#send me another ask like this & i will block u. u just had to fucking trigger me

[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!!

[taintedcigs]

even if it’s a false god — e.m.

part two; we'd still worship this love

pairing: modern!college!fboy eddie x fem!reader

warnings: smut!!!!!!, 18+, MINORS DNI or ill bite u. p in v, cr*ampie, kinda br*eding kink, unprotected s*x (wrap it up irl angels, this is fiction.), angst angst angst, ASSHOLE FBOY EDDIE!!!, drinking, degrading, swearing, praises, nicknames, vv slight ch*king kink if u squint, some rough stuff.

summary: in which you are friends with benefits with modern!fuckboy!eddie (wc:4.1k)

a/n: i was def thinking of a pt.2 for this while writing it tbh. mr asshole munson needs to repair some hearts!!! also i made the pic in the middle bc i couldn't find a fitting picture w this lyric lmaooo!! did not proof-read!! ignore any mistakes AND PLSS send me ur thoughts ily xo, em

“It was fun babysitting you, sweetheart, but I have to dip,” Steve whispered in your ear with a sympathetic smile, his hand pointing toward the blonde who was impatiently waiting for him. 

“What?” You asked, baffled. “Steve, you fucking promised!” You groaned. 

“Jesus Christ, do you not have any ounce of self-control?” He asked, and you gave him an intense look.

“Obviously not!” You huffed, arms crossing against your chest, causing Steve to chuckle. 

“Robin will come back eventually! And in the mean time, just stay the fuck away from him,” He warned. 

“Now, I gotta get laid.” He winked. You tried to open your mouth, but he interrupted. “I swear to god, Y/N, I don’t wanna hear another word from you, you’ve cockblocked me enough this week.” He said, annoyed.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you stood straight, “Fine! Have fun.” You exclaimed, and Steve grinned, “I will, sweetheart. And you, just... hide from him or something.” He shrugged as he guided the blonde girl out of the door. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were pathetic, asking for Steve and Robin to babysit you, so that you wouldn’t end up under Eddie again, so that you could at least save some of the self-respect that you were sure probably didn’t exist at this point. 

They knew each time you said you were done with him, it was a lie. They knew you’d go back for more, but now it had been two weeks—two whole weeks—where you managed to stay away from him, blocking him for good. 

And you could feel yourself cracking; you wanted—needed—him with every fiber of your being, and it was driving you crazy. 

He drew you in with whatever he did, like a magnet always pulling you toward him, making you need to be around him, at all times.

You missed the way his hands grazed your thighs, the way he fucked you so rough and senselessly, but also so gently. The way his pretty mouth framed compliments so fucking sweetly, but turned dirty the moment he was pounding into you, praising you but degrading you at the same time. 

He was so good at fucking, but was shit at everything else.

Just like you.

So the idea of being friends with benefits sounded like heaven when you first suggested it. No feelings attached, no exclusivity, just fucking each other's brains out while also having someone to chat with afterward.

It was supposed to be simple—so fucking simple. 

But the moment feelings got involved, it turned out for the worst. Jealousy was a bitter monster that gnawed at the insides of the two of you, and it had turned into something so incredibly toxic that you knew you had to end it. Your friendship was long gone now, turning into a bitter competition where you either fucked or argued.

Exclusivity was not something the two of you ever discussed, you knew you were bad at relationships, and Eddie knew he wasn’t good at feelings, so it was a topic you always danced around. Arguments ensued the moment one of you fucked someone else, and bitterness was present in your veins like it had always been there. 

When Eddie decided to fuck another girl two weeks ago, you decided you were done. This wasn’t good for the both of you, and you needed to stop it as fast as you could. 

You knew the emptiness you felt right after you fucked was not worth it, no matter how good Eddie was.  

You were tired of sobbing into Steve’s chest drunkenly, confused about what you even felt for Eddie when he was out there fucking another girl. 

It was starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth, and you didn’t want to hate Eddie—not more than you already did at the moment. 

But there stood Eddie, curly hair laid messily on his forehead as a guitar pick adorned his neck, his infamous leather jacket paired with those black pants were your nightmare—dream—combo, he was sprawled on the couch, thick thighs spread apart, you wished you could part them further with your hands, rub him through his pants as you got down on your knees for him, giving his delicious pink-tip kitten licks as you tasted his salty pre-cum—

What the fuck was wrong with you? You shook your head as you turned around immediately, gazing into your empty cup as you hurried off to the kitchen. 

Your cheeks grew hot from embarrassment, you seriously had no fucking self-control or respect. 

“You need any help?” Eddie’s voice rang in your ear.

“‘M fine,” You muttered, voice barely audible. 

“You know I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“Why? Did you finally run out of girls to fuck on campus?” You said snarkily, a smirk tugging on your lips. 

“Don’t act so fuckin’ innocent now, sweetheart.” He tssked, causing you to throw him a quizzed look.

“Didn’t you go home with Mr. Jock last week?” He was being possessive again, and you hated how it picked up your heart rate, you were stupid.

“So?” You quirked a brow, teasing him, and he gave you a slight chuckle.

That smug asshole, why did he have to always look so good?

“So…how was it?” He asked, and you could feel his jaw tensing as he took a step closer to you, trapping you between the drink stand and his body.

“You’re disgusting.” You groaned as you pushed him away from your face. You were not going to give in.

“That bad, huh?” He mocked, scrunching his nose.

You rolled your eyes. “No.” You lied.

It was bad, really fucking bad; the guy lasted 30 seconds and left you with nothing. That greedy bastard.

But you weren’t going to let Eddie know that.

“He was really good, actually.” You were lying through your teeth, and thankfully, Eddie didn’t seem to notice. An intense rage flashed through his eyes.

“You sayin’ that punk is better than me?” He slurred into your ear, his breath ragged and hot as it fanned against your neck. He smelled so fucking addicting—a mix of sandalwood and nicotine, earthy and making you crave him at the same time. 

You don’t even know how he even came to that conclusion, but it was funny, seeing him like this, nostrils flaring as rage filled his veins, like he was in torture hearing about the guys you fucked, he deserved that.

But your silence at his question meant everything to him; he didn’t need an answer. You knew he was better, and he knew that you were crawling closer to his palm now.

He grew more confident because of the way you stuck to him. “I've seen him in the locker room, sweetheart. He’s not that fuckin’ impressive.” You didn’t mean to gasp, but it slipped past your lips quickly.

“Munson!” You warned, a smile tugged on your lips, and you realized how pathetic you were being again, but it was too late now. 

“Don’t think he can make you smile like I do, either.” He grinned smugly, his calloused hands quick to pull the strand of hair on your face, to see the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, so fucking promising.

“You're a jerk,” You spat, groaning as you turned around, trying to avoid him, but it was no use; the damage was done, and you were putty in his hands again.  

He had a tight hold on your arm, possessive again, and you were sick for enjoying his rough side. He spun you around to meet him, eyes dark, before he held you in place. “A jerk who makes you feel good,” Eddie purred in your ear, fingers tracing toward your exposed skin, one touch from him, and you whimpered, all that anger fading away so quickly.

He chuckled darkly. “Missed those sweet lil’ whimpers,” He whispered in your ear again, fingers quick to find their way toward your panties. 

He drew slow circles with his thumb while you tried to remain tight-lipped, but it was impossible. 

“Jesus—fuck, Eddie som—someone could see...” You didn’t mean to throw your head back against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Eddie shrugged. 

“Don’t care, sweetheart.” 

“Well, I do.” You didn’t; Eddie could fuck you right here, right now, and you’d be fine with it, but you weren’t ready to admit this to yourself, and you didn’t want to take the chance of Robin seeing you like this. 

He groaned as he dragged you into the nearest room. You would’ve cried at the loss of contact if he didn’t have a tight hold on your body, calloused hands gripping at your curves, and your thighs rubbed together at his touch. 

Eddie was quick to pin you against the door, his hand curling around the back of your neck. He smashed his lips against yours without hesitating, kissing you the same way he made you feel; explosive, hard, and dizzying. 

He pulled back to look at you. 

Sweet Jesus.

His gaze was intense, and it made you feel so fucking exposed that it startled a gasp out of your lips. 

You fisted his shirt when you had enough, yanking him closer to you so that you could feel his body pressed into yours. Everything you felt was pure hunger, craving him deeply.  

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you felt his rock hard bulge grinding against you, calloused hands gripped your ass as you whimpered; you were at his mercy now. 

“What were you sayin’ last time? That this would never happen again?” He mocked, whispering against your face, his gaze never leaving you. 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was impossible to keep up your act when his fingers started ghosting over your thighs again. “Fuck. You.” You spat. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.” He grinned, chuckling when you whimpered under his touch.

“God, I love those sweet noises you make for me…” He murmured, you rubbed your thighs again at his words. “I bet if I flipped that little skirt of yours… I’d find you gushing for me.” He groaned. 

And you remained tight-lipped. God, you didn’t want to feed into his huge fucking ego, and you wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. 

But he was so right. Your thighs were dampened by how aroused you were. 

He was quick to slip his fingers past your panties, a grunt escaping his lips once he pushed past your folds, your slick covering his fingers. He chuckled darkly. “You’re soaking my fingers, honey.”

“I—Fuck—I hate you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, and Eddie reveled in it, his fingers pushing inside of you while his thumb stayed on your clit. 

“Always sayin’ shit you don’t mean, baby.” He mocked. “Gonna make you beg for my cock, if you keep’ talkin like that.” 

You were panting and head dizzy as he pushed his fingers in and out of you. You were going to lose it, and he had barely started.

When he finally undressed both of you, you were out of it, while his hands were still on your clit as he groaned at the sight in front of him. 

You were perfect. 

His breath was ragged when he traced your chest, eyes bulging when he realized you had no bra on, pleasure ignited in you more and more when he cupped your breasts, teeth tugging your nipple as his fingers still toyed with your clit.

“Perfect tits, just made for me, huh?” He growled, making you mewl; you were putty in his hands, and with each movement, you were getting closer and closer to beg him for more. 

The more you whimpered, the rougher he got with you, curling his finger inside your cunt as he hit that one spot, eliciting a moan from you as you threw your head back.

“P—please.” You whimpered, and Eddie tutted. 

“I’ve seen you do much better than that.” He hummed. This arrogant asshole was going to be the death of you. 

“P—please, Eds, please.” You begged, and your moans died down your throat, before he slowly dragged his fingers out and shoved them back in. 

Your head cocked to the side in pleasure, and he was quick to take advantage of it, licking a path from your neck to your ear, grinning. 

“Mhmm… not good enough, baby.” He purred in your ear as you whined, “Jesus fucking Christ—” Your cursing was interrupted when he yanked his hands away. 

No. No. No. No!

“Shitshitshit—Please, Fuck, Eds...” You murmured, eyes shooting wide open, “Need your cock inside’a me.” You mewled again. 

His dark chuckle reverberated through you, “See, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” He mocked, causing your eyes to narrow. 

“You assho—” He didn’t let you finish as he wrapped his hands around your throat, just enough to punish you but just enough for pleasure to course through your veins. And it felt so fucking good. 

You shut your mouth quickly, “What were you saying, baby?” He purred. 

God, that egotistic prick was pushing you to your last fucking limit; you could do it, you could hold it off. But on the other hand, you could feel yourself pulsing with need; if he didn’t pound into you soon, you knew you would’ve been a pathetic blabbering mess.

“Please, please, Fuck me,” You grunted. “I need you, Eddie.” He didn’t respond as he tapped your thighs, signaling for you to wrap your legs around his chest, and you were quick to oblige. 

Mind spinning before you got a chance to process what happened, he slammed into you with a vicious thrust, he was so fucking thick that it made you let out a guttural scream, tears welled at your eyes as you tried to adjust to his size. 

It wasn’t long before your loud noises turned into incoherent babbles and squeals as he kept his pace.

“Holy shit, baby,” He groaned, watching his cock sliding into you, “Such a warm fuckin’ pussy, and so fucking tight… Jesus…”

You trembled beneath him, tits bouncing up and down as your mouth hung open each time he slid further into your cunt, and Eddie wanted that image etched into his brain forever. 

He tilted you upward, hitting spots you weren’t even aware of. You were quick to wrap your hands around his frame, your nails digging into his back, roughly.

He was the only one who knew you like that; both emotionally and physically, and the same went for you, that’s why the two of you never could truly let each go, clinging to each other like a child did to their favorite toy.

You know no one else could fuck you like he did, and that smug bastard knew it, too.

The way he was pounding into you while uttering curses at your ear, furiously slapping into your body as if you were nothing but his personal fucktoy, truly his.

And you realized how sick you were for liking it, truly enjoying being this way with him. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock, such a tight fuckin’ pussy and all mine, yea?” He panted causing you to nod, you were barely able hold his gaze, and he groaned before his hands roughly grabbed your cheeks, forcing your head in his direction. 

“Look at me baby…” He purred, “Look, how well your cunt is squeezin’ me. You feel that, peach?” He sheathed himself further into you, and you could feel your walls clench around him, a contented groan leaving both of your lips. 

It was fucking perfect. Everything was rough and messy, there was nothing emotional about the way you fucked. You were both using each other to cum as much as you wanted to, not stopping until you were both sweaty bodies.

He could make you come apart in seconds if he wanted to, knowing your body better than anyone else. And you could make the scary freak Eddie putty in your hands if you wanted to; it was a fucked up game of control that had the two of you going at it for hours. 

Was it fucked up? Yes.

Did it feel good? Absolutely. 

“Would that asshole be able to make you come apart like this?” He asked, fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave a bruise.

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had been possessive; it was a sick, twisted game that you also participated in, almost as if both of you knew that you could never be with anyone else.

You nodded mindlessly, you weren’t going to give into him that easily, again, he grunted at your lack of reaction. 

“Tell me, baby.” He growled, his pounding slowing down to make sure your orgasm was out of reach for you, torturing you until he had you begging under him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to give up this fast. “Beg me, honey.” His movements picked up, and his hands were quick to toy with your clit, a sharp burst of euphoria rang through your body, leaving you speechless. 

You clenched around him—a big fucking mistake—and he grinned smuggly again. “I know, baby, I know you’re close.” He panted. “I can make you cum, angel.” He promised, “Just say the word.” 

“Asshole,” You groaned between his forceful thrusts, and he chuckled darkly. You rolled your hips against his when his movements faltered, seeking the warmth and the friction when he thrusted into you fully, filling you to the brim.

And that prick was thoroughly enjoying your torture. “Tell me it’s all mine, that you’re all mine.” He purred against your ear. 

You couldn’t. You shouldn’t.

But the way his thumb circled around your clit, so agonizingly slow, and the way his cock was prodding into you so slowly was torture. God, if he just picked up his pace.

Don’t. 

You try to convince yourself, but it's to no avail, you are clenching down on nothing, and it hurts. Your hole is pulsing now, and you need him more than ever. 

“P—please,” You mewled, causing Eddie to give you a slight smirk. “Please what, baby? Use your words.” 

“I’m all yours,” You murmured, “He could never fuck me like you could.” You added, humming contently, when Eddie started to pound into you relentlessly again. 

“Please—I need to—Jesus, Eds.” Your words slurred into a moan as he increased his speed, his finger circling your clit roughly. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby. Feels so good.” He panted.  “Please—please make me cum, sir.” You sobbed, unable to hold it back anymore. 

And that was all Eddie needed to hear. “Cum for me, honey.” He pleaded, and you gave him low whimpers as he started fucking you faster again, watching the way his cock disappeared into your gushing cunt.

“Wanna feel you cum on my cock, baby.” He breathed. 

“Shit, feels so good, Eds.” 

“Jesus—Please… I’m going to—” You bit down on your lower lip, unable to stifle the moans leaving your lips as his assault on your clit was enough to bring you over the edge, 

“I’m gonna—I’m…Holy shit, oh god!” You sobbed, whole body convulsing in pleasure as you came around his cock, your vision blurred and mind foggy as you didn’t realize how your orgasm was triggering his. 

Eddie was whimpering for you now, “So fucking good, holy shit.” He panted, movements getting sloppier.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, baby. My perfect fucking girl, yea?” He heaved a breath. 

“I’m gonna fuck this—Gonna fuck my load into you, peach.”

“Gonna fill you with my cum—Fuuuck.” He growled, animalistic noises escaping him as he exploded inside of you, thick ropes of his warm cum painting your walls. 

He groaned when he slipped out, mouth-watering as he enjoyed the sight of you fucked out of your mind, and his load dripping down your thighs. 

The relief you had was short-lived as that sinking feeling came to you again, the emptiness, the loneliness.

Was all of it worth it?

The two of you dressed in silence; the weight of what you did was hitting you all at once. You did it again. You had sex with him again. You let him use you again—it didn’t matter if you used him too, it meant something different for you than it did for him.

All those thoughts you had about feeling good faded out quicker than you thought they would.

You were so fucking pathetic.

Jesus Christ.

You felt sick, what the fuck did you just do?

As soon as Eddie got dressed, he gave your cheek a sloppy kiss. He was going to leave you all alone again.

You should be fine with this, this is what always happens.

Don’t—don’t say anything, just take your last bit of self-respect that is possibly non-existent and leave without another word—

“You’re…leaving?” You exhale, your mind racing with ideas.

Shit. Just shut the fuck up.

“Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart.” He gave you a slight smile, but all you wanted to do was slap it out of him.

“We both know what this was.” He muttered, that conceited dickhead still had that smile on his face.

“And what exactly was ‘this’?” You pointed to the space between the two of you.

“Fucking, no strings attached?” He added, shrugging. The fact that he had no clue about anything was pissing you off.

“Unbelievable.” You gave him a dry chuckle.

“What?” He asked, baffled.

“Is that all I am to you, just a warm body?” You said, face crinkling with disgust.

“I’m confused.” Eddie said. “You—you were the one who fucking suggested this.” He breathed.

“Well, I’m un-suggesting it!” You exclaimed angrily.

“You—you are so fucking confusing!” He spat. “I told you—I told you we could be more... told you we could try... us.” He stuttered. “You were the one who refused!”

“You were drunk! You can barely fucking say it now!” You spat back.

“What... what do you even want, Y/N?” He asked, holding his gaze.

“Do you want a relationship? Do you want something meaningful?” He pondered, a sarcastic chuckle escaping his lips.

“Is it so wrong for me to want that? To want something real?” Your voice carried so much emotion, and that’s what killed him.

He couldn’t have a relationship with you even if he wanted to; he recognized his own turmoil, and he feared he would drag you right down with him. No matter how similar you seemed to be, he was sure he’d ruin you, completely and utterly. And not in a good way.

He swallowed physically; the lump in his throat wasn’t going to go away.

He couldn’t let you have hope; he couldn’t let you down again—he had done that enough.

''A relationship with you is the last thing I see myself doing.'' He almost whispered, but you heard it loud and clear.

Your brows were quick to furrow, and your jaw was was set in a tense manner. The lust in your gaze was long gone by now, containing only rage while you glared at the source of your pain.

“Fuck. You.” You spat, tears threatening to spill but you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction

“You are a sadistic fucking asshole, Munson.” 

“Jesus… I think we should stop—whatever the hell, this is.” He exclaimed.

“Fine by me!” You exclaimed back cheeks heating up from anger.

“I really am done with you, this time.” Despite the intensity of your gaze, he could sense the subtle vulnerability in your eyes. The subtle pain that was fueling your anger

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” He chuckled smugly. This was something you two had joked about before, but it wasn’t funny now.

He saw you in the palm of his hand because you always came back to him, he was right… until now.

The fact that he laughed in your face at the thought of being in a relationship with you was too much, even for your low self-esteem. 

“I don’t care what you think.” You didn’t even hold the rage you held before; only disgust was visible in your tone.

“You’re dead to me.” You replied curtly, your voice distant and chilling.

And Eddie knew how much he fucked up, truly.

There was nothing he could do now.

“I didn’t mean it like—” He regretted what he said immediately, but you dismissed his protests, gathering your jacket in your hand as you slammed the door behind you.

Tears blurred your vision as soon as you left, the lively sound of the party clouded your mind as you silently sobbed, trying to find Robin.

You knew how unattainable he was, and how much he truly hurt you, and as fucked up as it was, that's exactly why you loved him; led by blind faith that it would be different.

