#io covering her mouth: shut the fuck up

[incendiorum-arch]

hekate no.

[winterscaptain]

advocate.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the very first part of ajf! the beginning of our story! oh my goodness! this got a little long, but there was a lot i wanted to pack in here. thank you all for your patience as i worked through this <3 i’ve got some fun graphics in here for you - open them for best quality!

words: 8.45k warnings: language, alcohol use, canon-typical descriptions of injury and violence, mention of suicide

summary: “our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” - oscar wilde. au!july-september 2007

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“Director Shepard?” 

You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile. 

She turns, smiling at you softly. “Yes?”

Her lecture was immaculate - she covered a broad swath of topics - being the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence - all of which paved a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement. 

You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications, I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…” 

You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask. 

“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”

There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.” 

+++

“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?” 

You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”

She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “Not at all. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”

She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship. 

“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can, and don’t ignore the politics”

You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from “probie” to Agent to diplomat to Director, before she turns back to you. 

“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?” 

You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”

“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”

+++

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire. 

The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you. 

Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents. 

You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner. 

With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure. 

Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other. 

He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall. 

This is fun. 

You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.” 

+++. 

“Director Shepard’s office.”

“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”

She connects you, and you ask about the BAU. 

“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment. 

“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”

“Perfect.”

+++

+++

You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.” 

That doesn’t sound good. 

SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SSAIC in charge of your NAT class - the person in charge of your collective fates. 

No pressure. 

She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” 

You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAIC’s office at my rank.” 

That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.” 

Your brow crumples a little and she exhales. 

“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side. 

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.” 

Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?

The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss. 

What the fuck? 

Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which. 

Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are. 

“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch. 

His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes. 

Not what I expected.

What did you expect? 

How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe? 

Shut up. 

He’s handsome. 

Shut up!

His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.” 

“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.” 

“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?” 

“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it. 

It might be. 

You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless. 

She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner. 

You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much. 

+++

“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen. 

You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. 

Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?” 

“Sure.”

His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.

Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you. 

Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely. 

Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.” 

You look at him, a little furrow in your brow. 

Should he be telling me this?

“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.” 

That pulls a laugh from you. 

Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.” 

Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room. 

+++

Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details. 

Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places. 

He wants them found, and fast. 

Need-based, maybe? What are his priors? 

You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.” 

You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife is tucked under his chin. 

Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs. 

+++

You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat. 

With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.

And they do. 

Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch. 

Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way. 

“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.” 

You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable. 

+++

You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical. 

Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you. 

“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -” 

You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.” 

He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.” 

It’s not a question. 

You’re confused. 

“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile.” 

The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for. 

Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made. 

“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.” 

Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them. 

You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”

Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s just...um…”

“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long. 

To your credit, you ignore them. 

+++

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot. 

You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and as a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else. 

“I’m liking it,” you reply. 

He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.” 

You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.” 

“I am terrified.” 

“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds. 

“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -” 

He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.” 

“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”

“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.” 

You quirk a smile. “Thanks.” 

“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.” 

“What’s the other half?” 

He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.” 

+++

You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office. 

You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime. 

“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.” 

“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head. 

“Then...what?” 

She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.” 

+++

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice. 

The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?” 

His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”

“What happened in Boston?” 

Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.” 

You wait on him, watching him watch the road. 

“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.” 

He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp. 

“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six BAU agents in our unit, dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.” 

You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.” 

He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.” 

Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch? 

Because he’s the unit chief. 

I know but…

Don’t read into it. 

You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed. 

“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”

“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.” 

+++

Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk. 

Does he have feedback? He’s not sure. 

Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on. 

You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going. 

There’s nothing to complain about. 

But then again…

Feedback isn’t just about the negative. 

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after. 

It’s not in their nature, or his. 

He starts to type. 

Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in your brow as deep as the Grand Canyon. 

You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates. 

That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny. 

With a sigh, he sends it.

He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about. 

This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing. 

+++

After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past. 

Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same. 

It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute. 

Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.

Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet. 

You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”

“What are you working on?”

You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”

Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”

You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”

She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work. 

At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent. 

+++

You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings. 

You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic. 

“It’s Hotch.”

You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“

“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”

You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “My help, sir?”

“Yeah.”  He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Maybe Derek, can -“

“No. You. Here, listen -“

He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case. 

“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?” 

For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch. 

“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”

You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after. 

“Sir, why did you call me?”

“I needed another set of eyes.”

You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried. 

“Too long,” he supplies. 

“Sure. But my point stands.”

“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair. 

“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression. 

He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”

+++

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials. 

Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up. 

You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork. 

Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon,’ you’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head). 

You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning. 

As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file. 

You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself. 

When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners. 

Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…” 

Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Good job in the briefing, today.” 

And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table. 

“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.” 

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch. 

Success. 

+++

“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”

You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.” 

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.” 

Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.” 

You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.” 

“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.” 

“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip. 

“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?” 

Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”

JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. - 

“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz. 

“Yeah. Long Distance Serial Killer.” 

“Good. Famous unsubs include…?” 

You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -” 

Derek holds up a finger. “And?”

“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.” 

“Good.” 

JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.

“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -” 

Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.” 

Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner. 

You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you. 

Maybe you could just get used to this place.   

+++

The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink. 

On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep. 

The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon. 

Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light. 

Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife. 

“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half... “ 

He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...” 

His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.” 

He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.  

You stay quiet, continuing your review of S.S.A. Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation. 

Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity. 

“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.” 

You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”

“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone. 

“Is it really that bad?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent. 

“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”

He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.” 

You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can. 

“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.” 

The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it. 

“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why, but I don't think that’s always useful.” 

Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure. 

You are sure, though, that this was a test. 

“How’d I do, Counselor?”

It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more made sense. 

You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.” 

“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.

“No?” 

“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.” 

He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable. 

Hotch is...safe. Somehow. 

“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.” 

“What?” 

He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.

+++

“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?” 

“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.” 

The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.” 

He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file. 

“He’s right.” 

Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?” 

What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.” 

You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.” 

You muffle a laugh.

He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.” 

You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in. 

Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook. 

Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised. 

"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -” 

His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone. 

“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?” 

You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on-assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.” 

“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk. 

She calls him Aaron. 

You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name. 

Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted. 

Aaron. 

You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can. 

“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”

She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.” 

Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it? 

You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”

Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting. 

He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”

You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time. 

None of your business. 

After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again. 

Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”

De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport. 

You can do this. 

You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.” 

With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?” 

Humor. Play off her disappointment. 

“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.” 

To your surprise, she laughs a little. 

You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering. 

Success. 

“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?” 

You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”

“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues - 

“You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.” 

“Of course.” 

“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing. 

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”

Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?” 

“Sure.”

That’s another question I’m not going to ask. 

You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room. 

+++

For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You look up. 

“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.” 

You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.” 

He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.” 

This is above my pay grade. 

“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -” 

“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?” 

He shakes his head. “Any advice?” 

Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade. 

You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate. 

Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles. 

Separate from the things that make him human. 

He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home. 

It must be lonely. 

Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally. 

Well, all except Emily. 

You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you. 

“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words. 

It’s none of my business, is what you want to say. 

Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?” 

His brow crumples. “What?”

“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.” 

You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear. 

Another part of you already knows the answer. 

+++

Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you. 

Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board. 

“What’s with that?” 

Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”

Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”

Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.” 

“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.” 

She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.” 

Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.” 

“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”

+++

Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the case files on the equally ugly bedspread. 

His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself. 

Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly. 

He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down. 

You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months. 

Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. 

I live in a circus. 

