#more moments like this in s4 pls

[butyouaremymess]

Colin + cute family moments

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

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

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

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

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do they?" you drawled.

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

You hummed.

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

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

"That's cute," you remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he nodded.

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

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

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

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

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

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

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

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

They valued revenge.

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

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

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

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

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

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

[Bruno?]

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

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

[Say it!]

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

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

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

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

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

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

And then you heard four gunshots. 

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

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

"What are you talking about?"

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

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

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

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

"Oh, you son of a—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

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

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

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

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

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

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

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

But you knew better than that.

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

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

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

"Detective Walker."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?" 

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

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

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

"A code to what?"

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

❧

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

"You're going to need help."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're— you're her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Already on it, Sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

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

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

That's what you explained to Hotch.

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

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

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

You gave him a look.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn't respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can tell."

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded and let him get away with it.

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

"Dating," you repeat.

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

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

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

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

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

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

He still didn't look at you.

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

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

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

You were gone.

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

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

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

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

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

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You insinuated it."

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

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

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

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

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Talk to me, babygirl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, you have."

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

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

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

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

"Negative."

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

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

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

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

"I had every available man on the street."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

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

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

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

"Get over it, Morgan."

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

❧

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

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

Suicide by cop.

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

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

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

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

"You got it, angel."

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

"Good. And Spencer—"

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. They parked next to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then everything went black.

❧

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

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

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

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

No, not an accident. This was planned.

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

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

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, I think so." 

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

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

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

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

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

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

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

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

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

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

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were gonna be sick.

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

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

"Do it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This area is restricted," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My orders are what they are." 

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

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

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

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just killed himself right in front you.

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

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

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

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

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

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

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

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

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

Please let them be okay.

❧

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

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

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

That wasn't too far off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were 7 years sober.

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

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

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

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

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did.

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

"No. Nothing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Derek," you started.

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

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

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

It was meant to take you here.

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

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

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

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

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

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

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

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

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

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

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

None of you said a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't have many of those.

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

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

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

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

And so were you.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You told yourself it was the job.

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

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

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

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

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

But he was.

"Yo—"

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

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

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

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

"You're avoiding me."

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

"I'm not."

"You are."

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

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

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

"But I want to."

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

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

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

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

He took another step forward. "I do."

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

"Y/N—"

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

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

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

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

And then you were gone.

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

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was.

"Y/N."

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

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

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

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

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there were two.

Fuck.

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

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

You were nothing.

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

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

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

But you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you had more. 

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it. 

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?" 

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed. 

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face. 

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding. 

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun. 

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

[starkeygirls]

i n v i s i b l e s t r i n g

chapter 1

rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: really bad at these!

wc: 2.5k

warning: none! i haven't written in a while, this is a rewrite of a story that i started in 2020, so please bare with me as i get back in the groove of writing.

a/n: guess who's back, back again. determined to finish this series. rafe and sofia in s4 really inspired me to get back into this fic, hope you all like it ◡̈ pls reblog/comment/etc.. would love to hear your thoughts ◡̈

______________________________________________________________

Sometimes you really fit into Figure 8. Sometimes you all did. Like when John B was off with Sarah and he was wearing the clothes that she had bought him to go out golfing or go to brunch at the yacht club. Or when Kie was dragged to a kook event by her parents at the country club. Pope wore his suit when he had different scholarship and college interviews- and he really gave the kook boys a run for their money with how good he looked in his steamed suit. JJ was the least likely to really look like he would ever fit in on Figure 8, and that was because he never wanted to. He reserved his ‘money suit’, as he called it, for when he had to work as a busboy, and occasionally picked up other gigs. You, however, were fitting in more often than you would have liked. 

You tucked your white cashmere sweater into your long, green pleated skirt. Letting out a small huff as you sprayed your perfectly curled hair one more time. Throwing your purse over your shoulder, you trudged down your hallway, your sneakers cost more than $400. You could still remember how your jaw dropped when you saw the pricetag, and apparently the kooks ate these shoes up. They needed them in every color, every new style that came out. It was madness, if you were being honest. It was like they were just giving away money. 

That’s what it seemed like, at least. You had been working at a retail store in the main strip of Figure 8 for over a year now. It was the only way you could afford the clothes you were wearing. You got a steep discount off the price, and you knew how to shop sales better than anyone. 

Your kook masquerade was always squished the moment you walked out to your car. The old beat up Honda that was always parked out front was nothing like what a kook would drive. It was too old. A 2005? The kooks didn’t know what anything from that year was- maybe only their participation trophies from little league that had the year engraved, that was about it. 

Unlocking the car, you tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, closing the door and buckling up your seatbelt. 

“Please start, Hilda..” You mumbled, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as your hand turned the key in the ignition. She did, as usual- but you would never forget the time that she broke down. You cried for the ten minutes it took John B and JJ to rescue you. They were like your own little mechanics. Pope had called you in the car for the ten minutes while you sobbed and tried to calm you down- it didn’t work. Nothing worked until you saw your car fixed. You still owed them for saving your ass that day, regardless of how many times they assured you it was really nothing.

Crossing over the bridge from The Cut to Figure 8, you sighed: traffic. You knew by now the traffic was always bad as you headed into the main strip of town. It was the most popular place. Coffee shops, restaurants, stores.. Who wouldn’t be there if they had the money and time? Yeah, the coffee was overpriced and no one knew how to drive in their expensive cars, but it was still nice. Nicer than The Cut where people revved their engines when you scurried across the street.

–

It took you a half hour to finally pull into the parking lot behind your store. Saturdays were always the worst traffic wise, but boy, was it a good sales day. Checking the time, you bit your lip as you contemplated running to the cafe a few shops down to get a coffee. Technically you had time- you were always early. You had a fear of being late if you were being honest. You knew it looked bad, and it wasn’t hard for you to just leave a little early for wherever you were going. It took you two minutes to walk to the cafe, and you would give yourself ten minutes to be in the cafe, another two minutes to walk back, and you had twenty minutes until you had to clock in. What if the cafe was busy? What if it took you fifteen minutes in there? 

You slammed the car door and walked towards the Cove Cafe. The bell dinged as you walked in, a smile pressed to your lips as you pushed your sunglasses to your head. It wasn’t busy. What a relief. You smiled at the barista as you walked up to the counter. You and Gabriella had become good friends from your constant stops to the overpriced coffee shop. 

“The usual?” She asked with a grin, scribbling onto the cup as you nodded your head. You still had ten minutes to get back to the shop before you had to clock in. You smiled and waved back to Gabriella as you left the shop, sipping on the drink that had become a staple to your routine.

–

This Saturday was not a good day for sales. The weather must’ve been too nice, or everyone had gone to the mainland. The traffic you had fought through died down, and the small shop was deserted. Main Street in general was deserted. You and your co-worker, Abigail were basically staring at each other for four hours. It was painful at this point. You both had resorted to hiding off to the side hall to watch Netflix shows, peering your heads out when you heard the door open. 

Most of the time it was one or two people wandering in- usually tourons who just looked around and pulled you away from the show. It was your turn to walk out there when the door dinged, watching as two people walked in. Your eyes squinted as you looked to the security camera before heading out from behind the curtain. 

You tried to hide your surprise- and disgust- as your eyes glanced over to see Topper Thorton and Rafe Cameron in the small store. What did they want? Were they making rounds because Sarah was complaining about something John B had said? You knew it wasn’t a good idea John B was hanging around her. Were they threatening your group? 

Was it too late to shove Abigail out here? Was it too late to lock the doors and pretend you never opened? Were you allowed to not greet them? Spit in their faces? 

“Do you have this in a large?” Rafe’s question knocked you from your thoughts, blinking a few times before you furrowed your brows. 

“Let me go check for you.” You smiled at the two boys before heading behind the curtain where Abigail was. “How did I get so unlucky to have to deal with Topper and Rafe? How come you got a Hollywood directors cousin and I get two assholes who aren’t going to spend any money?” A groan escaped your lips before you brought yourself down the stairs to the stockroom. 

– 

“So you’re going to take the three shirts, the sweater and the two pants and then we’re going to order you the polo in the salmon color, and the sneakers, right?” You ran by him one more time. 

“Yeah, and ship it to the store if you can.” Rafe nodded, tapping his American Express Platinum card against the wooden counter. You nodded, typing away on the ipad register. It was a relief to finally be getting them out of the store, though they were a lot less of a pain then you had originally thought they would be. In fact, they were really respectful a complete 180 from what you were used to experiencing. They had hung back up everything they had tried on, and made sure to get a full glance of everything they could want in a different size or color before making you run to the stockroom once they were aware it was in a basement.

The only awkward part of the whole interaction was when you had absentmindedly walked back to the fitting rooms and saw Rafe shirtless as he spoke to Topper about the shirt he had on. 

“Pants fit well.” You awkwardly smiled, diverting your eyes from Rafe’s toned chest. You didn’t hate having them in the store, and he was about to drop a lot of money which was only going to be more money in your pocket.

“You’re all set. Everything should be here by Wednesday the latest. I’ll give you a call when they get here.” You smiled, watching him tap the heavy card against the card reader. His blue eyes glanced up to meet your own eyes. 

“Could you text me, actually? The number on file is my cell.” Your eyes glanced to Topper as he smirked, eyes glancing your way. To be honest, you were surprised. It wasn’t like you weren’t allowed to text customers for outreach or order updates- but it was the look Rafe was giving you, it was the smirk Topper had plastered to his face, it was the way Rafe was leaning on the counter. 

–

“And then as if spending an hour with them wasn’t bad enough, he asked me to text him when his order got to the store!” You were pacing in the living room of the chateau. You had driven straight there after work, it was a bit of a usual for all of you. After work on Saturdays, everyone would meet at the chateau and unwind, usually a beer or two, and pizza. 

“Why are you dressed like you’re from the 60’s?” JJ asked, as if he hadn’t been looking at you for the past fifteen minutes you had been ranting. 

“That isn’t the point, idiot.” Kiara chimed in, shaking her head at JJ’s comment. “Love the sweater by the way.” She smiled. 

“Dude, it retails for like three hundred, I almost threw up when a woman asked me where it was in the store the last time I wore it and then she bought it in the three colors we have.” You smiled back, finally plopping onto the couch next to JJ. His eyes were wide as he looked to your sweater, before petting it. 

“Fuck, it’s soft.” 

“It’s cashmere and get your grubby hands off of it. You probably have oil or beer on your hands, and it’s dry clean only.” Your hand smacked at his.

“So when’s your first date with Rafe.” JJ teased, a groan leaving your lips as your head fell back.

“Where the hell did a date even come into this? If he gets my number that’s just another way to threaten us.” 

“I wish John B and Sarah were here to hear all this.. Sarah would lose it.” Kie laughed. “But, we would probably get to the bottom of it. She would just text him and see what was up. Either we’re overthinking it, or we’re perfectly on track for whatever his twisted mind is thinking.” 

“So are you going to wear cashmere on your date with him? Do you think he’ll pay?” JJ continued, a grin planted to his face. He wasn’t going to let it die down, which you should have expected. Jeez, where was Pope, John B and Sarah when you needed them? 