[illicitghoul]

you’re instagram if you were in the BAU (p2)

prt 2 that nobody asked for 🥱 (this is so fun)

part 1 (linked below)

————————————————————————————

yourusername

liked by jen.jj45 and 46 others

yourusername JJ LOVE CLUB (i am also in jj love club but they all voted me to take the photo 💔)

pennycia and you did a great job 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourusername i love you pen 💌

pennycia I LOVE YOU MOST Y/N

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d i love you

spencer.re1d Stop lying for social media clout

derek.m0rg4n fuck you AND your fuck ass haircut

prentiss.em LMFAO

prentiss.em we are such cuties some ppl wish they were us 🥱

yourusername @prentiss.em real asf

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway & others

yourusername me and spence were conjoined jellyfish in another life

spencer.re1d Can we be anglerfish

yourusername no? wtf is wrong with you

spencer.re1d 🥱🥱🥱🥱BORING

r0ssi81 that is a very interesting photo

yourusername YOU KNOW HOW TO COMMENT?

r0ssi81 you’re pushing it girl genius

yourusername you’re pushing something…

r0ssi81 when i find out how to block someone you are gone y/n

prentiss.em this is quite cute y/l/n 😭

yourusername you’re quite cute 🤫

prentiss.em send me toe pictures 😂😂😂😂

yourusername NO EMILY!!!!!!!!! (ill email them)

yourusername

liked by spencer.re1d and 51 others

yourusername my cute glowing girlfriend (idk who that random man is 🤷‍♀️ kinda scary)

prentiss.em yeah that is really weird 🥱 anyway i love u wifey mwah mwah

yourusername ugh ily lets go frolic in a field or smth

spencer.re1d Yeah that is really scary - be careful guys

spencer.re1d OH MY I LOOK LIKE A GHOST 😁😁

jen.jj45 it’s like i can still hear his voice…

yourusername :( i miss his cute smile

prentiss.em 🎉

spencer.re1d @prentiss.em You aren’t funny

pennycia 😭😭😭😭

prentiss.em ok comedy police spencer reid????

jen.jj45 shes like an angel !!!!!!

prentiss.em I LOVE YOU JENNIFER 🙁🙁

yourusername

liked by aaron.hotchner and 37 others

yourusername i said serve and they devoured

spencer.re1d Slay !

prentiss.em y/n meant to say i devoured and you kind of chewed…

spencer.re1d Can you stop harassing me?

prentiss.em i kiss your girlfriend on days that end in y

yourusername TRUTH 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

pennycia what cuties!!! seeing their smiles makes me so happy!!!!!!

spencer.re1d You’re my best friend

derek.m0rg4n everytime you speak it breaks my heart

jen.jj45 HAHAAH WHAT

pennycia CRYING

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway and 43 others

yourusername my bag broke before i left spences 🙁

spencer.re1d Sigh…. the theory for a broken bag means you have to stay where it broke 🤷‍♂️ i dont know i just heard that

derek.m0rg4n my bag broke in your heart… why won’t you let me stay

yourusername you ate with that one derek

yourusername broke bag mountain

elliegreenaway @yourusername LMFAO

pennycia i’ll fix it for you!!! come over girlie!!!

yourusername omw!!!!!

yourusername

liked by derek.m0rg4n and 49 others

yourusername day out with my four wives

pen : fanny pack with snacks and a book

jj : losing her mind (too warm)

em : complaining 🥱

me : having a good time :)

aaron.hotchner I hope you all worn sunscreen

yourusername yes 🫡

prentiss.em 🥱

pennycia i had a great day!!! (i read 3 pages)

jen.jj45 i am LOSING it the HEAT i am gonna COMBUST

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotchner @r0ssi81 could be us

r0ssi81 I am busy for the foreseeable future

dreak.m0rgan @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotcher

at least rossi replied…

[toxicanonymity]

Silence can never be bought, only rented.

pt. 2 of 6, 2.5k | dbf!Joel x fem!reader | 18+

picks up after Pt 1 . Story Master List

Joel Miller List

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat. As he pulls his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. The glimpse makes your knees weak.

Thank you @dark-scape for the mini mood boards!

Warnings/notes: no-outbreak AU. Reader confident in string bikini, there may be more to joel than meets the eye. Legal age gap. Masturbation. cumshot. Kinda dom reader. i don't know all triggers, not used to detailed warnings in my usual fandoms sorry

NEXT: PART 3

Catch up on Part 1

-----

It's June in Texas.  You packed your swimsuit this weekend.  You don't know why Joel would wear a jacket in this weather anyway.  Hopefully he doesn't fuck your stepmother while he's breaking it off.  In the big scheme of things, one more time wouldn't make much of a difference. It's more about the fact that he's your property now.  

-

Back at your friend's place, you plug in your phone across the room while you settle in to watch another movie.  Her new sound system is badass, so you don't hear it when your phone rings, but she does. 

She’s a lot closer to it than you are, so you tell her she can send it to voicemail.  She leans over and looks at the screen. 

“Joel." Her eyes widen. "DILF Joel??”

You scrunch your face up.  “Gross, he's like 50.”   

“Okay, what does non-DILF Joel want?”  She rightfully uses finger quotes around "non." In the back of your mind, you always knew Joel was hot.  It turns out, you had no idea.  

You sigh,  “Probably just checking on me while my Dad is away.”  You're tempted to tell her–at least the part where Joel is fucking your stepmother–but for now, you don't.  You enjoy being the only one who knows and could ruin both of them.

“So why not answer?” 

“Guess I just don’t feel like talking.” 

She looks at you sympathetically.  She knows why you came home this weekend.  You needed a change of scenery after things got messy with a guy you were seeing.  “I get it,” she says.  “But I promise you’re gonna be over him before you know it.  Then on to the next,” she smiles.  

If only it were that easy.  You really don’t feel like going back and facing life.  Technically Chad is right, you never defined your relationship or agreed to be exclusive.  But you spent so much time together, and he said he loved you.  You know he’s a chode and not at all worth your tears.  You just hate feeling so powerless.  On the plus side, you've barely thought about Chad at all since the moment you first saw Joel's truck this weekend. 

Your phone dings.  Your friend looks at it.  

“Who leaves voicemail?” she asks. It dings again and her face gets serious.  "Oh, shit.  You should really call him. He said Trouble."

"That's just what he calls me."  You suppress a smirk at the nominal determinism. 

"Oh, yeah. Ugh. I hate that I'm gonna miss the HOG barbecue this year. " 

HOG. . . Hot Old Guy.  She really tickles herself pink with that.  Your dad and Joel cook out at Joel's pool every independence day with a couple of other friends, and you normally bring her.  

Your phone dings again.  She looks at the screen and side-eyes it. 

"What?" You ask 

"You should block Chad." 

You feel a rush of satisfaction followed by shame as you eagerly go over and look at the phone.  

Chad: miss u already. 

In a way, it’s the best possible message, but seeing the dumb way he writes, your shame is replaced by anger.  

"God what an asshole," you fume. You don't respond. 

-

You finish watching the movie, and eventually start catching up on Joel's texts. Come out and talk to me for one minute.  A pit forms in your stomach. He was here? Are you that predictable? 

When it's time to leave and you get to your car, there's a note.  It's the same one you left on Joel's truck, the one that said You're sick. There's a response scrawled under your writing: 

You have no idea.  

Your heart races as you look around the street.   How dare he? And why are your cheeks burning?

You start driving back to your apartment. It’s well under two hours away, it's still afternoon, and you don’t know what you'll do with the day when you get back.  Laundry, you guess.  You can hardly bear the thought of being back there alone with your thoughts. 

-

Instead of 35 South to San Antonio, you find yourself on Joel's street.  Joel is a successful contractor and has a nice house.  Comically high-security, too.  Today, the gate is already disarmed, so you don't have to put in the code or talk to him.   You park in his big wraparound driveway, grab your bag, and head around back.  The pool gate is disarmed, too. You enter the code to the pool house door.  

When you walk in, the air conditioning blasts on and it's freezing.  Kind of obnoxious in a state with a power grid crisis.  You throw your stuff down on the big couch, not bothering to go any further.  You strip down to your underwear, ass facing the window.  Then you put your swimsuit cover-up over your underwear.  Feigning modesty, you take your underwear out from under the cover-up and replace it with your two-piece. 

When you come out, Joel is sitting in a zero gravity lounge chair across the pool in front of the big glass windows of his house.   When you see him, your heart skips a beat, even though it’s no surprise.  It’s like when you’ve been thinking about someone so much they practically become a celebrity in your mind, even if they don’t deserve it.  

You bring your bag out to the deck and sit across the pool from him. He’s wearing the same tight, blue t-shirt and jeans. Now he has on Ray Bans and flip flops instead of boots.

You slather your sunscreen on as he watches.  He doesn't bother pretending not to watch.  You slip your hands inside the cups of your bikini top, lotioning up your breasts.  He adjusts himself, which sends a tingling rush to your core.  

-

Once your sunscreen is dry, you wade into the pool.  You walk around aimlessly, then swim over to his side, keeping your head above water.  When you get to the edge, you rest your forearms on the deck, then put your head down on the crook of your arm and float your legs behind you.  

“Come to give me my jacket?” he asks. 

“I don’t know how you’re wearing jeans, much less a jacket." You lift your head to look at him.

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat.  

He stands up, and as he's pulling his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair.  The glimpse makes your knees weak.  He pulls the elastic waistband up and leaves the boxers on.  He sits down again and crosses his ankles.

You ask, “How’d it go?”

“Oh, about how you’d expect.”

“How long were you fucking her?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna tell me everything I ask.”

“Few months.  Look, Trouble, I’m human at best.  She came onto me.”

“Knew you’d say that.” 

“What if I could prove it?”

You don’t say anything.  He takes out his phone and scrolls for a while, then brings it to the edge of the pool.  You watch his heavy quads quake with each step but avert your eyes while he bends his knees.  You have no interest in seeing his balls or anyone else’s.  His boxers tighten around his muscular thighs as he sits down and lowers his feet into the pool right next to you.  

“There,” he says, handing you his phone.  You can barely see in the sunlight and don’t really care who initiated it anyway.

“Why don’t you just get a girlfriend?” you ask. 

“You wanna set me up?” he smiles.  “Got any single friends?”

“Why don’t you ask Sarah? She’s older than me.”

He grabs his chest like you shot him. Sweat is blotching his softwash t-shirt already.

You hand his phone back.  

"There's one inside for you," he says. "It's on the counter." He gestures through the window. 

"One what?"

"iPhone pro.  Since you can't seem to answer whatever piece of crap you're using." 

"What do I need an iphone pro for?" 

"They didn't have the regular one in blue." 

Your favorite color is a nice touch, but an iPhone isn't going to make this all go away.  

-

"How’s it goin’ with what’s his name?”

“Chad? It’s not.” You hate him for bringing up Chad. You harden your face, but it isn't convincing. 

Joel nods regretfully and there's a long moment of silence.  

“You’re better than him, Trouble."

You don't say anything. 

"Shit, you can have any guy you want.”  

You can't see his eyes behind his shades, but something in his voice tells you how hungrily he's looking at you.  

You still don't say anything. 

Joel stretches his leg and the top of his foot grazes your quad, then your inner thigh.  All your blood rushes to your loins.  You don't move.  He strokes your other inner thigh with the arch of his foot, getting a little higher with each pass.  A tent forms in his boxers and he adjusts himself again.  

“See what you do to guys?” The top of his foot brushes your crotch and you throb.  When he tries to slip a toe inside the fabric, you float out of reach. 

“You’re not a guy, you're a grown man.” 

"Exactly. And he's just a guy."

"A grown man and a pervert." A wave of anger hits you when you remember your stepmother. "And apparently you'll fuck anything."

If he's still listening, he ignores it.  

-

“God damn.  Look at you.”  He shamelessly palms himself over his boxers and suddenly his body is the only thing on your mind again:  The way his naked ass flexed while he looked at you.  The length of his cock slamming into her when he came.  And now it's right there for your taking.  Your core churns needily, slickening itself for what it desperately wants.  Too bad he doesn't deserve it. 

“Yeah. . . ” Your hands slowly reach behind your back to unfasten your top as you sink down into the water. "Look at me," you echo as you take the halter over your head. 

You lie back with your nipples above the water line, lazily floating and barely pushing yourself around in the water, watching him watch you.  

He takes a deep breath and his lips part.  He digs the heel of his palm into his boxers. You grip the deck with one hand.  You hover just far away enough that he can't touch you.  He picks up his phone, swipes it, puts it down. He exhales through pursed lips and adjusts himself again.

"Take it out," you tell him, then lean back,  jutting your tits into the air again.

 "Yes ma'am," he growls. 

He reaches into his boxers and holds his hard cock with the tip pointed toward you. 

"The whole thing." You nod at it.  

He pulls the fabric back. 

"Now take your hands away."

"God almighty," he groans as he complies. He sits back with his hands on the pool deck.  

Big mistake if your goal is to stay in control. This is going to take more restraint than you thought. 

"Take off your sunglasses," you demand. 

The sky is getting cloudy enough. He complies. 

It’s the only cock you’ve ever seen that actually makes you salivate. Thick, slightly tapered, circumcised, prominent tip.  Salt and pepper peeking out from the fabric and creeping up the base.  You recall for the hundredth time how he felt pressed up against you by your car the night before.

Your nipples harden and his cock bounces on its own.  He inhales deeply through his nose, his chest stretching his sweaty t-shirt. You wet your lips and he exhales loudly.  You approach his knees and rest your hands on his thighs, letting your nipples graze his shins. His phone buzzes and he ignores it. 

A bead of precum grows at the head of his cock.  He clenches his jaw.  

“Go ahead,” you tell him as you back away.  He gathers the precum with his thumb and begins to stroke himself slowly.  He’s proportional - His massive hand is a good fit.

“I’m gonna put this back on in two minutes,” you tell him, dangling your swimsuit top in your hand. 

He shakes his head slowly.  “Yeah, you would.” 

He looks down at himself then back up at you.  His eyes darken.  The vein on his hand makes you weak - his big, masculine hand wrapped around his thick cock. . . 

His breath becomes ragged, his eyelids get heavy. 

You disappear below the water, and when you resurface, you come to the edge of the pool between his legs.  You plant your hands just above his knees and inhale his musk from several inches away as you watch.  

“Thirsty?” he breathes. 

“Hell no.  Just wanna see what a sicko's cum looks like.” 

He smirks, then it fades. The dark, hungry look on his face makes you breathe heavier, throb harder, and twitch.

His ass clenches and he points the tip directly at your neck, then he groans as a hot, white rope meets your collarbone and the halter tie.  A few more ropes gurgle into his fist.  

“Gross,” you say.  But you ache for him so badly.  “You know, a gentleman always asks.” 

“I'm a sicko, remember?" He dips his hand in the pool, shakes it around, then wipes his hands on his boxers and puts his dick away. "Give me a minute." 

-

You dip your head under the halter tie of your bikini top to put it back on, but you let  it float, not covering your breasts. He pushes himself up and grabs his phone.  He looks at it and says under his breath, "gotcha, pendejo.”  Then tells you, "I've gotta make a call."  He pulls on his jeans but leaves them unbuckled.  Somehow, that’s even hotter than his pantsless look, but you’re miffed that he got dressed so quickly. 

You would've made him take off his shirt, but you love the way it stretches with every move he makes.  Half of it is dark with sweat now.  His back is a sight to behold as he walks over to the watertight, faux wicker box with the dry towels.  You squeeze your thighs together and clench around nothing.  

He pulls out two perfectly folded towels and you wonder out loud, "Are you fucking your maid, too?"

"Not this one," he says matter of factly.  He drops a towel on the deck near you, then goes into the house. 

-

He stands in his large window, spreads his feet as he does something on his phone, then looks at you as a water jet blasts into your thigh right at crotch level.  

How devious of him.  

You shift your hips slightly, just like he knew you would, and try to manage your best poker face as you let the jetstream carry you over the edge. You close your eyes before they roll back in your head.  Your core implodes and your whole body pulses as a much-needed orgasm is wrenched out of you.  Your mouth falls slack and you open your eyes in time to see him watching you with his phone to his ear.  He smirks as the jetstream fades, then walks away. 

-

You lay your head in the crook of your arm and let your bikini float near your breasts as you recover, with the occasional aftershock.  Then, you hear his truck start up and drive away.  Asshole.

[httpsjeonglvr]

miles climbin into ur window js to makeout cuz he missed u sm on his mission

Creepin’

Of course :)

Chapter summary: Miles sneaks into your room in the middle of the night because he missed you but that led to the both of you getting in trouble

Aged up mile’s morales x reader

Also sorry for the spicy scene I got carried away anon.

You gasped when a figure came into your room from your window but it was quickly revealed to be miles who was wearing his spider suit. He took off his mask and shoes putting his hands up in surrender.

“Relax it’s me!” He chuckled as he walked over to you wrapping his arms around your waist as you kissed his cheek placing your book down. He laid in bed next to you pulling you on top of him

“Why are you here miles?” You hummed as he massaged your butt while leaning up to kiss your neck ignoring you, you groaned as he kissed your neck before sitting up on his chest making him groan as he looked into your eyes with a smirk.

“I missed you” He grabbed your hips and started to move you on top of him. You were used to him juts randomly popping up in your window in the middle of the night, or coming from long missions. He loved seeing you and had a really hard time being away from you for a long time.

“Damn I missed you so much” He groaned as you grinded on his lap before he pulled you back into his lips,he pushed his hands into your pants to touch your most needed spot. You let whimper moving against him harder as he groaned. “Mmm I missed you too”

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, “roll over.” His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on her shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back.  He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting for him to say that to you. You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan. He descended upon you, burying his face in your neck.  His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from scratching him.

“Do whatever you want to me.” He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over her neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down because you didn’t want your parents to know what’s going on. “Are you close?” You asked him softly, feeling him nod. “Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit.  “Just a little longer?” “You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” she whispered.“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.

“Just— make it quick, Miles my parents might hear,” you reminded him. “Right, yeah, 'm gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body.  One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrust faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall. 

Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles. “Miles,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was. “Say it again,” he requested quietly.“Miles,” you purred in his ear, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted into you.

bonus scene:

“Y/N FUCKING L/N!”

You jolted in your bed when you heard your mom yell and turned to see Miles’ naked body covered in your sheets. Your mom slammed your door open followed by Miles' mom who started to yell in Spanish throwing her shoe at Miles who jumped up and slipped out of your bed before covering himself with his hands.

“H-hey mom!”

Miles tried to act like everything was normal but he just got yells in return from both ladies. You pulled Miles’ hoodie over your body as he hurriedly pulled his pants on trying to explain to his mom but she just dragged him out of your room and your mom did the same which led to an hour-long lecture.

[www-bvnny-b4b3couture]

Teeth

Deadpool and Wolverine needed help and Wade had the perfect(not at all) person in mind.

No idea abt the word count

Warnings: Blood, cussing, inappropriate jokes, small amounts of cannibalism, knarly looking mouth ima tell u now lmao

(Background on her for context, her mutation is actually that she can heal from basically any injury, BUT, she’ll only heal if she dies first. So to heal she needs to kill herself. She’s also just stronger and faster than the average person. Because of this scientists tracked her down and took her hostage, experimenting on her to get the “ultimate killing machine”. So they gave her those teeth and mouth, along with an insatiable craving for human flesh. Think like combining her dna or sum. Now her handlers use her as an assassin, and she’s somewhat succumbed to the instinct implanted in her brain.

I wanted to make a character like Mileena from Mortal Kombat, I love knarly powers 🙏🏼)

_________________________________________________

“Who the hell are we meeting, Wade?” Logan asked once they walked past their tenth storage unit, they were at the docks. “Uhh hold on I remember the number of it.” He held his finger up, inspecting each number and once again shaking his head ‘no’. Logan was starting to lose his patience when he suddenly pointing at a black cargo container.

“Alright- oh! I forgot to mention she doesn’t really like me.” Logan let out a genuine laugh, “Nobody likes you.” Wade just gave him a deadpanned face for a second before knocking on the door quite hard.

They were met with complete silence, Wade turned to Logan, “Mind knocking?” Logan rolled his eyes and knocked three times, this time the noise was startling and the crate was almost vibrating. “Attaa boy, I didn’t think mine would be loud enough.” Wade slapped Logan on the back, earning a scowl from him.

After a few seconds they heard some metal move and the door open an inch, 2 tiny throwing knives shot out. Wade let out a girlish scream, “Honey buns it’s me!” He shrieked, dodging another tiny knife.

“Wade get the fuck outta here!” A female voice suddenly shouted from inside. It was beginning to close but Wade quickly ran and grabbed it from her, pulling it back to open more, “You wanna lose your fingers fine!”

“Well now would be a great time to help, Wolverine!” Wade shouted his hero name mockingly, struggling against her. Logan firmly grabbed the door and all of a sudden the woman was easily overpowered by 2 to 1. An animalistic growl was heard as the door slid open and a black haired woman fell forward.

On all fours she sent a quick to Wade’s stomach, sending him flying back into another cargo container. Logan saw she had a black mask covering half of her face, only piercing amber eyes could be seen. She tried to kick him but he caught her by the ankle, she struggled against his grip. While she was physically stronger than Wade, not against him.

Realizing her situation she slipped her mask off, Logan cringed at the sight of her face. It looked like she had unhealed gashes along the corners of her mouth. A guttural growl escaped her throat and she opened her mouth. Her mouth began tearing at the sides, opening far wider than a humans mouth should, sharp razor like teeth lined her mouth instead of human teeth.

Suddenly sharp cat-like claws came out of her gloves and she slashed at his arm, causing him to drop her. She jumped up, attempting to slice at him but her eyes widened when she saw the giant claws coming out of his hand, stopping her attack. She growled and pushed against him, getting close enough to try and snap at him with her mouth. She wrapped her leg around his, using the fact he was heavier and knocking him over, with him falling first.

She attempted to bite at his face as they fell, using his forearm to block her bite she suddenly let out a painful scream when she bit down. She wasn’t aware of the adamantium encased all around his skeleton. She pushed herself off of him, making sure to get a bit of distance before stopping and clutching her mouth. “You fucking cock I think one of my teeth snapped.”

“Good you ugly bitch.” She scowled at Logan, who was staring at his bloody arm. “Fuck you, who do you think you are coming to MY house and knocking on my door like that?” She cursed back at him.

They both all of a sudden looked to Wade, who was just now getting up. “We need your help! You’re the only one I know who could help me find someone in 24 hours.” She rolled her eyes, “Why would I help you. The last time I saw you, you ran me over AND LEFT ME THERE. Which. FUCK YOU.”

