#ac unit is a criminal

[incompleteninny]

The ninety-second free, unedited chapter of my upcoming book, “The Heist at Cordia Aquarium” is now available on its website (or click https://www.kitfisto.gay/chapters/thea to read from the beginning).

Two women stand upon skates at ice's precipice: just before  a rink's open gate. Sophia breathes deep, slow, and with her eyes closed. She mouths something under her breath.

Not words meant for Avery, but the emotions behind them come across clear. "Are you okay?" Avery says.

Sophia's eyes snap open and she casts a wild look Avery's way. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You never been ice skating?"

"I have."

"Okay, then what's wron—"

With a huff, Sophia rolls her eyes. "Sorry, that was a lie. I haven't. Too hot down in Tennessee, you know."

Stepping onto the ice, Avery pirouettes. "Right! Why didn't I think of that? Well, It's not so hard—"

Sophia claws at the air in her wake. "Wait. Wait! I'm not ready. What if I fall?"

[...]

The lasses’ other date, somehow more awkward than this one.

[raspberry-gloaming]

I very much doubt there's much chance of this, but is there anyone out there who is a fan of both Doctor Who (and especially/possibly the Gallifrey audios) and the Nevermoor series? As I have many au thoughts but no-one to share/discuss them with.

(if you are please message me)

[reiderwriter]

Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC. 

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future. 

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field. 

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe). 

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.” 

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn’t sound too bad right now at all. 

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat. 

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab. 

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?” 

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly. 

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder. 

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes. 

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things. 

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused. 

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen. 

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general. 

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies. 

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face. 

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day. 

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.  

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way. 

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips.  When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping  his bag a little tighter to him. 

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.” 

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?” 

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away. 

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk. 

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.” 

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent. 

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable. 

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional. 

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence. 

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading. 

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time. 

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.”  He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him. 

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply. 

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away. 

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.  

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could. 

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond. 

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?” 

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space. 

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen. 

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you. 

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office. 

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt. 

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat. 

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you  grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention. 

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same. 

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer. 

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.” 

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line? 

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you. 

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before. 

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face. 

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again. 

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist,  and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now. 

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat. 

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed. 

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?” 

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove. 

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now 

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.  

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.  

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind. 

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day. 

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?”  You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him. 

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands.  Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands. 

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night. 

-X-

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately. 

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time. 

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner." 

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided. 

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots. 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her. 

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back. 

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain. 

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random. 

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?" 

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist. 

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away. 

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned. 

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV. 

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?" 

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside. 

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty. 

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off. 

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor. 

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off. 

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong." 

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change. 

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?" 

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?" 

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret. 

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?" 

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek. 

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this." 

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking. 

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were. 

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so." 

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?" 

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911." 

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!" 

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are." 

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?" 

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way. 

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?" 

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here. 

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary." 

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand. 

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed. 

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where. 

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time. 

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop. 

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man. 

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it. 

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending." 

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!" 

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer. 

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar. 

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing. 

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to. 

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner." 

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more. 

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it. 

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?" 

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed. 

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face. 

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding. 

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun. 

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

[yelenasdiary]

I’m thinking about pervy prison guard Natasha (who has a dick) and innocent!r, who got framed and Natasha takes an interest in her and just has to protect her but y’know you have to pay her back in different methods, I hope you can write this ^_^

Number One Rule

Pairing: Pervy Prison Guard! Natasha x Innocent Fem! Reader

Summary: After being framed and sent to prison, one guard takes an interest in you and offers you protection from other inmates, of course with a catch.

Slightly Rough Smut | Angst | Natasha has a penis | Language Warning | Mentions of Murder, Drugs & Physical Violence | Mentions of Masturbation | Slight Degradation | Oral (both receiving) | Nipple play | Unprotected Sex | Loss of Virginity | 2.8K | 18+ Minors DNI! 

AC: I think I have a new obsession! Thank you for sending this, I hope you enjoy it x!

Never in a million years did you think you'd be in a prison cell crying yourself to sleep every night. Nobody believed you, that you didn't commit the murder you were framed for and now here you were, in a cell with your cell mate on the top bunk snoring loud enough to drain out your sobs. The nights where harder than the day, you felt more alone at night and too scared to fall asleep. 

The other women took a liking to you but not in the way you hoped. You were fresh meat, somebody they would use to get drugs into the prison to save their own backsides from being caught, the newbie they could throw around and get to do anything they wanted because you didn't want to get hurt. You just wanted to stick to yourself and serve your sentence while trying your best to clear your name from the inside. 

It had only been a month since you arrived, and things were only getting harder. You've been beaten one too many times already, just the women's way of 'welcoming' you to the unit and who to be scared of and for them, it worked. You never left your cell unless you knew there were guards walking the halls or you were forced too by them, but there was one guard that seemed to take an extra liking to you. 

Miss Romanoff. Probably the only guard that was kind, all the others had this front about them but it was a prison, nobody was supposed to be nice. Miss Romanoff began standing close by your cell and everywhere you looked she was there. What you weren't aware of was the hidden camera in the showers that gave the guard the perfect view of you in every single inch. When she went home, she'd watch the playbacks of you in the shower, washing your body with the crappy soup you were given, watching the way you moved your hands all around your body while she stroked her cock just wishing she could take you right there. 

Each morning after breakfast, inmates were allowed to call their loved ones for 30 minutes, all but you as it seemed. As you were lining up, other inmates pushed in front, pushing you further and further to the back of the line until you eventually snapped. 

"Hey! the back of the line" you spat at one of the inmates who turned to face you and chuckled, "Does it look like I give a fuck where the back of the line is?" she replied, shoving you harshly into the cold, brick wall as she laughed at you. 

"I mean it! You guys do this shit to be every fucking day, I've had enough!" 

"Check this out, the newbie has had enough guys!" the criminal laughed once more before shoving you once again, this time harder. You knew your next move wasn't a good idea but you're only human who could take so much. You pushed yourself off the wall and lunged at the inmate, punching her in the face before you had realized what you'd done. "You stupid, stupid BITCH!" the woman spat before lunging at you with her fist ready to return the punch you had just delivered her.

You closed your eyes and prepared yourself for the harm you were in but to your surprise the woman's fist was caught by a guard. "Get back to your units, all of you! Call time is off!" Miss Romanoff announced, the room erupted with groans as the woman spat insults to you on their way out, some kicking the wall to show their anger. 

"You're dead meat, newbie!" one woman whispered as she walked by you. 

You sighed and turned on your heels to walk out, only to be stopped by the guard. "Not you, Y/n. You're coming with me" she said, gently taking you by the arm and giving you a light push to continue walking.

To the others, it looked like you were in trouble and on your way to 'the box'. A cell of isolation, no contact with anybody but staff, no outside time, nothing. Just you in a cell for as long as they wanted.

"Miss, I'm sorry. I got angry and I shouldn't have punched her" you spoke, trying not to breakdown in the hands of the guard. "After you" she opened the door to a room you'd never seen before, hesitantly you stepped foot in the room before the red headed guard closed the door behind you both. "W-what is happening?" you asked in a scared tone. Nobody was allowed in the boiler room, not even staff unless authorized. 

"We're going to have a little chat" she smiled softly, making you both walk a little further away from the door. "I..I p-promise I won't do it again, please don't hurt me" you begged, scared that the woman was going to beat you like you'd heard many times on the news that prison guards would sometimes beat inmates when they were out of line. 

"Shh, darling. I'm not going to hurt you, like I said, we're just going to have a little chat" she replied before you both came to a stop, completely out of view if anybody were to come into the room. "You're new here, I know but you shouldn't be getting yourself into situations like that. The inmates here won't hold back on killing you over something tiny like what just happened" Miss Romanoff explained. 

"I…I know, I j-just got so sick of the bullshit they do to me every day" you admitted with a sigh, "Again, I'm really sorry" you added. 

"I can protect you" Miss Romanoff brushed off your apology, "I can make sure they don't hurt you, I'll keep you safe" she added. 

"You'd do that? B-but isn't that a bad thing? I mean, w-would they come after me even more than they are?" You looked at the guard with nothing but fear in your eyes. 

"I've been working here for years, and I've seen many scared women like you come and go, some only make it out in a body bag. You saw how quicky those inmates listened to me, doesn't that not show you that I can handle them?" 

She had a point and just the thought of having somebody looking out for you suddenly made this place seem a little more bearable. You nodded, "but why bring me here?" you asked. The guard chuckled, "because the number one rule in prison is you never do anything without giving something in return" she explained with a light smirk before she gently grabbed your hand and placed it over her bulge, "I'll look after you, if you look after me" she spoke as your eyes dropped to your hand on her clothed bulge. 

"I..I" you stuttered as you slowly looked up at her, "I've…n-never" you paused, looking away with embarrassment. Natasha smiled softly before guiding you to look at her with her thumb. "Baby, have you never had sex before?" she asked, your checks went red as you nodded slowly. "It's okay baby, we'll have fun. Now, how about you be a good girl for me and get on your knees. You're going to learn how to suck my cock real good and I'll make sure you're out of harm's way" she smiled before gently pushing you to your knees. 