– 

Your fingers hovered over your phone after you had texted Rafe, the chat bubble signaling he was responding - and fast. There was no need to be nervous about whatever he was saying, it was your job, after all. Texting him as he requested for the order he placed - you hadn’t done anything wrong or out of the ordinary. 

You jumped a bit feeling your phone vibrate in your hand, eyes scanning the text saying he would probably show up right before you closed because he was busy. Your lips pulled into a tight line, preparing yourself to have to stay past close. You hearted the message without even thinking, all sense of professionalism threw itself out the window. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, too late now to undo what had been done. 

–

The store was in nearly perfect condition, you had told Abigail to head home, that you would wait out Rafe’s arrival on your own, assuring her he would surely only be about 5-10 minutes. You finger spaced the racks twice, re-folded your tables and even dusted off the mannequins as you waited for his arrival. It was now thirty minutes past close, the doors had been locked, your fingers tapped along the desk as a sigh escaped your lips, eyes rolling. Pulling your phone out of pocket, your fingers fired off a message to Rafe. 

hey! i’ve gotta close up, we’re open from 9-7 tomorrow, just tell the associate you’re picking up :) 

Grabbing your things from the back, your keys twirled around your fingers, jumping as a figure was looking into the glass doors of the store. A gasp escaped your lips as your eyes looked to Rafe’s, a smile pressed to his lips as he caught the panic course through your body. A small debate ran through your brain, should you even let him have his things? He should and could wait until the following day. Teach him a lesson on being punctual. 

His hand knocked on the door, smile still pressed tight to his lips. It was almost cocky, like he knew that you would let him in. Before even making a conscious decision, your feet were carrying you to the door and unlocking it. 

“Maybe we should add a watch to your order, seems like you could use it.” Your tone was a bit harsher than you intended, but at this point, he was wasting your time. Holding the door open, you quickly locked it after he entered. 

“I’m only thirty minutes late.” 

“You knew when we closed, you’re abusing my kindness.” 

“Is that what you call the attitude?” Your eyes were glaring at this point, feet carrying you quickly to the back where Rafe’s items were packaged neatly, a bow around the handle of the bag and all. Grabbing it, you gasped yet again as he had been closer to the curtain to the back than anticipated. A chuckle escaping his lips. “You look like a deer in headlights.” 

“Can you just take your things and go? I’ve spent enough time in this store.” A huff escaped your lips as you shoved the bag to Rafe, already walking towards the front door to escort him out. “And don’t worry, I’ll send you watches during my next shift so you can work on being on time.” 

“So you want to see me again?” Rafe’s eyebrows raised, smirk pressing to his lips. He clearly was in no rush to leave, or leave without frustrating you any bit he could. 

“Right now I would love nothing more than to watch you leave, Rafe.” Unlocking the door, and opening it you motion for him to leave, your patience growing thin as he took his time walking from the store. “Thanks for shopping with us today.” You mutter before closing the door behind him and locking it. 

–

Scrolling through your phone, a text pulled your brows together. 

so, how’d i look walking away?

[lolabearwrites]

Random things I would have loved for Voltron

-Keith never leaves w/ the BOM and stays the leader of Voltron (I have no problem with him being a blade, I actually enjoyed watching it, but I just didn't like him choosing them over Voltron)

-also! I wished we actually saw the "Galra Keith reveal" w/ the team. Such a missed opportunity.

-More of Lance being Keith's second in command. I feel like we didn't get a lot of that.

-Shiro stays dead. Look I love the man. One of my favorite characters. But after S2 it always feels like he just doesn't quite fit into the story like he used to.

-Very biased. But. Klance romance. Not the "will they won't they" shit. No. A actual relationship development. If it was written well I could see it happening maybe in s4/s5?

-Lotor and Keith friendship! Bonding over being mixed race and not fitting in.

-Keith learning Galra culture! Maybe through Lotor? Or BOM?

-Lotura. Pls. They were so cute.

-Oh, should have said this before the other three, but a Lotor redemption arc.

-A Keith and Lance ep. Because in eight seasons they never had an episode centered around them like they did for other characters. Klance had moments. But not eps.

-A Pidge arc !! She had a motivation (save her family) but not really an arc. The same could be said for Hunk.

-follow through with Lance's character development. Writers...you already set him up for it, you just had to follow through with it and actually do something with it.

-more found family fluff throughout the seasons. Because I felt like they never actually got to the level of "found family" if that makes sense

-change the armor color to match the lions. Mostly because I feel Keith wearing Shiro's armor for the first time when he takes over would also have an emotional impact.

- Coran being fleshed out. I know he's a comic relief. But I really love Coran! And I'd love to know more about him.

- I wish the team all had their own little quirks or interests, just something that didn't really have big significance to the story but made them feel more real, you know.

-okay, but It would have been amazing if team Voltron came to a planet that had no idea there was life outside their planet. Just like earth. Idk I feel like it would be funny XD

Anyway, that's my food for thought, feel free to add to this post :)

[highdramas]

hey bae!! can i pls request a fluffy steve harrington imagine, s3/s4 er’s with the fake dating friends to lovers trope? ty!!

eeeee i loved this!!! i drew some inspo from to all the boys i've loved before <3 love a shy reader moment!!! thank you for sending and i hope you enjoy [wc: 3249.] <3

--

you don't know how the letters got out. how the hell would the letters have gotten out?

you're going through things to get rid of in preparation of going to college-- sure, you were just going to school in indianapolis, but it was better than staying this hell hole of a town even one second longer-- but the hatbox was gone. no, not gone. worse. it was empty.

the expletive you let out has your father screaming from down the hall. "what did i say about language?!"

"sorry!" you squeak as you continue to throw clothes over your shoulders, furrowed brows. "no, no, no..." you groan and cover your face with your hands. this is cruel. god is a cruel, petty thing, you decide.

haven't you been good? you volunteer at the humane society. you never got detention in high school. you'd never stolen anything. you liked to think that you were a good person-- quiet, maybe. introverted, definitely. shy more than anything. and, well, that's how you got into this debacle in the first place.

a hopeless romantic by nature, you could never fathom truly confessing to the loves of your lives. especially considering all of those loves definitely did not feel the same way towards you. i mean-- was king steve going to have a crush on you? no way. which was why it was easy to write your love confession on the page, seal it up, address, stamp, and all-- and place it in the hatbox to never be seen again.

until now.

"honey--" you hear your mother call from downstairs. "someone's asking for you on the phone."

"who?!" you yell back, gripping the banister.

"steve harrington."

your blood goes cold.

you would take ten extra volunteer shifts at the humane society if it meant that all of this would go away.

you shuffle downstairs and take the phone from your mom, leaning against the wall, glancing from right to left as if he was really there with you. "hello?"

"and his hair-- he has the most gorgeous hair i've ever seen. i want to run my hands through it and--"

"STOP!" you run your hand over your face and squeeze your eyes shut. "oh my god, literally, please--"

"oh, c'mon. i'm giving you shit. you know, this whole letter is really sweet. you're a good writer. and sending right before you go off to college? bold move. i respect it." steve's voice has the warmth of a smile embedded into it. you can picture him on the other line, the crisp strawberry stationary in his big hand.

you don't know why you had picked strawberries for steve. it seemed fitting at the time.

breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, you say slowly, "that wasn't meant to get to you. and, for the record, that was written, like, three years ago."

"wow. you wound me. well, either way, really boosted my ego. i figured i would come by and thank you in person. you live off church street, right? the little green house?"

stammering, you can barely get a word out before he says, "okay, cool, i thought so. see you in ten."

and he hangs up on you. just like that.

it reminds you exactly why your crush on king steve went away in the first place.

--

steve makes it to your house in eight minutes. he comes right up to the door and knocks, and when you open it, frantic and frazzled and with your sweater on backwards, he looks you up and down.

"your tag's sticking out." he tucks it back in for you. "and... it's backwards."

"i realize that now."

"great."

for a moment you're just staring at one another. then steve cracks a smile. "c'mon. can i get you, like, a milkshake or something? you look a little shaky, some sugar would probably--"

but everything goes silent. because approaching your door behind steve is ryan stewart, holding a letter of his own.

"fuck," you hiss under your breath, eyes darting to steve.

"woah, she curses! cool. i always thought you were super uptight, you know--" his words are cut off when you take him by the face and bring him to you, your lips crashing against his. it's slightly awkward; you're mostly kissing his top lip and your noses are crushed together a bit. but his hand finds a home on your waist and you feel his fingertips grip into your skin slightly. when you pull away, you can feel the fire on your face. and when you look over steve's shoulder at ryan, you feel a sick sort of triumph.

"milkshakes sound great, steve," you say the words loud enough for ryan to hear and you wrap your arm around his, calling over your shoulders to your parents that you'll be back soon. the look on steve's face is nothing short of befuddled, but when he turns around and sees ryan stewart standing there with a letter in hand, something seems to click into place.

he shifts your position from an awkward arm lock to a natural draping of his arm across your shoulder. he offers ryan a smile that says-- hey, can i help you? "hey, stewart," he says, nodding his head at him as he walks by.

ryan opens his mouth to say something but steve has already shuffled you into his car. he even opened the door for you. by the time the two of you are inside and steve is driving away, ryan has barely turned in his spot.

silence fills the car. you touch your bottom lip and you feel steve's eyes on you. "well," he begins. "your technique could use some work, but not a bad kiss, all things considered."

dumbfounded where you sit, you slowly glance over at him to see him wearing the biggest smirk imaginable.

and some of your lipstick.

you groan and cover your face with your hands, a muffled, "i'm sorry." getting out. barely. all you can hear is his laughter and when you drop your hands, you can't help but admire just how pretty he looks when he's laughing.

"you don't have anything to be sorry for. a pretty girl kissed me? wow, what a hardship." steve looks over at you. "i'm more curious as to what ryan stewart did to make you kiss me like that."

crossing your arms over your chest, you look out the window. "okay, well-- remember when i told you about the letters?" he nods his head. "well, like i said, you're not the only one who got one. you, ryan, eddie munson, and a boy from summer camp when i was twelve. instead of risking embarrassment and putting my feelings out there, i wrote the letters. and i always felt better when i did."

steve is quiet for a moment before he says, "that's sorta sad, and doesn't answer my question, really."

you roll your eyes and continue. "well, ryan's letter was different than the other ones. it was... a heartbreak letter. ryan and i had dated for six months last year but wanted to keep it a secret. from everyone. and then he ended things with me and got with someone else. prom king and queen." your head falls back against the headrest. "so i wrote how i felt. just like i always do. and you know what? you getting your letter, fine. eddie? he'll be nice about it. the boy from summer camp? who knows if he even got his. but that letter getting out..." you shrug, feeling meek in all the worst ways. "i didn't want him to feel sorry for me. or think that i'm sad and hung up over him, because i'm not. and you were... right there. and i wanted him to see that someone else would kiss me. in public." you press your lips together. "i realize that also sounds sad."

"it does, but not because of you. it sounds sad because ryan is a total dickhead." steve pulls into the parking lot of the diner and he turns and looks at you. "i think i have an idea."

--

"this'll never work."

