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confused-pyramid · 3 months

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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!)

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lokisgoodgirl · 9 months

Text

Asgard's Greatest Lover [Brodinsons]

Part of the Brother Collection A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: An offhand comment leads to a salty trip down memory lane. (w/c 1.4k) Warnings: Squabbling. D*ck measuring contests to fluff. Implied smut references.

“Loki, she’s looking over-” Despite best efforts to ignore it, the meaty elbow jostling the god’s ribs made him wince. “Loki, look, in the stand yonder. She’s looking, Loki- look” Thor boomed excitedly, bouncing in his seat. “Will you desist?” Loki spat, hissing under his breath.

He could feel blood warming his cheeks, the volume of Thor's attempt at subtlety making him wish a portal would swallow him whole. He shouldn't have come. He didn't even like tennis. And yet, as always, here he was. With his public embarrassment of a brother. Loki grimaced as Thor began to point.

“But look hence...she noticed you! Perhaps she wishes to bid us good day.” He began to raise his arm, the start of a floppy wave which would likely be seen from space. “Wave, Loki- look, brother, see-!” Loki’s hand shot out, forcing the over-excited gesture down. “She’s wondering if you have utterly lost control of your faculties, brother;” Loki snarled, trying his best to look menacing. “As am I.”

Thor chortled, straightening a muscle vest which was three sizes too small. “Oh, Loki. You never have been very good at this sort of thing,” he sighed, letting his enthused gaze roam up and down the pristine grass court as Stark Industries friends and family took their seats. “It truly is a boon that you have one such as I to guide you in this romantic endeavour.” Loki raised his brows. He knew he shouldn’t take the bait. Especially in public. Especially today. But it was just too tempting.

“Whatever could you mean, brother?” he crooned, giving his most stoic side-eye with a tilt of his chin. He felt Thor bristle, telltale nervous fingering of blonde strands behind his ear letting Loki know the warning pitch of his voice had hit as intended.

“Well, Loki, it’s no secret that your love life has been fraught with unfortunate malaise where seduction is concerned,” “Unfortunate?” Loki said coldly, “I wouldn’t call a reputation as Asgard’s greatest lover unfortunate.”

Thor spluttered, shaking his head with sanctimonious laughter. “Ah, my little brother. I do admire the unshakeable esteem with which you hold your delusions.”

The dark brother’s grip tightened on the bleacher bench. “And I suppose you believe that title belongs to you, does it?” he sneered through gritted teeth. Poison flecked the words, dripping from his tongue like venom from a fang. Thor’s eyes narrowed. “I have the relic which proves it,” he shrugged.

“The one our mother gave you in solace when Jane left?” Loki snarled, “Pathetic. I doubt she even knew what it truly meant, just echoed your boorish claims thinking it was based in chivalry,” he paused. “At least, I hope that was her intent.” They stared at each other in pregnant silence.

“It matters not that mother gifted me said ceramic receptacle,” Thor said through gritted teeth. “What matters is, that my legend reaches far beyond the bifrost to bedchambers across nine realms, brother.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Whereas yours is rather more contained to the palace servant quarters.” “That was one instance,” Loki spat, “and she was the most comely chambermaid we’d ever had.” “I’m sure,” Thor huffed, rolling his eyes. He brought one fist in front of Loki’s face, flexing an ostentatious bulge of bicep. “I was too busy giving the princess of Nilfheim a shudder of my very special thunder to notice.” He smirked, delivering a slow wink to punctuate his prowess. “She was never the same afterwards, you know.” Loki stared open mouthed, before he burst into raucous laughter.

From across the court, Steve immediately stood with a snap; hands on his hips with the most uptight death glare Loki had ever seen. “This is tennis,” Steve squawked. “For gosh’s sakes, have some respect.”

Through tears of mirth, Loki saw you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle. She recognises that Rogers is ridiculous, he thought. Good. That’s good.

Regaining his composure, Loki straightened. He smoothed his hair behind his ears, picking up the gauntlet his brother had carelessly cast down.

“Never the same. Quite.” he mused thoughtfully, collecting himself. “I can believe that your relentless dry-thrusting, lack of imagination and moans which sound suspiciously like the name of your talisman would scar her for life, yes.” “Leave Mjölnir out of this,” Thor snapped. Loki smirked, eyes wandering casually to where you sat. “The rumours are true then. Interesting.” he murmured slyly. Thor crossed and re-crossed his legs, the bleacher creaking beneath his weight. “She was perfectly satisfied,” the blonde grumbled, shifting his feet. Loki snorted. “Brother, you could not satisfy a woman if the key to unlocking her pleasure was written in parchment and propped upon her belly.” Thor stared, blankly. “Ah, yes – I forgot. A woman’s pleasure is not your forte is it,” Loki sneered, casting a quick glance towards his brother’s reddening face. “From what I heard, your attempts have been tragic at worst and laughable at best-” “Loki,” Thor warned, glancing anxiously at the people filling the seats behind them. But Loki continued, un-phased.

“Did you truly think you were to rub it with your chin?” He let out a harsh ooo, before sucking the air between his teeth.

“Those unfortunate women,” he drawled with feigned solemnity. “They didn’t want to hurt your feelings. ‘Asgard’s greatest lover’...please.” Thor tried to speak then thought better of it. Loki felt the glee begin to rise in his chest as he tasted victory in the air. “I felt moved for her when she hobbled from your chambers, poor thing. What did she cite for her impromptu departure, I wonder? Headache, was it?” He looked at his brother. The glazed look of bamboozled betrayal in his eyes told Loki that he was in fact, correct.

“Thankfully, I had just run a rather luxurious bath for myself which the lady found most soothing to aid her discomfort,” Loki purred, throwing his scarlet-faced sibling a knowing glance. “She was very grateful for my healing hands. And other anatomical attentions.”

Thor stared with slack-jawed disbelief.

The dark-haired god flicked his keen gaze towards you again. He let his eyes track up the skin of your bare calf, glinting in the afternoon sun. Supple, he pondered; thanking the Norns for the light breeze which rustled your skirt. On cue, you sipped from a large water bottle. Loki smirked.

“I was not aware that I was now a figure of such...ridicule. How times have changed.” Loki frowned as his moment of voyeurism was disturbed by Thor’s quiet mewl. With a sigh of resignation he swivelled, their knees touching. He reached for his brother’s hand, lowering his chin with sincerity in his eyes.

“Brother, that is not so” Loki said softly, “you have always been a figure of ridicule.”

Thor let out a shaky laugh, nodding. “I can always count on you to cheer me, brother” he said, patting Loki’s hand. Loki nodded once in acknowledgement. “Perhaps the next time you think yourself above me in the art of seduction, you will remember this conversation.”

“One can hope,” Thor chirped.

Loki rolled his eyes, retracting his hand. Polite clapping erupted as the first of the day’s players walked onto the court, waving at the crowds. He could feel Rogers suspicious stare burning into him from the other side of the grass, but he paid it no mind. “You truly think the odds are in my favour, brother?” Loki murmured thoughtfully, nodding subtly in your direction.

The two of them craned to catch a glimpse, the figure of his affections now half-obscured by a sea of lesser bodies. Your demure facial expression gave nothing away, but a pat on the shoulder from Natasha soon made you break into a dazzling smile. How she is not a goddess, I shall never know, Loki pondered; feeling his heart melt into his stomach and transform to a sea of butterflies. The redhead nudged her chin upwards, urging you to look up where the two gods stood. Staring. “Gods,” Loki hissed regretfully, continuing to clap like a fool. There was nothing else to be done. The boorishness of his brother had once again drawn the wrong kind of attention. But try as he might, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Perhaps she has some magic of her own, he mused.

Thor’s elbow jostled against his ribs, “I told you, Loki” he chortled, “god of chaos or not, I would say that the odds are most definitely in your favour where your lady is concerned.” “Truly?” Loki breathed, his heart beating faster as you gave him a small, bashful wave. “Truly,” Thor said, giving his brother’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Tags (if you'd rather stick with smutty stuff please let me know!) @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @goddessofwonderland @muddyorbsblr @arch-venus25 @nine-leafclover

#loki fluff #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki and thor #loki x reader fluff #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki gif #loki marvel #loki fanfic #jotun #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x female reader

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amsgrey · 3 months

Text

Clouds

resquested by @rainechase45

warnings: descriptions of a car accident/crash, reader sustaining mild injuries in said crash, mention of blood and broken bones (not in-depth), description of hypothermia + hypothermia-related symptoms, reader really just going thru it in every way, metaphors for death, very bad metaphor writing

Authors Note: I got about 2000 words into this before i remembered that americans have different cars to kiwis. Hopefully, any mistakes are fixed but if they're not, it's because kiwis drive on the left side of the road not the right.

When you first got your driver's permit, Will and Jay wouldn't let you drive without them. Even though you had completed the course and passed the driving test, they still didn't want you driving alone. Which wasn't an issue really, when you didn't have your own car anyway.

Now you have had your license for almost ten months. Will let you borrow his car from time to time. Today was one of those days. A friend from school lived outside of the city and Will had let you borrow his car to go see them. The drive was only about 45 minutes, not too long with your music blasting. Will and Jay were both working late, so you stayed for dinner with your friend and then started the drive home. It was 7 pm at least by the time you hit the road. The temperature was already 8 °F and only grew colder.

You always hated driving at night and in the rain, but both at the same time was a nightmare. It wasn't just rain now, sleet came down so hard and fast your wipers hardly had time to keep up. Driving in these conditions was dangerous, even for experienced drivers. So you slowed down, turned down the music and tried to limit the distractions. If you crashed Will's car he would never let you drive ever again.

Even with the wipers at full speed and your high beam lights on, the sleet made it near impossible to see. There was no one else on the road, at least, not in front of you. There was an SUV behind you in the left lane, you caught glimpses of its shape through the sleet every now and again. They were going much faster than you were, steadily becoming a larger shadow in your mirror. Eventually, you could see their lights fully in your mirrors. You let out a grumble as you realized they too had their high beams on. Flipping the tab on your rearview mirror didn't change the fact the wing mirrors were blinding you too.

"What on earth," You groaned, the only other car on the road, the only one you had seen in the last 20 minutes was burning holes in your eyes.

Everything changed so quickly. The SUV was speeding up, gaining speed even against all the wind and sleet. Then the car was hydroplaning on the ice and sleet on the road, it swung out of control, swerving from their lane and into your own. You couldn't look away from the mirror, watching in horror as the car kept spinning out of control. It slammed into the side of your car, hitting hard against your door as it pushed you off the road. Both of your cars slid down a bank, only coming to a stop when there was nowhere else to go.

You could feel the seat belt cutting into your chest, you wanted to claw it away but it wouldn't budge. The glass from the now smashed window was cutting through your skin, on your face, your arm, even a few pieces had cut their way through your jeans.