Natasha unbuckled her pants, letting them fall to her knees. You could see she was already semi hard, her cock just begging to be released. "It's okay sweet baby, don't scared" she looked down at you, giving you the okay to pull her boxers down and finally freeing her cock. She was bigger than you pictured just seconds before as she pulsed in front of you, you slowly looked up at her and swallowed the lump in your throat. "I d-don't think I can make it f-fit" you stutter once more, hoping not to disappoint the guard.

"I'll guide you, now open that pretty mouth for me" she instructed. You did as told and allowed the woman of power to slide her member inside your mouth before her hands landed on your eat to guide you to start moving. Natasha moaned at the warmth of your mouth wrapped around her, she told you to swirl your tongue around her as she began to thrust her hips forward, making you take her down the back of your throat, gagging for air. 

"That's it baby, gag on my cock just like that" she moaned, throwing her head back as you wrapped a hand around at base of her cock with a tiny boost of confidence which made Natasha smirk, "good girl, you're getting the idea now" she commented as you began to stoke her cock she left go of your head and let you suck her off at your own will. 

Moans and groans left the guards lips as you grew more confident sucking her off, taking her down your throat at your own will now. "Fuck baby, I'm going to cum!" she looked down at you, noticing how you had your free hand down your pants, she smirked. "Take your shirt off baby, I want to cum all over your pretty tits" she instructed. With need, you had your shirt off and threw to the side and unclasped your bra. "They're so much prettier in person, fuck" Natasha basically drooled at the sight of you. 

"W-what?" you asked, freezing all actions as you looked up at her. 

"Oh come on baby, you don't think I haven't been protecting you since the day you came in here? I've had eyes on you every single day, everywhere" she admitted and if you weren't already so easily turned on by her moans earlier, you would've blown up at the thought of a stranger watching you. "Don't go shy on me now, I've seen how you play with yourself in the shower when everybody has left the room" Her comment made your cheeks go red once more as you looked away from the woman. 

"I heard the name you moaned once too" she added, catching your attention again. Once, by accident you moaned Miss Romanoff's name as you rubbed your clit in the shower, you were as shamed of it but never thought she knew about it. "I'm s-sorry, I just, I mean, it was an accident" you tried to make the excuse. 

"Shhh, I don't care about your excuses" she grabbed your head, forcing your mouth back around her cock. You could feel her twitching as you sucked her harder than moments before. "I knew you were a needy little slut, stop, I'm gonna cum!" she took her cock out of your mouth and jerked herself off for a few short seconds before you felt warm spurts of her cum landing on your chest, moans leaving her lips as she continued to unload herself on your bare chest. 

"Stand up, it's your turn" she smirked as she gently stroked herself. You stood up and pressed your back against the cold, hard wall as Natasha got on her knees in front of you, pulling your prison colored pants down with her. "Mmm, tell me you want this" she looked up at you after seeing the wet patch on your panties. You couldn't help but nod with need, unsure of what exactly you were agreeing to. 

Natasha pushed your legs apart slightly before pulling your panties down to your ankles, "you're so wet baby" she commented before brushing her thumb over your exposed clit. You moaned at her touch, you've never been touched before, and it felt so much better then when you'd touched yourself. 

"Please" you begged with soft eyes as you looked down at the red head, she smirked as she looked up at you. "Tell me what you want, say it" she demanded but you were too shy to say the words as you shook your head. "I can't" you replied. 

"Say it" she repeated, this time she started to pull your panties back up. 

"Please!" you begged again, "please…fu-fuck me"

Natasha smirked once more, "good girl" she commented before she placed one of your legs over her shoulder and dived into your pussy. Licking a long stripe up to your clit as you moaned once again, your hands finding her head and gently pushing her forward for more. You both knew you didn't have a lot of time for Natasha to take her time with you like she would've loved too, she ate you with hunger and need, giving you feelings, you didn't even know existed as she turned you into a moaning mess, begging her to keep going. 

"I th-think I'm going to cum!" you moaned, unsure as you were never truly able to make yourself cum. 

"Cum for me baby" Natasha looked up at you as you threw your head back once more before letting your orgasm take over your body, letting the woman's tongue taste even more of your sweetness. "Oh god!" you moaned as the woman helped you ride out your high while tweaking your hardened nipples. 

"That was better than I expected" you admitted when the woman rose back to her feet. "We're not done yet baby" Natasha took off her jacket and placed it on the ground, "on your hands and knees, I need to feel you cum around my cock" she looked back at you. 

"I don't think that's going to fit!" you replied as your eyes dropped to her hard on. 

"I think it will" she nodded for you to get on the ground. 

Natasha settled behind you, kissed down your spine as she rubbed the tip of her cock against your clit, making you moan once more. "It's going to hurt, please don't" you looked back at her with concern. "Only for a few minutes baby, don't worry, it'll feel good after, I promise" she assured you as she lined herself up with your wet pussy, "let me know when you're ready" she added. It only took a few minutes for you to remember the times when you were at home with a vibrator wishing you had a dildo to stuff inside you for that extra pleasure, you looked back at the guard "fuck me, please!" you begged while Natasha smirked as she slowly entered you. 

Your fists gripped her jacket hard as the burning pain rushed through you, Natasha stopped when she bottomed out, "you're so fucking tight baby, let me know when I can move, okay?" she lent down and kissed the back of your shoulder for comfort. After a new minute, you were comfortable enough for the guard to start giving you what you wanted. 

Natasha started thrusting slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of having her inside you as you moaned, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you up against her. "You're mine now" she whispered before she began to fuck into you harder, moaning at the way you clenched around her. 

You were lucky the boiler room was naturally loud enough to cover the sounds of Natasha's thighs slapping against you and your moans begging her to fucking you harder. "God baby! Keep clenching me like that and I'll cum!" she commented as you were close to your orgasm. "D-don't cum inside me! Fuck! Just keep going!" You moaned. Natasha's grip on your hips was sure to leave a mark by the next day but you didn't care, as long as she kept fucking you with this hunger she had, you'd let her do anything. 

With one hand, Natasha reached for your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as you did your best to cover your screams as you came around her cock, "fuck!! It's too much!!" you moaned as the woman kept fucking you, chuckling at your state. "You can cum for me baby" she commented as she continued to hit that one spot that made your eyes roll back, "'s too much!" You moaned once again before you realized you were cumming once again, almost numb from the overstimulation. 

Natasha pulled out quickly before unloading on your lower back, "God baby!" she moaned while you gently allowed yourself to lay completely flat on her jacket, completely fucked out. The woman laid down next to you as she caught her breath, "they won't bother you again, I'll make sure of it" she looked to you. 

You nodded, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep but she had to return you to your unit before headcount. "I would usually look after you, but I can't, not here. I'll take you back to your cell and you can get your things then I'll take you to the showers and you can have one without anybody coming in" she added, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "Thank you, Miss Romanoff" you smiled tiredly. 

"When nobody's around, call me Natasha" she replied.

Taglist: @red1culous | @sayah13 | @charl-lally | @when-wolves-howl | @bentleywolf29 | @fxckmiup | @natasha-belova | @blackwidow-3 | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @shin-conan-kun | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @ahintofchaos | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @donnietarantino | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @hehehehannahthings | @pandaemonium111 | @imnotslouching | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @marvel-madnessx | @scarsw1fe | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @natashaswife4125 | @katiemay-025 | @aphrcdtes | @romanoffs-widow | @natsxwife | @maria-403 | 

If you don't want to be on the taglist for smut related fics, please let me know 💖

[90s-music-tourney]

All songs have been chosen for the 90s music tourney

Lithium by Nirvana

Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill

Ironic by Alanis Morrisette

She don't use Jelly by Flaming Lips

Iris by Goo Goo Dolls

What's Up by 4 non blondes

Peaches by Presidents of the United States

Criminal by Fiona Apple

Bitch by Meredith Brooks

Good Riddance (Time of your Life) by Green Day

… Baby One More Time by Britney Spears

Sober by TOOL

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something

Wonderwall by Oasis

Love Fool by The Cardigans

baby got back by sir mix-a-lot

whatta man by salt n peppa

No Scrubs by TLC

Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants

Losing my Religion by REM

Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by Pansy Division

No Rain by Blind Melon

Friday I'm in Love by The Cure

Mr. Jones by Counting Crows

Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Tubthumping by Chumbawamba

Zombie by Cranberries

Smooth By Santana Ft. Rob Thomas

One Week by Barenaked Ladies

Semi Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind

Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer

All Star by Smash Mouth

Buddy Holly by Weezer

My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion

Genie in a Bottle By Christina Aguilera

Barbie Girl by Aqua

Spice up your life by Spice Girls

Steal My Sunshine By Len

Cannonball by the Breeders

Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve

What is Love By haddaway

Follow you down by Gin Blossom

Freedom by George Michael

Nothing Compares to You by Sinead o Connor

Around the World by Daft Punk

Laid by James

Possum Kingdom by Toadies

Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger

Only Happy When it Rains by Garbage

Bullet with Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins

Sunny Came Home by Shawn Colvin

Pepper by Butthole Surfers

Mother Mother by Tracy Bonham

Tim I wish you were born a girl by of Montreal

Voodoo by Godsmack

Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega

Livin La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Just a Girl by No Doubt

