Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reporter!Reader
Series Summary: Dean and Y/N have been best friends and inseparable since they were kindergartners, leading somewhat boringly normal lives in Lawrence City, Kansas. Now all grown up, Dean is working as a firefighter and Y/N as a reporter until one fateful night changes not only their lives but also their friendship forever.
Series Warnings: +18!!!, Firefighter/Superhero AU, strong language, friends to lovers, slow burn, intense mutual pining, fluff, a whole lotta angst, some crack too, acquiring superpowers, injuries as well as inaccurate medical and scientific talk, eventual smut & tons of smutty thoughts, more individual warnings in chapters
Interested? Get on the tag list for this series HERE!
Summary: On a drunken whim, Jim Street and his roommate share a kiss. They try to forget it the next morning, but things only end up getting more complicated when a second kiss leads to much more. (Sex. They have lots of it.)
Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader
Disclaimer: teasing and flirting and plenty of good ol sexual tension. Some mention of the foster system, homelessness, drug addiction, custody of children, and jail (reader is a social worker). Soft and caring Street. Reader can’t take a compliment. Alcohol consumption (both are 21+). Kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy. Oral sex (female and male receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Definitely 18+ for explicit smut and language.
Word Count: 4.0k
A/N: I had a LOT of fun writing this fic with Jim Street. SWAT might be one of my fave shows right now and something about Street and his cute little dimples just makes my heart go–! I also got a little intense with the case that the reader talks about. It’s inspired by some real students I’ve encountered in my (very short) time as a teacher. ALSO I am sorry not sorry about how dirty the smut got in this so PLEASE use your good judgment before reading this. I was heavily inspired by a GREAT video on Bellesa by the same title. So here’s my tribute to Street and all his beautiful baby boy energy!
By @chaoticpete Spider Bites, Secret Room, Cake, Game Night, Mother’s Day, Lost Without You, All work, no play, Sickly Love, The Little Spider, Second Choice, Candy Store, Miscommunication, Nothing but Feelings, Eighteen, Forbidden Love
By @reidingandwriting: “Beats Me”, Leap of Faith, Stubborn, Pocketful of Sunshine, “Peter? Shut up.”, Can You Forgive Me?, "Deja Vu", When in Paris..., Sleepover, Tic-Tac-Toe, 10 Things I Hate About You (And 1 Thing I Love), Who Did This To You?, Kissed At a Concert, “Ur So Beautiful”
By @blushypetey: you’re spider-man?, friday night lights, the little bookstore!, puppy love, i miss you
By @unbelievableholland: Ignorance Can Bring Bliss, Delayed, Love, Me
By @potter-head-phanatic: this blurb
By @greenorangevioletgrass: this headcanon, this headcanon, this blurb, this headcanon, treat your skin with kindness
Avengers
By @chaoticpete: Among Us (1), Among Us (2), Young Avengers!
By @reidingandwriting: Game Night with the Avengers, It’s Okay to Cry, Meet the Kids
Bucky Barnes
By @chaoticpete: Moonlight
By @reidingandwriting: Till the End of the Line, Nightmare Remedies, Wait, I’m Gonna Be a Dad?, Polaroid
Loki Laufeyson
By @chaoticpete: Treachery
By @reidingandwriting: Sunflower
By @isawthisangel: Breathe, Chaos magic, Chaos magic (II), Dreamer's Ball, hugging loki for the first time, drunk loki headcanon
Tony Stark
By @reidingandwriting: You Had A Bad Day, Cold Feet, Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?, Two of Us, Two of Us, Part Two, 5 Times Tony Wasn’t There for You, and 1 Time He Was, “First Man”, One in Fourteen Million, Alternate Ending: One in Fourteen Million, Second Chances, Four Times Tony Needed You, and One Time You Needed Him, Happy Valentine’s Day!
Natasha Romanoff
By @reidingandwriting: Love, Mom
Steve Rogers
By @reidingandwriting: Grenade
Scott Lang
By @reidingandwriting: Hero for Hire
Clint Barton
By @reidingandwriting: The Archer
Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker
By @greenorangevioletgrass: this blurb
By @lipstickbisous: swingin', relief, priority, cold, sweet boy
Steven Grant
By @isawthisangel: Sunday, Pyjamas, Professor, Christmas lights, domestic/relationship situations with steven/marc headcanons, domestic/relationship situations with steven/marc headcanons part two
Marc Spector
By @isawthisangel: Vigilante, domestic/relationship situations with steven/marc headcanons, domestic/relationship situations with steven/marc headcanons part two
Harry Potter
James Potter
By @potter-head-phanatic: this blurb
Harry Potter
By @potter-head-phanatic: Felix Felicis, Mistletoe
SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?
“ what happened?” hotch says standing infront of the big white board that had some very gruesome pictures of 5 victims splayed out on a park bench. he’s standing tall and strong with his hands crossed in his dark grey suit. he’s looking at you and spencer, who’s walking in right behind you slamming the door close.
“ It’s her fault.” spencer says quickly moving to the other side of the room opposite you, trying to get as far away from you as possible.
you take a deep breath in trying your absolute hardest not to roll your eyes and cross your hands in annoyance and disappointment. “ it’s not my fault reid-”
“ woah woah what the heck happened?” morgan says pushing himself back in the precinct chair watching you and spencer. he looks at spencer, he sees the strong look of disgust and annoyance spencer is shooting at you. he looks at you, he notices you looking at spencer with a disappointed look.
“ she told the unsubs family we are after the unsub-” spencer spits out looking over at hotch, waiting for him to yell at you or lecture you.
“ wait spence we don’t even know who the unsub is. what do you mean?” jj says turning her head to look at spencer confusion written on her face. “ exactly! thank you jj!” you reply throwing your hands up.
“ michael miller is our unsub hotch.” spencer says completely ignoring your attempt to reason with him, his eyes stay on hotch waiting for him to snap at you or just lecture you. “ wait a minute i thought michael miller had a solid alibi.” morgan says laying back in his chair resting his arms on the arm rests. “ he does have a solid alibi it checks out-” spencer cuts you off. “ it does not check out!” spencer says.
“ yes it does! hotch we asked his dad who confirmed his son came home at 8:30 pm from football practice.” you say growing impatient looking at hotch, hotch’s eyebrows are furrowed tightly. his arms are still crossed listening to you and spencer bicker back and fourth.
“ just because his dad showed the tiniest bit of concern about his son when the fbi showed up to his doorstep does not make him a reliable source, just because you never had a dad who showed any bit of concern and now when you finally see a dad care about their kid does not mean you should not fall into their trap just because you never had a trap to fall into.” spencer spits out finally looking at you.
he watches as your expression hardens. he watches as humiliation and embarrassment fill your once determined eyes, the determined eyes who tried to reason with spencer at-least 4 minutes ago. 4 minutes, that’s how long it takes for your perspective of someone to change. he watches as your eyebrows tremble, a habit you have when your trying to fight back tears. he watches as your throat trembles too, probably trying to fight back that agonising choke you get when your about to cry.
the entire room goes quiet. spencers gaze remains on you, slowly watching your soul shatter because of his words. your gaze remains on spencer, slowly feeling your soul shatter because of his words.
the door that spencer slammed close 4 minutes ago opens, rossi and emily walking in. “ michael millers alibi checks out. we’ve got pictures of him at football practice from 5pm to 8:25pm. he wouldn’t have had the time to commit the murders.” rossi says opening the door for emily. “ also his teammates described him as an extrovert and outgoing which is not what we profiled the unsub to be.” emily says with her hands inside her pockets nodding looking at everyone surrounding the table.
“ i feel as though we interrupted something.” rossi says eyeing everyone in the room raising an eyebrow in confusion. he could feel the tension. emily could too. which is why she immediately looks over at morgan for answers. morgan looks at her for a split second before returning his gaze on you.
“ y/n-” spencer attempts. he tries to bring himself to take a step towards you, but it’s like his words somehow built a barrier between you and him that he now can’t even physically cross. or maybe he’s just scared that if he takes a step towards you, you’ll take a step back. away from him.
you swallow the gut wrenching feeling of tears crawling up your throat. you look down to your converse. “ i’m gonna go…uhm get coffee.” you say turning around immediately walking towards the door. “ excuse me.” you whisper pushing past rossi and emily.
“ oh wonder boy..” garcia says through the tv screen, her bright purple tinted lips which usually wear a bright smile on her face now wearing a frown. her tone disappointed as she presses her heart eye fuzzy emoji pen into her cheek. “ i uhm did my usual background checking on the uhm..list of potential unsubs and a uhm…scott anderson has a sketchy background. i’ve just sent his file to you my pretties.” garcia says stuttering quite a few times finding it hard to sneak her usually bubbly nicknames into the conversation after what had just happened. “ thank you garcia. jj take y/n and check out scott anderson.” hotch says looking at jj his arms finally by his side.
jj nods standing up walking towards the door “ i-i can go” spencer says turning his body towards jj. “ stay.” hotch replies his voice stern and bold. he looks at spencer his eyebrows furrowed.
jj closes the door. “ sit.” hotch says to spencer pointing to the empty seat at the table, spencer slowly walks towards the seat sitting down. “ you shouldn’t have said that spencer.” hotch says crossing his hands. “ hotch-” spencer attempts but is quickly cut off, “ i’m not finished. I get it. your worried spencer. your scared-”
“ hotch-” spencer is cut off once again. “ you may think your hiding it well spencer but your not. we know the unsub is targeting female victims which have similar features to l/n. if your too close to the case spencer-” it’s spencer’s turn to now cut hotch off. “ but i’m not too close to the case hotch!” spencer replies. he wanted the similarities between you and the victims to only be in his head because he wanted only him, himself to notice the similarities between you and the victims. you both have the same hair color, hair length, both considered to be attractive, both have similar personalities, and similar taste in clothing. he didn’t want it to be true. but now he knows that they are, and they’re not just in his head he’s even more worried.
“ your stuttering spencer. you do that when your worried or nervous.” emily says pulling a chair from the table. spencer shoots his eyes away from hotch to emily’s. his gaze softens a bit, emily’s tone wasn’t like hotchs. it wasn’t as stern or bold. it was rather understanding and gentle. “ i just cant control myself around her.” spencer says looking down at the picture of the fourth victim who had been wearing the exact same pair of converse your wearing now. “ well your going to have to learn how to control yourself pretty boy. you shouldn’t have said that.” morgan says looking at spencer. spencer sighs hiding his face in his hands. “ i just..god i’m so stupid.” spencer groans rubbing his tired eyes.
“ stupidity is what ended my third marriage.” rossi says crossing his hands leaning against the bulletin board with a small chuckle, morgan looks at rossi and laughs. “ well thank god pretty boy isn’t married. he’d be the new rossi.” morgan says tilting his head to the side looking at spencer trying to lighten the mood, spencer who still has his head in his hands. there’s a million thoughts going through his head, all of them are about you. all of them are about how he should apologize. is he even allowed to apologize? will you let him apologize to you? would you accept his apology? what if you didn’t? did he just ruin his friendship with you? no screw friendship, he doesn’t just want to be friends. he wouldn’t be as sensitive as he is to this case if he just wanted to remain friends. he’s in love with you. spencer reid is in love with you. and he just potentially ruined any slight chance of ever having you know that he loves you. just because he’s stupid and didn’t think before he spoke.
“ are you okay?” jj says both hands on the steering wheel turning around to look at you next to her, in the passenger seat. your heads turnt towards the window, your picking at your nails. a habit of yours. you turn to look at jj and nod. “ yeah i’m fine why wouldn’t i be?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a confusing smile. you know exactly why your not okay. but for some reason, you just can’t bring yourself to actually be upset over it. what’s there to be upset about? what spencer said is true. he’s not wrong. why are you making excuses for him? what he said was not okay. totally not okay. why do you have to make excuses for every male figure in your life for when they’ve done something wrong? why do you always make them the victim and you the villain. you just don’t wanna lose them right? because you know that if your the victim and their the villain they’ll never apologise and the entire relationship will disappear, it always does.
“ what spencer said-” jj is talking in that tone, that tone that she would speak in whenever something was wrong. in a motherly kind of tone. you immediately shake your head, “ it’s- it’s fine jj really, i don’t care. can we just please forget it ever happened? lets just work on the case.” you say running a hand through your hair biting your lower lip trying to stop your voice from trembling, you know when your about to cry and you have that heavy feeling in your throat? you swallow it hard. you turn your head to look at the window not waiting for a response from jj. jj clears her throat, “ no yeah of course.” she nods smiling turning her head back around.
“ this should be it…” jj mumbles stopping the car, parked infront of a 2 story cabin. you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. “ it looks like no one’s home, there’s no car. we profiled that the unsub would have a van or a truck..” jj says closing the car door looking at the house. “ maybe he wouldn’t leave something so valuable to him outside, to the eye of the public. he’s possessive he thinks the entire world revolves around him he probably thinks someone would try to steal it.” you reply reaching in your pocket for your id. jj doing the same thing. you two walk to the front door, you in the front,
you knock on the door. you put your hand against your hip waiting for the door to open. “ we should ask the neighbours. maybe they’ll know-” you knock on the door again. “ scott anderson. fbi.” you say knocking on the door again. jj puts both of her hands on her waist. “ looks like he’s not home-” your cut off by the door swinging open.
you immediately turn your head around. “ scott anderson?” you ask looking at the man infront of you. you know it’s scott anderson, penelope had already sent his id picture on the drive over. he looks at you, then looks at jj. “ who are you..” he says looking directly at jj. “ i’m agent l/n with the fbi and this is agent jareau. do you mind if we come inside?” you ask smiling holding up your id.
he doesn’t even bother looking at your id. “ yeah whatever.” he moves to the side, making room for you and jj. you nod turning around to look at jj. she nods. you step inside jj following you.
