#she was gonna make him sit through it regardless

[into-fiction]

fourth wing

(credit to @c-rose2081 for putting the fourth wing idea in my head btw)

(also lowkey minor fourth wing spoilers)

Elphaba's heart is pounding so hard it makes her newly bruised ribs hurt, but she shoves to her feet regardless and plants herself, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"Stay away from her," she demands, emerald eyes piercing as she glares at the only boy left standing. One has already run. The other is dead at her feet.

Behind her, the little pink dragon still hasn't moved.

"You're gonna pay for that, Thropp," Avaric growls. Blood seeps through his fingers where he holds them over the cut, Elphaba's dagger having sliced right through his upper arm.

It won't stop him. His sword has more reach, his legs have more strength. Elphaba is already swaying where she stands, her fingers barely holding on to the handle in her grasp.

Terror beats a steady rhythm through her chest, and still- she does not move. If she is going to die, it might as well be to give the pink dragon one last chance at surviving.

There's a rush of motion, a gleam of metal that Elphaba knows she won't dodge in time, and then-

The gust of air is hard enough to send her stumbling, a short cry of pain leaving her mouth as she's forced to put weight on her ankle. Everything hurts, but she's not dead. That's her only thought at first.

Why am I not dead?

Wiping sweat and tears and blood from her face, Elphaba slowly turns around, wondering if maybe the pink dragon finally took flight.

Nope. She's still sitting there, gazing calmly at the scene. But behind her, is a tower of scales so large Elphaba feels her stomach sink to the floor the further back she has to crane her neck.

There, standing protectively over the pink dragon with his head outstretched and his bared teeth gleaming, is the giant navy daggertail.

Avaric never stood a chance. He's a pile of ash on the ground before he even makes it three steps, and Elphaba's heart climbs up her throat when she realizes she's next.

She'll never get a chance to be chosen, not by the pink dragon or anyone else. The navy is going to fry her where she stands.

Except, beat by beat, seconds pass, and Elphaba is still a trembling, bleeding mess, but she's an alive trembling, bleeding mess.

The blue dragon dips his head down, golden eyes looking right at Elphaba.

Hello, she hears. A deep, masculine voice fills her head, unmistakable in origin. I am Fiyero, son of Marillot and Baxian, descendant of the Tigelaar line. It is nice to meet you, Elphaba Thropp.

A dragon does not speak to anyone who is not its rider. It's an unspoken rule that every cadet knows. Except- she's not a cadet anymore, is she?

Fuck, Elphaba thinks, and she swears she can almost see the dragon grin.

She's a rider now.

***

There's an ominous rumble and a hot blast of air that immediately makes Fiyero regret asking.

I chose you, Elphaba growls. Because you protected her.

Fiyero swallows hard, his gaze shifting to the little pink dragon. Her wings have to beat double time in order to keep up with them, and she looks over at him as though she can sense him watching.

"I- I don't understand," Fiyero says. His grip tightens on the scales in front of him, his eyes still stinging from the earlier acrobatics.

Elphaba snorts in annoyance, a stream of air so hot Fiyero can see it leaving her. The pink dragon tilts her wings slightly, getting so close Fiyero worries for a moment that they're about to crash.

But then, Elphaba stretches her neck out, emerald meeting pink in the air as scales slide across smooth scales, the little one running her snout down Elphaba's lower jaw and rumbling in her chest like a cat. Something pleasant and warm blossoms faintly in the back of his mind.

Oh.

Fiyero finds himself blushing against his will. He clears his throat awkwardly, focusing instead on the way the ground is quickly getting closer, Elphaba angling in to prepare for landing.

Do you understand, now? Elphaba asks.

"Yep, yeah, uh, yes. I understand."

He has a feeling that if dragons could laugh, Elphaba would definitely be doing so. When they land, the pink dragon tucks herself against Elphaba's side, curling her tail around and sitting primly. A large green wing unfolds to drop over top of her.

Yes. Fieryo understands perfectly. His legs wobble when he hits the ground, and he gulps down several raggedy breaths, steeling himself for the walk across the field. People are staring already, and he doesn't want to look weak.

Before he can turn, there's another rush of warm air and a rustle of wings and then- a high, sweet voice in his head.

My name is Glinda, the pink dragon says. Make sure to tell them that, too.

Fiyero gapes, not even bothering to try and hide his surprise. Fuck, he thinks, and he knows Elphaba heard him by the amused curl of smoke that leaves her nose.

Apparently, Fiyero has two dragons. And they're mates.

[green-tea-lemonade]

>:<< < you could at least sit through the first five slides befur throwing him out!

[luveline]

Can you write where the reader walks into James room and he's crying and its the first time shes seen him cry so she comforts him pls xx

thank you for your request! fem, 1.2k

James’ house is a sanctuary to everyone he’s ever met. There are scratches on the wall by the door where Sirius has thrown it open, long deep welts of ruin under a drunken hand, two best friends laughing to the bedroom where they share a bed. You’re used to Sirius by now, an extension of James you love and make room for, but waking up to the heir of the most noble family in London sleeping off a hangover with his face buried in your boyfriend's shoulder still surprises you. His snores never change. 

Then there’s Remus, the sweetheart, tracking dirt into the living room because he so often forgets he’s wearing shoes, distracted by a book or a thought he shares in half smiles knowing James will listen. 

You’re everywhere. In photos like the rest of them, in your coat on the hook, your clean washing on the stairs, your shoes in the bedroom cupboard. There’s a red smudge of your lipstick on the wall at the top of the stairs where James wiped your bottom lip and then used the wall to hang over you, kissing. He keeps meaning to paint over it, you know. He says the same thing every time you bring it up, a laughing, “I’ll get to it, you thing!” 

You’re used to smiles and sounds here. You aren’t acquainted with this. Sniffles from the bedroom, long, stringing gulps of air and the answering sob. It makes your chest flip. James hasn’t cried in front of you in a year of dating and two years of knowing him. James doesn’t even get pissed off unless it’s for somebody else. Something awful must’ve happened. You rush to find out what. 

In the bedroom, James is just sitting there falling apart. Just, sat on the bed, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking like an awful jagged up and down, like he’s hurting; the shock of it is in every inch of movement. James is beautiful in everything, skin and hands and dark, dark hair, but he’s hurting now as he drags fingers wet with tears through frizzing curls. He must have heard you coming up but he can’t stop, lifting his chin, an apology twisted in his mouth that he doesn’t say aloud. 

“Lovely, what happened?” you ask, sure you’re gonna fall through the floor. “What happened? What–”

You aren’t giving him time to answer. You need to know. 

“No, it’s alright–”

“It’s not alright,” you say, standing in front of him with stiff arms. “What happened, James?” 

“It’s okay.” He cries a little, sniffs, looking up at you with swimming eyes. “It’s alright, I’m just– it’s just– well, it’s just everything, I suppose, but it’s…” He looks down, his mouth twisting again in an apology you don’t want to take. He shakes himself. 

“James, what’s everything?” 

“Silly stuff.” James takes your hand. Telling, that a boy who’s spent his entire life looking after the people he loves would attempt to comfort you with tears still hot on his cheeks. 

You look down at his long fingers. 

James plays piano. He learned your favourite song for you before he’d ever asked you out, and when he’d played it for you, he’d played so beautifully you felt sick for days, felt sick every time you thought of him, but in the moment he’d laughed at your teary eyes and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. Lovely girl, he’d said, laughing, I won’t play it again if you’re gonna cry like that.

You figure he must want comfort as he gives it, wrapping your arms around him to steer him toward a soft kiss, his hair like strands of satin under your lips. “Nothing that upsets you like this could ever be silly.” 

He pushes you away. Not without love, but pushing away regardless. He stands in the space you leave and wipes his cheeks with the backs of his hands. It’s nearly like he’s dancing. Just the way his arms move. But then he drops them and turns away from you, your heart plummeting to your stomach. 

“James.” 

“It’s not like that. I was hoping I’d be done before you got home. Should we go out for dinner or something?” 

“James–”

“What?” he asks, smiling, at odds with his sad eyes. “Love, it’s really fine, I’m fine.” Love. You let out a long breath, chest a cold ache slowly warmed by his gaze. There’s care for you in every eyelash, but it still shocks you when he hugs you. “It’s okay. Sorry I scared you.” 

James. “Fucking hell, Jamie, I’m not scared, I want you to tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it for you.”

He chokes on breath. “I’m fine,” he says. He doesn’t believe it himself, a crack running straight through his words. “Sorry,” he says, sickly, kissing the top of your head as you’d kissed his. 

Clearly he’s not going to let you be the one domineering the situation, but that’s okay. He can kiss your head and hold you on the edge of too tight. You slip a hand under the edge of his T-shirt to stroke his back, until your hand is numb to it, and he’s sagging against you heavily. 

“You’re really not fine, I can see that much.” 

He’s quiet, but you can tell there’s something he wants to say. 

“But that’s okay,” you say, hand clasping his back . You pat a steady rhythm there as he sighs. “It really is. I don’t know why you think you have to be finished crying before I get home, but that’s not true. You can cry. You can cry buckets. Please don’t pretend you’re not upset because of me, I’d feel so bad.”

Something hot and wet touches your forehead. “M’sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” You pull back to pat his cheek. 

James stares at you. Tears well in usually warm eyes and get caught in the wet hedge of his lashes. You try to wipe them away before they can fall —you don’t wanna see your sweetheart crying. 

“Don’t frown,” he says softly. 

“I’m trying not to. Here, let me,” —you wipe his cheeks with your sleeve, voice a muttering thing as his skin pinks beneath your touch— “just get that there for you. Your eyes are red, Jamie, I hope you haven’t been upset for too long.” 

“No, uh. No, not too long.” 

“Can you please tell me what’s wrong? I’d like to know.” 

James’ face presses to your neck in seconds. He pauses, and then he sobs. That’s more like it. You stand there in the bedroom until your legs are stiff, and then you only move to lay him down in bed to be your little spoon. “It's not fine,” you say, your arm around him, the other playing in the swirl of his parting, “but it will be. You’re really too handsome for all these tears.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

He sounds sweet when he’s trying to make you laugh. You reach over him to kiss his hot cheek.  

[tpwk-formula1]

It Was Obvious - LN4

Lando Norris x Fewtrell Twin reader

Summary: Lando and Y/N Fewtrell have been seeing each other since just before the season started, what happens when they all go on vacation for summer break and are forced to continue and try to hide their relationship.

TW - NOT EDITED, lowkey mad cheesy, some fluff, talks of slight anxiety, secret relationship

WC 1200+

Y/N POV

"Lando, he's going to kill us if he catches you in here," I whisper to my boyfriend of 6 months, who is currently in my room pulling me in for another kiss.

"I'm willing to fight," Lando whispers again before kissing me again. It was a rushed make out session knowing we didn't have much time making me feel like I was back in year 10 hiding my boyfriend from my parents. But instead of my parents not knowing it's my twin brother who just so happens to be Lando's best friend.

"I love you," I whisper when he pulls away. I see the light blush crawl up his neck before settling on his cheek showing that regardless of how long we have been together we still get the giddy feelings.

"I love you too," he whispers back before slipping out of my room presumably going to his or Max's.

It's not even ten minutes later before another knock rings out through my room making me think Lando is coming back in already..

"Come in," I call out not moving from my bad. When the door opens to reveal Pietra I relax slightly knowing I don't have to worry about my twin coming in and finding out the truth had it been Lando.

"I wanna talk to you," P tells me softly making me sit up and start to feel some anxiety sink in, not knowing what she wants to talk about.

"Im not picking sides in the divorce," I joke softly making her laugh and shake her head.

"I'm not breaking up with your brother," P tells me softly making me laugh cause I knew damn well she wasn't trying to talk to me about that.

"So you and Lando?" She asks with a smirk on her face. I instantly feel all the air in the room leave making it increasingly more difficult to breathe.