Closer by Nine Inch Nails

California Live by Tupac

I will Always Love you by Whitney Houston

Give Me One Reason by Tracy Chapman

Good Day by Ice Cube

Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg

Dragula by Rob Zombie

My Name is by Eminem

You Get What You Give by New Radicals

No Diggity by Blackstreet

Loser by Beck

pretty fly (for a white guy) by the offspring

What's my Age Again by Blink-182

I want it that way by the Backstreet Boys

Intergalactic By the Beastie Boys

Two Princes by Spin Doctor

Killing in the Name by Rage Against the Machine

Girls and Boys by Blur

Where is my mind by the Pixies

Closing Time by Semisonic

Creep by Radiohead

Say My Name by Destiny's Child

Jump Around by House of Pain

Check the Rhime by A Tribe Called Quest

November Rain by Guns n Roses

The Distance by CAKE

Every You, Every Me by Placebo

The Sign by Ace of Base

Vogue by Madonna

Don't Let Go (Love) by En Vogue

Mm Bop by Hansen

Believe By Cher

Mo Money, Mo Problems by Notorious BIG

Gold Soundz by Pavement

The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) by Missy Elliot

Common People by Pulp

Doll Parts by Hole

Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio

[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

The Royal Flush Gang

There have several different iterations of the criminal outfit known as the Royal Flush Gang.  The gang was originally formed by The Joker after he recruited a group of five young adults possessing metahuman powers.  These individuals had been experimented on by a shadowy facet of the United States military and the experience left them each traumatized, angry and easily manipulated by The Joker.  

Fashioning them with costumes evocative of playing cards, The Joker dubbed the quintet his ‘Royal Flush Gang.’  He then organized a complex attack on Las Vegas that was meant to draw out and engage The Justice League.  Following a tremendous battle, The Justice League managed to defeat most of the gang yet the whole ordeal was revealed to be a ruse orchestrated by The Joker to garner a huge television audience.  With so many people watching, The Joker then unleashed the most powerful member of The Royal Flush Gang: Ace.

Young Ace possessed reality-altering powers and her hypnotic gaze could induce vivid hallucinations, ultimately lead to irreversible madness.  The Joker hoped that scores of people watching on would be driven hopelessly insane.

Fortunately, Batman was able to demonstrate to Ace that The Joker was manipulating her; that he was no better than the governmental agents who had made her childhood so unbearable.  Ace turned on The Joker, rendering the Clown Prince of Crime into near catatonia. Ace then left and released the audience from her influence.  

The youngster returned some time later.  With her powers evolved to the point where she could warp and reshape reality, Ace recruited a second Royal Flush Gang armed with powers she bestowed unto them. And yet her new gang proved no fun so she sent them to battle the Justice League and the foes were soundly defeated. 

Ace’s powers continued to mount and she came to realize that it would all result in her experiencing a fatal cerebral aneurysm.  Batman comfortable the frighten youth as her final moments came and Ace passed away peacefully in the Dark Knight’s arms.   With her death, reality was restored and the rest of the gang reverted to their natural forms.  

The title of the Royal Flush Gang would later be taken up by new criminals who maintained successive iterations of the gang far into the future.  

In a wink to the broader fanbase, The Royal Flush Gang were each voiced by the cast of the Teen Titans animated series. With Khary Payton voicing Ten; Greg Cipes as Jack; Hynden Walch as Queen; Scott Menville as King; and Tara Strong providing the voice for the tragic Ace.  

The Royal Flush Gang first appeared in the twenty-eighth episode of the second season of Justice Leagues, ‘Wild Cards Part I.’  

[ornii]

helloo

Could i request Cate Dunlap from the Gen V show x Male reader pls??

Finally finished Gen V so I can finally do this request and idk why but I think Cate could play a young Jean Grey really well if they decided to reboot the X-Men which in turn gave me an idea for this. (Also Jordan is my favorite character, please protect them.)

Stargazing

Cate Dunlap X Male Reader

It was the criminal investigation Class that set you on the path of Heroism, real heroism.

You were forced to wear a pair of high Destiny deep red glasses that thankfully halted your superpower; concussive beams can emit strongly though your eyes, thankfully you can somewhat control the intensity. From the strength of a slap in the face to a Freight train hitting your opponent at Lightspeed, you had more control than most, making you a potential shoe for the Seven, and into the Top 10.

Vought had their eyes on you and Luke, both of you were constant neck and neck in the eyes of The Uni and Vought. But it wasn’t much of a competition for you two, moreso of a friendly rivalry.. but you two did butt heads when it came to one person, Cate.

Cate had this personality that was abrasive at times but, so genuine and caring too. Made a tough combo for any guy luck or unlucky depending on how she was feeling. And man, she was gorgeous to boot, getting with the top kids you had to be around Luke, Andre, Cate and Jordan, the Big 5 as some would say.. but it’s just Big You.

It was dark, around 1 Am and on the rooftop of Godolkin. Cate, Andre and Luke were enjoying the company and cheap drugs. You, not so much. Keeping a clear head makes it easy for you to keep from taking your glasses off on accident. You sat in the edge of the building, Cate and Lucas on a large rectangular Box and Andre on an AC unit, Cate tilts her head at you.

“(Y/n), are you eyes red under those rose glasses?” She asked smugly, you looked over to her. “Fuck if I know.. dad has the same thing. Never got to see his.” You said, probably making it a bit awkward, and Andre turned to you, a hint of pain in his eyes.

“To Dads, right?” He said, offering a bag of mushrooms, you awkwardly laughed. “Nah I’m.. cool.” You replied. “Don’t think you can handle it?” Luke asked with a slight hint of teasing.

“Cmon, I mean I can make you… but we’re all about consent.” Cate walked over and sat next to you, the hint of vanilla on her perfume, Luke’s smirk slowly faded as cate leaned into your face. Her eyes getting scarily close to your glasses. “Man they’re like, Mars.” She whispered, “So you can only shoot lasers at people? I bet you can do so much more..” Cate leaned back to a normal sitting posture.

“Never considered doing more, just enough..” you replied, Andre nodded. “I get that, I can move metal around but.. can’t really think of much else.” Andre said, Luke nods.

“I can see myself on fire and fly, that’s about it.. I mean there’s a lot of fire and flying supes.” Luke explained, “But yours is.. super unique, we got heat and laser vision but. Concussive like super pressure.” He smiled, “You can go a long way.”

You smiled at that, you and Luke did have a lot of love and respect, even if you two were pitted against each other. You turned to Cate to thank her but saw she looked, drowsy.

“Cate? You okay?” She opened her mouth to speak but even you could see her Sclera was, red.. and her body flipped back, limp. You, Luke and Andre watched her body fly over the ledge, before any of you could mutter a word you leaped back as well.

“What—“

“Fuck!—“ you head Andre and Luke behind you as you plummet after her. They rushed over the ledge as you were able to grab Cate in your arm, you looked at the ground and thought, “Pressure.” You tore of your glasses and screamed, your red eyes flared a deep purple beam of energy, the concussive wave hits the ground with the force of a Racecar crashing into a wall at 100 miles, the sudden shift in force made your neck tense up, but you kept going, the beam slowed your decent with Cate until you could safely land, you hit the ground with both feet firm on the ground. You quickly closed your eyes as you held her.

“Cate? Cate?” You asked her, afraid of what’s going on, you heard the groggy grumbling and sighed with relief, she’s alive, Cate opened her eyes to yours closed. In a crater in the ground ironically. She looked around and back up to the roof, she pieced together what happened, an awkward smiled went along her face as she caressed your cheek.

“Knew you could do more..” she whispered, and you let her back on her feet. She looked up to Luke and Andre and gave a thumbs up, she’s fine. The sat back with relief and anxiety. You and Cate stood in the crater and looked up. “You had me worried there..” you admitted, Cate nodded. “Not my.. best moment… sorry about that. Stars are out tonight at least.” Cate looks around and finds your glasses thankfully you stopped your eye beams before you dropped them. You looked up to face the sky.

“It would be nice to see them, but they’d be rose tinted.” You said, and Cate stared at you and handed you back your glasses.

“Yeah.. but I’m looking at a real bright one right now..”

[weepingchoir]

DOCTOR WHO SERIES 14: A FULL SEASON REVIEW

Another decade, another frantic Doctor Who resuscitation. (Not that there were news of potential cancellation, but things must’ve been dire for the BBC to sell one of their most storied shows to the Mouse.) Chibnall is out, Moffat on retainer, Russell “Thee” Davies is in. The theme song is the best since Matt Smith, which, through weird and inexplicable coincidence, was also the last time I watched Who with any serious interest. Good start.

The Star Beast

While not technically part of the season, the specials preceding series 14 signal the beginning of a shift in tone and rules for Doctor Who, including the introduction of the new Doctor. Not yet, though. First we get an OLD DOCTOR FUCK YES DAVID TENNANT IS BACK.

I already know Tennant won’t stick around, and I’m glad. That would’ve stunk of Disney nostalgia-raking. Nevertheless, as a returning viewer, I’m grateful for the breakfall. “The Star Beast” doesn’t yet carry the magic that’ll characterize Gatwa’s series. It’s a standard scifi monster of the week serial, and the monster rules. Looking for returning companion Donna Noble, the Doctor runs into the Meep, a no-pronouns gremlin-Yoda puppet living in Donna’s shed, under the care of her daughter, Rose.

