palm radiated heat against her dress and he pressed her so close to him that she felt every breath he took against her exposed back. Her skin flushed with arousal, April silently hoped he didn’t notice.

“April’s always caught my attention. Ever since I first met her. The blend of anxiousness, compassion, and a fierce dedication to those she cares about keeps me on my toes. She challenges me to grow: to be a better doctor, a better person. There’s never a dull moment with her.” He paused, eyes steady with hers. April wasn’t sure she was breathing, consciousness drifting away from her. His eyes looked back pointedly at Grace, “Even if I didn’t get to see her every day at work, April’s a gorgeous, kind, and talented trauma surgeon. I’m lucky I even get to go out with her and that someone else didn’t sweep her away before I could ask her out.”

Mary Lou cooed, nearly weeping at the few sentences Jackson said. If she didn’t know him better, April would have swooned too. With a calm heart, she brought her hand up to his cheek, not expecting him to kiss her palm gently as she cupped his face.

“Jackson.” His name came out hoarse, riddled with emotion. Something twinged in her chest, swallowing her words as she was still surrounded by her high school nemesis. 

Grace broke their trance, scoffing lightly at the display of affection in front of her. “It seems like April’s all grown up.”

April’s chest rose and a wide smile passed across her face as she looked at the three ladies in front of them. “I’m sure Jackson’s tired from traveling all this way fron Seattle and I wouldn’t want to keep him up.”

“No!” Carly protested. “Surely he can stay for a few more minutes.” April watched her eyes hungrily rake over Jackson’s form. 

“Sorry, ladies.” Jackson smirked as April stood protectively between them. As he slid his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers, he said, “We have a flight to Boston to catch.”

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

I can’t remember if you have an au where vampire Peter meets Aro, but if not; that. I think they would have some constructive feedback for each other on how to vampire right.

I think... there was a one-shot AGES ago where vampire prince Peter and his wolfy husband met Aro, but other than that? Nope! Don't think I have vampire Peter and Aro interacting just on their own!

Warning: the girls are fighting! (the author also points out dumb flaws with the twivamps)

On with the fic!

--

"Look, it's the principle of the thing!"

"It really isn't. It's irony, that's what you have here. A vampire who is a vampire hunter, and also one on stage. I feel like there is some coping with your circumstances as well."

"Fuck off, I'm not taking that from a guy who can cut glass with diamond nips!"

Aro actually laughed at this and Peter glared at him. "Well, it's true, isn't it? Your vampire species is all... I dunno, stone like! It's weird! You're weird."

"My chest does not have bits as sharp as diamonds, Peter." Aro teased before gracefully bringing up the wine glass to his lips, dark blood passing his lips with a grace Peter could never master, no matter how often he practiced to look like a suave, sexy European vampire from the movies. "Though I have met some vampires of both my own kind and others who were humans during the Victorian era and had been quite fond of the strange interest in piercings then."

"Jesus wept, Aro." Peter groaned and swallowed down his spiked mug of microwaved blood. "You have no.... you're blunt."

"As are you. Talking about my nipples." Aro smirked.

"Sttttoooooopppppp!" Peter dropped his head on the table. "Gonna make me turn into a bat and hide up in the rafters just to ignore you..."

Aro glanced up. "I do not believe you have rafters that are visible in your... penthouse, if you wish to call this gaudy fun house that."

Peter narrowed his eyes and refilled his mug with the kettle, then poured in some vodka. "I'll hide in the light fixtures then!"

"Not wise for a bat to do, even one as tiny and adorable as you." Aro chuckled. "How strange that you can turn into a bat anyway, and not even a vampire bat. Your species does not drink blood, and yet you do."

"I don't control the fuzzy cutie that I become." Peter snorted. "I just accept that I turn into a canyon bat and can still slurp up the red stuff like a slurpee. Vampires are fucking weird. Yours especially."

"How so?" Aro asked, topping off his wine glass with the kettle.

"Like, ya know." The actor waved his hand about. "Look at you! You're three thousand plus years old!"

"Many vampires of many kinds live for ages."

"Not eons!"

"I am good at survival." Aro smiled.

"Bleh. And your body! You're made of stone, or you're like stone! Why?! What's the point!?"

"Protection, I assume." Aro shrugged, Peter sighed loudly.

He took a long drink from his mug, then nearly slammed it down, just to be dramatic. "And the whole thing! The... the thing, with your liquids!"

Aro arched an eyebrow. "The venom?"

"Yeah! How does that even work! Why does all the fluid in your body become venom, isn't that dangerous!? Your blood, your spit, your- ew. EW! How do you even fuck when you're shootin' off-"

The older vampire made a face, holding up a hand. "I don't know, and I do not wish to know, Peter. It is not a topic that I personally have any interest in learning more about."

"Sounds like the terrible choices made by a writer who trapped herself in a corner." Peter grumbled.

"Why a female writer?"

"Because all that shit you told me about with the girl with the OP ability and her shitty love interest and their poorly named baby sounds like something a YA writer came up with and people gobbled that shit up. And they tend to usually be women who write these, so, yeah."

"And what of you? Your vampire species is so... odd. You can be in the sun."

"Not for long, still burns and makes me really sick. At least I don't sparkle."

"Hm. And you can change into a bat, yet not a vampire bat."

"Probably due to the region that the vampire species originated from, Mexico and the American southwest, don't have vampire bats there."

"And you can eat food."

"Nnnnnot a lot, honestly. It's weird, some stuff is okay, but most just makes me upchuck minutes later or automatically. Kinda sucks, I miss chewing gum, mint really doesn't agree with me anymore."

"Mint was used in healing, a purifier, might be what flavors and spices are used." Aro said with a chuckle.

Peter huffed and dipped his finger into his blood, flicking it at Aro's expensive suit. "Again, at least I don't sparkle."

"Such a weak argument."

"Shuddup, pretty old man."

--

My species of vampire in my aus is so damn silly and weird and honestly just centered around Peter and Hardy changing into a canyon bat cause they're just so damn cute and tiny and always screaming in photos.

Meyers has no excuse for her shit outside of 'oh, if I make them traditional, it makes me so upset and ill and I can't have that!'. Lady, accept that your vampires are ridiculous. Venom. For real???

Also, I dunno what they're doing in Peter's flat, but I'm 95% sure Peter is not wearing any clothes while they sit at the table together, so that might tell you what they had been doing.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

let me wrap my teeth around the world (Rhaella gets a dragon)

Title is from "Eat Your Young" by Hozier. A dragon is born at Harrenhal, but it's not Rhaegar or Aerys.

Aka Rhaella Targaryen GETS A DRAGON!

---

At first, those that survive the blaze believe that the dragon hatched for the babe.

Of course, they say. Two royal lineages, began again. In fire and in blood.

Of course, Rhaella's half-mad husband says, our son is the Prince Who Was Promised. The product of our line. Our family might have perished, but he will bring us glory.

But Rhaella knows different.

The tiny creature is not born quite right. The tiny, silvered she-beast looks, for the most part, like the dragons of old. It has a mane of small spikes to its nape. It has two fully functional wings, guaranteed to grow wild and fierce. It has sharp claws and teeth and a snarl that even at its birth, no more than three feet in length, strikes fear in hearts.

But it is half-blind, one beady, black eye intelligent, one ice blue and clouded over. It is tarnished. It is defected.

It is not a mount for the prince that is promised. It is a dragon, a monster, made for a queen forced into her duty and broken by her brother husband.

And it is a gift like no other.

Nearly every member of the family has died at Summerhall, but she has secured the Targaryen family's might for generations, by birthing a babe and a beast in the same hour.

Balerion, her husband names the dragon, the Silver Dread. 

It evokes Targaryen might. It summons images of burnt fields and extinct houses and Valyrian apocalypse.

Bitterwing, Rhaella names it, something strange and ferocious rising in her chest. It is not a royal name, but she does not give a damn.

The little whelp is the first thing she can call her own, and Rhaella will cling tight to her scales.

She hands Rhaegar over to a wet nurse, but she visits Bitterwing as often as she can, whenever her husband is busy with his mistresses. He might fuck every flowered girl in King's Landing, but she doesn't care. She doesn't need his loyalty. In fact, she would love to see him never spend a night in her bed again.

Because these moments, these nights, with her dragon are hers.

Her officially sanctioned visits to the Dragonpit always include her son. She knows that Rhaegar visits the Dragonpit without her, accompanied by his monstrous father. Aerys sees the prophecies fulfilled in his son.

Bitterwing tolerates Rhaegar, because Rhaella holds some fondness for her son, but she holds none for her husband, and therefore does not constrain her dragon to politeness.

Her dragon can rage as she cannot, and it is considered natural. Dragon-like.

Dragons are monsters, she hears the servants whisper, and they're not entirely wrong.

Bitterwing is a monster, yes but she is such a beautiful one.