He opens his eyes and reads over the email again. 

Fuck it. 

His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate. 

+++

You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane

“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” 

Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.” 

You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body. 

Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?” 

He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.” 

+++

This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board. 

“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice. 

You turn. “Yeah?” 

“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room. 

“Did she ever what?” 

Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.” 

You’re not sure you get the confused look of your face before your colleagues walk through the door. 

+++

“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily. 

You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before. 

This isn’t good. 

+++

The plane ride home is quiet, tense. 

You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley. 

5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours. 

She texts back after a minute. 

5:43pm Thanks. 

There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case. 

Your eyes wander across the cabin. 

JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window. 

Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading. 

Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched. 

Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails. 

“Emily.” 

She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding. 

“Thanks.” She looks away from you again. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history. 

You know better. It’s just clouds. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny. 

5:58pm How’s it going? 

You huff a little laugh down your nose. 

5:58pm Rough day. 

Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?” 

“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.” 

He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.” 

6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it. 6:02pm I also have booze. 

You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

“You should go, if she’s offering.” 

You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.” 

+++

The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory. 

When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps. 

A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs. 

Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel. 

“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”

You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.” 

She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell. 

You take what she offers and hold in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch. 

“What happened?” 

You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.” 

Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?” 

“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.” 

She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.” 

“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.” 

“Oh, my God.” 

You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.” 

“How’s your team?” 

“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…” 

The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country. 

“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”

“They make it worth it, don’t they?” 

The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.” 

+++

You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder. 

10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.

+++

When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark. 

You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net. 

They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?” 

Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere. 

Weird. 

You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door. 

“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little. 

You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?” 

“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off. 

Far from it. 

“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear more than you can say. “It’s worth it.” 

You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile. 

“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.” 

“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?” 

He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”

“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.” 

The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse​ @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger​ @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad​ @angelsbabey​ @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid​ @captain-christopher-pike​ @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em​ @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @dreila03​ @forgottenword​ @aaronhotchnerr​ @ssa-morgan​ @sana-li​ @tegggeeee​ @abschaffer2​ @ssacandice-ray​ @ellyhotchner​ @lotties-journey-abroad​ @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25​ @mooneylupinblack​ @ssareidbby​ @bwbatta​ @roses-and-grasses​ @capricorngf​ @missdowntonabbey​ @averyhotchner​ @mandylove1000​ @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor​ @spencers-hoodrat​ @popped-weasels​ @evee87​ @nuvoleincielo​ @this-broken-band-girl​ @reidtomestyles​ @hotch-meeeeeuppppp​ @winqhster​ @the-falling-in-the-danger​ @iconicc​ @mangoberry43​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @kerrswriting​ @mac99martin​ @itsalwaysb33nyou​ @baumarvel​ @messyhairday-me​ @ssworldofsw​  @deagibs​ @crazyshannonigans​ @moonshinerbynight​ @jhiddles03​ @teamhappyme​ @mendesmelodies​ @starsandasteroids​ @unicorn-bitch​ @ambicaos​ @bispences​

[risottoneroo]

May I request a risotto x reader where risotto wants to have a three-way with Illuso and the reader is shy from allowing someone other than the capo seeing their naked form.

A/n: i…yes also this got really long lol

warnings: smut, voyeurism, rough sex, cum play, dirty talk, some violence

You were Risotto’s girlfriend. Unfortunately, you were also in his squad. As capo, he didn’t want anyone knowing who he loved, even the rest of the team. It was dangerous, for both of you. 

So you loved teasing him by openly flirting with the other squad members while he was there. You were shy, and everyone knew, but you could play the innocent part like nobody’s business. Risotto hated it so much when you’d blink your wide eyes at Illuso or Prosciutto or Formaggio, even Ghiaccio  if you were really feeling naughty. That night, Risotto would grip your wrist so tight, a bruise would form. He’d push you into a wall, shove his knee between your legs and whisper, “You seem to forget who you belong to.”

You’d end the night with him reminding you, and a change of sheets. 

It had been a while since you’d really got him riled up like that. Interestingly enough, he hated it more than anything when you made eyes at Illuso. That always ended in brutal, handcuffed sex, multiple rounds and a gag for you. 

So right now, you were talking to Illuso about his Stand. You fluttered your eyelashes at him and laughed at his jokes, sitting a little too close. You laughed especially hard at one joke. He preened, obviously happy with making the hot new girl laugh, and put a hand on your knee. 

A hand came down on your shoulder. You looked up. It was your capo, Risotto. He nodded at you. “I need to talk to you.”

You pouted. “Ris, I’m talking to Illuso.”

His grip tightened, then released. “I won’t ask twice.”

He started to walk off. Illuso snorted. “Risotto’s got a bigger stick up his ass than usual.”

You shrugged and stood, following Risotto. He walked into his room, holding the door for you. You stepped inside, and he shut the door. Then you were up against the wall, a knife at your throat. Risotto looked angry. Actually angry. He’d pulled knives during sex before, though. 

You tensed, but didn’t go on alert. He snarled. “You’re going to kill me, you little slut. Do you want me to show everyone who you belong to? I’ll fuck you right out in front of them. I’ll let them watch. Let them jerk themselves off to how good I fuck you. Let that bastard Illuso lick my cum out of your cunt. Make that cocksucker Prosciutto watch as I cum on your face and tits. You need to stop testing me.”

He pressed the knife further into your throat, and you choked. “R-Ris…I’m sorry…”

You blinked hard, actually feeling guilty this time. He pulled the knife away, his hand shaking slightly. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have.”

He sheathed the knife and held your face in his big hands. “It’s hard for you, huh? Your capo can’t show you any affection.”

You nodded, biting your lip. He kissed you softly. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled back. “Illuso needs to know that you’re mine.”

You looked down. “I don’t want him to see me.”

Risotto growled softly. “He needs to see that you belong to me.”

You closed your eyes. “I don’t want anyone but you to see me like that. You’re my capo.”

He frowned. “You can wear my coat and harness. It’ll cover you.”

You looked up at him. “You think so?”

He smirked and leaned into your ear. “I do. And I think you’d look so utterly sexy like that. Come on, principessa. Don’t you want to see his face while I fuck your little pussy?”

You arched into him. “O-Okay. I trust you, capo.”

He purred, “I might even let him fuck your throat. I know you like that.”

A shiver went through you. Illuso was attractive, you couldn’t deny it. You nodded and kissed him. “Now.”

Risotto smirked. “Now?”

You nodded and started to strip off your clothes. He licked his lips and took off his jacket and harness. When you were completely bare, you slid on the harness and adjusted it to fit. It covered your nipples and pushed your breasts up and together. Risotto stared at you. “Che cazzo, bella. I almost don’t want to let him see you now.”

You giggled. “Oh?”

He nodded. “Doesn’t change my mind.”

He opened the door. “Illuso! Get in here.”

The dark haired man walked in to find Risotto without his cap or shirt. Then his eyes fell on you. His lips curled into a smirk. “Capo, what is this?”

Risotto grabbed him by his shirt. “You flirted with my girlfriend. This is me showing both of you who she belongs to.”

Illuso smirked. “We all know you’re fucking her. She’s too loud to hide it. We just thought that’s all it was.”

Risotto snarled. “Fottuto bastardo, io-”

You laid a hand on Risotto’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

Illuso licked his lips. “You gonna fuck her in front of me, capo?”

Risotto growled. “Why don’t you fuck her first? And then I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

Illuso chuckled. “If I fucked her, she wouldn’t be your girl for long.”