The cold was what kept you conscious. It flooded into your car, breaking the bubble of warmth and ripping away any sense of comfort you had seconds earlier. You weren't sure if it was tears or blood running down your face, but either way, you tried to clear your mind. There was a first aid kit in the glove box, one Will had made, if you could reach it you could help yourself.

You forced yourself to go through the checklist Will ingrained in you. Starting with your head, you made note of the concussion you likely had, then your neck, whiplash for sure. Your chest next, which was in pain from the seatbelt, but nothing else you could tell for now. Your left arm was broken, but that was a problem for another time. Your legs were squished, but you should move your feet and toes without any pain. That was as good as it was going to get, you had to get out of here. The longer you stay in here, with the sleet soaking through your clothes, the longer you put yourself at risk.

With a bit of wiggling and stubbornness, you managed to unclip the seatbelt. It didn’t move much, but with it not so tight you could now push it away from you and start the process of wiggling out of your seat. You climbed over the center console, taking your time to avoid smashed glass or hurting yourself further. Once in the passenger seat, you pulled open the glove box, dragging out the kit and rummaging through it. You ripped open one of the gauze packets, pressing it to the left side of your forehead, the sting causing you to hiss. You continued anyway, forcing yourself to open the plastic package with a sling in it. You forced the knot over your neck. Sucking in a deep breath you forced yourself to move your arm into the sling, clenching your jaw in until the pain subsided. After ten minutes of breathing through the pain, you decided enough was enough. You had to move, even if you didn’t want to, you had too.

Throwing open the door, you forced yourself out into the weather. The first aid kit stayed tucked under your arm so that you could help the other car. Walking up the incline was harder than getting out of the car, the pain from your arm and the other scrapes and bruises weighed you down. One step at a time. One foot after another. Eventually you made it to the driver's door. The windscreen was smashed, webbed cracks making it impossible to see through. You reached for the handle on the driver side, using it to steady yourself the last few steps then yanking it open. Inside, the driver was hunched over his steering wheel.

“Hey,” You tried to shake his shoulder, but he didn’t respond, “Please, no.”

You took a deep breath, then placed two fingers to the man's coritod, trying to calm the sound of your own heartbeat to feel the man.

10 seconds passed.

20.

30.

Nothing. No Pulse. No Signs of Life.

You pulled your hand away slowly, as if not to disturb him.

“I’m so sorry,” You pulled away, stumbling a few steps back.

By now, you could guess it had been almost half an hour. Half an hour in the sleet and rain, with no coat, no dry clothes. No one would be able to see you from the road, there was no barrier or break in a fence. No one could see you. You were at risk, you knew any longer out here would kill you. You had to call for help. Forcing yourself to walk back down the slope to your car was hell. Your entire body shook, every time you took a step, your legs shook and you had to take extra time to steady yourself. When you finally got back to where you started, the passenger side door, you used your right arm to pull yourself back into the car. You had left your phone in the holder on the

There were no lights on in your car, nor the other one, so you had to search with light from the moon and strained eyes. You patted down the floor of the passenger side, nothing. Leaning over the console you tried the driver side. Avoiding the mangled parts was hard, no wonder your leg was scratched up and sore. Eventually your fingers found an irregularity, your phone face down on the ground. You yanked it up, pulling it to your face and trying to turn it on. With the screen facing you, you could see the damage. It was like it had been through a blender, the only intact part of the phone being your case. It was useless. A glorified paperweight.

“Fuck!”

40 minutes in these wet clothes. You had never been so cold in your life. It was as if there was no heat left in the world, the comfort of warmth was a fleeting memory. The aggressive shivering was making it hard to do anything, but you were more worried about what would happen when you stopped shivering. Growing up in Chicago, with a doctor brother, meant you heard all about how hypothermia could sneak up on a person. Most people didn't see it coming, didn’t know the signs. You were painfully aware of them.

The racing heart. Tachycardia.

The cold white fingers. Your body pulling blood from your extremities to protect your core.

Next it would be the brain fog, shock, the feeling of being overheated. There was no telling when it could strike.

The other driver's phone.

A lightbulb went off, literally.

If you wanted to survive, you had to get back to the other driver. You had to fight.

Finding the driver's phone felt like grave robbing. You could see it sitting in his cup holder. Some kind of miracle it hadn’t bounced out. You had to lean over the man to get the phone, trying not to move him or touch the blood that was staining his clothes. With the phone in hand, you gripped it with two hands to press the power button and activate the emergency call. You pressed the phone to your ear, it rang twice.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I was in an accident,” You answered, “I need an ambulance.”

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m not shivering anymore. I’m not shivering.”

Your arm dropped, phone tumbling into the snow on the ground.

“It’s not cold anymore.”

“Dispatch, we’re going to need a Medevac.”

“Hey kid,” The paramedic was trying to keep you alert, “Not far from a hospital, okay?”

“It’s too hot,” You slurred, strapped to the gurney in preparation of the Medevac, covered in foil safety blankets.

“I know, love,” The woman was so nice, her voice was so soothing. “Just hold on a little longer, yeah?”

You could hear the sound of the helicopter approaching, a steady rhythm. It grew louder and louder. it felt as if it was taking the rhythm from your heart, as the helicopter got louder you could feel your heart getting quieter.

The deafening sound and the wind that came from the chopper made you feel like you were hallucinating. The whole time as you waited for help, half conscious in the snow. It was nothing much at first, shooting stars, the moon glowing brighter and brighter. Then it was Will’s voice, Jay’s humming. All the things that reminded you of warmth, of that all encompassing feeling.

Holding onto your own consciousness was like trying to hold onto a cloud. You could just see it, sense it, but physically touching it, holding it… it was nearly impossible.

A moment of clarity had you reeling it in, forcing your eyes open.

Inside the chopper was just as loud. But more hectic. A symphony of chattering radios, yelling voices and beeping machines.

“My brother,” You croaked.

“Don’t speak, kid,” The Medevac paramedic was a different man, older than the paramedic from before. He looked like a dad.

“My brother, Doctor Halstead… Chicago Med.”

The man's face was out of focus, but you could see the realization on it. He knew what you were asking.

He turned to the other body in the back of the shopper, the one that was just a blur of blue shapes, “Get him on the radio now.”

He looked back at you, “What’s your name kid?”

You whispered it back to him, voice raw and mouth dry. You felt like you were drenched in sweat. Everything was burning. The clouds in your mind were getting further and further away, but you forced yourself to hold tight to consciousness. You needed to talk to Will. You had to talk to him.

“My name's Tom,” The paramedic was placing headphones over your ears, adjusting the mic so that your voice might reach it, “I’ve got you, alright, kid? Just take it easy.”

The other person was speaking, explaining something. You could hear the bass of his voice through the headphones, like he was speaking inside your head. But he might as well have been speaking another language, because nothing he said made any sense. Your eyes were so tired, burning from the lights inside the chopper, even though you knew they were as low as they could go. Light flares made it impossible to focus, everything blending and swirling in a sickening live painting. Nothing was peaking through those clouds now. They were dark, cold, and sinister. The ones that roll through right before a thunderstorm, before everything went haywire.

But then there was sun, a beam of warmth that basked you in calmness.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Will. The warmth that kept you safe.

If you had been in your right state of mind, you would be able to hear the strain in his voice, the pure anguish. But you didn’t. All your brain could comprehend was that he was there.

“I love you,” You whispered, not sure if it would be heard.

Tom repeated your words, mumbling something about numbers or stats dropping.

“I love you too.” Will replied, “I love you so much. I will always-”

Will cleared his throat, it registered somewhere in the very back of your mind now. He was crying.

“I will love you, forever. No matter what happens, sweetheart.”

Will didn’t call you sweetheart anymore. It was always squirt. Sweetheart was what he called you as a child, the nickname that fizzled out when you turned 10 and having a hovering older brother was embarrassing. Again, that feeling of warmth returned. The feeling of lying in the sun after a swim, letting it dry you and warm you slowly. It was calm, gentle, nurturing. The warmth that made plants grow and flowers bloom. That you had spent your whole life with. Will was the sun in your family. Warm, nurturing and oh so loving. Always there, reliable and steady. If Will was the sun, then Jay was the moon. That Light that guided you through the dark. The one that brought coolness, serenity and wiseness. Jay was the one that kept you calm. Taught you to stand on your own two feet, to fight. The moon was always there, every single night. Sometimes it hid, keeping its light hidden, but it was always watching.

Your brothers, your lifelines.

The steady thrum of the helicopter was growing silent. Replaced with a ringing that pulled you into a clear empty and dark sky.

There were no more clouds. There was nothing.

Will was on the roof as soon as he got word the chopper was getting close. The fear and anxiety that ran through his blood was making it hard for him to focus. He was standing by with strict orders not to intervene. When Goodwin had heard what was happening, she had made sure WIll knew that he could not be involved in treatment at all. No matter what, he could only watch.

“I got this, Will,” Marcel assured Will. Marcel was a brother, he knew what it was like to worry over his sister.

“I know,” Will responded, the words meant nothing. Nothing anyone could say would stop the thumping of his heart, the fear in his veins.

As the chopper landed, Will watched Marcel and the trauma nurses run in, a practiced team. The hand-off was smooth as it could be, then everyone was running back inside, headed to the ED. Elevator rides with patients were always slow and nerve racking, now was no different. The Helipad was only a few floors above the ED, the distance was hardly far enough to feel as long as it was.

“Baghdad's free” Maggie called as they barrelled into the ED. Marcel started barking orders, calling stats, medications. Will had done the routine before, thousands of times. Now, watching from outside the room,everything felt foreign and new.

Marcel and Trinny cut off your damp clothes, replacing them with warm blankets and heat packs.

“Temp check?”

“61.2. Heart rates dropping. 62, 56, 43…”

Maggie grabbed Will's arm, pulling him back as the monitors flatlined.

“Get me an amp of epi!”

"Epi’s in.”

“Hold compressions…”

“No pulse.”

“Resume compressions.”

Will looked at his watch, the minutes were ticking by.

“Alright,” Crockett switched with Asher on compressions, taking a step back, “Temps up to 63…”

“It’s been ten minutes,” Asher said through compressions, “Should we try ECMO?”

Marcel turned to Will, not for permission, but to see if he was following. THe face that Marcel saw was full of hopelessness. This wasn’t Will Halstead the ED Doc, it was Will Halstead the big brother.

“Maggie?”

“On it, Marcel,” Maggie stepped away from Will barking her own orders at nurses.

How is this happening?

Nothing else could take up space in WIll’s mind. Why was this happening?

This morning when you had left, you showed Will the weather forecast, telling him it would be cold and rainy, that you would take your time and go slow. He knew you would too. You hated driving in the rain, so you were always alert.

This morning, you had dropped him at work and yelled out the window, “Don’t kill anyone!” Before cackling and driving away.

You were so full of life when he last saw you.

Now all he saw was a limp body that shared your face.

“Will?” Jay's voice from across the ED.

Will wasn’t just your big brother. He was Jay's too. At that moment, he knew Jay needed him.