That made Logan snap his head in Wade’s direction, giving him a ‘are you serious bro’ look.

“Well you tried eating me remember darling.” She rolled her eyes at him with a low growl, “Like always you were in my way.”

“Seriously what the fuck is wrong with both of you.” Logan muttered, she glared at him, her teeth becoming more visible.

“I can’t help either of you. Even if I wanted to.” She spoke calmer than she had the whole time, walking back into her box. But not before roughly bumping her shoulder into Logan’s on her way.

“She wants me.” Logan rolled his eyes at Wade, completely irritated with him since he wasted their time.

2 days later…

Wade and Logan were easily cutting down the men in their way of getting to the man they needed. Now on the third floor it was suspiciously quiet. They walked cautiously, guards up.

“Hey fuckheads.” Their heads snapped in the direction of the voice and Wade gasped when he saw her. “Baby! You care about me after all.” She scowled at him, “I will fucking eat you.”

“It’ll grow back every time.” She sighed in frustration and pulled out 2 sai from her sides, “You need to stop getting in my way.” She looked at Logan, “You too.”

Wade’s eyes widened in fake betrayal, but in reality he wasn’t surprised her handlers had her here. “Oh honeybuns, one day you’ll see I’m always there for you and you’ll realize you’re in love with me and we’ll make nasty debilitating hot sex.” He droned on, she shifted uncomfortably by the end before a dagger landed in his mouth.

She ran on all fours at them before jumping up and landing on Deadpool. Letting out the growl of an animal, her mouth open wide, biting Wade’s forearm clean off. Not stopping there, biting and snapping at him like a mad man. Her teeth easily tearing into whatever flesh she could.

She let out a screech when she felt something impale through her shoulder, pulling her back and lifting her up by her shoulder. She bent her back, trying to claw at Wolverine but he landed a punch right in her nose, she growled, using a sai in her hand and slashing at his hand where he was holding her captive by claw.

That caused him to retract his claws and she grunted feeling the metal slide out and landed on all fours, kicking Logan’s knee and making him drop down. As she was turning around she noticed a flash of red and was suddenly blocking a strike from a sword.

“We were meant to be honey buns. I’m your unlimited buffet.” She could see a grin through his mask and she slashed at him with her free hand, jumping up and trying to snap at him. With his other sword he caught her mid bite, she growled, struggling against him. He could see his sword beginning to fold and he kicked her knee harshly, crunch. That made her release his sword and fall on her knees, she wasted no time though and sent one of her sai into his torso.

She let out a shriek when she felt herself be impaled right in the stomach by familiar claws, and then she heard static in her ear piece before hearing a familiar voice. “MK. Scientist Lenovo has successfully been transferred to another location. Pull away.” She gritted her teeth, well it was a bit late now.

The two men noticed her change, now longer looking determined. She went a bit limp in Logan’s claws, looking at Wade, “The man you want isn’t here anymore.”

“What?!” Wade shrieked, looking into her eyes, not trusting if she was lying or not but as he looked into her eyes he knew she was being honest. “God dammit! So you were just here to distract us!”

“Get your fucking claws out of me.” She turned her head to Logan who was behind her. “I should slice through your ugly ass.” She gritted her teeth, “Fuck you old fuck.” She felt his claws dig in deeper somehow and she tried not to let a sound of pain out. She grabbed onto Wade who was arms length and used him to pull herself off. “Oo I knew you would see it one day-” He started before getting socked in the nose. She knocked him back into the wall.

She landed a bit weirdly since her knee was broken, she put distance between herself and the two men. She needed to get out of here soon.

“MK. Pull out.” The voice in her ear piece sounded less patient than before, she looked around a bit frantically. The sound of a helicopter could be heard and she saw a bright light from it appear from outside the window.

Logan was able to hear the voice in her intercom and realized she was looking for an exit. She sighed and realizing the quickest way out.

“Why do you work for them?” The question was out of nowhere and it made her brows furrow at Logan, she stared at him for 2 seconds silently. “What else am I supposed to do?” She scoffed at him before running at the window full speed and jumping out, the glass shattering making her eyes ring.

As she jumped out there was a rope coming down from the helicopter. It began pulling her up, he could see into it. There were a few men in complete black getups inside, one of the men suddenly raised a gun to her head, firing without hesitation.

That made Logan’s eyes almost pop out of his face but Wade laughed and pointed at his face, “Oh my god you should see your face. It’s ok silly goose she can heal like us except she needs to die first. So inconvenient huh? We’re so much better right. Made me shit myself the first time she hopped back up.” He nudged his shoulder earning a glare from Logan.

“Gives me the creeps.” His expression unreadable as he watched the helicopter disappear into the air.

A/n: This is the first ever fanfic I wrote on tumblr guyss. Lowk wish I could say it was better but like I’m barely gettin my groove guys. 🌚 Ima probably make more parts for this since I just like wanted to write how they met first. Also the pics r just refs for her mouth not actual her looks.

[thatsdemko]

ruin that friendship - l.norris

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: lando norris x fewtrell!reader

warnings: playful banter + playful teasing + goes from 0 to 100 towards the end

a/n: thank u to @userlando’s anons and thank u to my love cay( @oconso ) for helping me with the plot 🫶

the mattress shifts, you can feel the dip beside you. a groan escapes your lips knowing what time it is. morning had come far too early, and whoever was making themselves comfortable in your bed had no right to do so.

“get out.” you grumble, the grogginess takes over your voice, it strains your vocals making you sound faint and tired—which you were.

he chuckles, whoever it was, sounded awfully familiar to your ears, but not enough to recognize with your eyes closed. your face is pushed further into your pillow to block out the light that comes from the hallway.

“you’re not going to get up and greet me?” he asks, and the mattress shifts once more, his body is closer to yours. you can smell his cologne, the scent fills your lungs and you instantly remove your face from the pillow due to familiarity.

your eyes flutter open, despite the crusties that refuse to let your lashes lift up. there he, lando, is sitting in your bed, “get your shoes off my comforter!” you launch your body at his lower half, pushing his clean air Jordan’s off the white linen.

“god you’re still annoying.” he gets up off your bed in content of officially waking you up, “also, I want that shirt back, I never said you could keep it.” he adds before closing the door behind him on the way out of your bedroom.

the silence allows you to get comfortable against the mattress again. you feel sleep sink into your body, eyes just beginning to fall heavy, “hey! I found your notecards on the kitchen table, did you want to study?”

you take a pillow beside you and throw it in the direction of his voice, “get out!” you sit upright pointing your index finger towards your bedroom door that’s open once again, allowing the light in.

he chuckles, settling himself back against your mattress, he begins to flip through your note cards, “cognitive dissonance? what the hell is that?” he asks, half expecting you to respond, “it’s called get out of my room, asshole.” your voice is muffled against the pillow, middle finger shoved into the air to show him how you feel.

he laughs once more grabbing a hold of your hand, pushing the finger back into your palm with the rest of them, “come on, I’m bored max left to get bagels like twenty minutes ago.” he whines, you can feel him kicking his legs against your mattress making you turn your head in his direction.

“are your shoes off?”

“why do you care about if I have shoes on?” he retorts back, the slight attitude that you’ve always hated since you were kids. since max met the asshole who pushed your buttons like no tomorrow.

you sit up again, facing him, due to the way you were previously laying, “because this is white linen sheets. unlike you, I cannot afford to buy another comforter.” you hiss, having enough of him for the morning, you get up out of your bed.

“you still haven’t answered my question,” he says, arms crossed against his chest watching you turn on your heel, “what’s cognitive dissonance?”

you chew the inside of your lip before a long sighs leaves your lips knowing he won’t give it up, “it’s when a persons beliefs and attitudes are inconsistent with their value.”

“can you give me an example?”

“can you shut the fuck up?”

—

the cool pool water drips onto your warm legs. the cool droplets against your body send a screech out your lips, as you pull your legs into your chest and fling open your eyes, “god, first you wake me up this morning now this?!”

he laughs, it echoes across the openness, you never realized how loud he could be— at least not until he was in front of you laughing, screaming, or talking. all things that irritated your middle school and teenage mind that seemed to carry on into later life. lando was all your brother had for years, and it seems evident the two never parted ways despite the ending of Max’s driving career.

“you don’t want to jump in?” he shakes his wet curls out with a towel, sitting down in the chair beside you. he takes the chance to notice the freckles on your nose, the pinky color to your cheeks, “you could use some sunscreen.” he notes, tossing you the bottle that’s in his chair.

you let the can hit you in the leg. his comment wasn’t much of a demand or question, rather a statement at the red and pink across your body, and you take the time to apply the white cream all across the parts exposed to the sun.

he sits in the chair, scrolling through his film and taking the chance to share what he’s captured with you. lando’s love for photography was not something you ever expected out of him, it was very sudden. one minute he didn’t have a camera, the next he’s taking photographs of your parents at dinner.

“did you finish studying?” he asks, attention shifting to you, you watch him move in his seat to face you, “didn’t I do a good job as a tutor?”

you scoff, it’s something you couldn’t control when he said it. despite the egocentric comment, he was a patient tutor. unlike max, who grew angry each time you got a question wrong, lando was kind enough to read hints off the notecards for help.

“you were something that’s for sure.” you turn back to the pool, watching your brother and his girlfriend race each other around. you find yourself turning to lando once again, reaching for the sunglasses he’s now sporting, “thanks for helping me.”

he nods, allowing you to carefully remove his expensive ray-bans and place them on the bridge of your nose, “you’re a good friend.” you say, turning away towards the pool.

while you turn away, you can’t see the lump he swallows in his throat, the eye roll he gives you, and the tiny nod, “that’s what friends are for, right?” he asks, standing up from the chair to remove his glasses from your face. his chain hovers just above your eyes, and he leans a little bit forward, lips nearly inches apart, “cause what we have? I don’t think that’s a friendship, babe.”

you can feel the leftover droplets of water in his hair hit your face, some across your bare stomach too. he’s about to pull away when you reach upward, lips desperately pressing against his.

“help a friend out, I think I forgot how to have sex?” your eyes flicker from his beautiful blue ones, down to his lips, his sweet soft plump pink lips that you desperately want running all over your hot body.

he exhales an excited but breathy chuckle, “it’s my pleasure, darling. you’re lucky you’ve got the best tutor in town.”

[melrodrigo]

Tardy, part 8

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected family member reveal sends you spiraling, will anyone trust you now?

Warnings: Angst that turns into fluff, mention of violence, mention of sex

Word Count 2.6k

A/N: I was dying writing this chapter (both physically and mentally) but I think the writers block is gone! Thank you for 600 followers!! As always, love u guys, and tell me what you think <33

“Mom, who’s my dad?” You asked absentmindedly, legs swinging from your living room couch.

“All the other kids at school know who their dad is, who’s mine?” You continued, blissfully unaware of the tension you had just created.

Your mom turned sharply, cigarette between her lips as she spoke.

“Oh, sweetie. Your dad’s gone. It’s just you and me now.” She said as she brought the lighter up and ignited the cigarette.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” You’d asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Your mom lets out a frustrated huff before she answers again.

“I don’t know, he’s just gone. Okay? He left town. Would you leave this topic alone now?” She sounded annoyed, and you don’t want to upset her any further, so you nodded quickly and turned your attention back to the TV screen.

“Okay, Ma.”

-

You flash back into another memory, this time you’re older; freshly graduated from high school, ready to move across the country to start university.

You’ve bid your farewells to friends and relatives, promising you’ll come visit every year.

Your mom’s pulling you aside looking at you weirdly. She’s getting old, you can tell by the increasing wrinkles on her face every day.

She smiles softly, and you think she looks like the sweetest grandma ever.

“Honey, I want you to know something. About your dad.”

You raise an eyebrow, mouth dropping slightly.

Your dad has always been a touchy subject for your mom, she’s never really allowed herself to tell you the full story.

Sure, as you’ve gotten older, you’ve learned bits and pieces. He was a dirtbag, leaving your mom right after she gave birth. You’d also learned that you were born in a small town called Woodsboro but had been whisked away almost immediately.

Your mom sighs now, and everything suddenly feels very heavy.

“I just tried so hard to be both parents for you, I know it wasn’t fair to keep this from you for so long. But if you’re ready to learn who your dad is, I’m ready to tell.” She says, voice cracking only the tiniest bit. You can see how strong she’s trying to be.

You suddenly see your whole childhood flash before your eyes. Your mom sending you off and picking you up every day after school. Making meals for the two of you every night, working overtime to support the family.

“No Ma. It’s okay. I already have a dad, and his name is you.” You say, pointing to her heart.

She opens her mouth but you cut in before she can say anything.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need a dad when I have you.” You say, and you mean it wholeheartedly.

Your mother swells with happiness and takes you in a big hug. Wraps her arms around your shoulders.

“Be safe, honey.” She whispers into your ear.

-

You splutter, staring at the page in front of you with a jumble of letters that don’t look like coherent words anymore.

No…it couldn’t be?

There’s no way your dad was Stu Fucking Macher.

It doesn’t feel like you expected it would, finding out who your real father is. Years and years of endless crying; wondering why and why and why.

Every moment has led up to this.

This light, breakable paper in your palms. It’s telling you all you’ve ever wanted to hear, and yet somehow it’s also the thing you need to hear the least.

There’s quick flashes of déjà vu as you stare at the name.

Blood; lots of it. Splattered on the ceiling, all over your body. Screams, loud and clear as day, piercing through your eardrums and starting a ringing sound.

You snap back into reality as Sam steps up to you.

You brace yourself for the worse, you wouldn’t be mad if Sam kicked you out bare into the street right then and there, hell, she could hurt you and you wouldn’t even be mad.

She raises her hand but the impact never comes. Instead, she kneels down to you and holds your shoulders tight.

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard.” She says, soft. Her lips are pulled into a frown but her eyes are sorrowful.

“It’s- it’s okay?” Tara splutters, staring between you and her sister. Flabbergasted would be a minuet way to describe her expression.

“Yes. It’s okay. Can everyone leave the room for a minute? I want to talk to YN.” Sam says, and everyone heeds her orders; shuffling down through the living room hallway.

You stare at Sam, eyebrows knit tight together. She’s hated you since you the day you met, and now she’s the one protecting you?

“Why?” You ask, curiosity seeping through your voice.

“Everyone here has been through something.” She says, biting her lip. “And believe me, if anyone knows about being framed as the bad guy, it’s me.”

She hesitates a little before she opens her mouth again.

“Let’s not pretend that everyone here doesn’t have immensely traumatic things happen to them. Me and Tara…well we know about that. But Mindy and Anika and Chad? You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard from them.” She says, twiddling with her thumbs.

“What if I’m actually the killer?” You press, gauging Sam’s reaction.

She tuts and answers sharply.

“I don’t believe for a second that you are.”

It takes you aback, her being so sure about it. You stay quiet, try to think of anything to say.

You can’t, it’s all too much information to get.

“How can you know that?” You say finally, tilting your head up to make eye contact with Sam.

She pats your back lightly. “You’re a good person YN. We can all tell.”

“We’re a family. One fucked up family, but family all the same. Including you.” She says, voice sure.

You hold eye contact for a while, a silent conversation being spoken. Setting aside all your differences, Sam was actually a really cool person. And you can tell she feels the same way.

Before you know it she’s out down the same hallway the group left in.

You’re sat on the couch, mouth open and eyes glazed.

Huh.

“YN? Mind if I come in?” Tara’s voice sounds from in front of you. You can’t decipher what the tone is.

“Yeah…yeah of course.” You answer, watching as Tara enters and stands before you.

You can’t handle her intense stare, and you drop your head immediately. Anxiety floods you, heart picking up speed.

You don’t notice her until she’s right in front of you, taking your cheeks in her hands. Stroking, softly.

10 minutes ago she was mad, and now she’s comforting you? This girl and her mixed signals.

“I believe you.” She murmurs, leaning down to press her lips on your cheek. She’s so short that even when you’re sitting down you’re almost the same height.

You don’t want to think about any of this now, you don’t want to think about it ever. You want to tell Tara this, but you can’t bring yourself to speak.

Your throat feels dry, eyes slightly teary.

“So what do we do now?” You whisper.

She continues stroking your face fondly, cradles you in her arms.

“We continue with the plan.” She says, and there’s a sense of finality in it that makes you shiver.

-

They’ve pushed back the date on their plan to capture Ghostface a little bit. Tara won’t admit it, but you know she’s the one who suggested it. She must think you need time to process the sudden father reveal, no doubt.

It’s sweet, but she’s wrong. In fact, right now all you need is a distraction. Something to take your mind off all the racing thoughts through your head, the sense of betrayal you feel.

Maybe I should call my mom.

“Hey. Whatcha thinking bout?” A voice sounds from behind you. It’s Anika, and you send her a soft smile; feeling weirdly glad to be in her company.

“Oh nothing much. Just about how my dad was one of the original Ghostfaces and that we’re literally running straight into danger in a few days.” You say, trying to make your voice sound light and teasing.

Anika seems to pick up on the underlying message, and you hear her sigh a little before speaking.

She rounds the couch to come sit down beside you, a pack of medical supplies in her arms. She splays it across the table and turns back to face you.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know what it’s like to have a rough family. My parents were…dipshits to say the least.” She says, casually.

Oh.

You try and think of something appropriate to say in response, but your brain seizes up and it goes blank.

“But you don’t have to feel bad for me. I have a new family now.” She continues, smiling at you; genuine crinkles at the tips of her eyes. She pats your back lightly.

“Just so you know, I don’t think you’re the killer. Who cares if your dad is Ghostface? It’s not like this is the first time it’s happened in our friend group. I trust you, really.”

It’s enough to make you teary-eyed again. You look away, hoping she can’t see them.

“Thank you.” You mumble. “That means a lot to me.”

She chuckles warmly before taking you in a hug. You guys don’t say anything the rest of the time she fixes up your wound.

-

“Are you blushing?” Tara asks immediately when Anika leaves the room, footsteps light.

“What? No, I’m not.” You say, running a hand through your hair.

“Did she make you blush?” She’s asking, a teasing smile on her lips.

You frown.

“She just said some very nice things to me, okay?” You huff, cross your arms like a child.

“Aw, baby. You look adorable.” She murmurs, giving you a peck on the lips.

“Are you not jealous?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She brings a finger to her lips and feigns thoughtfulness. Then she smiles wide and takes your lips in a searing kiss.

“No.” She mumbles against them. “Because I know you’re mine. And I can definitely make you do a lot more than blush.”

It’s enough to make you flush completely red. You let out a little whine at her words.

“See?” She’s asking as she leans back, a smirk on her lips. You try and wipe it off by wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for another kiss.

She’s not wrong. But you’re not going to admit that. It’s a fatal flaw, really. How easily you relent when it comes to Tara. You’d die for her, you’d kill for her, and she knows it.

“Come on,” She’s whispering. “Let’s go to my room.”

You pull back, amused.

“I don’t think I can even stand and you’re asking me to do what?” You ask pointedly.

She tugs on your shirt, obviously not in the mood to play one of your games right now.

“Then maybe I’ll just take you right here.” She whispers into your ear, laughing as you shiver beneath her.

You gulp, stare at her with big eyes. She crawls forward, leaning her elbows into your sides on instinct.

You can’t help but wince.

It seems to break Tara out of her lustful haze, because now she’s looking at you with worried eyes.

She’s getting up kind of panicky, fiddling with her hands.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I should let you sleep.” She says, sort of fast, words tumbling out of her.

You smile at her, grip her hands tight.

“It’s okay, Tara. Although, I do want to hit the hay for a while. Care to join me?” You invite, tugging her closer slightly to make sure she doesn’t leave.

She grins shyly and nods.

“Okay.” She says, biting the inside of her cheek. She’s the cutest with the excitement that radiates off her.

-

When you wake, Tara’s not in your arms anymore. You stir, rubbing your eyes aggressively.

“Tara?” You groan, trying to look around the weirdly dim room for any sign of your girlfriend.

You notice the candles immediately, more than a dozen of them lining the table and making a little pathway to the fireplace.

Your girlfriend appears in front of you now, wearing a little white sundress; one you’d specifically bought for her weeks ago.

She looks so good, you almost start drooling. Like an angel, the way she’s standing and staring at you, playful, excited gaze.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” She grins, bending down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“What is all this?” You question, looking around the room in further inspection.

There are two plates set up quite nicely on the dining table, along with a bottle of champagne and a single flower in the middle.

It’s all so, romantic.

Tara twirls, and gives you a little show of her dress. Then she takes your hand and gently helps you up, leading you to the dining room with her.

“I never got to take you on a date. I think it’s time I return the favor.” She says, nodding along to her sentence; like a reassurance.

“You’re adorable.“ You say, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She blushes a little.

“Thank you.” She mumbles.

The smell as you enter the dining room is mouth-watering. You recognize it immediately. It’s your favorite pasta, ravioli with white wine and tomatoes.

Tara’s an amazing cook, you know this already. But the flavors that explode in your mouth when you take a bite out of it are otherworldly.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked.” You speak through stuffed cheeks, eyes wide and happy.

Tara picks up a piece of her own and eats it.

“I didn’t know what to make you, so I called your mom. She said this was your favorite, so I went on youtube and tried to replicate the recipe.” She says, somewhat shyly.

You beam.

“You called my mom?” You ask, teasingly. Boop her on the nose. You celebrate internally when you see her flush red.

“Yeah, it was no biggie. Just a phone call.” She disregards, biting her bottom lip to try and stop the color that’s overtaking her whole face.