UNIT comes under attack by Kamen Riders. The Meep tears off the blorbo mask to reveal a genocidal dictator on the lam from the Intergalactic Criminal Court. It’s a hilarious turn in an episode whose emotional core relies on Rose’s transgenderedness. Pronouns are a real-time strategy game and evil space aliens are better at it than humans.

Quick dustup on weird plot shit: if Donna remembers the Doctor she dies. She has to remember anyway, in order to stop the Meep’s ship from taking off. Turns out that she’s since become immune to Time Lord neuron overload by offloading it on her daughter. Donna and Rose expel the toxic memories by harnessing their feminine emotional intelligence.

I don’t want it to land. Facing the Doctor, who was a woman one episode ago, Rose says that a man could never understand how she just harnessed the divine feminine. Nevertheless it passes, maybe because any representation of a transgender woman as through-and-through female is a gasp of fresh air. For better or worse, this also cues the season’s cardinal rule: what you feel is true is more important than what makes sense.

Wild Blue Yonder

The TARDIS crashlands at the edge of the universe and disappears when it senses danger, one of those things that it’s never done before and will only do again if it’s funny or cool.

The “edge of the universe” is a spaceship floating in ink-black, with Marvin the Paranoid Timebomb making its way down the hall, one step at a time. This is a great opportunity to ease us into the budgetful new Doctor Who, with sleek but understated shots of the spaceship’s exterior. When the Doctor and Donna split up to fix the ship, they converse with each other’s doppelgangers: “not-things” from beyond reality, looking to assimilate physics. Communication with the not-things goes awry as an eerie set of medium close-ups pull back to reveal their overlong limbs.

Backed with half a decade of set chemistry, Tennant and Catherine Tate ace all four characters in this bottle episode. Much of the runtime consists of the Doctor and Donna’s mind games against each other. It’s less a restatement and more a self-justifying exploration of why bother with a last hurrah for two fan favorites. Well-earned, too, as the Doctor nearly leaves the real Donna to die in the ship’s explosion. It’s impossible to be done exploring the fullness of a relationship. But one day, and soon, we will have to move on.

The Giggle

 Two crucial stopgaps against the not-things. One, a line of salt on the floor, which the Doctor tricks them into thinking they can’t cross, since they’re sorta vampires. Two, cognitive dissonance. It’s hard enough for the uncreatures to assimilate beliefs, let alone simultaneous contradictory ideas.

The Doctor fears that, by invoking fiddly rules at the edge of reality, he’s opened a door for fell mythos. This episode stars the Toymaker, a villain from a partially restored First Doctor serial. Originally a Fu Manchu caricature, the new Toymaker is Neil Patrick Harris putting on a German accent, which he can always do, it’s never racist.

The Toymaker has snuck a mind-warping signal into every screen, starting with the 1925 Stookie Bill experiment. Now mankind is mad , reacting with explosive hostility at any confrontation. Over the last decade, as writers have moved from mocking subsets of people for being on phone to everyone being on phone, we’ve uncovered more cohesive portrayals of what 24/7 connection is doing to us. Writ large, more and more of us are looking to win arguments. Even losing is a thrill.

It’s a contrived plan for a villain whose power transcends mere limitless control over physical matter. The only thing that binds the Toymaker is the rules of the game. We can trace the evolution of TV drama by comparing his first appearance to his last, William Hartnell’s almost congenial gotchas to Tennant’s panic at genuine omnipotence. The Toymaker traps the Doctor and Donna in a theater for a puppet play about the many deaths of the former’s companions. The Doctor, ever the hero, denies them three times.

Well, are they dead? These specials have proven that, even in the megacorp mines, fan favorite returns don’t have to be Rise of Skywalker gruel. Donna, and the Fourth Doctor’s returning Mel Bush, bring necessary continuity to the transition into new-new Who.

Not everything, at least, has to end in tragedy. When the Toymaker commandeers the giant laser gun the government is cool with UNIT keeping in uptown London, the Doctor bigenerates, splitting into straight Tennant (presumably) and gay Ncuti Gatwa. Together they beat the Toymaker at catch, which banishes him for good.

From here on, we follow Gatwa’s Doctor. Tennant stays with Donna. There is movement in rest, organic, within. Their relationship may continue to develop, just where we can’t see it. Not everything is for screen consumption.

The Church On Ruby Road

Every time I see this episode’s title I get Hüsker Dü’s “Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill” stuck in my head, except the Inter Arma cover because that’s the first time I heard that. The Doctor is fortunate enough to run into one of the few actresses that can match his energy, Millie Gibson as Ruby Sunday: songwriter, orphan and ingenue. Ruby lives a zoomer kitsch apartment with string lights on the walls, alongside her adoptive mother and grandmother. She suffers from a curse of bad luck, bewitched by an airshipful of baby-eating goblins.

The Doctor and Ruby stop the goblins from eating a baby, to the tune of an R&B paean to Jabba-the-Hut, the only logical step from the Toymaker’s Spice Girls lipsync sequence. The goblins retaliate by traveling in time to eat baby Ruby, abandoned by her mother on Christmas day on the porch of The Church That Lives On Ruby Road. Watching Ruby’s mother go, Gatwa cries his series-first tear of silent grief. He’s very good at that.

The Doctor’s rule of no self-interaction has fucked his opportunity to let Ruby meet her biological mother. Pay attention, this’ll be on the test. Other than that, “The Church” is an easy, fun, low-stakes introduction to the Doctor’s companion and many of the season’s dominos, only some of which will receive a proper knockdown.

Space Babies

The first real ostentatious show of Disney budget is a quick but lush visit to James Cameron's Mesozoic. A CGI diplodocus doesn’t have to be bad. CGI baby mouths, on the other hand.

Budget cuts strand a colony spaceship, replete with babies in a bizarre state of semi-suspended animation: they’ve been toddlers for six years. Only accountant Jocelyn remains. The babies are terrorized by the Boogeyman, a snot monster generated by glitched-out educational software. Jocelyn almost airlocks the Boogeyman until the Doctor reminds her that it’s kind of her baby also.

The Doctor’s memory of Ruby Road changes to feature Ruby’s mother pointing at him. It starts snowing indoors, another magic plot puzzle piece. Cue tear of silent grief. There’s not much else to say about “Space Babies”. It’s a lot of terrible ideas, executed with functional neatness: quoting a friend, the platonic ideal of a Russell T 6/10.

The Devil’s Chord

1925 again! There’s a whole pantheon of Toymaker-type evil gods. This one’s Maestro, the god of music, played by a spectacular Jinkx Monsoon. Over the course of four decades, Maestro ruins music so thoroughly that even Abbey Road sounds like dogwater.

The Doctor and Ruby negotiate with the Beatles, who make dodgy gestures towards the whole of music being an embarrassing business. It’s never made clear how Maestro has convinced the world of this, or, like the Toymaker’s giggle, why they bothered when they have the power to eat music itself. We’ve crossed into the realm of magic. It’s not about the method, but the goal: within a hundred years, musicless mankind will self-exterminate to vent its anger, leaving Maestro to enjoy pure aeolian tones.

It’s hard to agree that music is the salve keeping mankind from abject violence when contending with the history of, Burzum, Chris Brown or Meni Mamtera. Nor does the idea that Maestro can be defeated by a seven-note scale available to basic Western music theory hold much water. “The Devil’s Chord” is an altogether less cohesive “The Giggle”, and only three episodes after its predecessor, too. On the other hand, as a piece of musical cinema, it’s a brilliant watch for Monsoon’s performance, the playful metanarrative gestures, and the closing number, ‘There’s Always A Twist At The End’.

Boom

On the ravaged planet of Kastarion-3, there is only war. A landmine vaporizes a guy, attracting an 'ambulance' automaton to euthanize his friend Vater by reducing him into an awesomely gross flesh tube.

Gatwa leaves the TARDIS in a super-sexy leather jacket and steps on a mine. What follows is ten agonizing minutes of the Doctor and Ruby figuring out the logistics of the situation. The Doctor can’t move off the smart mine or exhibit high emotion. On finding Vater’s tube, Ruby convinces the Doctor to let her hand it to him to use as a counterweight, in a move that almost kills them both. The pressure is immense, achieved with nothing but close-ups to tears of silent grief and a silly prop of a landmine with LEDs.

Vater’s daughter finds the duo, triggering the flesh tube to generate a grief counselor hologram of her father. Ruby gets shot while managing a haywire ambulance. The only way to get the ambulance to treat her is to admit that the Kastarians never existed. With a full third of characters dead, Cyber-Vater betrays its parent corporation to end the war. This is the most stressful Doctor Who gets, in all the best ways. For a second, and against all logic, I was even convinced it might be the end of Ruby Sunday.

“Boom” is the closest Gatwa’s Doctor has to a companion capsule episode. This focus on their relationship might’ve gone over even better if it’d been earlier in the run, especially given “The Devil’s Chord” has the opposite problem. I suspect the prime reason why it’s placed in an awkward middle slot is to not give away the game: “Boom” front-and-centers Susan Twist, who’s played minor roles in almost every episode since “Wild Blue Yonder”, as the face of the combat ambulance AI. There’s always a twist at the end, remember?