Risotto clenched his fists. “Then let me show you.”

He grabbed you and kissed you passionately. You bit his lip gently, and he grunted. “Get your ass on the bed, bella.”

You bit your lip, climbing onto his bed. Illuso’s eyes were glued to you as he sat in the chair across from the bed, watching. You closed your legs. Risotto slid them open gently. “Give him a good show, bella.”

You nodded, flushing and looking up at him. His eyes were soft. You smiled. “I trust you, capo.”

You let your legs fall open. Risotto purred. “Good girl.”

He slid his long fingers along your slit. “Already so wet for me, eh?”

You nodded, arching into him. “For you, capo.”

He raised his wet fingers to your mouth. “I think you like being watched, dirty girl.”

You licked them off, whimpering softly. Illuso was openly groping himself through his pants, watching your pussy leaking slick. Risotto pulled his fingers out of your mouth. “Do you like it when he watches?”

He slid his fingers into your pussy slowly, and you groaned. “Risotto…”

His thumb worked over your slick clit. “Do you?”

His fingers curled up slowly, his thumb sliding back and forth across your clit patiently. You let out a low, shuddering wail. He smirked. “You’re so loud, baby girl. Do you like it?”

You whimpered. “I do! I love it!”

Risotto licked his lips, speeding up his fingers and thumb. You bucked hard, suddenly overstimulated. “Risotto! Capo!!”

He grinned. “You like that?”

You whimpered, your pussy clenching down on his fingers. “I’m gonna cum soon!”

He licked your neck, biting gently. “Cum for me. Let him watch how hard you cum for me.”

You felt your orgasm snap in your body, and you screamed, arching up hard. RIsotto heard Illuso groan, and smirked. He kept rubbing your clit and stroking your gspot. It felt fucking amazing, your pussy clenching and pulsing. Your screams built in pitch until you were squirting all over his hand. He kept working you hard, making you keep cumming. You finally grabbed his hand, your eyes squeezing shut. “Please-!”

He nodded, withdrawing his hand. “You got my fingers all wet, baby.”

Risotto began to lick them off, and thought better. “Illuso.”

He held his hand out to the other man. “Clean her cum off me.”

Illuso bit his lip, gripping his cock hard. He got up and held Risotto’s wrist, closing his eyes as he licked your cum from the other man’s fingers. You watched his cock jumping as he tasted you. He finished and sat back down, flushed. Risotto smirked and shed his pants and boxers. His cock slapped against his stomach. Illuso’s eyes widened. Risotto’s cock was big and thick. You licked your lips. “Fuck me, capo.”

He grinned, pushing your thighs down on either side of your head. He slid himself in, and you whimpered. “Ris…”

He groaned. “Always so damn tight.”

He started to fuck into you. “Watch him. Look at Illuso.”

Illuso had his cock out of his pants and was rubbing himself, jerking his hips. He spat on his hand and slicked himself up. You watched, biting your lip and moaning as Risotto fucked you slowly. He bit your neck softly. “You’re so wet, baby girl.”

You whimpered. “You’re so big…”

Illuso struggled not to cum, listening to you moan. He gave up, and grunted as his cock began to shoot cum all over his shirt and pants. Risotto snorted, looking over at him. “Such a quick shot, and after bragging, too.”

He began to fuck you faster, groaning. “Watch me cum inside her.”

You moaned. “Capo! Harder!”

Risotto growled, slamming into you. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum in this tight cunt.”

Illuso panted, watching as Risotto’s hips jerked and he came inside you. You moaned, feeling him throbbing. He pulled out, shooting his last on your pussy.

He relaxed and looked to Illuso. “She’s mine. You can leave now.”

Illuso nodded, getting up. “Yes, capo.”

Risotto laid down next to you and smirked. “That was fun.”

You rolled over and kissed him. “Prosciutto next.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

[writehardwhumpharder]

Carson Drabble - since it's not whumpy enough I've decided to give Carson CRippLing ViSioNs

Carson walked into the bookshop ten minutes late, a little out of breath. He weaved through the shelves, passing a few customers on his way toward the back office. Muffled voices drifted out through the closed door, they sounded... tense. When he opened the door they were gathered around the old oak table.

"This is a police matter." Riley snapped, sounding as if she had said it several times already, leaning over the table toward Daniel.

"And this is my bookstore." Danny said with that casual stubbornness that drove people crazy. He had his arms crossed and feet propped up on the table as a display of how little he cared about their "procedure".

"Finally. It was getting awkward." Riley breathed as she looked up at him, dropping whatever arguement they'd just been having.

"No kidding." Daniel muttered.

Carson took a seat between them and reached for the stack of books Danny had set aside. They were researching what looked like ritual remains at a crime scene. Candles, blood, trace metals, the whole shabang. He hadn't done much ritual magic himself but he at least knew how it worked and what to look for. He looked up to see Danny staring at him.

"What was it this time?" He asked.

"Nothing, just didn't sleep well." Carson deflected.

Daniel just barely caught himself before he said that he knows what it sounds like when he "doesn't sleep well" and nothing happened last night. Which brings them to this morning. "Come on, I want to know, what was it? Stop me when I'm close, cat, bird, squirrel, raccoon-"

Carson groaned in frustration. "It was a baby possum okay? Ugh you suck, Danny." He said with an anger in his voice that wasn't quite genuine. His friend smiled smugly.

Riley had taken it upon herself to start skimming through one of the books in the pile. She noticed that Carson did look especially tired when he came in. Small beads of sweat formed on his brow which, unless he ran all the way to the bookstore, didn't make much sense in the growing cold outside. She figured it was best not to join in on Daniel's teasing and got straight to work.

Within seconds of opening the old leather-bound book, Carson got completely immersed in the text. It wasn't exactly an exciting read but he flipped through the pages quickly, only pausing to study certain diagrams. Riley noticed his lips moved slightly as he read over important parts. He probably didn't even realize he had the habit of mouthing the words as he read. It was kinda cute. But to be fair, his rapid page flipping and note taking was impressively methodical. She looked across the table to see that Daniel had been staring at Carson at the same time she was. They made awkward eye contact before returning to their research. Along with the books Daniel had a black notebook filled with handwritten notes that more or less matched the style of the old books they were looking at.

"Wow are those all your notes, Danny?" She asked, eyeing the notebook that was bulging with loose papers and crudely drawn symbols.

"Yeah, I write down everything that might be useful when I get new books in about magic. Some of it is just lore, but every once in a while I find a book that's actually legit. Oh, and it's Daniel." He said, despite the fact that Carson had called him Danny less than two minutes ago.

"So where are the books that you know are real?" She asked.

"Besides these? I imagine they're all on Carson's bookshelf at home."

"I already looked through those." Carson added, apparently more in tune with their conversation than they thought.

Daniel flipped through his notes until he came across a set of loose papers that looked related to the crime scene photo Riley provided. He grabbed the small stack and slid it over to Carson.

"I think I found something." Daniel said with a hopeful smile. Carson looked down at it and frowned.

"Um, Danny, this is your character description for Dungeons and Dragons." Carson said.

"Oops. Under that." He said. Maybe it was just Riley's imagination but it looked like Daniel blushed a little. As if it wasn't already obvious that he and Carson where total nerds. Not in a bad way but they did spend an awful lot of time holed up in this bookstore reading fantastic novels for "scientific purposes". Carson's eyes widened and his lips started doing that thing again like he was deep in concentration.

"Yeah, yeah this makes sense." Carson said after a moment. "Powering a circle is easy. It's directing the spell that's the hard part. So you found the body by the river, but the spell was set up in her apartment? They must have needed something there to make it work."