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down! I'm not here to get anyone in trouble. I just wanna know more information," P tells me softly when she notices the panic starting to take over my body.

"Please don't tell anyone," I whisper out not knowing how to to trust anyone right now.

"I won't tell anyone. I think it's something you and Lando will need to do on your own time," she tells me with a smile making me relax a little bit more.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks me with a smile. I nod my head with a smile knowing I haven't been able to talk about my relationship with anyone but my mom.

"We started dating in February shortly after Max dragged you and I to that stupid golf thing. We had been talking before that but after Lando got wasted and couldn't take care of himself I went back home with him and pretty much babysat him until he went to sleep. The next morning he woke up and he set up a really cute brunch where he asked me out," I tell her with a smile making her smile with me.

"How did you figure it out?" I ask making her laugh out loud.

"Girl I love you to death but you guys are terrible at sneaking around. We've been here for for two days and everytime I can't find you, Lando just so happens to be missing as well, so I decided to spy on yall. Well kind of, I just so happened to be coming out of the bathroom when he was leaving your room and I truly wouldn't have thought anything of it but I was already suspecting you guys," she tells me making me nod.

"I think Lando and I are gonna make Max to lunch and tell him. I'm tired of lying to him and hiding my relationship," I tell her making her nod and smile.

"I think it's about time 'cause that was almost 7 months ago," she laughs out. I laughed with her happy to know she was happy for me and supported my relationship.

We're nearing the end of our trip and I have decided it was time. Keegan was already making jokes about us being together and thankfully Max was brushing them off as a joke but I'm sure he's going to start realizing the truth.

"Hey Max, I was wondering if you wanted to go to lunch later?" I ask softly not wanting to give too much information and try to pass it off as twin bonding.

"Ya, we could go to that one restaurant you've been begging to since we arrived," Max says with a laugh.

"I saw it on TikTok and it looked amazing," I reply back showing my excitement.

I make sure to text Lando the plan and while I plan to tell Max just us I want Lando nearby incase he wants to talk to both of us.

We're halfway through our meal when I finally drop my fork and clear my throat.

"I have to tell you something," I tell him making him drop his fork and roll his eyes jokingly.

"I knew you didn't just want to hang out with me," he jokes making both of us laugh.

"Ya, um but you have to promise to hear me out before getting upset," I tell him suttering in stress a little making him focus on me completely.

"So, please don't be upset but, landoandiareseeingeachother," I breath out in one breath talking too fast for anyone to understand.

"Try again and breathe this time," Max says trying to stay calm at the situation.

"Lando and I are dating," I tell him refusing to look at him. When I meet his eyes I he is giving me the most disbelief look possible.

"Are you kidding me?" Max asks in pure disbelief making me grow increasingly more nervous.

"I promise he's a good one," I quickly come to defend my partner.

"You thought I didn't know?" Max rephrases his statement making it clear he already knows.

"You knew!" I announce being quite a bit louder than I had hoped.

"I've known since Miami. I mean that confirmed it but I definitely caught on before that," Max tells me slightly stunned that I didn't realize.

"I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. Besides its been funny watching you and Lando try to sneak around all this time," Max tells me laughing slightly.

"So you don't care?" I ask him trying to get clarification. He just shook his head no.

"What about P?" I asked just getting curious to the situation now.

"What about her?" Max asks, clearly confused now.

"She came into my room earlier in the trip and asked me about it," I tell him, giving him some more detail about the conversation.

"Oh, no I didn't tell anyone I knew. Meaning she also caught on to your guy's terrible sneaking," Max laughs before adding, "Hell, even Keegan caught on."

I just laughed at that before sending Lando a quick text to let him know he could come in if he wanted. When he met us at the table Max explained to both of us how he caught on and when he realized we both had feelings for each other, which had been long before we started talking.

"Hey but if you break her heart I will pay Verstappen to take you out," Max tells Lando as we are walking back to the beach house we rented for the week.

That just made Lando laugh before telling him he wouldn't dare hurt me.

It was nice being able to spend the last few days of break not having to hide my relationship.

[nmakii]

sae’s not the jealous type. he doesn’t care when guys try to flirt with you. they’re no competition on him anyway. he knows you’re gonna reject them anyway. that’s just how comfortable he was in your relationship.

but, he always groans in annoyance when another girl comes up to you.

this was a problem he was never even supposed to have. and yet, he still had it.

girls would always come up to you, trying to be your friend, and would end up… somehow falling in love with you? it was an odd problem, like previously mentioned.

it started to become so annoying to the point that these girls would text you, and interrupt your dates! and because god bless your poor soul, you couldn’t dare say that you’re busy, sae would have to sit through 10 minutes of you comforting the dastardly girl through text.

as he sits down beside you in the private dining room of yet another fancy restaurant, he entertains himself by clicking his nails to the polished wooden table.

he pouts to himself, you completely ignorant as your eyes are pointed to your phone, and it makes him wonder, ‘is this how they feel when i’m abroad?’.

the thought that he makes you feel this isolated and lonely is one that he doesn’t like, so he shoves it down his throat. he then lands a bony hand on your shoulder, firmly yet still gentle.

it finally catches your attention, and you turn to him. “what’s wrong, sae?” seriously? are you that ignorant? “you’re ignoring me.” he frowns, as blunt and to-the-point as ever.

“ah, i know! i’m sorry, this is so rude… just one last text, babe…” you beg, but sae already knows how this goes down.

one text turns in to five. five texts turn in to ten. and if he doesn’t stop you now, he’s not getting you back until you’re back home.

and he’s not up for that.

he forcefully takes your phone, and turns it off.

“hey..! give it back, sae..! i’m sorry!” you frown. sae shakes his head, and places your phone screen down on the table. “you’re busy. i’m sure your girlfriend will understand.” he jests. a jest that, by your expression, makes you incredibly unamused.

“she’s not my girlfriend.” you huff, and sae raises an eyebrow. “really? you talk to her more than to me.” his lower lip pouts out, and you can’t help but smile a little.

“what? are you jealous of her?” you tease. sae looks disgusted at the question, and groans. “why would i? you’re not into girls, are you?”

“i dunno, maybe i am.” you shrug. sae looks to be on the cusp of both believing and not believing that. but regardless, he says “love who you want to. but at least stay loyal to your boyfriend.”

you sassily scoff and sigh, “aye-aye, sir.”

; for @itoshiluvbot please stop having girls all over you rizzler nd leave some for the rest of us

[dreamcubed]

i hate it here | theodore nott x reader

song; i hate it here [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!muggle-born!ravenclaw!reader genre; s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 5k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, reference to deaths, referenced grief, discrimination (muggle-borns), implied anxiety, implied depression summary; a chance encounter caused your life to intertwine with theo nott’s, of whom provided a comfort and solace you had sorely needed

this is an old draft i made in 2020, put through some serious editing

also, happy holidays and happy new year!!!

masterlist

"i'll save all my romanticism for my inner life."

———————————————

Flames flickered dangerously on the wall candles as the determined Slytherin sixth year charged down the corridor, eyes glaring at anyone who dared get in his way. His destination was unknown, but no one really gave it any thought as they stumbled to get out of his path. Theodore Nott wasn't one to mess with, nor were his group of friends.

"Nott," a voice muttered quietly from behind, causing Theo to halt in his tracks. Spinning on his feet, he caught sight of you and your hesitant gaze.

"What?" he snapped.

"You- uh- you dropped this..." you sighed, opening your hand to reveal a golden locket sat on your palm.

To your surprise, he took it quite gently from you and offered a quiet, "Thanks," before turning on his heel and continuing to storm down the corridor.

You exhaled deeply at your awkwardness as you began making your journey to the Great Hall for lunch. You weren't much in the mood to talk, but still joined your small group of friends at the Ravenclaw table. Greeting them with no more than a smile, you began dishing food on to your plate.

Meanwhile, Theo had arrived to the lunch hall via a different route, and earlier at that too. His thought process had been that of wondering who you were and why you knew his name. There was a sense of gratitude towards you, as that locket had been a gift from his late mother; thus it was a priceless artefact to him. He wouldn't know how to cope if he lost it— her absence was difficult enough as it was.

He sat down on the Slytherin table, surprised to see his friends weren't there yet; they were normally just as eager to eat as him.

He didn't really notice your presence in the room, even though he was still thinking about you. Alas, the hall was rather large, and rather full of students. Regardless, his thoughts were interrupted when Lorenzo Berkshire showed up, one of his closest friend. "Hey, Enzo," he looked up from his plate of food.

"Hi," he sat down opposite, "Where are the rest? I thought I was late enough as it was. L/N and I were just exchanging notes for my ancient runes test. And... then I went to the toilet."

"L/N?" a look of confusion rested upon Theo's features.

"Yeah, Y/N L/N, she's in your potions and DADA, I believe. She's helping me on the test that's coming up soon. Don't you know her?" Lorenzo quirked an eyebrow.

Your name didn't ring a bell at all.

"She's over there," Lorenzo pointed to the Ravenclaw table, "She is a mud— muggle-born, but she's really smart and I'll get detention if I fail this test."

Theo flicked his gaze to where you were sat. He observed your lack of participation in the conversation your friends were having— two Ravenclaw girls who he did recognise.

"Wait, that's L/N?" he turned to Lorenzo in surprise, seeing that Mattheo had now arrived wordlessly, already stuffing his face with food.

"So you do know her?" Lorenzo replied.

"Yeah- uh- I met her earlier, actually," Theo continued to watch you eating your meal while visibly spaced out.

"Mate, if you keep staring at L/N like that she's gonna get uncomfortable," Blaise Zabini announced his arrival, sitting by Theo.

"You know her too?" Theo spun his head to face Blaise, eyes slightly widened.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow, "Yeah? She's, like, one of the smartest girls in our year..."

"Why am I only hearing of her today?" he said, somewhat aggravated, as if he had been left out of an inside joke everyone else was in on.

Blaise and Lorenzo chuckled, before the latter said, "It's because she's so quiet. Trust me, it took me ages to get her reasonably confident around me."

"Why?"

"What d'you mean, why? Some people are just like that, Theo," Blaise shrugged.

Something told Theo that you weren't quiet for no reason.

***

You headed to your potions class at around 11am the next day: it was double potions, and your first lesson, which you were not looking forward to. You had it with a lot of Slytherins, and some of them were a bit judgmental of you being a muggle-born. That didn't necessarily bother you, it was just tedious to deal with constantly.

Much to your shock, you found Theodore Nott sat on your table and the old Hufflepuff boy you used to sit next to over in Nott's old seat. Awkwardly sitting yourself down in your own seat, you pulled out some of your books and ingredients and began working through the starter on the blackboard. All without saying a word to Nott.

You didn't realise Nott had been watching your every move from beside you.

"L/N," he whispered as Professor Slughorn called the attention of the class. You lifted your eyes from the book to him, and he could see the flash of fear in your eyes. Most likely because his group of friends were notorious for picking on muggle-borns.

"Yes?" you said as confidently as you could, in a hushed tone.

"Why have I never seen you around before?"

A frown graced your face as you eyed him incredulously, "What do you mean? We've had classes together for years."

"But I've never noticed you."

With a scoff, you muttered, "Thanks."

"I mean, I don't understand how I haven't noticed you."

You shrugged.

Sensing he needed to change the subject, Theo said, "Thanks again for finding my locket. It's priceless to me, I don't know what I'd do without it."

"It's fine," you dismissed, "Why's it so important, anyway?"

"My mother gave it to me before she died."

Pursing your lips ever so slightly, you murmured, "My condolences."

He rolled his eyes, "Empty words I've heard a thousand times."

Before you could reply, Slughorn scolded the both of you for talking.

And you didn't get another chance to talk until the lesson came to an end; you packed up all of your belongings and muttered a polite, "Bye, Nott," before hurriedly walking towards the door.