73 Yards

The Doctor’s always stepping on some bullshit. After intruding on a ritual circle, he disappears, leaving Ruby alone with a mysterious woman that’s always standing 73 yards away. Everyone who talks to the woman flies goes no-contact with Ruby: a hiker, a bar-goer, UNIT, even, in a harrowing turn, Ruby’s adoptive mother. So Ruby spends the next twenty years alone. Without her family, and also alone in this ethereal way where she’s meant to be on startlit adventures, not half-there on a wine bar date.

Gibson carries this mammoth episode on her shoulders, evolving from panicked 20 year old to middle-aged, purpose-driven mercenary. The closest thing to a co-star is the cinematography, following her eyes towards the woman-shaped hole in the near horizon. This is one of the subtler metanarrative moments of the season: the woman is impossible to photograph, blurry in pictures just as she’s never in focus for the camera.

Ruby makes up a mission: save the world from ‘Mad Jack’ Roger ap Gwilliam, a presidential candidate whom the Doctor off-hand warned would lead the world to nuclear ruin. Infiltrating, Jack’s presidential campaign, she maneuvers the woman into manifesting next to him, which makes him run screaming from office. The world is saved. Ruby isn’t. As she lays dying of old age, alone, the mystery woman is revealed to be herself, traveling back in time to warn the Doctor off the circle.

This is the furthest Doctor Who can stray from its own standards before becoming a different show altogether. The theme song doesn’t even play (shame). Not a coincidence, it’s also the episode to most demand that we trust emotion over logic, and it pays back that trust with dividends. It doesn’t matter that we never find out why there was a shrine to Mad Jack atop a cliff in Wales twenty years before his time, or the mechanism by which Ruby created a closed time loop. The important bit is the emotional resonance, the click of catharsis when we discover just enough details to let it rest.

Dot and Bubble

I feared, as “Dot” opened on a woman so dependent on social media that she can’t navigate her immediate surroundings without GPS, that this would be the Phone Bad episode “The Giggle” had managed to surpass. The truth is more complex: Finetime’s residents can afford to spend all day Whatsapping because they’re the offspring of another planet’s leisure class, here on permanent vacation.

Giant man-eating slugs have invaded Finetime, and the Dot-Bubble navigation system is walking people straight into their maws. Our lead is neither Gatwa nor Gibson, but Callie Cooke as Lindy Pepper-Bean in yet another of the acting masterclasses that characterize this season. An ongoing tension point is whether Lindy can keep her Bubble down long enough to string together two tasks. This means the season’s highest ratio of close-ups to other shots. Cooke carries this focus with recidivist disdain, processing the situation in arbitrary bursts only to default to anger at the Doctor for intruding on her groupchat, or elation at meeting a celebrity singer.

The slugs are an invention of the Dot, which, after years of servicing Finetime, has learned hate. Huddled outside the habitat dome, the all-white survivors reject the Doctor’s 'dirty' safe passage, and strike out to colonize the wilderness, ‘like their ancestors’.

Laterally to Phone Bad, an ongoing trend in wronghead fiction is Rich Bad. Movies like Bodies Bodies Bodies portray the bourgeoise as a self-obsessed bunch who will fall snarling on themselves at the first provocation. This is not what makes the bourgeoise dangerous, but in fact the exact opposite: because the rich have everything to lose, they will close ranks against you, no matter how much good you’ve done for them, no matter what you could yet do.

Rogue

Before the season ends, anybody want to defend England one last time? Playing nobility at a Regency London ball, the Doctor runs into Rogue, a bounty hunter who mistakes him (at gunpoint) for a shapeshifting, murderous Chuldur.

The Chuldur are fans of Bridgerton, on Earth to cosplay it to death. In order to lure them out, The Doctor and Rogue publicize their whirlwind romance. If “Dot and Bubble” was a response to the idea that Gatwa might run into racism if he travels to the past, “Rogue” is its inversion: the plan works because the modern Chuldur can’t resist the titillation of wearing a black gay man. They run after the hypervisible Doctor, while the white Rogue becomes “the other one”. He’s less problematized, less interesting, the one you get stuck with if you don’t call intersectional shotgun.

After the trap is sprung by accident, Rogue's banished alongside the Chuldur to a random dimension of nobody’s knowing. The Doctor declares it’s impossible to find him. We’ll see about that.

For all its nods towards fandom, “Rogue” isn’t a po-faced condemnation of fan culture. Ultimately, the Chuldur too are defeated through cosplay. Plus, it’s a straight beat-by-beat of the strongest points in Who structure: strong side characters, scifi logistics, a villain as goofy as it’s horrific. Whether its back-to-back placement with its thematic mirror, or as a segue to the season finale, is ideal, is anyone’s guess. 

The Legend of Ruby Sunday

The Doctor asks for UNIT’s help in figuring out why Susan Twist follows him everywhere. On 2024 Earth, she’s Susan Triad, tech CEO on the verge of releasing some kind of Alexa thing. But before we get to that, the Doctor decides now’s the time to meet Ruby’s biomom.

Using a ‘Time Window’, Ruby visualizes The Church That Lives On Ruby Road. Ruby cries: the Window refuses to show her mother’s face. The machine goes all creepypasta on some UNIT boot. Panicked, the Doctor chases down Triad, who reveals she can remember her past lives in dreams.

Triad pulls away to her conference. Though she’s live worldwide, her soundstage is empty, the crowd canned. Where much of this season has dealt with the phenomenons of mass media and TV, “The Legend” digs into a grief specific to Doctor Who, an ill-kempt archive of decades forever on the verge of cancellation.

Little else happens, for two good reasons. First, this episode is a two-parter. Second, much of its runtime is dedicated to extracting maximum stress out of the situation. Ruby is too compromised to act, while the Doctor and UNIT are late from the start, only just figuring out the situation in time to witness it unfold. The big reveal paying off all this anxiety, crossed purposes, fear and despair is, unfortunately, a CGI dog with a hat.

Empire of Death

Sutekh is a Fourth Doctor villain who’s been locked in the Time Vortex for thousands of years or a dozen seasons, whichever’s longest. He has spawned harbingers like Triad in every planet that the Doctor’s visited, and his “dust of death” has the power to kill nost just everyone, but everyone at every point in time. In the era of streaming television (and stream-only television), the C-suite can overnight erase all evidence that a show ever existed.

Through a bit of absurd circular logic, the Doctor declares that the Time Window’s memory of a TARDIS is in fact a functioning TARDIS. The crew escapes to roam a deserted universe. The memory TARDIS begs to tie long-dangling plot strands into knots of neat logic. Instead, a bunch of nonsense dialogue happens. When Ruby asks the Doctor why Sutekh has a The Mummy thing going on, the Doctor answers “cultural appropriation”, and fails to elaborate. Laterally, when Ruby casually lists the chameleon circuit’s AOE as 73 yards, the Doctor asks how she knew that. She’s not sure. Nothing comes of this.

Because Sutekh is incapable of seeing Ruby’s mother, the Doctor decides it’s all tied together and heads to a government office in Mad Jack Britain, containing the UK’s forcibly harvested genetic data. Much more cohesive commentary on racism than reminding us cultural appropration is a thing Doctor Who has done. Armed with knowledge, the Doctor baits Sutekh into the Time Vortex, where he forces him to, like, kill death and then die in turn.

It’s a fantastic turn of character for the Doctor, who oft makes a spurious point of not killing in order to condemn villains to fates worse than death, or adopts a ‘War Doctor’ persona which kills a bunch of people anyway. It’s a matter of framing, but also a genuine point of no return. As for less satisfying character beats: Ruby gets to meet her mother, who’s just some middle-aged Instagrammer with a bad haircut and a passion for rocky beaches.

So why was this character immune to everyone from the Time Window to Sutekh, and the unwitting carrier of Ruby’s inherited power to make it snow? Because, the Doctor explains, we cared about her.

Which begs the question: who is we?

The easiest answer is: the last people left alive in the universe. But Ruby’s been making it snow since “Space Babies”. Not proximity to the Doctor either, else the Doctor himself would have magic powers: on the contrary, he’s spent the whole season grappling with his limited ratfic ability to deal with the supernatural. And there’s millions of orphans out there. Ruby is, in this regard as in most else, not special.

Taken all together along with the season’s metanarrative overtures, which keep going right up to the last second of “Empire”, the only answer is that we are the audience. Or the audience and the crew, anyhow: the camera, the screen, Ruby’s protagonism and the people that accept it. We have imbued Ruby Sunday with transcendental power, because we would like her to transcend.

This doesn’t work unless I am more emotionally than narratively invested in Ruby Sunday.

Not that I didn’t get torn up when Ruby met her mother. But that’s just cinema trickery. A season’s worth of promises, a bit of music, very good acting: of course I was going to care. Not more than I care about finding out what the fuck was going on, though. As an explanation, this all rounds out to: what was going on is what was going on. Ruby’s mom was important because she mattered to us, and it mattered to us because she was important. Me, I refuse to be complicit.