"Yeah." So far she had only shown him the photos from the apartment. The photos of the body were a lot more gruesome. "There's... more you need to know." She added.

Carson looked up, his brows furrowed. "I can't help if you're holding out on me. What else is there?"

Riley grimaced as she pulled another folder from her bag. "The photo of the girl in the center of the circle, see how her eyes are crossed out? And the dagger is standing straight up from the floorboards?"

"Yeah... you said she was dead. Obviously they meant to kill her using that knife." Carson said, a little confused. It seemed simple. They did the ritual, made a connection between the circle and the girl, and it's all stabby stabby from there.

Riley took out another set of crime scene photos from her folder and Carson immediately realized why she'd been hesitant to show it to them. His stomach flipped at the sight and he felt himself pale slightly. He's not squeamish but there is something distinctly wrong about seeing a person's face when they're missing their eyes. Without them it's just empty sockets. Empty...

When he looked at the photo his gaze naturally settled on the most gruesome part of it, the eyes. There was nothing there but he felt like she was... looking at him. A shiver went up his spine. He couldn't look away, not even to blink. Carson was dimly aware of someone saying his name but it was like the world narrowed until it was just him and the dead girl. It felt eerily like she was looking straight into his mind, or maybe he was looking into hers. It made his skin crawl. Suddenly the picture vanished and the room faded away.

He blinked and suddenly he was somewhere else. A walking path by the river. It was well lit but he couldn't imagine a young woman wanting to walk on it alone late at night. He felt troubled, no, she felt troubled. She looked over her shoulder every few seconds, clutching a small green purse to her chest as she walked briskly. Things started to blur and tilt as the connection got cloudier. He could feel his consciousness desperately trying to return to his body, but something kept him there. At the last second she turned, startled by something. But there was nothing there. She started running in a panic, stumbling off the path and onto the rocks, not because she was afraid, but because she couldn't see where she was going, he realized. She couldn't see because her eyes were being burned out of her head. A warmth grew from the center of her face, it burned right behind her eyes like a headache at first, the pain becoming more unbearable with each passing second. When the knife slid into her stomach it was almost merciful. She died before she could realize what was happening to her.

It happened fast. One second Carson was staring hard at the photo, perhaps looking for some small detail in it. The next his eyes were rolling back in his head. Eyelids fluttering shut as his body pitched forward. His head made contact with the table before he slid sideways out of his chair, knocking it over in the process. It all happened before Riley or Daniel could react. Luckily it was a gentle slide and he didn't hit his head too hard but now he was on the floor and--

"What the fuck?" Daniel blurted, abandoning his own chair to kneel next to Carson.

"Has he ever done anything like this before?" Riley asked with the dim hope that maybe this was some sort of totally normal magic thing she didn't know about. It wasn't

"No, never." Daniel's voice was grim. Panic welled up inside him but he fought it back down. He wouldn't be any use to Carson like that. "Hey Carson, can you hear me?" He asked pointlessly.

It was obvious his mind was somewhere else entirely as his body began to twitch. Random muscles flexing and unflexing. He started making small moaning noises that didn't sound like he was in pain but broke Daniel's heart a little to hear anyway. Without thinking he folded his sweatshirt and slid it under his head, moving to sit behind him so he could run his fingers through Carson's hair gently as his legs kicked and his hands moved spastically. Daniel and Riley had both gone silent so the only noise in the room was Carson's shuffling and ragged breathing. A small trickle of blood dripped from his nose and suddenly it was over. Carson's body relaxed into the floor and his breathing settled until it looked like he was just peacefully asleep.

Riley sat by his feet in complete shock, holding her hands up to her face, covering her mouth. Meanwhile Daniel started to try to wake him up gently. The whole thing couldn't have lasted longer than a minute but for Daniel it felt like forever.

"What just happened?" She whispered.

Daniel let one hand continue sifting through his hair and used the other to pat at his face which was pale and clammy under his hand. "Come on Carson, wake up. Open your eyes." He said.

Carson didn't immediately respond but he did make some feeble attempt to roll over onto his side. Daniel helped position him. The blood continued streaming from his nose until it threatened to stain the floor and Carson's shirt. There weren't any tissues around so he wiped Carson's face with his own sleeve. They took it as a good sign when he groaned and swatted the hand away weakly.

"Can you here me, Carson? It's Danny, I'm right here." He spoke softly, expecting Carson to be more than a little confused as he came to. When he finally cracked his eyes open the first thing he saw was books, then more books, and some shelves filled with books. It didn't take him long to figure out where he was.

Once Carson was awake Daniel stopped touching him and gave him some space, only helping when he wanted to sit up. Carson's head throbbed with the motion and he touched two fingers to his nose, frowning when they came away bloody.

"I'll go find some water." Riley said, trying to make herself useful. Carson caught her sleeve as she moved to stand.

"Wait... I... saw something." He said. "It doesn't tell us much more than we already know but, I did see that she died on the rocks, someone didn't move her there. And the spell was powerful I felt-" he stopped and shook his head as he remembered the pain and fear she felt. He raked his hands over his face and shuddered, as if checking that his own eyes were still there. He didn't dare look at the photos again to check, but one detail did stand out to him.

"What was in her purse?" He asked. The woman had been holding onto it pretty tight, maybe just out of fear, or maybe there was something important in there.

"We didn't find a purse with her body." Riley frowned, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before. Of course the young woman would have had some kind of bag with her. It wasn't much but it was something to look into.

"It was green." Carson muttered, staring off into what looked to be the Historical Asian literature section.

"Thanks Carson. I'll look into it. Let me know if you guys find anything out but there's no rush." She stood up and found that glass of water she was looking for then gathered her things and left Carson in Daniel's care.

Leaning against one of the tables legs, Carson signed, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. He hoped this was a one time thing. A minor fluke on the universe's part. Magic was like that sometimes. But he couldn't help but feel obligated to solve this case now. He was already too involved to back out and even though Riley said there wasn't a rush, he knew that wasn't true. Two people already died in strange circumstances and if no other actually qualified magic users would step up to help, it was up to him.

"You okay?" Danny asked. Carson nodded slightly, careful not to aggravate his budding headache. "Let's get your face cleaned up then."

His nose had stopped bleeding but his face was still a mess of a combination of fresh, dried, and smeared blood. Carson didn't feel much like standing up but he took a few sips of water then braced a hand against the floor to push himself onto his knees. The floor wobbled under his feet but Danny was already helping him the rest of the way up.

He staggered to the staff bathroom at the back of the store and took a good look at himself. There were new dark circles under his eyes. He didn't know whether it was from using his healing skills that morning or the uh.. the other thing. The word "attack" came to mind, since that's exactly what it felt like.

"You should go home and rest." His friend said from the doorway. "I can leave the store for a bit and walk you home." He offered.

"No," Carson said, "we'll stay until we figure this out. Grab the books, we're taking this party to the couch." He said with newfound determination. The book store had a reading nook with a giant second hand couch, some beanbags, pillows, and a few decorative soft lit lamps. If he was going to lay down, which he definitely was, he might as well stay productive. Carson settled down in the corner, laying sideways to take up two out of the three cushions. Daniel returned with the large stack of books and set them down with a thud before settling into the other end of the couch. The spent the afternoon reading and taking notes in comfortable silence. Daniel didn't wake him up when Carson inevitably fell asleep with not one, but several books in his lap.

[thirdfavoritemom]

Deal Breaker (Io Toshinori x Shoto Todoroki)

hey there’s mentions of abuse, so please please don’t read if that will trigger you p l e as e

“Wait, Io, what?” Izuku asked, utterly floored by the words that had just left the mouth of his best friend.