Will stepped away from the treatment room, intercepting Jay before he could get too close.

“Listen to me,” Will pulled him aside, grabbing his shoulders, “You don’t want to see her right now. Marcel and Asher are working on her, they have it handled.” Lies. They were lies, or half-truths, either way, Will didn’t believe them.

“How did this happen?”

The Halstead brothers didn’t cry much, but now the both of them were tearing up. The fear of losing the light of their lives was weighing them both down.

“That’s not important right now,” Will forced himself to say, “Right now, all that matters is she is getting treatment.”

Jay nodded, he pulled out of Will’s grasp and turned to Hailey. She had watched the whole exchange, but Will hadn’t seen her until now. She looked like she might cry too. The same thoughts circling in the Halstead brothers minds were circling in her own.

“She’s strong,” Hailey croaked out, “She’ll be okay. When she wakes up, she’ll have us, and she’ll be okay.”

Will smiled at his sister-in-law. She really meant it, her belief giving Will something tangible to hold onto. If Hailey saw the way out, he would too.

“I got a pulse!”

The beeping of machines never sounded so sweet. A steady even beat.

Will hadn’t prayed in so long, but he let slip, “Thank you, God.” A silent prayer followed.

Where there was once nothing, now there was a wide blue sky, littered with meager clouds. They weren’t the ones that looked like faces or shapes, they were so small that they almost blended into the sky. But they were there. You could see them, feel them. God help you, you were going to reach them.

The sun was out today too, a warm glow that set the perfect temperature. A spring morning with the first blooming flowers. The moon was there too, a watery reflection against the blue. It felt so serene here. The sun was calling to you, warming you in its embrace. You chose then, this would not be your goodbye to the sun and moon.

Opening your eyes was the hardest challenge of the day. It was harder than walking up that slope, or staying conscious in the helicopter. Your body screamed for sleep, but you were too stubborn. You had to see the sun.

“Will, Jay, get in here.”

A warm hand on the side of your face, another one cradling your hand so gently.

“We’re here, sweetheart.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

This time they were real. When your eyes focused, there were your brothers. Your warmth on a cold day, the light on a dark night. When your eyes fluttered shut again, you knew they would watch over you, keep you tethered. You weren’t fearful of what would happen this time, they were looking out for you.

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undertale-yellow · 5 months

Text

Experimental Patch 1.1.0

First, we would like to thank everyone for the incredible reception we've got for UTY 💛 it's been surreal in the best way

We do hear your feedback though, and have worked to address what we can in a new patch for Undertale Yellow. Please be warned, we haven't been able to test everything with this patch, but we're confident it should work in a normal playthrough

Thank you once again for playing and giving feedback! We realize these are not all the issues that have been brought up, but we will continue to work toward improving the game!

You can download Undertale Yellow version 1.1.0 on Gamejolt!

**This new build will recognize any ongoing save, so just make a new folder for the zip contents or replace the old ones and you're good to go

Changelog under the cut ↓

Major Changes

Added two new accessibility options: - Easy mode: When enabled, the Hats now provide DEF values for an easier experience (can be changed mid playthrough) - Auto Rhythm: When enabled, automatically hits the notes in the rhythm fight without having to press a button, if you are in the correct lane

Reworked the final pacifist boss fight attacks to be less chaotic and unpredictable

During a chase sequence, a character was supposed to slow down every time they catch you in the chase, it now works as intended

Added an Act heal to the final No Mercy route boss (Also fixed a crash caused by this Act option being partially implemented but not working)

Crashes and Softlocks

Fixed a crash caused by using the “shoo” command twice during the dunebud duo fight

Fixed a crash caused by interacting with an object while completing the minecart puzzle

Fixed being able to backtrack on the second steam puzzle, which could lead to a crash and your save being ruined

Fixed a crash caused by pressing Z on frame 1 of the attack targetting cursor

Fixed a crash caused by a demo saved game being present on your system

Fixed a softlock caused by blocking Mo’s path as he’s leaving

Fixed a softlock caused by interacting with the crystal tree in Snowdin from the left

Fixed a softlock in the final pacifist boss fight where the selection soul would disappear from the menu

Fixed a softlock caused by sending one of the mine carts off track

Fixed an issue that caused one of Cactony’s attacks to never end

Fixed a softlock caused by mashing through the text fast in the raft room in Snowdin

Fixed a softlock caused by turning around immediately upon entering one of the rooms in the lategame

Fixed a very specific bug that caused you to get stuck on a bridge upon retrying a fight under it

Fixed a crash during the Guardener fight that could happen on her last line of dialogue

Fixed an unrelated softlock in the Guardener fight

Fixed a crash on the final No Mercy boss caused by getting hit on the same frame as you defeat the boss

Other

Fixed the tutorial buttons being swapped in the arcade minigame, also added additional information to the tutorial screen

Changed the Delta Rune Patch gold requirement from 150 to 100

Increased the item stock in the final shop of the No Mercy route (Applies on save reset)

Fixed mistakes in the credits

Fixed several line breaks, typos and mistakes in the text

Altered one of Sir Slither’s act dialogues to make the sparing condition more apparent

Added an autosave post the final pacifist boss as a temporary help with reported performance issues in this cutscene

Added the Auto-Fire toggles to the death screen of relevant fights so you don’t need to restart the game and fights in order to change it

Fixed a mood ruining issue in the final act caused by an unintended random event

Other minor fixes

#undertale yellow #uty #uty.update #uty.posting

184 notes · View notes

chaseadrian · 2 years

Text

red light at the bowling alley

You graduated high school, Eddie didn't. Twice. After spending all four years in Hellfire with him, adulthood got the best of you, and the friendship faded over the following two years. Wracked with guilt and missing your friend, you finally spot his van late one night, and you’re determined to win him back.

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, old friends to strangers to lovers, cheesiness, groveling, degradation, giving & receiving oral, fingering, dom!eddie, light angst, unprotected sex, van sex, semi-public, light choking, fluffy aftercare word count: 6.4k+ a/n: this was supposed to just be a drabble request but i got extremely carried away. uhh this is my first time writing eddie so thoughts and feedback would be appreciate, as always.

Hawkins wasn't a big town. It wasn't the sister-slapping, willfully-ignorant, our-population-trends-downward hick towns that you could find in Indiana, but you were wont to find someone you knew just about every time you went out. So, when you saw the battered, dark van of Eddie Munson in the middle of the Hawkins Lanes parking lot, it wasn’t a surprise.

Eddie Munson, with the dreamiest dark eyes you’d ever seen, and hair that you’d watched grow all throughout high school. Even in the awkward phases you’d imagined combing your fingers through it, working out the knots, telling him “it’s not that bad” when he cracked up at himself in the mirror. As long as you’d known him, you hadn’t seen anyone come close to touching that hair.

Of course, when you were sat hunched around a wobbling table—Eddie’s eyes shifting over yours as he scanned the party—girlfriends and boyfriends and the world at large, they weren’t the hot button topic. All four years of high school you sat at that table every other Friday, saw countless deaths, mourned several characters, and then you walked across the stage and suddenly you were an adult. Suddenly money and college and the future took precedence over those nights with Eddie and the parties that had come and gone and come back again.

It was a high school club, after all, and you made it out.

The same couldn’t be said for Eddie, who was a repeat senior, who found himself on the same playing field as the sophomores you recruited into the club. You’d heard the whispers, the slander and libel over a tabletop game, the cult conspiracy. Eddie the troublemaker, the ringleader, the host. Why else would a 20-year old stay in high school for so long if not to corrupt America’s youth? There was no way he was just…bad at math, right?

You’d never believed it, and after all was said and done, after the pitchforks were dulled and the fires snuffed out, you were relieved to have been right.

Eddie played hard into the “freak” moniker, and maybe he was somewhere under that smile, but he was also the Eddie that sought out lonely high school kids. The ones who would break under the pressure, not bend to it.

The ones like you.

Your car sat idle across the street, eyes fixed on Eddie’s van in the rearview mirror. Several moments passed before you could get out of the car, before you’d decided to yourself that it wasn’t weird to go up to his van. Wasn’t weird at all and, if he asked, you were just checking up on an old friend. An old friend who you’d seen around town several times and looked away. An old friend who was becoming more of a stranger every time you couldn’t meet his gaze.

You’d chickened out of a moment like this many times before, but tonight there was something in you that was tired of turning the other way. Tired of feeling guilty for not reaching out, because maybe Hellfire was in your past. Maybe it was something you’d never get back, but, turning on your heels with your hands shaking at your sides, you hoped the same couldn’t be said for Eddie.

Hustling across the street, you slowed your pace as you approached the van, fists balling up the fabric of your dress. Eddie was never intimidating, not as long as you’d known him, but right now you were on the verge of a heart attack. The muffled music from the van beat in time with your chest, and from the side view mirror you could see the distinct mass of Eddie’s hair shaking around.

The sight melted the tension in your muscles, reminded you of all the nights he’d driven you home with Dio blaring, the van swerving on the empty roads as he head banged.

Except, it wasn’t metal that you heard as you got closer to the half open window. It was…

“Peter Gabriel, huh?”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie jumped, smashing his fingers into the radio to turn it off. He rolled the window up the rest of the way.

You knocked on the glass, “Eddie, come on, it’s me. Open up.”

“No!” He sat facing straight, his hands hanging over the top of his steering wheel, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“It’s a good song! Sledgehammers are metal, right? It counts!”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, eyes flicking toward you for a second before he started tapping his thumbs on the rubber. Eddie was never one to feel embarrassed. He knew what everyone thought when they looked at him, even after the witch hunt over spring break. It didn’t change him, and you doubted the tense moment now was just because you caught him vibing with something that wasn’t his typical taste.

You thought back to headbanging in the car, how you just sat there, laughing at him without headbanging yourself. How you stayed out of the mosh pits while Eddie threw himself right into the fire. When Eddie jumped on the lunch tables, you ducked your head down. You were fine being a groupie all those years in the garage, but you weren’t his friend anymore, and blending in wasn’t gonna convince him to roll down the window.

Tapping your foot on the pavement, you closed your eyes and shook your head.

“I wanna be…your sledgehammer Why don't you call my name?”

You cringed at the echo of your voice in the night air, but Eddie tilted his head as he turned to look at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Ah! Oh, let me be your sledgehammer. This will be my testimony, Yeahhh.”

You tapped your hands on your sides, getting a little more into the moment, refusing to open your eyes. As far as you knew, the parking lot was barren except for you and Eddie and you’d rather keep it that way.

Eddie’s voice surprised you as he filled in the final “Yeah!” of the chorus, and you opened one eye to peek at him, the window fully down and an amused smile on his lips.

“Alright, alright hop in.” He crouched out of view, and you hurried to the other side of the van as he opened the sliding door, taking the hand he offered to climb up. You stepped between empty beer cans, and Eddie’s hand came sweeping after you to push them away. “Sorry.”

He hopped up after you, shutting the door and leaning into the driver’s seat to close the window again.