"L/N! Wait!" he called after you, jogging to catch up, "Please drop the Nott. Just call me Theo."

He walked with you to the Great Hall, engaging in a polite conversation about the material covered in the lesson.

Eventually, you found the courage to say, "N- Theo, my words weren't empty earlier."

Theo quirked an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

With a slight shrug, you pointed to the Ravenclaw table, "My- uh- friends are over there, Theo. D'you mind if I go?"

Frowning, Theo asked, "Why would I mind?"

"Uh- I don't know... I just- uh..." you purposely avoided his eyes, not wanting to say that you were scared to offend him, when he probably already saw you as lesser, being a muggle-born.

"Look, Y/N, you don't need to be so nervous around me. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Really?" you tilted your head.

"I swear. I don't care that you're muggle-born." Although his father would.

Nodding, you mumbled, "Goodbye," and joined your group of friends, of whom had been watching the previous encounter. Theo then headed over to the Slytherin table where his friends were also waiting.

***

A few days later, the Slytherin boys were once again gathered in the Great Hall, this time for breakfast. Lorenzo downed the rest of his coffee, and rose to his feet. "Gotta go."

"Where're you going?" Mattheo asked.

Climbing over the bench, he replied, "Library. L/N's helping me study for the ancient runes test, remember?"

"Can I come?" Theo quickly questioned, interested upon hearing your name mentioned.

Lorenzo gave him an odd look but said yes nonetheless; Theo instantly stood from his seat and tailed his friend on the journey.

Upon reaching the library, the pair found you already sitting at a little oakwood table with a dusty maroon novel in hand and scrolls of parchment laid before you. "Since when are you so stressed about tests?" Theo whispered.

"I told you, I'll get detention if I fail," Lorenzo shrugged, "What about you? Why a sudden interest in L/N?"

"I don't have a sudden interest in her," he blatantly lied.

Lorenzo gave him a look, "Sure, mate."

Luckily for Theo, they had reached the table where you were, with a little green sofa positioned by it. Theo smiled at you, muttering a quick, "Hi."

"Hi..." your face warmed at the sight of him.

As Theo set himself down on the sofa, Lorenzo said his hello to you - curious as to why you were even shyer around Theo - and sat down by you so he could pull out his books. He silently speculated as to what was going on between the two of you.

You began going over ancient runes, explaining in as much detail as you could the most recent topic. Still, you found yourself constantly glancing over at Theo, who had started reading a book, which didn't go unnoticed by Lorenzo. He didn't say anything, however, because if he did studying would be futile due to your inevitable embarrassment.

"Why did Theo come?" you questioned awkwardly when the aforementioned had left briefly to use the toilet, "He never has before..."

Shrugging, Lorenzo replied, "I think he wanted to see you."

"Me?" your eyes widened, "Why would he want to see me?"

You didn't get an answer; Lorenzo didn't give you one.

***

If you weren't so oblivious the question would have probably answered itself over the next few days. Theo had begun to go with you everywhere, and had moved to sit next to you in both DADA and potions officially. He sometimes napped during theory lessons in potions, but you didn't mind enchanting a quill to copy what you were writing so he would still have notes. Not that he had asked you to, you just felt weirdly obliged.

Whenever you would read in the library, he would be right next to you on the sofa, also reading. Whenever you were sat alone in the Great Hall, he would join and eat with you. Whenever you were taking a nice stroll around the grassy slopes of the Hogwarts grounds, he would walk by you, maintaining a comfortable silence.

Annoying wasn't the word you would use for him; in fact, you had never felt so content with someone's constant presence. The rest of your friends you needed breaks from, as they drained your social energy despite how much you loved them. Theo, however, was more of a calm and quiet person: he seemed to be quite happy not speaking at all around you. You appreciated the fact you could dwell together without doing anything.

***

The following Saturday, Theo was pissed. Determinedly walking down the corridor with a ferocious glare in his eyes, everybody was quick to jump out of his way, knowing the extent his wrath could sometimes take. Someone, namely a dumb third year, had accidentally set off an exploding spell on him. While Theo had fixed himself up, the third year had ran off without apologising. Now, Theo was hunting him down to seek revenge.

Everybody in the school feared him and the other Slytherin boys, except for a few of the first years who were yet to see their rage. When they were angry, no one dared go near them— it was kind of like an unspoken rule. You, unfortunately, had not yet realised that Theo was angered and ran up to him from behind, since you had been looking for him. You had found it strange that he wasn't yet by your side.

"Hey, Theo," you levelled your pace with his, wondering why he was moving so fast. A couple students loitering in the corridor exchanged glances, knowing you were about to get screamed at.

Except, you didn't. Theo's features went soft as he turned his head to you and smiled gently. Shock was evident on the observing students' faces, having never seen such a switch in emotion on any of the Slytherin boys before.

"Hey, Y/N," Theo spoke, "D'you have any good hexes to use on a stupid third year who accidentally hit you with a spell but didn't apologise?"

"Well, um, you're kinda putting me on the spot here..." you tapped her chin thoughtfully, "If you wanna go with a classic you could use the bat bogey hex."

Scrunching up his nose, he replied, "I kinda want something more original."

"Uh... why don't you make them turn purple?" you shrugged, "That's not done often."

"Why purple?"

"I like purple."

Theo chuckled, "Okay, then. We've just got to find him, now."

"Well, think logically. He'll probably go where there's lots of people so he can either blend in or have some hope of protection," you said, "And where will there be lots of people on this fine Saturday morning?"

"The Great Hall," he realised, grabbing your hand without thinking so he could start sprinting there.

You gasped at first, not expecting to be tugged along so roughly. But you weren't unfit, and quickly pulled your legs to match his pace.

"Alright," he panted, coming to a halt after running through the large double doors, "He's over there, on the Gryffindor table."

"Why... did... we... have... to... run?" you forced out between breaths.

Squeezing your hand unintentionally, he watched with amused eyes at your breathless state, before replying, "Couldn't risk him getting away again."

"Enchant his- uh- drink," now hyperaware of your still joined hands, you felt shy.

"What, so I don't get caught?"

"Uh, yeah..."

He tugged on your hand, guiding you down the side of the red table with his wand hidden discreetly in his free palm. Uttering the charm, he pointed his wand at the golden goblet in front of the boy.

"Better hope it works," he muttered, looking around to see all his friends together on the Slytherin table, as usual. You found yourself being dragged over to them without a say in the matter.

Theo only remembered to let go of your hand when you reached his friends— your expression likely gave away your embarrassment, but you still sat down next to him. Lorenzo, who was the other side of Theo, whispered in his ear, "You made it official, then?"

Shaking his head and taking a bite of toast, Theo answered, "What d'you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Theo," he sighed, "You both have such blatant feelings for each other."

The conversation swiftly switched as Mattheo began discussing the upcoming quidditch game. You didn't share an interest in the sport, but Theo did, so you were able to remain silent, much to your relief.

Blue puffy coat drowning you in warmth, and black leather gloves wrapping your shivery pale hands— woolly white bobble hat on head, and tickles of snow balanced on cheekbones— matte black snow boots on feet, and thick jeans on legs: you were well kitted for the day's snowy weather out in Hogsmeade, all of your friends were there too. You were now off the carriages and strolling down the icy street, gazing at the familiar sweets, book and joke shops. Cho, a friend of yours, was awkwardly making conversation with Blaise. He returned the level of awkwardness.

Mattheo and Lorenzo - Theo's closest friends - suddenly pulled your arms with mischievous looks on their faces. "Come to Zonko's with us!" Mattheo smirked.

It was obviously not a question.

Giving Theo a pleading look, you pulled a strained expression when all he gave you was a smirk similar to Mattheo's. "We'll be in the Three Broomsticks," your friend, Jane, said, "See the rest of you there."

You sighed, accepting your defeat and going to Zonko's— you ended up spending most of your time hidden in the corner of the shop while keeping an eye on the devious Slytherins. The crowd in the shop wasn't relaxing. At all. Right now, the only place you wanted to be was in the Three Broomsticks holding a refreshing cup of golden butterbeer with Theo by your—

Theo? Since when had he been the first person you wanted to be with? The first person you thought of when you went to your happy place? Warmth spread to your cheekbones and lit them aflame, the only thoughts in your head being Theo's cheeky smirk and fluffy brown hair. It took you awhile to realise Lorenzo had now grabbed your arm and was pulling you over to the pub with Mattheo, but you soon snapped out of your imagination and allowed yourself to enter through the door independently.

The second you were in there you made eye contact with very same boy you had been thinking about, causing you to grow flustered. Keeping your head down, you walked over to the table and smiled awkwardly at everyone. There suddenly seemed to be an overwhelming feeling that everyone could read exactly what you were thinking and immediately knew what was up.

Blaise budged along the bench a bit, allowing you to squeeze in next to Theo. All that you could notice now was the warmth radiating from the body - Theo's - that was squashed against you in the confined of space on the benches and chairs.

"Y/N? You good?" he whispered, concerned over your sudden shyness in demeanour.

"Uh- yeah! Fine... just fine," making the mistake of glancing at him again, your thoughts stammered and stuttered.

A million thoughts swarmed through Theo's head, having no idea what was happening. He decided to ignore it for now, however, and pushed over a glass of golden butterbeer to you.

Relief washed over you as you took a sip of the frothy beverage and allowed the warmth to fill up your insides. Theo's presence was beginning to feel comforting again, now your spout of realising your feelings was over. Unintentionally, you shifted millimetres closer to him causing your thighs to be pressed together. Theo was now conversing with Lorenzo, but he noticed your minuscule movement next to him.

Continuing with the conversation, he shifted the hand he had resting on his lap to hook it around your thigh: an action that had your eyes widening like saucers. Still, you couldn't help but smile slightly, before taking another sip of beer to cover your face.

***

One bright Saturday morning, you were in the library with Lorenzo, as he needed help with his studies. Only, this time it was Jane who was helping him, as you did not take herbology, and so could provide no assistance to him in that area. Regardless, you had come along, despite the fact you were in a great deal of pain. You were laying on the sofa by Jane and Lorenzo's table, curled up into a ball as you cursed your uterus for daring to grieve you in such a manner.

Theo, however, was in the Great Hall eating breakfast. The lack of your presence confused him, since you were usually there, so naturally he asked your friends where you were.

"Oh... she's in the library with Jane and Berkshire," Cho replied nonchalantly, "I don't know why she went— she has really bad cramps, and it's Jane that's tutoring Berkshire right now anyway."

"Cramps?" he frowned.

Cho sighed, "She's on her period, Nott."

Coughing awkwardly, he hummed in acknowledgment and continued eating, praying that the subject would be changed.

"Well? Are you just gonna sit there?" Cho questioned threateningly.

"What?" he said with confusion lacing his tone.

Mattheo laughed from across the table, "You're practically her boyfriend, aren't you gonna go to her? Period care is a classic boyfriend duty."

"What do you know about boyfriend duties?" Theo scoffed at his friend, but he knew that he was right, even though he wasn't your boyfriend. Nonetheless, he rose from his seat after Cho gave him a glare.

Once had poured a cup of hot chocolate from the breakfast spread, he began his journey to the library. Upon entering the massive room full of oakwood desks, homely sofas and bookcase after bookcase, he spotted you lying on a settee by Jane and Lorenzo with your eyes tightly shut. In your foetal position, you seemed oblivious to the heated discussion going on between the pair.

Crossing the room while scanning his surroundings, he noticed the various students sat chatting with friends or lazily doing homework: all of them in casual clothes. The thought of that made him take note of your attire: a loose-fitting Ravenclaw shirt much like the ones quidditch players wore, simple black pyjama bottoms and a pair of green and blue striped socks. Now that he had arrived, he could make out the battered black Converse sprawled at the foot of the maroon settee you were on.

Shooting a quick hello to Lorenzo and Jane, who were too preoccupied to notice, Theo leaned over you, and whispered, "Hey. I brought you some hot chocolate."