Io looked at him in confusion, not really sure what was wrong. Until Shoto’s fists clenched at his sides and Io felt as if she was 2 feet tall in comparison. She hadn’t felt so small in a long, long time. Not since Him. Not since she managed to escape. 

But she hadn’t ever told anyone abut Him. Not until just now. Not until Ochaco had asked if Io had “ever even had a boyfriend before?”

“Yeah, one.” Io had told her with a shrug before really thinking about Him for the first time since starting UA “He was.....the worst...” and her voice must have betrayed something, because that’s when she got the questions.

Before she could answer Izuku, Shoto’s hand was on her arm, making her blood run cold.

“What do you mean?” Todoroki asked, his voice dangerous and low, which obviously distressed Toshi, so he tried to clear his throat and sound less....livid? 

“Io-” he began, but seeing her flinch as if he had raised his hand to hit her made him stop speaking entirely.

“Io, please, you have to explain..” Ochaco said softly, glancing at the two boys with somewhat of a warning in her face, telling them to shut the fuck up. “When you say he was the worst....” But Uraraka didn’t want to finish her thought in fear she was right.

“I...Well, He...”

3 Years Ago

“You know your’re beautiful, Io?” His deep voice dripped like honey down her neck as he peppered kisses in his path, earning a breathless “you keep saying that, idiot,” from Io and he smirked against her collarbone, nipping there gently before Io (once again) pushed him away.

He groaned in annoyance when she told him “not yet” for, like, the 8th time this fucking week. “Then when?” he demanded, the doting, sweet voice replaced by one filled with anger.

Toshi shrugged, rolling her eyes as she pulled herself to her feet. 

The early morning sun  pooled into the dingy room from between even filthier blinds, swathing her small frame in golden light as she pulled her sweater from the night before on over the tanktop she’d slept in. “I don’t know, asshole, I’m just not ready yet.”

He scoffed from his spot on the twin-sized bed they’d shared the night before, eyeing her with a type of...malice, she’d never seen there before. “He when do you think you’ll finally cover up that shit on your back? I told you, my tattoo guy can do it for cheap.”

She winced a bit, as if his words were a whip that reopened the year-old marks on her shoulders, and she had to bite her lip to keep from saying something back. That might make him more mad.

Io kept her back to him as she slipped her sneakers on and packed her bag, not wanting him to see the tears welling in her eyes. That bastard knew what her scars meant. He knew about her father. Shit, he knew how much she hated them, and he still said something so cruel? But she was pulled from her mind when she felt his arms suddenly wrap around her middle as he pressed himself against her back. 

She could feel his boner through her jeans and it made her feel...dirty. “It’s been, like, two months, babe. You can trust me, I’ll be gentle-” he purred in her ear, making her skin crawl as she tried to gently remove herself from his now vise-like grip.

“Dude, let go. My foster parents are already gonna be pissed, I have to go.” She spat, finally forcing herself away from him and stumbling forward, steadying herself on the half-broken dresser.

“Fuck them! They treat you like shit! Stay with me another night, babe, come on~!” he whined, practically floating towards Toshi to caress her cheeks “You deserve better, babe.” he cooed, and her expression softened as he kissed her nose.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have better now do I?” she asked with a smirk before pecking his lips and grabbing her backpack and skipping out the door. 

The walk from his apartment to school took Io about 30 minutes, but she didn’t really mind it. Hell, it was better than the 10 minute drive with her oldest foster sister, anyway. These were her 30 minutes. No shitty ‘parents’, no boyfriend, no anything. Just her and her music and her thoughts.

Speaking of thoughts, Io couldn’t help but remember the anger in His voice when she told him no again..how much longer would he put up with it? Or how hard he held her when she tried to move, or how he mentioned her scars for the sole purpose of hurting her. Why was he acting so..off? Io couldn’t rememebr doing anything in particular to him, so why?

Io shrugged, chalking things up to him having a bad morning and continuing through her day, soon forgetting anything had happened at all.

But what started as a bad morning turned into a bad week, and a bad month, and a bad six months. She went through two more foster families and he kept getting meaner, angrier, harsher. 

It got to the point when she’d train just to avoid him, preferring to spend extra time to herself before facing his wrath when she got to his disgusting hovel of an apartment. 

This went on like this; His cruel and spiteful words, her intense and exhausting training, His torrential downpour of negligence and anger, her further isolation from her peers to avoid upsetting him, His borderline physical attacks on her, her closing in on herself and closing off her mind so that it was as if she wasn’t even living anymore.. It just continued.

And she took it. 

Io filtered through foster home to foster home, a hollow shell that did nothing but practically kill herself training every day for what she told herself was vengeance for her father, but more realistically kept her mind focused on something other than the fact she hated herself and everything, hated living, because of Him.

But she found her happy place; one that wasn’t a training ground. 

One gold nugget among hundreds and hundreds of pieces of dirt.

And finally, Io Toshinori snapped.

“Get back here you miserable little whore. We aren’t finished yet.” He growled, grabbing her by the hair and aiming a blow directly to the middle of her back. He had never hit her before. He feigned like he would, be he knew her quirk and never chanced it. 

She could feel the force coursing through her veins. She could feel the power jolting to her fingertips. 

She’d been training to be the best since her father died. 

She’d be training day and night to get into UA. 

She’d been killing herself to fight villains. 

And this was her chance.

She whipped around to face him, a wicked grin splitting her face in two.

The police wanted to incarcerate her for what she did to Him. She was almost exempt from the UA entrance trails. But her foster family fought for her, and won.

And slowly, she removed herself from the shell she’d built. She found happiness n her new home, found joy and laughter and herself again.

And she got into UA by placing 5th.

And she met the most amazing people there.

She also found Todoroki, a beautiful, caring, soft boy. A boy that didn’t ever call her fat, or tell her that her scars were anything less than a trophy to love and cherish and be proud to wear. A boy that had his own damage, but was able to have so much love for her. And fuck did she love him so. fucking. much.

The three around her just...stared. 

Her, in front of her, were her two best friends and the boy she loved so completely, so desperately, and it dawned on her that this might be a deal breaker for him.

That he didn’t know how fucked up she really was.

“I understand if you want to break up. I can see how this could be pretty overwhelming to learn, and I know I should have told you before you asked me out, but I pretty much hate myself for ever being so weak and I was really hoping you’d never know. Your dad mentioned it to me, when you let me meet him. He told me he didn’t like me because of it. But I, of course, told him to go fuck himself becasue as long as you like me I don’t care, but i can definetly see how this would make you super not-like-me-anymore and-” Io was rambling, refusing to look Shoto in the eyes, until she was in his arms.

Shoto’s arms were so..different..than His. Shoto’s arms were strong and warm and protective. They held her to calm her instead of to intimidate her. 

And relief flooded her body when he told her to shut up, but in a good way.

[cornfedcryptid-archive]

Crucible Match

This is a little drabble I made a while ago, when I initally shipped my exo hunter and awoken titan. I’ve been hanging onto it for a couple on months, debating on if I wanted to publish it. But fuck it. I love my trash guardians and I want everyone to know about them. There is a cameo from @fadedforyou‘s titan Alik.

Note: the italics are when Alik is speaking Russian.

Enjoy!

“Now that’s just not fair. Muscle Milk only has one newbie with him. How did I get saddled with three?” Z-9 gestured from his feeble team over to Alik and his. “Mine look like they still have bits of dirt from their graves on them. This is hardly a fair fight.”