"it'll absolutely work," steve says with a grin. "it'll make ryan jealous as hell, and remind girls what they're missing when they're not going out with me. i mean, it's basically foolproof. and at the end we go our separate ways with no ill will for one another. c'mon-- give credit where credit is due."

you slide your milkshake closer to yourself and take a long sip. "well, how long do we do this for?"

"you're moving away in three months for school. that seems like a good chunk of time, don't you think?" steve leans forward on his forearms. "look, i know i say a lot, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to. it was just... an idea." he shrugs and you don't know if you've ever seen steve so... sheepish before.

"no. no. it's... it's a good idea, unfortunately." you pause. "but there's going to need to be rules!"

"rules! rules, we can do rules. easy. what rules are you thinking?"

"well... how much time are we going to spend together? how much will we kiss? we're gonna have to go out in order for people to see about us and hear about us, so where are we gonna go? what about--"

steve's hand reaches out and covers yours. it's warm, and calloused slightly. like he's a star baseball player. "we'll figure all of that out. i promise." his thumb swipes across your skin. "contrary to popular belief, i do know how to date someone. how to make someone feel... special." he peers at you. "i can do that stuff for you, too. you know--" he clears his throat. "to make it all more believable."

breathless, you nod your head. "yeah," you smile. "believable."

--

you and steve harrington were the absolute talk of hawkins, indiana. one month into this... experiment and everyone had an opinion, everyone had a comment. even the kiss in front of ryan had become public knowledge. ryan told one person, one told another person, who told five people... and suddenly, after feeling mostly invisible through your high school career, you feel very visible. almost uncomfortably so.

but steve is a good partner in it. there's a reason why you wrote him a letter those years ago-- maybe even then you had seen something in him that other people didn't always recognize. regardless of the bravado, you always felt like there was something... soft about him. a soft underbelly that few people ever got. and now, you know that you were right all along.

because after a day at park, rolling around in the grass and reading to steve and looking around to see who's watching... he could be anywhere else. but he's here, at your house, with you. watching grease.

"your hair kinda reminds me of danny's," you say with a smile. you reach across the couch and run your hand through it; in the weeks that you've been putting on this ruse, you've gotten extremely comfortable around steve. that part is not fake. not one bit. "i like it."

steve smiles and settles further into your couch. "well, does that make you my sandy?"

"i guess so." you scrunch your nose up. "but i never really liked sandy's ending. i mean, why should she change herself to fit in with everyone else? she knows who she is. i never thought that was fair." you scoot a little closer to steve, subconsciously. you'd both agreed that no one could know about your arrangement, especially not your parents. so you supposed that sitting close to him on the couch wasn't that weird.

even if your parents weren't home.

"it's not fair. sandy was cute before the jumpsuit." steve shrugs his shoulders and looks over at you. there's a silence as you two stare at each other. "i'm cool with you being my sandy," the corner of his mouth turns up and he opens his arms. "c'mere."

"steve-- my parents aren't home, we don't have to--"

"it's not for anyone to see. you don't like to cuddle?"

you huff and settle into his arms, your cheek squished against the strong plane of his chest, your legs stretched out across the couch. "of course i like to cuddle."

"that's what i thought."

you both fell asleep like that. you're awoken by steve's gentle touch, brushing your hair from your eyes and shaking your shoulder. "hey-- hey, baby, we fell asleep."

you grumble but don't make any moves to get up any time soon. you feel steve's laugh on your cheek more than you hear it. "alright, you leave me no choice--" you groan in discontent when he slips out from under you. but then he's scooping you up into his arms.

steve takes you up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you down gently. he pulls back the covers and tucks you beneath them. your eyes flutter open to find him watching you with a lovely smile. truly lovely-- it's the smile that gives you butterflies. "you can't stay?" you whisper, and if you were fully awake, you'd be mortified for asking such a thing.

"don't want to get you in trouble." he pushes your hair back and kisses your cheek, your forehead. "i'll come by in the morning, take you to breakfast. how's that sound?"

you nod your head and yawn. your hand rubs at his arm, a matching smile on your own face. "okay."

"okay," steve whispers. he leans forward and kisses your cheek again. "sweet dreams. see you in the morning."

--

you're not sure how three months went by so quickly.

you also don't know how to reckon with the fact that they went by so quickly because you loved every single moment of them.

it wasn't just that steve was a good fake boyfriend-- steve was just a good person. a good friend. every moment that you spent around him, you wanted to bottle that moment up and live in it forever. he was, whether you wanted to admit it or not, your favorite person.

ryan was an afterthought. none of this was for him, anymore. this... it was all for steve.

"where should i put this one?" steve asks, holding up a box labeled books. "you have, like fifty books boxes. do you even get a bookshelf in your dorm?"

your childhood bedroom is in tatters, picked apart and almost all packed up for your drive tomorrow. you'd be staying at steve's tonight prior to your drive. an occurrence that wasn't all that rare, anyway. you always slept side by side, and it always ended with his strong arms wrapped all around you.

steve and the kids would be there for your send off. another wonderful addition to bringing steve into your life-- the kids that came along with him. dustin was your favorite, but you weren't going to tell that to the others.

and while three months ago, you couldn't wait to get out of hawkins... you don't feel that same excitement now. you're still excited, definitely, but... you have something that you're going to be missing, now. you hadn't exactly planned for that.

you have someone who you'll be missing.

"i can always make room for books," you say, turning your nose up at steve. "you can set it there," you point to another stack of boxes. "thanks for helping."

"'course. that's what a boyfriend's there for."

silence falls over the two of you and you think that steve realizes what he said, because he suddenly goes rigid as he sets the box down with the others. "i mean-- like, a friend. a boy that's a friend. and also your fake boyfriend. i--" he sighs and rubs his face. "fuck."

setting down the tape in your hand, you turn your attention more fully to steve. his hand drops and he meets your gaze and for the first time, you can see everything written all over his face. like he's dropped a mask that's been hiding his real, true feelings. or maybe you'd just been too blind to see it. "say that again."

"a boy that's a friend?"

"no. before that."

he pauses. "that's... that's what a boyfriend is there for?"

you nod your head slowly. "is that... is that how you view yourself? with me? my boyfriend... for real?"

steve's cheeks start to go pink. "i mean... i know you're my best friend. and i know that i fucking love being around you. and i know that... i know that shit started to get a little blurry for me. probably a few months ago. i-- you know, i just... i don't really feel like i'm pretending anymore." he blinks and you can see the nerves on his body. it's what leads you to cross the room towards him and take his hand in yours. "is that... is that what you want?"

"steve," you whisper. "you got a letter in the first place because when i was fifteen i was crazy about you. and i think... i think i've always been a little crazy about you. so... yes. that's what i want."

gentle fingertips trace down your jaw. "i guess not much changes, anyway." he smirks a little. "we've been dating for..."

"three months. two days." you shrug your shoulders as his eyes widen. "i pay attention, i guess..."

steve laughs and he brings you in by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "that's my girl." he goes quiet. "i'm gonna miss you. i was always gonna miss you, but... you know, indianapolis isn't far. i'll come and visit. you'll come home for holidays. we'll... we'll be fine."

your fingers run through steve's hair. "i'm gonna miss you too. what you said earlier? about me being your best friend? you're mine too."

he squeezes your waist and it wrings another smile out of you. steve makes you hopelessly lovesick, in the best of ways.

--

steve ended up driving up with you, helping you set up your dorm alongside your parents. and after you shed your tears when your parents left, after you anxiously paced the floor anticipating the moment that steve would have to leave. "hey, hey, hey," steve finally says, stopping your movements. "i have something for you before i go."

you open your mouth and he shakes his head. "no, no. let me do this." from his back pocket, he procures a letter. complete with your dorm address and a cute stamp in the top right corner. he holds it out to you. "i want you to read this when you miss me most. not tonight-- tonight, i want you to go and have fun and make friends. your roommate seems cool. i'm talking, like, october." he pauses. "can you do that for me?"

your eyes shine with unshed tears. "steve..." it's practically a whimper. you look up at him and you say, "i love you."

wrapping himself around you, his hand rubs your back. "i love you too," he whispers into your ear. "never loved anyone like this before."

butterflies swarm in your stomach. and you still don't know how those letters got sent-- but you've never been so thankful for fate working its magic than you are for that letter being sent, and bringing steve to your doorstep on a warm may afternoon.

[probablydinosaurs]

its so obvious the shift in seasons and its writing of five bc like tua s1-3 (but even three has its moments of eh..i think my brain wants to forget the naked lila fight scene pls thank u take me back to the road trip.): this OLD MAN is a KID and this KID is a amazing actor to play an OLD MAN. he's clearly a old man, we don't need to convince you much to see him as a geezer bc he acts so well. this MINOR is FUNNY and a WELL ROUNDED ACTOR. this 58 year old MAN deserves the world. this MAN is mentally unhinged bc trauma and has so many weird behavior. *years of fans being weird and the actor aging. time skip*

s4: oh well the actor is like 17-20 now and that means we can market his conventionally attractive face now, dress him in more "appealing" clothes, ones that give less old man and more what a 18 year old thinks vintage is. this actor who we have known since he was 15 can now kiss a way older women actor bc we say so. oh fuck right he's a old man and not a teen heartthrob what do we do??? um.... *has a scene where he holds a cigar for no reason and most likely hates smoking due to their father and years of polluted air in his lungs* see he's an old man! he never changed...

pandering to the people who saw him as hot for way longer then he has been a adult is weeeird Steve.

TLDR to all my posts since like 7pm: if you cant love him doing t rex arms or stimming as a old man, witch some find "unsettling" in older people but find that adorable and charming if he does it when he looks "younger". your a coward and a weirdo and your not invited to my birthday.

[alice1505]

I made the mistake of rewatching Sherlock because I never did finish it back in the day (I was -clenches fist- seething over the queerbaiting and rage quit after not fully watching episode 1 of s4) and I'm here to make my side hyperfixation (what year is this??? Who am I???) Tumblr's problem. The more I sit with s4, the less I like it 😂 There were pieces and elements I liked, but overall, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Forgive me if any or all if these points have been talked to death, I missed all the discourse and I'm hella late, but I need to flail and send my thoughts into the void because what even WAS that season? I can't believe I avoided it for years, got drawn in by a couple of tiktoks making fun (affectionately) of superwholock Era and That Scene about the fucking phone charger port, binged all of it, only to be left with..... that. Not nearly as disappointing or rage inducing as spn's ending but by God, did it leave a hole in me. So please ignore my rambling thoughts as I slap them down here for my own sanity.

• First and foremost, what - and I can't stress this enough - the fuck was UP with the assassination of John's entire character???? What was that??? Why????

• Related to that point - I can appreciate the angst point and potential it provides, as I'm reading many, many fics, but AYO WHY didn't anyone rip John an entire new one for that beat down he did on Sherlock????? Hello???? 911?????

• Tell me why everything felt so stilted and borderline icy. Like I get the high emotions and shit, but after a certain point... 😭 was there a falling out between Benedict and Martin that I'm not aware of? Did they just try to ungay everything so hard and were so pissed at the audience picking up everything THAT THEY PUT???? into this show and their interactions that they just hit the brakes hard enough to make everything feel weird???

