#i have an appointment at a genius bar but

[applejee]

spilt half a mug of matcha latte in my macbook pro. What of it

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too��but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[ebullientheart]

blinking. aaron hotchner x reader

content — fluff. self centred guy. bad date. alcohol mention. fem!reader. requested by @cr1minalskies .

aaron sees you from across the bar, and you are not having a good night.

it was so rare to end a case on such a high that everyone went out for drinks. often they’d all tag along if it had ended so badly that beer and company were the only solaces, but celebration wasn’t all that common. so, when it rolled around, the team took the opportunity and ran with it.

“hotch!” penelope screamed, startling the man, “are you laughing?”

to everyone’s surprise, including his own, he laughed some more and nodded. derek cheered and then spencer fell over, so he helped emily haul the genius up. suddenly, said boy wonder lit up, “hey, there’s-”

he did not finish the sentence, instead falling over once more, but the team followed his line of sight and saw you in the crowd. due to affiliation with aaron, they all recognised your face, which usually met them with beams and pleasantry. you definitely were not beaming in that moment.

rossi watched the unit chief shift to keep you in his line of sight and stifled a knowing smile, all the while aiding jj in sitting spencer down.

the man you were with, aaron assumed on a date because of your nice dress he knew you bought for those occasions, was talking incessantly. and not in reid’s patented manner of incessant talking, but rather in that of a terrible date. you could not get a word in edgewise, and the heavy set of your brow told aaron all he needed to know about your feelings on that matter.

he practically itched to save you from that dull night, but he looked around at his seasoned squad of profilers and knew it was a bad idea. luckily for you, he decided, with the help of liquid courage, that their scrutiny was worth being subjected to if it could help you out.

putting down his glass a tad too harshly, he easily moved through the throng of people separating you two until he was right at your shoulder, which he placed a warm hand on. you jumped, but immediately eased as you recognised the man behind you. you tilted your head back and smiled, thanks lined on your face.

“hey, what the hell man?”

aaron’s expression must have screamed ‘where did you find this guy?’, because you sighed heavily. he took that to mean ‘on the doorstep of a dog shelter’.

“sweetheart,” the name rolled off his tongue far too easily, “i didn’t know you drank here, or i would’ve called to say i was coming.”

the man spluttered, “excuse me, we’re in the middle of-”

maybe it was the crimson lighting in the bar, but the glare on aaron’s face was so formidable he just stopped talking. you mumbled an apology about cutting the evening short, and looped your arm through aaron’s to make a swift getaway.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you were speeding through gratitude and embarrassment, which your appointed hero just rolled his eyes at, “you’re fine, sweetheart, stop apologising. i really don’t know where you find them though.”

you groaned, “i’m looking too hard, i don’t know.”

“well, maybe just stop looking for someone new.”

his words were loaded with various sentiments, you knew that, though the potenial ramifications wouldn’t hit you until the next morning. in the moment he said it, however, you just gazed at him in an awfully lovestruck way. it was the way he had been gazing at you for months, and not the first time you had reciprocated. but unspoken, always unspoken.

as you made your way over to his group of coworkers, you only briefly registered the shit eating grins on their faces, too busy overthinking aaron’s last words.

rossi breached the moment of silence, clearing his throat and staring at hotch, though he was addressing you, “will you be joining us?”

before you could answer, garcia interjected, also staring at her boss, “why will she be joining us, hotch?”

then her eyes widened comically as she rushed to assure you, “not that we don’t love to see you or anything, you are always free to join us, in fact i’ve been meaning to ring you about baking something sometime, because-”

that conversation, which devolved into talk of different recipes for an assortment of treats, gave aaron a reprise from your attention. he missed it already. morgan handed the man a beer and said, “make uninformed decisions.”

that was the calibre of advice a drunk derek had to offer.

“i think i should get going.” spencer announced, on his fourth, or fifth, trip to the floor.

jj nodded, “i think i should get home now too, will might be waiting up.”

emily gave her intention of helping reid into a cab, and then going home to feed sergio. derek slid away to make contact with a girl he’d been sharing intense eye contact with. rossi declared he was too old for further lateness to bed. garcia stared at you like she had no excuse, and before running off, just blurted, “goodbye!”

it left you with aaron, under the weight of his employees knowing stares even in their absence. he deduced he spent too much time with them before devoting all of his focus to you. to his delight, your face was light again, happy. the talking came easily, flowed. you elicited a genuine smile from him that you thought might be telling of his affection, though you didn’t dare let yourself speculate further.

eventually, the bar closed, and the two of you emerged onto the freezing street hours later. your shiver had you standing as close as you could to him, and he really didn’t think his heart could take it.

“do you want to share a taxi?” he enquired, making to flag one down.

you shook your head, “i was planning on walking, i only live around there.”

you gestured vaguely, and aaron raised an eyebrow, “seriously? alone? do i need to go through my case slides with you again, because i will.”

“no, no, i remember. i was going to call a friend to get me but… you could walk me back?”

try as he might, he could not refute your invitation. while the pair of you walked, he tried to convince himself you’d only asked for the purpose of safety, and he’d only agreed for the same reason. really, he knew you would ask him to walk anywhere with you if it meant more time together, and he would definitely follow.

in the low light, you fumbled with the keys, but eventually unlocked your door. he hesitated to move inside with you at first, but you hadn’t let go of his arm, so he really had little choice.

it wasn’t that he’d never been in your home, but with the circumstances so drastically different, he couldn’t help but profile you from the decor.

“you don’t have to do that,” you nudged him gently, “you know everything there is to know about me. more than my family, more than my friends.”

he barely breathed, “really?”

your answer was unusually reserved, “i’ve never felt like i had to hide when i’ve been with you. i can’t say the same for many others.”

the feeling was mutual, and he didn’t need to say it for you to understand it, which was good because he was convinced his vocal chords had given out on him. there were no words he could muster to tell you how lovely you looked, even tired and vulnerable. especially then.

“it’s late… or rather, early. i understand if you need to be back for jack, but if not, you could stay.” the offer was softly spoken, but confident.

and what he loved about you was that you would understand, you always did. if he had to be a father, or a profiler, before being in your living room, you would never berate him for it. but for once, things had aligned, and his responsibilities diminished temporarily. jack was on a trip for the weekend, and the only texts he had from his coworkers were drunken spams asking him if he was going back to your place.

aaron hoped they wouldn’t get the answer to their questions just by looking at him on monday morning.

“i’d like that.”

[petals2fish]

Genius

Summary:

After Lily breaks her iPhone, she finds herself at the Genius Bar on Valentines Day, and an old flame is there to help her in all things technology and romance.

read on A03

Marlene McKitten: babes you're missing out on blackberry margs!!

Lily Evans: I’m sorry! It was the only time I could schedule a time for my phone to get fixed!

Marlene McKitten: you just hate me, its okay, you can say it

Lily Evans: you’re a drama queen, Marlene McKinnon 

Marlene McKitten: you love me anyways…find me a hot date at the apple store so I can get discounts!!

Lily Evans: if I find a hot guy he’s mine for the night

Marlene McKitten: further proof that you hate me 

Lily Evans: I’m here. … Pray this doesn’t take five hours and I can come meet you for drinks. 

Marlene McKitten: how hard will it be to replace a screen? … I bet I could do it myself with youtube and a little superglue

Lily did not reply back to her friend, she didn’t have the heart to tell Marlene that superglue and youtube weren’t the answer for everything. Even if superglue had proven effective at keeping Lily’s favorite mug together after it broke in the dishwasher. 

Lily just couldn’t believe she was spending her free time at the Apple Store because she'd somehow cracked her phone screen. In all her years of owning a phone, of course it would be the most expensive phone she’d ever had that broke. Even her flimsy flip phone had been more sturdy than her iphone. 

“Hi, are you here for an appointment?” A scrawny kid about her age asked, holding the iPad too close to his face as he approached her near the front doors.

Lily nodded quickly. “Yeah, Lily Evans, for a screen repair.”

“Gotcha.” The kid's nametag read ‘Peter,’ and he barely looked up at her as he typed away on his screen. “I checked you in; just go wait at the Genius Bar.”

“Thanks.”

Lily maneuvered around the cramped store, sighing all the while as she made her way to the Genius Bar. It was rather depressing to be alone on Valentine's Day, but it was almost extra disappointing that she’d had to skip lunch with her girlfriends to come here. Lily couldn’t believe she was missing out on the tacos at Casa Grande, a tradition that went all the way back to Uni. She nervously picked at the crack on her screen, most annoyed that she’d somehow forgotten to add the screen protector when she got her new case two months ago. Another sigh escaped her lips before she finally took a look at her surroundings.

There were three boys at the counter, each of them so different from the other. The first, on Lily’s left, was a bloke with a leather jacket, emitting a touch of emo metal head from his persona. The one on the right definitely looked like he belonged at the Genius Bar in the Apple Store, thanks to his perfectly pressed sweater vest and nicely combed hair. The man leaning against the table opposite Lily, typing into his iPad, was a sporty-looking bloke wearing slacks with a rumpled button-down shirt.

She thought to herself, Actually, no, that sporty bloke looks really familiar… Oh. 

It hit her like a freight train. 

She couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, but he’d somehow gotten hotter in the year since they graduated from college. It’d been almost that much time since they’d danced at a party, stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom, and he’d fucked her on his bed. Not even a quick go. No, she had woken up in his bed to find his arms around her, her clothes all over the room, and her phone dead from going all night without a charger. 

He’d been such a gentleman when he woke up. He had practically stumbled over his words when he realized she was there, in his bed, naked with him. They had both been drunk, so even he admitted it had probably been a bad idea. They’d parted ways an hour later, Lily promising that she’d be okay to walk back to her dorm, and he had let her go so she assumed he really hadn’t wanted anything more than a once go in the sheets. 

More than once, she'd thought about this bloke, wondering what happened to him. 

His black hair was in a mess of waves around his head, and he didn't look up from his iPad as she stared in shock. She didn’t know what she’d say to him if they did make eye contact. The last thing she’d said to him was ‘thanks for the sex’ which somehow grew more and more embarrassing the longer she sat here and recalled it. She kept picturing his naked body in that bed in the morning. What would she say if he looked up right now and she was there remembering the contours of his body? 

Hi, I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.  

She’d save that gem for later. 

Probably never. 

Lily felt disappointed as he walked away without looking up, disappearing through a door that likely led to the back. Her heart slowed in her chest, just slightly, but she felt like her throat was drier than the desert. She cleared it twice, earning a look from the guy in the sweater-vest, but he just went back to his task at hand.