“ do you live alone?” you ask analysing the house, its organised. weird for someone that’s his age. “ uhm yeah i do. what’s wrong with that?” he asks crossing his hands. you chuckle, “ no no nothings wrong with that, i also lived alone when i was 17.” you reply smiling. “ i’m 19.” he says looking at you, eyeing you up and down smiling. “ your pretty organised for a 19 year old.” jj says raising an eyebrow also crossing her hands smiling. “ guess i was just raised that way.” he replies rubbing his lips together. you nod. “ how were you raised scott..if you don’t mind me asking.” you say looking around the house. “ yeah scott how did you manage to score such a house at your age. do you work?” jj asks grabbing a picture frame. “ no i don’t work-” he turns to look at jj. “ put that down.” he snaps speed walking to jj. you immediately reach for your gun.
“ right..sorry. you don’t like people touching your stuff.” jj replies throwing her hands up in defeat. he snatches the picture frame. he grabs it caressing it gently, jj looks at you with wide eyes. you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “ scott. why do you have a picture of my colleague framed?” jj asks looking at the frame scott’s holding. your eyes widen.
“ oh god oh god. where’s y/n and jj?” penelope says aggressively tapping on her keyboard. “ what? what’s wrong?” spencer is the first to respond shooting up from the office chair just at the mention of your name. “ they’re at scott anderson’s why?” hotch says turning around, away from the white board to the tv. garcia starts tearing up, “ i-i did some deep digging and scott anderson has a blog about y/n..” garcia says in a shaky tone. no. no. no. no. no not again please.
his heart stopped for a split second. his hand start sweating. the air has been sucked out of his lungs. why is it so hard to breathe? why is there no air to breathe? there’s a million thoughts running through his head, they’re still about you. but now they’re worse. your in danger. your with the unsub. the unsub who has already killed five people. your in the same house with the unsub. the unsub who has a blog dedicated to you. and the last time you saw spencer you were teary eyed. no it can’t be the last time. no. please be safe.
his sweaty shaky hands reach for his phone. he clicks on your contact. hotch grabs his phone and immediately calls jj. spencer immediately puts the phone up against his ear. it rings. rossi and emily immediately stand up, “ penelope send us the address to scott’s house now.” emily says walking to the door. it’s still ringing. spencer starts biting his nails. his hearts pounding. the ringing of the phone case is haunting him. what is happening on the other side of the phone. why aren’t you answering. you always answer the phone. why is it still ringing? y/n why aren’t you answering.
“ god damn it!” spencer shouts into the phone as it keeps ringing. morgan stands up, “ hotch we gotta go.” he says standing up shoving his phone into his pocket.
the ringing stops. spencer’s heart stops. his breathing stops. everyone in the room looks at spencer waiting for any kind of confirmation. “ y/n you’ve gotta get out of there with jj!” spencer says stuttering with a shaky voice. hes scared. hes so so scared. hes never been more scared in his life. it’s quiet. why is it quiet? why aren’t you answering? what’s wrong. god y/n.
“ hey mom.” you reply. spencer takes a deep breath in. he stops biting his nails. he wipes his wet fingers on his pants. his hearts racing. your in danger. why are you calling him mom if your not in danger. oh god. he feels like he can’t breathe again. he can’t focus. he can’t do this. he can’t do this. he can’t do this without you. breathe spencer. she’s in danger spencer. she’s all that matters.
“ y/n. god i…” he chokes. “ you already figured it out didn’t you.” he says his throat feeling scratchy. he hears you giggle on the other side of the phone, your laugh erupts the butterflies in his stomach. under any other circumstances he would absolutely hate the butterflies in his stomach and would be mad at you for making him feel such way. but now they bring a sense of comfort, they make him feel normal for a split second. that this is not that big of a deal, he’s just calling the girl he really likes and he got butterflies from hearing her beautiful laughs.
“ yeah of course. i called aunt lizzie for her birthday mom i’m not stupid.” you respond. god your voice is so beautiful, but he can hear it. he can fear the slight fear in your voice. maybe other people wouldn’t hear it, but he can. spencer can. and it’s killing him. it’s tearing his heart apart. it’s making his legs shake. “ d-did he hurt you- is he gonna hurt you?” spencer says gripping his jeans tightly. he hears you laugh again, “ yeah mom.” you say.
Heyyyy, I'm back. I know I say that like, every few months and then I post a chapter and disappear again, bUT I'm fairly confident that I don't have writers block anymore.
Would you guys still read this if I finally updated it?
Series taglist will be under the cut. And THIS is the link to the masterlist if anyone new wants to read it.
summary: Aaron doesn't let people in, but when you burrow your way into his life, he finds that even the worst moments don't hurt as much...
word count: 10.1k (omg)
warnings: SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, slow burn, age gap, canon!typical violence, mentions of death, drinking, angst, so much yearning, hotch is a dilf
a/n: this covers events from the beginning of season five through the end of season seven, and includes mentions to specific episodes and cases
You can't go inside. The whole team is in Hotch's hospital room, looking at his motionless body, and your feet just won't move.
It would be one thing if he was awake and talking, but the idea of seeing him just lying there, hooked up to countless tubes and a heart monitor, makes you want to throw up.
You weren't the one who went to his empty apartment. You didn't see the bloodstained carpet or the bullet hole in his drywall. If you had, you definitely wouldn't be as outwardly calm as the team thinks you are right now.
When you got the call from Emily that his things were still in his apartment, his car still outside, you thought the worst. You’re ashamed that your mind went there immediately, but it's almost like your brain was trying to prepare you, just in case.
Your back is pressed against the wall next to his room when Derek finally emerges, an impassive expression on his face.
"How is he?" you ask, your voice reverberating around your skull like an echo chamber. "Will he be okay?"
Derek looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he's profiling you, but you don't have the energy to gripe at him today. "Yeah, he'll be okay. We briefed him on the situation. You should go in. He's awake."
He's awake. That means he's okay.
The rest of the team files out a moment later, and JJ squeezes your arm as you finally take a step into the linoleum room.
He looks better than you would have expected, considering he's been stabbed nine times.
Fuck, was it really that many?
"Hi," you croak, your voice breaking embarrassingly as you flash him a tight smile. "You look terrible."
Hotch lets out a small laugh before wincing slightly. "You wouldn't look any better after being stabbed a dozen times."
"Look who's exaggerating now. I heard it was only nine."
Only nine. You can hardly get the word out.
"You missed Haley and Jack," he says simply, but you can tell what he's really trying to say.
Where were you when I woke up?
You swallow, knowing that the truth might be more than you can bear to disclose...because he's your boss. "I had to wrap up some things with a case."
Hotch nods slowly, but he doesn't press you further. You both know you're lying, but this isn't the time for torrid confessions. His face returns to its resting stoic expression and for a moment, he looks just like he did when you saw him for the first time.
"This lecture was supposed to start 20 minutes ago," you complain, checking your watch again. "You'll forgive me if I find it hard to believe that an agent on the Behavioral Analysis Unit has better things to do than guest lecture at Quantico."
Your friend rolls her eyes before turning to you, an exasperated expression on her face. "I actually heard they're being called onto some pretty big cases these days. Did you hear about that train that got taken hostage last month? That was theirs."
You scoff, already too haughty for your own good. Getting the highest test scores in your class has filled your head with hot air. "I'll believe it when I see it."
When Aaron Hotchner eventually walked up to the podium in front of the large lecture hall, everyone was either on their phone or talking to their peers.
He taps the microphone once and leans forward, his tall stature making him tower over the stand. "Good afternoon."
Whether it was the timbre of his voice or his self-assured nature, you couldn't be sure. But within a few moments, the entire auditorium was silent.
He starts speaking again, and his voice is the only sound filling the room. "Today I'll be discussing some the recent cases my unit has worked on, and how profiling helped us solve all of them..."
Your first thought as he begins his lecture is, 'He's handsome.' The next is a bit more professional: 'I want to have that kind of effect on a room.'
You graduate from the Academy a month later, and within the week, your application to be assigned to the BAU is on his desk.
"Can I get you anything?" you ask, suddenly eager to get out of this sterile, fluorescent-lit room. "Coffee? Jello? Tequila?"
He laughs again, but this time he manages to move less, so as not to shift his bandages. "Just water would be great."
You nod and dip your head down before leaving the room, the tension leaving your shoulders when you walk into the hall.
"He seems good," you tell the team when you find them around the corner by the nurse's station. "Really good."
"Yeah, kid," Rossi smiles, patting your shoulder. "He's a tough one."
You fill a paper cup with water from the fountain and are about to take it back to Hotch, when Emily catches your arm, taking the cup from you.
"I got it," she assures you, before shooting a nearly imperceptible glance at JJ that you wouldn't have noticed before joining the unit.
Rossi, Morgan, and Reid start walking back to the waiting area, and you move to follow them, but JJ catches your arm, holding you back firmly.
She cocks her head to the side, her eyes serious, but not unkind. "Come with me."
"Look," you say as JJ leads you to the opposite side of the waiting room. "I know I'm the youngest, but I really don't need a babysitter."
She shakes her head, motioning for you to sit down next to her. You sigh, sinking down onto the vinyl covered cushion, even though every muscle in your body wants to avoid what is coming.
"We all know you and Hotch are close," she says softly, her tone diplomatic. "We just want you to know that you're not alone, and that we're all here for you."
Close. You're not sure if that’s an overstatement or an understatement. He has definitely opened up to you a lot more since you joined the team, but you don't know if you can classify your relationship as anything more than professional.
A small voice in the back of your mind scoffs. You can't even convince yourself.
***
Aaron can't help but feel slightly disappointed when Emily enters his room with his water, instead of you.
"Surprised to see me?" she asks conspiratorially, and he isn't sure what he's supposed to be hiding.
"No," he frowns, trying in vain to sit up a bit straighter, "I thought- well, never mind now. Thank you for bringing the water."
"We're all really glad you're okay," she tells him, leaving a soft pat on his covers. "We'll find this son of a bitch before he can hurt anyone else."
He appreciates her sentiment, but the fear he feels for Haley and Jack - his family - still burrows deep in his bones.
Emily doesn't stay long, and soon the familiar silence envelopes him once again. Ever since Haley left him, his apartment hasn't felt like home. Not really.
He started staying at work later and later, coming home only to shower and get a few hours of sleep. It certainly wasn't healthy, but after getting stabbed in the place he was supposed to feel the safest, it is all he can do to keep going.
The silences had felt safe at first, but then you started coming over, dropping by randomly when you knew he would be home, and he finally began to understand what being safe was really supposed to feel like.
You are so young, barely 27, but you are one of the best agents he has hired straight from Quantico. When your application arrived on his desk, after a thorough review from Strauss and the director, he had been certain that you wouldn't be a good fit for the BAU. But then he met you.
"You were the top of your class," he observes, his eyes trained on your file that he has laid open on his desk.
He hasn't looked up since you sat down, but he has clocked everything about you. The way your hair is pulled back from your face, as if to present yourself fully and openly. The firm set of your shoulders as you sit forward in the chair. Even the small, loose thread on your blazer that you must have missed when you were likely inspecting your clothes that morning.
You nod, clearly proud of your academic accomplishments. Aaron is the last person who would fault someone for taking pride in their achievements, but he also can't shake the feeling that you may just be another one of the 'rich girls' he knew in law school. The trust fund kids and Senators' daughters who knew just how smart they were...and knew exactly how to use it to their advantage.
"Your academic record is quite impressive, and you scored well in physical fitness," he continues, quickly realizing that he doesn't exactly have any concrete grounds on which to reject you.
"Thank you," you smile, your hands folded in your lap. "I would love to work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. One of my favorite classes at the Academy was in behavioral science, and I know how important the work you all do here is. I also got a chance to talk to some of the team before this interview, since I got here a bit early..." You let out a small laugh, and he can tell that it's mostly for your benefit, to lighten the tension. "...and everyone seems really nice. Agent Morgan is clearly a natural leader, especially with how he carries himself in front of the team, and Doctor Reid gave me some statistics about the rate of Academy grads who get into various fields across the agency."
You trail off as your rambling winds to a close, and suddenly Aaron isn't sure what to make of you anymore.
"Doctor Reid is a genius," Hotch agrees, before cracking the faintest smile, "but he can take some getting used to."
You shake your head, possibly misinterpreting his comment, but trying to clear the air nonetheless. "Not at all! It was incredible speaking to him. I think I learned more just this morning than I have since I graduated."
A slight flush colors the top of your chest as you gush about your experiences and Aaron finds that your curiosity and keen senses (and warmth) are the exact characteristics that will serve you well here. He is pleased that you got along with the team, and that's when he realizes there is no point in trying to find a reason to reject you.
You're already in.
***
It still hurts when he breathes in too quickly, but after three weeks of recovering in his empty apartment, Aaron is ready to return to work.
You've been keeping him up to date with the cases that the team has been working on, but it's not the same as being in the thick of it. After years of constant motion and always being on his toes, this last month of medical leave has made him feel like he's decomposing.
He only gets up to eat, shower, or, you know, and he misses being around people every day. He misses being around you.
As if his thoughts conjured you into being, a knock sounds at his door, and he gets up with a grunt when he hears your voice announcing your presence.
It takes him ages to get to the door, but once he gets it open, he sees you standing in front of him with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle in the other. He's surprised to see you, but he's also very very pleased.
"I brought takeout," you smile, your eyes glinting in the dim light of the hallway, "and sparkling cider."
His eyebrows raise at the latter, and you roll your eyes dramatically, following him inside. "Considering all the medications you're probably hopped up on right now, I made the tactical choice not to bring alcohol over here."
He chuckles, watching as you remove containers of steaming Thai food from the bag. "A sound decision."
"How are you feeling?" you ask once you're both settled on the couch, a plate of uneaten noodles resting on your lap. "Do you think you'll be ready to come back soon?"