You peeled open your eyelids and rubbed them, wincing suddenly before clutching your abdomen. "Thanks..." you mumbled softly.

"Chang told me it was your time of the month," he said in a low tone so nobody else could hear, sitting down by you properly and handing over the mug.

"Did she?" tiredly pushing yourself up into a more upright position, you felt the beginning of your heart rate speed up now that you could clearly see Theo.

He smiled gently, taking in your cute mildly flustered appearance. Such an expression on your face made him want to hold you— desperately.

Taking a deep but quiet breath, he took the mug from your hands and placed it on the table, making you scowl. The scowl disappeared, however, when he scooped his arm underneath you, taking you much by surprise, and lifted you up slightly so he could budge himself to the end of the sofa and allow you to now be blatantly flustered on his lap. "How're you holdin' up?" he asked as he leaned the both of you forward to pick up the mug again.

"O-Okay, I gue-" you cut yourself off by clutching your abdomen and scrunching your face.

"Maybe not so okay," he chuckled, pushing your arms away from your stomach, and slipping his free hand under your royal blue shirt before applying some pressure.

Sighing in relief, you said, "You're so warm," before proceeding to curl up once more. You took the hot chocolate from his other hand, granting yourself a big gulp.

"'S'good chocolate."

"Fresh from the breakfast table," he chuckled, the action vibrating against your back.

You smiled, something that he couldn't see. "Thank you."

"It's nothing."

At that comment, you disagreed, as you knew that Theo Nott was not the type of man to do such nice things for people. Still, you continued to drink the hot chocolate, looking towards Jane and Lorenzo— who were still arguing about a herbology topic.

"What could they possibly be arguing about?" Theo sighed.

You shrugged slightly, "I think she proofread his essay and said it looked like a toddler had written it."

"I'm guessing you're a kinder tutor?"

You laughed, "I would say so. Unluckily for Lorenzo, I don't take herbology."

Then, Cho arrived, with Mattheo and Blaise as well— how she had persuaded the former to come to the library was nothing short of impressive.

"Sorry, did we interrupt a double date?" Mattheo smiled devilishly, sitting down in an armchair.

Oh, that would explain it.

You and Theo didn't react to his comment: you were so used to being teased at this point that it was just another day in the life.

As for Jane and Lorenzo— it was a completely different story. Their faces flushed as they became defensive, spouting off all sorts of insults about the other in relation to their prior argument.

"We're all heading down to the lake for a bit, d'you guys wanna come?" Blaise asked.

Looking to you, Theo could easily tell you didn't want to by your expression, so declined on behalf of both of you. Meanwhile, Lorenzo and Jane agreed, likely realising the tutoring was going nowhere, and rose from their seats.

***

Quidditch matches were the pride and joy of the school, and also something even you took seriously, despite not caring much for the sport. You had never missed a Ravenclaw match in your time, and never intended to either. That day's match was Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw, so you were definitely going to be in the stands watching.

With it being a few weeks away from Christmas (and nearly the end of the first term), being comfortably wrapped up was a necessity: a winter coat, a scarf, a hat, and gloves. Theo was about to head into the changing rooms for the match, but ran over to you first. Even just looking at him made your previously unwavering loyalty to Ravenclaw's team falter.

"Two galleons we'll win," Theo smirked down at you.

"Bet accepted," you held out your gloved hand, to which he shook, "Because I know Ravenclaw'll win."

You then made your way up to the stands, as Theo went to change and warm up. It wasn't long before

"Alright, it seems the teams are ready to start, so on Madam Hooch's whistle..." the commentator, Lee Jordan's successor, spoke, followed by a sharp whistle, "And the teams are in the air..."

The boy commentating continued to describe what the green and blue players darting around in the cold and crisp air were doing regarding the four balls of quidditch. Watching intently, you observed as the quaffle was passed between people and through hoops. The score reached 80-60 to Slytherin.

You could have sworn that Theo was smirking at you.

Only, when the crowd on your side suddenly started cheering, you snapped your gaze away from Theo to see that the Ravenclaw seeker had a shiny golden sphere in their hand.

Immediately, you began cheering as well, throwing middle fingers in Theo's direction. He scowled and rolled his eyes, flying over to you.

"Rigged game."

"Sore loser."

"Whatever."

"That'll be two galleons, please."

He rolled his eyes again, "Meet me after."

***

"Come with me," he said the second he emerged from the changing rooms, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You were really confused as he dragged you all the across the quidditch pitch and over the grassy plains of the Hogwarts grounds. Unanswered questions filled you even more as you reached the less thick area of the Forbidden Forest, that was not as forbidden. In the distance, you could make out the skinny black silhouettes of the thestrals.

"Why'd you take me to the thestrals?"

"So you can see them?" he observed the mighty creatures as they noticed your presence.

"You can too?" you asked.

Moving closer to stroke one of them, he replied, "When I was eight, my mother passed."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." you gently petted the same one he was.

Theo's mouth settled into a grim line, "Don't be."

Taking a deep breath, you said softly, "I watched my parents get killed when we were in fifth year. It was the Christmas holidays and I came home after shopping to see..." your breath hitched, "To see death eaters torturing them through the window..."

Instead of saying anything, Theo wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his warm chest.

"I just wish I'd done something... but I... I couldn't..." you recalled the day, your heart aching.

"Hey, it's okay, bambi," he pressed a light kiss to your forehead.

"I know they... they only did it... because... because I'm a witch... I just..." you fought against the lump in your throat.

You drew back from his chest, and Theo stroked the softness of your cheeks, staring into your sparkling eyes. He couldn't understand why his heart hurt so much to see you saddened, let alone why it hurt even more when you forced a small smile.

It dawned on him that you were far from nervous and weak, instead quietly carrying the weight of a tragedy that many wouldn't be able to manage. He was amazed that you didn't break down every day: especially since it had been only a couple years, and you were so young.

The realisation that the Christmas season was probably no longer full of festivity and joy for you, but painful reminders and memories, was one that made him grasp your hand tightly.

"Y/N... you're the strongest, smartest and kindest person I know..." he spoke softly, caressing your palm.

Your voice cracked when you said, "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed. The next thing you felt was his soft and plush lips against yours, sitting there in a sweet and chaste kiss.

Your lips parted as he rested his forehead against yours and squeezed your hand as gently as if you were a porcelain doll.

"Where d'you go during the holidays?" he asked hesitantly.

"I live with my great aunt now."

The evidence of how hard you found the absence of your parents was shown through your expression.

"Is she nice?"

You nodded, "But she can't fill the hole."

He understood. His cold and cruel father could never— would never— step up and pick up where his angelic mother left off.

"Y/N," he said softly, "You know what my father is, don't you?"

"Everyone does," you murmured, "How is he not imprisoned?" You grimaced after asking that, and added, "No offense."

He chuckled dryly, "None taken. I despise him," he then paused for a moment, but continued, "I just want you to know I'm not like him— I'm not—"

You pushed a finger against his lips, silencing him. "I know, Teddy. I wouldn't be here right now if I thought you were, no?"

The corner of his lips curved up in a smile, "My mum used to call me that."

"Oh, I'm sorry—"

"No. It feels right coming from you."

You matched his smile. "Theo, I... I think I love you."

He cupped your face with his warm hands, "I know I love you."

—————————————

masterlist

written; 04/03/2020 —> 27/12/2024 published; 28/12/2024 edited; —/—/——

[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!!

[redstarwriting]

bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon​

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

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Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles. 

And Miles points at himself. 

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

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[crsssie]

a pathological people pleaser

word count: 4.4k

warnings: smut || pt 2 to and i wouldn't marry me either

summary: Jinshi's getting desperate to bed you.

夏

Jinshi contemplates what kind of a ring to get you. He really does. He looks through the designs that had been initially made for your marriage, but he finds inspiration in none of them. You would suit a ring that's crafted with only the finest of materials, not a ring that was just bought from the streets. Though, you had been going out with Maomao more often with some guards to have fun and buy food. At some point, the palace chefs are going to need to learn how to make a roujiamo that tastes like the ones on the street and not the fancy food that you had grown used to having.

He calls Maomao and Gaoshun for help picking a ring, but ultimately neither of them come up with something that would suit you. (He even asks his mother, but she is no help either.)

So, he rots in the confinement of your shared office, head spinning as he sketches more and more ring designs. The one of the current empress is nice, but it is not something of your style. The one that his mother had received was pretty as well, but not something that he desired to put on you. Perhaps a simple jade ring of your size would do better, but it seemed too plain compared to the kind of treatment he was supposed to give you. A simple jade ring would be fitting for him, but not necessarily for you. He would give you gold, but he wasn't quite sure what kind of a ring design would fit you.

He's gonna age from this, he swears.

Yet, he continues sketching at it between his paperwork, frowning at how big of a demand there are for eunuchs. The lower ranking concubines were still desperate, he finds. Perhaps especially with the announcement of his marriage... not announcement. He was married, but with the revealing of his marriage, it seems some concubines are getting desperate for some sexual release. Jinshi... really is no better than they are. He finds that he can't sit still around you these days.

He's... desperate. Yeah. Desperate is the right word.

"Rotting in here again?"

"You know, I'm starting to think you're actually Diu from your actions." Jinshi grumbles from his desk, shoving the paper with the ring designs to the side, catching your eye.

"To be fair, I am him, and he is me." You pick up the paper, tilting your head at the ring designs. "Designing rings for me? How sweet of you. Why not just use one from the treasury?"

"You deserve a new one." He groans. "I wanted to design one for you."

"Why not just gold?" You hum. "And then thread a pearl and jade orb through them."

"A jade ring would be nice." Jinshi hums, staring up at the pin in your hair. "To match your pin."

"Whatever you design." You hum. "I'm sure I will be satisfied."

"It has to be perfect." He mopes. "Or else I will not forgive myself."

"That's rather harsh on yourself." You hum, reaching for his brush as you sketch a design. "I liked the ring presented to the empress."

"The blue gem?"

You tap your chin. "Though, the gold isn't my favorite combination." You finish your sketch, noting down the color scheme, and Jinshi blinks at the choice.

"You just want a plain jade ring?"

"For the wedding ring." You blink. "The westerners are quite intriguing with the tales they tell. The women there boast many rings."

"You went to the west?"

You shrug. "A season is plenty of time to explore."

"She went to a port city." Maomao speaks up from the door. "Gaoshun is asking for the report."

"I sent it to him already?" You raise a brow.

"The one regarding the ceremony in the winter."

"Ah." Jinshi's fingers slide down the stack, pulling out a booklet between all of it. "Here."

Maomao nods, pausing as she catches wind of the ring design. "How about a ring with the royal family's seal?"

"I'm not becoming crown prince." Jinshi grimaces.

"I am sure the emperor would allow it regardless."

"I don't want a ring like that." You pause. "though, it would be quite a statement to wear it on the pinky."

"You want a divorce?!" Jinshi cries, heartbroken as Maomao leaves the room with the report.

"No." You shrug. "I might if you keep putting off the concubines' requests."

Jinshi jumps in his skin as he goes back to the papers, and you glance at the ring you've drawn.

"Carve a jade ring with a phoenix for our wedding ring. I do not desire gold." You hum. "And you are to have a dragon on yours."

Jinshi looks up at you, eyes gentle as he drinks in your figure under the setting sun, summer wind rustling the leaves outside, heat not too much to handle either. There is something delicate and breathless about you to him. You are worth so much, yet he had to spend such little time compared to the age of the universe to prove that you are his only one. Time is suck a fickle thing when it came to the clouds and sky. He supposes that's more a reason to treat you well and make up for time lost.

"Is that all you want?"

"What else would I want?"

"How about a jade pendant?"

"With the royal family's seal carved into it?"

Jinshi laughs. "Why not my last name?"

"Sure, pretty prince."

Jinshi flushes.