Since the other two men at the Genius Bar were preoccupied, she took that to mean she was going to have to wait for help. She checked her Tumblr, finding nothing of consequence, just some idiots in her ask box telling her to eat dirt and choke on it. A usual occurrence on her blog thanks to internet trolls with nothing better to do than hate strong women like Taylor Swift and Captain Marvel. Lily was fully convinced people just liked to find something to complain about. She tried really hard not to complain or take anything a bunch of internet ghosts said to heart. She scrolled through her favorite Taylor Swift blog and saw there had been a new song mashup released. She wished she had brought her headphones so she could at least listen to the music while she waited.

London Boy crossed with This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things would be absolutely disastrous and she was here for it. She reblogged it for later, then exited out of the app, settling for people watching instead. 

Around her, couples were looking over new computers, AirPods, and various other electronics. All the girls wore really pretty dresses, and all the partners kept one firm arm around each other's waists. Lily’s dress was pretty too, and she played with the edges of the corset cut as she stared at the door through which the fit bloke had disappeared.

Had he spotted her and run? Did he remember her? Did he forget her? She wasn’t sure what would hurt her more, if he walked away because he saw her and remembered her, or if he walked away because he forgot about her.

Lily wasn’t a bragger, but she knew for a fact he had fun with her a year ago. She remembered enough of that night to know that he’d been really, really enjoying it. Not many men would get between her legs for her, and very few actually made her scream. No, he’d been one of two, and he’d been the best of all. 

Lily crossed her legs, trying to ignore the heat gathering on her face (and in other places) as she recounted that night. Sadly, her body wasn’t listening to her imploring thoughts. She felt like a damn animal in heat, the way her entire body was strung up, waiting for his reappearance. 

Beside her, the emo guy helping the old Lady change her voicemail sent her a sidelong glance randomly, and Lily felt a blush raise on her cheeks when his eyes grazed up and down her body as if he were checking her out. She didn’t drop his gaze, and instead offered him a smile. His gray eyes snapped back to the old lady and spoke to her in a smooth tone that didn’t seem the least bit flustered. 

She looked down at her candy-colored nails, the pink already chipping from scrubbing her hands too much at work. The phone on the table in front of her buzzed with a text from her girls' chat. Marlene sent a photo of a plate of tacos in the shape of a heart. Lily smiled and opened her phone, hearting the photo. As she did so, the grandmother finished her session and walked away, leaving the emo kid free. Lily looked up from her phone quickly, expecting him to turn to her, but instead, he had his back turned to her as he talked into his headset.

“No, I won’t stall for you—Prongs! Don’t argue with me.” He sounded stressed, as if whoever was on the other end was ruining his life. “Then get out here, you idiot.”

Whoever was on the other end was clearly addressing the whole store through that headset, as Lily witnessed the sweater vest-wearing, scrawny boy, and the long-haired brunette nearby all turning to send looks in Emo’s direction with raised brows. Lily couldn’t help but feel as if they were all looking at her too, despite her not being privy to the conversation happening.

“Hi,” someone touched Lily’s shoulder from behind, making her turn in surprise.

A baby-faced woman with bubblegum-pink hair smiled kindly. “Have you been checked in?”

“Oh,” Lily blinked owlishly, feeling stupid for thinking everyone was looking at her. “Uhm, yes, Lily Evans? Screen repair?”

“Our screen repair guy is stuck on the phone with a customer in the back,” she said cheerily, “but he should be out soon.”

“Oh, there’s a guy?” Lily said in surprise. “I thought screen replacements were kinda a universal genius bar thing.”

“Oh, we can all do it,” The girl’s name tag told Lily her name was Tonks, “but someone called dibs already.”

“Dibs?” Lily didn’t miss that Emo kid was cackling as he typed something into his iPad.

“Did I say dibs?” Tonks put a finger on her lips. “I meant he was assigned to you by the boss.”

“Who’s the boss?”

“He is.”

Suddenly, the door behind them slammed open, and a body stumbled out quite dramatically. Lily perked up at the sight of the familiar form. Sporty boy was back! His black hair was even more wild around his head, as if he’d been running his fingers through it non-stop since he’d disappeared. His glasses were skewed too, but it only made him so much more attractive, to see how flustered he was.

Tonks peered around Lily’s shoulder, her pink hair falling into her eyes. “Smooth entrance, Potter.”

“Thanks for holding down the fort, Nymphadora,” Potter said. “I can take her from here.”

Lily’s eyes traced his tall form, realizing it had been a long time since she’d been able to admire it. When her gaze returned to his face, her eyes met brown orbs that looked delighted to know she’d been openly checking him out. Lily’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She brushed nervously at her red curls, biting her lip as James waltzed over to her at the bar, leaning against it so he was only a foot or so away from her.

“Hi,” his voice was smooth, like an ASMR streamer. “I’m James Potter.”

“Hi,” she almost choked on her own spit. “Hi.” 

James’ fingers trailed along the edge of the bar, casual yet deliberate, as he said, “I heard you rang for a genius?”

Lily’s mouth quivered when she heard Tonks sigh loudly. The emo guy slammed his palm against his head, as if James had embarrassed them all. Sweater vest physically gagged. James just kept smiling at her though, as if he could tell she was attracted to him regardless of his cheesy pickup lines. And it was true, she was. 

“I heard you are the only one in this store who can help me,” Lily flirted, watching his eyes light up at the challenge. “I had no idea you were so important.”

“Me either, to be honest.” He placed his chin on his hand, supported by his elbow against the bar. “What was your name again?”

Lily tucked her hair behind her ear. “Lily Evans? We met about a year ago at a party.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle as he replied smoothly, “Oh, I remember how we met, it was just your name that escaped me last year.”

The blush was uncontrollable now as she reached out a hand for him to shake. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You have no idea how nice it is to see you again.” James’ grin grew wider. “And on Valentine's Day, no less.”

"I know how to make an entrance." She managed weakly. 

James' eyes were molten gold mixed with green flecks, "you sure do, especially in that dress." 

“Get a room,” the guy in the sweater vest muttered.

“How about yours, Remus?” James shot back, a bite in his tone.

Remus pretended to be interested in his customer's macbook in response. When Lily looked back at James, she felt a punch to the gut as she saw nothing but pure lust in his eyes. She could practically pinpoint where his mind had dropped, thanks to his eyes staring at her breasts, which were practically popping out of the corset cut top of her dress. 

“Like what you see?” She asked boldly. 

"Yes." He cleared his throat, and her eyes dropped to his mouth when he licked his lip and then curled the edges up to smile confidently.

Hazel eyes.

His eyes were hazel, and she’d forgotten that, so now all her memories were being replayed with coy hazel eyes that undressed her without even trying. He wasn't even trying to hide it, especially not right now. 

“Well, what can I help you with today?” James asked, breaking her concentration on his eyes. 

Dinner. She thought desperately. A quick go in the back of the storage room. Instead she offered, “I think I cracked my phone screen.”

James looked down at the phone in question. Lily picked it up, popping off the blue protective case in one fluid motion, before handing it to him. She fiddled with the case as he turned the phone over in his hands once. 

“And you’re sure it’s not just the screen protector?”

Lily shook her head no, “I tried to pull it off, twice, but couldn't get it, so I’m pretty sure I forgot to put the protection screen thing on when I got my new case.”

“Oh Lily,” James clucked his tongue, “always use protection.”

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. 

Her brain immediately fluttered into the pit of her stomach with ideas of all the things they could do with protection. God, she hadn’t been so turned on since the last time he’d gotten her into bed with him…only this time it was daylight and she hadn’t had a single thing to drink. 

Pure thoughts, Lily Evans. She thought. He’s just a guy. A hot, cool, incredibly charming guy. Fuck it, I’m screwed.   

James casually picked at her phone screen, seemingly ignoring the desire flickering in her eyes as he remarked, “The glass shouldn’t stick up like that; I think it’s just a screen protector.”

“I really don’t think–”

Watching in mortification, Lily winced as he used his thumbnail to pry at the glass. Suddenly, a sound of unsticking reached her ears as he removed a screen case from her phone's actual glass. Redness flooded her face for an entirely different reason. She’d been a total, utter, helpless idiot for bringing her phone here.

It hadn’t been broken at all. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “Oh, no, no, no, no!! I am such an idiot.”

“No!” He quickly reassured her, “You’re not an idiot!”

Lily felt herself spiraling with embarrassment, realizing she just hadn’t pulled hard enough to separate the sticky tape from the glass. “I swear—I tried so hard—I thought it was the screen.”

His thumb brushed the side of her wrist in comfort, but instead of soothing her, it sent a wave of shame coursing through her stomach. “It’s an honest mistake; it was securely fastened.”

“Yeah,” she squeaked, noticing he had leaned closer over the counter, now mere inches from her face.

“Seriously,” he seemed so amused, and that only humiliated her further, “it’s fine, I won't even charge you.” 

She didn’t know if she’d ever felt more stupid, and in front of the hottest guy she knew, too. “I’m really sorry for wasting your time.” He searched her face as if seeking something within it. Lily withdrew her hand from his shyly and then grabbed her phone. “I’ll just go, thank you, um, bye.”

Trying to escape the awkward situation, she hurried out, acutely aware of the stares from those around them who had witnessed the embarrassing exchange. She slipped her unprotected phone under the strap of her dress and brushed her hair behind her ears as she rushed to her car in the parking lot.

“Dumb, stupid, idiot.” she muttered over and over to herself, repeating the whole scene in her head. “How did you graduate college with a science degree, but you can’t even pull a fucking phone condom off.” 

She reached her car in record time, the lingering sense of humiliation mingling with a cocktail of other emotions churning in her gut. Her plan now was simple: she would rendezvous with her friends at the taco place and immerse herself in a flight of margaritas. Maybe if she got intoxicated enough, she could erase this entire fiasco from her memory. As she finished flinging her bag onto the console of the passenger seat, she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Turning abruptly, she was startled to find James from the Genius Bar standing there, a friendly smile gracing his features. “Hey, Lily.” 

“Hi,” she managed, her voice high-pitched from her embarrassment. 

HIs eyes dropped to the phone, precariously held between her pale skin and tiny spaghetti thick dress strap. “Why do girls stuff everything right there?”

Lily looked down at her phone and then back up to him, feigning tucking her hands into the folds of her dress skirt, “most girls clothes don’t have pockets–so we improvise.” 

“Interesting.” He then asked promptly, “Did you know that I worked here?”

“No,” she swore, as the wind made her skirts gather around her legs, “I swear, I had no idea.”

A light flickered in his eyes, “that’s a shame.”

“Why a shame?”

“I was hoping you made up that entire thing about the glass cracking just to talk to me.” He grinned. “But you genuinely thought it was broken, didn’t you?”

“You were hoping I was lying?” Lily blinked owlishly at him, “really?”

He lifted a lunchbox in his hand, smiling awkwardly. “I only have an hour for lunch; why don’t we catch up, and we can talk about what I was hoping for.”

“What?” Lily asked, not comprehending anything because her hormones were cheering excitedly.