She reaches forward to grab another piece of ravioli before she stops short and gasps.

“Oh! I almost forgot to give you these.” Tara says, reaching behind her chair for something. She pulls out a huge bouquet of flowers, filled with your favorites.

You don’t try and hide the surprise in your face, mouth open and gaping.

She slaps your arm lightly at your reaction.

“Hey! I can be romantic too you know.”

You nod sarcastically.

“Oh yeah no doubt no doubt.” You say, taking the bouquet from her hands in favor of bending over the table and kissing her.

“Thank you, baby.” You say against her lips. She smiles wide, scrunching her nose as she pulls back.

“You taste like pasta!” She’s giggling, pushing you back into your chair.

You finish the dinner in record time, and that’s due entirely to how good the meal was. You and Tara sit and talk for a little while before moving to the floor to watch a movie.

Tara’s annoyingly secretive about it, not letting you see whatever she’s setting up. You huff and go grab snacks from the fridge instead.

When you get back it’s to the TV covered, and there’s a small projector at the side shining light on a random bed sheet she’s hung vertically.

“Impressive speed.” You praise.

Tara’s sitting smugly, arms open and inviting you to come sit.

It’s playing 10 Things I Hate About You, one of your all-time favorite movies. You settle down into the spot next to her and sneak a glance over, but she’s already staring at you; hard.

You let out a breath of happiness and pull her closer by the waist. Kiss her on the forehead, murmur against her skin.

“Thank you for this. I needed it.”

She nods into you and pulls you impossibly closer.

“Of course.” She says.

You decide Ghostface can wait, your dad can wait. All that matters right now is Tara. Her and this movie and you.

The only three things that exist in the world.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for making a joke about colors?

(This is in no way going to go the direction you think it will)

I (17F, though I was 16 during the time of this) used to have an online friend (23F) who I was really close with for about a year or two, and we'd talk and roleplay about a lot of stuff. Generally, our interests in most stuff aligned, and it was just great! I felt really happy having someone who would talk to me regularly, and there was a total lack of drama.

But the issue started when I noticed how she was lacking in responses in regards to /my/ ideas that involved /my/ characters, yet sent me really long (and, I'll be honest, stupid and ooc) plot ideas with her own characters. She never seemed to really give me any kind of reaction to my excited rambles about an idea. And I'll mention this here, I have ADHD. It's not like I was constantly spamming her, but whenever I sent ideas, she'd just be like "that's cool" or "do what you want". I really felt like she wasn't contributing to anything unless it was about HER. She'd even send completely horrible ideas like (this is just a random example of MANY things that irritated me) "what if my male human oc had a kid with your vampire oc and had to drink blood to sustain the child but refused to because he's a vegetarian?" And I was just like. Why are you so content with letting a literal baby die for the sake of oooh meat Bad™.

And after a while and a bit of arguments here and there, she also (though she claims it was unintentional) dismissed or put down my interests. We talked about ocs in love, I mentioned the Titanic dancing scene, and she immediately goes "I don't know about that, but Titanic sucked as a movie". I randomly mention that I've got back into Gravity Falls and ask her if she's seen it, and she says "No, and the only things I have was that girl being annoying." I inquire if she knows Captain Underpants, and when she says no, asks if she's interested in getting into it, to which she demands, "What is this about? Are you trying to get me to voice my issues so I can upset you and you can get mad at me?" As if the previous instances of HER putting down MY interests was ME GOADING HER INTO IT! Seriously, I can't even.

There were other issues that are equally as ridiculous and mainly involve me being just slightly childishly naive and her turning it into a Full. Blown. Fucking. Fight. And it wasn't even two-sided! I was never really ever mad. It was literally just her stupid anxiety and overthinking ruining our friendship. She often also tried to express how much she hated herself and demanded things like "am I being manipulative? Am I toxic? Does everyone hate me?" during these times, which was very frustrating, because she WAS being toxic, but due to her depressive tendencies, I couldn't even say that because she'd go off and do something dumb like harm herself. And like... I do believe people start to greatly mature in their late teens, but they ARE still teens. And I was 16. I couldn't understand why someone in their twenties was being more immature and stupid than me!

Anyway, our 2-year-long friendship slipped into the trash bag when one of our mutual friends posted "hi" and she (the Bad friend) replied "hi" with red, white, and blue hearts. Jokingly, I responded, "FRENCH HEARTS!" and she said "Dutch hearts." To which I said, "do u know how many flags r red white and blue".

She messaged another of our friends (who, may I add, is closer to ME and therefore told ME all about THIS HOE'S insane rants) and started raving in all caps about (and I directly quote) "WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE ATTITUDE?!?!" Like, are you kidding me? That's your response to a lighthearted joke? To express dramatics and claim I was being an "asshole"? After I heard she said that to our friend, I blocked her on my main, and she proceeded to block all my accounts from all her accounts. And when she dm'd another of our mutual friends asking, the mutual calmly replied that she had acted immature. And then she had the audacity to go and say "it's actually you being immature because you only listened to one side of the story !!1!1!"

Like, girl, how do you expect me to have sympathy for your "tendencies" and "fear of abandonment" when you're the one pushing people away? I once implied she ought to get diagnosed for autism, because her lack of understanding things and how to not upset people in convos was really upsetting.

Sorry if this is bad. Idk guys. AITA?

[melancholy-of-nadia]

love u lately (m) #9 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately​ chapter title: #9 - pour up pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: welcome to your "fuck it" era. you ran away and haven't returned back to the house since the fight with yoongi and jimin. you're not sure how namjoon hasn't caught on to anything yet... but now taehyung, hoseok, and jungkook just invited you to go out to party at some random frat not at your campus and get you to destress from the drama. oh you're going to destress alright. pour up a drink and well, you might... regret... this decision... warnings:  ANOTHER LONG CHAPTER, flashback pov, angsty, stressful, alcohol consumption, dance battle, FIGHTING, multiple fights?, blood mention, crying, THE TRUTH, AND MORE CONFESSIONS, txt appearance, sakura appearance, soyoon and john eun and san appearance, jin lowkey snitching, ANGRY NAMJOON, soft namjoon, throwing up, kissing, SMUT, creampie, fingering, no other smut warnings it's a surprise but its very tame no worries, reader is on BC, good end?, EXTRA POV at the end, a lot happens i can't remember hehehe maybe i am drunk too note: again pls send love to @daegudrama who is in charge of editing these terrible chapter total word count: 14.3k drop date:  April 12th, 2024, 6:00PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #8 | Series Masterlist | #10

March 1st [Friday]

It’s been 2 weeks.

2 weeks since the fight.

2 weeks since you have last been “home”.

That’s not to say you haven’t taken a shower or changed out of your clothes since then. God, no.

You’ve been staying in Hwasa’s dorm ever since. Her roommate went on an immersion program abroad, so she has no roommate for this semester. Luckily, you’ve had access to her dorm’s shared bathroom to freshen up and her roommates' baron bed.

As for clothes and other stuff, Jungkook has been bringing you everything you need. He’s the only one you can rely on from the house as you’ve always been the most comfortable around him outside of Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi. He’s also the one who knew about the deal and didn’t tell anyone, aside from blabbering to Jimin back in October. 

You’re not 100% sure what the aftermath was like in that house after you left. But one thing for sure is that the other guys—not involved in the deal—have covered up things to Joon about your disappearance. They know how rocky things are, and if Namjoon knew all of this, you think it could make things a million times worse. You appreciate them stepping in like that though, no matter what they think of the situation.

Jungkook did attempt to recap it all through text, rather thoroughly.

+++++++++++

 — past —

February 15th [Friday]

“You guys done fucked things up now. A three-way relationship? Are you fucking kidding me?” Jin was seething as he scolded Jimin and Yoongi in the living room. The other guys were sitting at the dining table as Jin told them that they had to stay for this ordeal. They sat there in silence, waiting for this to (hopefully) end as soon as possible.

If the argument from earlier didn’t sober everyone up, then Jin’s yelling definitely did.

“And you! Taehyung! What were you thinking asking that?!” Jin pointed his finger at Taehyung.

“Huh? Me!? Jimin was the one who told me to ask something risky if Yoongi pulled that block.” Tae tried to avert his gaze from the older man. 

Everyone groaned. Jenga blocks still remained scattered on the table and on the floor of the living room. Unfinished snacks and drinks remained a mess around the table as well. Jin made a mental note to make Yoongi and Jimin clean up the aftermath of Friday Night Game Night as punishment for what happened.

“But you know what, I expected something like this at some point. Hoseok and Taehyung, please pay up. I take Venmo.” The two men—that Jin name dropped—groaned, pulling out their phones to send him the money. “Hyung, what the hell, man?!” Jimin glanced at them back and forth, appalled. Even Yoongi was confused that there was something like this going on, but he really shouldn’t be the one judging right now. “What? Did you think we didn’t suspect anything? That y’all were slick? There were signs...” Jin’s words drifted off.

“Like?” Yoongi narrowed his eyes at the older man. “Well should I mention the blowjob that Honey gave you in Mr. Kang’s office?” Hoseok interjected as he turned around from his chair. Yoongi’s eyes widened, “What the fuck? H-How did you—” He stumbled on his words. Hoseok didn’t come in until after it ended, he thought. How would he have known!?

“The door may have been closed, but people approaching the door can still hear what goes on behind it. Especially in that old ass building…” Hoseok sighed, “Thought it was just you jacking off in there at first, but when I heard you say, and I quote,  ‘Fuck. You really drive me crazy. You know that, Sunshine?’ I connected the dots quickly. I sat out there waiting until it ended so I could come in to drop my shit.” He emphasized, leaving Yoongi completely speechless.

“Jimin sent me Y/N’s nudes accidently one night!” Taehyung stood up from his chair in an instant, abruptly confessing. “He unsent them, but I caught it! He had to fes’ up to me after that. I thought it was just the both of them in a situationship. Then when Jin said Yoongi hyung was also involved, I couldn’t believe that. But I started connecting the dots during the trip.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jimin, snarling a bit. Trying to avoid further questioning, Jimin mouths out to him that it happened while he was drunk when he stayed over at Taehyung’s during Christmas break. Though of course, Yoongi cannot read his lips.

“I didn’t lose the bet because I always knew there was a possibility it wasn’t just hyung and Honey after I caught them having sex. Especially based on the conversation Jimin and I had during his birthday party. So I was on Jin’s side.” Jungkook added, then he shrugged. 

“Interesting. Yoongi had told me about a dilemma he had with someone he was seeing. Jimin was also acting a little too clingy to Honey than usual, so I put the pieces together and realized what these two were doing. I thought I was wrong, but Jesus Christ…” Jin sat down in the loveseat, wondering if he had failed as president of Beta Tau Sigma. Should he have not let you move in to prevent this? Or should he have brought it up privately to you three and warned you all not to do it? Whatever scenario he thinks of doesn’t matter. What happened, happened. Now people are hurt and humiliated. He has to step it up to help you guys in any way, especially you. “Does Namjoon hyung know?” Taehyung inquired, earning everyones’ immediate deadpan stare at him. The silent action makes it seem that there is a shared understanding of something. No one wants Namjoon to know what happened. They know that if he finds out, they might have to be ready for their own funerals. “No.” Yoongi answered. “Fair enough. So what’s the plan now?” He followed up with another question. “We don’t even know where Honey went? Is she even somewhere safe?” Taehyung’s attitude towards this situation has been nonchalant, but in reality, he was actually very concerned for your mental wellbeing. He may be a social butterfly fuckboi, but whatever Jimin and Yoongi hid from you was a new low to him. You weren’t very close to him before, but he has grown fond of you in the past 2 years he’s known you. “We’re not telling Namjoon hyung that’s for sure!” Jungkook chimed in, scrolling at his recent messages. “I texted Hwasa because it’s the first person I thought she’d go to. She said that Honey was with her, asleep on her bed. Doesn’t seem like Honey wants to come back anytime soon.”

The guys let out a sigh of relief, though guilt shadowed Jimin and Yoongi. Feeling worn out, Jimin decided to get up from his spot, stumbled a bit and headed up to his room. Jin’s about to follow in pursuit to get him to come back and help clean up, but Yoongi stopped him. “Just let him be, I’ll help clean up if you need it,” The cat-eyed man said, reading into Jin’s intentions. “He’s already mentally punishing himself over this.”

After this, the other guys went into their rooms and called it a night. Yoongi remained in the dimly lit living room area, cleaning the mess that was left behind and reflecting on his frustrations. +++++++++++

You asked Jungkook about Namjoon. You knew that he would start to find things suspicious and eventually interrogate everyone about your whereabouts, like the older sibling figure he is. But Jungkook said that wasn’t the case. Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:24PM]: No, Hyung’s been holed up in his room working on his polisci papers or in the lib’s lab room helping his buddies with stuff.

Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:25PM]: He did ask about you though. Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:25PM]: But me and tae said that you’ve been busy working on a mid-semester project with her so you would be staying over at her dorm for a while. Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:27PM]: Yoongi hyung and Jimin have been closed off since then, but Namjoon hyung hasn’t noticed much.

You keep going through your past texts between Jungkook and rereading what was sent. There are more messages from him mentioning that Jimin and Yoongi have been more standoffish towards others, making you feel concerned for them. Wait. No. You shake your head. Why are you even worried? They were the ones who started it. Did they not realize that things were better off platonic, instead of messing with your heart?

You breathe out, locking your phone. You go back to lying down on your side on the bed, closing your eyes to stop yourself from spiraling. The door suddenly unlocks, and the creaking sound marks Hwasa's entrance into the dorm. Opening your eyes, you observe her movements as she places her backpack on the desk. “Hey Hon, did you go to your class at noon?” She asks, her eyes searching yours. You nod, answering, “Yeah, couldn’t skip it today. Professor Watanabe said we were having a quiz because no one asked questions last class. Came back here after class.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Hwasa comes over to settle on your bed, arranging a throw pillow against the wall for comfort. She shifts her position, making herself at home. "How are ya feeling?"

“Better than before, but still not that great.”

“Maybe you should go out tonight. I think Nu Kappa is having a party tonight? Oh wait, Sigma Lambda is for sure having a house party. Let me check in with Joshua for that one because–”

“No.” You cut her off, though the word coming out of your mouth sounded much harsher than you had wanted it to. “I just don’t want to be around people that I know or potentially know me. Or just run into them.” You refer to Yoongi and Jimin with that line, maybe even Namjoon too. 

You want to talk this whole thing over with them, but you’re not ready yet. You just can’t organize your thoughts yet, and you don’t know why. Maybe it’s the anxiety of knowing that a conversation about this would eventually lead to you guys to cut off contact completely. And that could be it. Maybe that’s for the better. 

You will move out of the Beta Tau Sigma house.

Maybe you can ask Student Housing if they’d be willing to let you officially move into Hwasa’s dorm for the rest of the semester.

Yeah, you can manage to make this work out. But is it what you really want?

No. Of course not. But at this point in time, you can’t imagine this going any other way. “My bad, girl. I just wanted to help cheer you up.” Hwasa’s expression becomes somber.

No, no. You didn’t mean it like that. Why can’t your brain work properly?! “No, it’s just— sorry.” You apologize, trying to think of something to brighten up the mood. “But if you want to go out, don’t let me stop you, bestie! Maybe you want to see a special someone out.” 

Hwasa lets out a giggle, “It’s okay, I know you’re going through a lot right now.” She places her hand on your back to give you reassuring rubs. “But I’ll take that suggestion. Joshua told me his friend is making his DJ debut at Sigma Lambda so I wanted to drop by and support.”

Concern crosses your face, “That sounds pretty awesome, but are you okay going alone? I can go with you if you want.” She shakes her head. “Nah, it’s cool. I don’t want to force you to be there when you’re not feeling too hot. I’ll hit up Annie and ask if she’s down to come with me.” “Okay, that sounds good.” You reply, appreciating her understanding and the attempt to bring some normalcy back into the evening.

+++++++++++

Hwasa was in luck because Annie did respond not long after she sent her a text. She invited Hwasa to get ready over at her dorm, which was the nice apartment-like dorm on the northernmost part of campus. Hwasa says that she might come back late, but more than likely, thinks she’ll be knocked out at Annie’s dorm. She’ll keep you posted. Before she leaves that night, she gives you her access card (since you’ve been entering her dorm before thanks to the shared bathroom she has with the 2 girls in the next dorm) and tells you to feel free to go out to get something for dinner. After that happens, you’re left alone now. The Hello Kitty clock on Hwasa’s table read, “8:46 PM” Maybe you should grab something to eat. You honestly haven’t been eating properly. But you are tired of the dining hall food after almost two weeks of eating it. You hated it even when you used to dorm last year. “Maybe I’ll order from DoorDash to treat myself after a tough week,” You say to yourself while you lay down on Hwasa’s big fluffy pink floor rug. Netflix movie night and take-out sounds ideal, right?

Just as you’re scrolling through your phone trying to find an option you’re craving, you hear a loud knock at the door. 

Oh shit.

It’s not Hwasa, right? She would’ve texted you that she was coming back because she forgot something. Then is it the RA? No. Hwasa said she was cool with him, so he wouldn’t snitch you out. Did something else happen?

You get up from your comfortable position to walk towards the door. You’re not gonna lie, you’re a little nervous to open it.

Who the fuck could it even be on a Friday night?

You open it slowly, seeing tall figures coming into view.

“Honey, come out!” “Taehyung!?” You yelp out. Once you recognize the voice, you rapidly open the door wide enough to find Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok on the other side. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” You ask. You don’t remember telling them to come over. Even if you did, there’s not much they can do in such a small dorm. This is the first time in two weeks you’re talking to any of the other guys besides Jungkook. “We came over because we want to invite you out,” Hoseok responds this time, signature heart smile showing. “We know you haven’t been feeling well so we want to go with you and let loose!”

You’re getting deja vu from the same conversation you had with Hwasa earlier.

“So go get changed out of your…pajamas.” Jungkook looks down at you as he speaks, somewhat checking you out. A thought in your mind just clicks that he was looking at your chest, wearing no bra and cleavage all out. Men… You’ve been wearing your lace tank top and My Melody pajama pants since you got back from class. You didn’t have any plans of going out after class, so why be dressed up in tight jeans, a shirt and whatever else for the whole day? 

“Look, guys. That sounds like a mighty plan you got there, but I really don’t think I should go.” “But why not? There’s nothing better than drinking and forgetting your regrets! Please come with us!” Taehyung steps in closer, trying to welcome himself inside.

“Because… I’m feeling a little sick…?” The guys look at you in complete disbelief before you admit the truth. “Okay, fine, I don’t want to party around here and see these people.”

“Who said we’re partying here?” Jungkook smirks, “No, we’re going… somewhere else.” “Where is this ‘somewhere else’ you speak of?” You narrow your eyes, mild interest sparking behind them.

“Stop asking so many questions and just get ready. I’ll even help you pick out something.” Hoseok takes this as an opportunity to enter the dorm, where you direct him to your closet of stuff. The two other guys follow in as well and stand there as Hoseok is sifting through the rack mixed with jeans, blouses, skirts and sweaters.  

“Here, this is cute.” He hands you your black heart ring detail halter top, flared jeans, and a black knit cardigan. “Oh, this isn’t that bad of a look? No wonder people say you’re the most stylish on the dance team.” 

Hoseok grins, his eyes lighting up with pride at the compliment. "Well, you know, I've got an eye for these things. Now, go change into this. The night may be young, but we’re not getting any younger here!"

You take the outfit from him, a small smile playing on your lips. "Thanks, Hobi. I appreciate it." You look back at the guys who are still standing in the dorm, chuckling. "Um alright, can you guys step outside the door while I change?"

“Oh whoops!” Jungkook yells out, The three guys scurry out of the dorm, giving you a moment of privacy to change. 

Hoseok calls after you behind the door, "Let me know if you need any makeup tips! I'm a pro at this too."

You chuckle, appreciating the effort to lighten the mood. In the bathroom, you quickly change into the outfit Hoseok picked out. It's a mix of your style but with a touch of Hoseok's fashion flair. The black heart ring detail halter top fits snugly, paired with flared jeans and a cozy black knit cardigan. You glance at yourself in the mirror, the reflection showing a slightly different version of you.

After a deep breath, you open the door, greeted by the approving nods and smiles of Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Taehyung claps his hands together. "Looking good! Now, let's get out there and have some fun!"

With excitement now in the air, you grab your bag before you go and you all head out the building.

+++++++++++

Jungkook leads the way to his car, a sleek 2017 Mercedes-Benz C300 parked in the student parking lot next to Hwasa's dorm. The soft glow of the streetlights reflects off the polished surface, and you can't help but appreciate the comfortable luxury of his car. You will always remember that he begged his parents to sign off on it so he could get it as his graduation gift.

Jungkook unlocks the doors, and you all pile in, anticipation building for the night ahead.

The drive is filled with a mix of laughter and excited chatter as you navigate through the city. The atmosphere in the car is lively, the previous stress of weeks ago momentarily forgotten as you stare out of the car looking at the skyline of city lights on the freeway. It feels less suffocating over here. No Jimin. No Yoongi. No Namjoon. Just you and the other boys. You weren’t too keen on coming along with them, but now that you’re sitting here, DEAN’s Pour Up bass boosted on the car speakers, you know you made a good choice. You gotta let loose.

After 20 minutes on the road, Jungkook exits off the freeway into a residential area. As he finds a parking spot, you can hear the distant bass of music and the chatter of college students walking around. Is this another college’s Greek row?  The car engine turns off, and you all step outside looking around the neighborhood.