“Are you, how you say ‘chickening out,’ Z-9?”

“Perish the thought, Muscle Milk. But the odds aren’t exactly even. You only have one newbie.” He turned his attention to the short titan and looked her up and down. “I didn’t think ghosts resurrected titan’s that small. Are you sure you’re not supposed to be a warlock?” Z-9 held up his hand and pretended to squish the small titan between his thumb and forefinger. “I would suggest a hunter, but I do think there’s a height limit to that too.”His gears clicked and whirred in excitement as the titan in question threw him a withering glare. From the expression alone he could feel her murderous intent. “Good,” he thought. All that was left was rattling the other two and his team might just have a chance. But from their gear he could tell they were seasoned guardians. A simple taunt wouldn’t distract them. Before he could act, the buzzer sounded overhead. With a final look, the two teams parted and retreated to their starting areas.

“The loudmouth, he’s mine,” Iona snarled.

Alik looked down at his friend and chuckled. “Da.” He shouldered his weapon and tossed Iona her helmet. Z-9’s obvious taunt did exactly what Alik knew it would. From day one, he knew mentioning Iona’s height would guarantee their win. He saw it many times in the crucibles. Each time a cocky hunter or haunty warlock mentioned her height that opponent died more times than any other on the opposing team; and knowing Z-9, he was sure to bring it up.

Iona grabbed her helmet and shoved it onto her head. Since she had become a guardian she had been thrust from one thing to another. Running for her life, training, scouting missions and even more training had taken up all of her time, and then some. She rarely had a moment to stop and think or question what she had become. What few moments she had were still filled with people telling her what to do, where to go and what to think. At first she tried to fight it, but it proved futile. She learned over the months keeping her mouth shut and head down made her life infinitely easier. Each day she felt more and more of herself being chipped away and remodeled into the “perfect titan.” But the one thing that never seemed to wear away was her one major tick. She had been told time and time again that she was too short to be a guardian. Time and time again she proved each person wrong, usually by beating them in the crucible. This exo was going to be no different.

“Hey! Useless! Take out Muscle Milk!” Z-9 snapped as he laid down cover fire for their cowardly titan to charge. Only the titan didn’t charge. He had hesitated, and in that hesitation the other team’s hunter took him out with one bullet to the head. “Dammit!”

The warlock’s spell missed its mark. Instead of knocking Alik over the edge like Z-9 had wanted, it hit Iona in the shoulder, and set her helmet on fire. She yanked it off her head and threw it at the warlock as she charged. He dodged the helmet but was not able to regain his footing. She used the opening to run up and empty the remainder of her clip into him. He dropped like a rag doll, Iona’s empty gun landing next to him. She snarled at Z-9, and lobbed one of her grenades in his direction.

“Can none of you fuckin’ fight?” He grabbed the other hunter and hightailed it back into the ruins of the city, the grenade exploding behind them. They were getting decimated. It seemed every other second one of the newbies on his team was being killed. At first he thought preventing their sniper from hitting would have solved the problem. But he found their biggest concern was not the unseen sniper, but Muscle Milk and the pipsqueak of a titan. The two of them were like a sword and shield, and impossible to kill. At first when he saw the small tick in her jaw he thought his goading had gotten under her skin and would make her mess up. He was right in only one of those two things. He did in fact get under her skin, but what would have been foolish mistakes if made by others instead were tactics that downright scared the newbies. Multiple times she charged head on into the thick of them, killing whoever was too slow to get out of her way. One would have thought the newbies would have learned the first few times she killed them point blank. But their stupid tactic was to huddle closer and hope for the best. Not once did it work out. She herded them closer and closer, until a single grenade took all three of them out.

“Quit fucking circling together like a bunch of fucking sheep! If you don’t start fighting back I will fucking kill you myself!” He kicked the hunter in the back, sending her scrambling forward. “Get out there! We don’t have much time left! I will not lose this bet because of you fucking idiots!”

Alik’s plan was working. He watched as Z-9’s temper caused his movements to become more erratic. “We have few minutes left. What is status of trap?”

“Last I checked they had the trip mines in place. All we need to do is herd them into Zone B.” Her last clip clicked into a place and an almost feral grin crept across Iona’s face. “Time to herd the sheep.”

The small nod of Alik’s head was the only indication he gave that he heard her, before he stepped off the ledge and walked into the middle of the street. Well placed shots from both him and Io had the three novice guardians scurrying back into the buildings. They left Z-9 to the hunter and the warlock, knowing the two of them would be able to handle the erratic exo.

“One minute left!” Shaxx’s voice echoed throughout the area.

Alik felt more than saw the change in Iona. Heat started to radiate off of her body and from the corner of his eye he could see the flames curling around her. He felt her power from spike as they rounded the last corner. They had the three novices herded into Zone B, and were just waiting for their other teammates to herd Z-9. As if on cue, the hunter in question charged into the area guns ablazing. He fired off several shots, hitting both Io and Alik. Before his shots could kill either, Alik erected a barricade and jumped out of the area.

“Fight back!” Z-9 loaded another clip into his hand cannon and looked at the three before them. There was not a scratch on them, but they acted as if they had seen death itself. That’s when he saw the trip mines. While Alik, Io, and the warlock had been wrecking havoc all over the arena, the hunter in question had been filling Zone B with enough trip mines to collapse the whole building. Before he could act, a hammer went whizzing past his head and killed the hunter behind him. One by one the rest of his team was killed off; their bodies throw back into the trip mine sensors. There was nowhere for him to escape. The last thing Z-9 saw before the building came crashing down was the smug look on Iona’s face as she threw her hammer at the remaining support beam. It was in that moment that he realized he may have fucked up. When he came to, the titan in question was nowhere to be found; only her path of destruction remained. As far as he was concerned if he never saw her again it would be too soon.

***

Z-9 found himself at the bar between Alik and Cornelius, going shot for shot with the two large humans. Friends and acquaintances trickled into the bar as night wore on. Halfway through the third bottle, he noticed the wink Cornelius gave Alik.

“Wait a minute,” he hiccuped. “Cookie, you were in on this weren’t you?”

“My dear friend, what ever gave you that idea?”

“The wink!”

“The wink?”

“Yes! You gave him the wink; the wink that is filled with dastardly intentions. I’ve seen it before. But to think it was used against me. I thought we were friends Cookie.”

“I allow you to call me Cookie. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“To think my closest frie-”

“Only friend,” Cookie corrected.

“Only friend,” Z-9 amended. “Would do such a dastardly thing behind my back. I feel hurt…betrayed even. I don’t think I can recover from this.”

“Do not be such sore loser!” Alik clapped Z-9 on the back, sending the exo stumbling forward.

“Every time, Muscle Milk,” Z-9 grunted. “Gentle. I am a fragile baby boy.”

“You are no little boy!” Alik laughed and slapped Z-9 on the back. “You are very funny! Drink! We celebrate my victory over your bet tonight!”

“At the expense of my wallet.” A bottle of vodka appeared in front of him. Without a second thought he tossed his card to the bartender, opened the bottle and clinked it against Alik’s.

“Cheers!” The tipsy Russian chugged the last of his bottle and surveyed the room. He spotted a familiar mop of purple hair in the back of the bar and made a beeline. “Io!” Alik’s voice boomed.

She jumped and looked up as the giant Russian sat at her table. Iona had been in the bar for less than two minutes before he found her. “Alik.” She took the offered bottle and took a few swigs. The vodka burned her throat as a familiar tingle settled in her fingers. She felt her nerves calming and the bar no longer felt like an ogre trying to kill her. Now it just felt like a lowly thrall, gnawing on her ankle.