“Sorry,” he tucked the lunchbox behind his back again, “did you not want to eat with me? I think I may have gotten mixed signals from you back in the store…”

“Eat with you?” she repeated. “ With you?”

“I know it’s been a while,” he was rambling, “I know we aren’t even like–friends–but you showed up and I–I nearly had a heart attack seeing you again. A heart attack in the good way–not a bad way. You are definitely good. All good. So good.”

Lily still had one hand on her car door, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to find the words. “I–I’m an idiot who can’t tell the difference between a screen cover and a phone screen…and you want to have lunch with me?”

James shrugged, “despite working at the genius bar–” Lily offered him a snort of amusement, “--I prefer idiots, don’t you?”

“You're not an idiot,” Lily said, motioning to all of him, “you’re–you’re that .”

“Eloquent,” his smile was so wide, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “But I’m 100% just as much an idiot as you.”

“How so?”

“I was an idiot for ever letting you go without a number to text you at.” 

She felt her stomach erupt with pleasant butterflies. “What?”

James looked down at her body, then back up at her eyes with a coy wink. “Truthfully, I've been wondering where you disappeared to for a year now and would really like to catch up. I’d also really love your number, for your working phone, just in case you ever need a genius to fix it again. Is that okay?”

Lily felt like she might be dreaming. She pinched her arm. It hurt. Thank god. “This isn’t a joke, right?”

“No,” James walked forward, almost flush with her person now. “I do love a good joke, though.”

“Really?” He was so close, she could count the tiny freckles dotting his tan nose. 

James' hand brushed her arm, sending shivers racing up it. “What’s the best book to read while eating breakfast?”

Lily felt a smile replacing her confused expression as she leaned up on her tiptoes, allowing his free hand to cup her chin. “What book?”

“Much Ado About Muffin.”

"You're right, you are an idiot." She rolled her eyes, but her tone was flirtatious, "a really, really cute idiot."

"They'll hire just about anyone to work the Genius Bar these days." 

Lily didn’t wait anymore; she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down, letting her lips muffle his laughter.

She could still feel his smile through the kiss though, even when he opened his mouth to taste her with an eager fever she had forgotten about. She kissed him back harder, especially when she heard his lunch bag fall to the ground near their feet, and both his hands grabbed hold of her long hair to keep her firmly attached. He tasted like mint gum, like he'd just been chewing it before coming to find her. Like he'd planned for this exact scenario to happen. 

She almost swooned at the thought. 

Finally, what felt like only a second later, he broke off the kiss. When her eyes opened, she saw nothing but him, and that only made her smile grow wider. His hands remained in her hair, but he tugged them forward to cup her cheeks, bringing the red strands with him. 

“So,” he said somewhat breathlessly, “lunch date?”

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Calling out of work, taking you home, and ordering pizza for a long movie we won't watch." 

Lily stepped forward, about to kiss him again for suggesting it, but then she felt her chunky heel step on something, and a resounding crack filled the air. Lily thought it might be the lunch bag he’d dropped, and for just a second she hoped, but whatever was under her foot was smaller. She looked down, face white, and all she saw were broken bits of glass under her heel. Her heart plummeted from its high as she stared down at her broken phone. 

“I broke my phone,” she realized, lifting her foot to show a screen in tiny bits and pieces. “Oh my god, I really broke it this time.”

James untangled himself from her and leaned down, picking it up carefully, and they watched as it disintegrated into multiple pieces in his hand. His eyes lifted from the phone to her. She stared back at him. Lily fell against her car, pressing her hands into her hair as she processed her disbelief. James' mouth was partially open, like she'd just stunned him to silence. 

“I can’t believe this!” she half laugh, half cried, while wiping her eyes. "I can't fucking believe this!"

Then, James doubled over with laughter, weeping from the irony of it all. Lily crossed one leg over the other as she laughed too, her head rolling back against her car. Passerby in the parking lot shared attempts like they were lunatics for laughing so hard. It only made them laugh harder.

"What am I going to do?" Lily cried, her side in stitches. "Oh god, I haven't even paid that phone off yet!"

"I can't believe you broke it!" James wiped the tears from his eyes, "oh my god, your luck!"

"Oh fuck," Lily pressed a hand to her forehead, "I don't know why I'm laughing, this is actually so bad, I need my phone for work."