You're immediately struck by the grandeur of the fraternity houses. They are much bigger than the ones at your college campus, their size and architecture exuding an air of privilege. These houses are easily identifiable by the prominent display of large Greek letters or flags proudly adorning the front, signaling the presence of each fraternity.

Lights spill out from the windows, and the distant sounds of music and laughter grow louder as you approach the houses. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation, and you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness being here. Though, you’re glad that you won’t run into people you know here. And even if you do, the chance is likely really low. Who would come 20 minutes away to party at another college?

Once this question comes to your mind, you feel a little odd. Wait, are you forgetting something?

Before you can think about it more, Jungkook gently holds your wrist, leading the way through the lively crowds of students walking around, and you follow suit. 

The four of you approach the entrance of one of the bigger fraternity houses, the thumping bass becomes almost palpable. The flag outside says ΗΨΒ— Eta Psi Beta. You’re honestly not familiar with this one as it seems to be one that doesn’t have a chapter at your college. Without hesitation or restrictions, you guys walk into the side entrance leading to the backyard. After several steps of walking along the slightly lit path, you're engulfed in an atmosphere of sights and sounds. The massive backyard is packed with people, the air pulsating with the beats of a 2010s party mix blaring from the speakers. You see a pretty girl with a colorful knit top and black hair DJing the party from the far end of the backyard, along with several people behind her overseeing the vibes. Color-changing lights crisscross above, connected to tall oak trees, casting a warm glow over the lively scene below.

To your right, a makeshift bar is set up, complete with a variety of drinks and colorful cocktails. Students are chatting, dancing, and moving in synchronized rhythm with the music. The atmosphere is infectious, and you find yourself getting into the groove, the worries of the past weeks slowly fading away. 

Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok lead you through the crowd, their excitement contagious. You can't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the party, a stark contrast to the more intimate gatherings you're used to. 

"Isn't this amazing?" Taehyung exclaims over the music, and you respond with an enthusiastic nod.

“How the hell did you guys find this party?” you shout back at him, catching yourself staring at the DJ Girl changing the setlist to some House and UK Garage music to hype up the crowd more.

“Jungkook says he knows a guy here!” Hoseok adds.

“Yeah! We go to the same gym off-campus and box a bit,” Jungkook explains closer to your ear so you could hear amid the lively ambiance. “Oh look! Speak of the devil!” His eyes widen when he sees the man he’s referring to step right up in front of you guys. “Woah! Jungkook! You came!” The man speaks with excitement in his eyes, facial features reflecting a youthfulness that adds to his charm. Like Jungkook, he possesses captivating doe eyes that convey both innocence and a hint of curiosity. He is seemingly younger than your group, however, his height is exactly the same as the trio with you. Jungkook chuckles, going in for a bro hug. “Didn’t think I was going to, but I dragged some friends with me.” Jungkook moves aside to introduce you three, “This is Hoseok, Taehyung, and Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you guys! I’m Taehyun Kang.” He extends a handshake to each of you, catching you off guard. Awkwardly, you take his hand in yours. His politeness radiates, and you can't help but find it adorable.

Taehyun leads the way, gesturing toward the makeshift bar. "Oh! Since you guys are here, let's get some drinks!" he suggests, guiding you through the lively crowd towards the vibrant bar area. “We have a special jungle juice just for tonight’s event. We call it Sugar Rush Ride!” He leans close to you guys, “We basically dumped a bunch of blue raspberry Jolly Ranchers in it mixed with other alcohols!” “Oh that seems pretty cool! Let me get some!” You say.  Taehyun smiles, pouring you some in a blue plastic cup and hands it to you. “You guys want to try some too?”

“I’m the DD for the drive back home, but these two can get some.” Hoseok reassures the younger men it's okay to get wasted. He’s always been a reliable upperclassman and brother to them.

You take the chance to sip the cup. Mm. It’s a little too sweet for your taste, but the strong burning sensation (of what you assume is rum and vodka), helps it lessen. Good. This is what you need right now so badly.

Fuck it.

For a moment, you're content to let go of your troubles and embrace the carefree spirit of the night.

+++++++++++

“Where’s Y/N? She’s not in her room.”

This question catches Jin off guard as he sips his wine, slightly choking on it before setting it down on the coffee table. He’s hanging out with Namjoon, John, San and Soyoon watching a Ghibli movie in the living room. Not that he was paying much attention, he was on his phone playing the new Maple Story update. Yoongi went to play basketball at the intramural gymnasium on campus, while Jimin went drinking with an upperclassmen, Taemin.

Of course Jin knew where you were this whole time since the fight, and even tonight when Hoseok said they were inviting you to the Eta Psi Beta party at the neighboring university. But is he about to tell Namjoon?

He’s not sure. Jin pauses the game on his phone, glancing at Namjoon. "Yeah, she mentioned she's spending the night at Hwasa's place. They've been hanging out a lot lately," he says, attempting a nonchalant tone to avoid revealing any hint of the tension between you and the others. His eyes flicker between the screen and Namjoon, unsure whether he should disclose more information.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, a slight frown forming on his face. "Is she okay?"

Jin hesitates for a moment, debating how much to share. "I guess? She just said she needed a change of scenery, you know?"

"What do you mean?" Namjoon presses, sensing there might be more to the story.

Jin takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting away momentarily. "Look, there's been some tension lately. I think she just needed some space to clear her head."

Namjoon's expression tightens, concern deepening. "Tension? What happened?" John, San and Soyoon’s attention from the movie has been diverted to the conversation happening between Jin and Namjoon. Jin sighs, knowing he can’t divulge more information in front of them. So he gets up, grabbing Namjoon’s wrist, and dragging him into the hallway leading to their rooms. “God, I hate having to hide shit from you of all people.” Jin whispers aggressively, putting his hands on the taller man’s shoulders. “Fine, basically, Y/N ran away two weeks ago and is staying at Hwasa’s dorm.” “...What the fuck, Seokjin?!” Namjoon reins in his emotions, realizing that getting upset won't help him understand the situation better. Now, more than ever, he needs to find out what's going on with you. “Why didn’t anyone tell me—”

He interrupts the younger man, sighing in frustration. “It’s not my place to tell you what happened exactly and neither was it anyone else’s. I think you might have an idea, though, even if you weren’t there. If you want to know, go find her.”

Namjoon is left speechless, brows furrowing as he absorbs the information, a surge of worry overtaking him. 

Jin nods, understanding Namjoon's urgency. “And we didn’t want to get you upset and probably wreck anything…or anyone.”

“Where is she, Jin?”

Jin, once again hesitates for a moment. “She’s at a party with Hoseok, Tae, and Jungkook. It’s at the…Eta Psi Beta house at that neighboring university, not too far from here.”

“Oh Sh–” Namjoon looks like a deer caught in headlights, evident concern plastered on his face. “Did you not fucking know that’s the frat that he is in?”

“He?” Jin pauses for a moment confused about who Namjoon was referring to before it all clicks in his head, panicking. “Holy fuck! How was I supposed to remember that? Jungkook said he had a friend there. And I mean, it’s a big frat…what are the odds that she’ll run into him?”

Namjoon takes a deep breath, frustration and worry battling within him. He has been keeping tabs here and there on this guy for over a year, just out of concern for you. He wasn’t sure if you’d ever plan to seek him, or vice versa. No, this isn’t good. 

He doesn't want to waste any time. 

“I’m going out!” Without another word, he heads towards the front door.

John gets up from the couch seeing the commotion. “Woah, Joon, what’s going on?” His brows furrow, searching Namjoon's face for answers.

Namjoon's jaw clenches as he sighs, concern etched across his face. “I need to go find Y/N. She’s at Eta Psi’s party at UOX 20 minutes away, and she might be in some trouble soon.” As he speaks, his eyes dart around, calculating the steps he needs to take.

John senses the urgency in Namjoon's movements and offers his assistance. “I’ll take you! I didn’t drink at all earlier so I’m good to drive.”

Soyoon, catching wind of the unfolding situation, joins in, her eyes wide with concern. “We'll come along too and help you find her!”

Meanwhile, Jin, trying to compose himself, acknowledges the chaos. “I wanna go, but I’ll stay here. Yoongi will be back later, so it’ll be suspicious if we’re all gone,” he says, his demeanor calm but resolute, a stabilizing force amid the growing turmoil. Namjoon’s gaze flickers briefly to Jin, silently thanking him for staying behind. He then nods appreciatively at John's offer, grateful for the immediate support. "Thanks, John. Let's go."

 He gestures for San and Soyoon to follow as well, her worried expression mirrors his own. As they make their way to the door, John grabs his jacket, his movements quick and purposeful.

The front door closes, leaving Jin alone with his own contemplations. The room, once filled with casual conversation and the glow of the TV now feels empty and eerily quiet.

He glances at his phone, pondering whether he should reach out to Yoongi. He knows Yoongi hates that man’s guts just as much as Namjoon, but he knows that you will be even more troubled if you see him as well. As he debates internally, Jin takes a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever repercussions may follow, hoping that Namjoon can find you and the other boys swiftly and ensure you don’t end up seeing him.

+++++++++++

After several drinks, you’ve gotten lost in the humongous crowd of people filling the backyard of this frat house. The last time you remember seeing Taehyung’s social butterfly ass was when he was striking up conversations with a couple of girls. His infectious laughter and charming boxy smile drew them towards him, and soon he was engaged in a friendly game of beer pong with a group jealous guys and trying to show off his skills and impressive aim to the girls. They loved it.

You believe Jungkook was dragged away by an excited Taehyun wanting to show him something inside the house, though you’re not sure if he’s back…and somewhere in this crowd.  

So that leaves you with Hoseok for a while, and when 4 Walls by F(X) starts playing, he nudges you into the middle of the crowd.

You dance with him for a bit, enjoying yourself as you attempt to follow along the movements he does. This ends with you awkwardly laughing at your own failure. You could never pop and lock, or whatever he did.  You’re just not that flexible at all or well-versed with dance moves that aren’t “The Robot”. But Hoseok is gentle when teaching you. Compared to how strict he is with his students during his dance class sessions, according to Jungkook.

Dancing with him was short-lived, as he tells you to stay put because he wants to enter the dance circle emerging from the middle of the crowd in front of the DJ. He might be the DD for the night, but he isn’t going to miss out on the fun while being sober.

You don’t want to be squished with drunk, sweaty bodies around you, so you end up next to the DJ booth, where the same girl is still spinning tracks and taking charge of the party’s setlist. Her effortless grace and commanding presence behind the turntables catch your attention, and you can't help but be intrigued by her.

"So, how did you get into DJing?" you ask, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the music. Usually, you’re not as courageous to start conversations with random people, but today, the alcohol in your system said otherwise.

The girl flashes you a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Well, I've always had a passion for music," she replies, adjusting a knob on the mixer with practiced ease. "Back in Japan, I used to DJ at small local events. When I came here for my exchange program, I jumped at the chance to share my love for music with a new audience."

You nod, impressed by her dedication and talent. "Oh wow! That's amazing. You're really good at it," you comment, nodding towards the crowd as they groove to the beat.

Her smile widens at the compliment, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thanks! I love seeing people enjoy themselves on the dance floor, connected by the music."

As you continue chatting, you come to find out her name is Sakura, and is in the same year as you. Before you get the chance to tell her your name, your attention is suddenly drawn to the makeshift dance floor where Hoseok is engaged in a spirited dance battle with another party-goer. The two of them move with grace and precision, their movements synchronized to the pulsating rhythm of the music.

You watch in awe as Hoseok dazzles the crowd with his fluid dance moves, his energy infectious as he captivates everyone around him. The other dancer, who you couldn’t see well from your angle, seems to hold their own with impressive skill drawing impressed sounds from the people watching. The guy keeps matching Hoseok move for move while Summer Walker’s Dat Right There plays in the background. After they finish, two other guys are up and dancing to the next song on Sakura’s setlist.

Sakura follows your gaze as you watch Hoseok get mixed into the crowd once again, a smile playing on her lips. "Looks like your friend knows how to move," she remarks, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

You nod in agreement, feeling a swell of pride over your friend getting complimented. “Yup! He’s won several dance competitions in the past.” You sip your blue cup. What even is the alcohol inside this cup? You think maybe you should stop drinking before you start to get the urge to puke. Though, when else can you go all out like this without their supervision?

“Competition!? Woah, that’s on a whole other level than Jun! He’s in the school’s dance team too.”

You want to continue your conversation with Sakura, but suddenly, you feel your vision spin. Shit, maybe you are at your limit. You used to be able to drink more, why are you so weak tonight? You try to hold onto the table for stability, which then catches Sakura’s attention.

 “Wait, hey…you okay?”

You quickly look up at her, and wave her off. “Uh, yeah! 100%. Just need some water.”

“There’s cases of bottled water in the kitchen, just head in through the back door. Think you can make it there? I would help, but I’m—”

You manage a weak smile, grateful for Sakura's concern. "Don’t worry! I'll do that. Thanks, Sakura," you reply, your voice sounding more slurred as you attempt to maintain your composure. With a determined nod, you push yourself away from the table, focusing on steadying your steps as you make your way toward the back door.

As you navigate through the throngs of bodies, you can feel the effects of the alcohol weighing heavily on your senses. The music seems louder now, the lights brighter, and the voices around you a chaotic blur. You press a hand to your temple, willing away the dizzy spell that threatens to overwhelm you.

The sudden shift in atmosphere hits you like a wave as you step inside the house. The air is thick with smoke, a potent mixture of cigarette and weed fumes that assault your senses. You cough slightly, your eyes watering as you try to adjust to the stifling environment. 

The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, adding to the hazy ambiance. People are scattered throughout the space, lounging on couches, leaning against walls, and mingling in small groups. The music from outside pounds in your ears, reverberating through the walls and floor, making it difficult to think clearly. 

Making your way to the kitchen, you find the bottled water, grab one and twist off the cap, taking a long gulp of the refreshing liquid. The relief is short lived though, as you glance around, searching for a familiar face in the sea of strangers. Jungkook, Hoseok, and Taehyung are nowhere to be seen for some time. 

You feel a pang of unease at being separated from your friends at a random frat party, God knows where. You’re also passed the point of being tipsy. 

What school are you even at? Why didn’t you bother asking about it in the car earlier?

Maybe you should try finding Jungkook. Yeah, he should be inside somewhere. You didn’t see him come out earlier.

You walk to the living room to try to search for him amongst the lax bodies taking hits from bongs, but suddenly you hear your name called out.

“Y/N!”

Jungkook?

Wait, did that sound like Jungkook calling out to you? Maybe? Maybe not?

You’re drunk, but the voice sounds familiar, though. Who is that?

You turn around.

And when you do, you immediately regret it.

The familiar voice that you deemed to be Jungkook was not him, but it wasn’t completely unfamiliar to you at all. You used to hear this voice so often. A voice that would whisper sweet nothings to you in the late summer nights and would annoy the hell out of you with his comments.

It can’t be him, you think. You’re drunk! You’re just drunk, Y/N! Why would it be him, here, right now? As much as you tried to refute the appearance of that man before you, the image became clearer.

Choi Yeonjun.

Once you realize this, everything around you seizes movement. Soon, it feels like you stepped into a dream with how hazy everything has become. The atmosphere consumed with smoke from people smoking weed here is definitely not helping. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol running through your veins or your anxiety making the world spin once more, but there’s a curdling feeling in your stomach now.

Before you can even think, your legs start to move you back, very slowly. Away from the man who left you devastated and heartbroken not too long ago.

“Y-Yeon–”

“Y/N…” 

Fuck. It’s been almost two years and you still can’t fucking say his name. What’s wrong with you? You’re over him. Why are you somehow standing here in fear just from being in his presence?

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Me either.” That’s all you can mutter out? Wait. Is the “Jun” that Hoseok was dancing against earlier. Holy shit, this is all making sense. Of course you knew he went to a university close to you, but there’s thousands of students going there too. You would’ve never thought you’d just see fucking Yeonjun out of all people at a random ass frat party.

You wonder if he could sense the fear crawling through your skin, controlling your muscle movements. Your vision quivers twice as much as it should. Don’t make eye contact dammit.

Too late.

Despite your overwhelming urge to flee, you force yourself to stand your ground as Yeonjun approaches closer, his presence looming over you like a dark shadow. Every instinct screams at you to run, to go find the guys, to escape the memories that threaten to engulf you, but you swallow down your fear and brace yourself for what comes next.

"How have you been?" He asks, his voice soft yet filled with a tinge of uncertainty. 

You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of softness. And perhaps weakness. Your heart pounds in your chest, your palms clammy with nerves as you struggle to find the right words to respond. You’re gonna puke at this rate and it’s going to be embarrassing.

"Good... uh, how are you?" you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, the fear of what you might see reflected in them too overwhelming to bear. Instead, you focus on a spot just over his shoulder, willing yourself to remain composed despite the turmoil raging inside you.

Yeonjun's response is brief, almost curt. "Good," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.

There's a tense silence between you two. You can feel the weight of the past pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate you with its suffocating embrace. But still, you refuse to break, determined to weather the storm no matter what.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Yeonjun speaks again, his voice hesitant yet persistent on something. "Okay, look, I know it’s been awhile, but I noticed you talking to Sakura earlier and I thought it was fate that I saw you after so long. Can we talk?"

“Huh? What?” 

Now what’s this about? You’ve been through too much and having a conversation about whatever the fuck is on his mind is something you do not want to do tonight. Or ever. You guys have been done. You have no more tears left to cry. You know your heart lies elsewhere.

“I know things ended badly when I left you, but—”

You’re not sure if he’s apologizing after reflecting on the past some time ago or if he’s trying to get back together with you, but you cannot stomach this. You want to leave. He’s probably drunk anyways. If he sincerely feels either of the two ways, he would’ve come to find you earlier to tell while he’s sober.

“Yeonjun,” You sigh heavily as you interrupt him, giving him a stern expression to show that you’re serious, “I’m not feeling too great right now. I need to go find the guys.”

“The guys?” Yeonjun scoffs. “You’re still hanging around with them?”

“Who?”

“Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin.”

What? You’re not even going to tell him that’s not who you’re here with, but now you have questions. There’s something he’s clearly insinuating here that he never told you when you two were dating. You wonder if it’s related to the reason why he ended things when you thought they were going so well. 

You want to keep edging him on until he spills.

“What’s wrong with that?” You raise your eyebrow, getting progressively more pissed off.

Yeonjun’s gaze hardens, his features contorting with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “What’s wrong with that?” he echoes, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Can’t believe you’re still so dense after all this time.”

No, never mind. You’re not going to stand here and be degraded until you get a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t matter anymore.

“If you’re going to fucking insult me, then I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not leaving yet!” Yeonjun suddenly grabs your wrist, preventing you from leaving. His fingers dig into your skin with a painful intensity. You cringe for a moment. Panic courses through your veins as you struggle against his hold, desperate to break free from his grasp.

Before you could fight against his hold further, you turn to see a man, similar in height to Yeonjun, shoving him roughly against the nearest wall, his expression dark and menacing. This action makes Yeonjun let go as his hands are now elsewhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch the altercation unfold, fear and uncertainty swirling inside you like a raging storm. Who is this man?

Holy shit. 

Looking at him closely, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks—it's Namjoon.

Why is he here? How did he know you guys were here anyway?

"What the fuck is your problem grabbing her like that?" Namjoon's voice cuts through the chaos, his tone filled with anger and concern.

“Wait, Namjoon! Just stop. Let it go!”

Hoseok's voice breaks through the chaos, drawing your attention. He strides towards you, his eyes blazing with fury and worry. Taehyung and Jungkook follow closely behind, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. A crowd starts to form around them, even bringing in more people from outside after hearing the commotion.

Namjoon moves quickly, grabbing Yeonjun by the collar. “I don’t like violence, but you’ve really been pissing me off since that summer.” he growls, his voice dripping with menace.

Yeonjun staggers backward, out of Namjoon’s hold. Though his eyes remain wide with shock. He seems uncertain of what to do next, caught off guard by Namjoon's appearance and sudden aggression. His expression shifts from surprise to defiance, his jaw clenched with determination.

"Pissed off at me?" Yeonjun's voice is laced with poison, his eyes narrowing as he locks gazes with Namjoon. "I'm the one pissed off at you knowing she liked you this whole time and you never noticed a goddamn thing."

You remain frozen while hearing the words coming out of Yeonjun’s mouth. You liking Namjoon this whole time? Gears turn in your head. Did you never realize those feelings slip out of you? During the times you’d lovingly call Yeonjun, ‘Junnie’...did it feel so right because it was the same nickname Namjoon had? Yeonjun suddenly interjects with a sharp tone, "So you should stop acting up." 

The room falls into a momentary silence, punctuated only by the muffled thud as Yeonjun swiftly grabs a book from a nearby table and hits Namjoon's head with it. There's an audible gasp from the onlookers, some leaning forward in their spots to get a better view, while others recoil in shock at the unexpected turn of events.

Namjoon, caught off guard by the sudden blow, winces as the book makes contact with his head. He instinctively brings a hand up to rub the spot where he was struck, his expression a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

You, too, are taken aback by Yeonjun's action, your eyes widening as you and hoping they’ll just stop. 

Namjoon regains his posture and immediately goes back to gripping Yeonjun's collar, this time more tightly. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he retorts, his voice low and dangerous.