“You have made it! Come! Drink with us! Z-9 is buying!” He dragged her back to the bar and all but lifted her into the seat next to Z-9. “Barkeeper! Another drink for my friend!”

Several drinks in Io slumped forward onto the bar and scrubbed her hand under her topknot. “Wait,” Io hiccupped. “What was the bet exactly? How drunk were you that you willingly made a bet against Alik?”

“Short answer: I was sauced. Long answer: Muscle Milk just has this very Russian way of getting under my skin and he outdrank me.”

“But you’re an exo?” Confused she titled her head to the side, grabbed the bottle in front of Z and refilled his drink. She downed the rest of the bottle and dropped it onto the counter.

“Holy shit! I’m an exo? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Panicked, he ran his hands over his body as if it was something completely foreign.

For a split second Io stared at Z before she threw back her head and started to laugh. She rubbed her hand over her freshly buzzed side as her laughter died down. “I can’t remember the last time I have laughed that much.”

Z-9 slid another drink over at her and chuckled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to laugh more. There’s no need to be so serious.”

“I’ve tried.” She downed half of her drink in one gulp. The burn of the drink had her gagging and gasping, much to Z-9’s amusement. “But you wouldn’t understand,” she choked. “You’re a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Curious he leaned closer to the drunk woman in front of him. The murderous woman from earlier that day had been replaced by the giggly woman that was having a difficult time staying on the barstool. Twice in the past ten minutes he had to catch her from sliding onto the ground. Luckily for him or her in this case, she had a habit of veering towards his direction.

Another snort escaped her as she downed the drink. “You know exactly what I mean, Z.” A hiccup escaped her as she slid closer. “All hunters are a little unhinged. It’s to be expected. But not titans. No…we…we must be the wall. Stoic. We are the last defense of this city. They wear you down, until the old you is no more, and make you up to be the perfect titan. I found it was easier to keep my head down and go along with what they wanted.”

“Is that why you’re so uptight?”

Her face scrunched up as she smacked him on the arm. “I’m not that uptight, am I?”

“Dimples, if you were any more tense I could shove coal up your ass and you’d shit out diamonds a week later.”

“Do you have any coal?”

Z-9 looked at her for a second before he chuckled and bumped his shoulder into hers. “What do you know, Dimples you can make a joke.”

“Oh I’m a very funny person,” she slurred.

“I do not doubt that, Dimples.” He reached over and grabbed the glass out of her loose fingers. He set it next to his empty one and looked down at the figure slumped against him. Every assumption he had for the pint-sized titan had been proven wrong as the drinks kept flowing. What was once a stony face soon became one that hid no emotions and every time she laughed Z-9 found himself drawn further and further into her. He wanted to hear more of that laugh. To see the way her nose crinkled when he told a bad pun or joke. If someone were to ask him why he felt the sudden desire, he couldn’t say. That fact alone stirred a curiosity in him he hadn’t felt in ages.

Several weeks passed before Z-9 saw any sign of Iona again. At first he thought she had been sent out on patrol. It took several bottles of vodka one night in the bar with Alik, before Z-9 found out where she had truly gone. To think an Iron Lord so thoroughly thrashed in the crucible was both a balm to his ego and a shock. He had thought Lord Saladin kept his new recruits hidden in the mountains and the wastelands, like before. But what shocked him even more was seeing her in the hanger the next morning.

“M’lady returns.” He set the butt of his rifle on the ground and executed an overly dramatic bow. “Are you to accompany us on this fine day?” A swift smack to the back of the head, by Cornelius’ hand sent him stumbling forward.

“She is the newest member of your fire team.”

“What? Her? There’s no way.”

“Don’t act so excited, you might break something.”

He searched her face, trying to find the drunken girl from the bar. All he found was another stony faced titan. As he looked away he thought he saw a twitch of her lips in the corner of her eye. When he looked back, he saw no sign of the mirth he thought he was going to see. “Damn.”

“She passed the test.”

“Test? What test?”

Cornelius’ voice drew Z-9’s attention away from Iona’s face. “You were the test.”

“Me? How am I a test? Does this have anything to do with Serenity-12? She was always looking for reasons to shoot me.”

“It does. I needed to find a titan that wouldn’t snap every time you angered them, which as we both know will be a lot.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am a delight.”

“Delightfully annoying,” Iona muttered under her breath.