James walked forward to plant a firm kiss on her mouth before reminding her, “Don’t worry, you know a genius who can fix it.”

~~~

+44 7123 456789: Lily??? Are you Alive??? Your bedroom doors been shut since yesterday?? have you even been home???

Lily Evans: holy shit I am so sorry, who is this? I have a new phone and forgot to switch my contacts over from the cloud

+44 7123 456789: ....Marlene....HOW BROKEN WAS YOUR PHONE??? It was a scratch the last time I saw it??

Lily Evans: funny story...

Marlene McKitten: where are you?!

Lily Evans: do you remember that one time I got super drunk at a party and woke up in a hot guys bed?

Marlene McKitten: ya...why?

Lily Evans: I'm currently in his bed right now 

Marlene McKitten: ??? get home right now or so help me god I'm tracking your phone and coming to you 

Lily Evans: save yourself a drive and meet us at the Genius Bar, he's taking me over there to fix my old computer I thought was broken. 

Marlene McKitten: ?????????????

[persephonewritessometimes]

Moon Song / part two: and you're married

Summary: Hotch and Y/N's relationship is still complicated, and Y/N is navigating some new information. Will she tell Hotch or not?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 4405

Warnings: ANGST, MISCARRIAGE, arguing, toxic!hotch, slightly toxic!reader, emotional reader, mention of menstrual products/gynecologist/medical appointments, infedelity, mentions of cheating/adultery, mentions of blood

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

-Two Weeks Later-

         “Come on baby girl, your birthday is in a week and you’re telling me you don’t want a party?” Morgan says teasingly.

         “I’m just not in the mood to party, that’s all,” I mutter. It’s early in the morning and my nausea is so strong I’m afraid if I talk too much, I’m just gonna spew my breakfast everywhere.

         “Whatever you say, but you know the team is gonna want to party anyway,” Morgan says, finally retreating to his desk. I make up a flimsy excuse to go and talk to JJ, half noticing Reid watching me. I think nothing of it and shut the door behind me when I get to JJ’s office.

         “Hey, you okay?” She asks, looking up from the papers she was poring over.

         “Nauseous.” I spit out, sitting in a chair and sighing.

         “Oh! That reminds me, I found something for you. You said the ginger candy didn’t work, so I found an alternative.” She digs around in her purse and pulls out two little gray bands with a plastic bead in each band.

         “What are those?” I ask, now curious.

         “They’re called Sea Bands; they help with nausea.” JJ shows me how to put them on and I pull my sleeves over them, effectively hiding them. We give it a couple of minutes, and the nausea does start to get better.

         “JJ, I love you, thank you so much,” I say, giving her a small smile.

         “Anytime, Y/N. Have you told him yet?” I clam up at that.

         “Um…no. I wouldn’t even know the first thing to say.” I say, picking at my cuticles. “Besides, I don’t know if I want him to know just yet. It’s still pretty early.” Dr. Mitchell confirmed that I was pregnant a week ago when I had an appointment with her. When she confirmed it, I cried. I told her I was sorry, and that I didn’t know why I kept crying, and she explained that it was just my elevated hormone levels and that it was perfectly normal. Hotch has stayed over twice since I found out, and I know there’s something I’m supposed to say, but I can never get the words out. So we fuck and we fight and that’s it.

         “Y/N? You still here?” JJ says gently.

         “Sorry. Just thinking.” I feel a lump start to form in my throat, but I’ve cried in front of JJ enough in the last week. I don’t want to burden her with my fucked-up life right now. “Excuse me.” I get up and rush out, running to the bathroom and locking myself in a stall, finally letting myself cry. A few minutes later I hear the door open, I sniffle, trying to get my shit together when I hear,

         “Y/N?”

         “Reid, this is the women’s bathroom. I think even a genius would know that.” He chuckles at that.

         “Yeah, I know. I’m just worried about you. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately. You look seasick every morning, you tell Derek you don’t want a birthday party even though you make every excuse to go the bar and sing karaoke, and you’re always visiting JJ.” I’m quiet. I’m not sure how I want to respond. He’s attentive that’s for sure, but I don’t know if he would understand what I’m going through. “Y/N, are you pregnant?”

         I let out a surprised laugh, unlocking the bathroom stall door and opening it, looking at Spencer leaning against the sink. “I knew the genius would figure it out. Yeah, I’m pregnant. Only JJ knows, and I would really appreciate it if you would keep this a secret.”

         “Of course, Y/N. Your secret is safe with me. Are you doing okay? Despite, you know.” He gestures at my abdomen.

         “The nausea is the worst part. And I’m emotional.”

         “Yeah, I could tell.” He says, raising his eyebrows. I smile at him.

         “Thanks for coming to check on me,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I sometimes feel like Reid is the brother I never had, and he dotes on me as my younger sister does.

         “I was just getting worried.” He pauses, then says, “You know, sometimes I think of you like the sister I never had. I may not have much, but you guys are my family.” He scratches the back of his neck, and I grab his hand.

         “The feeling is mutual. Now let’s get out of here before you scare the shit out of the next woman that walks in here.”

-The Day Before My Birthday-

         “Okay fine,” I say, walking into the conference room, “I’m having a birthday party.” Morgan whoops, telling everyone that he knew I would come around. “Okay, enough, enough. Tomorrow, five PM, my house.”

         “Will your karaoke mic be making an appearance?” Emily asks.

         “It wouldn’t be a party without a little karaoke.” I shoot her a grin. “Also, no gifts, please. I don’t want anything, and I always feel awkward opening presents.”

         “What’s this about presents?” Hotch says walking into the conference room.

         “Our birthday girl has finally agreed to a party, but she doesn’t want any presents. Tomorrow at five, her place. Do you know how to get there?” Morgan says. Hotch glances at me, and I can see he’s holding back a laugh.

         “He might need some directions. Wouldn’t want him to get lost.” I say, swallowing my grin and sitting down.

-My Birthday-

         “Okay, I’ve got the pizza, the karaoke mic, plates, drinks, cups. What am I forgetting?” I mutter to myself.

         “Maybe you should change out of your pajamas?” Reid asks.

         “Oh my god, yes, that’s what I was forgetting! Thank you, Reid!” I shout, jogging up the stairs to pull on a pretty tank top and dark-wash jeans. I braid my hair, putting on a little bit of mascara before giving myself a once over and heading back downstairs. Reid is making sure everything is organized properly when I come back downstairs, and I let him do his thing, shaking out the nerves. I like parties to an extent but having so many people in my home stresses me out.

         “You, okay?” Reid says, looking at me over his glasses.

         “Yeah, just nervous.”

         “Is it because of-," He's cut off my Morgan shouting,

         “The life of the party is here!” I shoot Reid a confused look, but he doesn’t finish his question. I go to greet the others who have shown up.

         “You find your way, okay?” I ask, telling people where to put their coats.

         “Easy enough. It was like I’d been here before or something.” Hotch says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. He’s not smiling, but I can see a smile in his eyes. I blush, looking down. He had been nice lately, we still fought, but we’d talk about it afterward, rather than him just shutting down and storming out.

         “JJ!” I exclaim as she walks through the door. “Thank god, there are way too many men here.”

         “Hey!” Morgan and Rossi exclaim at the same time.

         “Take the testosterone to the kitchen please!” I shout. They all grumble but do it anyway, and I pull JJ aside.

         “Reid knows. I forgot to tell you, but he knows. Found me in the bathroom sobbing my eyes out.” Her hand covers mine.

         “I’m glad someone else knows.” She pauses, getting ready to ask a question. I already know what she’s going to ask.

         “Don’t. Not today, please. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.” The lump in my throat is back and I blink hard a few times, begging the tears to not come. At that moment, the door bangs open again, and this time it’s Penelope and Emily. The lump disappears and Penelope grabs me in the warmest hug I’ve had in a long time.

-

         I must be dreaming because Hotch is definitely not singing karaoke right now. Of all the songs, he picked ‘Hey There Delilah’, but he keeps trying to substitute my name for ‘Delilah’ and somehow manages to butcher it every time. He’s singing at my birthday. I’ve never seen him smiling so big. The rest of the team is egging him on, cheering and chanting, and I’m caught up in the revelry. We already ate and did cake, and I’m content on the couch, stomach, and heart full.

         Hotch finishes his song and gives me a dramatic bow, Derek and Penelope now fighting over who’s singing next. Something twists low in my gut and I suck in a breath. I shift on the couch, trying to find relief. My period must be starting soon. I think to myself, then pause in panic. No, no, no. Please no. Another lash of pain. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I get up and head to the bathroom.

         I pull down my pants and underwear and there’s bright red blood on my underwear.

         “Please, god no, please, I’m begging you,” I whisper. I grip the sides of the sink, staring myself down in the mirror. I pull my pants back up and open the door. I see JJ in the kitchen and quickly walk over to her, placing my hand on her arm.

         “Y/N?” She asks.

“JJ, help, something’s wrong, I don’t-the baby,” I say clutching at my abdomen as JJ realizes what I’ve said.

“Okay, stay right here I’m getting Emily and Penelope.” “No, just want you.” I gasp out. “Fuck, my back hurts. JJ, I feel like I’m dying.”

“Come on, we’re going to your bedroom.” She’s typing something on her phone as we make our way up the stairs. I have to stop every few steps to take a few shaky deep breaths.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” I can hear Hotch’s voice call up the stairs.

“Food poisoning.” I choke out.

“Party’s over,” JJ says firmly, “Everyone go home. I’ll stay with Y/N.” Hotch starts to protest but JJ cuts him off with a glare. “You’ve done enough. Go home.” He looks confused but retreats.

When we get to my bedroom I rush to the bathroom, ripping off my clothes feeling like I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I sit on the toilet, feeling the life of my baby, and my sanity slipping out of my body.

JJ sits across from me, my nakedness not seeming to bother her. I grimace as another cramp wraps around my lower back and belly and squeezes with no remorse.

A few minutes pass. Or it could be an hour.

“I had a miscarriage once. I was in college, dating a scum bag boyfriend. But I wanted that baby so bad.” JJ looks at me, “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, me too. My mom always says we hate tears in heaven,” I pause, and the next sentence is so quiet I’m not even sure I say it out loud, “But it’s sad his baby died.”

At this, JJ grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “I won’t let you go through this alone. I’m going to be here the whole time.”

After a while, the cramps get better, but I’m still bleeding. I fish out an overnight pad from under the sink and tell JJ which drawer holds my underwear, and where she can find a pair of pajamas. She steps out of the bathroom. She comes back and gives me privacy to get dressed.

Through the door, she says, “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.” I don’t respond.

I gingerly stand up after wiping, quietly shutting the toilet lid without looking inside. I get dressed, flush the toilet, and wash my hands. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look the same, but something very deep inside of me has fractured, like a bone when too much pressure is applied. I open the door, and JJ has prepared my bed, and I see a bottle sitting on the bedside table. She follows my gaze,

“Extra strength Tylenol. I asked Emily to pick it up. I didn’t tell her why.”

“Thank you.” I take two of the pills, swallowing them dry. “I’ll be okay, you can go home now if you’d like.”

JJ gives me a look that resembles one she gives Henry when he’s in trouble. “I’m not going anywhere. Will can watch Henry tonight.”

“Well, at least let me get you a pair of pajamas,” I say, walking over to my drawer, and pulling out a pair. “It’s the least I can do.” She gives me a sad smile, taking the pajamas from my hands and walking into the bathroom.

As she puts them on, I get in bed and find that she found my heating pad and plugged it in. I press it into my abdomen, forcing the tears in my eyes to stay where they are. If I start crying, I won’t stop.

JJ comes out, tells me that she’s going to lock up the house, and sets off down the stairs. She comes back a few moments later, and gets in bed with me, leaving the bedside light on. I’m quiet for a few moments before asking,

“Do you think this is punishment?”

“For what?”

“Sleeping with a married man.” I look at her with wide eyes, trying to convey that I’m not joking. This feels like some sort of cosmic joke, losing his baby when he’s married to someone else.

“Y/N, no. Sometimes there’s something wrong with the pregnancy, your body is just trying to protect you.” She pauses. “You’re a good person. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

“But-“ I start.

“No buts. Doesn’t matter what you’ve done, or whom you love, I know that you’re a good person. You are kind, and full of life, you’re great at your job, and you make everyone else around you shine a little brighter. We can’t help who we love.” She looks sad as she says it, grabbing my hand and squeezing again. I fall asleep with her holding my hand and wake up in the wee hours of the morning, the air still, fog heavy on the ground. I use the bathroom and change my pad. I leave JJ asleep and go downstairs to leave a message for my gynecologist. I put on a pot of coffee, make a slice of toast, and eat it in silence. An hour passes, and I open a book. Close it. Open it again. Close it again. Frustrated, I rub my eyes.

How am I supposed to move on from this?

I lay down on the couch, but sleep doesn’t come. Another hour passes, and my phone rings.

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

“Y/N, this is Doctor Mitchell, how are you?” That question breaks my façade. I start sobbing on the phone, Doctor Mitchell trying to soothe me. After a few minutes, I force myself to pull my shit together, wiping my snotty nose on the hem of my shirt.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why that happened.”

“Y/N, that’s very normal. You’ve just gone through something traumatic, it’s okay to be emotional about it. Now, can you come into the office today? Just so I can check you out and prescribe anything if it’s necessary.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll take a sick day at work. What times do you have available?”

“Does 9:30 AM work for you?” I tell her it does, and she says that she’s here for me, and then we hang up on each other. I text Rossi, telling him I’m taking a sick day due to the “food poisoning”. He tells me to feel better soon.

“Hey,” I hear to my left. I turn and see JJ leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, concern etched on her face. She looks silly in my cartoon print pajamas.

“Hey to you too,” I say, trying to make a joke but my smile slides off my face as quickly as it was put there. I hold up my phone, “My doctor. I have an appointment today.”

“Do you want someone to go with you?”

“No.” I think about it. “I think this is something I have to do alone.” She nods.

-

I always liked Dr. Mitchell’s office. It’s painted in soft pastel yellow, the warm glow making me feel at home. I’m shaking as she comes out to get me. The exam is quick, and she confirms that I did have a miscarriage. Before I go, she hands me some pamphlets on therapy resources in the area. I take them and thank her, leaving the office and stopping for a few minutes outside so my eyes can adjust to the sunlight. I leaf through the pamphlets before carefully putting them in my purse. That can be dealt with at a later time.

I have no idea what to do with the rest of my day, and it hits me that I don’t have any semblance of a life outside of work. I sigh, and my phone vibrates. It’s my sister, asking me how work is going. A lump forms in my throat, and I quickly shoot back a text asking if she can talk on the phone right now. She calls me instantly, frantically asking me if I’m okay. I don’t cry this time, but I tell her everything. Hotch. The affair. The baby. Losing the baby. He doesn’t know. She’s very quiet, letting me word vomit until I have nothing else to say.

“Y/N. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to go through something like this.” She finally says. We talk about what’s next, she asks me to take some time off and come stay with her for a week or so. I tell her I don’t want to intrude, and she counters with the fact that she’s worried about me. I know she just wants to keep an eye on me, but the thought of going to my hometown right now makes me sick to my stomach. I tell her I’ll think about it, she lets it slide. We talk a few minutes more, and I tell her I have to go. I hang up the phone, staring blankly at my steering wheel.

         I end up taking the next two days off of work, blaming it on the food poisoning. Hotch texts me a couple of times, checking up on me, asking if I’m okay. I give short, noncommittal answers. JJ comes by every night with a hot meal and her company.

         It’s lunchtime on my last day off and I’m picking at the ham sandwich I made when there’s a knock at my door. I look through the peephole and am relieved to see Reid. I open the door and he pulls out a bouquet from behind his back.

         “Um, JJ told me. I thought you might want something nice to look at.” I wordlessly take the flowers from him looking them over. It’s a beautiful arrangement, with soft pink, and yellow flowers. They smell heavenly. I give him a small smile.

         “They’re beautiful. Would you like to come in?” He nods, and follows me inside, shutting the door behind us. I quickly clean up my lunch and get a vase down for the flowers, methodically cutting the stems and putting the plant food powder in the little vase. Reid just watches, letting me do what I’m doing. I put the flowers in the vase, adjusting them ever so slightly before putting the vase on my dining table.

         “Do you want to talk about it?” Reid asks.

         “I-“ I pause. Do I want to talk about it? I should talk about it. Reid seems like a safe bet. “Kind of. It’s – it’s hard to talk about.” I swallow thickly.

         “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m sorry about what happened.”

         “Yeah, me too,” I say quietly. “My sister wants me to come home and spend some time with her.”

         “Do you want to do that?”

         “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

         “Hey, that’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out, Y/N. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. It’s okay if you don’t know your next step right now.” I just look at him, wanting desperately to believe what he was saying. I walk over to him, and he opens up his arms, knowing what I want. I wrap my arms tightly around him, just needing to be held. Not by Hotch, but by a friend. I don’t know how long we stand there, but I finally loosen my grip. “I do think you should take some time off. Maybe not go back to your hometown, but just spend some time with yourself.” I nod.

         “I’ll think about it.” With that, he changes the subject, something about a book on quantum physics, and I let him ramble on, asking clarifying questions now and then which he happily answers. We talk for an hour or so, before he states that he has to get back to the office. “Spence,” I say as he’s walking out the door. “Thank you for today. I really needed it.”

         “Of course, Y/N. Anything for my little sister.” He adds, winking at me, and I laugh.

         I lay down for a nap after he leaves and wake up to my phone going off.

         JJ: Emily and Penelope are worried about you. Can they come with me? You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.

         Y/N: That’s fine, it would be nice to have some girl time.

         I tidy the house up a little bit, make it look like I haven’t been sleeping on the couch where the TV can drown out the thoughts that scream at me. That my current diet has been pringles and chocolate, and the meals JJ has been bringing me every night. The doorbell rings fifteen minutes later, and I open the door, cursing the fact that I forgot to change out of my pajamas. I give them a small smile as they come inside.

         JJ had brought a giant pizza from a local spot with her, and my stomach growled when I saw it. We all laughed at that. We settled down on the couch, and Emily asks,

         “What do you think gave you food poisoning?” JJ and I lock eyes for a split second and then I say,

         “Um, actually, I had a miscarriage.” It gets silent for a split second before Emily and Penelope are telling me how sorry they are. I don’t miss the exchange between them though and I add, “You can ask who it was, but I think you already know.” I pick at my cuticles, waiting for them to say something.

         “We know. And it’s okay.” Penelope says, smiling at me. “You don’t have to explain anything to us.” I smile at her, the weight lifting off of my heart a little as a tear slides down my left cheek.

         “Does everyone else know?” I ask.

         “Well, Reid was the first to notice. He kept going on and on about you and Hotch’s body language. One thing led to another, and…” Emily trails off.

         “And I’m your favorite subject to study, got it,” I say with a half-smile. I knew Reid knew. That must have been what he was going to ask me on my birthday. I’m glad he let it be, probably knowing that I was hurting more than I needed to know that he knew. I change the subject, and our conversation wanders its way through many topics before I know it I’m yawning, and JJ is ushering Em and Penelope out the door before coming back to big good night to me.

         “Anything else I can get you before I head out?”

         “No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, I appreciate it.” I settle down on the couch, pulling my blanket off the back of it and situating it around myself. After a few seconds, I notice JJ watching me smiling. “What? What is it?”

         “Sometimes I just forget how young you are.”

         “I’m not that much younger than you!” She chuckles and I want to ask her what she means, but she bids me good night and leaves out the garage, so I don’t have to get up and lock the door behind her.

         Work resumes like usual when I come back. A couple of people joke about the “food poisoning” and I laugh it off. I can feel Hotch watching me closely a lot though. I didn’t let him come over when I was miscarrying, afraid that I’d look in his face and the words would spill over until I couldn’t hold them back anymore. He calls me into his office at the end of the day.

         “Y/N, are you okay?”

         “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I say, on the defensive. I know that no one would have told him behind my back, if they did they’d have to answer to my wrath. He looks me over.

         “If something happened, you know you can tell me, right?”

         I stare him down, battling with the part of me that wants to tell him everything, and the other part that’s afraid he’ll use it against me later down the line. “I’m fine. Can I go now?”

         “Y/N, come on. You didn’t even let me visit you when you were sick.”

         “JJ kept me company. I was fine.”

         “I’m just hurt that you didn’t want my company.” I blink in surprise. He’s being vulnerable.

         “I’m just dealing with some stuff right now, okay? You…you just make things complicated.”

         “I’m here for you always.”

         “And you’re married,” I say plainly. “You have been from the start. I just need a break …from whatever this is. You’re married and I’m – I’m just me.” My voice cracks on the last word.

         “I -,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, that’s fair. We’ll take a break for a little bit.” I excuse myself, heading back to my desk to grab my things. For some reason, I feel worse now taking a break than I did with him. Before I leave, I glance over my shoulder towards his office, and he’s watching me. I freeze for a split second, locked in an intense gaze before he breaks it, looking back down to his paperwork. I sigh and leave, my house feeling empty with his presence.

part three: and you might be dying

[phanstanband]

In other news, I did wear my “legalize catboys” sweater to my Genius Bar appointment completely forgetting they have to write down what you’re wearing so other employees can find you

[partyanimal167]

Hello

If you don't mind I'm here for the spy AU event

Eustass kidd x fem reader for 🎱.. maybe nsfw-ish? Some rivalry thing between him and the reader but him being unlikely soft is my weakness! I read your rules I hope I did this right😭

(Still straightening up the event space...hides duster) HI! Welcome! I totally don't mind! You're my first request for this event, so thanks for swinging by! I totally love a rivalry trope, and Kidd has some softness for sure. I hope you enjoy!

🎱 Fun, Games, Risks, and Action- Kidd x F!Reader

cw: nsfw-ish, suggestive, fem reader, cussing, mdni

He was already in a piss-poor mood. His partner was out of commission. He was stuck doing boring intel work. And he simply wanted to bash someone's head in. Lucky (or not) for him, he'd get some type of action in...just not how he would have planned.

Kid was not one for logistical, calmer missions. That was other' specialty--a guy who would enjoy sitting behind a desk all day while looking at computers. When he was recruited, all he heard was guns, fights, money, and risks. However, with Killer being out and a lack of evil schemers threatening to blow up whole cities, Kid was stuck hiding in the dark praying that some asshole would recognize him and be dumb enough to point a gun at his head.

Kid sat bored and grumpy in a dimly lit red-light district bar half-listening to those around him and praying that someone would start a fight.

There was some information the higher-ups want to check on, and while he normally wouldn't be the first person on the list, this was located in his mother-country which meant he knew the language and blended in well-enough. It wasn't exciting work though. There was always some big-shot who was selling god-knows-what super drug to the unlucky masses while investing in some crazed-genius' dreams.

He would rather be breaking into said genius' headquarters and causing a ruckus.

However, there wasn't enough concrete evidence for that type of mission yet, so this is where he found himself.

You sauntered throughout the tables collecting glasses and tips while wearing probably the skimpiest thing owned by the disguise department. The dress barely covered your ass, and the neckline ended just above your bosoms. Your lips were painted a dark red like his own, and the eyeshadow was smoky and thick.

Kid had half the mind to go storming upstairs where the mob's higher-ups would be meeting, but then something caught his eye, and somehow, his night was turning into something far more entertaining.

It was definitely the most makeup Kid has ever seen you in and maybe the second or third time he's seen you in a dress.

That was the first reason why seeing you was surprising. The second was the fact that if you were there doing some undercover gig, that meant that these guys had something more valuable than some fancy drug or plans to bribe a politician. That was the kind of thing Kid needed to bring home.

He easily knocked back the drink he was nursing and walked up to the old house madam. He hid his face as you stepped behind the bar to put up the dirty glasses.

The old lady blew smoke in Kid's face and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Can't afford her." she gruffed.

"Hey, how much for the girl?" You and the old lady looked up at him. The madam sized Kid up unamused, but the look of shock on your face was what made his grin meaner. You turned away and continued to clean.

That made you chuckle to yourself, and Kid felt a vein twitch.

"Yes ma'am!" You replied before walking off.

"Oi! I ain't askin' for a discount or nothin'." He flashed a wad of cash. "Don't be stingy hag."

The money caught her interest. "Alright sonny, the girl's got an appointment with someone way more important than you, but you c'n see if you c'n handle her for an hour. Sheba! Go freshen up for the gentleman." the madam called out.

Kid didn't miss that annoyed, threatening look you sent him.