秋

You have tea with Ah-Duo a lot during fall. The weather cools bit by bit, and you sit in your yard, peeling the sugarcane as she looks through the files, humming at your writing, each stroke nice and clean. She puts the papers down, a maid rushing over to take them to your study, and she glances at the sickle and cane in your hand. It seems you have found new talents outside of the palace walls. It fills her with a sense of warmth, almost.

"How do you feel about the new eunuchs?" She hums.

"Some of them are rather attractive." You hum, not paying much mind as you cut off a piece for the lady.

"Is that so? Yue would have a heart attack if he heard you say that." She takes the piece, popping it in her mouth as she chews, humming. "It's sweet. I like it."

"That's good." You laugh. "I had the chefs just hand me whichever one." You continue to hack at the crop with the sickle. "Jinshi would be fine."

"I doubt it." She hums, spitting out the dry cane into the bowl prepared beforehand by the maids. "He is rather protective when it comes to things he desires... you included."

"It is only recently that he has become protective over me." You hum, putting a piece into your own mouth as you chew. She was right. It is sweet. "Which is also why he refuses to become the imperial prince."

"You would make a great empress."

"I would." You chuckle. "I have been raise for the role, after all."

"Though, this is better." She smiles. "You are happier like this."

"Oh, well as empress, I suppose I would not do too much. Jinshi, though? That poor man."

"He would have quite the work set out for him." She hums. "Though, you would be there to support him."

"I suppose." You hum. "It would be better had you been ascended to the position of empress."

"What is done is done." She hums. "I find it more amusing that your talk with the emperor of letting me visit worked."

You snort. "I saw the chance and took it. It would be a shame to not host you at least once in a house that is now warm."

"I suppose so." She smiles. "Does it not hurt to cut the sugarcane yourself?"

"It does not." You hum. "My hands are stained with sugar, and I work up a good sweat. I find it fun."

"Fun?"

You snap the plant in half, handing the peeled half to Ah-Duo as you continue with the unpeeled half.

She bites it, humming. "It is good. Is there a reason to cut it? I no longer remember."

"It's so you can get the most of it." You offer her one of the knives on the table. "Be careful not to cut yourself."

"I will." She nods. "Have you learned anything else?"

"A foreigner showed me how to peel a pomegranate." You pause. "Oh, and I have developed a strange talent for peeling oranges. It is incredible how clean it can peel with the right tools."

She nods, popping a piece into her mouth.

"How are the children?" You tilt your head, cutting another piece to put in the central bowl.

"They are faring well." She hums. "They are children, after all."

"I suppose." You mumble. "Jinshi went a little insane on their family."

"Not to mention he had full right, holding the army seal." She chuckles. "I heard from the maids that the imperial court threw a fit upon the realization that you had been holding onto something so precious and had just casually given it to Jinshi in order to save a maid."

"Not just any maid at the time." You snort. "Jinshi's dear maid."

"Of course." She smiles. "Though, he had been in love you. He had simply pushed it down."

"Like father like son, I suppose." You mumble. "Has the emperor visited?"

"Not yet." She pauses. "Is he planning so?"

You turn your head at the sound of footsteps.

"Jinshi." You hum, smiling.

He steps over to press his lips to your forehead, smiling fondly at your juice-stained hands, only freezing when he remembers his mother is with you. "...niang."

Ah-Duo waives her hand. "How cute."

Jinshi flushes, and you chuckle, pinching his cheek.

"You needed something?"

"The emperor is coming for a visit, niang." He pauses. "To our residence. He will be visiting the tearoom."

You raise a brow at Jinshi.

Jinshi shakes his head at you.

"Very well." You grin, shaking Jinshi off of you as you peel the sugarcane with eerie accuracy, cutting the rest into bits for the late consort to enjoy. "You can take the bowl."

"None for me?" Jinshi pouts.

"The emperor matters more in this case." You shrug. "I shall send some maids to accompany you."

"Alone will be fine." Ah-Duo nods. "Thank you."

You smile as she leaves, and Jinshi takes her spot, pouting at the sugarcane she had left behind.

"I want a bite."

You take the plant from him, cutting pieces off for him, watching as he chews, reaching for his throat as he threatens to swallow. This fucking dumbass.

You pry his jaw open, ignoring the fact that your hands probably taste like some sort of sugar, ordering him to spit it out. He listens, dry cane spat into the bowl you've held before his mouth, and his spit slides down with hit, the poor male panting like some bitch in heat. You let go of his mouth, exhaling as you mumble. "Good boy."

The words ring in Jinshi's head and shoot straight to his dick, and he licks your fingers unconsciously, eyes half-lidded as he tastes the sugar on them. Wait.

fuck.

He was NOT supposed to do that.

You freeze as something brushes your knee, and you stare into Jinshi's eyes as he stares back up at you, blinking rapidly, praying you wouldn't point it out. The two of you meet eyes, and you back up, sitting back down as the two of you wait for the other to speak up. Jinshi refuses to speak up.

You break the silence. "I'll wait."

"Thank you." He mumbles, cheeks red in embarrassment as he rushes off to somewhere private.

This is awful.

冬

some days you wonder how long Jinshi went without sexual release.

It's a strange thought, really. So, when you and Jinshi are wedded and you're waiting for him on the wedding night in your shared bed, you don't know what to think. Alright, wedded is the wrong word. The two of you are rewedded, and you are dressed in the robes the late empress had prepared for the two of you to sleep together in. You think it's too little, but apparently it's supposed to rile Jinshi up. Speaking of Jinshi, you wonder how he's dealt with getting boners. He... can't sleep with someone because he's a eunuch, but he can't just leave himself hard forever.

Jinshi stares at you from the door as you're lost in thought.

Skin. You're showing skin. He feels rabid at the sight— as though he were some carnivore in the wild, grew before his eyes. He feels as though he would go feral if he were to get his hands on you, so he stands there, collecting himself. He can't scare you off. He finally has you in his hands again, this time treating you properly, and he can't just scare you off because he's wanted to touch you for ages but couldn't.

"Jinshi?" You tilt your head at him, and he musters up a smile.

"I don't want to scare you." He pauses. "But I fear the maids did a little too good of a job with you."

He offers you a drink, and the two of you down it before you lick your lips to speak up.

"Why? You want to defile me?" You lean forward, almost as if to emphasize your point, and Jinshi flushes red.

"I really wonder how you learned to flirt like that when you were Diu." Jinshi sits next to you, fingers pushing your hair back as he leans in. "This is fine, right?"

"Would be funnier if I were Diu right n-" You're cut off as Jinshi presses his lips to have you shut up. He loves you, but god, were you infuriating sometimes. It was as though the winter and spring without him had changed you into a different person— not that he minded. You're charming no matter how you act or react. Your hair scrunches between his palm and fingers, and you tilt your head to give him better access, passion and longing staining your face as he presses his lips to yours and his fingers bloody with something he's wanted forever. Some sort of twisted passion beats from his chest to yours, a whimper spilling past his lips as you thread your fingers through his hair.

He only pulls away when you soften against him, chest pressed to his as he feels your muscles tensing from the lack of breath.

"You still with me?" He moves his hand out, your hair slipping between his fingers as you hang your head to breathe.

"I sure wish you weren't good at everything you did," You keep your head hung, unraveling his robes with ease, palming his cock through the fabric wrapped around his waist. Jinshi's hips shift slightly for more friction, and your hand presses down on his hipbone, forcing him to still as you pull on the strand to free him, licking your lips at his length. "I don't think you're going to fit, pretty boy."

"We'll make it fit." He hisses out as you let the spit on your tongue roll onto the tip of his cock, smearing the precum with your saliva, your fingers smooth against his length as you spread it. Jinshi whimpers as you do, the ring around your finger cool against his skin, and you lean in to stare up at him through your lashes, biting your bottom lip as your hand speeds up. Jinshi whimpers, hand flying to wrap around your wrist and hold you still, and you tilt your head, yelping as he takes your lips pushing you back into the mattress. You lean into the kiss as he tugs on the bow, string coming out and top falling off with ease as his fingers brush your tits, thumb pressed to your nipple, humming into your mouth at the feeling of it hard. "Let me take care of you tonight." He huffs, pulling from you as he forces your tits up with his hands, pinching your nipple to catch a wince from you.

"Mean." You pout, no real annoyance on your face, and Jinshi busies himself with your chest, lips pressing a kiss to the meat of your chest, biting down— almost as though to mark you as his territory. It irks him some days that the maids still have lingering crushes on you from when you were Diu. So, his bites trail up from your chest to your neck, canines crazing over your pulse point as he bites down, hands sliding down to hold your waist as you crane your neck and whimper. Jinshi leans to force his chest to yours, and your fingers curl uncomfortably next to you as he sucks on your neck, purple blooming across your skin wherever his lips were.

"You're so pretty." Jinshi mumbles, finally pulling his lips off of you with a pop, staring down at you as you're suddenly aware that you are bare. You try to hide yourself but Jinshi makes work of his hands swiftly, holding your wrists together as he rolls his hips against yours experimentally. "I wonder how much of my reading is going to pay off."

"Studying through indecent literature? How sinful of you." You arch your back as he pulls your undergarments off, spreading your legs slightly as he slides his index finger down your slit, taking note of the slick threatening to spill out.

"I'd say this is worse, though." He slides a finger into you with ease, and you whimper as he curls it, nails slightly grazing your walls, making you gasp. "You sound so sinful like this. I sure hope you didn't let any other man see you like this."

"And if I did?"

"Then I'd suppose I'd just have to ruin their life." Jinshi straightens his middle finger as he curls his index out of you, sliding both into you at once. You shift slightly at the stretch. Jinshi curses under his breath at how tight you are. He doesn't want to break you your first night. So, he spreads his fingers in you slightly, thumb on your clit as he tries to loosen you. Instead, you flutter around him, only a light gasp freeing from your lips as he furrows his brows. He spreads his fingers, trying to make space for a third and get a reaction out of you. Instead, you don't react, simply shifting your hips to accommodate the stretch from his fingers.

"Am I bad?" He pouts, thumb finding your clit.

"No." You breathe, squirming from his touch.

"Am I average?"

"Jinshi, I have no idea. This is as much of my first time as it is yours." Your wrists fight against the grip of his hand, and he lets them go, lowering his face to your pussy instead, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he pulls you up. You back arches dramatically as he wraps his arms around your thighs, and Jinshi presses his tongue flat against your cunt, licking up as you jolt. He watches as your pussy flutters around nothing, and he slides his tongue in, moaning into your against as he tastes you. So this is what you taste like— some mixture of sin and lust, nectar that would put even the sweetest of peaches to shame. It would drive Jinshi to madness, he supposes.

Your fingers grasp at the pillow above your head, whimpering with each flex of Jinshi's tongue, and his fingers dig into your thighs, earning a squeal from your lips as you feel something tighten in your stomach. Your eyes widen as your nails dig into the sheets and your back arches impossibly more, tears in the corner of your eyes as Jinshi sucks at your orgasm, ignoring the mess of slick sliding down his chin and splattering onto the sheets. You turn red in embarrassment at the mess, but Jinshi pays it no mind, continuing to lap at your pussy, eyes digging into yours as he puts on a show for you. You look away from his eyes, opting to make a mess on his tongue instead, eyes rolled to the back of your head as a second orgasm crashes upon you. Jinshi drinks it up just as eagerly as the last, eyes half-lidded as

Your legs shake as Jinshi lets you down, fingers wiping the slick from his face as he pumps himself with it, and then sliding his tip beneath the hood of your clit to further coat his dick in your cum. You shift against his cock, grinding lightly into him as he chuckles. "Patience, beloved."

"I'd say you're worse than me." You heave, walls fluttering around Jinshi's length as he slides in. He notices the way your skin lifts with him inside of you, and he presses down on the bulge, blinking slowly. You gasp, stomach flexing out of instinct, pussy clenching around Jinshi with a hiss. Jinshi stays still, thumb brushing your clit to incite a reaction from you, earning him a lewd whimper. The sound shoots straight to his cock, head spinning as he slides his palm up your abdomen to your chest, pinching your nipple as he swallows.