“No, no apologies necessary.” You sat on the orange shag carpet, ripped from the dumpster of Hawkins Furniture Supply and cut to fit the cold metal floor of the van. The neon red sign of the bowling alley flooded the van through the passenger window, carving Eddie’s features out of the dark, the warm brown of his eyes reflecting the harsh light. If there was ever a time that he was intimidating, it was now, in this light, even as he looked up at you through his lashes, hands fiddling with his rings.

He nodded slowly at the words, biting down on his bottom lip, a half smile crossing his face before he finally spoke, “You know, yeah, you’re right.” He clasped his hands together in a tight squeeze, an incredulous laugh falling from his lips just as his head did, shaking in disbelief.

Each word was drawn out like nails on a chalkboard, “Why would I apologize to you?” He snapped back up to look at you, “Of alllll people, why you?”

You snaked your fingers through the shag carpet and started combing the fabric, knees tucked up towards your chest, “You shouldn’t. I should be the one—that’s actually why I came up to the van, to, uh, to apologize.”

He tilted his head, inviting you to continue.

“I was a bad friend, a really, really shitty one, I know. I just got caught up in the—the—”

“The mob? The crowd?” He raised his voice, wiggling his fingers in the air as he spoke, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, “The uh, rabble…with their pretty fire and sharp pitchforks, ready to burn me at the stake?”

“No! No, I never bought into that! You know I wouldn’t, Eddie, come on.”

He cocked his head up at you, squinting, “I can believe that, but you sure as shit didn’t do anything to help!” Throwing his hands up, he let himself fall against the wall of the van, looking away from you with a deep breath.

“I know! I regret it every day of my fucking life, every time I see this van speeding around the corner it’s both a relief and a reminder. You’re still here and you, somehow, didn’t fall to the batshit purist mentality in this town but then I’m reminded that—that you are still here, and I just let you fall to the wayside. Let our—our—our friendship just fade and fade and fade to the point that if you did wind up fucking dead or in prison, it wouldn’t have made sense for me to go to the funeral. Or—or to visit, you know?”

Eddie frowned, nodding with wide eyes that bore into the carpet, “Good thing I didn’t fucking die, right? Wouldn’t want that on your conscience!”

“No! Fuck, Eddie—I’m, fuck I’m not…saying it right. Even before all the—the...” You smoothed your dress over your knees, staring at the pleated fabric, “Before everything, after that first summer, I wished I had stuck around. The town never changed, I think it actively gets worse every year but you—”

Eddie looked up at you, features softening for the first time, that bright red light glistening off his watering eyes. He wouldn’t cry.

“You made this place bearable, you were the only thing—”

“Thing?” He smiled.

“Person, sorry, person. You were the only person who made staying in this town worth it, only, I got lost in the job and the responsibilities and you know my parents, they—”

“Ohh, I know.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes on your knees, “It sounds like a lot of excuses, but I just wanted you to know it hasn’t been easy, for me, and—and even harder without you. I know that part at least is my fault but I’m…I’m trying to fix it.” You started balling up the fabric of your dress again, sitting in the silence, feeling Eddie’s eyes on you.

“And I don’t—I don’t know how you escaped the fucking evil in this town, but I’m so relieved you did. I’m so relieved but I’m also so sorry and so angry at myself that I wasn’t right there with you. I should’ve been and—”

Eddie started laughing, and he pushed off the side of the van, crouching on his toes in front of you, “No, you shouldn’t have. Trust me.”

You sighed, rubbing your palms over your knees, “I wish I had done something.”

The silence sat, thick and heavy and you were a second away from apologizing for the interruption, a second away from just leaving the van. The silence would be answer enough, and you could at least say you tried, but that Eddie and your friendship were just lost to time. Lost to the burden of the future and the verging paths of your life.

And then he spoke, and you crawled out from under your thoughts.

“Look,” He put his hand over yours, stilling you, “For all the shit I’m giving you, there was uh, there wasn’t much you could’ve done. Hawkins and their bullshit moral superiority…”

Eddie shook his head, chuckling to himself, “I’ll tell you about it someday…”

You met his gaze, and he gave you a wink, “When you can handle it.”

“When I—you think I couldn’t handle it?” You smiled, and he patted your hands.

“Careful, there. I can joke around, you…tch—tch—tch” He wagged his finger and chuffed at you, but he hadn’t made an effort to distance himself yet.

“That’s…that’s fair. But, you forgive me?”

“Mmm…” He reached forward and pinched at your cheek, “You’re on thin ice.”

You smiled, batting his hand away, “I can deal with that.”

He cocked his head back, pulling his lips into a surprised smile and kneeling in front of you, towering over your curled-in figure, “Oh? No groveling? You’re not even gonna try flattering your way off the ice?”

Looking up at him, your breath caught in your throat. The light cascaded over his features, and you couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just the red making his smile so sinister. His hands were stuck in his back pockets, pushing his torso towards you.

You swallowed and rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh, “What, you want me to bow to you?”

Eddie shrugged.

Tucking your knees under yourself, you made a show of raising your hands in praise, fingertips grazing Eddie as you bowed down, “Please, O Eddie the Banished, forgive me my trespasses.”

As you came up for the third time, Eddie snatched one of your wrists and wrenched you up on your knees to match him.

“I thought I said only I could joke around.”

His eyes followed his fingers as they grazed down your arm, calloused fingertips gliding over your goosebumps. His other hand slipped against your thigh, slowly lifting the skirt of your dress, “Didn’t I say that?”

You nodded, frozen in place.

He stopped and brought his fingers to your chin, tilting your face up, “Didn’t I say that?” His voice was lower now, gaze fixed on you.

“Yes, yeah, you…you did.”

“That’s what I thought.” He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip, smiling when you grabbed onto the edge of his jacket to steady yourself, “You know…”

Eddie paused, the fingers on your skirt now just touching your bare leg.

You tilted your head up more, leaning into the grip of his fingers on your chin, chest falling with stuttered breaths, body shivering in front of him.

“I still think about that pretty face. Late at night, alone in my room…” He traced a finger along your hairline, down your cheekbone, “with my hand around my cock.”

You let out a heavy breath, closing your eyes as Eddie took your hand and placed it square on his torso, your fingers gripping the fabric.

He brought his lips to your ear, whispering, “You go as far as you want with that hand, okay, sweets?”

Gripping tighter to his ratty tee, you shivered with his breath against your neck, “Say the word and this never happened. We just go back to being friends, understood?”

You nodded, and Eddie brought his lips closer, “Understood?”

“U—understood.”

It took a moment of sitting in the tense silence before you’d gathered the courage to let go of his shirt, to slide your hand down over the cold metal buckle of his jeans, onto the rough denim bulge of his crotch. You felt him smile against your ear, a sharp gasp escaping your throat when he pressed a brief kiss to the skin.

“Good girl. Don’t be afraid, now.”

He kept one hand to himself, the other still resting on your outer thigh, pressing indents into your skin with his hands. His grip was all encompassing; it stilled the nerves you’d been fighting off, steadied your mind, encouraged the movement of your hand.

It wasn’t the touch of a friend.

You brought both hands to his waist, unbuckling his jeans and wrenching free his cock with an unbridled want that’d laid dormant for longer than you should’ve been able to take. Your right hand gripped the base of him, left hand sliding under his shirt to feel the pallid skin he kept hidden under layers and layers of “fuck you” to the sweater vests and polos of Hawkins.

There was the faintest trace of muscle definition along his ribs as you grazed your hand up his side, pinching the skin, nails hooked into his back. You stroked slowly along his cock, hand gliding around his shaft, thumb running over his tip. He was half-up when you’d felt the bulge behind his jeans, but with every passing second that you worked him, the loose skin constricted until he was twitching and holding back moans.

You knelt down in front of him—hunched forward so your lips were at the tip of his cock—and licked over the red skin. His salty precum mixed with your saliva, and you slicked up his dick with the viscous mixture, taking most of him into your mouth to do so.

“Sh—shit.” He let his head fall back, hands flying to the sides of your head to keep you there, fingers gathering the hair into a messy ponytail.

Licking stripes over his cock, you let your hand slide around his torso, fingernails scraping at the skin.

When you took him in your mouth again, you felt a hand leave your hair, and heard the distinct thud of the van’s roof. Eddie steadied himself with his palm flat on the cold metal, but he couldn’t help his hips jerking towards you, trying to fuck your mouth.

You hummed the first time it hit the back of your throat, a surprise that you could handle, and were more than happy to accommodate.

“You like that, huh?” He laughed, jutting his hips again.

You responded with an affirmative hum, sitting your palms flat on the shag carpet on either side of you, staying as still as possible when he kept it up.

“You’re a good little whore, huh? Hiding—fuck—hiding behind your pleated skirts, speaking when spoken to.” His grip in your hair tightened, and you felt saliva drip from your bottom lip as he continued fucking your mouth. “You just needed the right cock to open you up.”

He hit the back of your throat again, and you started to tear up, “Look at me.” He said, and you blinked the tears out of your eyes, looking up at him through clumped lashes, “That’s it sweetness, you like how my cock feels in your mouth?”

You nodded, closing your eyes again as you moved a hand from the floor and squeezed it between your thighs. It was a feeble attempt to resist the mounting pressure in your cunt from the way Eddie was speaking to you, the way he was simultaneously coming undone and maintaining vicious composure.

He thrusted into the back of your throat once more before slowing his pace, and you opened your eyes again to look at him, tears spilling from the corners. He was staring down at you, a lopsided smile on his lips, “I’m sorry, where are my manners?”

Pulling his cock from your mouth with a wet pop!, he sat down on his heels and wiped the tears from your face with one hand, the other coasting once again up your leg, under the skirt of your dress.

“Spread your legs for me.” He traced a finger along the hem of your underwear, waiting as you slid your legs open, skirt riding up your thighs with every inch.

He sighed at the sight of your bare skin, the patch of wetness on your stark white panties. He slid his thumb under the side hem of the underwear, over your clit as the rest of his fingers pressed against you, the underside of his rings digging into your skin.

The dull pain of the metal combined with the hot sensation of his thumb sent you backward against the side of the van, the back of your head hard against the steel.

“You’re so close already, you little tease.” He slid his thumb down your vulva, slicking it up with your arousal before he went back to circle your clit. They were slow, tenuous movements that had you driving your fists into the carpet, pulling at the cheap threads. Eddie laughed, a raucous laugh that lit you up with shame, the burning between your legs now finding a home in your cheeks.

“You like this, don’t you?” He leaned in, teeth catching the edge of your jaw, “Being my little slut, my little tease,” He nipped at your ear, bringing his voice as low as he could, a quiet ache that settled between your bones, “My good…little…whore.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to the same spot he had earlier, lingering this time to suck a mark right at the edge of visibility. It would take extra time in the mirror to get your hair to fall right, and he knew it.

He grabbed your jaw with his free hand, “Isn’t that right?”