"It's not up to me," he sighs, his eyes following the movement of your fork across your plate. Why aren't you eating?
"Well, you can tell those doctors at St. Sebastian's that I said you look great."
His heart rate jumps before the meaning of your words sinks in. But the warm shade of mauve that flushes across your chest says otherwise.
"I just mean that you look fine," you correct, clearing your throat. "Healthy."
He nods, not wanting to embarrass you, but a fire courses through his veins as he watches the telltale signs of attraction wash over you. Darkening of the eyes, flushing of the skin, eye contact.
Aaron would be lying if he said that he never noticed the way your eyes lingered on him across the conference room. He had chalked it up to a schoolgirl crush, but could a temporary infatuation really explain the relationship that had developed between the two of you?
You were the first person he looked for when he walked into work in the mornings, the first opinion he sought out when testing a new theory. How much longer could he pretend that what he felt for you was strictly professional?
"How are Haley and Jack doing?" you ask, jerking him from his thoughts.
"About as well as you can imagine," he says sincerely, his expression falling as he thinks about how long it has been since he has seen his son. "It's tough being under constant watch."
Ever since Foyet practically called them out by name, they've been assigned a protection detail and kept away from anything to do with the case...which includes him.
"We'll find him, Aaron," you whisper, your eyes glowing with genuine earnestness. "We have to."
He nods, and only then do you finally take a bite of your food.
"I'm sorry, I just don't like red wine," you laugh, taking a sip from your chilled glass of white. "I'd much rather just have a beer."
Rossi scoffs, his "Kiss the Cook" apron lending him very little authority. "That's because you've never had real, good wine. Your $7 grocery store wines don't count either, kid."
Leaning your forearms on the island counter in the center of Rossi's kitchen, you shoot Hotch a look that says 'help me out here', but he just shakes his head, smiling at you from over the rim of his glass.
"Okay," Emily nods, taking a seat next to you. "I'll bite. Let's see this fancy red wine you've been raving about."
"Not yet," Rossi says, waving his hand at you both as he carefully stirs marinara sauce into his handmade pappardelle. "Red wine cannot be truly enjoyed unless it is taken with authentic Italiano."
It takes everything in you not to snort, but you bite your tongue and take another sip of your white wine.
"I hope you're prepared to finish what you started here," a deep voice rumbles from behind you.
Hotch comes up next to you, his hip resting against the counter as he turns to face you. "David won't give up until he gets you to concede."
"I can handle myself," you smirk, your eyes glinting with amusement. "Besides, when have you ever known me to turn away from a challenge."
He's about to say something witty, but then the edge of your lips curves up and you wink at him, and suddenly every thought he has ever had has mysteriously disappeared.
You can't stop laughing, even though it really isn't that funny. "Kevin asked you for advice on how to ask Penelope out on a date?"
Aaron nods, his lips twitching as he tries not to laugh. "He was very earnest, but I didn't think his prospective relationship with our tech analyst was more pertinent than finding a missing girl."
"He asked you in the middle of a case?!" you squeak, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you shake with laughter.
He lets himself go a bit and a bright grin spreads across his face. Your laugh is like music and he finds that his wounds don't hurt as much anymore.
The drinks don't have any alcohol in them, but he still feels lighter than he has in months, and he feels himself wishing that you could be here with him all the time.
"Yup," he confirms, shaking his head. "Reid was with me as well, and I thought his jaw would fall off with how far open his mouth was."
"Oh my goodness," you gasp, trying to control the giggles bubbling up inside of you. "Speaking of Reid...he really needs a haircut."
This finally breaks him and Hotch lets out a loud hoot of laughter. You almost forget to worry about whether his scar tissue is hurting him, because he looks so happy for the first time in what feels like forever.
Your heart warms in your chest and as you lean back on his new couch, you realize that you would come over to his place with takeout and cider every night until the end of time if it meant he would keep smiling at you like that.
***
Your ears are still ringing even in the eerie silence. Three gunshots and a choked sob and then nothing.
Your SUV feels like it's barely moving, even though the speedometer is hovering around 90, but somehow when you skid to a stop in front of the Hotchner family home, there's only one other SUV parked out front.
You throw yourself out of the car, running as fast as you can into the house, your gun at the ready in front of you. It takes a long time - too long - to make it up the stairs, but the moment you hear the forlorn mix of thuds and sobs, you're running again.
Please let him be okay. Please let them all be okay.
You burst into the room as Hotch pounds into Foyet, his bloody face practically unrecognizable as he gets shredded to a pulp.
"Aaron," you gasp, sinking to your knees and throwing your arms around him from behind. "He's dead. You have to stop."
It takes a few more moments, but eventually his hands stop throwing punches. His knuckles are covered in blood and his hands shake violently as he leans into you, his body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs.
Tears prick your eyes as you hold him tightly, working off the futile hope that if you squeeze hard enough, all of the pain and horror will go away.
Loud footsteps reverberate around the house and you relax when you hear Emily and Derek's voices behind you. They fall silent when they see the two of you, but you're unable to focus on anything other than keeping the man in front of you in one piece for as long as possible.
"Wait," you mutter suddenly, the team's arrival bringing you back to reality. "Jack?"
Aaron's body stiffens against yours and he practically springs off the ground, pushing through all the officers and agents that have entered the house since you arrived. You race after him, following as he runs into his home office and opens a small compartment under his window seat.
When Jack's small face peers back at you, the entire house lets out a sigh of relief.
"Hey, buddy," Aaron whispers, pulling Jack into a lumbering hug.
Jack looks at all of us over his shoulder, his eyes full of a youthful innocence that tugs at your heartstrings. "I worked the case, Dad, just like you said."
"Yes," Hotch nods, the tension in his body slowly seeping away, "you did a great job, buddy."
***
The funeral is somber and beautiful, even before the snow starts falling. JJ and Will nod at you from across the lawn as you make your way along the sidewalk, a few steps behind Derek, Emily, Reid, and Rossi.
You feel a light pat on your hand and you look down to see Jack looking back at you. You press your lips into a thin smile and take his hand, trying to warm up his chilly fingers with your glove.
"Let's find your Aunt Jess," you tell him as you wade between the crowd, all dressed in black.
When Jack is safely tucked under his aunt's arms, you trudge back over to where the team is all standing together. Rossi holds his arm out and you latch onto him with a grateful nod.
"Will this ever end?" you whisper, unable to keep the pain festering inside of you for a moment longer. "The pain can't go on forever, can it?"
He brings his other hand up and lays it on top of yours, holding you to him for a small, comforting moment.
"It will feel like forever," he sighs, his usually reassuring voice suddenly low and anguished, "but it won't be...and that's the important thing."
Haley's casket is carried up the snow-blanketed hill and when the proceedings begin, you watch as Aaron clasps his hands together, his head permanently dipped down.
You can feel his sadness from here, and you would give anything to be able to take it away, but this isn't the time. This is the time for remembrance and appreciation of the life Haley lived. The loyal friend, the loving wife, the devoted mother.
Jessica squeezes your hand as she passes by you, and when she makes her way up to the front, Aaron begins his eulogy.
"Haley was my best friend since we were in high school..."
***
Even when it seems like nothing will ever be the same, things eventually manage to return to normal. Jessica has been helping out with Jack when Hotch is at work, but you can see the strain being a single father is putting on him.
When the team is called to a small fishing town in rural Alaska, you can feel the stress emanating off of him from being so far from Jack for so long, but he doesn't let it get in the way of the work. He never does.
"I've got four of the upstairs rooms available," Rhodes, the police chief, explains when you all arrive at the singular lodge in town.
Uh, four?
"Uh, four?" Derek asks, echoing your thoughts.
Rhodes sighs, clearly starting to regret calling us at all. "Your team is double the size of my department."
When we don't say anything, he shakes his head and bids us goodbye. "I'll see you in the morning."
When he leaves, Hotch turns to us. "Looks like we'll have to double up."
"I'm not sleeping with Reid," Derek points, shaking his head.
You stifle a laugh when Garcia immediately latches onto Derek, piping up with a "Dibs!"
By the time night falls, you end up bunking with Garcia, which works just fine for you, except for the fact that you can't sleep.
Penelope has been out like a light since everyone called it a night an hour ago, but you've been staring at the ceiling, unable to catch a wink.
A half hour later, you finally give up, grabbing your files and shutting the door quietly behind you. You tiptoe down the stairs, hoping that the small seating area in the lobby will be empty, but when it comes into view, you spot someone sitting in front of the crackling fireplace.
"I want to dance!" JJ announces, clapping her hands together as she bounces on her toes. "I love this song."
"You go right on ahead, darlin'," Will says, pressing a kiss to her temple.
JJ shoots him a knowing look that feels so familiar it makes your chest hurt. You would give anything to have that sweet domesticity with someone you loved.
"If you won't join me, then my girls will," she fires back, reaching out to grab at your hands.
Emily and Penelope start to shake their heads, but JJ looks so excited that you can't help but mirror her enthusiasm.
"Okay," you nod, taking her hand. "I'm in."
She grins back at you and shoots Will and the guys a proud look, before pulling you into the crowd with her. It's clear that she's had a couple more drinks than she should have, but as long as she's having fun, who were you to stop her?
With the bustling throng of bodies filling the bar, you can hardly believe that Rossi's favorite joint is about to close for good.
The bar is pumping a bright Abba song through the rickety speakers and you sway your hips to the melodic beat as JJ gyrates in front of you. Your eyes fall closed as you lift your hands above your head, trying to find the rhythm over the loud buzz of conversation around you.
Your eyes snap open when JJ squeals again, signaling the arrival of Derek and Penelope to the dance floor, and you grin at them as he holds her hands and twirls her around deftly.
You turn around, scanning the crowd for a familiar face - well, one in particular - when you land on Rossi, who smiles at you. You grin brightly, waving at him, but he heads to the bar to get another drink, shrewdly managing to avoid your call for him to come join you all.
Your line of sight wanders again, this time landing on the person you were looking for. Aaron doesn't smile back immediately, his gaze slightly hazy, but then he lifts his glass in a pseudo-salute, his eyes never leaving yours.
You know this isn't his usual scene, so you don't try to get him to join you on the dance floor, but when he reaches up to unbutton his collar, you feel a breathlessness you haven't experienced since your first kiss.
The rest of the bar fades away and the loud voices around you quiet to a murmur. Hands grab at your shoulders, but your body feels far away as your eyes stay locked on his, diving deeper and deeper, trying to see every inch of him.
You love him, you know you do. You can try to ignore it for as long as you want, but that won't change the truth.
You're in love with him.
You snap back to reality when Penelope yells your name, and you shake your head, trying to clear the feelings that are rising inside of you.
Your brain feels warm and fuzzy as you return to your friends, and you're not sure if you can blame it on the alcohol anymore.
"Couldn't sleep?" you ask rhetorically as you take a seat on the well worn couch, next to Hotch. He's still in his clothes from earlier, but his sleeves are pushed back and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck.
He looks hauntingly beautiful with the firelight gleaming against his skin. You want to lean in and press your lips against his —
He shakes his head. "You too?"
You don't respond, instead reaching forward to lay your case file on the wooden coffee table.
"There's something off about this place," you eventually say, trying to describe what you've been feeling since you arrived. "I feel like something bad is going to happen."
He nods, setting down the files he was working on. "I think I understand what you mean. The kills have been so horrific, I'm shocked that the town hasn't already imploded just from trying to find the killer on their own."
"That's not- I don't mean..." you struggle to find the right words. "I'm scared for the team. I feel like we're all so strung out that one bad case, one bad outcome, could break us."
You don't know where this is coming from, and you can tell he doesn't know what to make of it either, but you're glad it's out there. Anything is better than the pit you feel in your stomach every time he - any of them - gets too close to a place they can never come back from.
Before he can react, you lean your cheek on his shoulder, a sigh of relief leaving your body as his fire-warmed skin burns into you through the thin fabric of his button-down.
This is the closest he has ever been to you, and the warmth of your smooth skin against his makes his breath catch in his throat.
He whispers your name and it comes out more like a gasp than a warning.
"Please," you breathe, turning your face so that you are looking at the fire. "Please, just...can we just sit here for a moment."
He knows what this will mean for your relationship going forward, knows that nothing can be the same if he lets this continue, but he can't bring himself to move.
The words flash in his mind before he can shut them off, and he closes his eyes, savoring them for as long as he can before reality is sure to set in.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Eventually, the fire will die out and the morning light will filter through the windows, and the world will come rushing back. But for now, it's just you two. So instead of doing what he would've done not six months ago...instead of standing up and telling you to go to bed, he stays still. Instead of stopping this at the root, before it can blossom into something he can't control, he sits there, with you at his side, for more than just a moment.
***
When Aaron pulls you aside in the hospital to explain the plan to fake Emily's death, you can barely breathe.
"You mentioned in your department file that you have contacts in Paris," Hotch is saying as you struggle to quiet the buzzing noise in your skull, "and we need them to help her lay low for a while as we figure out the Ian Doyle situation."
You remember nodding and giving him the information he needs, but everything else that happens that night is a blur. You can't remember who broke the news that Emily was gone, or where you went when you couldn't stand to be in that hospital anymore, or even how you got home.
All you know is that it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to tell the team the truth. Their gaunt faces stare back at you every morning for weeks, and somehow, at the same time, you have all the power in the world to help them, but also none at all.
You swear you can hear the crack of your heart when Spencer comes to your apartment every other night, tears spilling onto his cheeks, and at first, Aaron is the only person you can be yourself around.
But then he leaves too, and that's when the ground truly starts to cave in around you.
***
"Hey," you say softly, pressing the satellite phone to your ear. "How are you?"
Derek had handed you the phone after debriefing Hotch on the Doyle investigation, and now he was downstairs with rest of the team.