"This is fine, right?"

"Insecure?" You roll your hips in affirmation. "I wouldn't have married you or let you catch me if it wasn't."

"Tease." He grumbles, taking your legs and folding them to your shoulders, forcing himself further into you. You moan, clenching around him as he moves, holding you down by the hips as he slams into you with each thrust, gasps slipping past your lips and colors in your vision as he moves. Flowers blossom in your lungs as you try to catch your breath, head spinning deliciously at the taste of Jinshi's lips on yours, a light fragrance from the rice wine he had taken mixing with the one on your lips, and you moan into his mouth, squirming from his touch. Your legs relax over his shoulders as he presses into you, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, hair sliding off his shoulders to cage you in as you whimper.

The wind rustles the trees outside as you cum around Jinshi the first time, brows knit together and eyes closed as your face twists from the unfamiliar sensation, head thrown back and lips parting once the crash ended, and Jinshi stills, hand reaching to brush your hair to the side, cupping your face with his hand. "You alright?"

"Felt weird." You mumble. "Did you..?"

"No." Jinshi hums. "Would you like me to? Inside?"

"I don't mind." You whisper.

"Alright," He starts moving again, focusing on himself as your legs slide off his shoulders and fall into the mattress, hooking behind his pelvis as he thrusts, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pistons into you, your breath caught in your throat as you see white and stars, drool threatening to leak down your chin and choke you with your head thrown back and muscles tense. Jinshi pants into your ear as he feels himself get close, pulsing and ebbing inside of you with each roll of his hips, your name spilling past his lips in some sort of raw desperation and begging, only spilling into you once you call his name back through your cloudy haze, white painting your walls as white fills your vision, the same white visible in the air on the snowy trees.

His breath mixes with yours as he rests his forehead on yours, bare skin pressed to yours, sweat and cum mixing with your own, the two of you merged as one. In the distant past, you loved him until it physically destroyed you, and in the distant future he will love you until he is stuck in the same destruction that had dragged you away from him. Only then would he forgive himself, lips spreading into a gentle smile, eyes staring into yours as yours are closed, catching your breath as your chest rises and falls, vine of hickeys and bruises trailing down from your neck to your waist. Your walls flutter around him as you recover from another orgasm, skin flushed like peonies as Jinshi tilts his head to press a kiss to your shoulder.

"Still with me?" He presses his palm to your cheek, palm brushing your skin.

"Yes." You pant, grimacing at the squelch that sounds when he pulls out of you.

"I wonder if we'll be with child."

"I doubt it's this easy." You mumble, lashes fluttering. "Would you want one?"

"Up to you." He mumbles, reaching to the side to pour himself another glass of wine. "We do not have to worry about succession either."

"Oh, I've never been so thankful to have not ended up where I was supposed to." You sigh in relief.

"You do not want one?"

"Not my priority." You hum. "Unless you wish for one."

"You are my priority." Jinshi hums, offering you a glass. "Another?"

"No." You roll onto your stomach to stretch your back. "We have plenty of time as well."

"I suppose." Jinshi hums, holding his hand out for yours.

You give him your right hand, and he pouts.

"Your left. The ring."

You free your arm and hold it out, and Jinshi kisses your knuckles gently, eyes closed as he hums contently.

"We match." He smiles, lips curled into a gentle smile, eyes full of a warmth you had forgotten he was capable of. You smile, a laugh bubbling out of your chest as he fiddles with your fingers, some sort of domestic ambiance filling the room. And just like that, your anxieties fade away, and a smile makes way on your face.

"I love you." He hums, lips pressed to your forehead as he lays next to you, still holding your hand, his ring brushing against yours.

"I love you too." and you close your eyes, body relaxing into his, heartbeat one below the missing sun.

[spideyhexx]

wanna sit between sejanus' legs while sej teaches coryo how to finger someone😵‍💫

anon I want you to know, I saw this last night before I went to bed and the scream I internally let out was insane 🫶 and I have not been able to stop thinking about it🫶and as you will see I did not hesitate with this!

Maybe you've experimented with small makeout sessions between you and Coryo while Sej watches and then the boys would switch, but that's as far as it's gone.

And Coryo let's it slip he has no idea how to pleasure a woman, so Sej decides the next night you're all together, he'll help him out.

Coryo sits near the end of the bed as you sit between Sej's legs, completely naked with your back to his chest. All of your faces are flushed and Sej knows he's gonna have to take the lead here.

"Now with my girl here, a few kisses would be a good start, but I think she's already worked up so we'll skip that," he says, his breath hitting your ear and you're blushing even more. You can't even look Coryo in the eyes, you feel so exposed and you love it.

Sej gently caresses your thigh, urging them to open more. "Be slow, not too fast, gotta build up the anticipation, right honey?" Sej presses a kiss behind your ear as his fingers trail like a ghost touch up and down your thigh. He'd continue this slow tease as Coryo watches in silence. Sej's fingers move closer to your heat, finding your clit.

You let out a gasp and you feel Sejanus smile against you. "She needs this spot rubbed, slow at first but then you can move a little faster, she'll be squirming in no time." You take the chance to look at Coryo and he looks entranced. He's looking directly at Sejanus' fingers, expertly toying with your clit as you feel your hips stir.

"Can hold her hips or thighs down if you want her still." Sej does what he says, using his free hand to hold you as still as possible and that's when you let out a moan.

Coriolanus locks eyes with you then, his mouth parting a little and his hand resting a little too closely to his crotch. "Then, after playing with her like this for a bit, you can..." Sej trails off, dipping his fingers down to rub them through your folds, gathering your wetness on them. You lean your back against Sej's shoulder but he tsks. "look at Coryo, sweetheart." You do as he says.

"She's obedient," is the first thing Coriolanus says and Sej chuckles.

"Sometimes."

You smile at that and Sej teases his finger at your entrance. "start with one finger, then give her two. She likes small thrusts and when you curl them just a tad and don't forget about her clit." Coryo nods, and Sejanus pushes his finger into you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit.

He does this slow and purposeful for a bit before adding in a second finger. Your hips buck against his hand despite his hold and Coryo moves forward to hold you down, his warm touch surprising but very welcomed. He smirks at you before watching Sejanus pleasure you once more.

After a couple more moments, Sej removes his touch completely from you, making you whine. "Do you want to try now?" He directs to Coryo and the man nods.

They switch positions, Coryo letting out a ragged breath as you press back against him. You choose not to say anything about how hard he is, even though you all knew.

Then, you learn that Coryo is a rather quick learner. He repeats everything Sejanus told him and it's even easier since you're worked up from Sej's touch.

The moment Coryo's fingers curl against the right spot, you're moaning loudly, gripping onto his thigh and Sej holds you down so Coryo could use his free hand to rub at your clit, his speed quickening the more you moan.

Sej would let out little praises under his breath, for you or for Coryo?

You're not sure.

You hear Coryo swallow and let out a breath before he whispers, "c-can I make you cum?" It's an odd, but endearing question, because wasn't that the end point for this anyways? But regardless, you nod. "I'm close, you're doing so good Coryo."

You reach a hand up to tangle in his hair, tugging on the locks as he groans, his own hips pushing harder against your backside. He curls his fingers one more time before you're coming undone on them. Coryo lets you relax against him as you come down from the orgasm, his cock throbbing as he replays the whole thing in his head.

Sejanus looks proud and pats Coryo on the back. "We're gonna teach you so much."

let's chat about coryo, sejanus, or both, here :)

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 1

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Fuck me, that's what I get for not wearing my helmet tonight. Jason came to with numb hands and legs, burning shoulders, a gag tight in his mouth, and a pounding headache. His ears rang and a groan escaped his throat before he could keep quiet. He slowly cracked an eye open and when he wasn't blinded took stock of the situation he was in. He was kneeling, tied to a post behind him and in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle of some kind. At the edges of the circle there were candles, a bright Lazarus green, and beyond that were robed figures.

Great, cultists. Perfect. The ringing in his ears started to fade as chanting filled the room. After the first repetition of unfamiliar words the flames of each candle one by one turned black, and once it came around, the edges of the circle started to glow bright green. The glow followed the path written in what Jason assumed was blood until the entire thing was glowing bright enough that Jason had to squint to try and make out any of the symbols and commit them to memory, any little thing could be a clue after all.

As the chanting got louder and louder, the glow shone brighter and brighter. He could feel a build up of energy and his hair began to stand on end like lightning was about to strike. The light became blinding and the pressure in the air built up until he felt he couldn't breathe, he could smell ozone in the air and suddenly the light returned to normal, he collapsed forward and his cheek hit carpet.

"Oh my Ancients! Are you alright?" He heard a feminine voice say and let out a pitiful groan. "That's probably a dumb question, one second let me grab something to cut those ropes and I'll help you up."

He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to a purple shag carpet with the magic circled burned into it and registered the ozone scent shifted to a burning smell. He tried moving his arms and yelped in response. He heard a thud and a quiet curse as his apparent savior stopped rifling through their drawers with a quiet "Aha!" He turned his head towards the sound and his mind stuttered to a halt for a moment.

Stood there, with a sword at least as long as the Demon Spawn is tall, was a woman Jason would expect to find in Themyscira. She stood almost seven feet tall with long red hair pulled back into a high ponytail braid, a helm-like crown adorning her head. Muscled shoulders had a black capelet from one and a pauldron on the other. She wore golden bracers like Wonder Woman on her forearms and armor similar in shape, but black with a symbol blazoned across the chest, under the armor she wore a teal toga. He turned his attention to her face and found a sheepish expression in those teal eyes.

"I absolutely forgot I had my sword with me today because of the council meeting. Let me just-" she quickly strode forward and cut first his feet and then his hands free, and after giving up on the knot, carefully cut the gag from his mouth. She knelt down and helped him to sit more comfortably. "Do you think you can make it to the couch? it's very comfy, I use it when I need a break between council meetings."

Jason tried standing and his legs protested feeling like pins and needles and tv static. He shook his head and she nodded thinking to herself. "Okay then, here."

Jason blue-screened as he realized he was suddenly being held in a bridal carry by this woman like it was nothing. He blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears as she carried him to her honest to god fainting couch and placed him upon it like a swooning maiden.

"So, um, hi, my name is Jasmine, please just call me Jazz regardless of whatever you hear anyone else here call me. Do you need some water? I'm gonna order some water, and some painkillers maybe? Honestly, I'm just gonna ask them to send one of the yeti healers to take a look at you and I'll need to ask someone who can read ghost speak to translate whatever brought you here." She rambled and made her way to one of the doors and spoke with someone just outside.

Jason laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself focused on the situation at hand. So facts so far: he was just used as a sacrifice of some kind, he was teleported somewhere unknown to him at this moment, and whoever he was sacrificed to seems to be some form of royalty and was arguably the most attractive and so far kind woman he's ever met. He nodded to himself and carefully pealed the red domino mask from his face.

"Jason." He said to her as she turned back to him after closing the door. She stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "My name, it's Jason."

She blushed a moment. "Right, yes, nice to meet you Jason, I wish it was under literally any other circumstances." She said walking forward to shake his hand.

"So, uh, where are we?" He asked, gesturing to what Jason assumed was a window, but wasn't certain because the sky was green and purple and had floating doors and islands in it.

She closed her eyes and seemed to take a fortifying breath. "Right. What do you know about the supernatural, besides the obvious that apparently magic circles work?"

Jason thought about what he could say here. Should he bring up his time in the All Caste? Should he bring up the Lazarus pits? I don't know enough about the situation yet. "I know that magic is real, kinda hard not to what with heroes like Zattana and Raven making headlines and the fact the city I live in is hella cursed."