Yeonjun laughs, a bitter edge to the sound. "How thick is your skull? You can’t see how she’s looking at you, even now?” he sneers. "She's always been thinking of you all this time! Even when I was fucking her—"

Before Yeonjun can finish his sentence, Namjoon's fist connects with his jaw, the force of the blow sending him staggering backward once more. Yeonjun stumbles again, his balance thrown off by the unexpected attack and he falls to the floor.

The room erupts into chaos as people nearby shout and gasp in surprise. Namjoon steps forward, his expression dark and unreadable as he advances on Yeonjun, who raises his hands defensively.

"Namjoon, stop!" Your voice cuts through the tumult, your tone urgent as you rush forward to intervene. 

“Y/N, get away from them!” Jungkook runs towards you, trying to pull you away. Hoseok and Taehyung's faces are etched with concern as they rush to restrain Namjoon. Two other guys you recognize as Yeonjun’s close friends Soobin and Taehyun try to restrain Yeonjun as well. 

You run towards Namjoon and with a strong pull, manage to move him away and make him snap out of his sudden rage. When he looks down at your eyes, he notices you're slowly sobbing, frustrated.

He turns to look at Yeonjun, sitting on the ground as Soobin and Taehyun tend to his bloody nose as a result of the punch. 

As Namjoon's eyes meet yours, he registers the anguish reflected in your tear-filled gaze. The sight of your distress is like a bucket of cold water, jolting him out of his blind rage. Guilt washes over him as he realizes the impact his actions have had on you.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

But before he can finish his apology, you turn away, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Your heart feels heavy with a mixture of emotions—anger, frustration, and overwhelming sadness. You feel stupid in a way. What are you upset about? Is it because he fought and hurt Yeonjun? Is it because of the pact he had with Yoongi and Jimin? Is it because Yeonjun touched upon growing feelings you tried to repress?

Probably, it’s all of the above.

Namjoon reaches out to touch your arm, his expression pleading. "We need to talk."

Should you talk to Namjoon? You’re starting to sober up a bit after all that, so maybe you should come clean to him about everything that has happened not only in the last few weeks, but the last few months.

And perhaps, it’s time to put an end to your feelings or let yourself be consumed by them.

“Okay, fine, let’s go outside," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. You wipe your tears, calming your breathing to stop the sobs. Namjoon nods in agreement, his expression somber as he follows you through the crowd. 

+++++++++++ 

“Why are you here?” You look down impatiently at Namjoon, who is now sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Eta Psi house. 

John, Soyoon, and San stand outside, their expressions etched with concern as they searched for you earlier. Namjoon waves them away, urging them to retreat inside and grant you both some privacy. They comply reluctantly, casting worried glances over their shoulders as they leave. They didn’t witness the fight or Namjoon getting hit, but it is evident from the tear stains on your face and Namjoon's deflated demeanor that something bad happened. They will likely learn the details later from Jungkook, who will be sure to fill them in once they are indoors.

“What? Why are you here? At this party a few towns over, all alone?”

“I wasn't alone! I came here with Tae, Jungkook and Hoseok. But what the hell is wrong with you?” “What do you mean what the fuck is wrong with me? Yeonjun suddenly grabbed you. I was trying to protect you.”

“You didn’t need to protect me because I could’ve handled that! Way better than you, who started a fight!” you retort, your voice rising with anger.

Stunned, Namjoon huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “You were standing there for a solid five minutes, hands shaking, and stuck in place!”

He saw that too? Shit. He’s right. You couldn’t even move, and once again it was just like the summer right before freshman year of college. Right when he broke up with you and the last time you ever faced him. You hate having to recall that day when it felt like all the love you poured into this human you cared for so dearly became dried up and nonexistent.

Not wanting to admit your faults and being in a partially drunk stupor, you let your cold nature take over.

“Who even asked you to do that?” you snap, your tone cold and defensive.

Namjoon only stares at you, unblinking and feeling the distance you suddenly put in between him. “Who asked me? Who–” he begins, but his words trail off.

This silence cuts through the night air. For once in your life, Namjoon cannot find the right words to articulate his thoughts. He suddenly looks flustered, debating what he should even say.

And in that second, your harsher features start to soften in realization. You regret your bitter question aimed at him and reflecting on your past trauma. Why did you have to say that? What the fuck is wrong with you?  You used to be more calm and collective for fucks sake. Who even are you anymore? 

Namjoon can be petty by nature too, though he’s never been like that toward you. 

“Says the same person who’s been in a fuck buddies deal with Yoongi and Jimin.”

Silence once again. Except now, it is accompanied by a light shower. It’s raining.

Your mind, however, is very loud right now. Screaming internally with millions of questions. More importantly: How the fuck did he find out? Did the other guys spill to him? Or did he know all along? Since when? 

“Joon, that’s just…it’s not…” Cat has your tongue now.

He chuckles bitterly, “Am I even mad? Nah, ‘mad’ doesn’t even cut it.” he mutters, his voice tinged with sadness. He looks down at his hands, now covered in droplets of rainwater, and sighs heavily. “I’ve been good at hiding it, but it’s been so fucking upsetting how stupid you three are for doing that. But how the fuck could I have confronted y’all?”

“Well if it weren’t for you making out with Jihyo at the party right in front my eyes, then this wouldn’t have happened. I just got so upset and ran off. Yoongi was only trying to comfort me, but I was the one who initiated everything. So if you’re going to hate someone, hate me.”

You may have lost Yoongi and Jimin, but the idea of Namjoon hating you and losing him hurts so much. But if you have to end things, might as well do it now.

So fucking much.

“No.” He mumbles.

“What?” “No.” Namjoon’s voice is much clearer, and definitive. He stares into your eyes, but before you can fully process his response, your own words spill out in a rush of guilt and self-loathing. 

“Uh I’ve been sleeping with our other two best friends, and even that won’t get you to hate me?” Tears blur your vision and you struggle to formulate a coherent discussion of every selfish thing you’ve done. “I feel like the shittiest person alive right now! Yoongi and I basically did that out of frustration against you and Jimin becoming distant and changing. Then Jimin ended things with Irene because he liked me all this time and then he got caught up with me and Yoongi and now we got into a fight and–”

“I’m never going to hate you, Y/N.” Namjoon interrupts, his voice steady and filled with unwavering conviction. “Because even if you did that shit, it’s clear as day to me why you did all of that. It’s because you’ve been in love with me all this time too.” His words hang in the air, a profound acknowledgment of the truth that lingers between you. 

There it is.

The thoughts you never wanted to address, not even to Yoongi on the night of the Gamma party.

Namjoon finally realized too. You hate to thank Yeonjun for making the dots connect in his mind.

“Well, congrats on opening Pandora’s box, because you’re right.” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Is he going to say something sassy, like ‘I’m always right!’? You wouldn’t even mind him shoving it in your face, because you deserve it after all. You got yourself into this mess.

Namjoon rises from the sidewalk and you find yourself enveloped in his warm embrace under the rain, his arms a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil of your emotions. In that moment, you realize that perhaps there’s still hope for the two of you, despite the mistakes and misunderstandings that have plagued your relationship. As you stand in Namjoon’s embrace, surrounded by the gentle patter of raindrops and the soft glow of streetlights, you find the courage to bare your soul to him.

“Namjoon,” you begin, your voice trembling with emotion, “Ever since we first became friends, I’ve felt something for you. It’s hard to put into words, but it’s always been there, just lingering beneath the surface.”

You pause, your thoughts drifting to the countless moments you’ve shared with him—the laughter, the tears, the late-night conversations that stretched into dawn about the most existential topics. From elementary until now. Each memory is etched into your heart, forming a tapestry of emotions that binds you to him in ways you never imagined possible.

“But it’s not just you,” you continue, your words spilling out in a rush of honesty. “Yoongi and Jimin, they’ve also carved out a place in my heart, each in their own way. It’s complex, messy, and kinda overwhelming.”

Your voice wavers as you confess the tangled web of emotions that have plagued you for so long. “But you, Namjoon…you’re the first love I never wanted to admit. I really wanted to take this to the grave if I could.”

Namjoon’s arms tighten around you, offering silent reassurance as you lay bare your deepest fears and desires. You already know how he feels, but him having the chance to hear you out probably eased every one of his own doubts and concerns.

As the rain continues to fall around you, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the scene, you feel a sense of serenity wash over you. The world around you fades into the background, leaving only you and Namjoon standing amidst the gentle rhythm of the rain.

With a newfound clarity, you tilt your head up to meet Namjoon's gaze, the air thick with anticipation. His eyes, dark pools of warmth and understanding, reflect the same emotions swirling within your own heart.

In this moment, there's no need for words. The unspoken longing between you hangs heavy in the air, a silent symphony of desire and yearning that binds you together.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach up, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of Namjoon's hair. His breath catches in his throat as you draw him closer, your lips hovering just inches apart.

And then, with a surge of courage born from the depths of your heart, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a tender, tentative kiss.

The world seems to stand still as your lips meet, a symphony of emotions surrounding you, with a euphoric dizzying.You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol in your system doing that anymore. This is purely you in this moment suspended in time while the soft caress of your lips are against his.

For a heartbeat, you linger in the sweetness of the kiss, savoring the taste of rain and desire on his lips. And then, as if Namjoon becomes more confident in the moment, he deepens the kiss, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you lose yourself in the intoxicating embrace of each other.

And this is where you realize, in the gentle patter of rain and the soft glow of streetlights, that this is where you belong—in Namjoon's arms, with his lips pressed against yours, in a world where love knows no bounds.

You pull away from the kiss, a soft giggle escapes your lips. The sound mingles with the gentle patter of raindrops around you. "I've wanted to do that for so long," you admit, a playful glint in your eyes. "Even when you were being annoying and scolding me at times, I thought it would've been better to shut you up with a kiss."

Namjoon's cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, his gaze shifting away shyly. "I...I wouldn't have minded," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. You love seeing this flustered side of him, and hope you can see more of it.

Before you can respond, the sound of wet footsteps interrupts the moment, and you turn to see John emerging from the house, followed closely by Soyoon, Jungkook, Hoseok, Taehyung, and San, who peer curiously from behind him.

"Are you lovebirds done over there?" John teases, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he gestures to you and Namjoon.

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, feeling embarrassed that you were likely caught kissing Namjoon. Though, besides John’s question, no one else comments on the situation. "Um yeah, I think I wanna go back home," you say, your gaze shifting to Namjoon, who nods in agreement. "I wasn’t feeling good earlier, had too much to drink." "That’s why I told you to be careful!" Jungkook chimes in, scolding you jokingly as he tries to earn some brownie points from Namjoon for looking out for you. “You didn’t say anything!” You expose him, eliciting laughter from everyone present. Even amidst the lighthearted banter, your mind drifts back to Yeonjun, more or less because you’re worried about him taking legal action against Namjoon. “Wait, is Yeonjun…”

“Yeonjun’s going to be fine," Jungkook reassures, making you sigh in relief.  "Hueningkai and Beomgyu helped take him up to his room. He was pretty drunk, so we don’t think he’ll remember anything that happened tonight.”

Relief washes over you at Jungkook's reassurance about Yeonjun's well-being, the worry in your chest easing slightly. 

“Alright, I’ll take you and the others back,” John announces, motioning for you to follow him to his car parked across the street from the frat house.

As you approach the vehicle, you turn to Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook across the street. “Are you guys heading back too?”

Hoseok shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, we’ll stick around for a bit longer, make sure everything's all good here.”

“The night is still young for us, but go get some rest, Honey,” Taehyung says, gesturing for you to get in the car.

You give them a grateful smile, appreciating their willingness to stay behind and look out for any potential trouble.

With a final wave, you climb into John's car along with Namjoon, Soyoon, San, and John himself, ready to return back to campus. The engine revs to life, and soon you’re turning the street corner, leaving the chaos of the frat party behind you. As the streetlights flicker past, you lean back in your seat, feeling a sense of relief and contentment wash over you. 

+++++++++++

“I’ll help take Y/N inside and then walk back home,” Namjoon tells John as he shuts the door of his car. “Alright, just text me when you make it back. Have a good night, guys.” John waves, exiting the parking lot in front of Hwasa’s dorm and disappearing in the distance. He dropped off Soyoon and San at their dorms across campus, so he is just headed back to his off-campus apartment. Before you swipe Hwasa’s student ID to enter her dorm, you suddenly feel your stomach churn with nausea. Maybe it was the ride back that made you queasy, or the fact that the only contents in your stomach were alcohol. Without warning, the urge to vomit hits you like a tidal wave, and you bolt towards a nearby bush, clutching your stomach in distress. Namjoon's eyebrows furrow in concern as he watches you rush away. He quickly follows, his footsteps echoing against the pavement as he reaches your side. Without hesitation, he holds your hair up to prevent the puke from sticking to it accidently.

You continue to retch, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bush, Namjoon stays by your side, offering silent support and comfort. His reassuring presence helps to calm your racing heartbeat, grounding you amid your discomfort.

“I-I…really hate throwing up so much,” you admit between gasps, your voice trembling with embarrassment.

“I know,” Namjoon replies softly, his tone understanding. “You should’ve been more cautious.”

You nod weakly, acknowledging his words even as you struggle to regain your composure.

“I know that,” you murmur, pushing yourself upright and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “But I was upset...sad…needed something to take my mind off of the stuff with Yoongi and Jimin.” You swipe access and enter the building together.

“Yeah, how did all of that happen?”

“Well, it’s a long story…”

And you proceed to tell him everything that happened, from the night you first had sex with Yoongi all up until the fight that Jimin initiated at Friday Night Game Night two weeks ago. While you told him the story, you got changed, brushed your teeth, and drank some water to rehydrate you after the vomiting. He sat on your bed, watching you do each task and listening to you carefully. 

Once you’ve completed your routine, you join Namjoon on the bed, sinking into the soft mattress beside him.

“I think the answer is obvious, but we made that pact because we’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Namjoon begins, his voice soft as he gazes up at the twinkling string lights that adorn the room. “Sometime during junior year, we were at Yoongi’s house and just started talking about our feelings and didn’t know what to do.” He lays back against your pillows, sighing. “We didn’t want to ruin our friendship with you and we also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Namjoon continues, his tone tinged with regret. “We didn’t think you’d like us back because you were occupied with other guys on your mind back then. So, at that time, we decided to agree that neither of us would pursue you and move on.”

“Except that Yoongi decided to say fuck it,” you interject with a wry smile, remembering the impulsive decision that changed everything.

Namjoon chuckles softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah, we had tried to move on, though Yoongi probably couldn’t let you go, so he went for it. Can’t believe he did that, but I would’ve done the same if I were in his shoes.”

He turns to you, his expression earnest as he asks, "So, what are you going to do, Tiny? How are you planning to reconcile your friendship with them?"

You pause, feeling stress settle heavily on your shoulders once again. It’s a dilemma you’ve grappled with countless times, each solution more elusive than the last. "I still don't know," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "In an ideal world, I'd love to be with you and them, but is that even possible?"

Namjoon's eyes soften with understanding as he listens to your concerns. "That’s a thing, you know," he suggests tentatively. “It’s called being in a polycule together."

You gasp, the concept both surprising and intriguing. "A polycule?" you repeat, your mind racing with possibilities. "Do you think...could that really work?"

Namjoon nods thoughtfully, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. "Maybe," he replies, his voice tinged with cautious optimism. "It's definitely something worth considering, but we'd all have to think about it more and talk it through together."

A polycule. You can’t deny how much you’d be down for the idea. The thought of being in a loving, supportive relationship with Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi is undeniably appealing. However, there are other things to consider, like the future of the relationship and how you could ever present this to your own families. No doubt your parents would get a heart attack. But maybe, you’d figure out how to make this work. You don’t have to publicly get married, maybe you could just frame it as being single forever with your other single best friends. It’d be like that article about the seven Chinese girlfriends buying a mansion to retire and die together. 

You move to straddle Namjoon’s lap excitedly, “I want to try that,” 

Namjoon's expression shifts from contemplative to surprised as you straddle his lap, the sudden change in proximity catching him off guard. He blinks, momentarily taken aback by your boldness, before a soft smile spreads across his lips.

You look at his beautiful deep brown dragon eyes, always so mesmerizing.Your heart flutters at the sight, reassured by the warmth in his gaze. You're acutely aware of the intimate closeness between you, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your clothes, igniting a flicker of desire deep within you.

For a moment, Namjoon doesn’t respond. He’s caught off guard, thinking about how cute you look being on top of him like this. When he doesn’t respond right away, you give him a puzzled look.

"You're only wearing underwear under your oversized Pokémon t-shirt?" He teases, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Huh?” Your cheeks redden, “Y-You could tell?”

“Yeah.” 

Your heart skips a beat as Namjoon's hand brushes against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch is gentle yet electrifying.

Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, Namjoon pulls you down, your lips meet his in a kiss full of need and desire.

As your lips meld together in a tender embrace, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and intense. You feel the gentle pressure of Namjoon's lips parting, inviting you into his mouth. With a soft whimper of desire, you accept the invitation, allowing your tongue to dance against his.

He starts undressing you, from your t-shirt to your panties, eager to finally have you after all this time. Once you’re naked, you pull yourself back up and let him bask in the view of you. He’s awestruck by the sight of your perky breasts.

He takes a moment to admire your curves, his eyes lingering on the way your rounded hips fit perfectly into your waist. He traces the line of your belly button with his fingertips, marveling at the way your skin feels under his touch.

You watch him, enjoying the way he looks at you, and suddenly you're desperate for more. You reach down and cupping his face, pulling his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

Your fingers trail down his arms, tracing the muscles beneath his shirt, as his hands slide up your sides, grazing your ribs before moving up to cup your breasts. His touch feels divine, his fingers gently tugging at your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips travel down your neck, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses as he goes. You can't help but moan softly, your head falling back in pleasure. He runs his tongue over the swell of your collarbone, and then moves downward, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail as he goes. He sucks gently on your nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.

You arch your back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your body. You feel his hands slide down your belly, the warmth of his fingers tracing circles on your skin. He kisses his way down your stomach, his lips leaving warm, wet kisses in a trail that leads to your hips.

You can feel the anticipation building up inside you. Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches the top of your thighs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin. You're not sure what he's going to do next, and that's part of the thrill.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with desire. He moves to remove his sweatpants, his shirt, and finally his boxer briefs.

You watch him, your eyes widening as he stands before you, completely naked. It's the first time you've seen him without clothes, and it's a sight that takes your breath away. He's been your best friend for so long, and now here he is, vulnerable and exposed in front of you.

His erection sticks up prominently, a testament to his arousal. He's bigger than you expected, and the sight of it makes your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

Before you can think about it, you reach out and touch him, tentatively wrapping your fingers around his shaft. It feels warm and hard in your hand, and you can't help but marvel at how it's throbbing beneath your touch.

He moans softly, and you can tell that he's enjoying your touch. You run your thumb over the head of his penis, feeling the slit that moistens with pre-cum. It's an intimate moment, and you can’t believe this is the first time you’re able to touch him this way.

You stroke him gently, feeling his muscles tense and relax as you do. His hips move subtly, as though he's enjoying your touch. You're grateful for his trust in you, and for the connection that's brought you to this moment.

As you continue to stroke him, you feel his hand on your thigh, gently running his fingers up and down your leg. It's a small gesture, but it means the world to you. It's a sign that he's not only comfortable with where this is going, but that he's also enjoying himself.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against his ear. "I'm so glad we're doing this," he whispers. "I've wanted this for so long,

“And I'm so glad you're here with me."

You can't help but feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you. This wasn't just about having sex with Namjoon, but the long, slow burning affection you and Namjoon have likely had for one another. You nod, your cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and affection.

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes filled with love and desire. "I know you're nervous, but don't worry," he reassures you. "We'll take it slow."

You nod, swallowing hard as you take a deep breath. This moment feels like something you've been dreaming about for years, and you're both nervous and excited all at once.

Namjoon's fingers trail up your inner thigh, and you can't help but moan softly as his touch sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You reach down, and tentatively guide his hand towards your now soaked core, your legs parting slightly to allow him access.

He gently slides his fingers between your labia, feeling the dampness and heat that awaits him. You gasp as his fingers brush against your clitoris, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Is this okay?" He murmurs, his voice low and filled with concern. You nod, unable to speak past the desire now coursing through you. “Words, please baby girl.”

The nickname immediately catches you offguard but you don’t comment on it. Your horniness yet again clouding your ability to question things.

“Y-Yes!”

With this confirmation, his fingers slide inside you, two, then three, stretching you gently as he explores your depths. You can't help but moan loudly, your body arching into his touch.

"You feel so amazing inside," he whispers, his fingers moving in and out of you in a steady rhythm. You can't help but thrust your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

He leans down and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers continue to thrust inside of you. Your body is alive with sensation, every touch, every kiss, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

As he continues to fuck you with his fingers, you can feel your orgasm building. It starts as a gentle tingle, then grows into a throbbing need that courses through your entire body.

"I'm going to come," you gasp, your voice shaking with desire. Namjoon grins, his eyes shining with need as he increases the pace of his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles.

"That's it, baby girl. Cum for me," he urges, his voice low and filled with lust.

Every thrust of his fingers and every circle of his thumb brings you closer to the edge, until finally, you can't take it anymore. The band unwinds and you start to squirm in place.

You lay there, breathing heavily, waiting for the high to go down. You feel somewhat embarassed that he just did this to you and saw you come. You can’t help but want him more of his touch. You want him inside you.

"Namjoon," you breathe, your voice rough with desire. "I want you to be inside me."