"It's getting harder to find leads over here, but we're still working," Aaron tells you, a quiet static coloring his voice. "How are...how is Jack?"
You press your lips together, trying to hold in the anger that has been bubbling up inside of you for months. "He's really good. Jessica is great with him."
Since Aaron left for his assignment in Pakistan, you have been spending more and more time with Jack. He's a sweet kid, and since you can't be there for any of your work family, the absolute least you can do is be there for a boy who doesn't have his mother or his father right now.
"Will you be home soon?" Your voice sounds different to your own ears. Tinny. Distant.
"I don't know," he says truthfully, his voice giving away nothing.
There's a pause on his end of the line and when he starts speaking again, his voice is clearer than before. "I know how hard all of this has been on you...I'm sorry."
Anger flares in your veins and you bite your lip as you hear quiet laughter filter up from the bullpen. "Hard? Yeah, it's been really damn hard to come in to work every day and lie to the people I care about most in this world."
You can hear the slight catch in his breath, but it only spurs you on. "I'm sure it's much easier to hide from the team when you're all the way across the freaking world."
He says your name, his tone not so much warning as it is fervent. Your finger moves to the 'off' button and you don't wait for his response before you mutter a quick "I have to go" and press down.
When you go back to your quiet apartment that night, the solitude feels almost overwhelming. You set your bag on your coffee table and pull your shoes off on the way to the master bathroom, where you strip off your clothes in one go.
Your shower is set so hot that steam fills the bathroom within minutes of you stepping inside. The scalding water burns away the pain and loneliness of the day, and for a few moments, you can just stand there and not think.
When you close your eyes, you can almost imagine that he's still here. That the searing rivulets that glide down your body are his fingers and that the hands that are holding you and comforting you with their warmth aren't just falling water.
It takes you a few minutes to realize that the tracks running down your face aren't coming from the cascade above you. The sobs you've learned to hold in and keep quiet start gurgling in your chest, and before you can tamp them down, they burst out in full force.
Your knees give out and you crumble to the floor of your shower. The salt of your tears mixes with the water around you and for the first time ever, you hate him almost as much as you love him.
***
Everyone looks just as confused as you do when they are called into the office extra early for seemingly no reason. You all meet in the conference room, trying to figure out what kind of case could be so secretive that none of you were briefed, when a figure appears in the doorway.
"Welcome back," Derek mutters from across the room, but you can't take your eyes off of Aaron (and his beard?).
"You're back," you exhale, equal amounts of joy and fury flooding your system.
"Everyone," he nods, motioning to you all, "take a seat."
Everyone sits down obediently, and then he dives into the speech that you have both dreaded and looked forward to for months.
"Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team."
The lying is finally over.
"As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle."
They look so confused. God, why can't he get to the point.
"But the doctors were able to stabilize her."
There it is. She's okay. Emily is alive, and she's okay.
"Her identity was strictly need-to-know."
They look so betrayed. You've been lying to them for months, of course they feel betrayed.
"She's alive?" Penelope asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Spencer gapes. "...But we buried her."
Aaron closes his eyes for a moment, and you can see the emotions swirling inside of his head. Pain, anger, self-hatred.
"If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me."
"Who else knew?" Derek yells, his eyes brimming with hurt.
Aaron's eyes flash to you for barely a moment, but it's enough. They all turn to you, disbelief coloring their features.
"This whole time?" Reid mutters, his eyes not fully meeting yours. "You knew this whole time?"
You are spared from answering when Emily steps into the doorway, a shawl thrown over her shoulders. You know you don't deserve the reunion as much as they all do, but seeing her is still a shock.
Even though you were privy to the details of her re-assignment, you haven't seen her since that day at the hospital either. Penelope and Spencer rush forward, pulling her into desperate hugs that burn your throat with tears.
Morgan is standing still, his hands motionless on the back of one of the conference room chairs.
"Derek," you plead, trying to catch his eye. "I'm so sorr-"
He doesn't let you finish, his hand coming up in an evasive gesture. "Save it."
A sob catches in your throat and you walk out of the room.
***
Aaron's apartment building looks exactly the same as it did seven months ago, when you came to say goodbye before he left for Pakistan.
You sit in your car for what feels like hours, but when you finally step out onto the street, it's only been ten minutes.
After Hotch broke the news to the team, you went home in a haze, unsure of how you were even able to drive. Hours of sitting by yourself in the dark didn't do anything to change your mental state, and you were already in the car when you realized what was eating at you.
Now you are in front of his door and you can hear his footsteps getting closer and closer. When the door opens, you push past him, swiveling your head as you look around the apartment.
"Is Jack here?" you ask, searching for his telltale head of blonde hair.
Hotch shakes his head, clearly confused. "He's with Jess until tomorrow."
You nod, trying to formulate what you want to say in your head. There are so many words swirling around your brain, but nothing feels just right.
"What's going on?" he asks, taking a step towards you. "Are you doing okay?"
That's what breaks you.
"Am I doing okay?" you cry, your hands coming up to rake your hair back. "Emily's finally back, and I can't even enjoy it, because the whole team hates me."
"I'm sorry," he says, his brow furrowing. He takes another step toward you. "They're going to hate me too, if that makes you feel any better."
You scoff, turning away from him as you pace across his living room. "They'll never hate you as much as they hate me, because you weren't here. You weren't the one lying to their faces everyday for seven months. I was!"
He deflates, and suddenly he looks smaller than you've ever seen him before. "I'm so sorry for putting you in that position. I can't imagine how painful it would have been to lie to the team for so long."
He's saying all the right things and that only makes you angrier.
"You don't get it," you grit out, your fingers pressing into the back of your neck. "They had each other. All those months they were grieving, at least they were together. For a second, I had you, but then you left me and I was all alone."
Your voice breaks on the last word and he reaches forward as you fall into his arms, sobs wracking your body. "I missed you. When you left, I hated you, but I still missed you every day you were gone."
Your face burrows into the crook of his neck as he holds you tightly in his arms, his strong body holding you up as your legs threaten to give out. He smells different, like pepper and smoke, and you resist the urge to breathe him in now that he's finally here.
When you pull back, you stay in the circle of his arms, relishing the way his hands feel resting against your lower back. It's almost comforting to know that your body still reacts to him the same way it did seven months ago.
He's so close to you that you can feel his breath on your nose. If you tilted your head back your lips would brush his, and it takes everything in you not to give in.
But then the familiar warning bells go off in your brain and you take a step back. You aren't completely in the dark. You know that he feels something for you that isn't strictly professional, but you also know that if you lost him the way he lost Haley, you wouldn't be able to handle it. At least not with the grace that he has.
Your expression falls and his eyes fill with pain. "I shouldn't have left. I was wrong. Please forgive me."
"That's the problem," you sigh, resisting the disturbing urge to laugh at how deep inside of you he has burrowed himself. "I forgave you the moment you walked through the door."
***
Emily's return softens the blow of what you and Aaron had done, so by the time Ian Doyle is killed and the case is finished, the whole team is mostly working together cohesively again.
Spencer and Derek didn't speak more than a few words to you for weeks afterward, but when Emily made it clear that it was her life that hung in the balance, they eventually came around.
With the Senate hearings and Congressional oversight starting to take a backseat, the team was finally getting a chance to loosen up, and after investigating a serial killer in Atlanta, you all decided to make a day out of cheering on Aaron at the FBI triathlon.
Jack holds your hand as you lead him through the small crowd that has gathered by the finish line. The rest of the team is already there, leaning against the barricade, and Derek props Jack up on his shoulders when he gets to the front. He waves his big sign in the air and you grin as he cheers loudly, even though nobody has made it to the finish line yet.
"Do you see him, Uncle Dave?" Jack asks as he starts to get bored.
Rossi peers out across the trail. "Yeah, buddy, I think I do!"
You all turn to see Aaron jogging across the grassy expanse, his running form impeccable (of course). Everyone starts cheering and when he sees you all, a smile crosses his face, his eyes glinting with joy and amusement.
"Running should be illegal," you complain as Aaron pads along a few feet ahead of you, his skin barely starting to glisten while yours is covered in sweat. "How far are we now? We've definitely done at least a half-marathon."
He snorts, checking his fitness tracker. "We're halfway through the second mile."
You groan, slowing to a stop and putting your hands on your knees. "I have no idea how I scored so well on my academy physical. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"How old does that make me?" he asks, the corner of his lips quirking up.
You shake your head, lifting up a finger as you ask for another minute. "If we're talking in terms of physical fitness, you may just be younger than me, Hotchner."
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly before patting your back and nodding. "Come on, let's keep going."
You groan again, this time more dramatically, but you start jogging alongside him, making a genuine effort to keep up. "Okay, so you can run. Well, need I remind you that a triathlon has three events...my money's on the swim taking you out."
His eyes twinkle like bright stars and you have to look away, pretending that the sun's in your eyes. "I think I can handle myself. Besides, I have a much better chance of completing the swim than the bike ride at this point."
"Well," you grin, speeding up a bit to run a few steps ahead, "you know what they say about riding a bicycle!"
"Thank you guys for coming," he says sincerely after hanging his medal around Jack's neck.
"Oh, we wouldn't miss it," Derek grins, smacking him on the back playfully.
"How do you feel?" Rossi asks.
Aaron sighs, a small grin appearing on his face. "I'll survive."
Jack patters around the group and reaches forward to grab your hand again, and you don't miss the look in Aaron's eyes when you take it.
The sweet domesticity you wanted. This is it.
Your chest burns with tears and you clear your throat, squeezing Jack's hand and helping him roll up his poster.
That gives you all another reason to cheer, and you lead Jack to Hotch's car as JJ loops her arm through yours.
Penelope and Derek walk a few paces behind you, arms linked, and Emily, David, and Spencer are deep in conversation about something you probably wouldn't understand.
The team feels like a family again.
Happy tears sting your eyes and you blink them away, hoping no one noticed. But when you look up to find Aaron's car, he's already watching you, and you could have sworn his eyes were glinting too.
***
The whole team is crowded around one booth in the back of the fancy bar that Rossi selected for tonight's celebration. You are squished between Aaron and Penelope, and the conversation has gone from the average running speed of adult males (Reid's idea) to how many shots would you need before you'd be willing to go and dance in front of the whole team (Emily's).
Your empty vodka tonic is sitting on the table in front of you, condensation dripping onto the dark wood as the ice melts.
"I'm going to get another drink," you announce, before pushing past Hotch and Rossi and slinking up to the bar.
"Can I get a cosmopolitan?" you ask the bartender, who nods at you before turning around to make your drink.
You drum your fingers against the counter as you wait, but it doesn't take long before a tall, blonde man who looks to be about your age sidles up next to you.
"What are you having?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in a way that you're sure he thinks is seductive.
"I'm already set," you tell him, turning your body away slightly, "but thanks."
"I saw you with your group earlier," he continues as you flash your eyes at the bartender in a signal you hope conveys that you need him to hurry up. "Unless you're with the nerdy one, I'm not sure what the problem is."
"The problem," you explain, your jaw clenching as your drink finally lands on the counter, "is that I'm not interested."
You grab your drink and immediately turn around, but thankfully Emily and JJ have come up to order new drinks too. Clearly outnumbered, the man shakes his head and leaves you alone.
Aaron hasn't taken his eyes off you since you got up from the booth. When a man approached you at the bar, he felt the first inkling of jealousy scrape through his bones, but your body language quickly made it clear that you weren't interested, and that you could handle yourself.
He probably should be a bit more careful with how much he watches you, especially when surrounded by a band of profilers, but sometimes, when the day comes to a close, and he's had a drink or two, his shields fall down and he allows himself a moment to just...pretend.
Pretend that what you feel for each other is something he can act on. Pretend that you are someone he can look for in a bar. Someone he can call his.
He's lost in his thoughts when David mutters something from next to him.
"What was that?" he asks, turning his head to hear him better.
Dave repeats himself. "It's okay, you know."
Aaron frowns. "What are you talking about."
"What you feel for her...it's okay."
His brow furrows and a pained look crosses his face. They were bound to notice eventually, and he would have had to tell them at some point. If not now, when? "It doesn't feel okay all the time."
Dave sighs, his fingers running over the side of his whiskey glass. "When you're with her...does it make everything else hurt less?"
Aaron shoots him a look that's a mix between confusion and exasperation, but when he thinks about the question, all he can hear in his head is yes, yes, a resounding yes.
Dave must see it on his face, because he smiles and shrugs. "Then how can it be wrong?"
He turns to look at you again, but this time the lights in the bar feel brighter than before. The music sounds clearer and the smile on your face sets his whole chest ablaze.
When you return to the table, you finish your drink, but you don't go back for another. You've noticed Aaron looking at you here and there throughout the night, but you're not sure if it's just your imagination or if you're tipsier than you thought.
The team is laughing around you, and Aaron's thigh feels warm pressed against yours. You haven't been this happy in ages.
***
After what has easily been the most taxing case of your life, the weekend comes to a close with an evening you have all been waiting for almost as long as JJ and Will have.
"You clean up well," you joke as Aaron walks into Rossi's backyard, where the rest of you are scattered around, talking to the wedding guests.
He's wearing a clean, black tux that fits him perfectly.
"You think so?" he asks, the ghost of a smirk in his eyes. "You look beautiful."
You smile in response, letting him lead you to the back of the patio, where rows of folding chairs have been set up. He looks better, lighter, than you've seen him in a while. It suits him.
JJ and Will get married in an elegant ceremony that leaves no more than a few dry eyes in the audience, and when they take to the floor for their first dance, you sip your champagne from a table off to the side.
Aaron is watching Spencer do magic tricks in front of the children, and he's wearing one of his secret, dazzling smiles that he only brings out when he thinks no one is watching.
"This seat taken?"
You turn to see Emily's hand on the chair next to you, and you shake your head, smiling as she takes a seat.