No matter how many times her husband summoned her to his bed, no matter how many times she emerges bruised and bloody and broken-boned, she is not bowed. She is not bent.

Because for the first time in her life, Rhaella cradles power. Not within her and her womb, but within her first friend. 

Rhaella lets out her first laugh since her wedding the first night that Bitterwing lets out a jet of flame. It stutters after seconds, and Bitterwing hiccups, and Rhaella can't help the giggle that emerges from her lips. Bitterwing's eyes glitter, something curving her snout. Rhaella reaches out and snuggles into Bitterwing's neck, Bitterwing's scales warm and smooth and comforting against her bruised cheek.

Bitterwing grows long and and sinuous, more serpentine than dragon-like, but she is graceful and loves Rhaella's hand against her snout and snaps at Aerys when he gets too close, and that is all Rhaella could wish for.

***

Years pass. Rhaella is raped into birthing her second son, and Aerys announces before the court that he will give up his mistresses for his Queen, and Rhaella cannot stand to be the only outlet of his bites and his bruises and his burns.

She is no warrior. She is no knight. Her arms are too thin and weak to wield a sword. She has been told she is too delicate to study tactics or ponder war.

But she is a survivor.

And she will be a dragonrider.

Rhaella steals down to the Dragon Pit and climbs Bitterwing's back for the first time. She is sore- she is always sore- but her legs clench around her dragon's back and the warmth soothes some of the ache away.

And Rhaella rides her best friend in this wretched world through the roof of the throne room.

Rhaella is not wearing armor, but Bitterwing dives in such a way that her armored belly takes the brunt of the damage. Rhaella ends up with some scrapes and a cut across her lower leg, but it is worth it for Bitterwing to land in front of the Iron Throne, Aerys ' head in her maw and his corpse beneath her legs.

They will call Rhaella the Kingslayer, the Kinslayer. Many will want to take her power from her. They will want to execute her for her crimes. They will want to rebel.

But everyone fears another Field of Fire, and so they will not.

She is a Targaryen. She is the only person in the world with a dragon. She will never have to lay beneath a man again if she does not want to.

She steps to the throne and sits herself upon it and for the first time in her entire life, she does not fear it.

Rhaegar is her heir, but he has no dragon. Not yet. And without a dragon or her abdication or her death, he cannot hope to be King.

Queen Rhaella, First of Her Name, Kingslayer, Kinslayer, Abomination, yes- but also Queen Rhaella the Just, Queen Rhaella the Breaker, and the only Rider of a dragon in the known world takes the throne and the crown of the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

She declares crafty, clever Olenna Tyrell her hand of the queen, reaffirming the Riverlands' loyalty to the crown, and attends Council meetings with Bitterwing by her side until Bitterwing grows too large to fit into the castle. Then Rhaella moves the Council out into the courtyard, erecting a series of stone seats for the Council to meet under the watchful gaze of her beloved Bitterwing, her hand on Bitterwing's scales a constant reminder to the Council of her power.

She is the only one with a dragon. Thus, she is the only one with power, and it tastes oh so sweet.

She passes laws regarding the welfare of wives and the punishments upon men that dare to lay hands on their Brides. The realm thinks her delicate, unwilling to enforce her laws, but Bitterwing snaps her teeth and the Lord's head goes flying and none dare question Rhaella's iron grip on justice. She destroys male primogeniture in favor of the eldest child inheriting, as in Dorne.

And years later, she will take a queen consort. She has an heir and a spare; she has no need to marry a man that she has no desire for. She has no need to give some man the power of Targaryen kings. She will marry a widowed Meria Martell, who came on a visit in the name of her mother's Dayne house and her husband's Martell house. She is woman with a harsh face, all long lines against dark skin, but has a sparkle in her eye, a clever wit, and a quick laugh. She shrieks with joy the first time Rhaella takes her up on Bitterwing in a saddle crafted for two souls, a wedding gift from the leather workers of the North.

(Rhaella does not give a shit what the Faith says about homosexuality. The Stranger was the only one of them to ever treat her kindly, and she has no desire to embrace any of the others. There is already one Targaryen exception; let there be another until she can persuade the Council to expand the freedom to all.)

Meria leaves her sons in Dorne—heir Doran and the vivacious Oberon- but she brings young Elia with her to court, where she becomes one of Rhaella's ladies.

But in the meantime, Rhaella raises her unruly boys not to be violent, to insist on control, to understand gentleness. To be tender with their women while being stern enough to be fair and just leaders of the Seven Kingdoms. She slaps Viserys the first time he lays a hand on a woman in a way he shouldn't. She does it right in front of the court, and raises the baseborn girl, a bastard of her husband's, to one of her ladies. Ceryse and Elia get along like a house on fire, and it is to no one's surprise that Elia and Ceryse elope. It ends up a scandal that will be remembered for decades, the two of them disappearing off to Essos without a second glance, but Rhaella and Meria receive letters at least thrice a year updating them on the adventures of their daughters-turned-explorers, and they don't mind the mark on their legacy. Neither Ceryse nor Elia will ever die on the birthing bed nor under the hand of a man, only as a consequence of their own ventures, and that is the greatest fate they can ask for.

Rhaegar doesn't turn prophecy into madness. His mother has a dragon. He has no reason to go seeking for a way to save his house and his world. Rhaegar marries Robarra Baratheon, the closest cousin he has, while Viserys crowns Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty at his brother's engagement tourney.

Meria suggests matching Cersei Lannister with Stannis Baratheon, an entreaty to Tywin Lannister to darken the gleam in his eye when he learned his daughter would be passed over for Princess of the Realm.

Neither Rhaegar nor Viserys hatch a dragon, but when Rhaegar and Robarra place one of Bitterwing's eggs in the cradle of their eldest daughter and heir, silver-curled Argella Targaryen, who has eyes as dark as ink, it hatches, a squat dark blue she-beast with a nasty snarl, guaranteed to be a mighty war beast. Robarra chooses Elenei, the storm goddess, as the name of her daughter's dragon.

Argella grows stubborn and quick with a sword and even quicker to learn. She is no delicate flower like her Targaryen grandmother; if she falls down, she bounces right back up. If she wasn't a Princess and the heir to the throne, Rhaella suspects she would spit on the ground.

And Argella and Elenei bond like none in modern history. While Bitterwing was as melancholy as her Queen at first, Elenei is a rambunctious dragon who loves to spin in the air, seemingly taking great joy from the shrieks of laughter and urging towards speed that her Princess desires.

Robarra births a son next, but he is not an heir; Argella will be the Iron Queen after Rhaegar. Rather, dark-haired and blue-eyed Jaehaerys is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. He hatches no dragon, but does make a name for himself in tourneys. Some day, he will be the Prince of Dragonstone and sire heirs for House Tyrell; for now, he squires for his father, as his sister did before him.

Robarra's third child, golden-haired and sallow-faced Steffon, inherits his father's love for books, and becomes a maester. He is curious but lacks all Targaryen or Baratheon temper, and will do well integrating Rhaella's new laws into the beliefs of Oldtown.

A year after Jaehaerys's birth, Viserys and Lyanna's raven-haired, long-faced babe Lyarra hatches her own crimson-scaled beast. Night Breaker, they decide to name him.

Lyarra does not have her cousin's temper. But she does have a mind for tactics, for history, for politics and diplomacy that Argella's storm blood sometimes lacks. She and Steffon get along well, debating war tactics and history and politics in the solar. Someday, she will be her cousin's Hand. For now, she gets the best training in the world and embraces Night Breaker as her trusted mount for traveling the Realm, learning everything she can about the people.

Rhaella presides over all of her grandchildren, satisfaction burning in her chest at the knowledge that none of their mothers were pressed into the marriage bed unwillingly. She checks in with Robarra and Lyanna regularly, treats them as Princesses and ladies in her family. Family banquets are joyous affairs, full of boisterous laughter and japes and healthy debates and good-natured needling. Fear does not make itself any of her family’s bedfellow.

Meria holds Rhaella’s hand and kisses her cheek in front of the children and grandchildren and Rhaegar teases them for being too scandalously affectionate. Viserys rolls his eyes at his brother and japes that nothing a Targaryen does can be scandalous- they are the exception, not the rule. Viserys’ she-wolf wife flicks him on the upper arm, and Viserys offers her a chagrined smile.

And above it all, Rhaella smiles, unburdened by abuse and fear.

Rhaella is not Visenya or Aegon or Maegor. She does not know how to wield a sword, how to command an army. She is no warrior. She never becomes one. She never wanted power for its own sake; she wanted it to guarantee safety and happiness for herself and those she loves.

But she commands a dragon, and her family, and that will win her the Realm.

***

When the Others begin to rise in the north, the women of House Targaryen will be ready. Lyarra, Argella, and Rhaella will soar through the sky, the three violet-eyed heads of the dragon. Baratheon and Stark and Targaryen, Elenei and Night Breaker and Bitterwing. One silver, one blue, one red.