You nodded as his thumb flicked back and forth over your clit, “Yes, yes, fuck, I’m your whore, your—your slut, what—whatever you wan—nt me to be.”

He kissed you for the first time, smashing his lips against yours with his hand still squeezing your jaw, making your lips pucker.

Patting you on the cheek, he took his hand out from between your legs, “Good. Now get out of your clothes.”

You hurried to kick off the dress, keeping your eyes on him as he stuck his fingers in his mouth one at a time, dragging the rings off with his teeth and collecting them in his other hand. The metal clinked together with each added ring, and he dropped them into the nearby cup holder.

The sight had you frozen in place, still in your bra and underwear, and Eddie turned to face you, “You want me to keep repeating myself?” He walked on his knees towards you, his hands skating over your bare sides, “Because,” He pinched your hip, laughing that mocking laugh, “I don’t think you want me doing that.”

You wrenched out of your remaining clothes, and Eddie’s tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he stared at you. Sitting back down on your knees, you stared up at him, hands on your thighs, shivering.

He coasted his hands over your arms, “You cold?”

“Y—yes,” You nodded, and he hunched down to press kisses against your throat, exhaling warm bouts of air on your skin.

He dragged the tip of his tongue along the tendon of your throat, “You want me to warm you up?”

“Mhm, yes,” You tilted your chin up, eyes fluttering closed when he started kissing again, shocked when he wrapped his hand around your throat. He didn’t constrict you, he didn’t even really squeeze, just held you there, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…” You gulped, a hand sliding once again between your legs, “Yes, please?”

He smiled and kissed you, pressing his tongue into your mouth, letting you fall into the kiss, waiting for you to get swept up before he pulled away.

“There you go,” He clapped his hands together off to the side, light taps that were more patronizing than anything, “You’re getting it.”

You smiled, squeezing your palms flat against each other between your legs, waiting.

Eddie slid his jeans down the rest of the way, kicking his old sneakers off with them, his jacket and the flannel underneath following suit until he was right there with you, in just his faded t-shirt. Almost as exposed as you were.

He kneeled in front of you, combing the front strands of your hair out of your face, “Lay down for me.”

You listened without contest, stretching out in the back of the van, knees pulled toward you.

Eddie placed both hands on either knee, spreading your legs open, staring down the length of your body. His gaze seared into you as he lowered himself between your legs, mouth hot against your cunt. You were already soaking wet from the anticipation of it all, from the previous feeling of his thumb over your clit. The waiting was excruciating, and Eddie was milking it for all it was worth. He had you at a disadvantage, you both knew it, and if you somehow forgot your station beneath him, he was more than willing to remind you.

The first instance was when his mouth finally latched to your cunt, lips suctioned to the space around your clit, tongue flicking once, twice, three times before you moved to slide a hand in his hair. He snatched your wrist, and pulled away from you.

“Ah-ah-ah, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” He guided your hand back up, resting it atop your stomach.

Embarrassment flocked your cheeks, and you stuttered out an “I’m sorry.”

"Sh sh sh,” He whispered, squeezing your hand with his before he slid it back underneath your thigh to hold you, “It’s a learning experience, doll.”

You nodded, and he pressed his tongue back against you, driving your head into the carpet, your hands threading through the shag. You barely registered the loosening grasp on your thigh before his fingers were inside you, curling upward and pumping against your walls, in tandem with the sloven flick of his tongue.

As you lost yourself, legs shaking, body arching, Eddie laughed against your cunt, pausing to suck kisses into your skin. The slow drag of his tongue along your inner thigh was punctuated by a kiss on your knee. With his fingers still inside you, he darted up to your mouth, lips slick with your arousal as he kissed you.

“You like the taste of your own cunt?” He spoke into your mouth, long hair falling against your cheeks. It was soft, enveloping your features as he kissed you harder.

“Yes, shit, yes,” You muttered, Eddie’s thumb once again back on your clit, sliding back and forth over the slick nub.

He pulled away from your mouth, watching you lose yourself in his touch, a quiet ohhhh leaving his lips as he looked on with fondness, “That’s it, good girl, shhh…”

You couldn’t help the whines and whimpers coming from your mouth, and Eddie saw fit to quiet them with his hand, tight over your lips.

“You don’t want someone peeking in here. Seeing you fucked out like this, mewling and pathetic before you’ve even had my cock inside you.” He squeezed your cheekbones, “That would just ruin all the work you’ve put in, ignoring me…casting me aside…playing the good girl…only to wind up back in my van, itching for me to fuck you silly.”

Moaning against his hand, you knocked a fist against the carpet, close to coming undone from the sensation of his fingers, the heat on your clit.

Eddie kissed around your skin, the hand over your mouth sliding away as he brought his lips back down between your legs, looking up at you from beneath furrowed brows, “Now you’re gonna cum for me, but you’re gonna be real quiet, okay, doll?

“Okay.” You nodded, sucking your lips in and pressing them together between your teeth, the fuzziness in your brain strengthening with every moment you waited.

With his arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you against his mouth, he started working you again, licking up your vulva, prodding your clit with his tongue, lapping you up, making you squirm. You almost couldn’t focus on how close you were to coming, so determined to keep quiet, to ignore the way his mouth felt on you, to be the obedient girl he wanted you to be.

The only cues he had were the heaving breaths from your chest, the rhythm of his tongue unchanging as you struggled to maintain composure, determination driving you into the floor of the van, loose threads of fabric coming up between your fingers, hair mussing in the back.

Eddie’s grip tightened as he felt you hitting your peak, forcing your cunt closer to his mouth, smothering his face as he led you through your orgasm.

Your body shook, guttural groans trapped and dying in your throat, determination wracking your body with spasms and the most blinding orgasm of your life. An atom bomb went off behind your eyes, fallout lighting up your brain, flocking down your body. It left you struggling to regain your breath, air cycling through your lungs in a broken, uneven pattern.

Eddie didn’t waste a moment bringing his lips to yours, enveloping your body with his, and you swallowed the whimper that almost escaped when you felt his cock slide between your legs, slicked up with saliva and arousal, prodding at your entrance.

“Such a good little whore for me. Don’t hold back, I, mmm,” He paused as you arched your back up against him, “I wanna hear those filthy fucking noises now, got it?”

“Y—yes.” You had regained some composure, once again just waiting for Eddie, focused on steadying your breathing.

Your efforts were stifled when Eddie reached over his shoulder and yanked off his shirt, his torso littered with tattoos that you’d never had the privilege to see. He was more than happy to show off the ink on his arms, and the piece below his collarbone, but his body was patched with dark ink that he’d never even spoken of.

You leaned up on your elbows, scouring the illustrations much to Eddie’s amusement.

“I almost feel shy, the way you’re lookin’ at me like that.” He smiled, leaning over you, pushing you down onto your back once again, “Almost.” He whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Grabbing one of your hands, he guided you to his chest, and you silently thanked the universe that he was letting you touch him again. Your hand coasted down his abdomen, around his side, curving along his shoulder blade as he ducked his head down into your neck.

He pressed kisses over your skin, thrusting his hips into you, cock twitching between your legs, and you found yourself feeling empty, sick of waiting and in desperate need of being filled.

“Eddie, please, please,” You scraped your nails over his back, nicking the spattering of moles and light acne he hadn’t quite grown out of.

“Yes, doll?” He kissed the pulpit of your throat, licking up your neck to the underside of your chin.

“I need you inside me, please.”

“Mmm,” He hummed against your neck, a sound of pity, as if he wasn’t also desperate to stick his cock inside you, “I guess I am feeling generous tonight.”

You let out a sigh of relief, hand sliding down to his lower back, trying to push him into you, but he stopped himself.

“Uh-uh, wrap it before you tap it, isn’t that what they say?”

He started to pull away, but you clung onto him, shaking your head, “I’m on the pill, please just fuck me. Please.”

Eddie still backed away so you could see his face, a wide grin on his mouth as he shook his head, “Well god fucking bless the feminist movement then, huh?”

He slid his cock against you a couple more times—making you writhe underneath him—before he pushed into you for the first time.

You inhaled a sharp breath as he filled you up, crying out just as he did, the pressure of his cock filling you up inside, making your stomach churn with his first few thrusts.

He didn’t allow you to stay in this position long, crushed underneath his weight, his lips on yours. Pulling his cock from your cunt, he sat up on his knees, hands sliding under your thighs to drag you up, lining your entrance with his tip. He slammed once into you, sending a shockwave through your body.

“You like that, don’t you?” He asked, thrusting his hips against you.

“Yes, fuck.” You threaded a hand through your hair, forcing your eyes open to look at him.

“You gonna look the other way the next time you see me around town, then? Shun the burnout, the loser, the freak?” His voice was low, each hard thrust pushing you up on the carpet, burning your skin.

“N—no, never again.”

His pace quickened, “Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m s—sorry, mm, god,” You were lost. You’d do anything he said, say anything he wanted, let him control you as long as he could make you feel this good.

He cackled, slapping his hips against yours faster now, “Good girl. You want me to fuck you like this again?”

“Whenever you want, wh—whatever you want, E—Eddie.”

“That’s right. Cause you’re my little whore.” He started dragging out the words again, but the words were hiccupped, broken by the thrusts, “I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Understood?”

You nodded, forgetting yourself, and Eddie was quick to reach up and grab your face, “What the fuck did I say about having to repeat myself?”

“I’m sorry, I—”

He let go of your face, pulling out of your cunt and flipping you over onto your stomach, giving you no more than a second to adjust yourself before he was slamming back into you.

You cried out, hard hands on your hips. He slid one over your back, grabbing onto the knotted hair and forcing your head up.

Eddie dug his nails into your hip, his cock filling you up, desperate thrusts hitting your nerves. Your stomach churned again, a dull ache that made it hard to breathe, pain that was too good to stop. You considered begging him to stop, to give you a break, but you didn’t want either. If you could live with his cock inside you, you would, and you’d thank him for the privilege.

“Is my girl ready to cum for me again?” He groaned, tugging at your hair again, exposing your throat.

“Yes, please, please, please,” Each word was whinier than the last, and Eddie slid his hand around front to your throat, caressing the taut skin, feeling the way it vibrated as you moaned.

Slamming faster into you, mounting the pressure in your cunt, “Cum on my cock,” He ordered, “Don’t be coy now, cum on my fucking cock.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you yelped at the sudden feeling of his finger on your clit, circling rhythmic to his thrusts. He tightened his fingers against the sides of your throat, and you choked out more whines, whimpering and gasping as you teetered on the edge.

“Don’t make me say it again.” Eddie teased, you could hear the amusement in his voice, the eagerness to punish you.

But he didn’t have to, the threat alone sent you over the cliff, the confidence he carried, playful and scary all at once. With wracked moans escaping your lips, your entire body tensed up as you came again, the cold burn of frostbite washed over you, a blue heat that came in waves from your cunt and extended outward to your toes and fingertips.