• A lot of it felt weird. Off kilter a little. Forced in some places, toned down in others (and toned down where it shouldn't have been), a nod to ships but weirdly/hatefully??? Idk if that makes sense. Like the whole Sherlock and Molly phone call (I do not mean any hate to this ship, I really hope it doesn't come off this way. Not my cup of tea but you are valid). Why was Molly so upset BEFORE the call? Did I miss something? Also I don't personally think or feel she'd still have those feelings for him??? I??? I am bamboozled.

• to that whole point, Eurus was.... Hmm. Mmmm. She was. Something. (Confused derogatory)

• I like Mary as a character. I also hated her. (Definitely biased by my shipper trash ass self for johnlock, I'm sorry). Wtf were those messages, please. Edit: AND ANOTHER THING. John's reaction to Sherlock's death - awful, gut wrenching, beautiful, my heart breaks with and for him, utterly devasting. John's reaction to Mary's death - had me sitting there like🧍‍♀️(it was weird. so weird. awkward. w h y. (we know why, but also the acting choices were Something TM, in both cases! for different reasons!) i'm sorry i just can't get past my anger and put off-ness with mary, fun as she could be)

• why did mycroft and John switch roles 😭 pls. The last episode was just. So Much. The lackluster responses from John, to John, to Sherlock, between them, like.... hello???? Who are these people?? Help me. Moriarty saved me for a brief shining moment tho, God bless.

There's more I could spew, but that's what's sitting right at the top of my head. I guess all this just to say, if a show runner/writer really just fucking hates the audience they got (instead of the one they wanted), they probably shouldn't have fucking become a show runner/writer in the first place. Either hand it to someone who can actually handle it and listens, or fuck off. I will never understand when shows and plots and characters gets kamikaze'd because of a show runner being pissy and egotistical. Like ????? Grow up. Learn from Bryan Fuller and Hannibal or something.

Sorry for all the rambling, bless anyone who reads this and makes sense of it 😂

[nym-wibbly]

Tee hee. Chuck is God. <3 It reads like a retcon rather than a plan, despite the oddness of Chuck-the-prophet's role in things, but it's the missing thread that pulls all the others together very tidily. Love it. They're not so much breaking the fourth wall as giving up on it entirely.

So... when the Winchesters et al find out they've been the protagonists in Chuck's ongoing self-insert fanfic epic (no beta we die like the Winchesters haha lolz), repeatedly killing and dying and bleeding and losing each other for the sake of his art, do they get even? Death of the author indeed. Hallelujah! But not too soon because Rob Benedict, pls thx.

And now I know why the archangels are all so messed up and/or immature, and why the lower angels all seem like lost sheep following each other in frantic circles with the exception of Castiel, who drank a liquor store and got past the abandonment all in one go so he could look for something/someone worth fighting for and believing in.

Supernatural just went all-in for keeps on the theme of neglectful fathers, shrink-wrapping the absentee-father God who's had the angelic panties in a bunch since S4 into a form we're capable of relating to as a simple parent figure. The dad who wasn't there, the dad who got bored and left to suit himself, and watched from afar as his kids self-destructed. Metatron, who's been nothing but a self-serving ass until this ep, just viscerally and vulnerably longing for another moment in the presence of the Light, while most of his siblings didn't even get that much. Retcon that onto Gabriel and Lucifer - yowch! Chuck is the dad with the tacky Best Dad mug, which he gave himself, at his elbow as he writes a permanent, living hell of hurt/comfort/angst for his kids — and plays favourites. Eesh. Chuck makes John Winchester look good in the parenting department.

Which... I mean, speaking as a writer, the simplest counterbalance for that plotline is to show one or more of the protagonists (or even the more sympathetic antagonists) being a good parent, the hard way. Present and loving no matter what. Hmm! The morality of self-serving v. self-sacrifice played out on the family spectrum. Omnia vincit amor. To love another person is to see the face of G*d. Yiss.

[cacoetheswriting]

pearl: march 1986

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.4k summary: hushed confessions midst the end of the world.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, violence / blood / description of injuries (events from s4), mentions of death / losing a loved one, adult language, use of pet names, emotional hurt / no comfort - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

March 21, 1986

Everyone that’s ever met Eddie Munson, knows he’s not one for rational and thought out decisions. 

As a matter of fact, even people that have never made an effort to get to know him also always just assume he acts on impulse. They’re all correct. He does tend to act on gut instinct. Based on his feelings rather than sound logic. He’s not one for overthinking and over analysing every single scenario. He acts purely by following his heart.

However, as Eddie stared into Chrissy Cunningham’s snow-like empty eyes, he deeply regretted not being a person who took a second before making a choice.

“Wake up, Chrissy.”

His own voice sounds panicked and honestly, how can it not be. She was pale and cold to the touch. This was beyond fucking weird, like some creepy horror shit and Eddie wanted no part of it.

“Chrissy, wake up!” He’s pleading, shaky hands tapping her shoulders nervously, “I don’t like this, Chrissy! Wake up!”

He finds himself still praying for this to be some sort of stupid prank, hoping that Jason Carver will jump out at any given moment with a video camera and a stupid grin plastered across his idiotic face, yelling: “We got you, freak!”. 

Unfortunately, as the lights flicker out of control and the longer Eddie shakes the blonde's seemingly unconscious frame, the more he thinks this is definitely not a high-school prank ‘cause those idiots aren’t smart enough to pull off something as elaborate as this.

“Chrissy, wake up now! Chrissy—”

Then the phone rings, startling him even more. He glances at the device mounted on the wall and his eyes gloss over with tears. He knows who’s calling. But he can’t answer, can he? You’d instantly sense something is off and he can’t risk you coming here out of worry and also being witness to… to whatever the fuck was happening right now. Plus, would you even believe him if he told you in the first place?

Hastily running a hand down his face, feeling nothing but extreme fright, Eddie approaches the phone and after quickly looking back at Chrissy, he places the handset to his ear.

“H-he- llo-”

The line distorts your voice. He can barely make out your greeting and the question that follows. Not like it matters anyway. Not like anything matters ‘cause Chrissy’s body lifts itself off the ground and is now floating mid-air in his small living room.

“What the f—”

“E-ed-die? A-re y-you oka—”

Chrissy’s unconscious frame flings itself against the ceiling with a thud and the metalhead drops the handset, chord dangling against the wall as his own body falls helplessly to the ground. 

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yells as he tries to push himself backwards, deeper into the trailer

Every inch of him is terrified. He’s screaming now and he’s sure you can hear him on the other line. Then his gut instinct kicks in. The one he blamed for getting him into this mess in the first place is now urging him to get up and run. If not for his sake, than for the person he loved most in this world.

You’re no doubt going to either come here or call for help, or both, and when Chief Powell comes with his goon squad, they’re going to think Eddie’s responsible for this horrific scene. They’d lock him up, no questions asked. 

And Eddie couldn’t have you thinking you killed this poor girl. He needed that chance to explain himself. Surely you’ll forgive him for running. Surely you’ll understand.

March 22, 1986 

“I swear, I don’t even know her name,” Mr. Munson tells the police, “I never seen her ‘fore.” He exhales a long and no doubt exhausted breath, then briefly glances at you. “I got the call shortly after you guys did, I assume. Eddie’s friend here, well, she uh… she found the girl.”

“I think it’s— Her name is Chrissy,” you blurt out quietly, “Chrissy Cunningham.”

Chief Powell straightens his posture. His gaze narrows, only for his expression to soften a split second later. You assume it’s because you look terrible. Eyes puffy, makeup smudged from a mix of tears and stress, and your bottom lip won’t stop trembling.

“And how did Eddie know,” he pauses and lowers his voice, “Miss Cunningham?”

You shrug. “They go to the same school so I assume that’s where they met.”

Chief Powell nods, motions for Officer Callahan to come over, whispers something in the young police officer's ear, and without saying anything else to you, he walks away.

“Do you know where he went?” Officer Callahan asks.

“Eddie? No, I don’t.” You answer honestly, crossing your arms across your chest. “I-I heard him scream over the phone and when I asked what was going on and… h-he wouldn’t respond to me, I-I got here as fast as I could. Then I contacted the station and then Mr. Munson.”

“Eddie rang you?” Officer Callahan enquiries.

“I called him.”

“And did you know the young lady was with him?”

“No, I thought he was alone,” you say and glance at Wayne, who’s gone over to talk to another officer. He shoots you a timid smile, the best he can probably muster at this time, and proceeds to search the pockets of his pants for his packet of smokes.

You sigh. “Look, I know you’re probably thinking Eddie did this, but I can assure you, he did not.”

Officer Callahan raises a brow, as if to urge you to go on. So you do. 

“When I called Eddie… Sir, I heard him scream. He sounded fucking terrified. Why would he be so scared if he’s the one that did this?” You pause, “I-I think there was someone else at the trailer last night and—”

“Thank you, Miss.” Officer Callahan interrupts and leans in a little closer towards you, “Since you heard some of what happened here last night, we’ll get someone from the squad to escort you home.”

“You think I’m in danger?” You practically scoff, “Eddie didn’t do this. He shouldn’t be chased down like some sort of criminal. He’s a victim here too!”

That turns a few heads, Chief Powell and Wayne included. You curse under your breath yet even though you can feel yourself getting really frustrated, all you can think about is Eddie. What he witnessed last night, the scene you came across when you arrived at the trailer, you’re convinced something’s happening in the Upside Down again. This whole circus is a total waste of time. Eddie’s not safe.

Chief Powell is now back in front of you. His hands are on his hips, trying to assert dominance, and a frown is spread across his features. “Look, kid, I liked your dad. He was a good man and what happened to him, well it’s no doubt caused you a lot of pain.”

You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, fighting back the tears, as Chief Powell continues. “Please let one of my officers take you home, okay? Your mom is probably worried sick since gossip in this town spreads like wildfire,” he tries to lighten the mood but fails, “And I’ll make you a deal, okay? If you stay home with your mom, I’ll make sure when we find young Mr. Munson, we won’t treat him harshly.”

One of his hands is now on your shoulder, squeezing it in an act of reassurance.

“You’ll call me too,” you add.

Chief Powell nods. “You’ll be the first person I call. Deal?”

Growing up with a dad on the force exposed you to a lot of things kids normally don’t encounter until much later in life, if ever. Your dad taught you a lot. One of the things being: people aren’t always honest when their reputation is on the line. Chief Powell didn’t really care about what happened to Eddie, not even for your sake, which meant you had to do everything in you power to find the metalhead first.

“Deal,” you lie through your teeth, faking a kind smile. 

However, you couldn’t do that alone.

-

“Dustin, please tell me you have something.”

Headset pressed to your ear, cord wrapped around your wrist. You’re bouncing impatiently and every so often, nervously peeping around the corner into the living room where your mom sat with Wayne.

They didn’t seem to hear you or your scheming, too lost in a conversation you really couldn’t follow right now. You had other pressing matters on your mind — finding your… your Eddie.

“If you stopped asking me every five seconds, perhaps I’d have more information to give you,” Dustin jeers. His tone is not meant to be harmful and you don’t take it that way. You’re just glad they all agreed to help. “Here, can one of you calm her down? I need to think.”