They will write songs about this battle. About the swinging of uncovered Valyrian steel, about the roar of dragonfire, about the Storm Queen, the Princess of Ice, and the Queen of Fire and Blood.

A song of ice and fire indeed.

[punchdrunkdoc]

Chapter 8

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

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CHAPTER 8

He spun on his heel and watched her slowly exit the car. She was dripping wet, soaked from the rain, and the moisture seemed to amplify her scent, until it hit him like hurricane. 

She was cold - almost shivering with chills - and seemed miserable, her steps laden, and her normally graceful gait stiff. She was hunched over to the side, as if the weight of her luggage was dragging her down. 

He must have made a sound because she suddenly glanced behind her. And when she noticed him standing in the stairwell, the smile she greeted him with lit up her face. As if his mere presence was enough to lift the gloom clinging to her. 

“Matthew,” she said, her voice warm and light. “Hi.” 

She turned to face him fully, water dripping from the ends of her hair onto the faded carpet underfoot. “Are you coming or going…?” she asked, cocking her head to stare at him in confusion. 

He didn’t blame her. He was frozen half-in, half-out of the doorway, gazing at her like a moron. He just couldn’t quite believe she was here all of a sudden.

As if his thoughts earlier had conjured her.

He shook himself out of his stupor. “Um, coming,” he lied, stepping into the hallway and allowing the door to swing shut behind him. He wasn’t about to pass up this chance to talk to her. 

“You seem awfully dry,” she teased.

“Where have you been?” he blurted, trying to deflect her question. And because it was the mystery that had been driving him insane this past week. 

She frowned at his accusatory tone. “What?” 

He tried to sound more nonchalant. “It’s just, you, um, haven’t been around for a while…”

“Oh. I met up with some people I knew from school. Took a kind of…spontaneous vacation.”

He studied her heartbeat. Her breathing. 

Both were steady. 

There was no spike of adrenaline, no sweat beading on her skin. 

No signs of a lie. 

She was telling the truth. 

She’d been on vacation. Fucking vacation. 

“Oh,” he replied, following her as she walked slowly to her door. “Did you have fun?” he asked, at a loss for what else to say.

“Yes, actually. More than I expected. Got to catch up with old friends. Stayed in a lovely hotel. Drank too much.”

Truth.

She hitched her bag up on her shoulder while she fished in her pocket for her keys. A tiny hiss of pain escaped her lips at the movement. A barely audible sound…but one that gave her away.  

She was hurt. 

He tilted his head, studying her closely while she unlocked her door. Beneath her perfume, and the damp rain soaking her clothes, he could smell a trace of copper in the air. It emanated from her right shoulder. 

There was a wound there. One held together by sutures - he could hear the nylon fibres rubbing against the overlying bandage. 

There was also a patch of heat along her right flank and left thigh, where blood had pooled beneath the surface of her skin and deep within the muscles underneath.

Bruises. 

Lot of bruises. 

More across the front of her throat, hidden beneath her scarf. The outline of a hand. No, two hands.

Another over her jaw, covered by a chemical-smelling concealer. 

And the scent of gunpowder lingered over her hands…

He jerked his head back in shock, his mouth snapping closed. 

What the fuck had happened to her?

“Are you okay?” she asked, and he realised she was staring at him again. 

“Um, yeah. Sorry. Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” 

I mean that you’ve been beaten and strangled!, Matt wanted to yell. But as much as he was desperate for answers, he couldn’t exactly let her know that he could sense the wounds covering her battered body. So he opted for a different truth. “Um, I can hear your teeth chattering. You sound like you’re freezing.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I got soaked in the rain and probably resemble a drowned rat at the moment. I can’t wait to jump in the shower and warm up.” 

It was a not-so-subtle hint that she wanted to get inside her apartment now, thank you very much. So Matt let her go. “Goodnight, then. It was, uh, nice to see you again.”

She smiled. “You too.” 

Then closed the door in his face. 

 ———

 Matt stood in the hallway for another few seconds, contemplating whether to go to Fogwell’s as planned…or stay and listen for more clues as to what the fuck was going on with his neighbour. 

It wasn’t really a choice. He had to know more. 

The time for ‘benefit of the doubt’ was over.

And all ethical considerations about invasion of privacy and spying were out the window now, as far as he was concerned. Either she was a criminal of some kind, in which case he needed to know in order to protect the people in his building…

Or she was a victim, in which case he needed to know in order to protect her.

He let himself back into his apartment and dropped his bag and raincoat on the floor. Then he leaned his back against his door and listened. 

He heard her drop her own bag and shrug out of her jacket, the soaked leather slopping onto the hardwood floor. She kicked off her boots, the heavy-souled shoes making a thud as they landed. She rubbed her goose-bumped arms as she walked across the floor to the thermostat. He heard the click as she pressed the buttons to control the heating, but there was no whoosh of gas and flame as the boiler kicked in. 

“No, no, no,” he heard her mutter as she tried again. 

Still nothing. 

She quickly moved to the bathroom and twisted the dial for the shower. The water rushed through the pipes and through the shower-head, but no warmth rose from the stream. She put her hand under the flow, and groaned at the feel of the freezing cold liquid.  

She had no heating. 

No hot water. 

He remembered the unopened bills he’d found the other day when he and Jessica had searched the apartment. Had one of them been a gas bill?

Obviously thinking the same thing, he heard her yank open the drawer containing the discarded mail. Then the tear as she opened the envelope. Followed by another groan. Louder this time. She stomped her bare foot on the ground. “Damn it, Calina. You’re supposed to have an IQ of 146 but you can’t remember to pay the fucking utility bill?”

She stood still for a few moments, obviously weighing her options.

Then she grabbed the bag she’d dropped earlier, opened the door to her apartment…

…and took the few steps across the hall to his.

 ———

 Matthew answered on the third knock.

He was still wearing the faded, worn-in sweats and hoodie from before. The clothes looked wonderfully soft and rumpled…and warm. 

He looked so warm. 

And she was freezing her ass off. 

Calina grasped her bag tighter with her almost-numb hands and greeted the man at the door for the second time tonight. “Hi. Again. I, uh, need a really big favour.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My apartment has no heating or hot water, and I’m, uh, about to die of hypothermia. Do you think I could maybe, um-” her voice choked off as a violent shiver raced through her body, jolting all her sore, bruised muscles at once. 

She’d been exaggerating about the hypothermia...but she really did need to get warm and dry soon.

“Hey,” he reached out to grasp her arm gently, pulling her into his apartment. “Come here.” He rubbed his hands briskly over her chilled skin. “You really are freezing.”

She nodded. 

“Are you nodding?”

“Yes. S-s-sorry.”

He smiled. “That’s okay. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

He led her into the apartment, and she got her first look at his home. “Wow, this place is m-much bigger than m-m-mine.”

"I'm sure yours is much nicer. I'm not exactly known for my decorating skills."

Neither was she. Her place wasn’t really decorated, as much as it was just filled with random stuff. A throw pillow that she’d found in a market stall, the graphic pattern having caught her eye as she’d browsed; a mug with a picture of a corgi on it that had made her smile; clothes that she’d bought online that were now bulging out of her small closet. She was slowly surrounding herself with things that she liked, but her place didn’t feel like a home yet.

Maybe one day it would.

”But my hot water works, if you want to take a shower,” he continued, guiding her to the bathroom. 

“Yes, p-please,” she said. 

He stepped back to let her enter the small room. “Take as long as you need. The towels are under the sink."

She paused on the threshold, suddenly feeling...shy? 

She'd acted the part of the coy ingenue many times when the mission called for it. She knew how to fake the nervous laugh and the bashful looks, she'd just never actually felt it. 

She was comfortable with her body. And she was not a virgin, by any stretch. As part of her infiltration work she'd often had to get...close...to people in order to gain their trust. To slyly pull down their walls and expose their secrets. 

And nothing did that better than sex.

But she'd somehow managed to compartmentalise those encounters as separate from her true self. She - Calina - hadn't seduced the Danish Prime Minister's son, that had been her cover, the British exchange student Eloise Parker. Calina hadn't formed a relationship with the art dealer in Paris, that had been Petra Muller, the free-spirited photographer from Germany. Calina hadn't dated the SWORD agent, or the tech entrepreneur, or the CDC doctor - her different personas had. All as part of various missions. And all based on commands that she couldn't refuse. 

But Calina was a novice when it came to the opposite sex. And faced with the prospect of undressing in the home of the man she was attracted to, in his darkened apartment, late at night, she was hit by an acute sense of vulnerability.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" Matthew asked softly.

"I-I'm okay," she replied. And this time her stuttering had nothing to do with the cold. 

She had no idea how to deal with her attraction to this man.  