The sensation of your orgasm had Eddie on the verge of his, and he let go of your throat to grab your hips again, pulling you backwards onto his cock.

“You want me to fill you with my cum?” He laughed again, almost breathless.

“God, fuck, yes, please.” You let your head fall down, arched your body up further, clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Mmm…” Eddie moaned, and you felt his thrusts staggering, felt his hand slap against your ass, felt the unmistakable shudder of his orgasm, the string of expletives that preceded it.

It was nearly enough to make you cum a third time.

And Eddie—as though he knew—pulled his cock out from you with a sharp gasp, only to replace it with his tongue. He licked from your clit to your hole, lips sucking on your fucked out cunt, tongue flicking back and forth over the bundle of nerves.

“Shit, Eddie, shit shit shit.” You thought you were done, thought he’d finally given you reprieve, but Eddie was insatiable. With his mouth on your cunt, you could almost pretend he was trying to be giving, but it was the sadist in him. The tortuous DM from all those years ago, a smile on his face as he placed impossible odds in front of you.

He hummed against your cunt, tongue sliding sideways over your clit, pressing harder and harder into you.

The third orgasm was the most blinding of all, your body seizing, frozen in place and unable to escape the endless sensation of his scorching tongue on you. When you finally fell out from paralysis, muscles quivering and begging for rest, he pressed kisses between your legs, a satisfied sigh hitting your skin.

You slid down onto your stomach, stretching your legs out and resting your head on your arms.

Eddie appeared next to you, on his back, a moment later, tapping his fingers on his chest to beckon you over.

You were more than happy to oblige, scooting over to curl up against him, head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to your hair and laughed, “Good girl.”

Looking up at him, you saw the way his features had softened, the intensity faded in the blissful aftermath. In a moment of courage, you raised a hand to his face, combing your fingers through his hair.

He let it happen, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, pressing his lips against your forearm.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, your leg resting atop Eddie’s, fingers running back and forth over his chest.

You finally broke the silence, lifting your head to look up at him, “I really am sorry, you know.”

Eddie looked down at you, “I know.”

You nodded, “I promise I’ll never look the other way again.” Smiling, you pressed your luck, “Your eyes are too pretty for that.”

He reached over and took your chin between his fingers, tilting you up more, the smile leaving your lips. His eyes scanned your face, lips opening to say something, a thought he ended up abandoning.

The smile came back, “Is that a green light to joke around again?”

He laughed and shook his head, hand leaving your chin to instead crawl down your arm, “As long as I can touch you like that again, you can tell as many jokes as your little heart desires.”

You hummed happily, nuzzling into his chest, “Hey, why were you in this parking lot anyway?”

Eddie waved his hand, “Some of the freshmen who took over Hellfire had their little dates here.”

You sat up, and cocked your head at him, “So they could just…come out at any moment?”

He grimaced and shot up with you, “Well, shit. We should probably get dressed then, huh?”

You reached over and threw his shirt at him, shaking your head, “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Eddie grabbed your wrist and brought you in for a kiss, his hand on the back of your head, holding you close until he pulled away with a shiteating grin.

“Don’t I know it.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #my writing #mine #THIS IS MY MAGNUM OPUS #stranger things

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kiriska · 4 months

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I originally made this zine back in October. There was no particular impetus for it except I think I’ve just been low key constantly thinking about ghost bikes since I learned about them some years ago.

I rewrote some parts of this a few times and I’m still not happy with it, but it feels kind of pointless to keep fiddling with it. There’s too much I want to say and 8 pages isn’t enough.

Saying that drivers “choose” vehicular manslaughter sounds aggressive. I know (most) drivers don’t intend to do harm, but it doesn’t actually matter what their intentions are if someone gets hurt or is killed. Maybe drivers aren’t “choosing” to kill, but they are choosing to get gigantic vehicles and to go fast enough to kill.

Most recent cyclist deaths in the Seattle area have been on common biking routes, though none of them have bike lanes (Seward Park Ave, Spokane St, Marine View Dr). I’ve biked on all of these, some of them very frequently. It sucks passing by each time and knowing someone died there, and that it could’ve been avoided.

Basically everyone I know who bikes has been hit by a car at some point. A friend was hit while in a crosswalk a few months ago. (In a similar incident, a 13-year old kid was killed in a crosswalk last year.) Thankfully, no one I know has died yet. It does sort of feel inevitable though.

Recently, a car ran a red light and hit a bus. The bus was forced onto the sidewalk, where it killed a pedestrian. I walked by on my way home with groceries 5 minutes after this happened. Couldda been me. Everyone is a pedestrian at some point, but so many people avoid living life as a pedestrian. They drive everywhere and are only ever on foot within a building. My high school was one (1) mile from my house, but I had to drive to get there because of the 6-lane highway between us.

The problem is complicated. I mostly blame infrastructure, but that’s not easy to fix. We designed and built whole cities around cars and left no space for people, and that can’t be corrected without a lot of money and political will. We need roads that are “inconvenient” for cars and drivers. Ones that are narrower and have speed bumps and “traffic calming” devices slow drivers down by design, without relying on speed limit compliance or enforcement.

Seattle is cramped as hell and there aren’t sidewalks in a lot of places. But in order to build sidewalks and bike lanes, we need to take away space from cars, and hell gets raised every time anyone even suggests taking away parking, much less an entire travel lane. Lots of people depend on cars, but that’s never going to change without cities investing in the alternatives.

Buses and transit can become reliable. Bikes offer a lot of the same freedom and personal autonomy as cars. “No one wants to bike in the rain/cold/hills/etc” and yet Seattle has such a robust cycling community, both in commuters and recreational cyclists. “You can’t haul groceries/supplies/kids/dogs/etc by bike,” and yet so many people do.

And if people don’t feel safe on bikes, it’s just because of all the cars.

RIP Steve Hulsman, who was killed at the intersection of Marine View Dr and 46th Ave, the intersection in the photos, on December 21st.

#zines #bikes

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rookthorne · 25 days

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐎𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐌𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

Something was coming, and it was on its way to you — there was no way to save yourself from the devil that set his sights on you, and you were hopeless against the whims of his charm or rugged ways.

And in an act of gratitude and pure innocence, you allowed the devil in, none the wiser for what was to come; no man was without his sins, but better the devil you don’t know.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ꕤ Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ꕤ 5.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ꕤ Explicit threats, attempted assault, non-graphic background character death, Grumpy!Protective!Bucky, fluff ჻჻჻ TROPES: Touch her and you die, Grumpy/Sunshine

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ꕤ Oh no, it's a Grumpy/Sunshine, touch her and you die trope collection in the form of a brooding outlaw — someone stop me.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ꕤ Way down We Go by KALEO ꕤ Broken Bones by KALEO ꕤ The River by Blues Saraceno ꕤ The Devil Inside by Daniel Murphy, Anthony Sanudo, Eric Serna ꕤ Deadwood by Really Slow Motion ꕤ Ain't No Devil by Andrea Wasse

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ꕤ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ჻჻჻ Bad Reputation (February), Wild West AU (April) — Masterlist ꕤ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟭 — Outlaw AU — Masterlist

𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The bustling street that cut straight through the middle of the local livestock town as the main thoroughfare was overrun with folks going about their day.

Men, clad in leathers and vests with holsters on their hips lined the saloon stairs, while women in an assortment of skirts and blouses rushed with baskets and wares from the general store; their children playing in the mud, dirtying their worn clothes while mothers shrieked their grief over the once clean garments.

You couldn’t help the slight laugh that fell from your lips as you passed by a small boy who was splattered from head to toe in mud, his mother in a tizzy. “Now, Johnny–”

It was a pleasant day. A cool breeze blew through the side streets and over your sun-warmed skin. The basket on your arm was full of wares from your trip to the hunter down the lane, and the saddlebags on your old, trusted mare were lined with provisions from the general store.

Though no matter how pleasant it was, or how many children shrieked with laughter while they ran around your legs in joy, something screamed in the back of your mind that something was wrong — an instinct long honed after working on a ranch since you were only a child.

“Good mornin’, miss.”

You startled from your reverie at the sound of a deep, rasped voice to your right. “Oh–!” The man smiled sympathetically, and you realised with a jolt that it was one of the old sharpshooters — a man well past his prime, but one of the very few that had a shred of decency and sense within the town. “Oh, good morning,” you replied, smiling. “Pleasant day.”

He hummed in reply, and you continued on.

The shade of the awnings overhead disappeared as you walked out into the muddied street, and you blinked from the bright rays — halos of rainbows danced in your vision while the sun warmed your face.

From a way, a few stragglers from the saloon stumbled into view, and you sighed as you caught sight of the haggard appearances and putrid smell. You kept your head down and eyes averted as you neared their stumbling figures and scrunched your nose in disgust.

No decent, respectable man stunk to the high heavens of liquor with a temper to match a lit fuse.

The centre of town came into view, and the further you walked towards one of your last destinations for the day, the stronger the sense of impending something lingered in the air — it crackled with tension, akin to the static before a storm.

Every single man you passed was twitchy, their hands migrating to the holsters on their hips; every woman was hurrying by, faces taut with some unexplained worry.

Instinct — a woman’s intuition — insisted that something was coming.

You looked over your shoulder and cursed your past self for hitching your mare such a distance away. Her broad, muscled frame was no longer in sight through the scurrying crowds — the golden glow of her coat coloured with patches of white impossible to see through the scurry of people.

“Oh, girl,” you mumbled, and you half considered turning tail to head back home.

But the doctor’s office was only a few paces away, you reasoned, and you hurried along, resolutely ignoring the collective, worried gazes from the townsfolk towards the horizon. The muddied skirts of your dress fluttered as you trotted towards the clean building that housed the resident doctor, and the basket over your arm swayed with your gait. Best be fast.

When the heels of your old boots hit the wooden slats of the wrap-around deck, the door to the doctor’s office just within reach, it happened.

Around you, the townsfolk fell deathly silent — not a peep, not a sound. Every last man, woman, and child froze in place and stared, wide-eyed and stricken, down the street, downwind towards the horizon they were so fixated on.

Your stomach turned with nerves. The skin on the back of your neck prickled while your hair stood on end. It was an unnatural silence that pounded against your ears, and the blood that pumped through your veins turned to ice.

Gravely unsettled, you blinked against the instinct to run and hide, in favour or searching for the source.

The steady beat of heavy hooves thundered from down the street. Beside you, a woman and child gasped quietly — you paid them no mind, for the sight of two horses enraptured you.

Muscle and sinew rippled with the gait of their long, lean legs. They walked side by side, the tack on their back, chests, and proud, handsome faces jingled and followed the contours of their broad flanks. Their coats shone under the light of the sun, but there was no mistaking the inked black beneath the splatter of mud from their journey.

It would be almost impossible to tell them apart if it weren’t for the one on the left appearing far calmer than their companion, who snorted proudly and tossed their head.

Your focus moved from the stunning creatures to their riders, and your breath hitched.