"You look wonderful," you tell her, patting her hand on the table. "I'm so glad you're here. You were amazing this weekend. This wedding wouldn't be happening without you."
She laughs, taking a sip of champagne. "I'll be sure to tell Will you said that."
You chuckle, settling into a comfortable silence that is only really possible with people you know as well as you know this team.
Emily adjusts her dress and you think she's going to get up and re-join the group, but then she takes you completely by surprise. "You should go for it."
You look at her, confused. "Huh?"
Deep down, you know what she's referring to, but if you can play dumb for a few more moments, you won't miss out on the opportunity.
"You and Hotch. You should go for it."
You open your mouth to respond, but she gets up and leaves you to mull over her words.
When Rossi asks everyone to join the newly married couple on the dance floor, you assume that you'll just hang off to the side with Reid, but then you get your second surprise of the night.
"Care to dance?"
Aaron holds his hand out, only mostly certain that you will accept. When you take his hand, he's as much relieved as he is pleased, and he leads you out into the center of the clearing.
Your hand finds his shoulder as his slips onto your waist, and you fall into an easy rhythm as you look up at him, a smile on your face. You look radiant under the twinkling fairy lights, and he has to tear his eyes away from you when you lean in closer to rest your chin on his shoulder.
His arms envelope you as your chests press together, your breaths going in and out in unison.
You peer over his shoulder, watching as Derek and Penelope laugh in the corner, and Emily tries to teach Spencer how not to step on her feet.
"Jack looks happy," you whisper as your eyes land on the children playing off to the side.
"He is," Aaron agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. After a pause, his head dips down and his cheek presses against your temple. "We are."
***
When the night comes to a close, you are looking for Emily, since she drove you to Rossi's house, but a pat on your shoulder stops you in your tracks.
"I can take you home," Aaron says, his eyes filled with an earnest look that has you nodding before you can even process the offer.
The car ride is nearly silent during the short trip back to your apartment, but when he pulls up in front of your building, you can't bring yourself to open the door.
You can feel a tension in the air, the same one that has been building for years, and for some reason, tonight, you're not scared of it anymore.
"Aaron..." you whisper, turning to look at him, but he cuts you off.
"I love you."
Your breath leaves your lungs and you open your mouth to say it back, but he keeps going.
"I'm not some young player anymore," he says, a breathy chuckle leaving his mouth as he speaks. "I think you know what I feel for you. I think you've known for some time."
You've forgotten how to speak. "I didn't know for sure."
"I know why you never brought it up," he whispers, his voice tight with emotion, "but even though she's gone, I know she wouldn't have wanted me to be alone forever."
None of the words floating around your brain seem good enough, and you can't think, so you just lean forward and kiss him.
His lips are softer than you imagined, and after a moment of indecision, he reaches up and threads his fingers through your hair, holding you against him. The kiss is sweet and it feels like the perfect start to something new and fresh, but then his tongue slips along the seam of your lips, and you gasp, heat shooting down to your core.
"Aaron," you gasp against his mouth, your hands gliding up his chest and over his shoulders. "Let's go inside."
He pulls back momentarily, and there's a small smudge on his lips from your lip gloss.
You throw open the car door and practically speed-walk to the elevators as he follows closely behind you. It takes years to get up to your apartment, but when you finally get the door open, you're on him again, your lips pressing against his and your hands tangled in his thick hair.
A groan rumbles in his throat when you tug slightly, and he grips your waist, moving you back and lifting you onto the couch.
"You'll tell me if it's too much," he says frantically, his voice low and strained. "If you want me to stop and take it slower, you just have to say it."
You shake your head, pulling him down on top of you. "I've waited for this for years. I'm not going anywhere."
He smiles against your skin, peppering slow kisses down your jaw as your eyes fall closed and pleasure melts down your spine. His hands are firm on your waist, holding you tightly as though he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
Aaron's ministrations are slow and careful, and you quickly become impatient, your body squirming as you implicitly beg for more. You're practically vibrating under him when he lifts his knee and presses into you, his lips moving in unison with his body as he applies a glorious pressure that has you gasping into his mouth.
Where did he learn to do that?
Heat swells in your abdomen and you pull back, your eyes wild and your chest heaving.
"What is it?" he asks, his forehead furrowing. "Are you okay?"
"I need more," you exhale, reaching down to grab at the hem of his shirt.
You yank open the buttons and slip it over his shoulders, reveling at how beautiful he looks on top of you. When his mouth returns to your chest, you keen against him, your legs pressing together as you try to ward off the pleasure rising inside of you.
Aaron reaches down and tugs the bottom of your dress up, yanking upward until it's over your head. Your hair cascades down, splayed out around your face like a halo, and he can't imagine that any angel would look prettier than you do right now.
"You're so beautiful," he mutters, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts and along your stomach.
The sensation is not enough, but the sheer anticipation of where he's heading has your whole body tingling.
He takes his time, kissing the soft skin of your inner thighs and working his up around your core until he finally dives in. His hands takes your calves and lift them onto his shoulders as he licks a thick stripe up the center of your cunt.
You writhe against the smooth couch, your hands grabbing onto his hair for some semblance of support as he thrusts his tongue inside of you, his nose bumping against your clit with an infuriating rhythm.
Aaron moves his tongue with the movements of your body as he painstakingly avoids the one place you are begging for him to go. Your hand tightens in his hair and he groans, creating satisfying vibrations that make you shudder.
Just when it seems like it may never be enough, he laves over you, sucking at your clit with a lewd, wet sound that makes you moan so loudly, you shock even yourself.
He hums with pride and your hips fly off the couch, trying to get closer and closer as you near the precipice of all the pleasure that's been building up. He sucks you into his mouth one more time and you fall over the edge with a strangled cry.
His hands press into your abdomen, trying to keep you still so that he can keep working at you, but pleasure rolls over you as your body spasms below him. You lift your head slightly as you come down from the high, and you see him pushing himself into the couch, his eyebrows pinched in a strained expression.
When the shudders finally abate, Aaron crawls back up your body, a big grin eating at his face. He plants another kiss on your mouth and the taste of yourself on his tongue makes you whimper.
"I want to feel you," you gasp between clashes of teeth, "inside me."
He freezes and you're afraid you may have gone too far, but then he's tugging off his pants and you can't help the small smirk that flashes across your face.
When he's fully bare, your mind goes blank and you move to reach down and take him in your hand, but he just shakes his head, pushing your shoulder back gently to lay you down again.
The apartment is silent except for low grunts and harsh breathing as Aaron enters you slowly, pushing forward until he is seated fully inside of you. His size is impressive and it takes a few moments for the initial sting to dissolve into white, hot pleasure.
He takes his time to let you get adjusted, but when you grit out a "please, move" he doesn't wait another second. His thrusts start slow, because he wants to work you up until you're writhing beneath him, but when he peers down at you, his breath leaves his body.
You are everything he imagined, and he can feel you everywhere, from the flush of his cheeks to the tingling of his toes. You look like a dream below him, one he never wants to wake up from.
Aaron pushes into you, harder this time, and a barely constrained bliss fills your eyes, a cocktail of desire and hunger mixing to create the greatest possible pleasure he can imagine.
You squeeze around him like a vice grip, and a deep, low sound rumbles in his chest, stuttering his movements.
Your legs shake as he runs his hand up your thigh, before lifting it up and around his waist. The new angle hits a deeper spot inside of you and you let out a moan so beautiful that he can't resist dipping down to press his lips to yours.
You tighten around him once more and he can tell how close you are, so he speeds up his thrusts, creating a rhythm that has you shuddering against him. You reach your climax a moment later and with you falling apart below him, he thinks that he finally understands what it means to have everything you could ever want.
After a few more thrusts, he spills into you, his arms the only thing holding his body up as all energy flows out of him. He rests his forehead against yours and his breath stutters as he falls onto the couch beside you.
You may be completely spent, but you're not ready to be away from him yet, so you tuck yourself into his arms, practically on top of him as he wraps himself around you.
"I love you too," you whisper, ghosting your lips over his pulse.
Aaron sighs out a breath of contentment and he pulls you closer to him, unable to let go just yet. Emotions that he finally understands rise up inside his body and for the first time in a long time, he lets them wash over him.
Tony Stark was just looking for someone to give a damn. So he does what any other lonely teen desperate for affection would do, sign-up for a dating app. He could never imagine what he was getting into once he matched with Steve Rogers.
Steve Rogers and his partner, Bucky Barnes, love each other. But they have a problem, they are not sexually compatible. As two doms in charge of a growing underground empire they decide they want to look outside their usual offerings for a sub to complete their dynamic. Just their luck, they find Tony.
Words: 0, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Categories: M/M, Multi
Characters: Steve Rogers, James “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Helen Cho (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff
Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark, James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Additional Tags: Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Body Modification, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Daddy Kink, Daddy Issues, Organized Crime, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Unrealistic Sex, No Refractory Period, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Come Sharing, Come as Lube, Size Difference, Master/Slave, Training, Grooming, Hand Jobs, Sex Toys, Blow Jobs, Sounding, Figging, Virgin Tony Stark, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
“You don't ever have to say please to me," he told you, eyes heady, voice warm.
summary: spider-man likes you a little bit too much, and wants to help you get rid of your migraine - by whatever means necessary. 3.4k
warnings: smut, fluff, low-key sickfic, nsfw, 18+ only please, college!peter, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader
The summer sun bore down on the back of your neck relentlessly. You speculated that you might have heat stroke or something similar - a persistent, acute migraine having formed behind your lashes. You didn’t have far to walk now from the public library to your apartment, the home stretch clear and achingly white with the sun. You’d covered your eyes with your hand, head down, blinking against the dryness.
You felt like your shoes were made of lead, just about managing to weave through the pedestrians packed tightly together on the sidewalk despite your impaired vision. Maneuvering through your fellow New Yorkers was usually common practice, the civilians moving through the city like schools of fish through a coral reef. You wheedled past mother’s and their children, businessmen and artists and rundown looking summer school students who crowded your avenue's bodega for lunch. In a haze, you began crossing the street, eyes to the burning hot tarmac beneath you. There was a loud beeping noise, a jolting sensation, and suddenly you were being pulled off of your feet.
The air rushed out of you in a big puff. You gasped, hands coming up to grip on tightly to the solid ones that had taken hold around your waist. You were deposited on the other side of the road by familiar red and blue arms, a warm chuckle already sounding. You winced, knowing what he’d say.
“Anybody ever taught you the golden rule of looking both ways before you cross one of the busiest streets in Queens?” Spider-Man asked you, tone turning incredulous toward the end.
“Same person who taught you to keep your hands to yourself,” you murmured, pulling out of his arms.
“Don’t be like that, Y/N,” he said, voice light.
“Thank you for saving me,” you said, deflecting his flirting. You squinted up into his masked face, glad to be turned from the sun's melting rays and in the shade.
Spider-Man was emotive despite the mask, his stance telling you what you wanted to know. He was in a terrible mood, evidently - terrible for you - his gait confident, his shoulders rolled back. He was going to keep flirting with you, you realised, and then he'd insist on walking you home.
He often sought you out. When you tried to accuse him of this, he argued that the one seeking you out was actually trouble, and he was the neighbourhood’s defense against trouble. “You’re an integral part of the neighbourhood,” he’d reasoned, “so of course, I’ll be protecting you.”
That had been a long while back, when he’d first showed up in Queens. Since then he’d walked you home countless times, returned your menace of a cat just as many, and spent all together too much of his time on you. You weren't the sharpest tool in the shed but you also weren't stupid enough to miss that Spider-Man seemed to have a crush on you.
"You're always in the right place at the right time, aren't you, bug boy?"
"What are you implying?" he asked.
You let your back rest on the cool alley wall, smiling as best as you could despite your pounding headache. The movement made you wince.
His easy going demeanour melted away quicker than you could process, his arms crossing over his chest.
"Are you okay?"
“Sorry,” you said, bringing your hand back up to press against your hot forehead. “Migraine.”
“Can you walk?” he asked worriedly.
You laughed at him. “It’s not that bad.”
“Hurts?”
You were surprised at the inklings of tenderness in place of his usual bravado.
“A bit,” you mumbled, pushing your hair from your face.
His hand stretched out between you like he might try comforting you. You wondered what he'd been about to do, maybe he would've placed his gloved hand on your shoulder, rubbed it placatingly up and down your arm, worked it behind you to hug you to his side.
"Wait," you said, perplexed. "Gloves?" You reached out for his hand and he let you take it. You turned his wrist in your hands, assessing the almost invisible seam. "You have a good seamstress."
"I-" he cleared his throat, "I made the suit myself."
You almost dropped his hand. "You did?"
"Impressive, yeah?"
He couldn’t remember when he’d had the thought to move from full sleeves to gloves, which could be attached and reattached, only that he had, and as a result his life had been suddenly easier, he explained to you. Easier to clean when they got dirtied with blood, grime, and general street germs, easier to repair, and easier to replace altogether when he burned through them, whether with fire or friction.
"That's really cool," you praised him, falling into step beside him.
He took you through the shortcut to your apartment, shrugging off your compliments. "I've made a couple, now."
"I can imagine," you said, the words sounding like you were underwater.
The sun was microwaving you. You swayed on your feet, instinctively pushing your hand out to try and grab onto your superhero escort. He was already shooting sideways to grab you, his strong arm coming up under your armpit and around your shoulder blades.
"Okay," he said, grunting, "alright, you're good. You're okay."
You screwed your eyes shut, taking a shaky breath. "I don't feel okay."
"You have water in your bag?" he asked, gesturing to your tote bag on the opposite shoulder. You nodded and he pushed his hand into the bag. If he found it difficult to hold you up and search for the flask he said nothing of it, pulling the clear bottle out and unscrewing the cap to press into your hand. "Drink, doll."