His eyes flash with desire, and he pulls his fingers out of you with a soft pop. He moves towards the bed, his erection leading the way.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice deep and filled with anticipation.

You nod, your heart racing as you watch him position himself at your entrance. You can feel his knees between your legs, and the heat of his body presses against yours.

"You can do it without the condom, I’m on BC." you whisper, your voice shaking with nerves and desire. “I-I’m ready.”

With one smooth motion, Namjoon pushes himself inside you. You gasp at the sensation. Holy fuck, he’s huge. Can you really fit him in you? You’ve never experienced someone this big. Namjoon senses your discomfort and is about to ask if he should stop, however, you wave him off.

“Please keep going, Joon.” Your body clenches around his erection as he continues, filling you completely to the brim.

"Fuck," he mutters, his eyes locked on yours. "This feels better than I imagined."

He places his hand right below your stomach, and you can see the switch in his demeanor become darker. He smirks at you. “I can even feel myself right here”

“H-Holy shit,” These are the only words you can let out as he starts to further dominate you.

“I’m going to start moving, okay baby?”

“Mhm.” Just nodding in agreement, you brace yourself for what is about to come. Namjoon's eyes never leave yours as he begins to move inside of you, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first before growing more forceful with each passing second. You cry out with each stroke, your nails digging into his back as he fills you completely.

Your hips start meeting his movements, your body craving the sensation of him inside of you. You moan loudly, your body arching into his touch.

His cock slides in and out of you, each thrust bringing a new wave of pleasure that leaves you breathless. You reach up, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to fuck you.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growls, his voice filled with lust. "You're so tight."

As he plunges deeper into you, he leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue dances with yours, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you harder and faster. You don’t want it to end, but you can feel the building tension within you again, the waves of pleasure threatening to overflow.

Every thrust brings you closer to the edge, and you know that you're not far from coming again. You arch your back, your hips moving in time with his thrusts.

"I'm going to cum," you gasp, your voice shaking with need. Namjoon groans, his eyes locked.

"Then cum for me, baby girl," he growls, his voice deep and filled with lust. He thrusts harder and faster into you, his body bucking against yours as he drives himself deeper into you.

Every thrust of his hips sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your body is alive with sensation, every touch, every kiss, every thrust sending you higher and higher.

You can feel your orgasm building, pulsing through your core, and you know that this time it will be even more intense than before. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alive with desire, and you can feel your climax reaching its peak.

"That's it," Namjoon mutters, his voice ragged with desire. "Cum for me, baby girl. Let me feel you come on my dick."

The words send you over the edge, and you scream his name as you come, your body convulsing around his dick.

"F-Fuck!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. "Joonie!"

He feels your muscles clenching around him, and he knows that he can’t hold on much longer. He slams into you one last time, his own release building to a shuddering climax inside you.

"I'm cumming," he groans, his voice hoarse with passion. "Fuck, I'm cumming!"

As you both reach the peak of your orgasms, your bodies are shaking with the intensity of the pleasure. Breathing heavily. Sweating tremendously from the heat. Your nerves feel alive, and the overwhelming desire for him grows stronger. 

As the waves of aftershocks subsided, he pulls out of you gently, his cock glistening with your wetness. He breathes heavily, his eyes filled with laughter as he helps you clean up. It has been quite the experience, and you both know that this will probably become a regular part of your love life.

After cleaning up, he helps you into bed, spooning you from behind. You can feel that he was still hard under the sheets, and you giggle at his persistence.

"Joonie, you're still hard," you whisper, a smile on your face.

"I know, but I don't want to cum again just yet," he replies, his voice low and filled with desire. "I want to hold you like this for a while." He caresses your cheek gently.

You snuggle into his arms, your heart full of love for him. You drift off to sleep for a bit, before you wake up again wanting to do it again. This time, spending time pleasuring him. You suck his dick and deepthroat it, despite his worries. 

With this event, you know that your life will never be the same again. Namjoon has forever changed you, as well as Yoongi and Jimin and you couldn't be more grateful.

All that is left is figuring if you can make the polycule idea a reality.

Would it be insane if you’d try it? If you helped initiate the virginity race, then you could do this too. +++++++++++ [Extra POV]

Meanwhile, inside the house, chaos slowly dissipates as Soobin and Taehyun rush to tend to Yeonjun's bloody nose on the floor. Jungkook, guilt-ridden, is apologizing profusely for his friend's actions, his words tumbling out in a rush of remorse.

Beomgyu and Hueningkai, Yeonjun’s other close frat brothers, arrive on the scene. Beomgyu's laughter ringing through the air as he chides Yeonjun for his reckless behavior. 

"Man, you're lucky Namjoon didn't knock you into next week!" he jokes, though there's an edge of concern in his voice. “Can’t believe you thought it was fine to go up against a guy three times bigger than you!”

“Beomgyu, shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear it.” Yeonjun groans as he holds a crumpled tissue paper to his nose waiting for the bleeding to stop.

Hueningkai turns to Jungkook, Taehyung and Hoseok, sighing, "Guys, your friend Namjoon needs to get out of here soon before the cops decide to show up from the commotion," he says, his tone urgent.

Hoseok nods in agreement. "He'll be out soon," he assures them. “They’re outside talking it out. If they don’t wrap it up in 15 minutes, I’m dragging his ass to John’s car or Jungkook’s.” 

“Yoooo, what the hell happened?” Soyoon chimes in with John and San trailing behind her. She looks at the sight in the living room all confused.

“The guy on the floor is Honey’s ex and Namjoon fought him because he was being an ass.” Jungkook summarizes, make the three nod in understanding.

“God, can you all shut up and stop talking about–” Yeonjun winces in pain, making Soobin panic.

Taehyun, his patience wearing thin, scolds Yeonjun sternly. "Well, what did you think was going to happen?" he chastises. "Jungkook told me Namjoon is in the gym five times a week, and all you do is shotgun beers and chase tri delts."

Taehyung chuckles at the remark, unable to resist the humor in the situation. "Yeah, you might want to rethink your strategy next time, buddy," he quips, though there's an underlying seriousness to his tone.

“I wanted to be friends with Y/N again.” Yeonjun slurs, his lips pouting out. “Can I have another drink?”

“But you see where that got you!” Soobin intervenes. "And no!” He firmly denies Yeonjun's request for another drink. "You've had enough drinks for one night, Jjun.” 

Yeonjun grumbles in protest, but Soobin's resolve is unwavering. With a supportive arm, he helps Yeonjun stand up, steadying him as they both rise. "I think you should go to bed," Soobin suggests softly, his tone gentle yet firm. "We'll handle slowly dispersing people out and tell them to go to another party."

Yeonjun nods. Beomgyu and Hueningkai step forward to offer their assistance. Beomgyu slings an arm around Yeonjun's shoulders, offering him a supportive grip, while Hueningkai moves to steady him from the other side.

"Let's get you to bed, man," Beomgyu says with a sympathetic smile, his tone reassuring.

Yeonjun leans on them for support, grateful for their presence as they navigate through the crowd. 

But as he stumbled along with his friends' support, Yeonjun couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of regret gnawing at him. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hostile, towards you or Namjoon. It wasn't fair to you at all. It wasn’t why he wanted to talk to you anyways

He couldn't shake the guilt that washed over him as he thought about your past together. He'd acted out of jealousy and hurt, hoping to reclaim a piece of something that was long gone. But now, faced with the consequences of his actions, he realized how foolish he'd been.

With this, he’s closing the door forever.

All he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep off the alcohol-induced haze.

-

-

-

tbc !!!!! :D

a/n: 3 MORE CHAPTERS LEFT. we are getting closer and closer to the eventual polycule we might get... or not. this was probably the most exciting chapter to write because it was planned since LAST AUGUST. literally before any chapter of this series dropped. rae and i had been plotting the yeonjun v. namjoon fight since then and ironically yeonjun was in apartment 404 and filmed a fight scene. so thank me for manifesting yeonjun fighting lmao. it took me a little over a month to write because i had job interviews and rae was busy with life/school to edit as well so apologies on the delay, but it is here now. i will try to work on ch 10 and make sure it doesn't take to long, but i have to be job searching so it might take some time again. the goal is to finish this series before the anniversary in late august so we will see. would love to hear y'alls thoughts or theories on what will happen to our favorite quad and the rest of the house next chapter. thank you all for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist! ➸ love u lately series masterlist

[abiiors]

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚘 — 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚟

✧ — 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

✮ a/n: this is surprisingly fluffy. sorry about inserting another zelda game into a fic, it will happen again. majora’s mask my actual beloved <33

✮ cw: nothing i can think of for this one, it's pretty clean apart from a bit of dirty talk at the end

✮ wc: 2.8k

like clockwork matty’s gone when jules wakes up. 

she doesn’t mind it all that much. at least that’s what she tells herself. it’s not like he’s her boyfriend, it’s not like he’s obligated to stay and give her morning cuddles or make her breakfast in bed. (not like max had ever done any of those things either)

but jules shrugs it off and gets dressed. she has a whole day ahead of her and work too.,she can’t just dwell on silly little things like these. 

her day goes without a hitch. to her utter relief, carly doesn’t ask anything about any…noises she might have heard the night before. then again she’s busy on the phone arguing with someone when jules enters the living room. 

“packers and movers,” she mouths, crease between her brow, and jules is suddenly reminded that in two weeks time, she’ll be alone here. carly will be gone. 

she feels a little tinge of sadness, but she’s happy for her friend. she knows how much this means to carly. 

throughout her entire shift at the local hmv, she goes through a throng of emotions—nervousness over living alone, excitement over having the house to herself, sadness over not having her friend right there. the entire time she does things on autopilot, dividing her time between thinking about her situationship with matty, and thinking about living alone for a change. 

when jules returns from her shift, carly is on the phone again, loudly complaining by the sounds of it. 

“babe, they’re trying to rob me blind!” is all she catches from carly before jules makes her way to her bedroom, turning on her 3ds and loading up her second run of majora’s mask. 

before jules relaxes and buries herself under the blankets, she sends matty a text. 

jules: u up? matty: not in london for the rest of the week :( 

she frowns. not that she should know about his whereabouts at all times like a girlfriend would, but she would have thought he’d say something. then again, perhaps it’s best he keeps her at arms length—she’d do well to learn that too, not let him in so quick despite all his flirting and sweet talk. 

dawn of the second day, 48 hours remain flashes on her screen. jules cracks her knuckles and casts matty out of her thoughts.

the rest of the week she spends much in the same way, stuck in the same routine—she has work and then some other things to do, then she hangs out with carly, lets her vent about how expensive moving is. 

“i’ll help you,” jules declares, “fuck those packers and movers, we can pack up your stuff.”

“it’s so much though!” carly whines, dramatically throwing her head onto jules’ lap. jules strokes her hair. it’s poofy and unruly, but one by one she smoothes the clumps of curls with her fingers. 

“why don’t you ask adam for help?”

carly hums noncommittally. “i think i will, maybe rope his friends in too.”

for a bit they’re both quiet, thinking about two very different things jules imagines. 

“flowers came for you today,” carly mumbles, head still on jules’ lap. jules wrinkles her nose. 

“from max?”

“mm, chrysanthemums, i think. i put them in your room.”

chrysanthemums… that’s certainly new. maybe max thought buying her newer, better flowers instead of an actual apology would help. 

it still surprises her that he keeps sending flowers. sporadic as it is, even after six months of radio silence from her side, after six months of blocking him completely and moving on even if it’s partial. 

“i guess one more bouquet for the storage closet,” she shrugs and carly frowns at her. 

“you’ve been keeping them?”

“leaving them to rot, more like…”

“jules,” carly sits up, looking at her with more than a little skepticism, “you’re not… you’re not holding on are you? because trust me, that boy—”

“i’m not.” jules declares, her voice firm. and she means it too. it pains her that such a big part of her life is over, but she doesn’t miss max as much as she thought she would. and sure she thinks about him occasionally—a voice at the back of her head telling her to do things a certain way—but that doesn’t mean she’s holding on. 

“i just haven’t gotten round to disposing of them yet.”

“sure,” carly mumbles. “but the more you keep it jules the more the rot is going to spread. that closet’s gonna smell horrid.”

“i know, i—” she holds onto carly’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze, “i’m gonna clean it okay? soon.”

and they leave it at that. jules promises she will help with the packing. she even manages to feel absolutely nothing when she chucks the flowers in the closet. there’s a whiff of decay though, not strong enough to make her eyes water, but definitely strong enough that she can’t keep doing this for much longer. besides, she’s already gotten rid of all the sunflowers immediately, she can do the same with the others.

it's sunday, she deserves to relax first. 

jules starfishes on her bed, holding the nintendo right in front of her to load up the game. her fingers move deftly on the buttons, going through the motions almost on autopilot until her eyes close of their own accord. until sleep weighs heavy on her limbs. 

she doesn’t know when she sets the 3ds aside and dozes off.

jules wakes up to sounds coming from outside her room—male voices, and then carly—going back and forth about something. she frowns and gets up, smoothing the wrinkles of her t-shirt and opens her door. 

it creaks louder than it ever has, and just like that, she’s there in the corridor, with five pairs of eyes staring right at her. 

carly, adam, ross, george and matty. 

matty. 

staring at her with a strange look in his eyes, like he’s seeing her for the first time. subconsciously, she pats her hair down, realising it’s still a little mussed from sleep and pulls the long sleeves of her t-shirt over her hands. a nervous habit. 

“hi…” she raises her hand nervously. carly breaks the silence first. 

“oh my god, sorry! i was going to tell you they were coming over to help me move some stuff,” she smiles a little guiltily, “did we wake you up?”

jules waves her off, stifling a tiny yawn. matty’s still staring at her, still unable to look away. does she have something on her face? something stuck in her hair? 

“do you remember them?” carly asks, about to reintroduce. and sure, it’s fair because she is seeing adam, ross and george after a good few months. matty though… 

she sneaks another glance at him, only for him to quickly look away and stare at his feet. from the corner of her eye she sees george frowning at him. 

jules nods, politely repeating her hellos. “do you need help?”

when carly nods, jules joins them, passing by matty to follow her into her room. he looks up, properly staring at her for the first time and smiles. she notices the little crinkles by his eyes, notices how his hair has grown a little more in the week she hasn’t seen him. it’s curled more than before, and jules has the most peculiar urge to reach out and touch it. to tug on it just to hear him hiss. 

she’ll have to do that the next time he’s in her bed. 

“hi jules,” he whispers in the same sing-song voice he always does, so close behind her that his breath practically tickles the nape of her neck. 

she almost grins, biting her lip. “hi matty.”

his hand grazes her elbow, almost like he’s going to pull her into his chest and start fucking her here in the middle of the corridor, in broad daylight while their friends are a few feet away. jules shakes the thoughts away, schooling her face into a bright, friendly smile once she enters carly’s room.

“alright!” carly stands with a determined look on her face, hands on her hips and her face twisted into a frown of concentration. she looks so endearing, jules almost coos at her. 

“ross and george, i need you to help me with furniture.”

a little group mumble of ‘yes, ma’am’ follows which she acknowledges with a sarcastic smile. 

“adam and i will pack my clothes,” she looks at him, this time with a real, tiny smile. then she stares at jules, and at matty who’s standing right next to her. 

“matty and jules, need you to pack my things in the kitchen. she will know what’s mine.”

they both stare at each other and then back at carly, nodding once. jules wonders if everyone in the room can tell they’ve been fucking each other. is it obvious on their faces? does she have it written on her forehead or something? does matty?

but even as she lets momentary paranoia consume her thoughts, she knows she’s overthinking. everyone else is busy doing their assigned tasks, even matty is half-way out of the room. 

there’s also that weird little nervous flutter that she feels. she’s only spent time with him to have sex. never… never otherwise.

“did you have a good week?” she asks, her voice an almost practised level of polite. matty falters mid-step. 

“yes…?”

“mmm, good.” 

and then she clams up again, unsure what else to say. 

“is—”

“you—”

they both speak at the same time, stopping and staring at each other wide-eyed. jules clears her throat. “you go first.”

“you alright?” he cocks his head in confusion. “you’re being so weird.”

oh god he can tell she’s overthinking and over-analysing, can’t he!?

“you’re being weird!” she retorts. real fucking clever, jules! matty, predictably, frowns some more, and takes a step towards her. 

she almost thinks he’s going to kiss her then, a casual little kiss that absolutely leads to nothing sexual. but that would be breaking a major rule. besides, all he does is brush a little strand of hair away from her forehead and tucks it behind her ear. 

the entire thing takes about half a second. and yet to jules it feels like the longest time ever that she stands here with sunlight streaming in the kitchen and matty about six inches away from her. 

“alright, i won’t push,” he holds his hands up by his side, like he’s surrendering. 

and as much as it bothers her that she doesn’t know what to talk to him about when they’re not having sex, for that, she is still grateful.

“i can do this!” matty declares with renewed determination.

the two giant cardboard boxes that carly assigned to them have been sitting on the kitchen floor for nearly ten minutes now. jules and matty stare at them as if they’re mentally preparing themselves for the battle—no, the war—they’re about to face. 

if it were possible, jules is sure they’d both have eye of the tiger playing in their heads in perfect sync.

“we can do this!” he jumps in place twice to pump himself up, slaps his chest like some prized fighter about to enter the cage. jules snorts. 

“can we?” she asks, scepticism clear in her voice and winces when matty narrows his eyes at her. 

“jules, no…” he sighs, “where’s your can-do attitude?!”

and those really are famous last words. he is especially determined because he was the one to declare—quite proudly, if she remembers correctly—that they will not “cross the box budget” (whatever that means). and now here they stand, figuring out ways to tetris everything into the two boxes that are frankly…not big enough…

jules bites her lip, stifles a smile. 

“let’s do this then. us against the…oh, what is it? a game of kitchen tetris? yeah, us against…that.”

while matty stands there, hands on his hips and glaring at the boxes, jules takes the time to look at him. his hair is just as unruly as always, curls sticking in all sides and still so perfect. he’s once again in a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt (fugazi)—an utterly mouth-watering combination, if she’s being honest.  

but he’s determined to win this imaginary fight against the boxes and so she picks up a set of plates and stares at one of the boxes in concentration too. 

matty hovers behind her, mirroring her position while his chin rests practically on top of her head and mumbling something to himself.

“it’s not the boss of us,” he whispers; eyes crazy and hair even crazier as they stick in all directions. he does look like a bit of a mad scientist. it’s an almost impossible task to not laugh out loud when he scratches his chin. jules keeps her snort to herself.

“we should start,” she turns to him, stealing a little look at him again, allowing herself the indulgence of lingering on his face. he really does look so domestic in the soft light of the kitchen. 

domestic… jules shakes her head and clears the thought away just as fast as it came. she has no business thinking about domestic and matty in the same sentence.

“we should,” he agrees.

“so i think,” she sets the plates down in one of the boxes, “we should put big things in one box and the smaller ones in the other…”

“no but then one of the boxes would be more crammed.”

“matty!” she crosses her arms in front of her chest, “there aren’t a lot of big things. there are a lot of small things!”

“jules!” he mimics her position, swooping down so their noses are almost touching, “we’ll sort the bigger things out first and then cram the smaller things into corners.”

she throws her hands up, exasperated. “that might break things!”

“we have bubble wrap!”

“matthew,” she cuts him off, a little surprised she’s used his full name, but she’s too deep into this now, almost on the tip of her toes to glare a bit better at him, “i will whack you with this pan. listen to me!”

that seems to break his resolve. in a split second, matty’s mouth stretches into a grin and he giggles, he laughs like an imp, backing away just a smidge. “you’re so cute when you threaten.”

jules blinks, completely speechless, and matty grabs her jaw, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip, dragging it down. “so hot too… we’ll have to try that next time, i think.”

it really should bother her more how quickly he disarms her. because in one second jules goes from wanting to whack him in the head to wanting to be absolutely railed on the kitchen counter. her cheeks heat up, so does the rest of her body. 

“you’d like that?” she asks, voice quivering, “for me to be a little more commanding?”

“jules…” his voice is equally as breathy, fanning her face while he backs her into the kitchen counter. the marble digs into the small of her back, matty’s chest presses into hers. jules exhales, feeling the familiar heat coiling in her stomach. 

“i’ve thought about you,” he swallows roughly, “thought about fucking you every day of this miserable week, i–” matty chokes. 

jules wishes she could kiss the shit out of him right there. but that would be breaking a rule. as much as she wants it, they can’t go at it right here like horny rabbits while everyone else is right in the next room. 

“thought about how you taste, jules,” matty continues, voice so low it’s almost a growl. her skin feels like it’s on fire. 

“i—” she almost whimpers, trying to desperately tell him what she wants. 

a split second passes and matty flinches, stepping back completely. 

“everything alright?” it takes her a moment that it’s not matty she’s hearing, it’s george, staring at them with confusion written all over his face. jules tries to discreetly clear her throat. 

“yeah, mate, just figuring things out,” matty waves him off. george stares at him with a strange smile on his face. 

“we could hear you bickering all the way in carly’s room.”

jules still feels like she can’t speak without giving herself away. so she just laughs, the sound fake and unnaturally high. 

“we’re good,” matty nods at him. “we’re good, right jules?”

“hmm? yes.” she cringes at the sound of her voice, smiling blankly at george and hoping he believes her. 

“sure,” he shrugs and leaves. jules tries to control her thudding heart and swallow through her dry mouth. 