He watched some tension leave her shoulders, but not all the way. "Good, I won't have to go over that particular world-shattering revelation, though I'll probably ask you more about those heroes you were talking about, I haven't heard of them." Jason was stunned for a moment, but she continued. "We are in a sort of, Between. We are in the Infinite Realms, the existence between existences. The Infinite Realms is the space between the dimensions of the multiverse. We are currently in the castle of the ruler of the Infinite Realms, more specifically my office." She hesitated before continuing. " I'm, sort of, the Queen Regent actually." She said embarrassed.

Jason processed that for a moment, and she let him. So, the multiverse is real, and he was apparently just sacrificed to the ruler of the dimension between dimensions. She let him sit with that information, letting him come up with his own questions, when there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me your majesty, you called for a healer and scholar? I had not left yet from the earlier council meeting and figured I could be of assistance." A tall yeti with ice for one of his arms and frozen horns atop his head appeared in the doorway. What also appeared seemed to be a literal skeleton that pushed a tea cart with a pitcher of water and little finger sandwiches on it into the room and left again.

"Frostbite! Perfect, first, can you take a look at Jason, he was apparently sacrificed and judging from the blood in his hair he at least has a head injury. Then the circle he appeared in burned itself into the carpet, I'm still not great at reading ghost speak, especially in an older dialect, I can't figure out what it says." Jazz spoke in a rush as she walked toward the cart to get some water for Jason.

Frostbite had a kind smile as he turned to Jason and pulled out a first aid kit from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, hello, you must be Jason. How are you feeling? What hurts in particular?" Jason went along with the examination, and gladly accepted the glass of water from Jazz as she handed it to him. "Well it looks to me like you mostly just need to rest and maybe take some painkillers. Here," The yeti carefully handed him a small cup with two over-the-counter pain pills in it. "Alright, now let's take a look at this circle!" He stood to his full height, carefully ducking to avoid knocking his horns on the chandelier. He observed it for a moment, humming to himself from time to time. "Right, so this appears to be a binding ritual, somehow tied to the Solstice celebrations. Typically it entwines the soul of the sacrifice to the being they were sacrificed to. Somewhere in the archives there is likely more information about it, but you'll probably have to spend quite some time searching."

Jazz looked pained for a moment. "Okay, do you think it can be broken?" Her face showed hope, but with an underlay of resignation.

Frostbite thought for a moment. "There are some, though most are permanent. I can send over some of my scholars to help locate the correct ritual, I would suggest asking the Master of Time as he would know for certain, but you know how they can be." He straightened before bowing to both Jazz and Jason. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Queen Regent and Lord Jason, I must make my way back to the Far Frozen to gather those to help your search. Good day." With that, the yeti left the two of them alone.

Jazz sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. She growled, frustrated, before she straightened after having made a decision. "Okay, so you're probably going to be staying her for a little while while we figure all this out. Let me show you to a room so you can rest a bit, and I'll have one of my aides bring you some clothes so yours can get washed too."

She led him through the passageways of the gothic castle, it's black stone bricks and tapestries of silver seeming to glow. They stopped at the third of a row of doors and went inside. The room was large, twenty-foot ceilings and a bay window with a sitting nook framed by two large bookcases stood across the room. A massive bed with an intricate quilt portraying what seemed to be a battle between supernatural entities was braced against one wall with a grand fireplace on the opposite wall.

"The door to the left of the fireplace leads to the bathroom, the first thing I did when I took over was make sure there was hot water and large soaking tubs in all the bedrooms here. There should be bathrobes of varying sizes in the closet that offshoots the bathroom. If you need anything, I'm probably going to be in my office for the next few hours and there is always the bell by the door for stuff like, food or whatever. Um, I guess I'll leave you to it?" She shuffled nervously out the door, leaving him standing there, hand half raised in an awkward wave goodbye.

He chuckled to himself for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down to start unstrapping his body armor and boots. Once stripped to his boxers, he made his way to the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large soaking tub, but also a shower with a bench to sit. He quickly showered all the grime from the last few hours from his body, careful to get the matted blood in his hair untangled. Once finished, he started filling the tub before walking towards the closet where he found not only bathrobes, but also bath salts and bath bombs. Deciding to indulge, he grabbed one of each in similar enough scents and dropped both into the bath tub before easing himself into the hot water. He hissed at the temperature before it started easing the aches across all his muscles. He shut off the faucet and then leaned back and allowed himself to think.

So, he thought, I am in an alternate dimension, in the castle of the extremely attractive Queen Regent of said dimension, and my soul is apparently bound to her for the foreseeable future. He thunked his head on the walls of the tub contemplating the facts laid before him. He startled, shooting forward with his back straight.

"Wait a minute!" He said to himself. "Wait a god damned minute!" He smacked his forehead with his hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm in a romance novel plotline! Bound to an entity of unknown power against my will, but the entity is actually a kind and beautiful woman! Holy shit! I can't screw this up!"

Decision made, Jason Peter Todd, closeted romance novel enthusiast, began to plan.

[thefreakandthehair]

mistletoe.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: mistletoe | wc: 999 | rating: teen & up | tags: alternate universe- no upside down, alternate universe- flower shop au, eddie pov, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, confident!steve harrington, fluff, getting together, first kiss, background buckingham mention

It’s chaos. 

Clippings, and rogue petals, and ribbons that still need to be tied into bows as far as the eye can see. Long tables lined with crinkling plastic to protect the aged wood take up the center of the room, and somewhere off in the distance, Eddie can hear Chrissy on the phone with what sounds like a disgruntled, last-minute customer. 

“... Sir, it’s December. Most of our poinsettias have been reserved for weeks. We have two left that we can give you. You can have them, or you can—”

Eddie’s sure Chrissy’s about to kindly tell the phone stranger to go fuck himself and he couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come, really, but he loses the thread on the conversation when Steve bustles in from the back.

“How many carnations does one middle school Winter Wonderland dance need, anyways? Are there even this many kids in the town?” In his warm, forest green jacket and black beanie with wind-flushed cheeks and rosy nose, Steve exhales and sets the box of carnations down on the counter. 

“Enough to pay the rent this month with carnations alone, apparently,” Eddie jokes, tapping Steve’s jean-clad shin with the toe of his boot. “We’ll be here all night doing these ribbons, won’t we?”

He tries to make it sound like a chore, like something he hasn’t been looking forward to since Chrissy told them she had a date and couldn’t stay. Any amount of alone time with Steve is welcome, even if it means tying tiny bows on small carnations and pricking his finger a hundred times with the stupid little pins. 

“Probably, yeah,” Steve shrugs with a smile. “It’s not so bad though, right?” 

“Not at all.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. 

When Chrissy wraps up her part— invoices, confirmations, and all of the paperwork shit that Eddie and Steve are better off leaving to Chrissy— she practically skips out of the office with a wave and a smirk. 

“You do know that if she and Robin hit it off, this is gonna be a regular thing, right?” Eddie jokes, hoisting himself up to sit on one of the tables and grabbing a ribbon to wrap around another flower. 

“Robin hasn’t stopped talking about Chrissy for months. This is going to be our life, Ed. Mark my words.” Steve laughs with Eddie’s favorite crooked smile, the one that only ever seems to be targeted at him. 

He tries not to let Steve’s phrasing dig its claws too deep into his lovestruck brain, but our life wiggles its way in regardless. 

Eddie looks around and takes in all of the fine details— a half-eaten bag of plain chips, two cans of coke, carnations and ribbons strewn about in somewhat orderly piles. Chrissy left the radio on when she left, the station alternating between the top hits and classic holiday songs, and Steve bobs his head to Wham!’s Last Christmas. 

This could be their life; not just the tumultuous riptide of highs and lows, but all of the mundane minutiae in between. 

Eddie and Steve. 

EddieandSteve. 

“You okay? Stab your thumb again?” Steve asks, tearing Eddie from his reverie. 

“Yes, and actually, yes,” Eddie laughs, breathy through his nose, and wipes his thumb on his jeans. Before Steve can grab his hand and check him over, and probably push Eddie over the edge into doing something incredibly fucking stupid in the process, he brushes it off. “It’s fine. Let's get these bitches done.”

Hours pass, quickly and comfortably, and they eventually tie their last ribbon. 

“We did it, Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie celebrates, hopping off of the table and tossing the last carnation into the box. “Do you still have skin on your fingers? I don’t think I have fingerprints anymore.” 

“Now would be the time to go commit some crimes,” Steve snorts, his nose wrinkling, and Eddie wants to kiss him right on the mouth. “Before you head out though, I uh, I think we forgot one. Close your eyes for a second.” 

“What?” 

“Just close your eyes? Please?”

Eddie does as Steve asks because he’s helpless to not, his brows knitting together in confusion because closed eyes. He hears rustling and the sound of scissors snipping ribbon. What’s so special about this carnation? What’s so secretive that Eddie has to close his eyes and miss valuable alone time with Steve? Doesn’t Steve get it? Every second with his eyes closed are seconds he doesn’t get to stare. 

Steve’s stool slides against the tile floor, scraping as Eddie feels Steve standing closer. Close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against him when he says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of him is Steve Harrington, his favorite smile, and wide, hesitant eyes holding a hastily tied together bundle of mistletoe just above their heads. 

“I know it’s not Christmas yet or anything, but I couldn’t wait.” 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Eddie asks, heart clattering in his chest as hope gouges its way out of its deepest recesses. 

“Definitely not. I really like you, maybe more, and I know I didn’t have to wait for some big moment but tonight, just the two of us, it felt right. If I’m wrong, I’ll chuck this in the garbage and we can never bring it up again but—”

Eddie launches himself at Steve, both arms wrapping around Steve’s neck. 

Maybe he should’ve taken it slower— maybe their first kiss should’ve been patient, tender— but he’ll have other opportunities to show him the softness he deserves. Instead, Eddie kisses Steve just like he’s fallen in love with him: spontaneously, impulsively, urgently. Steve drops the thicket of branches and pulls him in closer, one hand balling the edge of Eddie’s shirt up in a fist by his hip and the other cupping the back of Eddie’s head, meeting his intensity wordlessly. 

Through the murky daze of Steve’s lips against his, Eddie hopes that this is their life. 

[totalswag]

can i request rafe x fwb reader where reader finds out hes dating sofia and she goes to confront him that he didnt even have the decency to let her know their arrangement was over and he says "who said it was over?''

stuck in the middle - RAFE CAMERON

authors note as you guys may notice i'm finally publishing requests that you guys sent me. super sorry this was very late to publish. i hope you like what i wrote and it was what you hoped. so, thank you for sending this requests.

requests are still open so feel free to send them my way and i will get to them and put them into my docs :) if you click on the bold red ink it will take you to my ask box lovies!!!

summary you find out through people and social media sofia and rafe are together. you go to confront rafe about this since he never thought to tell you that your arrangement was over.

warnings friends with benefits, mentions of sex, cursing

Lately, you've been having this weird gut feeling in your stomach. No idea what the meaning behind it means but you want to find out what it could be. You started feeling this way whenever you were with Rafe on a random Wednesday.

Rafe and you have been friends with benefits for about three months now. When you two came to this agreement, you agreed that it was solely for your sexual pleasures and not to establish feelings for each other, and that the most important thing was to let each other know if one of you became serious with someone else so that the bargain could be broken off.

You overheard a rumor at a party this past Friday about Rafe and Sofia being together for a month. You couldn't believe your ears and wanted to vomit. Sofia works at the island's country club, and Rafe visits it from time to time.

The next day, you decided to do some research to be sure this was accurate. Even as you looked at her Instagram, the emotion returned. You checked her story highlights and discovered what you were looking for. Your stomach sank.

She had a couple pictures on her highlights that you knew were of Rafe, including one with his right hand on her thigh in his car and another with his back to her as he looks out into the distance. Based on what you discovered, they appeared serious.

What made you upset was the fact Rafe and you have been seeing each other for three months which meant he'd been with Sofia for who knows how long before he asked her to be his girlfriend.