 ———

 Matt made himself busy as the shower spluttered to life in the other room. He needed to distract himself from the sounds that were coming through the wall - too close and too loud for him to fully block out. 

The splat of wet fabric hitting the tiled floor. 

The gentle snick of a bra clasp. 

The rasp of cotton underwear trailing down damp skin. 

Shit. Stop it!

He shook his head and padded across to the radiator under the windows, making sure it was warm enough. Then he headed into the kitchen. He grabbed a pan and starting heating up some milk on the stove, then hunted in his cupboards for the tin of hot chocolate. 

As he waited for the milk to warm, he snatched a beer out of the fridge and drank half the bottle in one gulp.

Don't listen, he warned himself, and don't even think about what's happening ten feet away...  

Think about the fact that she disappeared for a week, and returned smelling like gunpowder and pain.  

Think about the fact that she’s lying about who she really is.

The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on Matt. He hid his true nature from most of the world, and guarded his secrets carefully. But it didn’t stop his need to know what Calina was hiding. It was one of the reasons he’d invited her into his home, despite the risks it posed if she turned out to be more villain than victim.

But only one of the reasons. The other had been her obvious misery as she’d stood shivering and wet on his doorstep. 

He was cautious. Suspicious.

But he wasn’t made of stone. 

He'd just finished the second half of his beer when the bathroom door opened and a cloud of steam emerged. "Hey," he called, holding up his now empty drink. "Can I get you one of these, or I have some hot chocolate on the go if you'd prefer."

"Hot chocolate?" 

"Yeah. No marshmallows or whipped cream, I'm afraid, but it'll help warm you up."

"I'll try the hot chocolate, please. But first..."

As her voice trailed off, he concentrated on her properly. Her hair was still wet, but smoothed back off her face to form a sleek veil reaching her mid back. Her skin temperature was no longer that of an ice cube, despite the lack of clothing...because she was wearing nothing but a towel. 

And without the barrier of her clothes, her bruises stood out to him even more. 

She was covered in them. 

His fist clenched as he imagined the fight that must have ensued to cause those marks. 

She took a few steps closer and he tried to school his face into a polite mask. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She held up a white adhesive bandage. "I have a cut on my shoulder. The old bandage got wet and I can't quite reach to put this on. Would you mind...?"  

"Sure," he said. "No problem." 

He took the bandage from her and sat his bottle down on the countertop. She stepped closer, then turned, offering her back. He gently placed his left hand on her right shoulder, then ran his fingers across the nape of her neck, sweeping the thick, damp mass of her hair out of the way with the side of his palm. He felt her swallow sharply. 

He moved his hand to carefully outline the area of stitches. It was a small cut, barely an inch wide. But it felt deep. Really deep. There were disposable sutures below the ones he could feel holding her muscle together. 

"What happened?" he asked, as he carefully placed the fresh bandage over the top. 

"Stupid drunken accident," she murmured. "I fell on a bottle and it broke."

Truth

But no, it wasn’t the truth. This wasn't from broken glass. He knew all about wounds. Glass was jagged, and relatively blunt. It tore the skin as much as it cut through it. This wound was neat, the edges crisp. 

She’d been struck by a knife, he was absolutely certain of it. And not just nicked or slashed. 

She'd been stabbed. With force.

But the lie had tripped so easily across her tongue. There hadn't been a hint of dishonesty in her voice. No change in her breathing or pulse. Nothing to give her away.

She’d lied to him - straight to his face - and it had felt like the truth. 

That worried the hell out of him.

How could he trust anything she said, when he was blind to her lies?

He frowned as he smoothed the tape down, keeping the bandage in place. As he did so, his fingers swept over her spine...and her breath hitched. Goosebumps broke out on her soft skin, and she clutched the towel over her chest tighter in response.

Interesting. 

So she could control her body when she lied, but not when she was touched. That suggested she was used to one a lot more than the other. 

Something to think about another time - when she wasn't half naked in front of him. 

With the dressing in place, he stepped away. "That, uh, must have hurt."

She shrugged. "I didn't feel it at the time. Too much vodka in my system." She looked over her shoulder. "Thank you, Matthew."

"Matt," he replied. "Call me, Matt."

 ———

 Calina cradled the warm mug in her hands, and inhaled the lovely rich cocoa smell. She took an experimental sip and nearly moaned at the delicious taste. Why had she never tried hot chocolate before? All the times she’d indulged in flavoured lattes and frothy macchiatos at the Hideout, she’d never thought to try hot chocolate - she assumed it was just for children. 

Even if that was the case, she’d be ordering them all the time now.

She curled her legs up onto the couch and burrowed further under the blanket that had been draped over the arm, careful not to jostle her drink. “Are you still cold?” Matthew asked. 

Matthew.

Not Matt. 

It didn’t feel right to call him that. It was the name his friends used. The nickname that implied affection and trust and closeness. 

She didn’t deserve to call him that. Not when she was constantly lying to him. 

And not when he looked at her sometimes with so much wariness and scepticism on his face. He suspected something was off with her - and she couldn’t say she was surprised. She was finding it so difficult to stick to her cover story around him. She couldn’t seem to sell the image of the vapid, aimless party girl. 

Because she didn’t want to. 

She didn’t want him to think of her like that. She wanted him to know Calina. The real Calina. The former mind-controlled spy/assassin/covert operative who was trying to find her place in the world. 

But it was a pipe dream. She couldn’t let anyone know who she really was. Especially a righteous, upstanding lawyer like Matthew, who might feel ethically and legally bound to report her to the Sokovia Accords. 

Besides, she’d only known him a month. No matter how much she felt she could trust him - and she did, despite the secrets of his own that he was obviously hiding - she needed to be careful. She’d promised the other Widows when she’d left that she wouldn’t jeopardise their safety. 

“A little,” she answered. She’d changed into the comfiest, warmest clothes she could find in her luggage - a loose pair of jeans and sweater - but she had packed for Korea and the South Carolina coast. Not for a freakishly cold early autumn night in New York. “But I’ll be okay. I’ll finish my drink and then get out of your hair.”

He took a seat on the armchair across from her, the neck of his second bottle of beer held loosely between two of his fingers. “Your apartment won’t be any warmer than it was before. Just stay here tonight.”

She bit her lip, feeling conflicted. She didn’t want to return to her frigid, empty apartment. She liked his home. Yes, it was sparse and masculine and dark, but the gentle yellow glow that spilled through the arched windows gave it a sun-tinged warmth. The lived-in furniture was comfortable, and the heating actually worked. 

Above all that, she liked spending time with the man opposite her. 

But she wasn’t used to accepting so much help. He barely knew her - was suspicious of her - but he had opened his home to her, asking nothing in return. That display of kindness was so alien to anything she’d ever known. 

“I don’t know…,” she replied. “I don’t want to be an imposition-”

“You’re not, Calina. Just stay.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you. I know I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, but I really am grateful.”

“It’s my pleasure. Now let me get you something warmer to wear.”

He placed his beer on the coffee table and walked towards his bedroom. For such a solidly-built man, he was surprisingly light on his feet, barely making a sound as he moved across the hardwood floor.

She sipped her drink as he rummaged in his wardrobe. He returned moments later with a large navy blue hoodie and a pair of thick socks. “Try these,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said automatically, and laughed. 

“My pleasure,” he repeated with a smile. His foot knocked against her bag as he made his way back to his chair. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me move that.” She reached down to grab the handles, but he beat her to it. He picked up the bag and shifted it onto the cushion next to her. 

He grunted at the unexpected weight. “Did you bring home a bunch of bricks as a souvenir?”

She laughed. “No, its mostly filled with books.” 

“The ones you got from the library?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she replied. “And others.” She’d found a used bookstore by the bus depot and had spent the hour before her departure browsing the shelves and choosing what to buy. She’d came away with a stack of trashy romances, crime thrillers and fantasy books, hoping to discover what kind of fiction she liked. She’d intended to start one of them on the bus home, but she’d peaked inside the astronomy text that she’d gotten from the library and had become hooked on that instead. “I was reading one on the journey back to New York.”

“What’s it about?”

“The physics of a theoretical framework called ‘string theory’.” 

 ———

 Matt blinked. That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He thought she’d meant a novel, not a scientific text on…whatever that was. “String theory?”

“Yeah, the book’s called The Elegant Universe. It posits that reality is made up of these tiny, infinitesimal strings - smaller than atoms and electrons - and when they vibrate they effect changes on the space around them. Some theoretical physicists think that string theory could unite the frameworks that underpin general relativity and quantum mechanics. You see, Einstein…” 

As she talked she became more and more animated. The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she leaned forward to espouse about about gravitons and dimensions and black holes in an excited voice. 

It was the most he’d ever heard her talk.

And it told him three things: 

Firstly, that she hadn’t been kidding about that high IQ. She was distilling complex mathematical concepts into layman’s terms, after having only read about them a few hours ago. 