“let’s pack this, shall we?” matty winks at her like nothing’s just happened, like he’s all calm and composed even though she can see the evidence of it quite clearly. jules doesn’t push it though. she just busies herself into the packing. 

the rest, she can figure that out later.

[brokenpieces-72]

Going Dark

COD Gangster AU

Navigation

Kate had met with her friend, Charlotte at the gathering. Her hope was to exchange what information she could with her while having another ear close by.

When Makarov gave his speech she’d gotten a text from Price.

“141 going Dark.”

Kate didn’t have time to try and help Farah, and there was too much risk in doing so. At least Alex had tried. Her main priority was you and getting you to safety. As soon as Charly noticed the text she left to get the car.

You sat in the backseat furiously texting Kyle and Johnny, praying for a response. You keep trying to refresh the messages, seeing how long it’s been since sending them.

“Ya alright back there love?” Charlotte asks from the front seat. Laswell is staring out the window, lost in thought in between text messages. You look up from your phone, and meet Charlotte’s eyes in the rear view mirror. You nod.

“Y-yeah. Fine.” You say, finally setting your phone screen down. Then you pick it up again and text Graves.

“What happened?! What did you do?!”

He texts back right away.

“Exactly as you told me to. We got em kid.”

You try to ask him what he means but your text won’t go through. He’s blocked your number.

Charlotte pulled into a parking lot and exits the vehicle with Laswell. While Laswell made her way to the old hotel building Charlotte opened the door for you, offering a hand. After everything you welcome the comfort of physical touch. Charlotte escorts you inside and you make your way up a few flights until you reach the honeymoon suite. Laswell knocks on the door.

“Watcher-1.” Laswell says, and the door opens. You go in with them and looks around eyes wide.

Alejandro is pacing, bruises blotting his face and arms. Simon is helping Rudy who is laying on ratty couch, getting makeshift stitches. Kyle and Soap are bandaging themselves, with a nasty wound on Soap’s arm and Kyle’s arm caked in blood. Price closes the door behind you.

“You said Graves would help.” He comments before anyone can say anything else. You go very very quiet. Price is staring you down. His face is blank but one word will change that. You don’t know what to say to him. Graves had fucked them over but surely something else was going on.

“I dont know what happened.” You say quickly.

Price shakes his head and steps further into the room while all you can do is stand there, frozen in place. You shouldn’t have told Graves, you shouldn’t have tried to help. Price doesn’t say anything and yet it feels like he’s saying everything. You just want it out.

“I don’t know what happened!” You repeat turning to look at Price.

“You told Graves. That’s what happened! Graves is not your father, he can’t do what he did!” Price tells you. Laswell tries stepping in and he raises a finger to stop her.

“No. Don’t defend them. They messed up, they take the fall.”

“I was trying to help!” You argue. “That’s all I’ve been doing!”

“You took a risk that was never your decision.”

“I got the cops involved so that something could actually be done, people could be put behind bars!”

“You’re not your father!” Price shouts. The entire room goes silent. You don’t have anything to say to that. The others don’t say anything either. No one defends you. No one argues with Price.

Then you notice red and blue lights. Your eyes widen. How could this get any worse? Graves was about to show you. Price looks at Kate and Charlotte who leave the room. The last thing Price wants is for the two of them to get into shit and lose their positions as high as they are. Alejandro curses in Spanish seeing the place is surrounded. There was no way out, but the cops weren’t looking for Charlotte and Laswell.

“Go with them.” Price orders you.

“I’m staying.” You say. You look at Soap and Gaz who look away to finish up their bandages. You know you’ve screwed up. Time to pay the price. Except you pay for it in a whole new way.

Graves opens the door and sees you. He looks relieved.

“Officer l/n. Well done.” He says approvingly. “You’re all under arrest.”

“Graves what the fuck?!” Soap barks, getting to his feet. You see more cops shuffling in behind Graves. You get between Graves and Soap.

“Soap leave it!” You tell him.

“You have some nerve Graves.” Price says.

Alejandro says something in Spanish again, as an officer approaches each one of your friends. Simon doesn’t put up a fight. He knows there’s risk in fighting back when they’re all injured, and while they had weapons, there didn’t need to be more blood shed.

“You did really good kid. Your dad would be proud.” Graves said patting you on the shoulder, raising his voice a little so everyone in the room can hear.

“What?” You ask.

“Seriously I don’t think even your dad could pull an undercover case like so well. Impressive.” Graves continues.

Soap looks at you with a look of anger and betrayal.

“You little shit.” Johnny says, looking you dead in the eyes. No. There was no way. What the fuck. You don’t know what to say. Before Johnny can do anything, he’s pinned to the closest wall and put in handcuffs. Kyle raises his hands, and Rudolfo is helped up. Alejandro is ignoring the Miranda rights and continuing to tell them off in Spanish. All you can do is stand there with Graves gently nudging you around so everyone can be escorted out. You stare at the ground unable to face anyone. You don’t know how to feel. You’re upset your friends are being arrested, you’re worried about what will happen to them, you’re pissed at Graves for what ever shit he was pulling, and… you were scared. Once everyone is outside, it’s just you and Graves.

He shuts the door instructing his officers to wait downstairs.

“What the fuck.” You say turning and facing him. Graves looks back at you with a stern expression.

“You did it kid good job.” He says.

“I didn’t do shit! You! This was all you!” You shout.

“Listen to m-“

“No! I’m done. I resigned! I left the force because I finally found something worth doing and the one second I trust you, you turn around a pull this shit!”

“I am trying to hel-“

“No! No you didn’t. If anything you’ve done the exact opposite of what I wanted. I’m not a cop, and I’m not my father! You fucked up and now you’ve pinned it on me.” You say and you leave the room slamming the door closed.

Once you get outside you catch sight of Price before the door is closed on him. It’s a look that haunts you, and is unreadable. A couple of officers come over to congratulate you on an excellent con. You shove past them and leave the scene. You don’t want to be there anymore. You just want to go home. Except you can’t go home. Your home just got piled into cars and taken to the police station.

So you return to your old apartment. You sit on the couch after getting yourself a beer. You don’t know what to do now. You’re pissed off and afraid. But you know there isn’t much you can do.

“You’re not your father.” Those words sting all night.

Graves returns to the police station where he sees a pleased Makarov. He gives a smug look to Makarov striding over to stand next to him.

“Officer Graves. Well done.” Makarov says with praise.

“Wish I could take the glory, but not me.” Graves says watching the 141 be taken to the holding cells. Makarov glances at Graves.

“Unfortunately we lost a few good officers thanks to undercover work… but I don’t think I need to tell you that.” Graves says giving Makarov a friendly nudge, before checking his watch.

“I better get going. I haven’t eaten anything all night, need to run a couple errands.”

“Who is responsible for bringing them in?” Makarov asks.

“Heh, believe it or not, the officer who resigned. Kid can do a long con.” Graves says, before leaving the station. Makarov looks toward the holding cells. A bit of time and it would hardly be an issue. This kid would certainly be an issue, but something to worry about later.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666

[sadhours]

scumbag blues • battery acid

gator tillman x f!original character

previous chapter • masterlist

cw: 18+minors dni, unsolicited dick pics/videos, mean texts, drinking, kind of smut??? Gator tries

Daisy’s depressed. She’s been turning away clients left and right. The money from Roy keeps the bills paid but it’s tighter than before and her pops has noticed. Says something about it when Daisy’s cooking him lunch.

“I don’t know why things have taken such a turn, Daisy,” he sounds stressed. “We haven’t had a single guest in two weeks.”

“It’ll turn back around,” she assures him, “always does.”

Her mothers voice rings in her ears. Same mantra about how women have to take care of things. How women have a magic money maker between their legs and they’d be fools not to take advantage.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, she pulls it out and looks down at the notification. Gator. Hasn’t had the guts to block him like she should. She slides it open and is met with a photo of his cock. Hard as hell. He’s on his bed, she can see his cargos bunched up around his ankles and his combat boots. He’s sent You can’t quit me, baby along with the photo and she hates the way it ignites a flame in her stomach. She locks her phone and shoves it back in her pocket, resuming the can of tomato soup she’d been heating up. She wishes Gator would just give it up. There’s plenty of other women for sale in this county. But she knows he likes her. Their sexual chemistry is undeniable. And she’s certain Gator hasn’t been with any other woman. Yet, she doesn’t even know how many men she’s been with. It’s unfair. She can’t quit this. And that’s what Gator deserves, so she’ll have to quit him.

She butters up the bread for grilled cheeses, determined to get out of this funk and start taking clients again. Her mother would tell her she’s pathetic. Gator’s always been a client, he started out as such and it’d be laughable to think they could be more. It’s a god damn pipe dream and they both know it.

—

When Daisy reads his message but doesn’t respond, Gator gets furious but his cock is still hard. The arousal mixed with the anger facilitates in a bit of harassment on his end. He records himself jacking off, mumbles about how he knows she wants him. How she’s gonna watch it later and play with her pretty pussy. Which he fully believes. Records himself cumming, muttering, “Wish I was cumming in your tight hole, baby.”

Again, Daisy opens the messages and doesn’t respond. And now that Gator’s cock is softening, the anger takes over and he sends a handful of messages.

Whatever, bitch. Ur not even pretty. Just fucking easy.

Ur used up.

Probably should get tested. God knows ur fckn infected. Nasty slut.

Fuck u bitch

Then, Gator realizes these won’t help his case in any way so he sends another.

I’m sorry. Just miss u and I ain’t good at controlling my temper

The last message never delivers and Gator’s feeling like a pathetic loser with his cum drying on his stomach. Cleans himself up and grabs his keys. He needs to get as drunk as humanly possible. Fuck, he doesn’t care that it’s only noon. This pit of dread filling him needs to be released and alcohol can dull it. The Esquire Club opens at 10 am. He’ll be with like minded company. And well, if it’s two blocks from the Inn, that’s just a coincidence. He isn’t hoping that Daisy’ll wander in desperate for money. Definitely not.

The place is dead when he gets there aside from a couple of dudes rambling about sports. Gator doesn’t keep up with football anymore. Too bitter about high school. He would’ve been scouted, out of this shithole and never would’ve touched Daisy Way if that prick hadn’t busted his ankle. Swears if he ever sees that fucker again, he’ll kill him.

The hours drone on, Gator filling his belly with cheap whiskey and countless beers. Is absolutely stumbling around when the sun goes down. There’s girls in here tonight. Ones that know Gator’s the sheriff’s son, girls that touch his biceps and ask if he’s ever had to shoot anyone. He tells grandiose stories, fibbing on the extremities. Yeah, he sees a ton of action. Yeah, Gator’s a fucking badass. He’s a fucking winner.

He gets one of the girls in the bathroom, a brunette with heavy makeup and a short skirt. Has her leg propped up on the graffitied toilet. Limp dick in his hand as he tugs it, pleading internally for it to fill out but it just fucking won’t. He knows it’s the whiskey, his whole body is fucking numb. But he can’t help but think that if this were Daisy bent over for him, he’d be hard as a rock. It’s pathetic and it’s weird, but he grabs hold of the girl's hair and tugs her head back so he can grunt into her ear.

“You want me to fuck you, Daisy? Huh?” he laughs, “Want me to stretch you out so bad?”

“My names not Daisy?” the girl replies, confusion dripping in her voice.

“Shh,” he hisses, pulling on his cock and focusing on the fantasy, trying to will his dick to life. Nothing. He balls his fist up and slams it against the stall, “Fuck!”

He shoves his flaccid length back into his cargos and barrels out of there. Leaving the girl stunned and exposed. He’s a fucking loser. If he goes by the Inn, it’ll be pummeled into his head what a fucking loser he is. Somehow, he winds up at Faye’s apartment building. Hits the buzzer. Over and over until he hears her sleepy voice.

“Who is it?”

“Faye, it’s me— er,” he hiccups, “Gator. Can I come up?”

“Gator, it’s the middle of the night,” she sighs, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he whines, hates how pathetic he sounds, “I have nowhere else to go. I won’t be fucking weird. Okay? I just… please, Faye.”

A beat of silence. Then the buzz and a green light. Gator tugs the door open and stumbles inside, looking down the hall until a door opens. Faye steps outside, rubbing her eyes and she’s wearing a long, flowy nightgown. She lets him inside and because of his intoxicated state, he clings onto her and fucking cries. Like the pathetic loser he is. But she wraps her arms around him.

“Gator, what happened?”

“I’m… I’m such a fucking loser,” he sobs, “I ruin everything.”

Faye squeezes him tighter, rubs his back soothingly. “Oh, Gator…”

She pulls back and puts her hands on his face, “I’m gonna make some tea. Sit on the couch and we’ll talk about it. Okay?”

She’s so good. So pure. So sweet. Gator hiccups and nods, moving to rub his fists against his teary eyes. Then he trudges to her living room, waiting for her to return.

[san-marzano]

I have to admit, there was a time when I almost unfollowed you. Back when you were constantly drawing your TWST sona, I found myself feeling uneasy. It wasn’t easy seeing another woman associated with a character I cared about deeply, especially Cater Diamond. But now that your focus has shifted to Skully J. Graves, I’m genuinely relieved I didn’t go through with it. As someone who's grown attached to this new direction, I can honestly say your content makes me feel happy again.

If I could offer a bit of parting advice from one lady to another, it’s this: stay close to what you’re best at. You have a talent for drawing characters, but when they’re paired with women who don’t seem quite right for them, it feels a little off. Keeping your focus on what works will ensure I, and others like me, remain loyal supporters~

i shouldve had chatgpt spit out an answer bc thats the amount of respect i have for this ask but i decided against it

dont tell me what to post, this isnt ur blog

how online are u if u think that this "advice" is actually useful?? this is an incredibly parasocial mindset to have to think that an ask like this is helpful

im a 20 year old man.

im just gonna restate: if u dont like my content why follow??? block and move on. y'all out here looking dumb as fuck sending me shit like this

[tuskicles]

"Welcome To My Blog!"

Hi! I unfortunately had a fart kink ever since covid hit, and I didn't even want to accept that it was something that aroused me the most. But I guess I did. I only like it if I'm on the receiving end because it's preferable and also a lot hotter to me. I don't give because I just don't want too and I don't like it. Sometimes, I'll either draw or write out my thoughts when it comes to kinky stuff because that is something I would normally do. I'm only into guy farts and guys that I classify as "pretty" and have a fat ass. I do simp for fictional characters at times but not as often as I used too. I also draw whatever so if you want to commission me, feel free to do so. I might update this at some point, but that's about all I have to say.

PLEASE DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR, PEDO, ZOO OR LGBT-PHOBIC. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT THANK YOU.

"About Me."

DOB: 02/22/04

Sexuality: Straight (Also an LGBTQ+ ally)

Main Kinks: Facesitting (Recieving), spit, choking, face slapping, edging, dirty talking / voice kink, degradation, farting (Also recieving), BDSM, teratophilia, biting, axilism, musk/sweat, pet play, size difference, whipping, hair pulling and pegging. There's more kinks on the list if you click under the "other stuff I'm into besides farts" button on the bottom of my pinned post. These are just my main courses.

Limits/Not Comfortable With: Smegma, non-con, diapers, vomit, threesomes (may make rare exceptions if there's just me and two guys but definitely not me with a guy and another girl), weight gain being used as a fetish, anything problematic really.

Dom Or Sub: Submissive for gas. Never giving and never will be.

Other Interests: Music (Metal and goth bands), stuffed animals, horror movies/thrashers, gothic/creepy things, Halloween, books, manga/anime, comics, transformers, video games, fantasy stuff, dragons, spiders, and drawing.

"A FEW THINGS..."

•As stated in my intro, I'm not comfortable with giving out my gas and I only like being on the recieving end. This is just my preference because I don't like to give nor do I want too. 😳

•I'm not into girl farts and don't get turned on by it in the slightest. (Mainly because of the fact that I'm straight. This means I am not sexually nor romantically attracted to girls.) However- I'm okay with it if it's art related! I'm even cool with being commissioned it so long as you actually pay for it!

•I know I tend to post Copro stuff because I just started getting into it (It is tagged accordingly however) but PLEASE- PLEASE DO NOT SEND ME COPRO ART OR REAL LIFE COPRO. I just got into it and I really really really would hate for the fun to be ruined because you fucks want to get creepy and gross about it. Written copro stuff is cool with me so far! Like deadass saying "I'll shit myself for u baby girl 😍" will make me not only make fun of you but also make me hella uncomfortable at the same time. Im also only into the sharting aspect and nothing more than that. LMAO

•I have gotten a few DMs from people that want to get to know me or talk to me and while I do appreciate the kind messages you guys leave me, I'll only approach you if I have interest in talking to you. If I don't respond to you, don't take it personally! I just want to put my safety and well-being first. Besides, I'm super busy with work and college. I get stressed and socially exhausted easily!

•If you also slide into my DMs just to be a creep, I'll most certainly make fun of you or block you for it. However, if you want to slide into my ask box and submit some dirty asks, you are more than welcome to do so.

"MISC."

Other kinks I'm into besides farts (*･ω･*)

My main blog

Support me by donating <3

[vampire-sugar]

Again not at all related to QOTD but related to stuff i see under the tags that’s been bothering me a lot. I was originally gonna send this as an ask but it might potentially not get answered so just gonna post. It’s in relation to this answered ask which i sent and just wanted to be more clear in what i meant. https://www.tumblr.com/nalyra-dreaming/742009291203035136/hey-i-originally-sent-this-ask-to-virginia-bc-a

@nalyra-dreaming Thanks for answering, and I’m gonna come off anon bc I think it’s more transparent that way, only was on anon bc didnt want to be potentially blocked and not see a response. Just wanna clear some things up. I did not read all the books, just the first couple and working my way up, but im aware of what happens bc idc ab spoilers etc. Also I like Loustat, i like jam I listen to the podcasts read the interviews etc etc so im aware of the things u might think that I’m not aware of. I know the characters are still the same, I know we’re gonna get revisits and personally I’m excited for them I love shows/movies where there’s a shift in perspective I think it’s so fun. However I do think they gotta be careful when doing the revisits bc some things would be problematic/racist, and I have read your rant which is why I say that you agree w this. You also agree with this in your response. What I’m confused about thooo is the contradiction in both your rant and your response to me where you say that “ if I‘m going to see anyone scream “bad writing“ or “Louis being made a liar or the memories revisited/changed is racism“ when the changes will hit I‘m just gonna block you.” And then say that it has nothing to do with the problematic directions the show could take to the revisits “because there are many traps there to consider because of the racial change”. And then say “but it’s not bad writing, or racism, if and when these things happen”. I don’t understand, what is it then? Or maybe we disagree about what would actually be a problematic way to revisit ep5? Would something have to be super explicitly racist for it to be considered problematic or bad?

As for listening to the Black cast and creators, I do and I agree with them as well? Jacob says Louis lies and I didn’t need him to say that for me to see it already in s1 like Louis’ lies ab tbe extent in which Claudia resented him, how much he loved Lestat to the point of not being able to kill him etc. I’m literally saying if he lies ab the ABUSE it would be badddd which is why I don’t think they’ll go that way, even if Louis lying ab things is canon (+++ how are things being canon suddenly an argument for why they wouldn’t be bad if adapted in the show??).

And then the other anon saying “why would it be bad if Lily was shady anyone of any race can be a villain” bruhh like what evils could she have committed to deserve death? (stealing and killing from her clients like the prostitutes in the book who lestat feels justified in killing? she’s a Black sex worker in 1910 New Orleans the show opens with Bricks literally being assaulted by a client if she had killed him I would have cheered so idk what would make lily evil enough to have deserved death that’s what i mean by thatt which is also another example of something being canon still being bad)

Also I realize the way I phrased my ask made it seem like I think the making fun of wanting jassad is weird bc it’s mean or something, which is not at all why I think it’s weird. Ppl specifically making fun of wanting to see two poc who are an important pairing in the show be paired in promos as well, that’s the weird part.

And I did not say at all that I think they’re gonna be wholesome bc they are POC, the fuck? Why did you have to do all that when discussing the jassad part of my comment? That’s also very weird. Like I know who Armand is and what he does, that doesn’t mean that I will stop being excited that the ppl playing the part are POC and no longer want to see them on my screen or do promos together…. I’m excited to see all that stuff play outtttttttt….. y am i supposed to only be excited for loustat…..?

As for the comments you got on your fic, I personally did not read your fic but I’m sure you write v well and I’m assuming the comments are super hurtful and unnecessary and things like “kys”, which I find the casual use of in online spaces in general very weird so I’m genuinely sorry that you received that in your inbox. However I’m talking about how even getting just a “hey that’s racist” would also be not a great thing to receive like no one wants to be called that. Getting anything negative at all in the inbox is not great so getting even wilder stuff is very hurtful, I get that, which is why I’m trying hard not to come off in any type of way that would suggest that. People saying I’m tired of this discourse, plz know this is in response to your rant as well as a lot of the asks ab the jassad pairing, not just for discourse’s sake. Personally, I think it’s important and interesting to discuss how changes in certain characters’ races could affect the story moving forward, and I like that you talk ab your theories for how they will adapt s2 that stuff is fun and very fandom like behavior. But when ppl point out that some things won’t work bc of the race (which again u agree w in ur rant + ur response) u talk ab how some fans who say this pair it w hurtful language and then by dismissing the hurtful language you dismiss the notion that the suggestion would be racist or problematic in the first place which is very contradictory. But I guess since I have not read all of Anne Rice’s work my opinion ain’t shit.