~~~

Kid entered the private room when granted and met the sight of you fixing your lipstick in the mirror. He smirked.

"Gettin' all pretty f'me?"

You didn't spare him a glance. "Not at all." You switched to reapplying your mascara. "Since you spent all your mission's budget on my time, what do you want? I don't have time to play around with you." You didn't flinch as you felt his presence move close behind you.

"Just curious is all. Not everyday I see you looking like such a slut for the job. Must be a big deal whoever you're dishing out to." Kid answered meanly.

"That's none of your business." you shot back. "He couldn't afford this cat even if he tried."

"Oh, so I'm just lucky?"

You rolled your eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. The only reason why you aren't bleeding out right now is because I have a meeting to listen in on after this." you went on, "I don't want to mess up my outfit." you turned towards him finally and stuck out your tongue.

Kid went in for the kill.

You gasped as he held your chin and looked meanly at you. "You really think you could one up me?"

You only grinned. "I know I can." he felt something press up against his torso and didn't need to look down to know what it was. "You're in my room after all."

Kid grunted but didn't move. "Who's the guy?"

"What's it to you?"

You giggled. "Aww, am I that much of a big deal?"

"I'm doing a little data collecting. I didn't think it'd be that big of a deal until I saw you waltzing around."

"Don't act stupid. You only get sent out if there's something important going on." Kid continued.

You swung your legs and shrugged. "Well I guess that's just for your bosses to figure out. Not my problem." You tried to turn away but yelped when you were easily lifted from your seat and placed in Kid's lap. You were pressed between his chest and the vanity dresser. "Eustass!"

He grabbed at your hips and bucked into you teasingly. "What's the problem, doll?" His hands ran down your thighs. "You working aren't you?" He leaned by your ear. "I don't mind giving you something for your help."

You bit your lip and continued to fight. "We aren't allies."

"Want me to order you around?"

"Yeah, yeah, but we can make something work. I don't forget favors." he slid your sleeve out the way and pressed a kiss. "I can make it good for you."

You felt your face warm up and looked away. "You sound like you're begging." you grumbled.

"Go to hell."

Kid snickered. "Alright alright, I'll shut up for now." He then went to work kissing your neck and rolling you slowly in his lap. You gasped and held onto his shoulders.

"Kid-, I don't have time for,"

"Sssh, you worry too much. I won't mark you up. Nobody's gonna know I'm here."

Your resolve crumbled. You huffed before reaching around into his hair and pulling on it. You met his lips hungrily and ignored the sweet feeling of your core warming up and dampness starting to peek through your panties.

"20 minutes left!" was called from behind the door.

"Kid," you whined when his fingers teased on your clit, "You need to go," you panted out.

"Tch, since when did you care about manners?"

"You sure, princess? It'd be rude to leave this unattended to."

You puffed your cheeks. Fucking munch. "Hurry up."