Secondly, her backstory was a great heaping pile of bullshit. Someone with this much enthusiasm for learning and knowledge wouldn’t have wasted her time in college partying and getting drunk. 

And finally…he was attracted to her.

It may have started as pure chemistry. An uncontrollable physical reaction to a pleasing scent. But it was more than that now. He’d discovered an intelligent, passionate women beneath that superficial beauty…and he’d always had a weakness for those. 

But he also had a weakness for morally questionable women. And he couldn’t afford to get embroiled with another Elektra. 

He needed to keep his distance from this one. 

Luckily, a sudden yawn interrupted her explanation of Bosonic strings, providing him with the excuse to cut the evening short. “You must be exhausted after your journey.”

“Yeah, 14 hours on a Greyhound was not fun.”

“You took the Greyhound? Are you a masochist?” 

She laughed. “I must be.”

He stood up and gathered his beer bottle, downing the dregs of the liquid in the bottom. “Let me grab a pillow, then the bedroom’s all yours.”

She shook her head sharply. “No, I can’t take your bed. You’ve already done so much tonight. The couch is fine.”

“But you’ve been stuck on a bus for most of the day-”

“Which means I’m already stiff and sore,” she interjected. “A night on the couch won’t make a difference.”

“I insist-”

“I insist harder.”

He could tell by the firm tone of her voice that there would be no persuading her. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

He grabbed a pillow from his room - and a couple of extra blankets for good measure - and started assembling a makeshift bed on the couch. As he did, she slipped on the clothes he’d brought her earlier. The sweatshirt swamped her thin frame, but she didn’t seem to mind. She pulled the cuffs over her hands over her hands and wriggled her toes in the thick socks. 

Trying to ignore how good she looked in his clothes, he stepped away from the couch.  “Goodnight, then,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning.” 

But he didn’t. 

He emerged from his room the next morning  to an empty apartment and a neatly folded pile of blankets…with a scrap of paper resting on top.  

He picked up the piece of paper - a page torn from an old book, judging by the smell - and swiped his fingers over it, wondering why she had left it. He frowned as he felt dozens of tiny holes that had been punched through the page. But his frown quickly disappeared as he realised what he was holding. 

It was a note.

He flipped it over and traced his finger over the back of the holes, where the jagged edges of the punctured paper formed a message...

A message in Braille.

-------

CHAPTER 9 coming soon

Taglist: @hollandorks, @yanna-banana, @stilldreaming666

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

[ferallymine]

Act 2 - Confessions of a Lost Boy

a/n: yeah i romanced Astarion what of it? Kaledia is my super-graphic-ultra-modern girl bard Durge and Rhododendron (Rho) is my you-dumb-bastards druid Tav. more to come because i'm obsessed.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Kaledia walked along the shoreline at the edge of the moonlight barrier. The Last Light Inn provided enough space for one to walk quietly, lost in thought. Away from the noise of panic and battle tactics.

Water graced her feet, drawing her to take a step. Kaledia obeyed its beckoning, shedding her shoes and armor. She undid her braids- Rho will have a fit about that later- and walked into the water just enough to cover her ankles. The hem of her pants just barely skimmed the surface. A gentle breeze toyed with her hair, making it flow like a cape behind her.

Kill the cleric. Imagine the beauty in the bloodshed that will descend!

The bard shuddered, crossing her arms. The violent thoughts still plagued her mind. As if she needed more unwanted presences. She shook her head, forcing the Urge from her mind.

Set every building in this cursed place ablaze. Rhododendron will never lift that curse- might as well make these abandoned places artful masterpieces of ash and bone.

With a scrunch of her nose, she shook her head again. Kaledia began quietly humming, tracing her feet in the water. Composing songs and ballads always managed to calm her down- this time being no different.

Tiny wisps of purple and pink escaped her fingertips and Kaledia conducted the air. If a bystander listened close enough, they could make out a faint tune. The bard’s eyes glazed over, feet dancing in steps to match the rhythm of her new piece. One arm stayed close to her chest while the other continued its maestro guidance.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The suddenness of the voice shocked her out of her daze. Whatever music one could hear was gone in an instant- joining the wind brushing past. Her eyes met Astarion’s- his shoes and armor discarded beside hers in the sand. His feet joined hers in the water.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone out here. Aren’t you cold?”

He chuckled, “I’m always cold, darling.”

“Cute, but what brings you by? I thought you were reading.”

“There’s too much chatter among the others. I can’t think with all that racket up there.” Astarion’s face softened as he continued, “But now I’m down here with you... and… I think we need to talk.”

He hates you.

“What’s wrong?” She turned to face him, hoping to any divine that her face wouldn’t betray her fear. Another gust of wind picked her hair up, flowing it delicately behind her.

“Listen, I… had a plan." A puzzled look, but he continued, " A nice, simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me.” His smile attempted to make light of his words, but his eyes betrayed his sorrows, “All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was… not fall for you. Which is where my nice, simple plan… fell apart.”

Kaledia kept silent, taking in what he was confessing. See? None of it was real.

“It was… instinctive. 200 years a slave, using my body to bring targets back to him… old habits die hard in the face of uncertain survival.” His breath was shaky- was that a tear in his eye?, “I just… feel awful. You’re incredible. You’ve done amazing things since the crash, bringing me along for the ride. You’ve fallen for a façade and I… I want this…  I want us to be real.” His hands were trembling ever so slightly.

There was heartbeats of silence. Had he fucked this up? Astarion held his breath unconsciously, mind racing and waiting for any response. A slap. A scream. Hells, even if she drove a spike through his chest he wouldn’t blame her rage. All he’d done was use her since the tadpole invaded his body. Was that what he’d become- an invasion to her body?

Her next words surprised him.

“Starlight, I’ve always cared for you.” His nickname on her tongue always sounded like honey. Kaledia took a step, closing the distance between them.

Tears brimmed in his eyes, a quiet whisper breathed out, “Really?”

She closed her eyes. A psionic pulse encapsulated their small space on the beach. Astarion felt their adventures up to this point rush to the forefront of his memory. Their first meeting at the crash site, grabbing arms so they didn’t fall into the hole in the spider’s cave, the entirety of the temple of Selune, the tiefling kids in the Grove, the tiefling party… their first time as they snuck away from camp. In each wave of memory, all he could feel was wonder and love. From her perspective, he’s always been Astarion- not just a spawn.

“It’s always you, my love.” Kaledia opened her eyes, the psionic wave dissipating. “It’s never been about looks or what you can do for me.”

Astarion’s voice caught in his throat, unable to shake the anxiety he now found himself in. This was all new territory… was such love able to be given to someone like him? He gingerly held out his hand, waiting to see what she would do.

Please take it.

She grasped his hand, brining it up to her lips. A gentle kiss grazed his fingers before she rested his palm on her cheek. Kaledia visibly relaxed at his touch, leaning into his palm.

“May I hug you?” Her amethyst eyes looked up. He knew he could say no and she wouldn’t think less of him for it.

He nodded silently in response, a tear escaping down his cheek.

“You don’t have to lick love off of knives, Astarion.” A gentle whisper in his ear, “Love can be freely given, without anything expected in return.”

His breath hitched, arms delicately holding her close. She could pull away if she wanted- could still escape and save herself from the burden of loving such a lost boy. Who are you without Cazador? Are you worthy of love in this void of lost identity? Who is Astarion, and does he deserve what others are willing to give? After everything you’ve done? After who you’ve done?

A sudden wave from the lake lurched on the couple. The water was so cold, Kaledia shrieked and lost her balance. Astarion tried to catch her, but fell beside her into the water. They were soaked, head to toe.

Kaledia’s breath gasped, sitting up in the frigid water. She wiped algae from her eyes and pulled her hair back from her face. Astarion sat up beside her, spitting more water from his mouth.

The absurdity of it all… she couldn’t help but laugh. He joined in, realizing she wasn’t laughing at him. After helping each other stand up, she brought his face close. Their soaked foreheads touched in another tender moment.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Hand in dripping wet hand, they began their walk back up the hill to the Inn.

——

Shadowheart elbowed Rho in the ribs, “What was that for?”

The drow winced before ducking back under cover. She snuck another peek at the shore before responding, “I got tired of waiting.”

“They’ve been fucking for weeks!” A harsh whisper.

“Yeah, but they just now fell in love.” Rho massaged her ribs, “Sometimes a good cold shower snaps people out of their anxiety spirals.”