You sipped. You would've rolled your eyes at the pet name if your eyes weren't already shut and hurting.
"Remember when I asked if you could walk? I love being right," he said, trying to cheer you up.
You laughed, the sound bouncing around inside your skull like a super-powered top, hitting the sides and making you cringe.
"Done?" he asked. You handed the bottle off to him and he tucked it back in your bag. "I'm gonna carry you now," he informed you politely.
He moved behind you. You gripped his arm.
"Don't-"
"Come on, you need to get home somehow."
"I'm worried I'll throw up," you confessed, squinting at his masked face.
"You won't, and if you do I know a laundry sheriff that'll fix me up afterwards," he said elusively. He gathered you in a bridal carry in his arms like you weighed nothing, mutant strength letting him walk you to your apartment building as though you were a sack of flour in his arms.
“A sheriff?” you asked him, face pressed into his chest.
“A formidable one.”
“She wears the trousers in the relationship?”
“Not my girlfriend. And not very progressive of you.”
You chortled unattractively. “Don’t worry, bug, I didn’t think you were talking about a girlfriend.”
“Schoolyard taunts are beneath you, really. If you’re going to insult me, do it properly.”
You nodded, letting your chin flop forward to touch your chest. “Is this really necessary? I’m dizzy, not dying.”
“Indulge me.”
“You’re ridiculous. I feel much better after the water, so put me down,” you told him, squirming in his iron grip.
“Relax,” he said. “We’re here. Is your window open?”
You shrieked, felt yourself being lifted into the air and then you were being carried through your bedroom window.
“Spider-Man,” you said through clenched teeth, “I’ll pretend that you knowing what window is mine isn’t creepy if you put me down.”
He dumped you on your bed. You looked at him blearily, feeling him fluff your pillow up behind your head. “It’s not creepy, I walk you home all the time. And you leave your curtains open.”
“Okay, stalker,” you mumbled, enjoying the cold sheets underneath you. “It’s so hot today,” you whispered, remembering your pounding headache.
“You have Tylenol?”
“In the medicine cabinet.”
He disappeared into your bathroom. You moaned, stretching out onto the bed so hard it made your weak legs shake, your shoulders locking up. You kicked your shoes off, pulling your cardigan free and then your skirt off. I can’t believe he put me on my bed in outside clothes, you thought to yourself, moody. I’ll have to change my sheets. Tomorrow.
Spider-Man walked back in with the Tylenol. It was so ridiculous you
couldn’t help but laugh, the sight of him standing unsurely in the doorway with half your medicine cabinet in his hands.
“My hero,” you said warmly, opening your hands. He shook two pills into your open palm and you took them, sipping at the water on your nightstand from the night before.
“I wish it would work quicker,” you confided, stretching a hand over your eyes.
You felt him sit at the end of your bed. “Do you still feel faint?”
“No, I’m fine, Spider-Man. You can go home now, if you like. Thanks for helping me.”
There was a long silence. You peeked through your fingers to watch him. He was oddly still as he spoke. “I could… help more.”
Your mouth quirked up into a disbelieving smile. “You can’t fight a migraine.”
He cleared his throat. You marvelled at his voice, soft and flirtatious, a heart-rending shyness underneath it. “I read something once…”
“You can read?”
His shoulders shook. “Let me finish! I read that sometimes, girls can experience a different kind of pain relief.”
“What kind of pain relief is that?”
“I could show you?” he said, voice lilting up at the end in question.
You could hear the busy streets outside, the car horns and the bodega bell, the people shouting and chattering and the train that rattled past like clockwork a street down. So loud outside, and yet the loudest sound was your heart in your ears and Spider-Man’s suit sliding against your bed sheets.
The barest touch of his gloved knuckles against your thigh made you snap back into reality. “Y/N?”
“Show me,” you repeated his words, letting your hand fall from your eyes. "Please."
It was like a switch - shy Spider-Man was replaced with his usual, confident self. It was all encompassing. He sidled up closer still, pulling his glove free one finger at a time.
He had lovely hands - big hands, long, nimble looking fingers and a wide palm which he lay flat on your naked thigh. "You're appropriately dressed."
"I'm sorry," you said, embarrassed, "I was warm."
"I'm not complaining," he said, palm hot against your skin. "You're killer."
"You're incorrigible," you murmured, goosebumps jumping up your skin from his touch.
He pushed his hand up and over the elastic of your underwear, pushing the edges of your thin tank top up to slide his palm over your tummy.
He inched up under your shirt. “This okay?”
You breathed out too quickly. "Yeah."
He pushed under your shirt. You bit your lip as he massaged your chest, catching your nipple between his fingers.
You were caught between arousal and surprise, unable to really take in what was happening. "Spider-Man," you started.
"What?" he asked quietly. It was as though neither of you wanted to disrupt the relative quiet of your room, should it shatter the bubble that had formed around you both.
"Can't I call you something else?"
"Handsome works," he said, rolling your nipple between his two fingertips.
"Handsome," you said, testing the word. "Doesn't sound right."
He pinched your skin spitefully. You couldn't help gasping in pleasure, chest heaving under his touch. He pushed your shirt up completely, exposing your breasts to the warm air.
"Cute," he commented, as if to himself.
He stopped his touching to hook a neat fingernail under the edge of the mask, pulling it up so the lower half of his face was exposed. You felt starstruck, startled by his sudden reveal and his soft, pretty face, barely noticing as he climbed over your legs to sit on your thighs, looking down at you with his head pushed towards his shoulder, like he was assessing you.
You felt self conscious under his gaze. “What are you looking at me for?”
“Admiring the view,” he said. He’d discarded his other glove now and was pressing both hands to your chest, paying special attention to your nipples. He leaned down to kiss the underside of your breast and then the nipple, nibbling at it in a motion that sent shudders through you. You hesitantly cupped the back of his head, feeling the softness of his hair underneath the mask.
Your head fell back against the pillow, tracing the familiar lines of your bedroom ceiling whilst your friendly neighbourhood superhero traced the lines of your body. He smoothed the skin of your trembling abdomen flat as his unoccupied hand travelled lower, teasing the waistband of your panties. He lifted the elastic to let it snap against your skin, grinning into your skin when your breath caught.
His hand found its way under the fabric. He broke away from your chest to watch his own hand move against your cunt, fingertips pressing into the button of your clit, curiously dipping into the pool of wetness just below.
He pushed your panties to the side and pulled back from hovering over you to sit on his haunches atop your thighs, running the pad of his thumb from the growing slick at your centre to your clit, spreading the mess your body was making carefully, in gentle strokes. Each time he crested your clit it made your core burn, twisting at the sensation.
He moved from straddling you to in between your legs, pushing them up slightly, your heels digging into the mattress springs. You felt much more provocative this way, bared to him. It was odd not to see his eyes as he touched you so intimately,
"I think you're toying with me, handsome," you murmured.
"Do you really?" he asked, trailing the tip of his finger down the crease of your cunt, stopping just above your entrance. "Why would you think that?"
He pushed the tip of his finger into your heat. You both groaned. "You seem like a tease," you told him, voice high.
He laughed, settling into a rhythm and soon joining his first finger with his second. "I'm the tease? You threw yourself at me 20 minutes ago."
"I fell over!"
"Fainted from my presence," he corrected gently, curling his fingers inside you.
You balled the sheets up in your hand. "You're right."
"Knew you'd see it my way."
"The fact that you can run your mouth while- while messing with me is ridiculous."
"I'm not messing with you, bub, I'm playing with you."
This was obvious. He flicked his wrist, reminiscent of the motion he made to shoot webs, pushing incrementally deeper inside you. You keened, covering your hand with his, trying to force his fingers in deeper. "So eager…" he muttered, though he didn't pull away. He stayed with his fingers deep inside you, fucking and curling til you were panting, stomach tensing up.
"Relax," he said, laughing. You'd pushed up onto your elbow to watch his ministrations, open mouthed.
He spread his fingers open inside you, slowly pulling out, the stretch a pleasurable ache. Your panting slowly edged into whining territory, your hand like iron around his. He used his free hand to poke at your clit carefully, the barest touch of his fingertip against the bead of it. He bit his lip at your moans, his hips jutting forward where he sat.
You let yourself fall flat again and groaned. Spider-Man was spreading you open with his fingers, dick straining against the spandex of his suit.
"Han- handsome," you stuttered, disrupted by his speeding up. His index and pinky finger hit the soft flesh of your cunt with every thrust, each collision wet and fast.
"What, baby?" he said, so softly, distracted with his actions.
"Can you- can we-" you struggled to find the words, struggled worse to say them without feeling embarrassed.
"You want," his fingers left you, the tip of his index finger now joining the first two at your entrance, "this?"
"Please…"
He pushed the beginnings of his three fingers inside you, pushing up on your clit to spread your pussy open. "You don't ever have to say please to me," he told you, eyes heady, voice warm. "Tell me if it hurts."
He buried his fingers in your cunt to the first knuckles, then the second. The further he pushed in the more overwhelming it became, your legs beginning to shake. He leaned down to kiss one of your thighs, amused if his smirk was anything to go by. He pushed against the soft barrier he'd found. You positively mewled, alarmed that he'd found your sweet spot and was now seeking it out with abandon, his thrusts sharp and fast. You were still so tight that each one was a lovely agony, tears welling in your eyes.
"Too much?" he asked, retreating.
You shook your head vehemently. "Feels nice," you wobbled.
"Yeah?" He grinned, three fingers deep inside you as they could go, thumb on your clit. His other hand fell away, moving to palm his cock through the material of his suit.
You swallowed hard. His coordination must be fantastic, you thought, because he didn't miss a beat; he stroked the length of himself, touch down soft as he ruined you, manipulating the button of your clit with his fingers curled against your soft spot. You squirmed, rolling your hips, almost begging.
"Please, please," you mumbled uselessly, over and over.
Spider-Man stopped touching himself to wrap his strong hand around the underside of your knee, pushing your leg back into your chest to spread you wide open, before leaning down to catch the most sensitive part of your cunt with his mouth.
You gasped, quickly threading your fingers into the down-soft hair at the nape of his neck. He suckled the bead of your clit and forgot any pretense of gentleness, the lewd sound of his debasement of your cunt echoing in your ears. He surfaced to plant kisses on the skin between your centre and your thighs, breathing hard. He licked a stripe from his hand to your clit and then, in what was your undoing, nibbled ever so lightly.
You froze, leg tensing up in his grip, the climax so sudden you couldn't help the sound you made, loud and clear. He groaned as your walls clamped down around his fingers.
He pulled his fingers out finally, leaning back to continue his own touching with your slick still on his hand, hips jutting up. You held your hands out and he crawled forward to meet you, letting you pull his lips down to press against yours.
He tasted like you. Your hand went to his back, pressing him close to your body without thinking. You could feel the shape of his cock against you, rutting up against you as you kissed, lips firm. He made a sound like a hiccup that made you want to propose marriage, pressing his hips down into yours hard. You were so sensitive from cumming the sensation made you cry out.
He moaned, his lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, hands digging into your neck so hard it was almost painful.
"Gonna cum for me, Spider-Man?" you asked hurriedly.
He might have laughed, you weren't sure, the sound covered up by a groan that sent sparks to your already oversimulated cunt. He jerked into you, movements choppy, before he collapsed, his forehead digging into your neck.
“You’re crushing me,” you said into his head, the top of the mask cold on your mouth.
“You’re whining,” he said, though he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and climbed off of you anyways. “How’s the headache?”
You clamped your thighs closed and covered your eyes bashfully. “Gone,” you admitted.
His hands climbed down the length of your thigh, drawing your knees apart again.
summary: when reader struggles to manage their adhd and growing imposter syndrome during exam week, spencer is there.
request?: no
pairing: spencer reid x adhd!gn!reader
category: hurt/comfort, heavy comfort
content warnings: mild language, implied age difference (ages not stated), discussions of forgetting/struggling with basic care tasks (showering, eating, etc.), imposter syndrome, minor self-deprecation (based on grades)
word count: 2.3k
a/n: hey y'all, i'm back with a fic that was extremely comforting to write. i want to thank @imagining-in-the-margins and @safespacespence for really helping with the idea of this fic and convincing me to write it in the first place! i hope y'all enjoy.
masterlist
If living with you was the greatest adventure Spencer would ever embark on, then your exam week was the worst.
Over the months since you moved into his apartment, both of you had learned the art of compromise. Though he’d loved the deep green walls of his apartment, when you mentioned it feeling too dark on your bad days, the two of you picked out a lighter shade of the rich green he was comfortable with. And though your favorite study spot was the couch, you agreed to move to the bedroom so as to give Spencer the quiet space he needed to decompress after overstimulating work days. It was a dance that each of you had learned the steps to quickly, each of you neatly moving around each other to find a routine that worked.
Exam weeks, however, were another story entirely.
Spencer could see it in you during the weeks prior—spending more time in the bedroom and less time in the main room with him, playing music loud enough through your headphones that if he paid attention, he could hear the words clearly. As the days progressed closer to that dreaded week, he’d have to remind you of meals more often, and he’d pick up your portion of the chores. For that set of days, it would be less of a synchronous dance and more of an off-kilter run through an obstacle course.
It wasn’t that he minded. On the contrary, Spencer remembered how stressed his friends had been in college during this time and understood that you were coping the best you could. That didn’t make it easier on either of you, however, and disagreements still happened more often as the weeks progressed further.
It happened on a Wednesday.
Spencer came home from work and immediately his ears ached with too loud music blaring throughout the house. Layered on top of it was the reality show you put on when all you needed was more noise. He’d asked you once how you could stand so many conflicting sounds, and all you could say was that it scratched your brain in a soothing way.
Though the TV was on in the living room, you weren’t there. He took a second to eliminate this source of noise, muting the show before setting off on his mission to find you.