Kid shrugged but lifted you up to sit on the vanity. Your eyes grew as you watched him push back the bench and knelt between your legs. You were weak at the sight. He licked up your leg and bit behind your knees. "I don't, but I'm making an exception." He looked up at you and winked--asking for permission.

~~~

Things were going well. You say in the lap of that skin-and-bones leader and took mental notes of locations and names while you looked pretty and dumb. You chuckled to yourself how it wasn't smart how easily this man let you into these meetings, but that wasn't your business any way. He was known for having a type, and you were the girl to get shit done.

It was nearing the end, and people were talking casually when a loud radio static sound was heard throughout the room. The room immediately tensed.

"We got a rat!"

People immediately stood from their seats pointing guns and flipping over furniture. You ended up on the floor and let out an award-winning shriek before scrambling to the door amidst all the commotion.

You ran to your work room to grab your items before making an escape along with the other clueless patrons.

What the hell was that noise? You headed for your safehouse and looked around. Up on a roof, you saw an amused Kid grinning down at you and pointing at his shoes. You gasped before shotting him the finger and running off.

When you got to safety, you threw your shoes off and noticed a small metal disk on the arch of your heels. Kid was definitely listening in on what was said. When did he even- you groaned once you remembered your little fun right beforehand. Damn the bastard was smarter than I give him credit for.

A knock was heard, and you cussed as you smashed the device with the heel of your shoe. You opened the door and yanked the man in by the collar of his shirt. You pushed him against the door.

"I hate you." you hissed.

Kid snickered. "I just made things work. Not my fault you were distracted while cumming on my tongue." Such a vulgar man.

"You owe me damn it. If you pull something like that again, I'm collecting the bounty on your head." you fully meant it too.

Kid grinned and shrugged. "I already got something coming your way, princess." he took a step forward as you turned away to change. "But don't worry," he lifted the hem of his shirt and tossed it away, "I'll give you something now." you moaned as you felt his hands engulf your waist and pull you close. "It'll be more than worth it."

~~~

Whew! Kid's such a spicy character. I know he's a beast at make-up sex. Thanks so much for requesting! I'm excited for this event. I hope you enjoyed it~

[kafus]

i have a physical therapy appointment this morning so i don’t wanna start writing my post about beating platinum until after i’m done with that but i figured i’d tie up some loose ends since i wasn’t updating much yesterday

jasmine just being dropped in this game as a nod to HGSS has always been cool. a town with a lighthouse as well, just like olivine. it’s kind of wack how this cameo appearance remains in bdsp despite there not being a twin johto game to go with it lol

this dialogue that implies some cyrus lore as well… i was talking with a friend yesterday about how it’s strange cyrus has a crobat, like most of the “evil team” leaders have friendship evos barring ghetsis, but cyrus is particularly cynical towards pokemon, even his own, and you’d think he wouldn’t be able to have a friendship evo. this dialogue makes me wonder if there was a time where he was reclusive but not as far gone yet when he could have achieved that crobat evolution, and left unchecked by adults on account of “he’s fine, he’s a genius” he spiraled out of control… or maybe it’s a case of kindness, but in the wrong way, or both! who knows. kinda crazy u can miss out on this completely optional dialogue so easily

victory road was mostly uneventful, solved all the puzzles and picked up all the items and fought every trainer etc, though it did put my team through the wringer and i had to actually use the healing items i had been stockpiling off the floor for once, since i didn’t feel like walking back to the pokecenter every time.

i picked up some stray dex entries along the way too - as far as i know i’m only missing just a handful of encounters you can get before the league without evolving anything, specifically the one fossil mon you can get at this point (i haven’t checked whether i have shieldon or cranidos), and a handful of mons that can be caught fully evolved with the good rod like Seaking because they’re just SO much easier to get with the super rod and i figured i’d wait until then since fishing can be slow in this game. oh and i haven’t caught the lake trio yet since i want to actually prepare for them properly post-league (i don’t want to wing it like i did with giratina… i want them in premiers…)

and lastly i did beat barry before doing my final league prep, idk i just wanted to get it out of the way. tbh it wasn’t too bad, i had some pokemon faint but within reason. i would say more but i didn’t take notes and the battle wasn’t that crazy. however barry becomes even stronger than cynthia eventually in the postgame so i’m not insulting him at all LOL

but yeah league breakdown coming this afternoon after my PT appointment whee

[dookins]

My computer’s hard drive is in its last leg. 9 years of files including my month long work on my comic is in a scary place right now….

And obviously I have nothing backed up. It’s got an appointment today at the Genius Bar, so hopefully…. We’ll be able to do something…. I just don’t wanna lose it. Not any of it, but ESPECIALLY not that…

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

Character Gallery Part 2: Our non-astartes support cast!

Again I must thank @rowscara for putting with me and all these designs, but once again I have amassed enough of them for collection post! If you wish to see the three "main characters" of Tepidus Tempestus click here.

Starting off with the highest rank, Lord Castellan Dederik Dunst, the captain of the ship and highest non-astartes authority who due to legal complications cannot be called Captain or Admiral. The rank of Lord Castellan, to which he was promptly appointed by the Chaptermaster as in the Imperial system allows it for a legal loophole including the - supposedly - temporary nature of such rank as well as its lack of specification.

Originally from the Astra Militarum and left to die on a volcanic deathworld after an imperial screw-up. After months of trying to survive the toxic ashen atmosphere and attempting to get an emergency signal out, the Tepidus Tempestus stumbled over them by sheer accident involving several navigators and what would later prohibit the use of caffeine-like stimulants by them for several years.

Out of the dozen or so that were left, he is the only one who did not succumb to the aftereffects. His lungs are severely fucked however, which has him constantly smoking a very specific herbal mix to combat the symptoms. Dunst is probably one of the most loyal to the chapter as he literally owes his life to them - although this loyality does explicitly not extend to Astra Militarum high command for obvious reasons.

It should be noted that he has a slight hoarding problem in that every single console, chair, and work-station around whatever place he works has several lasguns, explosives, rations and fortification materials stowed inside. The fact that he did all that in secret has gotten him into some trouble with the Chaptermaster when it came out.

Following the highest authority on the bridge, here's the absolute tyrant of the machine room, Engine Master Angela Kirrspatt - archenemy of tech priest Daimos-5 (self-proclaimed), and - barring some technicalities - the oldest human on the ship. She's mostly held together by spite and devotion to the vessel - this devotion goes to the point that she has an actual Tech Priest Killcount.

In her younger years she had observed the incompetence of Daimos-5's predecessors that would have almost blown the ship into pieces as well as the disregard the tech priests had for the human workforce, and led a worker's rebellion in response. Chaptermaster Auris was so impressed by her organisational skills as well as pulling it off while keeping all systems running without issue that he promptly promoted her - and politely overlooked the frozen remains of shattered flesh and steel chained to the coolant pipes.

Rising further in the ranks during her service she, in a rather unusual turn of events, became the inofficial vice-captain of the 3rd Astartes Company (Techmarine Specialists). She was the assistant to their Captain Hephaton, but the man is an elusive hermit busy with his work and avoiding other people. Eventually he started sending her out to all the meetings he didn't give a shit about (which was nearly all of them), and so it was established.

The fact that Daimos-5 is still alive and even gets some liberties within her domain goes to show how skilled he is, and that she - even if only begrudingly - respects him. His expertise is Gellar Field tech and the Warpdrive in general, but all the tech surrounding it is her domain. Curiously, Kirrspatt and Dunst were a thing once, 70 years back or so. The lone survivor clinging to life and the barsh mechanic girl... although nowadays they bond mostly by being weird cranky old people.

Often seen with personal Astartes guards of the 3rd, although it is not sure if they are guarding her from other people, or other people from them.

From Engineering back to the bridge here's Communications Officer Liberta - being a lingusitical genius that somehow speaks every concievable dialect of high and low gothic at the young age of "officially" 35 terran years, her job is mostly tuning in to the Vox-frequencies and whatever else goes around that is not an astropathic transmission.

Aside from her foul mood and the - barely concealed undercity gang-tattoos - there's actually not much known about her. In fact there is so little known, that very specific events in the story led to some... complications. Her files regarding her past before joining were clean. TOO clean... but giving away more would spoilers. However the Navigators and Astropaths on the vessel do not like her, but that might be because she sometimes takes some of their drug stashes.

Apparently Liberta has a substance tolerance that - for some of them - goes beyond that of even Astartes, but mostly uses those so she can work longer and harder. Just like Chaptermaster Auris this is yet another case that makes Chief Apothecarius Timidus scream "BY THE THRONE STOP WORKING YOUR BODY IS LITERALLY FALLING APART HAVE SOME REST!"

Mostly gets away with her foul attitude because of extreme competence paired with Dunst and Auris having somewhat of a soft spot for her.

And finally, last but not least for this post, let's hear it for out Medical Ogryn, Nurse Narcosis, Apothecarius Timidus' favourite assistant. As it turns out when you have patients the size and weight of Astartes, you might need someone even bigger and stronger to move them around.

Orginally from the weapons deck, when a mishandlung of ammunition led to many people being injuried, he carried them all to the apothecarium. Then after sticking around and insiting to help, Timidus found use for him.

Although Narcosis started out as dumb as they come, unlike most Ogryn in the Imperium he had something entirely unique: a teacher with the patience of centuries. Timidus was pleased to have an assistant who did EXACTLY what he was told without question or hesitation, assuming Narcosis could understand the concept.

So it started off simple, with "carry this", "hold that", "look scary so the gawkers piss off", and eventually over many, many years the orders became more and more complex ("spray this on the cut" - "put on that bandaid"). While it takes a while to get new knowledge into that massive skull, once it actually is in there, it STAYS there.

Can now perform simple surgery if necessary, but really does not like working on non-astartes. Regular humans are so fragile and it makes him very, VERY nervous.

[brittanytobiason]

Get them grouped into convenient households by sims3pack or convenient ala carte .sim files.

To make townies, add sims to a vacant residence and kick them out.

To appoint registers and set service, you must have nraas Register, Cheats and Master Controller installed.

Fair warning: the game randomly deletes or reappoints service and role sims. To keep a specific sim in a specific role may require reappointing them, even readding them to the game, should they vanish. I think it's worth it for certain roles and have designed sims to suit specific registers.

To Set Service

Select the sim, then: nraas, master controller, advanced, set service

To Appoint Register

Select the cash register or bar you would appoint a sim to, then: nraas, register, homeless

If the sim you would appoint is not in the homeless list, try the other lists. It may be that the register has an age bracket that rules out young adults, as the Orbiter consignment desk does. The recommendations I've made have all been well tested.

Loop Role Sims

For Cronor. No CC

The household consists of seven sims

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Generations, Pets, Showtime, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Island Paradise, Into the Future

I used Custard to check this sims3pack file before uploading.