There is an unpleasant extreme to the logical lens, the CinemaSinners combing through scripts, sacrificing the greater story to the tendentious idol of Plot Holes. Doctor Who has long been plagued by these types, pitfalls of being an easy-watching BBC show with a large audience. Series 14 scans like a concerted effort to not give these guys an inch. In overcorrecting, it created a maudlin mess of unfulfilled promise.

That is as far as the season's connected plotline goes. Fortunately, most of the episodes are gems, directed with a sense of fun almost unseen in the revival series’ longstanding gloom. The Doctor has turned into a killer, maybe for good. We are promised that his tale will end in tragedy. I hold out hope that, next time the story tries to hit me where it hurts, it’ll follow through.

7/10

[nikoniclove]

Your writing is incredible!

A smutty ask but I'd love to see Ace hard packing at work and using it on Emily in her office! Especially with Emily recently adopting a softer side with Ace!

Enjoy!

Also, if it has a ton more errors than usual, it’s because I wrote it at 4 in the morning when I should have been sleeping but ADHD meds decided that wasn’t a thing for me to do.

[desertsportshipping]

Welcome to an AU that came to me in a vision during my annual Leverage rewatch called "The Leverage AU."

I don't know if I'll ever touch it again (although I am hosting a Leverage watch party so maybe) but just in case I'm putting my brain dump under the cut.

After Rui leaves Orre, she goes to the law enforcement to try and get protection for Wes, especially as they just left the region with a giant power vacuum.

Meanwhile Chief Anabel at Interpol is at her wits end. She has a case file of suspected criminals, who she knows is are the masterminds and/or leaders of various evil Teams, but with no evidence to arrest them.

Looker presents her with the case files of various criminals in custody (plus Wes) and presents an idea: a task force of criminals under the control and direction of Rui, and by extension Interpol.

Given that she has no other options, Chief Anabel signs off on the newly created Alternative Evidence and Legal Dispute Unit, or AELDU for short.

As far as technical expertise (ie. crime knowledge) goes, Wes is the linchpin holding the whole operation together. You need a wallet lifted? Wes can do it. You need someone to silently break into a building through the air ducts? Wes can do it. You need someone to beat the shit out of four grunts? Wes can do it.

On the other side of the coin, N is the grifter of the group. He can play any role you need him to. He can be a long lost Galarian Duke, a savvy up and coming business owner, a flirty one night stand, etc. He grew up learning all the manipulation tactics and cons in the books, and he's glad to be able to use his knowledge for good instead.

Penny is obviously the hacker.

Gladion is honestly really bad at crime. He got caught graffitting a cop car. However, he's really passionate and eager to learn, and while N doesn't think the kids (Penny and Gladion) should be getting involved in crime, even if it's for a good cause. Wes is working on getting Gladion's lockpicking time under 5 seconds and his punches into form.

Rui was initially just there to keep everyone in line, be the moral compass of the team. However, Rui is the granddaughter of Ace Trainer Eagun, who had the reputation of being a master of strategy. Rui is the one who puts together the full plans for the team to follow, and she picks up some manipulation skills from N and ass kicking skills from Wes.

Wes can do a little bit of grifting, but his skills only extend to "however long it takes for him to get out of whatever shit he got himself in." If you've seen the show, think Parker level grifting: he can be a fake waiter for the two minutes it takes him to get to the back.

Wes becomes the older brother figure to Rui, Penny and Gladion against his will. To be clear, he is a terrible role model. He is trying his best anyways.

Meanwhile, N takes it upon himself to be an older brother figure for Wes. Wes also hates this.

Rui hides Plusle in her jacket and uses the Pokemon as a taser.

N is an excellent actor when it comes to swindling and every day situations. You put him on a stage or in front of a camera? He's the worst actor you've ever seen. Rui is very gently trying dissuade N's dreams of an acting career.

Wes's jacket even has a role in the team! Wes has so much random shit in his pockets that he's snagged that he never thought would come in handy until now.

When they put Wes into a role (ie. fake caterer, fake baseball player, fake country star, etc), he gets WAY to into his role. Sorry gang, Wes can't search the house for the safe, he's too busy chopping onions for the appetizers.

Leon sometimes orbited in the vicinity of the gang's marks, as the only full time Champion and pretty much a celebrity. One time, Wes (undercover as a waiter) got caught kicking the ass of some Macro Cosmos agents. He was completely unprepared for the response from Leon being like "that was so cool!"

Later, Rui and N have to coach Wes on how to go on a date.

[mychlapci]

A hostile k9 Prowl would be utterly unapproachable at the rescue. In similar way to a non-hostile one seeing limited to no progress at the rescue, a hostile one would make negative progress. He’d actively get worse, actually. Hostile k9 Prowl thinks he’s getting trafficked. He didn’t just get stolen, these criminals are trying to retrain and *sell* him! And fear makes animals dangerous.

At the precinct he was docile with his handlers, desperate for praise and approval. The rescuers literally cannot think of a reason he’s responded so negatively to being removed from an environment where he was routinely beaten and hosed down and abused. Except he’s essentially gone from that to the same thing but Scarier because he’s *stolen* now. Prowl is reactive and mean and often wets himself from fear. His raw door wings are less painful but only because they have him sedated so frequently. Limp and drooling on the floor of a bigger kennel than he’s used to, because he’s too weak to crawl up onto a people-berth Prowl knows he’s not allowed on anyway.

And he absolutely fucking bites. If they don’t sedate him before handling him (and it’s getting harder, because Prowl can *tell* they’re doing something to his fuel) he will actively try to maul anyone who gets close. After months of seeing this and no progress at all, with three severe injuries, the rescue is at wits end. This is a person, but Prowl doesn’t seem to be one that can be helped. It happens some times. And there are limited options at their disposal. If they can’t help him, then it’ll either be incarceration, institutionalization, or (if even those can’t help), possibly even behavioral euthanasia. As in. Putting Prowl down like an actual animal.

Someone suggests a one-one-one care situation and although the rescue thinks it could be helpful, they hesitate. Prowl is dangerous. He’s injured multiple employees and put three of them *and himself* in the hospital trying to escape. There are taser burns on the surface of his plating and his paint is rubbed off on some areas from the strength of his restraints. Who can they trust to even be safe while handling him? Is this even really an option.

Enter Optimus. Prowl’s last hope before more extreme measures must be taken. To their surprise, he handles being shipped off to a home a lot better than the rescue. But then, Prowl thinks he’s been trafficked to a private citizen rather than held captive by some criminals stealing police equipment. He’s willing to give a wide-opticked civilian the benefit of the doubt, with regard to not recognizing that Prowl is a k9 unit. Not all city-states have them, so it’s possible his “new owner” just doesn’t realize. I do think that, if he’s still Orion Pax, he’d have more success helping Prowl realize he was a person over a much longer period of time. Prowl would be much less willing to maul a delicate civilian who thinks of him as a scared pet (not that Orion Pax would, but Prowl doesn’t know that). Some level of healing would ensue just… naturally, I suppose. Orion Pax isn’t going around tasering and restraining traumatized mechs. Prowl probably thinks he’s getting spoiled while he tries to find a way back to his precinct, but at least he’s safe and comfortable.

Now if it’s *Optimus Prime*, Prowl’s whole vibe changes. Suddenly he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. Because above even his own handlers Prowl is driven to *obey the Prime*. Optimus Prime would have immediate obedience, but see less progress trying to Fix Prowl. Because Prowl may have been stolen from his precinct, but there’s no way they’d demand his return from the *Prime* and Prowl understands that. So now he just has to figure out what Optimus wants from his new pet and do his best to deliver it. It wouldn’t do to disgrace his precinct’s training even inadvertently, after all! And while the rescue seems pleased that the Prime got him to stop biting and mauling people, Optimus seems to be the only person to realize that Prowl isn’t actually making much progress beyond that. It’ll be up to Prime to help Prowl heal, and that… may take a long damn time. And will probably never be fully finished.

Maybe… maybe adding some Praxians to his staff will help?

ough… Poor Prowl. We just keep making this angstier. One-on-one care helps mellow him out enough to stop mauling people, but it's still stagnating his recovery… Orion/Optimus hates it. He doesn't want to hate Prowl for not recovering, for being mistreated and abused to the point where gentleness feels wrong, but… it's so hard to watch this mech crawl around his floor like a dog, trying to please him, to obey. The rescue checks on him every now and then, happy that he seems to have calmed down a little, but Optimus knows that there has been no progress. He went through all that stress and pain only to be treated like a dog again..

hmmm. More praxians could help. If Prowl saw their raised doorwings, their bodies that are much like his… He might get curious. 