Spencer followed the music into the bathroom where you were sitting on the floor, laptop abandoned on your legs. Earbuds were shoved into your ears and wired to yet another device to play music, your eyes closed and head leaned back against the wall. Your face was perfectly serene but to Spencer, it was obvious you were anything but calm. Your shoulders were tensed up and your hand was tapping out patterns on the side of your leg, your foot occasionally joining in the same repeated movement.
“Darling?” Spencer called out, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hear him but still trying anyway as he reached out to touch your shoulder.
“Oh my God!” you screamed, eyes flashing open and hands flying into the air. “Jeez, Spencer, you almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have headphones on while you’re home alone?” he suggested lightly, though he knew you’d do it regardless of what he said.
“How was your day?” you asked, completely unbothered with the scene.
Spencer sighed, the feeling that you wouldn’t be leaving the bathroom anytime soon creeping up on him. He nudged you to scoot over so he could sit on the floor beside you, turning his head to see your beautiful face. “How was yours?”
“I asked you first.”
“Y/N.”
“I can’t do anything,” you admitted, absolutely breaking his heart. While there were were some things about your ADHD diagnosis he could relate to, overall Spencer had no personal experience other than what you explained to him. Living together was truly a learning experience as you taught him how to support you, and he taught you how to trust someone else to help without judgment.
He knew you’d heard it all. Lazy, unmotivated, annoying. Countless dagger words thrown at you because of the things you worked the hardest on.
“You know it’s okay if you’re not productive all the time, darling, you’re doing the best you can,” Spencer tried, reaching out and interlacing his fingers with yours, resting your intertwined hands on his leg.
“I mean I haven’t done a single damn thing today, Spencer! I went to shower at 4, and somehow I ended up sitting here for two hours.”
“Showering takes a lot of energy, you know that. You can do it in the morning if you’re up to it.” While Spencer’s skin prickled at the thought of missing a daily shower, he understood that on a lot of days it wasn’t worth it to spend your precious energy and focus on something as silly as that. “I think this is bigger than a shower though.”
You didn’t answer right away. That was okay, too—Spencer would sit there and rub circles into your skin with his thumb until you were ready, even if it took hours and his entire body was numb from sitting on the tile for that long. You’d been there for him through everything—through every moment of panic, through the days he thought about quitting the FBI, and even on days when everything was just too much for him to even get out of bed. Even rocks eroded away with enough pressure and time, but it felt like you were an ever-present constant in his life—you brought a joy that Spencer had no idea existed before you. He would be the same for you, no matter what it took.
“I got my first exam score back today,” you admitted, voice softer than he’d ever heard it before, unsure in a way he’d never expect from you, “I might have to remediate this course.”
Remediation was not something readily available in Spencer’s long list of experiences. He’d taken down unsubs, leaped out of exploding buildings, and even gone through three doctorate programs, but never once had he failed a course. Academia was always something Spencer could invest his extra energy in—it was always something he wanted to put extra work into, no matter the cost. He might’ve struggled at other things, but never this. How was he meant to help you through something he had no idea about?
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he tried, squeezing your hand in support, “You can take it again, no one will think differently about you because of it.”
“I just—” you pushed out, shutting down the sentence as soon as it started. “I wanted to do so well on this one. I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t study. Every time I sat down, no matter what, I just couldn’t do it. And now I have another exam at the end of the week I haven’t started on, and there’s so much to do around the house that I didn’t do while I wasn’t studying, and I have no idea where all that time went. Spencer, I don’t think I’m cut out for college.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Spencer hushed immediately, contorting his long body in the small space so he could completely face you. “You don’t have to do college if you don’t want to, but don’t think for a second that you’re not cut out for it. You’re one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met.”
“Please, I know that’s not true. You work with geniuses.”
“And I live with one, too,” Spencer countered, reaching up to rest his hand against your cheek, gently brushing his thumb across it and smiling when you leaned into his touch, “You can do things I could never dream of figuring out.”
“I can’t even fucking shower, Spencer,” you groaned, though a small laugh stuttered out alongside the admission. “And I’ve seen how much you’re doing around the house. You’re doing the work of two people and working a full-time job. Meanwhile I’m over here complaining because I can’t look over my notes for 30 minutes.”
“Darling, I have had years to figure this whole life thing out. Do you think when I was in college I had any idea what I was doing? I once didn’t do my laundry until I was completely out of shirts because I couldn’t figure out how to do it right. You can ask Ethan how many times I used sleep on top of my clean laundry because I didn’t have the mental energy to put it away,” Spencer explained, playfully wincing at the resurfaced memories. Looking back, he was lucky he’d gone through it all with a roommate who was also a student, someone who could relate to his experience and go through the hardships with him. You’d elected to move in with Spencer, and while that had overjoyed him, he knew you were missing out not being with your peers.
“You’re not making that up?” you asked, expression already looking brighter than it had been when he first got home.
“I promise. I can’t relate to everything you’re going through, but I can assure you that everyone has felt like they aren’t good enough before,” Spencer said, “It’s a sign you care about what you’re doing; you want to be good at it.”
“I failed, Spencer. It’s not just a bad grade, I failed,” you countered.
“And failure is the best thing that could happen to someone going through what you are,” Spencer said. Confusion immediately washed over your face, eyebrows pressing together and head even tilting a little. “I mean it. College isn’t meant to be easy, and you’re not meant to be perfect. Failing can teach you so many things, and most importantly it proves that you’re strong and that you can bounce back from any situation.”
“You really know how to make any situation sound good, huh?” you returned, poking his nose and laughing when he scrunched it up.
“I know it’s stressful now, and you’re allowed to be upset, but please don’t let this define your worth.” There would be more days like this. If Spencer had any sense of clairvoyance, he’d say there was a good chance he’d end up here again at the end of the week—sitting tangled up with you on the bathroom floor while the shower ran ice cold. These feelings were never resolved after one conversation, but that didn’t matter because Spencer would be sure to be there each time you needed a hand to hold through it all. “You’re so much more than one failed exam.”
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“I think so, maybe once or twice,” Spencer laughed, and his chest nearly burst at seeing your radiant smile once more. This was you at your best—your clothes were rumpled and your cheeks were still splotchy from old tears, but it was your smile could light up a thousand rooms despite it all. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better, I promise,” you said, adding the extra two words when Spencer gave you a pointed look, “I still don’t think I can make any decisions tonight.”
“Then here’s what we’ll do. I’ll turn this shower off and go cook us a comfort meal while you go put on your comfiest clothes. We can curl up on the couch and watch the last few episodes of that show you’ve seen a few dozen times, and then we can go to bed early,” Spencer suggested.
“What about studying? And the shower? All the chores?”
“That all can wait.” He pulled himself to his feet, wincing at the ache already settling deep into his knees. Spencer hoped no one would notice if he walked into work a little more stiff than normal, though he was sure someone would after so many years together. “Taking care of yourself is more important.”
“I guess you’re right,” you sighed, taking his offered hand and pulling yourself to a standing position as well.
“I usually am.”
“Hey, don’t get cocky on me,” you warned, playfully pointing a finger at him. “Can we have—”
“I already know what you’re going to say, and yes. Now go get comfy. Tonight, I’m taking care of you,” Spencer pushed, nudging you out of the bathroom in the direction of the bedroom. He watched you walk down the hallway, and it was only when you disappeared into the other room that he started back off into the kitchen.
“Hey, Spencer?” your gentle voice stopped his progress. Spencer turned, smiling when he saw one of his old CalTech sweatshirts held between both of your hands.
“Yes, darling?”
“Thank you, for being you.”
Living with you brought new adventures every day. There would be good moments and bad, there would be nights where he came home to you crying over not being able to do the one thing you’d set out to do that day, and there’d be days where the two of you lost your temper with each other.
It would all be worth it, though, for moments like these. When Spencer made your favorite meal without you asking him to, when he could pick you up from the ground and show you how much you mattered—and when you, with five simple words strung neatly together, healed more parts of him than he’d ever known were broken.
This was life with you: messy, a little chaotic, but absolutely, wonderfully beautiful.
Summary: You being a new recruit pissed SSA Aaron Hotchner off. You being smart enough to give Spencer a run for his money pissed him off even more. Really, he just despised your presence. Hated your every move…
Until one day, he didn’t.
* * * * *
Warnings: Canonical level violence, will be character injury, reader injury, and themes of mental illnesses. Some future chapters will have smut, but this is a SLOW BURN, so not for awhile my lovelies. There will still be warnings at the beginning of each chapter.
Chapters marked with a ** are the chapters with smut of any kind, so only 18+ for those ones please.
Strikethroughs mean that the chapter will be here in the future, but aren’t quite yet.
* * * * *
If you want to be added to a taglist for this fic, let me know!!!
* * * * *
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen **
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen **
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
(More to come depending on where I wanna go)
Epilogue
CHAPTER WARNINGS: angst i suppose, mention of the injury but nothing really bad i don't think.
A/N: I don't know if anyone actually reads the author's notes on this story, but I'M SO SORRY. I didn't mean to be gone for so long and I kept seeing new notifications about people liking this or wanting to be added to the taglist and ugh. I'm sorry, please forgive me. but here's chapter six!
As always!! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
* * * * *
The next few days went by slowly, and though Hotchner had made an effort when he had the team stay, he never once sat with you in the hospital room. Once you were cleared to fly, the team piled back into the jet to go back to Virginia. Derek had taken your bag for you since you weren't supposed to lift anything over ten pounds.
"Thanks, Derek. I could have carried it you know." You tell him with a small smile as you sit down on the bench, holding a hand against the bandage on your hip as you did.
He sets the bag beside your feet and winks, "I know, Mamas. Hang tight."
You nod as JJ comes to sit beside you and she says, "You look terrible, Y/N."
Letting out a soft laugh, you reply, "Well, gee, thanks for the warm greeting." You look at her and she smiles nervously. "I'm so tired." You admit to her, blushing slightly.
She pats your thigh and says, "I bet. Get some rest. And for the record, I would have done the same thing at the barn."
Nodding, you smile slightly and close your eyes, realizing as you did that the only spot for Hotch to sit would be across from you. Sighing to yourself, you close your eyes and lean your head back against the wall of the plane behind you. You fall asleep in minutes, not even registering that he had sat down across from you.
About twenty minutes into the flight, there is some turbulence and Hotch looks up at you, wanting to make sure you weren't being jostled too much. Your position had shifted though, and he could tell by looking at your face that it was subconsciously hurting you.
"Oh, L/N." He whispered to himself as she stood up and crossed the short distance to where you were sitting. He moves you slowly, being careful not to wake you up as he sits you up against the side of the couch, not wanting your bullet wound to be aggravated.
Emily sends a knowing look towards you, despite you not being able to notice it, and Derek's eyes harden as he watches carefully. The team all exchanges looks as Hotch tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before sitting back down and going back through the case files for the fifth time.
When the jet lands about two hours after that, JJ wakes you up and grabs your bag, walking in with you.
"You know..." she starts carefully, "Hotch seems to be a lot softer with you than the rest of us."
"What?!" You would choke on your water if you were drinking any. "What the hell are you talking about?" You ask her, clearly thinking she'd snapped and gone crazy.
JJ smiles slightly to herself and says casually, "You were leaning in your sleep and your face pinched like you were uncomfortable. Hotch straightened you out and brushed hair behind your ear." She looks over at you with a contained smile and shrugs, "He hasn't ever done that to me or Emily is all I'm saying."
As you walked with JJ, you saw Hotch hanging back and frowned. Replaying the conversation from the hospital in your head, it makes you angry. He hadn't ever apologized. Stopping where you were walking, you waited for him to be beside you before limping quickly to try and keep pace with him.
"Hotchner. I have a question." You tell him, internally grateful that he slows down a bit to meet your normal pace.
"Speak."
"Why?" You say to him, that being the beginning of your question.
Hotch turns and gives you a look, "Agent, do you need to be re-admitted? Speak because-"
"No. Why, do you hate me? I've been thinking about it since I got shot because honestly, that's where I think you are, isn't it? You hate me, and I want to know why." You think for a moment and then say, "Why were you so adamant that I did the wrong thing on the case? You have a child, a young boy, so shouldn't that have been your very first instinct?"
Hotch's glare hardens and he opens his mouth to speak, but you say, "Wait," and then keep going. "It was my first instinct and I don't have a kid. "Why did you ever think the debrief should go right when it did? Just, why?! You would have done the same thing if you were that close and could!"
You were getting emotional at this point and you had just made it into the bullpen.
Hotch had had enough of your back-talk and your attitude and said, "You're being a brat, Agent L/N."
"Excuse m-"
"No, now YOU shut up and listen. You don't know anything about my family and I suggest you stop pretending that you know anything about me." His glare is like steel that stabs right through you.
Holding your composure as much as you could, you turn and walk away, limping heavily as every step sent pain through your abdomen. You slid into your seat and slammed your hand on your desk, burying your head in your arms as you cried overwhelmed tears.
Hotch stands where he was, his glare following you as you collapsed into the desk and even still watching as your shoulders shook with silent tears. He felt a stab of something. Guilt maybe? But it was closer to sadness or regret. He was the reason you were crying. He rubbed a hand across his face and sighed as he let his expression soften just a bit.
He walks over to your desk area and says, "Agent. Look up."
You wipe at your eyes and look up with fire in them, "What? You wanna see me cry too? Was it-"
"You're too emotional right now to be active. Go home. Take tomorrow and Sunday off, be back in on Monday."
"No-"
"Go, Y/N."
You were a bit thrown off by the use of your first name, so you nod and stand up, grabbing your go bag which didn't have much since your bloody clothes had been thrown away. Walking out the door you look down to shield your eyes from your watching teammates.
You look in Penelope's office on your way and sigh in relief that she isn't there. Popping in, you look half-heartedly for the paper you'd been searching for.