She had thought no one could hear her, over the noise of the hanger. None would, if there had not been an exo among them. But he heard. His hope and curiosity were brought back to life once again. “There she is,” he thought. She was in there. He just needed to find a crack in the wall and slip through. Lucky for him, he’s a hunter.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Dear White People (S01E01) Chapter 1 Airdate: April 28, 2017 @netflix @JSim07 Ratings: Privatized @DearWhitePeople Score: 7.5/10 TVTime/FB/Twitter/IG/Tumblr/Path/Pin: @SpotlightSaga **********SPOILERS BELOW********** Dear White People, Brown People, and any People who are reading, listening, watching, or paying attention... Eventually it was coming. Eventually this series had to be addressed. But how? The last thing a Sexually Fluid, White Scotch-Irish, Ginger Male in an 11 year+ gay relationship, living in an Argentinian neighborhood within a city that has massive pockets of square miles with +80% people who speak Spanish as a first language... Or large numbers of neighborhoods with Haitian-Creole voices blasting loudly from friendly faces throwing friendly waves from a group of old men, who for some reason are always sitting at a major bus stop in North Miami Beach (but never going anywhere or taking any busses), wants to be labeled as is a 'Pseudo' or even a 'Hardcore-Leftist' who's desperately out to prove that he isn't racist. You won't be getting that article from me. You won't be getting anything of the sort from this 10-Piece Project that I assure you I will be taking my time on. I am not Left. I am not right. I'm barely in the middle. This isn't political, though it might have political undertones and repercussions. That's on interpretation, not me. By now you know that Spotlight Saga never reviews anything in a traditional manner unless it's an everyday type series that doesn't carry a particular tense or emotional impact. We go at our own pace and I prefer existential challenges, but all are welcome. I had made promises to write articles to accompany 'Dear White People', brought to us by the new & true, multitalented Justin Simien, to multiple readers, but I was waiting for the right time. Sure, I have an army of unreleased articles and reviews ready to shoot out of an iOS cannon when I'm not feeling particularly inspired, but that just hasn't happened lately, so expect last second 'Big 4 Network' reviews to start spewing out sometime in September, because everything from 'Gotham' to 'Lucifer' to 'Colony' awaits you. Oh boy. Now let's get something straight, particularly to the people on Social Media whining and crying about the show's polarizing title, claiming to cancel (or to the ones who actually did cancel, though I doubt it) their Netflix subscriptions because the title evoked some sort of feeling of uncomfortable paranoia, or what they felt was divisive rhetoric, even though it was them who were attempting to divide themselves from Netflix and causing a stir... Ultimately giving the show free promotion in the process. DWP isn't a series that is out to make anyone feel shame, wagging a brown finger across your noses, or smacking you over the top of the head with a rolled up newspaper, preferably Sunday (because there are some people who actually deserve it). The show's main protagonist narrates the thoughts of Justin Simien directly and quite accurately, right off the bat. "Dear White People is a misnomer. My show is meant to articulate the feelings of a misrepresented group outside the majority." @jsouth71 on Twitter, one of many racist, idiot keyboard warriors (I'm personally singling out him because he no longer seems to be active - guess he came, he typed, and he successfully looked like an idiot), responded to the original trailer (legit on March 12, 2017, the show didn't even air until April 28th) with multiple hashtags claiming that Netflix was racist. His most hilarious claim (to me anyway) is the one claiming that the show, what it stands for, and those that support it are all full of #LiberalBS. Well what now, Joey Southworth? I'm not even Liberal, Black, or some sort of seemingly desperate apologist... I have no agenda, except to review a Netflix TV Series in a way like no one has ever done before and while doing so, tell you all MY story, my letter to White People, because there is one thing I won't do... Tell someone else's truth... Unless they ask me to, I am for hire, y'all. Ironically, Lionel (DeRon Horton), says something eerily similar to what I've just said and said before a million times. Some people, *coughAVCLUBcough*, don't understand that telling someone else's 'truth' isn't necessarily the point of journalism, but sometimes it does involve telling another person's story from your OWN perspective, after a little help from gaining a bit of someone else's. So let's kick this thing off, shall we? It's going to be a doozy! Samantha White aka Sam (Logan Browning - ah, yes we see the ironic juxtaposition of those names already, especially since the character is biracial) attends an Ivy League school called Winchester University and hosts a radio show on campus called 'Dear White People'. As the aforementioned quote pulled directly from Sam's mouth would suggest, she really just wants to be a voice not normally heard without some sort of filter or applied lens to trickle out what people feel safe with. Sam isn't prejudice or even remotely a bigot, she doesn't seem to be whatsoever. As a matter of fact, Sam's reactions to environmental stimuli and certain situations remind me of me. She is shown often attempting to pull back when faced with a possibility of reacting off of an emotion, but when that emotion becomes overwhelming, she caves and takes control by spiraling out of control. There is a blackface party on campus and it is quickly revealed by the end of the episode that the campus crew, Pastiche, had their Facebook hacked and invites were sent out after the school's administration had already shut down the idea of the party even going forward. Did Sam send it? Please remember we're talking E1, and I don't go beyond that. She claims to have sent the email in an emotionally provocative, genuinely stirring speech she delivers after her radio show is pushed to the sidelines. She had shown up for her time slot and someone else had taken her place due to the recent controversy. This all forces Sam to make a split, snap decision, overthrowing the DJ booth like a straight up BOSS... A prime example of what I mean when I say she 'takes control by spiraling out'. Sam is also seen videotaping the party and later editing & going over the footage. So far, 2+2=4, but if she did indeed do what she said she did, then she's not the only one playing games to prove a point. She's outed to have a white boyfriend, Gabe (John Patrick Amedori), who she seems to genuinely like and in turn he is definitely enamored with her. Yes, by the way, one can be racist and have a significant other of an alternate race (as we covered in an article in S2 of the E4 & Netflix series 'Chewing Gum' after talking with and interviewing several women of color from the Caribbean)... Thats related to the fetishization or perversion of race, skin color, or anything of the like, but that isn't what it looks like what is going on here. There's definitely some real life chemistry brewing. Of course, some of Sam's peers look at her with disdain after Gabe puts their ongoing, once secret relationship on blast with an Instagram pic and a hashtag... Amazing what hashtags are capable of these days, ammirite? Well, in this case it's less the hashtag and more of the 'tagging' of the pic done by Sam's arch nemesis, Coco (Antoinette Robinson - who my white, CW loving ass recognizes from the God-awful 3rd season of 'Hart of Dixie', yeah I see you, Lavon's Niece!)... All of this confusion and animosity is what Coco wanted but this isn't what she necessarily got, not in the exact form she was aiming for, at least. Here comes the fun part! Through self-reflection and talks with her best friend, Joelle (Ashley Blaine Featherson), Sam realizes she does in fact like Gabe and decides to embrace the couple's outing... Bringing him along to her usually, black only, weekly viewing of 'Defamation', a hilarious satire of Shonda Rhimes' (who might just answer this cheeky mockery, since she just scored herself a Netflix contract) ABC political thriller, or just plain dumbed down (sorry Rhimes' fans) version of 'Scandal' (as if it could go any lower). Ouch! Anyway, according to Sam, 'Defamation Wednesdays' are the cornerstone of black college campus life.' It's just that, well, Gabe is obviously feeling a bit 'fish out of water'... Come on, white people, think about how you feel when you are the only white person in the room, you get it right? Well, that's more than likely how your good friend of color feels when you invite them out and they are the only black person to show up at your Baby Shower, Birthday Party, 'Girls Night Out', whatever the event may be. It takes time. It's admirable that Gabe came, it truly is, but this isn't exactly the same situation that I used for environmental comparisons. Sam has a show called 'Dear White People' for Christ Sake, she has an obligation to stick to her guns, sure... But love is love, and as long as there is no perversion of skin going on, who the fuck cares? Mind your mother fucking own! Oh, but that's a tale as old as time, people just love to give no fucks about this or that, while simultaneously giving all kinds of fucks about who someone lays next to at night. I can attest to both of these things, or some version of it, at least... As I live in a part of the States where I'm the only white guy that's not a Euro-Tourist in an incredibly wide radius, also being in a gay relationship, I get quite a few double takes... And the giant Red Beard doesn't help. Yet, I've come to a point where I've been here so long and become so accustomed to a different environment, being amongst other white people makes me a tad uncomfortable. More on that another episode, another day. Reggie (Marque Richardson) isn't too happy about Gabe's presence at the 'Defamation' viewing party... I'm guessing it's a lot less because he's white and a lot more because Reggie feels like he should be the one holding Sam's hand. Reggie comes off as a bit of a jackass, then again, Gabe is not only encroaching on what appears to be Reggie's love interest, but he's also aggressively inserting himself into the group. It's not that Reggie, or most of Sam's friends and acquaintances are prejudice of intolerant, quite the opposite, really. It actually seems more like a 'too much, too soon' situation. Take race out of the equation for a second, take out that fact that Sam's ideals are being broadcasted over the radio, representing a whole lot of people. EVERYONE eyes the 'new' guy or gal in a group, especially if that new person is also a new significant other, I don't care who you are. It's always best to sit back, shut your mouth, and let people come to you... Not stick out your hand and affirm loudly that, 'Hi, I'm Gabe, and I'll be taking a prominent role here now, whether you like it or not.' I love the fact that just like we all have a long way to go as a society when it comes to understanding where everyone is coming from, why people feel what they feel, so do the characters of 'Dear White People', all of them... Black, White, and everyone in between... Especially the girl in between! Yes, it appears that Sam is telling the truth in her guerrilla takeover, emotionally charged, campus wide, broadcasted admission... And if she wasn't she appears very much ready to to take both the praise & the heat (something not yet shown in E1) that she was the one who hacked the Pastiche Facebook and sent out the invites, encouraging the culturally ignorant to show up in Blackface and other embarrassingly idiotic, culture appropriated, misfortunes of human error to a party that had already been given the axe... But the show is still playful in its righteous delivery. The narrator (Giancarlo Esposito) points out a white girl and guesses that she's in a Nicki Minaj costume... Later on, while in her feelings, Sam quickly switches her music from a soft, feminine country crooning track, Suzanna Spring's 'Some Blue Sky' to 'Black' by 'Innanet James' on her way to the radio station when passing a group of Black acquaintances... It's ok to laugh, it's ok to point out the confusing parts of a sliding identity. It's ok to be who you are as long as you are true to whoever that is... Unless your a fucking hateful asshole, then Fuck You. *Somebody cue a 'Run The Jewels' track, please* *********Written By: Kevin Cage********** http://www.tvtime.com http://www.facebook.com/spotlightsaga http://www.spotlightsaga.com http://www.facebook.com/groups/artsentertainment