[dirtbra1n]

you ever wake up at two in the morning with ace attorney thinker glasses on and then suffer consequences for days after. Ha ha

so we’re all on the same page that maya was only so comfortable being such—and I do say this so so so lovingly—a complete leach and pest, leaving phoenix exhausted and harried and dirt poor, because she trusted him not to run away. not to abandon her. not to leave her behind.

because mia did. run away and abandon her and leave her behind. maya LOVED mia and still does, absolutely. ABSOLUTELY. but mia left the village and left maya there alone to bear a burden that wasn’t supposed to be hers. left maya to handle their aunt morgan alone.

like a critical part of their relationship is that mia kind of sucks. this is such high praise for her as a character and a statement of love for her as a person Mia Fey kind of really sucks. she doesn’t not love her little sister, but she had to leave. she had to. leaving the village on one of the old motorcycles they kept in a garage-turned-shack, one that used to make grocery trips before a staff shortage shut down the store fifteen minutes away, and giving maya a long kiss on the forehead, holding her face in her hands, and getting on the bike with underclothes on, the only clothes she has that cover her legs and let her stretch them at the same time. and driving away, leaving maya standing there, alone. so little.

so life goes on. holding onto evidence. blunt force trauma. maya ends up with phoenix in the city—meets him, reserved, convinced she’s going to die in prison. is given the light of his unwavering faith in her innocence. sees the look in his eyes that says, I’m not going to leave you alone. cracks.

the maya fey that we get the privilege of loving, and getting to know, was born in criminal detention. a younger sister that gets to act like it for a while.

until she leaves first, because she can’t abandon pearl the way mia abandoned her. she goes back to the village to train.

have to say that maya’s grief of mia’s death was solely about never getting to really know her as a person. she’s never going to really know her older sister. but it’s solely about THAT because she’s had years to come to terms with the fact that the title and burden of being head of the family was going to be hers. years to practice ignoring the way aunt morgan’s eyes burned at her.

mia was a violent nervous person, by the way. we know this. punches under pressure.

redd white gets back to the gatewater with bleeding teeth marks on his arm.

anyway though. maya goes back to kurain to commit herself to her training, goes back to ignoring the burning in aunt morgan’s eyes. she doesn’t feel good about the way that seven year old pearly is mothering her. not that it’s pearl’s fault.

a mother that doesn’t really care about her happiness so much as her future success. because if morgan really cared about what pearly wanted she’d never DREAM of hurting maya. but that’s neither here nor there.

but phoenix. the three of them a family unit, eventually, when they’ve essentially just got each other. phoenix gets disbarred. trucy comes into their lives. their family unit, plus one.

maya doesn’t feel GOOD, exactly, with watching phoenix go the way he goes (drinking problem, mostly) but damn if she wasn’t born to help run a grift. (pearl does their finances.)

maya DEFINITELY doesn’t feel good about watching phoenix go the way he goes with kristoph, though. not necessarily that maya doesn’t trust kristoph. but those two… maya looks up from where she’s elbow-deep in dish water, turns around to look into the living room where pearl and trucy are passed out on the pullout sofa, past them. looks at the front door phoenix walked out an hour and a half ago to head out to dinner. he promised to bring some shitty too-expensive food back.

he might not be back til morning.

it’s probably not that she doesn’t trust kristoph as a person, but that she knows that those two… really aren’t…… good for each other. like it’s none of her damn business, but geez, nick.

saw a thread on twitter once about how maybe kristoph defended maya once, when phoenix was obviously unable to. I should go and find that again. because that’s kind of what I think happened here.

You didn’t just brain a guy with a juice bottle for no reason. Tell me why you did it.

phoenix wright and his unfailing bone deep trust in people. phoenix who absolutely did not trust kristoph with his life but didn’t really care about that so long as he could trust him to take care of loved ones. phoenix who did, also, fully trust kristoph with his life.

a contradiction. big surprise.

[thee-ghosty]

please continue snippet 8 it's so cool

Snippet #8.1

Part 1 part 3

Language, graphic depictions of violence

Venraire’s their father? 

Are you fucking serious? 

Civilian swam through the wave of thoughts bombarding their mind. Now, they don’t have just a stranger bleeding out on their couch, but the child of the biggest crime boss in the whole damn city. Why didn’t they listen to common sense, just for once? 

Should I call the police? Maybe.They couldn’t run anywhere in their condition. And if the police question me, I’ll just tell the truth. I wouldn’t get in trouble for being a good citizen…right? 

The only problem was they couldn’t call the police right in front of the criminal. They’d probably snap their neck or something. Civilian wasn’t sure what this person could do, they didn’t even know Venraire had a child in the first place. But they did know this person was dangerous and could probably kill them in a multitude of ways without breaking a sweat. 

Maybe if I go get more towels, then I probably won’t raise their suspicion. Hopefully. 

Civilian swallowed. “I-I need to get more towels. Just one sec-”

“What about the ones on the ground?” 

Civilian took a quick glance at the floor, the neatly stacked towels next to their knees. “Uh, they’re not good. Need the other kind.” 

“God, you’re a terrible liar.” The criminal’s gaze pinned them in their place. It was calculating, a glint of something they couldn’t decipher. Civilian could only look with wide eyes. The criminal sighed. 

“Look, if you care for your life, then do exactly as I say. You’re going to give me your phone and not move a muscle as I call my people. When they arrive, you’ll stay exactly where you are until we’re gone. You won’t say a word of this to anyone or I will gut you like a fish. Understood?”

All Civilian could do was nod, their hand shaking as they pulled their phone from their pocket, the criminal snatching it out of their hand. Civilian kept their gaze down as the other quickly typed and dialed. The phone rang for a beat before being picked up, Civilian not able to hear the other voice on the line. 

“Sparrow in red, sending you the coordinates.” 

The call ended and the criminal typed again before placing the phone beside them. Neither of them said a word, only the sound of the criminal’s ragged breaths and the hum of the AC unit breaking the silence. Civilian’s whole body was rigid, fearing even breathing could mean their death. 

Would they kill them anyway? Civilian was a liability now, and it doesn’t seem like the child of a crime boss would spare anyone. The question was on the tip of their tongue. No, their conscience told them, don’t be stupid-

“Are you going to kill me anyway? After your people get here?” Civilian choked out.

The criminal turned their gaze to them, eyes narrowing. “Kill you anyway?” they repeated.

“I-I’m a loose end, aren’t I? I figured you worked under a ‘no witnesses' kind of thing.” 

The criminal considered it for a moment. “That depends on you. Don’t say anything and we pretend this didn’t happen. Do say something and, well…” 

Civilian closed their eyes, praying to god they could keep their mouth shut, just this once. If only they could reverse time, then they could be laying in their bed, watching some terrible soap opera and eating ice cream. Not covered in blood and thinking of their probably imminent death. If only-

The lights suddenly shut off, the hum of the AC unit dying away. Civilian opened their eyes, confusion evident on their face before morphing to annoyance. Seriously? A power outage right now? This is the third time this month. 

“Is this normal?” The criminal said, judgment laced in their voice. 

“Unfortunately. Jesus, I need to find a better apartment complex.” Civilian muttered under their breath. 

“And a new couch. There is no repairing this one.”

Yeah, no thanks to you. They almost let it slip out before barely catching it. 

Something thumped against the front door, startling Civilian. Their head whipping up towards the sound, ears straining to hear anything else. 

Another thump rang out, their breath quickening once again. 

Another. 

Silence. Civilian held their breath.

The door was sent across the room, flying off its hinges in splinters. A furious pounding of footsteps invaded the room. A yelp escaped their lips as Civilian ducked in front of the couch. Indistinguishable voices clamored over each other as more people ran into the room. 

What the fuck is happening?!

“Grab my hand,” the criminal hissed behind them. 

“What?” Civilian stammered. 

“Grab my hand!” They threw it in front of them. Civilian’s eyes frantically passed between the criminal and their hand before they finally latched on. A sudden surge of energy traveled through them, like fire was poured into their veins. Their eyes glazed over, something grabbing onto their soul and pushing it aside to make way for whatever entity was now possessing them. They could see their body, but they weren’t controlling it, especially when they rose from the ground and sprouted a blade of blue electricity from their hands. 

What the actual fuck?

Civilian watched as they turned to the crowd of people in their living room. They looked like soldiers, black masks over their faces and combat gear covering them head to toe. They took a breath and raised the blade above their head before throwing it down, a loud clap of electricity crashing through the soldiers. 

Civilian didn’t want to watch but they physically couldn’t keep their eyes away. They sent the blade through the chests of two soldiers, twisting it before flinging them across the room into another set of soldiers. Limbs were twisted. Bones were cracked. Screams of pain echoed in the room. Soldiers were split open and skulls crammed into the walls. It was a blur of blood and electric light. 

And just as suddenly it began, it was over. Bodies splayed over the apartment, sunken into broken furniture and cracked walls. The entity remained for a moment, almost taking in the headspace it currently crowded before leaving in a rush. Civilian sunk to the ground, barely able to keep their eyes open. They were fading in and out, barely remembering the new set of people who came in and carried them off. Barely remembering the criminal’s faint words. “I think we’ll keep this one.”

[mantisgodsart]

THE WORLD'S MOST DATING POLL

As Kabbu's birthday rolls around, the internet turns pink, and people talk about "love" and "romance" and other things like that. Very ironic, considering the man is aroace, but in accordance with the season, we have assembled some very viable bachelors to... date, probably. Dating profiles below the cut, but you can choose from cliff notes if you want, we guess, this is just so the post isn't ABSURDLY long.