You assume he passes the phone to either Robin or Steve, and you’re proven right when the next thing you hear is, “Hey, how are you doing?”, in the smooth tone of Mr. Best Hair in Hawkins himself.

“How do you think?” You snap, quickly following your mini outburst with, “Sorry, this is just…”

“A lot?” Steve finishes your sentence and although he can’t see you, you nod against the headset.

“Well, our best people are on it. We’ll find him.” Steve tries to reassure.

“I hope so,” you breathe, once again glancing in the direction of Wayne and your mom. “This whole situation is just so fucked up and like really scary. I thought El closed the portal. I thought last July was the end of these encounters with the Upside Down.”

“We all did,” Steve mumbles on the other line, “But you can’t think ahead right now, okay? First thing is to find Eddie before anyone else does.”

As always, Harrington was right. “I know. I just wish I could be helping you guys, but instead I’m stuck here with a fucking police unit outside my home.”

Steve exhales into the headset. He’s about to say something when all of a sudden there’s a little commotion followed by some seemingly excited mumbling. You’re about to ask what’s going on when you hear my own being called over and over again on the other line.

“Tell me you still have your walkie?” Dustin is back on the line, “You know the one from last year’s Starcourt Mall events? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“I-I do, yeah. It’s somewhere in my wardrobe.”

“Go, go get it right now and make sure it still works,” Dustin instructs eagerly, “We have a good lead as to where Eddie is hiding out. We’ll contact you when we’re with him.”

You have questions that you don’t get to ask ‘cause a mere split second later, all you hear is the dial tone. 

Your mind is spinning, heart racing. They found him. A small victory — although why didn’t it feel like one?

March 23, 1986

“So, I guess they told you everything, huh?” You ponder into the walkie, pulling the bedspread up to your chin.

The room feels dark and cold. You suppose, given the situation, it almost is. Your blinds are shut tight and you have the light switched off, so that any lurkers couldn’t suspect you’re sitting here — and since yesterday afternoon, that number has unfortunately increased significantly. 

As soon as Jason’s goon squad found out about the situation, he sent a couple of his trusted “men” to keep an eye on you and your house. The police officers assigned to “protect” me, rotated in shifts, and dare you say have gotten a little too comfortable, knocking on your door to use the bathroom or smooth-talk your mom into making them coffee. Word also spread through town about Eddie being a devil worshipper and as his “girlfriend”, you simply had to be lying about his whereabouts. Honestly, all the crowd across the road is missing are pitchforks.

Idiots. As if you’d be stupid enough to lead any of them to Eddie. 

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales into the walkie, “They did.”

You swallow. “I-I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“No,” he’s quick to respond, “Not really. I mean, you did what you had to, princess. What you thought was right and I can’t be mad at that. But it does explain a lot. Like—”

“My nightmares,” you chime and Eddie chuckles lightly before agreeing. “Yeah, like your nightmares.”

There’s a moment of congenial silence. 

You want nothing more than to be by his side and have him hold you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. Fuck. Tears form in the corners of your eyes at the thought. Not only was that not possible right now, neither of you knew when you’d actually see each other again. The topic loomed over your heads, yet you didn’t dare to utter the words aloud ‘cause things were so good recently, and now… Well, avoidance worked for you in the past, (for a while anyway).

“I’m sorry, Eds.”

“Don’t be, sweetheart.”

“Well, maybe if I told you sooner, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Maybe if you knew what we all knew, you could have come here instead of hiding out all alone. So yeah, I’m sorry. I’m always going to be sorry.”

Eddie sighs into the walkie. “Timing just never seems to be on our side, huh.”

When you don’t respond, because it hurts your heart, you half expect him to cut the conversation short, say he’s tired or whatever and wish you a goodnight. And you wouldn’t blame him either. You’ve all had a tough couple of days, but his must have been the most exhausting. 

The metalhead seems to have other plans. 

“Cry baby. Cry baby. Cry baby. Honey, welcome back home.”

You can’t help but crack a smile as Eddie starts singing softly. His voice, although a little distorted, is as angelic as ever and you let your eyes close, resting your head on the headboard — you’re not entirely sure at which point you drift off to sleep but you do, imagining the metalhead is next to you.

“I know she told you. 

Hon', I know she told you that she loved you

Much more than I did

But I know that she left you

And you swear that you just don't know why

But you know, hon', I'll always

I'll always be around

If you ever want me”

March 27, 1986

The last few days have been a complete and utter blur, not to mention a horrifying mess. 

You manage to sneak out of your over-guarded home, although your reunion with Eddie isn’t as happy as you both would’ve liked it to be ‘cause suddenly, you find yourselves in the Upside Down fighting for your lives.

Eddie helps Dustin up the makeshift rope before turning to you. The second his chocolate-like gaze locks with yours, a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t exactly tell what he’s thinking, but he’s serving an apologetic expression with a broken smile.

So you do what feels right in the moment and throw your arms around his neck, causing him to stumble backwards a little. He doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. If anything, his grip is a lot stronger than normal and you’re feeling even more concerned than seconds ago.

“Come on!” Dustin yells, “We don’t have time for this!”

The rest of the teens' words fizzle out into the background. All you’re focused on is the faint sound of Eddie’s heartbeat and his hushed breathing into the crook of your neck. Tears begin to swell in your eyes, but before you get to ask why this feels like a goodbye when you’ve just reunited, he places a kiss on your cheek and lets his arms fall.

“Go on, princess.”

You glance at the rope he’s now holding before looking back at him.

“Eddie—”

“Go on. I’m right behind you,” Eddie reassures and you don’t try to protest anymore because you trust him. Instead, you reach for the rope and begin to climb up, aware of his hands hovering over your lower back, ready to push or hold you up if needed. 

You fall through and immediately stand to allow space for Eddie, however, the metalhead doesn’t follow. Dustin is yelling, urging Eddie on whose sole attention is on you. You realise then what he’s been planning and your throat dries to the point where it feels like sandpaper.

“Eddie,” you call out, voice breaking, “You said you were right behind. I-I am begging you, please, please, come here.”

He offers you a smile. One that causes your heart to falter. You know what he’s doing. You know now exactly what he’s thinking. Most importantly, you know what he’s going to say next and you don’t want to hear it. Not here.

“Please, Eddie.” you beg him, eyes watering, “Not like this.”

“I love you, princess.”

And before the admission can even settle in the air, before you get a chance to say that you love him too, desperately and with your whole heart, you’re forced to watch him rush off as Dustin hollers his name.

The room comes to a standstill. For a couple of seconds, you’re unable to move. Your body feels heavy as you’re staring blankly ahead at the spot Eddie’s just vanished from. He loves me, you think, bottom lip quivering. He loves me. 

Inhale, exhale. You snap back to reality. The tears that have been forming in your eyes stop before they breach completely.

Dustin is pacing. He stops when you call his name: once, twice, three times. The two of you exchange a knowing glance. Neither of you speak. There’s no time. The young teen helps you without question. He's on the floor in seconds, ready to hoist you up.

It takes a few attempts, mostly because your whole body is shaking, but you manage to go through the portal once again.

“Don’t wait for me,” Dustin urges in a panicked tone. “Find him.”

All you do is nod.

Eddie’s not hard to find. His agonising screams give his location away pretty quickly. And you’re terrified as you run in his direction. Terrified of what he’s gotten himself into and terrified if he was gonna make it out alive.

He’s coughing up blood when you reach him. You immediately fall to your knees next to him and scan his extensive wounds, hands shaking. The scene in front of you is grisly. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with a way to help him — help get him out of here safely and to a hospital as soon as possible. 

Ultimately you feel helpless ‘cause you’re not sure how to do that.

Eddie coughs again. His hand reaches for yours and he squeezes, bringing you back to Earth.

“Look at me,” he murmurs and you oblige without hesitation. “I-I’m okay, so get out of here.”

You shake my head rather ferociously. “I-I’m not leaving you.” You finally allow yourself to start crying, readjusting your position so that his head is now resting in your lap. “I shouldn’t have let you do this in the first place. Why did you do this, Eddie?”

“It’s done now.” Eddie does his best to offer you a smile. “I-I didn’t run. I fought back.”

The tears that are trailing down your cheeks are burning into your skin. You smile back, a broken smile with nothing but pain behind it, then brush some of his loose curls away from his face. You proceed to cup his cheek and Eddie leans into your touch. It’s a moment that feels safe — despite the fact that your intertwined fingers are resting on his chest and you can feel the blood seep through. 

He squeezes your hand again. “I-I meant what I said—”

“Not like this,” you interrupt in a whimper, “Ehm… Uhm… Dustin will be here soon a-and we’re gonna get you out of here together. You’re gonna be okay. Then you can tell me again, okay? Not like this, Eddie.”

But he just shakes his head. “Yes, yes like this. I-I love you.”

“Eddie—”

“P-please, sweetheart. Please. I love you…” 

Eddie’s voice fades into the darkness that’s surrounding the two of you and his eyes drift close.

You say his name.

When you gauge no reaction, you say it again, and again, and again.

Then you scream.

First in agony, then you scream his name. You beg him to open his eyes, but he’s unresponsive. Bloody hand in yours, he’s drifting somewhere between life and death and you continue to cry.

That’s how Dustin finds you. Eddie, dying in your arms.

pearl masterlist

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys , @kurdtbean

[dragonfly0808]

Musa: The Thesis

Kay so… this one involves one of the biggest spoilers of s3 due to one of the biggest changes I made there revolves around Musa and I will be discussing it after the First Things First part. So please please please if you haven’t read up until Season 3 Chapter 24: The Space Between Where Our Ends Meet, DO NOT READ PAST THE FIRST THINGS FIRST PORTION OF THIS THESIS

I’M SERIOUS PLS DON’T

First Things First

The first words I have in Musa’s character sheet are small sassy goth.

One of the main things I focused on with Musa, especially in the first season is her struggle to be vulnerable. Musa has lived the past 5 or so years with a closed off dad and never got a real chance to truly mourn her mom due to her having to learn to pretty much take care of herself, because of this she becomes very defensive and doesn't trust many people, and it causes her to struggle with being vulnerable, making her feel weak to do so. Here we see her open up slowly to the girls and not really talk that much about her home life until s2.

This is also where the main problem in her relationship with Riven comes in, but we’ll talk about that later on.

Musa, along with Aisha was the loneliest Winx before going to Alfea, and this plays into how protective she can be over the girls, she knows what it’s like to have no one so she is more than ready to throw hands for her girls any day of the week.

Love’s a Loaded Gun, Nobody Wants to Fight

A theme we see with Musa is her not believing she’s really worth a lot of time. She worried about staying one place too long and becoming an inconvenience or sharing her hurt and becoming a weight.

We see that it really takes a lot for her to believe that she is not being selfish or ‘too much’ by expressing herself or deciding to stay in one place, namely Tecna’s home.

Musa has a lot of feelings regarding feeling like she’s being shut out.

She’s working on not shutting people out herself but when others do it to her, she could just have a breakdown since she is so sick and tired of her dad doing it to her and that’s just about the worst thing you could do to her.

She’s a tiny bit afraid of love. Not so much of love itself as just, the thought of losing someone she loves again.