[vees-strangeworld-omniverse]

ARGONUS FAUNA: beast of sonias

(NOTE: descriptions copy-pasted from DA where i normally/originally post my works. any context that is missing here on tumblr can be found on my DA [linked here and on pinned post] )

[additional note: much of the first several post on argous's fauna use a human to scale instead of an E-class aircraft like i would end up doing later on. thus, animal's actual size relative to their world will be smaller. a bonus note to make is that this human perspective also includes names of the animals, so i'll be giving out alternate names and/or some explanation....]

so now we head over to the asia of argonus, aka sonias.

not unlike our asia, and also like other parts of the world, sonias has some interesting and unique fauna. not surprisingly (especially with these guys i drew), most of these weird wonders come from the jungles where diversity is at it's fullest. actually, alongside arid biomes, tropical climates are a hotspot for some of the "living fossils" of argonus...for some reason...

pantheronager -5ft at hips -dichobunoid ungulate -rainforest of KO laos (kingdom of laos)

    looking like the hybrid between a deer, horse and cat, pantheronagers are neither those three and are instead a "cat-sized" dichobunoid, an ancient group of ungulates more closer to whales and hippos. the surviving dichobunoids that exist in the sonian tropics aren't too different from their ancient relatives in terms of looks and behaviors, and the panteronager is no exception     typical of it's relatives, they're fleet-footed browsers that feed mostly on the foliage and fallen fruit within the forest floor. males are solitary most of the time (excluding mating season), while the females live in small groups of 2-4 with one of them being the alpha. however, unlike other species of surviving dichobunoid, they (alongside the other members of it's genus) have horns and tusks, two pairs each in true argonian fashion. both males and female have them; males use them to fight other males over territory and mates, females use them similarly to establish the pecking order, and both also use them a protection if cornered. every season, males will find a harem and mate with all the females, then leave once the fawns are born.     the panthonagars have been kept in captivity for quite a while. they're rather infamous in the pet trade, due to their high reproductive rates (females can have 2-3 fawns every 3 months) and rather surprising adaptability. this has lead them to become introduced into other tropical climates in cities and towns, though their saving grace from becoming completely destructive are the equally abundant introduced/adaptive predators , especially the stunnits and avibels aeronoids.

olmraptor -8ft tall -dromaeosaurid -forests of center kingdom.

    there are lots of "living fossils" with dinosaurs being no exception. this is probably because the kpg extinction event wasn't exactly like our own. instead of one big asteroid killing off the dinosaurs, a mixture of volcanic activity and a tiny dash of climate change had the Mesozoic reptiles start to fizzle out in the beginning of the Paleocene, leaving behind only the lucky ones that were adaptable enough to survive the changes. one of these lucky archosaurs to make it to the modern Holocene were the dromaeosaurids, more specifically the "Asiatic" members of velociraptorinae. such is the case with the olmraptor, a forest-dwelling descendant of those velociraptors.     the olmraptor, like all other non-avian/pterosaur archosaurs, have a line of spikes going down their backs. they're solitary hunters, preferring to catch small prey like rodents, invertebrates, lizards and birds. although diurnal, they're most active during the brighter hours of dusk and dawn. the male and female mate for life and, despite their solitary lifestyle, have their territories overlapping each other. every year, the male's coat becomes brightly colored, and they begin to start their collection of flowers and bones. when the male first starts this display, the collection starts in a small, shallow pile of grass and twigs. if he's lucky and manages to successfully gain the love of a female, they'll make that display pile into a nest and he'll use it every year to renew their love. both parent incubate the eggs, with the female doing most of the incubating as the male either gathers food or defends the female. when the babies hatch, they're almost fully developed and are able to start walking within their first hour of their life. once able to walk, both parents and offspring leave the nest where the babies are taught how to survive on their own. next season, they'll come back to that nest to start the process all over again.     like the pantheronager, they're kept as pets and are infamous for their high reproduction and adaptability. however, they are at least a little helpful in hunting and eating unwanted pest. olmraptors in the western hemisphere (especially amerigia) are popular in places like parks, country clubs and gated communities for their colors and pest control.

onisuchus -49ft long -crocodilian, converging onto kaprosuchus -tropical wetlands of indus     sometimes what seems to be a living fossil is actually just an animal converging onto a similar build to prehistoric animal. modern crocodilians are sometimes considered living fossils, given how alot of them haven't changed in the 100 millions of years being here. in some funny twist, most of the seemingly "mesozoic survivors" crocodilians aren't really that and are instead just a case of convergent evolution, such as the case with the onisuchus.     the onisuchus is a massive carnivore who's claim to fame is it's kaprosuchus-like looks and it's voracious appetite. they'll eat practically any animal they see fit for a meal, dead or alive. they're just as good swimmers as they are runner, and can run in short burst of speed to catch prey. they even have a body count; about 150 people per year, mostly humans and smaller elkinets, have their lives taken by this gluttonous archosaur. however, not everything is doom and gloom for the onisuchus; like all other surviving crocodilians they're great mothers that protect their young and move them away from danger (mostly other onisuchus). at least 2/3rds of all onisuchus-related deaths are due to people being unaware of a mother onisuchus's presence, or even the babies since they hang around dense foliage to further be protected. when the mother spots the threat, she'll not only kill the animal (or person), but also will ensure that the carcass wont attract other predators by eating their dead body. still, even with all these protective measures, lost of predator's still manage to steal her babies, and only 3 out of 10 of her babies will make it to adulthood.

striped tapir -13ft tall -tapiridae -tropics of southern sonias

    one of the very rare instances of an argonian species replacing an earth's species entirely, the striped tapir (aka baku to many humans) was though to be some kind of extreme argonian variation of the Malayan tapir, when in fact they're a completely different species that replaces the Malayan tapir entirely. like alot of perissodactyls, they have a semi-long tail, with the long hair making up a third of it's length. and, like most other tapir species on argonus, they also have tiny, little tusks on their mouths.     the behavior is not too different from other tapir species. they're mostly solitary, eats leaves and shoots, most active at night, and can be considerably dangerous when cornered (though the prefer to run first). 

if the tapir's ears look a bit weird, that's because i accidentally gave it two ears instead of four and didn't notice until i was typing this. so, i used mspaint as a makeshift photoshop and it surprisingly worked.

also, fun fact, the male olmraptor's colors are based off of the mononykus reconstruction from the weird & wild creature cards.

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

77?

full on mad scientist c!dream bc why not.

TW: Kidnapping, human experimentation, abuse, torture, implied suicide attempts, possessive behaviour, body horror, sleep deprivation, electrocution, drugging, and an incredibly unreliable narrator.

——

Day three of testing.

This subject seems more resilient than the others, and hasn’t broken under Dream's pulling and prodding yet. He thinks he might keep this one.

Caucasian male, roughly between fourteen and sixteen, blond hair, blue eyes. Six foot three and weighing far less than he should. Scars across his wrists, sleeping rough on the street, no missing person report. Either no one misses him or they think he's done the inevitable. Mouthy and loud, with a strange style of speaking that at first Dream categorised as obnoxious but has since found an odd charm in. Incredibly resilient, physically and mentally. Responds to positive reinforcement and praise far better than negative reinforcement and punishment, though both elicit amusing reactions.

What? Dream may be a scientist, but that doesn’t mean he can't have some fun every now and again. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

He doesn’t need a name- Subject 9 fits perfectly fine- but he loudly insists on being called Tommy with such a ferocity it is how Dream has started to mentally catalogue him as such. Never out loud- never show weakness, that gets you killed. Maybe one day, if Tommy earns it. If Tommy survives.

The idea of him dying seems wrong, somehow. He’s lasted longer than the others. Maybe Dream will take a new subject, for the riskier experiments, and keep Tommy to the relatively safer ones. Oh, he'll make him perfect someday, but he'll perfect that on others first, have them die on the operating table for him.

Somehow, Dream gets the feeling that Tommy wouldn’t appreciate that, and it only amuses him further.

There is a grace in his improvements most would not grasp. Patchwork grafts of skin, hiding the thin but durable layer of armour underneath. A hairless, prehensile tail, like a rats but rather more uneven. Mis-matched, oddly coloured eyes enabling perfect night vision. A mouth full of perfectly sharp, iron teeth, to fit his new dietary need for raw flesh. Horns jutting out of bloodied and raw flesh, irregular in shape, sharp enough to gore any man to death.

Most, Dream knew, would find the result horrifying. For Dream, it elicited the same sort of response as a particularly small kitten.

Of course, this was only a tiny fraction of the amount of changes needed to truly make the perfect being. He needed to be taller, stronger. Claws, hooves, stingers, spikes. A million lethal poisons at his disposal. Wings, large enough to allow his form to take into the air. Enhancements to the brain, cybernetics to allow him to think as fast and as logically as any supercomputer. Induced obedience- preferably, that of a sort that wouldn’t interfere with his hilarious shows of defiance that much.

Really, Tommy should be thanking him. Instead, he was being an ungrateful little wretch.

Sighing, Dream administers another shock to the half-conscious subject, forcing him to open his eyes yet again. “You’re not done.”

“I- I can’t do anymore, man.” Lazily, the ungrateful brat gestured at the course Dream had so generously built to test his abilities. “I haven’t slept in days. I can’t move.”