Download Loop Role Townies sims3pack file

Lexi Callahan

young adult female

Traits: Family oriented, flirty, loves to swim, snob, social butterfly

Lifetime Wish: Bottomless Nectar Cellar

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Generations, University Life, Island Paradise, Into the Future

Download Lexi Callahan .sim file

Poe Tut

young adult male

Traits: bookworm, charismatic, family oriented, friendly, easily impressed

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Showtime, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Into the Future

Lifetime Wish: Super Popular

Download Poe Tut .sim file

Shellie DuJour

adult female

Traits: absent minded, dramatic, easily impressed, unlucky, unstable

Lifetime Wish: International Super Spy

Expansion Packs Used: Generations, Showtime, Seasons, Into the Future

Download Shellie DuJour .sim file

Griffin Zucco

young adult male

Traits: excitable, genius, perfectionist, neat, loner

Lifetime Wish: Become a Master Thief

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Pets, Supernatural, University Life

Download Griffin Zucco .sim file

Harker Tam

adult male

Traits: friendly, party animal, rebellious, technophobe, neat

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Into the Future

Download Harker Tam .sim file

Carrie-Anne Zion

young adult female

Traits: animal lover, book worm, excitable, good, green thumb

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Pets, Showtime, Supernatural, University Life

Lifetime Wish: Master of the Arts

Download Carrie-Anne Zion .sim file

Bella Goth

young adult female witch

Traits: brave, good, lucky, family oriented, party animal

Career: Magician 4

Lifetime Wish: Super Popular, completed

Expansion Packs Used:Late Night, Generations, Pets, Showtime, Supernatural, Into the Future

Download Bella Goth .sim

Wasteland Role Sims

For Cronor. No CC

The household consists of seven sims

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Late Night, Generations, Pets, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Island Paradise, Into the Future

I used Custard to check this sims3pack file before uploading.

Download sims3pack file

Pez Exiam

adult male

Traits: lucky, athletic, charismatic, good sense of humor, perfectionist

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Generations, Island Paradise

Download Pez Exiam .sim file

Connor Fagan

young adult male

Traits: friendly, rebellious, avant garde, party animal, snob

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Pets, University Life

Download Connor Fagan .sim file

Barbara Delos

young adult female

Traits: charismatic, perfectionist, supernatural fan, lucky, good sense of humor

Lifetime Wish: Fashion Phenomenon

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Pets, Supernatural, Into the Future

Download Barbara Delos .sim file

Sunny Sulu

young adult female

Traits: avant garde, dramatic, loner, loves to swim, lucky

Lifetime Wish: Descendant of da Vinci

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, University Life, Island Paradise, Into the Future

Download Sunny Sulu .sim file

Vin Holmes

young adult male

Traits: brooding, bookworm, couch potato, genius, good sense of humor

Lifetime Wish: Chess Legend

Expansion Packs Used: Supernatural, Seasons, University Life

Download Vin Holmes .sim file

Dean Valjean

young adult male

Traits: good sense of humor, hates the outdoors, night owl, party animal, perfectionist

Lifetime Wish: Golden Tongue, Golden Fingers

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, University Life, Into the Future

Download Dean Valjean .sim file

Selina Krall

young adult female vampire

Traits: diva, mean spirited, party animal, rebellious, snob

Lifetime Wish: Turn the Town

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Showtime, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Into the Future

Download Selina Krall .sim file

Crispin Slade

I like to use nraas Register to assign him to The Comissioner consignment register

young adult male

Traits: ambitious, dramatic, hot-headed, supernatural skeptic, unstable

Lifetime Wish: Master Thief

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Into the Future

Download Crispin Slade .sim file

Service Townies

For Cronor. No CC

The household consists of seven sims

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Late Night, Generations,Showtime, Supernatural, Seasons, University Life, Into the Future

I used Custard to check this sims3pack file before uploading.

Download Service Townies sims3pack file

Jephph Hutt

child male half-alien

Traits: computer whiz, genius, loves the outdoors

Expansion Packs Used: Generations, Seasons, Into the Future

Download Jephph Hutt .sim file

Xiuxi Xlotl

adult female alien

Traits: clumsy, dislikes children, dramatic, friendly, shy

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Seasons

Download Xiuxi Xlotl .sim file

Devo Hooley

teen male

Traits: artistic, couch potato, good, friendly

Expansion Packs Used: Supernatural, University Life

Download Devo Hooley .sim file

Janine Dyson

teen female witch

Traits: good, genius, artistic, socially awkward

Expansion Packs Used: Generations, Supernatural, University Life

Download Janine Dyson .sim file

Zelda Garvey

young adult female

Traits: adventurous, athletic, daredevil, flirty, good sense of humor

Expansion Packs Used: Late Night, Showtime, Seasons, Into the Future

Download Zelda Garvey .sim file

Charlotte Kepler

young adult female

Traits: handy, night owl, party animal, lucky, genius

Lifetime Wish: The Tinkerer

Expansion Packs Used: World Adventures, Late Night, Supernatural, Seasons, Into the Future

Download Charlotte Kepler .sim file

CC Credits

Thank you to Crowkeeper and Norn for making and sharing Cronor, as well as to simsmidgen, atuned, Architectural-sims, City Mouse, Dylan-Walsh-Sim, Gaiahypothesims, Maramaja06, Mpartsbuilds, Nocturnalazure, RamboRocky90 and others for your creativity and generosity.

All my downloads by sim

[papillionsoul]

General Information about Yuuki

GENERAL INFO

NAME: Yuuki Cross FAMILY: adoptive father ( Kaien Cross ) AFFILIATION: Cross Academy guardian YEAR: 1st year: Day Class student HEIGHT: 152 CM ( 5’0) WEIGHT: *** kg AGE: 18 years old ( verse dependent - once I get around vampire! yuuki it can be 10000+years old ) SEX: FEMALE Hobbies: Parfait tasting, mainly drawing sketching. Food trips w/ YORI Sleeping... Fashion !!! Esp when getting clothes for Zero Practicing with naginata.

Appearance

Body

Type: Mesomorph Yuuki is known to be a big eater; thanks to her metabolism & being physically fit, it doesn't show. Although she lacks muscle, her legs and arms have definition due to jogging & naginata practice. Hair: Chestnut brown. w/ red/dark brown hues. Shoulder-length with a fridge. Eyes: Brown With a tint of red. Height: (5'0) 152 cm Weight: unknown Complexion: Warm Ivory to eerily pale...she doesn't have the best skin...

Interests

Parfait tasting

Yuuki has a natural palate for sweets but holds PARFAIT above all else. Since Kaname took her to a nearby cafe, Yuuki has been hooked. ( so, did her dentist appointments grow) Her favorite is the Yogurt base parfaits & her preference leans on the fruit-oriented types. She tolerates granola as an aesthetic accessory to the dish, but an over-kill of cookies, chocolate bars, wafers & not to mention cereal will piss her off. Yuuki believes that parfaits should only be decorated using flavor; putting all those things in one parfait makes it seem like you're compensating for something. Beware, for this topic should ever be opened, Yuuki would enter her serious mode. Tread lightly.

Physical activities

Lacking in the...intellectual department, Yuuki naturally gravitated towards P.E. being her strongest suit. Her best practice besides her Naginata training was running, hiking, and swimming. ( that she never took seriously; she just wanted to have an excuse to practice with Zero and finally have a weapon that could his head. ) Vaulting the box during P.E. is her favorite exercise.

Drawing

Letting Yuuki have 100 color set of Crayola when she was six was a genius breakthrough for Kaien due to finally instilling life into Yuuki's vacant expression in her early adoption days. This was also an opportunity for the father-daughter bond to grow. Bad news, though, for the walls. So after three nervous breakdowns from their caretaker, Kaien presented Yuuki with a sketchpad to vent all her ideas into. Since then, Yuuki still has the pad with her; the practice carried over to her teenage years.

FOOD !

Ginger stir-fry Set has to be Yuuki's ultimate favorite food! Whether cooked by her favorite beef-bowl restaurant downtown or prepared by Zero, this would be the ultimate bribe for her. Too bad it doesn't help you get past the Night Class gate. Aside from this, Yori brings delicacies whenever she comes from her home. They also eat out every Sunday. Her Instagram feed is full of Food porn that no one suspects is a personal account.

Personality

“The Campaigner” (ENFP-T)

The Campaigner's personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party. Still, unlike types in the Explorer Role group, Campaigners are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than in the social and emotional connections they make. Charming, independent, energetic, and compassionate, 7% of their population can undoubtedly be felt in any crowd.

DETAILS

Mind -This trait determines how we interact with our environment. 90% Extraverted, 10% Introverted

Energy - This trait shows where we direct our mental energy. 84% Intuitive 16% Observant

Nature -This trait determines how we make decisions and cope with emotions. 10% Thinking 90% Feeling

Tactics -This trait reflects our approach to work, planning, and decision-making. 21% Judging 79% Prospecting

Identity -This trait underpins all others, showing our confidence in our abilities and decisions. 46% Assertive 54%Turbulent

OTHERS

Alignment: Lawful Good (slowly develops to Neutral Good ) Yuuki is raised by Kaien, and his morals of right & wrong are embedded in Yuuki's core. This makes her an effective guardian that upholds the Academy's laws; unfortunately, this also earned her the hatred of the ever-growing population of the fanbase Night Class has to offer.

Sexuality: Hetero.

Strengths: Curious, Observant Energetic, and Enthusiastic. Excellent Communicator Know How to Relax, Friendly

Weaknesses: Poor Practical Skills, Finding it Difficult to Focus, Overthink Things, Highly Emotional

Abilities

Physical

Strength : ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Agility : ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (for a human that is )

Coordination : ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Stamina : ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Vitality : ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Intelligence

Interpersonal : ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Kinesthetic : ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Visual : ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Naturalist : ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Intrapersonal : ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Musical : ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Linguistic : ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Logical : ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Biography

Yuuki's earliest memory begins with snow. A five-year-old girl left alone in the middle of the SHIGA HIGHLANDS, which used to be a destination spot for skiing that became desolated after the 13th Human-Vampire war decades ago. Without any means of protection or recollection of how she got there, Yuuki was an easy target for the roaming rogue vampires. Seconds from being bitten, KANAME KURAN came to her aid. The pureblood was tracking down the vampire that Yuuki attracted ( the vampire was a part of his household that went berserk due to being banished for a misdemeanor ), effortlessly dispatching the enemy due to being focused on Yuuki's Blood. Cold and traumatized, Yuuki enters an almost catatonic state of silence as Kaname brings her to the authorities. They tried questioning Yuuki without any answers to their inquiries of who she was and where her parents were. Due to the vampires present in Yuuki's case, the Hunter association quickly pointed out that perhaps Kaname was the mastermind of this. At the same time, the Vampire council was quick to protect their "royalty" by stating Kaname was the savior in this scenario. Although Kaname saw what was really happening, politics. He quickly contacted a person with the compassion to care for the lost child & power that would render the hunter's association mute & strength to strike down any vampires that would pursue Yuuki. The most lethal hunter in history. Kaien Cross. He's retired, though. December 18 was the day Yuuki was found. Using their connections, Kaname assisted Kaien in adopting Yuuki, and by December 23, Yuuki Cross was now his daughter.