Haunted

So… this is the part with the huge S3 spoiler so PLEASE TURN BACK NOW, THIS WAS ONE OF THE MOST IMPACTFUL MOMENTS OF S3 MY INBOX WAS FLOODED FOR A WEEK IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET TURN BACK NOW

So, in s3 chapter 24 Musa gains her Enchantix… and kills Stormy in the process.

First off the second I decided to do s3 I knew I was gonna change how Musa got her Enchantix cause I think we can all agree she got the short end of the stick in the OG.

I also already had in mind killing off either Stormy or Darcy but Stormy just fit more.

I combined these two ideas by changing Musa’s Enchantix to be gained by taking down a building over herself and Stormy due to Stormy loosing control of a curse.

Now, this could’ve gone very differently so why did I chose Musa to be the one to kill Stormy?

Honestly? I felt like it would impact her the most.

Now, obvs any of the girls would’ve been hugely impacted by taking a life (see Tecna) but taking the life of one of the Trix who they’ve known and fought for so long is another level of personal.

And, just like Bloom, Musa can be a very angry person and she hated the Trix’s guts and maybe a tiny part of her would’ve been glad with them dead, but actually having a hand in it…

It creates very conflicting emotions and a mountain of trauma and feelings of inhumanity and just confusion for our girl which we will get to see a lot more of in s4.

Thoughts Behind her Main Relationships

Tecna

I love Tecna and Musa, they are very much a friendship between unconventional girls who don’t always come across as they mean to.

They both struggle to make friends for different reasons but the second they meet they realize that they are quite similar and so never push each other outside of their comfort zone at first and that’s what allows them to become close enough to then push one another.

Musa gets what makes Tecna tick and makes sure that she’s comfortable, she makes sure she gets her alone time and makes sure she doesn’t get overwhelmed.

Tecna gets that Musa doesn’t want to talk about herself so instead gets her to open up about her music.

And it’s through this that they start to trust one another and by s2 we see them knowing each other well enough to keep the other from spiraling.

When Tecna’s confused about her feelings for Timmy, it’s Musa who reminds her that it’s okay to not be ready for a relationship. And when Musa and Riven first kiss, it’s Tecna who suggests they take it slow since she knows how skittish they can both be.

At this point, they push one another when they need to.

They are crucial to each other’s growth.

Riven

I always loved the idea of Rivusa but hated the original execution.

I really like the idea of two kids who have been so hurt by the people that were meant to protect them figuring out how to love each other. How to be open and trusting and just how to work as a couple.

Riven and Musa fall very slowly over the course of a year and a half, they get to know each other, be friends, quite crucially: they’re able to be vulnerable with each other. Which is huge for both of them.

And, when they realize that these feelings are serious and more than just a crush, they are both terrified.

I’ll talk a bit more about Riven’s feelings on his thesis but for Musa, she’s scared of this failing, of flying till the bone crush like the queen would say. She’s scared of it going wrong and losing someone she loves so much.

The part I love about this is that this means that even after they get together we get to see them fuck up. Because just because they’re together doesn’t mean they’re just going to forget years of trauma and having their walls up.

And, in my version, once they’re together, it’s Musa who fucks up by keeping secrets and not being able to bring herself to be vulnerable.

I think my fave part about writing these two is writing about how they grow together both as individuals and as a couple, how they learn to communicate and be vulnerable and realize that they are both here to stay and that this relationship is soft and safe and everything that they have been denied for so long.

That’s what this couple is to me. Two kids learning to love and not be afraid of it.

Helia

Helia and Musa are the writers of the group, due to them both being artist and having had past or present issues with their fathers and being vulnerable, it made sense for them to be platonic soulmates.

They’re the kind of people to spill their guts out of paper and just take a pen and truly speak, word vomit comes out in prose and metaphors and long words that just make you feel serene.

That’s how they find it easier to communicate.

They bond over words and music and the crushing weight of a knot in your throat not letting you speak when it matters most. The falling feeling of everything coming out wrong when spoken but in a beautiful way when written.

Helia is the only person Musa co-writes with for her songs, because he gets her voice as a songwriter in a way that no one else does.

And Helia shared his favorite poems because he knows she’ll get them in the way few could.

They are the artists who write not just because they enjoy and love it, but because it’s a crucial part of who they are, of how they process things and how to keep going.

If you wanna get to know these two, the best way to do it is to look at what they write.

And that’s why they just click.

Who is Musa in this Rewrite?

Musa is a girl who’s hurt. Who has lost and has had to almost raise herself.

She’s done the best that she could but the best she could do to protect herself at the time, back home with her father was to build walls around herself.

She’s someone who is learning to be open and vulnerable and to believe the people she loves won’t leave.

She’s someone trying to leave behind a toxic environment and mindset.

Someone who is, in one word haunted. By her past, by both her parents be it in different ways, by words, by Stormy.

But she’s learning to live with it, to still grow and to not take steps back in her journey.

She’s an artist finding her meaning and voice.

—————

Masterlist

Musa Moodboard

Musa’s Instagram

Musa and Tecna Moodboard

Musa and Riven Moodboard

Musa and Helia Moodboard

—————

so this one took so long cause I couldn’t figure out how to word certain things and tbh I feel like this one is the worst one so far so pls validate me and tell me it was good I feel like crying but I think I managed to get everything across

[ridiasfangirlings]

Munakata making Yata uncomfortable (not in a serious way XD just in his usual captain no way) and Fushimi sees it and rescues Yata out of the conversation... Fushimi is gonna have to have a talk with his captain later -_- (Sarumi pls!!)

When he started dating Fushimi Yata neglected to realize that he will also be more likely to have to spend time with Fushimi’s dad King. Imagine he stops by S4 one day to pick up Fushimi after work but there’s been some small Strain situation that he had to handle and he’s running late. Yata sits down to wait and unfortunately for him Munakata was not needed for this particular situation so he happens to be the only other one in the office. He pretty much pops up out of nowhere, startling Yata so he almost falls off his chair, Munakata smiling pleasantly as he wonders if Yatagarasu-kun has a moment. Yata isn’t sure if he’s being baited or something, like why does the Blue King want to talk to him is this some plot to get him and Saruhiko to break up, and meanwhile Munakata is thinking wouldn’t it be good manners to have a friendly bonding talk with Fushimi-kin’s boyfriend.

About twenty minutes later Fushimi returns to the office, covered in flour and grumbling about annoying Strains. He immediately spots Yata and Munakata — Munakata is right up in Yata’s personal space, nearly pinning him to the wall, Yata has a look on his face like he’s about to be eaten and Munakata seems to be talking about high level physics. Fushimi promptly steps in to save his boyfriend, Munakata welcomes him back and says he and Yata were just talking about skateboarding. Fushimi gives him a flat look like ‘skateboarding,’ Yata is looking at Fushimi with eyes that just scream ‘please save me.’ Fushimi promptly informs Munakata that Awashima was headed to his office to debrief him on the mission, Munakata must reluctantly take his leave. Once he’s gone Yata breathes a sigh of relief and is like Saruhiko your King is weird, Fushimi clicks his tongue and makes a mental note to tell Munakata not to talk to Yata anymore (well, not like it will help, Munakata thinks they had a real rapport going on there and he’s looking forward to getting to know Fushimi’s significant other even better).

[lunabug2004]

You said that according to you there is a way to make Mileven stay together and have all the characters have a good arc at the end of the show. Could you develop that? cause in my opinion if Mike's arc is about falling in love , changing his personality after meeting a girl and at the end being the protective paladin to "fix" his bad behaviour then it's really bad writing (coming from a straight person)

I'm going to be completely honest here, which I hope is what you want lol, I do think I say this (sans the "good arcs" part bc I don't think I've ever said that there's a way to make Mileven happen where all the characters have good arcs) to more-or-less make myself feel better bc I have so much Byler doubt (& Mike love) so yeah, take this as you will, this is just what my brain has come up with as an arc(?) I could mostly cope with. I mean, there's a reason I put "(mostly) happy" but yes, I'll try to expand.

I love Mike and I have a feeling I will continue to love Mike whether Mileven or Byler is endgame. This is purely because I do not believe Mike is a bad person or bad character just bc he's made some bad decisions/said some things he (canonically) regrets. I don't think Mike would be a protective paladin to simply "fix" his "bad behavior". While I do agree that this wouldn't be the best writing choice, I think, in-context, he would be trying his best to keep everyone he loves alive. He is an extremely traumatized teenage boy whose biggest fear is losing those he loves. He has been smack-dab in the middle of the action until s4. Finn Wolfhard himself has said Mike is depressed and pushing everyone away bc of it.

Anyways, all of this to say that I don't think it'd be too farfetched to say all of his "bad behavior" is simply untreated trauma symptoms. And yes, you could say something about other characters being traumatized and them not acting like Mike, but trauma, and this is a fact, effects everyone differently. One person may lean into their life before going through said trauma, like Will in s3, while another may block it out, like it's shown with El in s4, and another may completely change themselves while being stuck in a loop of wanting those he loves close to him but also wanting to keep them at a distance bc he is so terrified of losing them. Dr. Owens even says in s2 that a sign of PTSD is change in personality and lashing out, which we see both in Mike. Plus all the parallels bt him and Max in s4, it's safe to say this boy is struggling mentally.

I do think it would make sense, when we finally get Mike's POV in s5, for a lot of his controversial moments to be fueled by his mental health struggle. Now, do I think this is an excuse? Not necessarily, but it does make sense, and as far as I know, anytime Mike's actively made anyone upset he's apologetic (like I said earlier, lashing out). I believe that if the show solely focuses on Mike's mental health issues, then Mileven wouldn't be out of the question.

I do want to add that this is not how I want the story to go, I would much rather his story go the Byler route, but I've said before that his character is not solely dependent on either Byler or Mileven, and I still stand by that. He should not simply be seen as a 'romantic interest' character bc he is more than that and he has his own problems (that we aren't necessarily shown) that have nothing to do with who he's in a romantic relationship with.

Now, again, this is probably mostly just something I've convinced myself I'd be alright with, but I am aware that this in and of itself would be boring and not very good writing. I also do not know, in this case, what would happen on the Byler side of things, this why I say "(mostly)". I am fully a Byler shipper and would prefer Byler endgame to anything really, but I'm a Mike-stan first and foremost.

Sorry if this wasn't too clear, I feel like I just rambled and repeated myself a lot. Thanks for the ask, though! And pls if you or anyone else has questions about anything I said, pls ask me! Trust me, I know this isn't foolproof and I'm probably just dumb 😂

TLDR: I think it's possible they could go more towards untreated PTSD and trauma/mental health related route for Mike in a way that would make Mileven possible. Doesn't mean I'd think it's necessarily good writing, but I could see it going that way.

[jjclopelover]

OBX S4 SPOILERS AHEAD!!

so I'm typing this at 7 in the morning after watching part one of s4 and boy was it a buttload of s1 all over again.

and I mean that in a good way lol

first off, let's get jjpope out of the way...

jj said I love you to Pope 2-3 times which healed my soul and they had a bunch of good moments. but ofc with 3 canon ships in the way it's going to be hard to find stuff for the non-canon.

now to the canon ships...