So I’m kind of terrible. I took a nearly year long hiatus and I’m so sorry. I’m not abandoning the story, I just have a lot of stuff going on. But I think it’s slowing down now, and I’m going to *TRY to have another chapter posted this week. I’m going to include the link to the master list and the tag list so if anyone want to be put on or taken off they can let me know.
Anyways, I’m formally apologizing for all of the on and off and lack of updating :((
A/N: NO SPOILERS FOR NO WAY HOME!! So, I have a newfound obsession with Andrew Garfield's Peter Parker after watching the movies in preparation for No Way Home, and this is a direct result of that!! I've never written for his character before, and I know this is actually terrible, so I'm sorry!! I don't own any of these characters except (y/n). Enjoy! I also realized this is almost exactly like my other Peter Parker fic, but oh well. You can tell the tropes I like to write for!
Summary: You and Peter Parker are best friends, but neither of you know that you are friends behind your masks as you fight the Lizard together. Will one of you figure it out or will your friendship come crashing down because of it?
Warnings: typical cannon violence, mentions of blood, descriptions of injuries, angst paired with some fluff!!
(y/n) - your name
(y/l/n) - your last name
(y/n/n) - your nickname
(y/h/c) - your hair color
Pulling on your suit, you couldn't help but think of how disappointed Peter would be that you were missing movie night yet again. The pair of you had been friends since you were a freshman in high school. Now seniors, your friendship had grown into something more, but neither of you would admit it. Since Uncle Ben died, Peter had been acting different, but that was to be expected after losing someone that close. You had been there for him, of course, but you also had your own endeavors to worry about. You told Pete everything; everything but the side "job" you had picked up, and the abilities you'd had your whole life.
From a young age, you remember being able to do things no one else was able to. You were extremely more agile, quick, and had could fight off anyone without being taught how. Now, almost two years later, you couldn't be more happy with the life you'd chosen for yourself. Helping people was all you ever wanted to do, and now you were using your powers to do just that.
You mostly had been stopping small crimes, but every now and then, someone interesting would pop up. Crouching in your black, leather suit, you heard a ding from your phone. It was a text from Peter. He'd responded to your message.
Pete: Oh okay. Are you okay, (y/n/n)?
You: Yeah, I just have a lot going on rn. I'm sorry, Pete.
Pete: It's okay. We can watch this movie another day.
With a sigh, you slid your phone into the back pocket of your suit. You hated lying to him, but it was just to protect him from your crazy work. A familiar 'thwip' fills the air, and you turn to see Queens' resident web-head walking, well, more like limping towards you. He slowly eases his way down to the roof of the building you were currently patrolling from.
There was always a comfortable silence between the two of you, even though you knew anything about the other. He'd come join you on patrol a few times a week, so he'd started calling you "Twi," which was short for Twilight, your superhero name. You didn't like the name at first, but it did make sense because you often operated in the shadows. After a while, it had grown on you.
Your mask went around your eyes, and over your nose. You would be easily recognizable if it weren't for your mask's technology that disguised your voice and even made your (y/h/c) hair a different color while you were wearing it. He had his own full-face mask on, of course, so you didn't know who Spider-Man was. You turn to face him with a concerned look on your face.
"What happened to you?"
He takes a deep breath in, staring at the city in front of them. "A giant lizard."
"Yeah right." You chuckle dryly. "And I fought Marvin the Martian yesterday. He had a mean right hoo-"
"I need your help, Twi." he states, turning to look at you. "There really is a 9 foot tall lizard running from me. I tried to confront him, but...well, you can see what happened."
You glanced down at the large claw like gashes on his chest, wincing for him. "You should get that checked out."
He scoffs, "Yeah, that's not happening."
"Don't you have a friend or something who could help you out?"
"Nope. I want to tell my best friend, but she's been really worrying me lately and I don't want to add to whatever she's going through." With a sigh, he asks, "Do you have someone?"
"Nope."
That comfortable silence fills the air again as you look out at the city you try your best to protect. In doing so, you miss the way he was studying your side profile. You looked so familiar to him, but he couldn't put together why. Glancing over at him, you catch him watching you.
"Take a picture, Spider-boy. It'll last longer."
"Sorry," he muttered.
"So," you began, turning to him, "How can I help with your reptile problem?"
"It's not gonna be easy," he starts, sticking his hand out. "Partners?"
"Partners." you confirmed.
"Well, this is how you can help..."
~
He told you of Doctor Connors and how he was going to create an antidote for him. You were in the process of making the formula in the Oscorp building when you received a call from Peter, who you hadn't ever texted back. With a quick sigh, you answered and held the phone between your shoulder and ear, continuing to make the antidote.
"Hey Pe-" you started.
Interrupting you, he speaks frantically. "Are you near the Oscorp building?"
"Uhh. Yeah. Why?"
"You need to get as far from there as you can! Now! Go to Aunt May's place. It's safe there."
"A-alright, Pete. I'm gonna check on my parents at home, but you get far away from there too."
You hated to lie, but you didn't want to worry him more than he already was. The realization that you might not be able to see his goofy smile again finally hit you. Connors was no joke, and Spidey already had already lost to him in a fight once. Luckily, you were pulled from your thoughts by Peter's soft voice.
"Please be careful...I love you, (y/n)."
Your heart skipped a beat.
"(Y/n/n), are you there? Please say something."
"I love you too, Peter."
A sweet laugh escapes him. "That was so much easier than I thought it would be...whoa," he pauses, "I gotta go. I'll call you in a little bit, okay?"
"Okay. Bye, Peter."
Hanging up, you're pretty sure that you could hear the exact same voice you'd just hung up with coming through your earpiece that connected you to Spiderman.
"Connors is coming to you right now! You need to get out of there!"
Shaking away the thought, you responded. "The cure is just about done. All I need is maybe three minutes. I'll get everyone out."
"Please don't take him on by yourself. We'll do it toge-" He cut himself off with a groan, and then static filled the comm.
"Spidey!" You yelled, but there was no response.
With a curse, you ran towards the exit and pulled the fire alarm in order to get everyone out of the building. You prayed Spider-Man was okay, because you knew you couldn't beat Connors alone.
You spend the next few minutes waiting for him to arrive. When the ground shook and alarms started to blare, you knew the time had come. Quickly, you sent the lab into lockdown, trying to bide as much time as you could for the antidote to finish. Air hissed as it shot from the ceiling and the only lights were the red emergency signs. The biohazard door sealed the lab, and for a few seconds, you thought it might hold.
"Time remaining: one minute." the antidote machine announced.
Grabbing the Ganali device, you hid it in a lab closet, and hid behind a nearby desk, ready to fight if need be. Loud screeching of metal filled the room, followed by a growl that made the hair on your neck stand up. The footsteps got closer to you and the closet, but they stopped abruptly. Hissing, he ran towards you and slammed into the desk you were hiding behind. Luckily for you, your agility allowed you to get out of the way.
"Look, Doc," you said backing towards the closet, "You know this isn't right. Let us help you."
He lunged at you, swiping his claws at your torso. Dodging it easily, you went on the offensive. You kicked him in the face and did a flip over the monster to get behind him. As you were about to sweep his legs out from under him, his tail came out of nowhere and rammed into your stomach, sending you flying across the room. You landed with a crash on some desks, hitting your head on a metal bar. In an instant, everything started to fade, but your last thought was of Peter before darkness filled your vision.
"Antidote complete."
~
You awoke with a start to see Captain Stacy hovering over you. Head pounding, you sit up with his help. His face was painted with concern, a look that was foreign to his normally solemn demeanor. In the past, the two of you had your problems because he doesn't like vigilantes....at all.
"You alright?" he asks.
You nod slowly. "I gotta help Spiderman."
Helping you stand up, Captain Stacy hands Doc Connors' cure to you. "He's up on the roof. I'm your backup."
"No," you insist, "We've got it. You have a family that needs you."
He tries to argue with you, but soon gives up.
"Here. Take this." he says, handing you his shotgun, "You need all the firepower you can get with that thing."
With a nod, you take the gun and he heads back down to the street-level. When you find your way to the roof, you are met with a sight that makes your heart drop. The Lizard had his tail wrapped around Spidey's neck, choking him, and had his arms held together with one hand. With his free claw, he rips off the hero's mask, prompting a strangled groan to leave the boy's lips. Without the mask, a head of familiar brown hair was revealed.
"Poor Peter Parker." The monster spat.
Your eyes widened in surprise and you're frozen in your spot. Your Peter was Spiderman. A million thoughts run through your head, but the main one was 'how could I not have known?' Every interaction with Spiderman was being reviewed in your head, searching for any signs. Tears filled your vision at Connors' next words.
"No mother, no father, no uncle. All alone."
You couldn't lose him. You had to act now. Summoning all of the courage in your body, you raised the shotgun and pumped it.
"He's not alone."
The creature's attention snaps to you as he roars. Seeing the liquid nitrogen pipe near them, you shoot it, causing it to flail around and emit a cloud of white gas. Peter caught it and sprayed the gas into the Lizard's face and tail, which freed him from the choke hold he was in. As Pete continued to spray Connors with the nitrogen, you started shooting at him.
"Detonation in T-minus 45 seconds. "
Thanks to Peter who kicks him, he falls into a pit that stores multiple containers of the liquid nitrogen. You walk closer to the hole, glancing at your best friend as you keep firing.
"Hey! Finish this!" you yell, handing him the cure. More gas canisters busted and released the freezing gas, subduing Connors for a moment. He reluctantly takes it.
"I got this, Pete! Go!"
At the use of his nickname, he does a double take before climbing up the tall antenna that the Ganali dispersal device was on. You take advantage of the frozen reptile and reload your shotgun.
"T-minus 30 seconds." the computer announces.
Not even 5 seconds later, the pipe releasing the nitrogen sputters and runs out of the gas. The Lizard unfreezes and jumps out of the hole, coming straight for you. Shooting at him, you managed to dodge his first swipe, but with the second, the shotgun is ripped from your grasp. In an instant, his other claw came straight for your stomach. Trying to block it, all you could do was slightly change it's trajectory.
At first, it felt as if you were brutally punched in your side. All the air rushed out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for breath. With wide eyes, you looked up into the face of your attacker. A wicked smile painted his features and he chuckled.
"Guess you weren't quick enough this time."
Glancing down at your abdomen, the sight made you nauseous. One of his claws was completely impaled right above your hip, and crimson leaked from around the wound.
"Detonation in T-minus 10 seconds."
With a growl, he violently ripped his claw from you and took off after Peter. You fell into a heap on the ground, struggling to even catch your breath. Now the pain had set in and heat overtook your system. Sitting up on your elbows, you tried to drag your body over to a nearby wall. With every movement, a whimper escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but stare at the blood trail that followed you.
Finally getting to the wall, you halfway unzipped your suit on the front, revealing your sweat and blood soaked tank top. A loud boom from above caught your attention. Weakly peering up, you saw a blue mist explode into the sky. He had done it. The city was safe. With a relieved sigh, you closed your eyes and rested your head on the wall behind you.
Peter had just been saved from falling by Connors when the man realized what he had done. With a remorseful face, he whispered, "The girl." Spiderman shot up, sprinting towards where he had left you earlier.
"Twilight!" he yelled.
When he saw you laying there, he stopped momentarily out of shock before running over to you.
"Twi!"
You crack open your eyes to see the boy you loved with a scared look. Clearing your throat, you ask softly, "Did you save Doc?"
He grabbed your hand, rubbing it with his thumb gently. "It's okay. We stopped him."
"Peter I-"
"Let's get you out of here, okay?" he interrupted.
"Not yet." With a wince, you reached up and slowly removed your mask. Your disguised hair morphed back into the (y/h/c) strands that Peter loved, and your voice became normal.
"(Y/n)? Wha- No, no, no."
"Hey, Petey. Surprise," you croaked, stifling a cough. When a copper taste filled your mouth, you knew it was bad.
"You're gonna be okay." Peter's eyes were now filled with tears as he spoke. "I'm getting you out of here, now."
In one motion, he swiftly picked you up bridal style. Your vision began to blur. Was it from tears or the blood loss? You didn't know, but the last thing you remembered was Peter's voice fading from your ears.
"Stay with me, (y/n/n). Stay awake!"
~
The first thing you were aware of was the steady beeping from your left. Opening your eyes, you immediately force them shut again at the bright lights in the room. You bring your hand up slowly, covering your eyes. You wince as the movement sends a sharp pain through your side.
"(Y/n)! Careful, you'll pull your stitches." Peter says from beside you. Looking around at your surroundings, you realize you're in the hospital.He sighs, "You really scared me, ya' know?"
"I know. I'm sorry."
Silence fills the room.
"You know I didn't tell you to protect you, right?" He asks
"Yeah. Me too."
He gently took your hand in his, speaking softly. "I meant what I said when we were on the phone."
"I know. I did too."
"Good," he laughed, "because that means I can finally do this."
He leaned over your hospital bed with a goofy smile on his face as he gently cupped your cheek, bracing himself with his other hand beside your head. Your heart began to beat wildly, and you felt a blush creep onto your face.
"I love you, (y/n) (y/l/n)."
"And I love you, Spider-boy."
Bridging the small gap between you, his lips connected with yours in a gentle, but needy and passionate kiss that made you glad you weren't standing up. You'd imagined that moment for years, but it was even better than what you could ever imagine. His lips were warm and soft, and your hand ran through his messy hair.
Pulling away, you were both out of breath. He rested his forehead against yours as he whispered, "Wow."
"Wow, Pete," you repeat breathlessly.
He gently places a lingering kiss on your forehead before sitting beside you on the bed, softly rubbing your (y/h/c) hair.
"So, my girlfriend's a superhero. Pretty cool, huh?"
"Definitely, Parker. Wanna be Partners?" You raise your hand in front of you.
He shakes it just as you had before, "Partners."
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