[iotechpartners]

A Comprehensive Guide to Apple Support in Avon, Colorado

Apple products have become an integral part of our daily lives, from iPhones to MacBook’s to iPads. But what happens when these devices encounter issues or need repairs? That's where Apple Support comes in. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the various options for Apple Support in Avon, Colorado.

Apple Store

The most obvious option for Apple Support Vail is to visit an Apple Store. In Avon, Colorado, there is an Apple Store located in the Beaver Creek Village. Here, you can make an appointment with a Genius Bar technician who can diagnose and fix any issues with your Apple device. The Apple Store also offers workshops and training sessions for customers to learn more about their devices.

Authorized Service Providers

If you're unable to make it to the Apple Store, there are also authorized service providers in Avon that can assist with your Apple device. These providers have been certified by Apple to offer repairs and support for their products. Some of the authorized service providers in Avon include Best Buy, Simply Mac, and Experian.

Online Support

For minor issues or questions, you can also turn to Apple's online support. The Apple Support website offers a wealth of resources, including troubleshooting guides, user manuals, and forums where you can ask questions and get help from other Apple users. You can also chat with an Apple Support representative or schedule a call back for more personalized assistance.

AppleCare

For those who want extra protection and support for their Apple devices, there is AppleCare. This extended warranty program covers repairs and technical support for up to three years from the date of purchase. In Avon, you can purchase AppleCare at the Apple Store or online. It's important to note that AppleCare does not cover accidental damage, so it's still important to handle your devices with care.

Third-Party Repair Shops

In addition to authorized service providers, there are also third-party repair shops in Avon that offer Apple support. These shops may be more affordable than the Apple Store or authorized service providers, but it's important to do your research and make sure they have experience with Apple products. Some popular third-party repair shops in Avon include I Cracked and uBreakiFix.

Apple Support App

For those who prefer to handle things on their own, there is the Apple Support app. This app allows you to troubleshoot issues with your Apple device, schedule repairs, and chat with an Apple Support representative. It also offers tips and tutorials for getting the most out of your Apple products.

With these various options for Apple Support in Avon, Colorado, you can rest assured that your Apple devices will be in good hands. Whether you prefer in-person assistance or online support, there is a solution for every Apple-related issue. Have you used any of these options for Apple Support in Avon? Let us know in the comments.

For Original Post Content:- https://froodl.com/a-comprehensive-guide-to-apple-support-in-avon-colorado

[starsaver94]

I'm not entirely sure when this would have the opportunity to happen but silly idea-

"Kurogiri, can I have something to drink?" The misty villain looked up from his idle glass polishing, one of the younger and more disheveled members of the league sitting right in front of him, leaning forward with pleading eyes.

"There is a vending machine just outside the entrance, and if you can't afford that, a water fountain to the right of-" Akugaki shook his head. "No, I mean, something to drink." He pointed next to Kurogiri, to the collection of bottles on shelves, all full of different alchoholic beverages.

"Huh?! Alcohol, at a time like this, are you stupid?!" Twice, on the other side of the room, closer to the others, spoke up with an accusatory finger pointed at Akugaki. However, he suddenly clapped his hands together and looked at him with joy. "Loosening up as a team is a genius idea! Party time!" Dabi rubbed the back at his head, ignoring the two-faced team member, instead giving Akugaki an almost condescending look. "How old are you again?"

Akugaki sighed, looking down. "Well, I've never had any before, and I was just curious... and, villains drink, and I'm a villain now, so..." He was suddenly being held by Magna, who had sat next to him and put her large arm on his shoulder. "Sorry, but no. You're way to young to drink, ya know?"

"Yeah, yeah, plus, Alcohol is super bitter and smelly, you just shouldn't drink it!" Toga also spoke up to join the conversation, rocking back and forth as she talked. "Why are you two suddenly the moral compasses of the group..?" Akugaki smiled despite his question, chuckling a bit.

"...One drink." Kurigiri finally answered his question, reaching behind him for a random, large bottle that seemed to be full. He placed it down on the bar with a light thud. "I don't see any harm humoring your request this once, young Akugaki." A bright smile covered the boys face as he bowed in his seat. "Thank you, Mister Kurogiri!"

The newly appointed Bartender leaned down, looking for a smaller shot glass for the young member. "If anyone else would like a drink, please, come and-"

Pop!

Kurogiri could only lean back up and see what was happening, before half of the large bottle was already empty. He had used his maws to wrap around the handle of the bottle and quickly take out the cork, and was pouring it into his mouth like he had just left a desert. The entire League wanted to do something, but their shock, confusion, and just how quick he was drinking prevented them.

Akugaki's maw slammed the empty bottle back down, reentering his mouth as the boy's entire body shivered. "Uegh... nasty." The entire room was silent for what felt like an eternity, all eyes on Akugaki.

"...What?"

"...Heeheehehe, Heeeheheheheehee!" Shigaraki, who was silent this entire time on the farthest side of the bar, started laughing his ass off at the boy.

"OH MY GOD, AKUGAKI, YOU DUMBASS! OH MY GOD AKUGAKI, YOU BADASS!" Twice ran over to the boy, patting his back congratulatorily. Dabi simply stood in place, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You really didn't know anything about alcohol..." Kurogiri looked at the boy worriedly, realizing his own mistake and regretting everything.

Lol! I love LoV scenarios where they act like a found family.

(Btw, how far in the series are you now?)

[fixnotcharging]

iPhone 13 Not Charging Here are 9 Way to Fix It 2024

iPhone 13 Not Charging reddit, why my iPhone 13 Not Charging, iphone 13 not charging when plugged in, iphone 13 won’t charge or turn on, iphone 13 not charging at night

There are a number of potential causes for an iPhone's decreased charging capacity. One or more of the following could be the source of the problem: defective hardware, a malfunctioning charger, or software.

We will walk you through the process of testing for each of these issues in the upcoming steps. You should have little trouble resolving the issue once you identify the part that's stopping your iPhone 13 from charging

1. Hard Reset Your iPhone

A hard reset is typically used as a short-term fix for software issues. It only makes your iPhone restart, which doesn't do anything and frequently causes the issue to resurface.

How Do I Hard Reset My iPhone?

Once the screen goes black and the Apple logo shows up, simultaneously press and hold the power and volume down buttons.

Release the two buttons when the Apple logo shows again.

The hard reset is finished when your iPhone restarts.

2. Examine Your Lightning Cable

If a reset fails, inspect your Lightning cord for cuts, frays, or damage, as damaged cables are ineffective in transmitting power.

The Lightning connector end that slides into your iPhone and any places where the cable bends should be closely inspected.

Get a brand-new, Apple-certified cable to replace the damaged one. Utilise only pristine cables.

3. Try using any other alternative charging techniques.

• Check to see whether the issue is not just with the wire, but also with the outlet or the power supply.

• Test with various charging setups, including:

• Apple's official USB power adaptor;

• A computer's USB port;

• A wireless Qi charging pad;

• A vehicle charger

4. Look inside the Lightning Port for any particles

• Carefully inspect your iPhone's Lightning port for any lint, dust, or dust collection.

• Use a torch and a softly clean toothbrush to remove any dirt. Clogged ports can prevent connections.

Make sure the port is completely dry before trying to charge again.

5. Update the software on the iPhone 13

Outdated software is another issue that keeps an iPhone 13 from charging properly.

Navigate to Settings > General > Software Update to find and install any available iOS updates.

The most recent OS Optimization and bug fixes may resolve your charging problems.

6. Reset the configuration of the network.

As a final option, choose Settings > General > Reset > Reset Network Settings to reset your network settings.

Any unfavourable network setups that might be restricting charging will be removed as a result.

After it has restarted, try charging your iPhone 13 once again.

7. For a while, charge your iPhone

Allow your iPhone to remain charged for around half an hour if you have just charged it and it still doesn't work. In the event that the charge has not advanced or is not visible at all

8. Cool Down iPhone 13 Release

Occasionally, when charging, your iPhone may become warmer than usual. The iPhone will automatically cease charging if the battery gets too hot, perhaps halting at 80% of its capacity. In that case, it's advisable to disconnect the iPhone and move it somewhere cooler. The Optimised Battery charging option will automatically deactivate after it cools down, allowing you to use it once again. Hopefully, this time will be different.

9. Contact with Apple Support

After carefully going through the troubleshooting steps, if the problem persists, get in touch with Apple Support for individualized assistance.

You can schedule a mail-in iPhone repair service through Apple's support website, or you can schedule an appointment at a Genius Bar in an Apple Store.

Apple's servicing guarantees official, high-quality fixes from the manufacturer, even though it isn't free.

Source link:- https://fixnotcharging.com/iphone-13-not-charging-here-are-9-way-to-fix-it-2024

[fatedwithmbc]

Round Three of Ibrance starts tonight. The first two cycles weren’t terrible. I started with some mucositis at the end of the last cycle. I’m hoping it doesn’t continue into cycle three.

My iPad is definitely broken, which is annoying because I usually type my posts via my iPad and external keyboard. I have a Genius Bar appointment tomorrow and I’m thanking the lord that I got AppleCare on this item. I usually forgo it because I treat my items well. That was no different with my iPad, but something clearly is up and I’m like right at the one year mark. Also not in a position to pay too much for repairs. So, thank you salesman who talked me into it when I bought my iPad initially.

Today wasn’t overly busy. I did go to HomeGoods though. I needed a bigger basket for my meds to reside in. I also purchased a waffle textured blanket (allows for stimming behaviors and easily falling asleep), a table runner to use for my dresser and a Halloween bunting. I’m early on Halloween, but that’s ok. I stopped at O+F farm stand to pick up corn for dinner. My final stop was Starbucks and then I went home and napped. I get tired after doing too much activity. Thankfully, Mom-Mom didn’t feel like working on our piece of the garden so I was able to take a significant nap (which I needed).

After napping, I woke up in a sort of stupor, but worked my way out of it in order to grill chicken for dinner. Dinner was relaxing which isn’t always the case. Afterward, I went to Danny and Betsy’s to help Danny print some pictures from his Ireland trip. It was nice to see them and we’ll be going to dinner tomorrow. We’re going to Founding Farmers which is a favorite of mine. Hopefully, they like it as well.

I also have to give the brackets and hardware to Dan to get the right hardware for hanging my mug racks as I have 6 racks and many mugs that need a home. I’m thankful that he’ll be helping me hang these and ensure they won’t fall off; which I am sure would happen if I did it on my own.

Another chore for tomorrow is to pick up some medication samples from my psychiatrist but I might save that adventure for Tuesday. I just am not anticipating all of the driving for tomorrow. Driving just isn’t something that I love doing that much anymore. I really used to love driving- windows down, music up, warm weather… it was great during my commute. Maybe that’s what the change is, I don’t have a commute anymore. I just have short moments to appointments and errands. Maybe it’s just a phase.

And it’ll leave it at that… Thanks for your support and your reading!!