THEY HAVE LEFT JOHN B AND SARAH ALONE! FINALLYYY!

my newlyweds are happy and committed. That's all I want for them.

Pope and Cleo, they are so cute and I want nothing but the best for them.

jiara was fine. their chemistry was WAYYYYY better in this half-a-season than in the last 3. Obviously, the bends scene was the writers' way of giving them screen time. happy to see my boy jj happy and kie is getting back to her s1 roots which I'm ecstatic to see.

now to the other stuff...

The story this season is really interesting.

I like all the callbacks to s1. I like that the pogues feel like a true friend group again. I LOVED the way they have done group splits so far. each pogue has been split off with every other pogue! Also, I love that you can tell the pogues are experienced now. They are getting away with some much stuff that would have taken all of s1. If this really is their last season and they keep up the pace...dare I say this might be a hell of a way to close things out.

Topper is such a loser. no character arc just a simp who's butthurt and is all bark no bite. Hoping for less of him pls and thank you.

Sofia...STAND TF UP!! everyone in this goddamn town is money hungry. either be with Rafe or betray him just stop going back and forth.

John B having flashbacks about his dad is sad but realistic and I hope he comes out with a healthier mindset.

R.I.P Terrence

I had the strongest feeling he wasn't dead since one of TV's biggest rules is "no body, no death" meaning if we didn't see him get killed then he's not dead. But now he is so I hope he rests in peace.

JJ spending all the money pissed me off. Kie is becoming less annoying by becoming her s1 self again. JJ is also going back to his s1 roots but only to get on my nerves all over again! Like I love JJ and his story is now one of my favs but if he keeps f-ing up he might move down in my rankings.

speaking of jj...why is everybody getting mad at John B when JJ does someone wrong. and when decisions need to be made all the pressure is on John B. I get that he is the so-called leader of the group but leave my man be!

Pope, please keep being the smart man you are. love it, keep it coming, no notes.

Cleo, I can't wait to see you get ur revenge arc. Just keep being the badass you are, no notes.

The JJSarah sibling storyline is still afoot! JJ now knows that his mom has passed and that Luke isn't his real father. But we still don't know who Sarah's mom is! They have been laying it on thick about family and being there for each other. Sarah was really intrigued by the Blackbeard research and seemed more distracted in some scenes than others. Plus Ward's favoritism to Sarah makes more sense if Sarah isn't his real child. Maybe he adopted the hidden second child from JJ's mother and raised her as his own. With JJ knowing his ancestry and now his real father maybe Chandler Groff will reveal to JJ that he had a twin sister that was taken before they found him and his dead mother so his dad doesn't even know who his missing sister is.

Maybe that's why Chandler Groff is getting his long-lost son into Blackbeard's treasure...to find his missing daughter.

This theory is so far-fetched but it's not impossible.

Rafe wanting to fix his family and reconcile with his sister has been a main point in the story as well and what is Rafe doing to "fix his family?" buying goat island which held the first piece of Blackbeard's treasure which is really JJ's treasure! JJ, Rafe, and Sarah are all connected just like that. Plus Chandler Groff looks a lot like Ward in some ways lol.

I was so scared for this season and though I'm not getting what I want ship wise the story has got me hooked.

[stevesjockstrap]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

🧁 A birthday present and love letter to @lawrencebshoggoth 😘 how impressed are you that I kept this a secret from you for like three whole days?

Rated E (this is pure filth and I’m not sorry) • read on ao3

Tags: canon compliant except Eddie lives, post s4

CW: implied offscreen bdsm negotiating, dom top Eddie, wax play, food play, knife play, blood play, come play, handcuffs, excessive pet names (one use of daddy), edging, face slapping, choking, (empty) threats of mutilation

If you’re good with all of that proceed under 😏

With his arms handcuffed to the bed frame above him, looking dopily up at Eddie with his blotchy tear-stained face, he wasn’t sure he could love Steve more. Scratches and cuts slowly seeping blood crisscrossed his torso as his chest heaved, Eddie digging a nail into one particularly good cut across his pec to hear him whine and gasp.

Grabbing what he wanted from the nightstand, the click of the lighter had Steve pulling against the handcuffs, making his arm muscles pull and bunch. Eddie wanted to bite them. But not yet.

Lighting the candle on the cupcake before tossing the lighter away, he smirked down at him. “Make a wish, baby boy.”

Steve closed his eyes and Eddie pulled the candle off the cupcake, tilting it slightly. A drip of wax landed above his belly button and his eyes shot open.

“What a nice wish, honey. I’ll make sure it comes true.”

Steve only panted up at him, watching with big round eyes as he continued dotting hot wax from the tiny candle up to his collarbone and biceps.

When the candle had melted down to about half an inch long, he held it in front of Steve’s face so he could blow out the flame.

Scooping a dollop of frosting from the cupcake with a finger, he eyed his canvas for a second before deciding on his placement.

Steve squirmed beautifully as he drew a heart around each nipple and his belly button. But he squeaked and held still when Eddie held the knife up again and scraped the icing and wax off.

He made heavy eye contact as he licked the sugar off the blade.

“Eds- ah!” He cried out as Eddie purposely got a little close to a nipple with the tip of the knife.

Eddie shushed him and brought the treat back to his mouth. “What, baby? Just enjoying my dessert. Here. Maybe you need something in your mouth?”

Grabbing the cupcake again he broke it in half and shoved it roughly into Steve’s panting mouth.

When the icing was mostly gone, he held the knife back to Steve’s left nipple. He threatened coolly, “Maybe I’ll slice your nipple clean off, baby, so we’ll match. What do you think?”

“Please, no,” His voice was as wrecked as he was, begging and pleading for most of an hour for Eddie to touch him or stop touching him. “Pl-please don’t Eds. I’ll-“

Snorting, he traced the point of the blade around the bud. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little boy. You’re all tied up. What could you even do for me to keep this tiny thing?”

Steve’s hips bucked up into his where he was straddling him. Eddie was still in his rough jeans, driving Steve crazy with overstimulation as he drug his naked dripping cock against him. He hadn’t been allowed to come yet. But they both knew he couldn’t hold back much longer.

“I- I, oh fuck, I dunno. Please! Anything! I’ll do anything.”

“Ohh, anything?” He mocked, flicking the knife back and forth on his nipple to watch more tears slide down his cheeks.

“Yes! A-anything,” Steve sobbed, pulling at the handcuffs.

“Okay, baby. I’ll let you keep both nipples…” he stalled, pushing steadily now with the edge of the knife along the side of his puffy skin. “Hmm… let’s go with… you get to keep your perfect little tits- uh huh, they’re tits, honey- if… you don’t come.”

Before Steve could whine again, Eddie spit in his hand and wrapped it solidly around his angry cock, fisting it roughly.

Gasping and panting, it took him a long moment before he could find words to gasp out. “Oh! Oh my god, noooo, Eds! I can’t- I- I’m so close!”

Eddie smirked down into his wide eyes and kept a steady pace with his hand. A few strokes later he abruptly let go.

Steve’s hips jolted up and he let out a pitiful wail.

“Poor little thing, look at him,” he cooed condescendingly. “I thought you wanted me to stop.”

Shaking his head first before changing his mind and nodding, he let out another small noise as Eddie’s hand circled his dick again.

“I know, little Stevie doesn’t even know what he wants. Then he shouldn’t make deals when he can’t hold up his end of the bargain.”

“I- ah- fuuucckkk! Please pleasepleasepl-“

The sound of the slap rang through the room and Steve groaned as he received another quick slap across his cheek.

Continuing to jerk him off with his left hand, Eddie picked up the knife and traced it up over his chest and throat to his quivering lip.

“You’re awfully mouthy tonight, sugar. Stick out your tongue.”

Steve complied immediately, like Eddie knew he would. Precum dripped steadily from his cock and his eyes rolled back as Eddie ran the edge of the knife down the center of his tongue.

“If I didn’t love this fucking tongue so much, little boy, I’d think about cutting it off, too. What do you think?”

“Pl- pluz- E-Eehhh,“ he tried.

Eddie scoffed. “I’ve had enough with the ‘pleases.’ It’s just making my dick harder. Watching you squirm around under me. All the fight out of you yet?”

Nodding shallowly with the knife still against his tongue, his eyes still trying to plead his case for him.

“So so pretty, my messy little toy. Look at you. You’d beg for me to bleed you dry right now. I could hack off a hand and you’d still be hard and dripping for me. You’re so fucking perfect, baby.”

Steve writhed as he squeezed tighter around his length, knowing if he wasn’t actually going to cut him his little masochist needed some pain in order to come.

“Go ahead, little one. Come for me. Wanna see you.”

As soon as Eddie breathed the words Steve was shooting between them, pulling tightly at the handcuffs and almost bucking Eddie off of him.

“Oh dear, Stevie. It seems like you came.”

At his small whine, Eddie chuckled and scooped up some of his come from his chest. Steve opened his mouth immediately.

Pushing the come into his mouth, he huffed, “Don’t swallow.”

When most of the come was on his tongue, Eddie leaned forward and made eye contact as he sliced into the skin above Steve’s nipple.

He watched as Steve struggled not to swallow or choke on his own tongue, his cock refilling quickly.

“So good for me, Stevie. Bleeding so pretty. Maybe I’ll let you keep your nipple after all.”

Worrying against the cut and around his nipple to encourage the blood to flow, he collected it and rubbed his fingers against Steve’s tongue, tinging the mess pink.

“Open up, princess.”

Steve widened his mouth and Eddie spit down into the mess. Steve’s hips bucked up uncontrollably and Eddie tsked at him.

“Stay still, slut. And don’t swallow. I need that.” Sitting back, feeling Steve’s eyes on him like a heavy weight, he quickly unzipped his jeans and pulled out his own neglected cock. He repositioned his ass on top of Steve’s hard length. Ignoring Steve’s huff, he calmly ordered, “Now give it here.”

He cupped his palm under his chin and Steve wriggled to follow directions, spitting the concoction into his hand.

Eddie smirked at the sound that came out of Steve as he fucked his cock into the mess in his hand. The combination of their fluids.

“God, you’re so good for me, my little disgusting whore. Huh? Fuck, that’s it. You’re gunna come just from watching me jerk off with your blood and come? Such a good little boy for me. You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you? String you up downtown and let everyone have at you? Put your pretty cock in a cage and not let you touch it for a month?”

Steve hips bucked up and Eddie stopped moving completely.

“Are you done? Did I tell you to move? I didn’t think so. You’re taking what I give you. There’s my good boy.”

Steve whined pitifully and pulled on his handcuffs again. He’d have such beautiful bruises on his wrists tomorrow and the blush when anyone pointed them out would be delicious.

“Now, where was I…” Eddie wriggled his own hips down to torture him as he fisted his dick, both of them watching his hand spread the bloody come down his length. “Oh, doing whatever I wanted to my perfect little masochist. Could carve my name into your thighs and lick the blood up.”

Steve made a shocked high pitched noise before his dick pulsed, rocking them as he rode out the aftershocks.

“My beautiful little freak. Fuck, stick out your tongue, little boy.” Eddie stripped his dick quickly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back before remembering he wanted to see his come paint Steve. “Oh shit, fuck. Just like that.”