Fine. Dream's soft heart will be the death of him, he knows, because he can’t resist those puppy dog eyes. He'd let the kid have a few hours. But first…

“You want to sleep?” Dream grinned. “Beg for it, then.”

“Wha- why?” Tommy glared up at him, trying very hard to look intimidating and failing.

“If you’re not going to be doing our tests, for the greater good of all humanity, at the very least you can be of some entertainment, surely.”

The defeated look on Tommy's face was priceless. “I- I- please let me sleep, I promise I’ll do all the tests later, please, I’ll be good, I will, promise, sir-“

“Doctor.” Dream insisted.

“Yeah, yeah. Doctor. Just- I’m so fuckin' tired, man. Please.”

And how could Dream resist such a polite request?

Only the most minute of shock was visible on the subjects face as the needle pierced his flesh, before the medicine quickly glazed over, leaving him dazed in a second and asleep in two. Like an animal, in hibernation. How fascinating.

Draping the least bloody sheet he could find over his prone form like a blanket, Dream paused a second before leaving the cell, smiling. “Sweet dreams, my Tommy.”

[amaranthhiding]

Samwena Fanfic Preview

I’m still shocked that AO3 only has 501 Sam/Rowena fics at the time I’m writing this... and that’s including those that only have background Samwena. So I’m sharing a sneak peek of the first ~2000 words of my Sam/Rowena story with other Samwena enthusiasts. Maybe the preview can bring some excitement to someone out there—and some peace to me because today seems to be one of those days where my anxiety is spiking. Please be kind, I’m just a little bit terrified of hitting the “Post” button for this. Pairings: Sam/Rowena, Sam&Rowena friendship No secondary pairing. Other SPN characters’ involvement will be minimal, so far only a phone call with Dean. Rating: so far undecided (but the 2000 word excerpt here is teen-rated) Words: so far 17,500, but it’s far from finished. This story is not posted to AO3 yet. Tags: post-ep 13x19 “Funeralia”, Magic, Curses, Witches, Action & Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam POV, Rowena POV

Written for the prompt “Fool’s Gold” of the SPN RarePairTober, which I’m hopelessly late for. Story of my life.

Summary: Rowena shows up at the bunker after she has been targeted by a custom-made, lethal curse with the sole goal of destroying her. Under the shadow of this ticking timer of doom, she and Sam are left with a handful of days to prevent a slow, painful death. The search for a cure sees them on a last-minute flight to Central America.

A Metal Pursued by the Witless

Sneak Peek of the first 2000 words of Chapter 1

Sam

Sam sighed, feeling exhausted beyond the stinging in his eyes from too many hours of staring at the computer screen. All of it felt so… pointless when every lead they had on Gabriel turned out to be nothing but a dead end. Not even Rowena had been able to find the archangel, and Dean and Cas were on their way back from the latest road to nowhere, which left Sam alone in the company of his laptop and his own misery. He usually embraced the quiet, but right now it was far too loud.

It was impossible to focus when his thoughts kept spiraling back to all sorts of nightmares that their mom and Jack might be going through in that exact second. They were out there, fighting a war in a doomed universe, and there was nothing Sam could do about it. Nothing other than dig through that corner of the internet for anything angelic, with more alien sightings and 'My dog is the reincarnation of Elvis' posts than his sanity could handle right now.

Frustrated, he slid his laptop closed and pushed it away from himself to the other end of the table. He rubbed two fingers over the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt of releasing some tension. The cold wind outside howled along the bunker's outer wall and Sam breathed out a bitter chuckle at the thought that this was the perfect soundtrack to his life. All of this was on him. He'd made the call to return Gabriel's grace, naive enough to believe the archangel would side with them in return. As if Sam's willingness to trust in the good in people hadn't screwed them over enough times already. He—

Someone hammered against the bunker's door with all the urgency of another Apocalypse.

Sam got to his feet and climbed up the stairs with a frown, considering and discarding several possibilities of who he'd find on the other side of that thick layer of metal. Dean wouldn't forget the key, and there was no way Cas would ever knock like this. For an insane moment, Sam conjured the mental image of their mom and Jack being back home, just like that, no questions asked.

When the old hinges finally shrieked open in a gust of dried leaves, what greeted Sam was the sight of windswept red.

"Rowena?" he asked, not even trying to hide his surprise. "I, uh, I didn't expect you so soon after—"

Something on her face let the tiny smile die on his lips before it ever had a chance to exist.

No wisecrack, no flirtation. Not even an insult. This couldn't be good, Sam thought as he took in the wide-eyed look the witch directed his way. She seemed impossibly small wrapped in that long coat, another icy gust of wind pulling at her hair.

After a hurried glance back over her shoulder, she inhaled in the way one did before making grave statements. Sam waited patiently for whatever this was. Then she suddenly seemed to think better of it and simply shoved her way past him into the bunker.

"Sure, come on in," Sam commented sarcastically, lifting one of his hands with a palm upwards that said, 'Not like people in this bunker usually care what I think either.'

He could pinpoint the exact moment she seemed to come to a decision at the bottom of the stairs, squaring her shoulders before turning to look back up at him.

"Samuel," she said and attempted a smile that was nothing but a pale shadow of her usual air of grandiosity. "You see, there I was, enjoying a vanilla foam bath, when I thought to myself… I thought a seasoned witch like yours truly, with such considerable power…"

Her eyes lingered on the still open bunker door and Sam could swear he saw a flash of fear in them that Rowena masked quickly with another bright smile.

Sam narrowed his eyes, allowing the door to fall closed while noting the way Rowena's shoulders sank down in relief as soon as it sealed shut with a bang.

"I thought it was an affront that someone like me," she continued, undeterred. "...would be done in by a wee tracking spell!"

Fine, he'd play. By now Sam was absolutely sure that what she wasn't saying held the real information, so it took him a moment to process what had been said.

"Wait a second," he asked carefully, still not quite sure what to make of any of this. "Does that mean there's still hope to—to track Gabriel? You want to… try again?"

"There's no harm in trying, aye?" she asked, seemingly having recovered from whatever it was she wasn't telling him because the smile reached her eyes again.

"Uh, I mean, sure. And I appreciate you came all this way out here to try again, I do. But…" Sam frowned. "Didn't you say on the phone that Gabriel was too low on grace to give a blip on your radar? Especially without any belonging of his to lock onto?"

"Och, today's a new day! New chances, and all that."

Sam followed Rowena to the map table where she deposited her purse on one of the chairs. He watched as she dug out a crystal ball to place on the table. Only when she started hovering her hands over the glass sphere did Sam notice that she still hadn't taken off her coat or even the long black silken gloves concealing her hands and forearms.

"Ostende mihi illum quem quaero,"¹ Rowena chanted, the Latin easily flowing off her tongue in a way that Sam admired. He still felt awkward sometimes when he needed to pronounce the dead language instead of just reading it silently on a page, unsure if he truly got it right.

The glass ball remained dark.

Sam threw a surprised look Rowena's way, seeing her mutter something under her breath. For a reason he couldn't figure out, she removed only one of her gloves, returning the now uncovered hand to the glass sphere. Then her gloved hand shot out to grasp Sam's, leading it to the opposite side of the crystal ball.

"You've met Gabriel before, I haven't," she stated simply, holding his gaze as she repeated the incantation.

Sam felt a tingling sensation on his palm and the glass sphere flared to life, throwing a purple glow over the map table's North American continent. Rowena hissed suddenly as if in pain and Sam saw her pull the gloved hand back to her body. The purple glow began to flicker and fade.

"Focus, Samuel," Rowena admonished without averting her gaze from the crystal ball, and Sam cleared his throat hastily. He concentrated on the memory of Gabriel on the upper floor of the bunker, eyes glowing and the shadows of wings spread behind him.

The glow inside the glass sphere shifted from purple to blue, but then it died as abruptly as the hope he'd allowed himself to feel for a short moment.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I think your archangel," Rowena said in genuine regret, placing the crystal ball back into her purse, "doesn't want to be found."

"Yeah, that—he, um, he kind of left in a hurry," Sam explained, a miserable smile tugging at one corner of his mouth in the memory of his misjudgment.

Rowena glanced up at the bunker's exit door, then closed her eyes with a quiet sigh while fumbling with the loose glove between her fingers.

Sam decided the time for some truth had come.

"What's with the, um, the gloves?" he asked and saw the hesitation on Rowena's face before the smile that didn't reach her eyes returned.

"Only the finest silk. Imported, of course."

Sam huffed out a breath with an annoyed sidewards glance, pressing his lips together. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"That's—that's not what I meant. But I think you know that." He looked directly into her face, waiting until she finally met his eyes again. "Rowena," he implored softly. "Tell me what's going on?"

She hesitated again, longer this time, before averting her gaze to the table.

"Nothing," she replied in a not very subtle attempt of deflection. "Just that failing a simple tracking spell isn't the best for a witch's reputation."