Bau (short for Bauplan) - They/any - Dune Cricket - 18-21 (varies based on fic, generally tied to Vi's age) - Bi/pan

When it comes to a date, you can't do better than Bau! Though dune crickets are normally more than a bit antisocial (and cannibalistic), Bau is an exception! Terminally friendly, great at parties, and unendingly loyal - they'll do anything for a friend, and if you can get friendly with them, they'll be more than happy to date if you ever pop the question! You'll have to compete with other friends, of course - not to mention other partners, and their criminal entanglements as a Bandit that often operates as an intimidation detail but really, is it that much of a downside?

Jask - He/they - Ashy gray lady beetle - Late 20s - Gray-ace

If you want level-headed, Jask is your bug! A bandit medic with years of expence under his belt, Jask is well experienced with taking care even the most dangerous of bugs - his boss, for example. Sure, he's a bit busy with patients - but there's a tender heart hiding under that tough exterior. You just have to stick around for... what, five months? Ten?

...more?

...you'll figure it out, we're sure.

Zoza - Whatever the bandits come up with that isn't immediately veto'd (usually she/her) - Damselfly - 70+ - None of your business

The Bandits' second-in-command, a feisty old damselfly with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She's a bit old to be dating around like you young'uns, but this old woman can still be a loving partner - prove you can contribute to the Bandits, prove that you're strong enough to not die horribly on your first outing, and manage to build enough of a rapport with her despite her many, many vital duties, and you might have a chance... if you're into grandmothers, of course.

(...is GILF a thing? GMILF? Hold on, we need to do some research...)

Marigold - She/her - Death's Head Hawk Moth - 30s - Married to her job

The most eligable bachelor on this list by far, judging by how people have reacted to her! Marigold is a charmsmith with a good, stable job, a good, stable personality, and only a little bit of active torture going on in her basement! We, uhh... aren't entirely sure how you're planning on getting her out of her lab and into the dating scene, seeing as she hasn't really been anywhere near the zone of "dating" since she was... what, sixteen? But we're sure you can figure it out.

Agapanthus - Variable (genderfluid) - Orchid mantis - Older than you'd think - Pan

A waiter(and sometimes waitress) at Club Maenad, this mantis knows exactly how to show you a good time. Charming and attractive, even if they've been banned from bartending for the forseeable future, and flexible for nearly anything you might need in a partner, if you slip in the right compliments between rounds, you might very well have a shot! Just... keep in mind the waiver you signed at the door, and please remember that this is a bar for parasitoids and bugs of species prone to eating their mates.

ZM-32 - It/they - Io moth/cordyceps - 100+ - Fungus

Bugaria's most eligable bachelor! Everyone wants a piece of this, and for good reason! It'll be fierce competition, but maybe, just maybe, if you can evade the deadly lasers and circumvent the persistent hatred for the living that tormented it and its colony for years on end... you could win its heart.

Chips - He/they - Two-striped grasshopper - ??? - Has Better Things To Worry About

Green is in this year - and so are grasshoppers. This one is dateable! Probably. Just be sure to cosy up with him before his gambling debts do, or he might get eaten by a large praying mantis before you get the chance.

ZB-162 - It/its - Cordyceps symbiote - 100+ - Switchboard Operator

...are you into responsible bugs? Are you into fungi? Do you enjoy dating people who are preoccupied with regulating and operating the communication network used by an entire cordyceps colony? Well, ZB-162 might be the bug for you? Though, uhh, often occupied with its job, ZB-162 is a fine specimen of the cordyceps species, and certainly very attractive if you... if you...

...okay, we won't lie to you, this one's a bit of a fixer-upper. Not sure how you're going to drag them away from the communication channels long enough for

The Wraith - ??? - ???????????? - Reported active since Elizant 1's reign - ???????????

Mysterious figure from the Ant Kingdom's criminal underbelly. Married, but you can still shoot your shot, we guess...???

Marble - she/they - Wasp - late 20s - It's In There

…didn't this one get blown up? We're pretty sure this one got blown up. If you pick this one, you have to take mandatory bomb safety courses, we think.

Unit of Radioactive Decay - They/it - Iterator - First activated in late Gen 1 era - Aroace

This is... a building, but you can still give it a try, we guess? Honestly, we have no clue how you found this one. We're pretty sure it's not even a bug.

L2tM & Enot - Any u can call us anything u want bb <3 - Former iterator & karmic wyrm slugcats - Gen 1 & ageless wouldnt u like to know - yes

Why are you two here?! Get out of our fucking poll!!!

[yelenasdiary]

Alpha Jane banner getting mad that on her (forced-by r because we said she needed it ) day off innocent omega reader got hurt during a shoot out. Jane yells at all the authortive figures in her office that had r assigned on the job that lead to the shoot out, while scolding r because “You’re my precious omega, you shouldn’t be doing those things without me or at all! I know you’re capable, I just don’t want you too. Do you understand?” Mid scold r’s just sitting there like - you’re omega? “I thought we were just co-workers?!”

Sorry, Your What?!

Pairing: Alpha! Jane Banner x Omega! Reader

Summary: After lightly getting hurt on the job, your boss isn’t so happy and lets a secret slip. 

Fluff ?? | Light Angst | Mentions of Blood | Gun Violence | 0.9K | 

AC: This is my second time writing an Alpha x Omega fic, please forgive me if this is terrible! I do hope you enjoy though! X

Something wasn't right and Jane could sense that. It was her day off and she couldn't for the live of her find it in her to relax. All morning, troubling thoughts floated through her mind, and they all came back to you, her co-worker. An agent that worked for her, a newbie almost. Sure, you were trained and knew what you were doing, hell, even sometimes you loved the rush that your job gave you. Chasing after criminals gave you a rush and helped you forget that you were an unclaimed omega. 

Jane turned on her television as she sat down to enjoy her afternoon joy, her worrying thoughts screaming at her to go into the office, but she couldn't. She couldn't. She had to keep a distance from you, after all, you are a co-worker, and anything more could do more bad than good. 

"Authorities have just informed me that the FBI have arrested the two men who held up the local bank that's just behind me. After a shootout with the two men, one has been taken to hospital with non-life threating injuries while we are told an agent was harmed during the commotion with a bullet grazing them" the news reporter's voice filled Jane's living room. 

Without hesitation, Jane turned her television off and rushed to grab her coat, keys and headed for her car. Rage and worry filled her mind, she knew she couldn't leave you alone without her watching you from afar for just one day. 

"Jane, what are you doing here? I told you to take the day off" you looked at your boss as she stormed into the office. She sent you a glare that could kill you if she had that power and suddenly you knew you were in trouble. The room was full of chit chatter from your co-workers and although you were fine, Jane didn't see it that way. 

"Listen up!" She announced, getting everybody's attention. The room went silent as everybody turned to look at their boss. Jane's eyes scanned the room, giving everybody the same deathful glare that she had given you only moments ago. "Does somebody want to explain to me as to why, on my day off, that I see this unit on the news in a shoot-out? Or better yet, which one of you brainless twits allowed Y/n to tag along?" she spoke as her eyes traced back to you, noticing the dried blood on your right arm where the bullet grazed you. 

The room remained silent, you felt more than Jane's eyes now looking at you which made you extremely nervous. "It's okay, I'm okay! Nobody made me go, I wanted to go" you spoke, breaking the silence. Jane cocked a brow as she crossed her arms over her chest, "Y/n, you're my precious omega, you shouldn't be doing those things without me or at all! I know you're capable, I just don't want you too. Do you understand?" She spoke sternly. 

Her words caught you off caught, it was as if she suddenly forgot where she was or who was around. You looked at her with a confused look, this was the first time you'd ever heard her express any form of emotion towards you. 

"I'm sorry, did you just say your omega?" you questioned, "I thought we were just co-workers?!" you added while her words sunk into your mind. 

"Of course, you're my omega, somebody has to make sure you don't hurt yourself. It's too dangerous out there for a sweet little thing like you to be taking risks" Jane replied with confidence before turning to glare at everybody else once more, "as for the rest of you, how could you? You know how precious she is and I've told you all more than once before about this crap! If something like this ever, and I mean, ever, happens again, you will all be looking for a new job. Not as agents! Get back to work!" she ordered before looking back at you, "my office, now!" she muttered. 

You didn't dare to ignore her words and made your way to her office, she followed closely behind, almost slamming the door behind her. You turned to her, "what was that all about?" you asked, hoping she wouldn't get mad. Jane wandered to her desk, looking at you with soft eyes. 

"I know you haven't been claimed and as long as you're under my division, you are my omega. It is my job to protect you, I won't be letting you out of my sight like this again, now please, show me your arm" 

You weren't sure how to respond to her but you felt a sense of comfort just knowing that you would always be looked over and protected. Slowly you rolled up your sleeve as Jane came closer to you, "it's just a graze, nothing serious. I promise" you spoked as she took your arm into her warm hands. "It can not happen again my precious, do you understand? Do you understand how worried I was when I heard this on the news?" She looked into your eyes. 

You nodded slowly, "I'm sorry. I promise, I won't do anything so stupid without you. I understand, I do" you replied. 

"I'm taking you home, I don't want to hear a word about it. Go and get your things" she gently let go of your arm while still looking into your eyes, "I can keep an eye on you there" she smiled softly. With that, you grabbed your things and followed your boss to her car. She took you home where she did exactly what she said she would do, kept an eye on you.