The man atop the fiery, fierce horse clothed similarly to his mount. A rippling, black coat barely concealed the hip holsters that held revolvers with ebony accented grips, or the elaborate bandolier wrapped from his shoulder to his waist — the same black leather as his coat, but accented in silver, ornate imagery.

Rifles were strapped to the side of his saddle, long barrelled and scoped alike. From beneath his tilted hat, you could see the flow of jaw length, dark hair that fell in tresses to cover the profile of his face.

A man prepared for war, you thought distantly. He held himself like a soldier — straight-backed and proud, guarded and eyes swivelling to take in the stilted townsfolk.

Though you could not discern what was being said, you watched the man’s mouth move, and his head turned towards his companion.

You followed his gaze and took in the other rider. He sported a blond beard and brown leather, his own coat shorter and far less impressive — a simple rifle and a hunter’s bow was strapped to his saddle, and his gaze was far softer.

The horses walked closer and closer, and the nearer the two men came, the more nervous the people around you grew. A few men skittered off and bolted down side streets, or plainly ran away.

For the life of you, you could not understand why — they looked no different from the men that went rogue against the laws of society to take up arms in the wilderness.

You were still rooted in place when they came so close you could scent the rich, cured leather of their boots and saddles, and you couldn’t help staring at the extravagant wealth that lined their person and padded their mounts. It was plain as day they were no strangers to wealth, but to be an outlaw with wealth? That was unheard of.

It was only when they were right next to you did your ability to breathe truly vanish.

“I don’t like this,” the blond grumbled, his eyes darting from person to person. “It’s too open—far too open, we’re exposed. You know what’ll happen if we’re cornered–”

“Enough.” Sharp, grey eyes met yours, and within the second of that glance, you felt your stomach flip upside down. The heart that hammered in your chest rocketed upwards into your throat.

The stranger seemed to have an inkling for your reaction, or he experienced something similar — his eyes narrowed as he considered you, a piercing look that took hold of your wriggling stomach and forced it to still. “We’ll get what we need and move on. Calm down.”

You blinked, and he was no longer looking at you. Instead, his blond companion gazed at you curiously, tilting his head.

“Move on,” the dark-haired man spat, and he nudged his horse into a trot. The slap from the leather reins against his horse’s neck was loud.

Rather than spur onwards, the blond stared at you for a moment longer. “Rogers, get a move on.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, still staring at you. Blue eyes moved over your face before he turned his head forwards, then he followed behind his partner.

When the both of them were out of earshot, you heard multitudes of townsfolk collectively exhale with what you guessed was relief. “We don’t need another shoot out thanks to those bastards,” one of them grumbled. “Not after the last one.”

“Shootout?” you questioned, feeling your heart slowly sink back down into your chest. “What– What happened?”

They regarded you carefully. “You don’t come down this way often, do you, miss?”

You shook your head. “No, I live over–”

“Count yourself lucky,” they interrupted, raising their brows. “Those two are monsters. Don’t have the bounty on their heads for nothin’, and you don’t get any bounty hunters in these parts that go after ‘em ‘cause all the ones that do, end up fed to the wolves.” The bag over their shoulder was shrugged further up, their grip tight. “Just stay well away from ‘em, miss—not the kinda folk you want to get involved with if you want t’a live in peace.”

“But–”

They turned away. Their hunched back swayed under the weight of the sack on their shoulder.

You frowned at the retreating stranger.

Sure, they looked the part of a deadly duo, not unlike the ones in your novellas or dreams, but they passed through the town peacefully, if ominously — that was the fault of the townsfolk acting as though death himself strolled down the muddied street.

“I don’t understand…” A loud snort of one of their horses drew your attention, and you watched as the strangers dismounted and hitched their mounts right out the front of the general store.

Everyone gave them a wide berth; heads down and feet fast over the mud to get out of their way.

What a lonely existence, you thought.

For the entirety of your life, you were regarded as a bright, intelligent woman that worked hard. The passing of your family had hit you hard, but you were determined to live up to their memory, to maintain the ranch they left behind and restore it to its full glory — only that took up far more time than you anticipated, and while it was still a raw wound, you trudged on.

Being all alone up on your small slice of good ol’ Western soil was something you took pride in, but you had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

The thought alone made you sympathise with the two outlaws — a life on the road, running from societal norms and expectations while maintaining the lifestyle they no doubt had become accustomed to, made even you feel a sense of weary exhaustion deep in your bones.

Isolation was not a weak man’s game.

“Get it together,” you hastily whispered, shaking your head under the guise of shooing a fly. Your bright, generous personality would not help them, nor would it help you, you reasoned — not this time.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door to the doctor’s office to purchase some medicine and supplies for the coming weeks.

The entirety of the town was still strung up with tension when you exited the doctor’s office half an hour later, according to your pocket watch — a family heirloom. People still rushed to and fro with their gazes locked onto the two black horses settled by the hitching post at the general store.

It was a foolish decision, but you stopped to admire their fine confirmations and broad builds.

There were no doubts on how war-ready the two were, though their docile nature threw you — never before had you seen horses stand so blessedly still and patient, even back on your own ranch.

You couldn’t help but take a step closer, the urge to feel the silken soft coats that were muddied from their journey overwhelming your rational sense. There was no mistaking the fact that they were both stallions now you were beside them; finely bred and hardened for battle from their owners' tendencies for violence.

A dark, mahogany eye met yours, and if it were possible, their face softened while their ears perked forwards.

On the other side of the stallion you greeted, was the one with a white star. His eyes were far kinder and softer than the first’s.

The first stallion knickered lowly while you stepped even closer, the compulsion to be near overtaking you, and you held your hand out for the creature to sniff. The brush of his lips over your offered hand made you giggle. “Aren’t you two beautiful?”

They snorted in tandem.

Suddenly, the hair on your arms stood on end, and the feeling of being watched spooked you into stepping back hastily. You glanced around to search for the cause, afraid for what you would find, but there was no one paying attention to you; far too consumed in their own needs to finish their runs for supplies or complete their jobs.

“I have to go, beauties,” you said quietly to the two horses, who only blinked in reply.

Your feet carried you swiftly away, but you glanced over your shoulder to the two stallions one last time, in awe of their strength and beauty.

You weren’t to see the set of steel grey eyes watching you from the gunsmith’s window on the opposite side of the street, not while you hastened your pace to get back to your own mount and go home — where it was safe.

People bustled and shoved against you as they made their own way, and you kept your breath steady and even the best you could.

Shouts and calls of workmen and ranch hands followed you as you half walked, half jogged onwards, and halfway to your patient mare, you were pulled up short by the rotten stench of waste and liquor — a potent mix that would make anyone’s stomach turn.

It was sickeningly close, and the source was a stumbling, drunken fool in front of you.

“Oh, no,” you mumbled. The volume of your voice was next to impossible to make out among the background noise, and you were grateful — there was no telling what this drunkard would do if he heard you.

His back was turned towards you, and you carefully hastened to walk around him, to avoid his line of sight, but his head turned just as you took a step to the side.

The sudden appearance of a woman within his filthy grasp caught his attention, and the words that fell from his drooling mouth weren’t even intelligible. “Ain– Pretty girl–” A hiccup and loud belch cut his torrent short.

“I’m just– Oh,” you gasped as the man pulled a knife and an old, rusted revolver from the inside of his jacket. A cascade of fear shut your mind down and locked your joints, the immobility frightened you beyond what you could bear. “No, no, please–”

They were only small weapons, but they would do no less damage if he shot you point blank or forced the blade through skin and bone. “Sir, please–”

“Gim’ money!”

“I don’t have– Please, leave me be,” you pleaded, holding up a placating hand. The fear turned your tongue into a lead weight in your mouth and you couldn’t speak more than a few words to plead for your life, which only infuriated the man further.

He advanced, his steps stumbling and uncoordinated, and the gun he brandished glinted in the sun — a menacing shine of metal that you knew was your last. The stench of his breath made your stomach roil with sickness. “Good for nothin’ whor–”

Footsteps rustled and waded through the mud behind you, and the world around you froze.

The drunkard’s mouth hung slack, wide with the shock from the sudden, cold bite of metal from the end of an ornate muzzle pressing hard into his temple. A gloved finger was poised over the trigger.

Your attention snapped to the brave soul that came to your rescue, and your own mouth fell open in shocked awe — the same outlaw that sent the town into a terrified silence held his ebony revolver to the drunkard’s temple with little regard for the force behind it.

He looked inhuman with fury laced through the pale blue of his eyes. Malice and disgust radiated from him in waves.

“Now do you really want to finish insultin’ this poor woman?” a husked voice asked behind you. You whirled around, the skirts of your dress fluttering, and found the blond outlaw standing behind you, terrible in his rage. “Robbin’ an innocent girl to get your fuckin’ dick wet at the whore house?”

There was a pregnant pause, only broken by the piteous whimpering from the drunkard. “I– I–” A dark stain grew over the crotch of his worn, stained overalls.

His head jerked hard to the side as one of your saviours pushed the muzzle of the gun harder against the thin bones of his temple with a snarl. “He asked you a question.”

“What the fuck do you think you were doin’, you bastard?” The blond spat. “Answer me before you get a third eye.”

Before the drunkard could answer, you cut in fearfully, “I– I just want to go home.” The darker-haired outlaw’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked at you, and you stepped back on instinct, only to come back to chest with his partner. “Please, just– I am so sorry–”

“You aren’t the one tossin’ around a damned fuckin’ gun like it’s your cock, sweetheart,” the blond soothed.

A low growl of anger came from the dark-haired outlaw’s throat. “And pathetic men who disrespect a woman in front of me tend to lose theirs—by a fuckin’ bullet or a knife, your choice.”

The drunkard stumbled to the side with the shove from the gun.

“Buck,” the blond said, and you guessed that was the dark-haired outlaw’s name. “I don’t think this fella is goin’ to answer me.” A hand rested on your shoulder, and you jumped. “Whoa– Easy, sweetheart, we’re not the ones that are goin’ to hurt you.”

The warmth from his palm abated the worst of the fear, and you followed where he guided you to stand — in his shadow that casted itself over the ground. “As for him, well…”

“Apologise,” Buck spat, nearing the drunkard’s pale, sweaty face. “I don’t care if I have to lose a bullet to get you to do it, either.”

“S– Sorry, miss,” the drunkard whispered, his voice high with terror. “Sorry, I–” He was cut off by the shove to the shoulder, and you watched as he clumsily ran away.

Only, Buck raised his revolver and cocked the hammer back before a shot ran out with a cloud of smoke. The sound echoed like cannon fire off of the surrounding trees and sparse buildings — you could even hear faint shouts and screams of fear within the township.

“Good riddance,” the blond said with a nod.

“I wasn’t goin’ to let the bastard go,” Buck said lowly, voice still laced with a poisonous vitriol. He looked at you then and lowered his head respectfully. “Miss.”