"Rowena, I thought we'd moved past this," Sam said quietly, surprised at himself that he felt actual hurt over her refusal to tell him the truth. "After everything, do you really trust me so little?"

"You're the only one I trust," she objected instantly, followed by a look of utter shock at her own words.

Sam swallowed through the silence, touched by the visible truthfulness of the admission.

A chuckle suddenly burst out of her. "I must be mad, saying this to the one who's going to kill me. Out of all the people in the world."

His stomach sank at the reminder of that prophecy, the phantom touch of his pistol's trigger still burning on his fingers.

"For what it's worth," he said, clearing his throat another time to get rid of the taste of guilt. "I do not want to kill you. Never have, actually."

The genuine smile playing around Rowena's mouth just confirmed how truly deranged his life was for this to count as a compliment.

He reached for her gloved hand, slowly enough for her to pull away if she wanted. She let him.

"Do you want to know what I felt when you stopped that bullet?" he asked, and Rowena inclined her head in silent question.

"Relief," he stressed, and peeled the glove off her arm. The sight of what he found let the fabric slip from his fingers and sink to the ground. Where before there had been dark silk, he now saw dark-gray skin, dried out like something that had withered a while ago.

"Wh—what…," Sam stammered, unthinking.

"I had nowhere else to go," Rowena stated, the slightest shiver in her voice.

"What happened?"

"This bunker is the safest place I know," she continued, as if that had anything to do with his question.

"Rowena, who did this to you? Was it Lu—"

"Time," she said before he had a chance to finish pronouncing that name, and her smile was at odds with the terrified expression in her eyes. "It seems my past has finally caught up with me."

For the second time within a few minutes, Sam felt his stomach lurch.

"What, how—wait a second, why is this happening now? Your hands were fine two days ago!"

"It appears that the unrest in Hell set free an old enemy of mine. Olivette," she spit out the name with audible disdain. "Calls herself 'High Priestess'. She not only reassembled what's left of the Grand Coven, she somehow found enough fresh blood to bring it back to power. Not quite what it used to be, but enough to—"

Rowena cut herself off, swallowing as she picked up the fallen glove and put it back in place over her arm. She still seemed to be able to move the affected hand, though it looked far less dextrous than her other one.

"They—they ambushed me," she continued in a faraway voice, her gaze glued to her hand. "Those cowards didn't dare to face me in an open fight because they knew I'm the most powerful of them all. So they lay in wait with a curse on the doorstep of my hotel room. Ever since I passed the room's threshold, my body is no longer responding to life magic. And they're still there, cutting me off from all my belongings but the few things I've left in my handbag. I barely got away."

"Rowena, why didn't you say so right away? You can—you can stay here. We got supplies, whatever you need to break this curse."

"Curses are intricate magic. Only their creator knows the balance between the curse and the cure woven into its very fabric. Sam…," she said, and the gravity of the situation started to dawn on him when wetness rose in Rowena's eyes. "Unraveling this, it might take years. It's—it's time I don't have."

"How long do we have to fix this?"

"Judging by the current rate of progression..." She swallowed, then breathed out, "mere days." ¹: Show me whom I want.

[lamardeuse]

Temptation Tuesday

tagged by the massively talented and enabler extraordinaire @devirnis!

I don’t keep a lot of WIPs lying around - usually I think of it and write it - so the only one I have sitting around right now is a Strictly Come Dancing AU where Eddie is the latest hot Latino dancer from America and Evan Buckley is a firefighter with the London Fire Brigade. (I loved the idea of Karen, Janette and Eddie calling one another “New York”, “Miami” and “Texas” and dishing the dirt backstage in Spanish.) My sticking point with it is the tone, because it would need to deal with the aftermath of Grenfell and the culture of racist bullying in the LFB so it has the potential to be pretty grim. I might still write it but I’ll definitely have to plan it out carefully and right now I sadly lack the brain for that, but here’s the cute meet:

The first thing Eddie thinks is: goddamn, he is huge.

Not just ripped as hell, but tall, topping Eddie by half a head, which means he’s probably going to have to be the lead. And doesn’t that throw a monkey wrench into all of Eddie’s plans.

Plastering on a TV (sorry, telly) ready smile, he puts his best foot forward and extends a hand. “I’m Eddie,” he says. “And you must be Evan.”

“Buck, actually,” the guy says, returning the smile and making a small tingling feeling two-step along Eddie's nerve endings. “Everyone calls me Buck.”

“Your name is Buck Buckley?” Eddie asks, just as the guy’s warm, strong hand wraps around his and that tiny little tingle Eddie was feeling spikes to twenty thousand volts.

“Yeah, erm,” Buck begins, “it’s sort of a crap play on Evan Evans, because for a while there I was always traveling, and – you’ve never heard of them, have you?”

“Nope,” Eddie says. Evan’s – Buck’s eyes are a stunning, clear blue and his mouth has a sensual fullness to it that makes Eddie want to bite it.

Down, boy. Eddie has heard all about the Strictly curse from Karen, who has so many salacious stories about Blackpool after-parties and heated assignations outside of London clubs. She loves dishing the gossip while never being the subject of it herself; Eddie can only imagine what she’d have to say if he fucked the first guy who danced in a same-sex pairing on the show. He’d be on a plane back to LA before he could say Daily Mail.

Not that Buck Buckley – dios mio – is necessarily available, or interested in a fling that will doubtless get him paparazzi parked outside his door. But then, neither is Eddie. At the end of the day, he has a kid at home who comes first, and he’s not going to risk disrupting Christopher’s life for an affair.

Not that he'd be up for a relationship, either. That's not what he's here for; he can't afford to get too attached to anyone when he's not planning to be here any longer than he has to be.

Eddie belatedly realizes their hands are still entwined and pulls away, his fingertips gliding over Buck’s palm as they let go.

“I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out,” Buck says, clearing his throat. “My mates say I have all the grace of a day-old giraffe on ice.”

“Any of your ‘mates’ professional dancers?” Eddie asks.

Buck shakes his head. “Not a one.”

“Then they don’t know shit,” Eddie tells him. He looks Buck up and down. “How much do you deadlift?”

“Erm,” Buck thinks about it. “Last week it was eighty.”

“Pounds?”

Buck snorts. “Kilos, bruv.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, “holy shit.”

They can do lifts. Buck could lift him.

And then Buck ducks his head and smiles, and Eddie thinks, this is going to be fun.

Tagging whoever would like to participate! Have at it. <3

[ifuckinglovedinosaurssomuchjesus]

GODZILLA MOVIE MARATHON: Godzilla vs Gigan (1972)

We're really in the thick of it now, neck deep in the Champion series where budgets barely covered the catering bill, and god can you feel it.

The human element is laughably bad, another Goji movie to throw to the pile of forgettable plots meant just to be fast forwarded through. It's another alien invasion, directly meant to just rip off Invasion of Astro Monster, but this time the aliens don't even have cool costumes or flying saucers. It's like a sitcom, the entire movie takes place on, like, four sets. There's half a dozen aliens here attempting to take over the world, it's really not all that threatening or engaging. The whole movie has the energy of one of those cheap Hanna-Barbera cartoon episodes stretched to an hour. It's remarkably boring.

At least we get some good Kaiju scenes, right? Only if you like most of their runtime being stock footage with this horrible tint put over the top to try and make it look like night to match the original scenes. It's painful, genuinely.

The saving grace is our good man Gigan, though I argue most people know and love him from the next movie after this. Not only does he have a striking and unique design, but he has some great characterization, sadistically beating and taunting Godzilla and brutally slashing the good Kaiju to bits with bright red cartoon blood and everything.

It's also nice to see Anguirus again, this is the movie that turned him into "Godzilla's best buddy" that's a common characterization in the fandom. He even gets some good moments, like backwards slamming into Ghidorah with his spikes.

Speaking of Ghidorah, poor guy does not want to be here. If you cut out all the reused stock footage, Ghidorah literally does nothing but stand there. Mainly because the suit was so old and required so many people to move it that the budget didn't allow it to do much. Still, him just standing in the sidelines, refusing to help Gigan is hilarious. I love when Gigan tries to do a little claw slap but Ghidorah just ignores him and when they start arguing right in the middle of the fight. It all comes across as Gigan thinking they're closer friends than they actually are, it's genuinely funny.

So, this movie should sit around the same score as the others of its type right? Bad human plot but fun monster action usually comes out as mid, but I genuinely can't even give it that. The monster scenes in this movie are mostly boring too, they're so full of stock footage and awkwardly shot that I just ended up zoning out. The most fun I had while watching this movie was when my recliner fell over.

It's just bad, there's some good moments here and there but it's a tiny fraction of what's mainly a boring as tar experience. It gets a 3/10 from me, but luckily I don't think the series will reach a low this bad for at least a couple decades, so it's uphill from here.