They groaned together as his come hit Steve’s nose and tongue, settling down in his chest hair.

Eddie wiped his hands on his jeans quickly before using the key on the chain around his neck to release the handcuffs, immediately pulling Steve’s hands down and rubbing them.

“Such a good boy for me. Look at you. All fucked out and perfect,” he murmured to him, kissing across his forehead and cheeks.

As soon as Steve realized he could move his hands again, he whined and tugged at Eddie’s clothes. Desperately wanting the skin to skin that he was denied all night. Eddie chuckled and helped divest himself of the ruined jeans and band tee.

Finally on their sides chest to chest, legs tangled together, Eddie pulled him into a filthy kiss. Licking their combined come out of his mouth and fucking their tongues against each other. He kissed his come from Steve’s nose and chin. Steve’s hands roamed his back and sides, teasing across his scars and grabbing at his ass to pull him impossibly closer.

“Mmm, you’re so fuckin’ hot, Stevie. What’s the matter? You gunna come again? Still so needy?”

Steve gasped and nodded as Eddie kissed and bit down his jaw and neck.

“My insatiable little boy,” he murmured affectionately into his skin.

“Please, so empty. Need you.”

Eddie chuckled as he reached behind him to push on the base of the plug he’d teased into him earlier. “This little thing isn’t enough for you, pretty? Need something bigger? Huh?”

“Y-yes! Pleeaasseee need you to fuck me!”

“Oh, well since you asked to nicely, princess. You need me to fuck you or you wanna bounce on daddy’s dick?”

“Ohhhh fuck,” Steve moaned and his hips stuttered against Eddie’s.

“I think we found our answer,” Eddie smirked. “Go ahead then, baby.”

Steve whimpered when he pulled the plug out harder than necessary and pushed Eddie onto his back.

“Love it when you get all nonverbal and pushy, darlin’. You really need it, huh?”

They moaned together as Steve sank down on his hard cock, settling with a huff. Eddie was momentarily glad he’d teased him so long and used an excessive amount of lube earlier.

Eddie settled back into the pillows and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Mmm, look so good for me, pretty boy. All marked up and desperate. Show me how badly you want it.”

Steve rose up slowly, bracing his hands on Eddie’s chest and sinking back down with a groan. He found a slow rhythm that was driving them both insane. When he circled his hips with a gasp and threw his head back, Eddie grabbed onto his hips to thrust up into him harshly.

“Oh fuck, do that again,” Steve breathed.

They rocked together, quickly setting a new faster pace and Eddie wrapped one hand around Steve’s leaking cock and reached up with the other to grab his throat. Steve clenched his muscles around him and he squeezed around his dick to hear him whine.

“Need me to be a little meaner, baby? I know,” he cooed condescending and watched the shiver that went through him. “Little boy thought he was on top but he’s still being a brat. Guess I should’ve sliced something off of him.”

Steve tried to shake his head but Eddie tightened his grip on his neck.

“Now. Be a good boy and come.”

He bounced a couple more times before coming hard, eyes rolling back and almost collapsing on top of Eddie.

Eddie held onto his hips and thrust into his prone body until he came in his twitching ass.

After a quick shower and bedding change, Eddie let Steve flop bonelessly back onto the bed. He swiped an antiseptic across the cuts and welts on his chest. They could be as gross as they liked but he did not mess around with infections. He hummed at Steve’s little sharp inhales, they both knew he liked the sting of them afterwards.

Cleaning up quickly, he slid into bed behind him and snuggled in, pressing a kiss to his favorite spot on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

Inspired by February steddie microfic ‘edge’ but I knew I couldn’t do it justice with the word count. Then I found out it was someone’s birthday 😬

[localfanbaselurker]

Watching Voltron: Legendary Defender for the first time and recording my thoughts

S1-2 | S3 | S4 | you are here! | S6 | S7 | S8 |

_________________________________________

This one is not as long because I literally finished it like two days ago as I write this so the thoughts are still simmering down but I need to remember them before I watch s6

Pre-S5 thoughts

-> I hope we get Keith back, his near sacrifice really scared me at the end of S4. I want my son back.

-> pLEASE let that poor girl get her father back. Oh my lord. Give him back. Pls. I can’t wait anymore. Will the real Sam Holt please stand up? Please stand up?

-> FRICK Lotor I know they’re probably gonna give him some backstory or whatever on him being a good guy but I DOOOOONNNNNNT CAAAAARRRREEEEEEEEE. I do NOT like him and they can never make me. he is EVIL and you cannot tell me otherwise.

->^“but laura-” idc. I don’t trust him. His voice is too American-Psyco-y. He is a little scheming cunty little elf. He’s onto something. He wants something out of this.

->^I will miss his team of lesbians tho. They ate.

->There seems to be a lot of hints towards allurance! I hope they get a good arc. They are very sweet!

-> I hope we see more of Matt! It’s like that one quote from Brooklyn 99. “I’ve only had [Matt] for [an episode and a half] but if anything were to happen to him, I’d kill everyone in this room, and then myself”

—~—~—~—~—~—///////|||||\\\\\\\—~—~—~—~—~—

Post-S5 Thoughts

-> my suspicions of Shiro grew bigger and bigger as this season progressed. I think I have it figured out by now. 🔍🧐☕️

->^Lotor low key ate her up with this

->^i think that’s her main arc: she needs to let go of the thought that all galra are evil (which she has fair reason to do so), as it is a war, and things aren’t all black and white. As much as I hate to admit it, I feel like having Lotor around this season will help her character development.

->^I wrote that at the beginning of s5, I was right, it did help a little (though then they brought up the fact that Lotor was half altean so maybe she just thinks he’s good because of that—let’s hope not)

->They did not, in fact, bring Keith back. Very upsetting.

->WE GOT SAM HOLT BACK!! THE HOLTS ARE BACK!!! THEY HAVE FOUND THEIR FATHER!!!!

->^That was an emotional episode for me. I cried when they didn’t find him in the “prison” thing and I cried again when Pidge ran into the hologram thing. They make me feel so weak. I was so happy when they got him back fr.

-> And then I cried again at the end of episode 3 cus he was like “I decided im leaving, good luck out there, kids”. Bawling.

->Speaking of episode 3… 🔍🧐

->^and episode 4…and episode 6… 🧐🧐🧐🧐

->^🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐

->^me rn vs. you guys probably.

->^He’s 1) been listening to everything Lotor says, ignoring the team and going behind their back/without consulting them. And 2) Being uncharacteristically hostile to everyone. I swear I felt like I was reading a really OOC fanfic nearly the whole season.

->^Yes, Shiro is leader-y, but he also (s1-2) tended to listen to his team and have unserious moments. I feel like he’s lost all of that. And I think that last picture is all I need to know.

->(moving on)There seems to be a big focus on Lance this season (yay!) I really hope it’s not for the usual reasons characters get extra screen time (because I would die). I feel like they have been leading him to be the black paladin with how leader-y he has been this season but even if that’s not the case I do still feel they are going to do something really important with him for the next season and I am so excited to see what they are going to do with him! 😊

-> if Keith doesn’t leave the Backyard of Malnutrition next season im going to make myself go inside the show and personally take him out

->/j/j/j…or is it? ☕️🧐 (someone needs to take this emoji away from me it’s made me too powerful)

->WE GOT KEITHS MOM!!!!

->^I was so shocked I literally slammed my computer shut (not that hard, im not a psycho dw)

->^HE GOT HIS MOM BACK!!! I cried after that episode because can you imagine? He just got her back and he thought she was dead/abandoned him for like his entire life. And now he has her back and oh my god I need to open ao3 where are those “first time calling <someone> mom/dad” one shots.

->^AND KROLIA. SHE JUST GOT HER BABY BACK!! Stop im fr crying as i type this. guys. Fuck. I genuinely can’t handle family-related stuff in shows like I will cry so hard. It doesn’t even have to happen on screen my brain just makes the scenarios for me and I obey and bawl my eyes out.

->They are trying to make me like Lotor and Allura together…it is almost working. Almost. I still don’t trust him. And I like allurance better.

->^i just KNOW she was internally kicking her feet and giggling at this. “Then you’re…🤔😯 Half altean 🤭🤭😍😍😍”

->^speaking of that ep, I was sooooo happy for Allura because she finally found a way to still be connected with her dad/culture after having to lose him in s1 and not being able to pilot red in s3, absolutely overjoyed for my best girl!! 🤍🩷🤍

->I absolutely LOVED episode five’s subplots. We have: A-plot) Keith+ his mom going on a mission together, B) Lotor +Allura finding altean stuff in Haggar’s lair, and C) my personal favorite, The garrison trio getting up to shenanigans with a galra robot thing.

->^Later Pala-dudes is my hero, too, lance

->^^Look at those dorks. I love them so much.

->^See this is proof that Lotor is actually Evil™️ and Not Good™️ because he immediately went to violence and trying to fight to greedily get what he wanted while Allura saw the right path and allowed the secrets to be shared with her willingly in this essay I will-

->When is Lotor gonna find out his mom is haggar?? Hopefully s6 cus I can’t take this anymore. the evidence is RIGHT THERE, bucko. Figure it out already.

->If they want me to like Lotor they better work extra hard next season. I’m beginning, BEGINNING, to actually, kinda-sorta-maybe actually like him. BEGINNING! And it is a rough start at that. But im defrosting my built-up dislike for him. It’s a burn slower than 300k words but it’s getting there. They’re gonna hold hands any chapter now.

These are thoughts I’ve been compiling for a while. I will continue to post my thoughts on the tag “laura’s first vld”

I finished Season 5 on 07/13/24. I have not yet started season 6. Stay tuned!

[endiness]

s4 whiteboard leaks i am thinking about rn (S4 + BOOK SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY)

"[—es]/witcher night time"

RI already confirmed that coen will be back this season so that HAS to refer to him which means for some reason we're getting him with the lodge (also i know only coen was confirmed but pls lambert too 🙏)

"NORTHERN CAMP [—r]d smokes his pipe + enters"

i hope this refers to vissegerd and that he's, y'know, actually present in this storyline *cough* so that radovid can be used as a replacement for daniel etcheverry *cough*

"[—d] will hang jaskier [—lt] early... last words! [—] for the save."

also rly hoping that first name refers to vissegerd and not radovid. also lemme live in delulu land and pretend that radovid is the one who is being referred to as "for the save" and that he ends up saving jaskier (and geralt)

"[—s] in boot"

referring to this book moment obvs:

"[radovid] leads army out!"

i wonder if this means we'll get to see radovid in armor? on a horse? fight scenes with him? 🤔

"g sees ciri"

i wonder if this will be, like, for real? as in freya actually filming something on location with them or if it'll just be, like, here's a far away shot of a person in a white blonde wig that geralt is hallucinating is ciri. and if it's not that and actually the former and freya, i wonder if it might not literally be ciri and the show is including stuff from ciri's time travelling, universe hopping adventuresTM early? idk.

"jaskier shot"

i still wonder if the show won't make jaskier's injury way more serious than it was in the books since the show sort of already did a fake out with the seriousness of jaskier's 'injury' in s3.

also, inch resting that the show's including milva and cahir in the northern army camp escape/battle since they weren't in the books. 🤔