“I–” You tried, but some force was making you tremble from head to toe — waves of flight or fight warring within your mind as you stood between the two deadliest men you had ever encountered. “Please don’t hurt me–”

“Oh, sweetheart, no,” the blond said quickly, holding his hands up and away from his holsters. “Name’s Steve, this here is Buck—or Bucky.”

You looked between them, eyes wide with your fear and still rooted to the spot with your pulsing terror. While you looked at Steve beseechingly, you saw from the corner or your eyes as Bucky shrugged off his thick, leather coat to reveal a white, long-sleeved shirt, and a black vest that had embroidery and filigree within the expensive material.

He was silent while he stood there, coat in his gloved hands.

“Where’s your horse?” Steve asked, looking around.

“Over– She’s over there,” you whispered, pointing towards where you hitched your mare. The bustle of noise had caught her attention, and you could see her kind face looking in your direction with her ears perked. “I didn’t think to–”

“Don’t worry, miss,” Steve assured, and he looked at Bucky with a brow raised. “You good?”

Bucky nodded, then offered his coat to you. “To keep you warm,” he rasped. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

You blinked and almost dropped your basket, but Bucky rushed forward and caught it. “Here,” he offered quietly, passing the basket to Steve and holding up his coat — the inner leather was warm and rich with his scent, and you couldn’t help but burrow into the comfort it provided.

The basket with all of your wares hung from Steve’s arm. “We’ll take you home, then be on our way—that alright, miss?”

Bucky was still working the large coat over your shoulders until he was satisfied it would sit comfortably. “I– I don’t know–” The journey home was a long one, and you wouldn’t say no to the safety their company would provide, but the problem of your trembling limbs made you doubt whether you would be able to stay in the saddle for long at all.

The two of them seemed to catch on to your concern.

Steve frowned and glanced at Bucky, who was wordlessly staring at your hands. “You can hop on behind Buck—your mare can follow behind, I’ve got her.”

Without another word, Steve started to walk towards their two mounts that were waiting a few feet away — you hadn’t even noticed them.

Bucky glanced up at your face while you stared into his, and he smiled slightly. The ice that had settled in your stomach inexplicably melted away with the softness of his gaze. You followed behind him as he led you to their stallions.

The shadow from a building beside them made their coats even darker, and the bigger of the two started to walk forwards at the sight of you approaching with one of their number. It was the same horse that affectionately brushed his lips over your hand out the front of the general store.

“Oh, hello,” you whispered, unable to help the smile that pulled at your lips. “You are beautiful, aren’t you?”

“Don’t give ‘im a bigger ego than his owner,” Steve chortled. The withering glare Bucky sent Steve almost made you laugh.

“This is Rebel,” Bucky said, patting the stallion’s lithe neck and making the skin ripple.

“Hello, Rebel,” you cooed, scratching his nose affectionately. Then, you realised you hadn’t given any of them your name, and when you glanced at Bucky after offering it, his head was tilted minutely to the side.

He did not give you a chance to question why before he mounted Rebel and sat in the saddle proudly. “You can ride?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s grip on your hand was tight and firm, and he yanked you up from the ground with apparent ease. “I, uh– My home is a ranch.”

There was a pleased hum from Steve, and Bucky looked over his shoulder at you while Rebel’s hooves shuffled to accommodate the sudden new addition on his back.

“Hold tight,” Bucky said gruffly. You rested your hands on either side of his waist, holding steady while Rebel’s movements were smooth beneath you — the reins were loose, and Bucky’s thighs clamped around the barrel of his mount’s flanks.

“He is so beautiful,” you murmured again, just as Rebel made to turn around and walk towards your mare. On impulse, you moved one hand from Bucky’s waist to the dark coat behind your thighs.

The inky pelt felt not unlike a luxurious silk.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, then he clicked his tongue. Rebel took the cue and picked up the pace. “He’s been through hell an’ back with me. There ain’t many horses as strong as he is. I’m a lucky bastard.”

You moved your hands from Rebel’s coat back to Bucky’s waist to hold on. Even over the vest you felt the heat radiating from his body, and you couldn’t help but shift closer.

All the while a part of your mind screamed for you to drop and run — a long, dormant instinct that arose with such strength you’d never felt before.

The two men were no doubt two of the fiercest you could have ever encountered, that was not for debate or contest — you could feel the strength of Bucky’s control on his horse in the way the mount moved with such trained ease. Not to mention the muscles that rippled under the long-sleeved shirt of his made you realise there was far more than met the eye.

What held your tongue from screaming or crying for help was the way the two of them did not even bat an eye before shooting a vagrant drunk that accosted you, even though they had no idea who you were — just a woman going about her day.

Not to them, you thought.

You noticed the townsfolk that stopped and stared at the three of you while you passed them by, both shock and fear painting their pale, grime-streaked faces, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. A poor, foolish girl riding with the most dangerous men.

“There she is,” Steve said suddenly, pulling you from your reverie. You blinked from the light of the sun, and found Steve pointing towards your mare, a beautiful, golden palomino who’s coat gleamed in the morning rays. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling softly at the softened gaze of your mare once she spotted you. “That’s my girl.”

“She’s a fine horse,” Bucky said as he pulled Rebel to a stop. “Stevie, you’ve got ‘er?”

Steve nodded and dismounted to unhitch her from her post. “You take the lead; I’ll follow behind with this pretty lady.” You watched as your mare was tied to the horn of Steve’s saddle, and she came into stride next to him with as little as a heavy sigh to acknowledge her predicament. “A dramatic one–”

“You haven’t seen the worst of it,” you laughed as you scratched at her ears. “Not in the slightest.”

During the journey back to your ranch, you couldn’t help but notice how silent Bucky was — all conversation and pleasantries were held between Steve and yourself, with minimal input from the brooding rider in front of you. During one of the longer stretches of silence, albeit a strangely comfortable one, you took a moment to consider with a keen eye how Bucky held himself.

The man was truly a marvel, that you assumed correctly. His broad, wide shoulders were straight, only slumping when he seemed to grow weary — most notably through Steve’s many tirades.

The black vest he wore hugged his chest and waist, accentuating the lines of his muscled torso in all of the right places, and it made you think countlessly of the heroes in your stories that lined the old, wooden bookshelf in your bedroom.

His shirt wrinkled and smoothed with each movement of his arms, the tight muscle beneath making your mouth water.

“How far do you live from town?” Bucky asked suddenly, and to your horror, he glanced over his shoulder before you could school your expression, or at least look away from the expanse of his back. Something flashed in his grey eyes, and you were embarrassed to see a small smirk forming on his full lips.

The coat over your shoulders was a welcome reprieve and you found yourself burrowing yourself deeper into the warmth it offered your still trembling limbs, and you hastened to answer before Steve could interject — the blond looked about ready to cause more trouble. “Not far, just a little while longer. You’ll come upon my fields soon.”

He nodded and urged Rebel a little faster, the movement of the horse’s hindquarters jostled you into being pressed right up against Bucky’s back. In the slight moment of shock, you clamped your arms around his waist tighter. The fabric wrinkled under your sudden, iron-clad grip, and under your hands, you could feel the low rumble of his chest while he laughed.

You rested your forehead against the smooth fabric of his vest to hide your shame.

Wooden fence posts suddenly appeared in your peripheral vision, and you glanced up to find the outer fence line of your ranch perimeter in all its glory.

The farmhouse at the end of the dusty, dirt lane was a modest building from the exterior, but you were relieved to see it nonetheless — wooden slats were bleached from the harsh light of the sun, and the characteristic weathervane of a loping horse still sat perched on the roof from when you were a child.

“We’re here,” you said happily, unable to stop the smile of relief. “That’s my home.”

Bucky said nothing while Steve moved his mount closer. “It’s beautiful. You live out here by yourself?”

“I do,” you replied wearily, side-eyeing Steve. “Why?”

Steve looked at you quickly. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I swear.”

“Shut your trap, you fuckin’ bastard,” Bucky snapped, glaring at Steve. You blinked and stared between them. “Leave ‘er alone. If she is happy on ‘er own, she’s happy. She’s already proven to be a strong woman who doesn’t need the likes a’you to judge ‘er.”

“Settle, settle,” Steve laughed, “I meant nothin’, I swear, Buck.”

Bucky shifted in the saddle, and you felt him press back against you. The simple act to get closer made an indescribable heat climb up the skin of your neck. “Good, now shut it.”

You caught Steve’s gaze, and he winked while Bucky’s gaze was elsewhere.

The swirling confusion in your mind overtook any sense to question what just happened between them — they truly were an odd duo, but you didn’t linger on that thought too long before Bucky pulled Rebel to a halt on the earthen path that led to your front door.

The gate creaked and groaned in the slight breeze, and a few of the horses looked up from their lazy grazing to investigate the newcomers.

“Well, here y’are,” Steve said, handing you the reins for your mare. The two men were looking around your property with interest as you took hold of the rope, and a thought crossed your mind — it was reckless, dangerous, and possibly the most foolish idea, but something nagged within your heart to voice it.

“Why don’t– Uh, well–” The rope was tight around your knuckles while you fidgeted with it, and your mare nuzzled your elbow. “Why don’t you come on in? I can fix you up a hot meal and you both can, well—you can rest. I can at least thank you for your efforts.”

There was a beat of silence, then Steve said, “You sure, darlin’? We can head on off; we’re only passin’ through.”

Bucky’s expression remained impassive, but there was something in his gaze that told you that you were doing the right thing — however much your good sense screamed that it was a mistake. “I’m sure—come on in and I’ll get the pot going.”

You didn’t wait for them to answer before you set off to walk towards your home, all the while praying that you hadn’t just bitten the bullet.

“Well, that’s real kind,” Steve called, then you heard soft hoofbeats thudding over the earth behind you.

The horses scattered throughout the fields watched you walk by with the strangers in tow, ears perked forward and eyes bright with interest. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Rebel start to gain on you, and then you felt his muzzle brush your shoulder. “Hi there, pretty boy,” you cooed, kissing the side of his nose.

A deep chuckle sounded from his back, and you looked up towards Bucky, who was looking down at you with a soft smile — one that you found you’d do anything to see again.

“You can hitch the boys just here,” you said as you pointed to a wooden rail set just next to the porch railing. The worn oak was sturdy, and you knew it would hold the two stallions should they grow restless.

Steve dismounted with a loud groan, and he stretched to the sky when his boots landed on the dirt.

Bucky, however, moved his left leg up and over Rebel’s neck, and he slid from the saddle with as little effort — a difficult dismount performed with ease, and the bastard knew it, too. An arrogant smirk pulled at the corner of his lips for a moment before Steve rounded the back of his horse, when it vanished.

The sudden change in his demeanour made your brows furrow with confusion, but Bucky shot you a look that forced your expression to be neutral — whatever made him conscious of his outward expression of happiness was his business, you reminded yourself.

But you couldn’t deny the pull to see him smile again, not after your interest in the brooding man had grown tenfold over the journey home.

you're not gonna stop me, are you?

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

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