"Why didn't he tell me?" You asked yourself, setting down your phone and running your hands through your hair, upset that you found out at random person at a party.

There's a part of you that doesn't want Rafe to be with Sofia. There's a part of you that wants him all to yourself. Regardless, he should've told you the arrangement was over.

That was the deal.

After thinking about what you should do, you decide you are confronting Rafe about this, tonight. You are gonna make it seem like you want to hookup but really you are telling him what you found out.

you- are you busy tonight? i wanna see you

rafe- funny you say that because i wanna see you too

rafe- meet me at the spot at 9pm.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," you tell your mom as you go past the living room, holding your keys. "I'm going to hang out with Samantha."

"That's fine, sweetie; please stay safe tonight, I love you," your mother adds, smiling.

When you get to the spot you see Rafe sitting in his car on his phone. You parked your car next to him so he knows it's you- when he sees you get out, he unlocks the car.

You sigh casually as you sit in the passenger seat.

Rafe says smiling "Hey pretty girl" in a tone that makes you weak in the knees, leaning over the center console to kiss you but you pull back.

"We need to have a little chat, Rafe," maintaining eye contact.

His smile fades, and he looks at you, puzzled, "What do you mean?" His response indicated that he was nervous or knew what was going to happen.

"Why didn't you tell me you and Sofia were together, Rafe? You never once said to my face, "Y/N, we can no longer meet up like this anymore because I have a girlfriend now," mimicking Rafe's voice, "we've been hooking up this entire time while you've been in this relationship that I had no idea about until I heard someone talking about it," you explain frustratedly in your voice and expressions.

In the midst of your rant towards him, he places his hand over his lips, chuckles, shakes his head, and looks down at his lap.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?" You ask, folding your arms, leaning back against the passenger door, annoyed.

He glances up from his lap, licks his bottom lip, and smirks: "Who said it was over?"

Before you could respond his lips were already on yours.

my taglist

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@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight @brooklynscherry-z @kaydsr3venge @johannelis2302nely @chenslucy

[loudclan-clangen]

The song “Beautiful Little Fool” for Fiercestripe? Because I am not getting over her death. Listened to it and she was the first character to pop into my head.

You’re so right!

YES! Please do, I would love to see it!

The boring answer is that I've been drawing cats for a VERY long time. I think since I was 8 they have been the majority of what I drew. The less boring answer is you know the movie Spirit? It changed my life. It had a bonus video where one of the artists taught you how to draw Spirit himself and it was the singular thing that inspired me to start drawing (more likely possessed me). I think I must have been about two the first time I saw it because I cannot remember a time before I had that video memorized. I would spend hours sitting in front of that video (which was only like 10-15 minutes long) with a stack of papers just fully focused on perfectly following his instructions. I still think about that video to this day. Every time I draw legs the voice of James Baxter echoes through my mind. I don't know if that translates to why my cats are so beefy, I own a cat who is quite chonky, so that might contruibute to it, but now you have a fun fact about me regardless!

All of the heirs are chosen based on birth order! Whoever is born first gets to be heir. I personally find that making strict rules about stuff makes playing the game a lot easier for me, I find it stressful to try to pick a "good heir" when I don't know what's going to happen later in the game so to limit that I just let it be completely out of my hands. 2. The game rolled for Songpaw to become a medicine cat! I would have changed it if he was an only kit or probably if I had known that Dashpaw was gonna die, cause I was really stressed about losing my run at that point, but I do my best to write a story that makes the game make sense rather than change what the game gives me when possible. I think it helps me to not have much of a story in mind while I play, just noting down events and thoughts and then going back and piecing it all together afterwards. That way nothing can "go wrong". 3. "Heir-hood" only applies to the leaders. There is no expectation that Cavepaw will become a healer. When Weed dies that position will be open until someone wishes to volunteer for it. 4. Honestly I don't really know. This might spoil a little bit, of tension, but I truly never had that happen. I was SUPER worried about it and did a lot to make sure it wouldn't, but after a couple of generations you get to a point where almost everyone is descended from a leader at somepoint. (And also everyone is second cousins with each other but you know what there are some problems that you just have to live with.) I image the clan would look for an omen and just pick a new leader based off of that and start the process all over again. In my experience worst comes to worst just make sure you have a very accurate family tree and trace it back a couple of generations.

Thank you so much! I don't play with any mods for Loudclan, I'm too scared to lose saves to less than stable code. My favorite mod currently is Kori's Awoogen though! I just like to look at the beautiful art mostly. I use mass extinction as population control, so I turn it on and off based on how many cats I have. Two full pages is the upper limit of what I'm willing to deal with, so once a third page opens I turn mass extinction on and after an extinction happens I turn it back off. (also if I dip below 1 full page I turn unknown parents on until I'm back to two pages again). I've found after a couple of generations you can mostly stop worrying about it because the bloodlines have spread so far there's always someone who's a 6th great great cousin or something.

The game generated him Dashpelt! I probably would have picked Dashfoot to stick with the generated them of a boring suffix but to make more sense overall.

[sugarverse]

𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝙾𝚞𝚝 📚📖

word count: 3.3k out of 9.4k

synopsis: you, 23 reader, have been working at a library on the corner for awhile until your boss invites a hero to come and visit. The hero also happens to ask for your number... <3

authors note: yikes i know, it was originally in three parts but I don't necessarily know how to break it up, originally the story was 12k. it's written for poc!reader/black!fem!reader so there's mentions of brown skin and eyes but other than that it's your normal x reader. Izuku is aged up to 25, The smut is in the second part.

moodboard for fic by @fizziedoodle !

“Hey Miss!!” You peered down at the smaller voice, simultaneously feeling a book slip from your hand and onto the ground with a thud. The bookshelf wasn’t too high, but you still needed a ladder to organize and dust the top shelf. Which… hadn’t been so pleasant with children running around before their daily read. Regardless, you had a job to do. It wasn’t gonna stop for a ton of kids. You had been rearranging the books in alphabetical order before the kid startled you.. Thank god it didn’t fall on their head.

“Are you gonna read to us today? Or is Miss Maggie?” The kid didn’t look over six years old, blue eyes and long brown hair with freckles littering her face in the sweetest way. She wore a small dress full of sunflowers with bright pink gel shoes. You’ve definitely seen her before, although her name wasn’t ringing a bell.

“I wanted to read one of those pigeon stories you read us last time!” She squeaked, shoving the book in your direction. You let out a sigh of relief, climbing down to the ground. Leaning down to be eye-level with her, taking the book gently from the girl. The title read The Pigeon Needs A Bath.

“This book is pretty thin, You sure you want me to read just this one book, sweetheart?” You ask, handing the girl the book back before standing straight. Your hands found their way into your pockets, looking for your notepad to mark the row complete after you snagged the book back from the ground. 

“I’ll go find some more!” She hurried off, going to find even more things to shove in your face. You climb back up to finish your organizing. Their reading wasn’t for another.. what? 20 minutes? You had time to knock out another shelf. Time flew by as you finished reorganizing, hearing bigger footsteps behind you than the average 6 year old.

“I have to stop by Goodwill and get some more books.. I also gotta stop at the post office and some.. other errands?” The owner of the store, Maggie, looked over to make sure she had gotten your attention before naming off a few things that needed done in the shop “You got this reading?”

“Of course, What time will you be back?” You climbed down the last step of the ladder, patting off the dust from the bookcase that had gotten on your apron. It was some cutesy light blue apron you wore so the dust wouldn’t ruin your clothing. It didn’t match everything you wore but the baby blue made your skin pop. 

“I’ll be back in time for that uh, Pro hero guy..” She snapped her fingers, trying to place a face and a name. “I don’t know exactly who- my wife wrote him in.” Maggie waved her hand, grabbing her bag from behind the counter as you followed. “But I’ll be back to close, Promise y/n!” She gave you a quick side hug, rushing out the door.

You weren’t too involved with all the hero bullshit, competing for the number one spot on who can save more lives to be rich and famous? Please. The system in itself is ass and it wouldn’t make a difference in your everyday life for one of those snobby people to stop by. The kids seemed to love it, quirkless or not. You walked around to the counter, placing your notepad next to the register before going to sit in the small corner of the shop for reading time. Maggie left with a wave, letting a small chime rang through the shop as it called the children over for their reading, a few already sitting and ready to listen.

The library wasn’t big, it was a corner store completely renovated into a library for children. The second floor had been an apartment where the owner and her wife stayed. It was a cozy little place where neighborhood kiddos would visit for a read, parents come in to buy a few books. Maggie always made sure there was something for everyone, Along with cute little toys and those foam floor mats to sit on. The girl from earlier held 4 books in her hands, rushing to sit near the front with her pile. A few other kids held thin picture books in their hands as well, but only having 15 minutes to read to them, you knew you wouldn’t get to them all.

“Alright, Who’s first?“ You asked, smiling down at them. All twelve of them raised their hand, some even raising both so your attention was on them. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. You thought to yourself as you put a hand over your eyes, pointing to some random kid. He held a small book, standing up slowly and handing it to you.

"My mommy reads me this sometimes..” If you give a mouse a cookie. You gave him a reassuring smile before he went back to his seat. You began to read and in no time at all you finished reading the few books children selected. Thank god it was a Friday, Most children would be picked up right after the reading for afternoon preschool etc. But it seemed like no one wanted to leave.. Was it that hero Maggie had mentioned? You sighed, hopping up and heading to the check out desk where you saw a small line of children waiting to scan their books. The store bell jingled, as if the creak of the door didn’t give away someone walking in.

“Welcome to ‘Maggie’s Magical Bookshop,’ You paid the person no mind as you spoke, handing the last child their book before letting your gaze fall upon the… very tall man in front of you. Noise almost immediately filled the shop, children running up to him screaming-

"Deku!” As loud as their little lungs could. He gave a flashy smile, leaning down to hug the children that ran straight for his legs. He laughed and lifted a few of them in his.. very strong arms. Was it hot in the bookshop? Was the AC fucked up? You force your eyes from the tall man.. fumbling with something on the desktop. Was he looking at you too? Your mind screamed at you to introduce yourself, Quickly walking towards a shelf to do something. Anything besides gawk at him.

“Are you Maggie?” There were hopping children behind him, playing with his gloves and such as he spoke up. You stopped in your tracks, huffing through your nose before turning around to face him.

“No, I’m y/n. Are you the um.. pro? She had been talking about?” He extended a hand, nodding with a cheesy grin on his face as soon as your hand was in his. It wasn’t like you never saw him on the news, but you sure did skip the channel as soon as it was some bullshit hero chart over who had been number one. He was newer to being a pro, you knew that much. He was also so much hotter in person..

“Yes! I’m sorry I’m so early, I finished patrol sooner than I thought!- I hope I’m not interrupting anything! The woman on the phone said before six, I told her I was sure I could make it before then!” Your eyes never left his, watching his gaze fall to your lips for a moment as he spoke.

“You’re fine, There’s plenty of time for you to hang out and sign all of their t-shirts and such. Make yourself at home, The reading area might be best for the swarm you got..” The kids dragged him to where you were just moments ago before he could respond, talking his ears off about different silly topics.

The poor hero stayed until close, kids coming from school to see him before going off to finish homework. It’s the busiest the store has been since opening day! However, Izuku made it a point to stay that long. He spent the last 45 minutes of the store being open to make some conversation with you, he just couldn’t help himself. You had this smile that he couldn’t resist. And quite frankly, he wasn’t used to the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He fought some shit villain every day, What’s a few butterflies? Especially as pretty as you. Why wouldn’t he want to stick around?

“I really didn’t think it would be so calm this week! It feels like I’ve done nothing but catch up on papers!” The hero scratched his neck with his index finger, shaking his head lightly. “I guess I really am doing a good job!- Of course other pros are doing their jobs as well!” He let out a relieved chuckle, looking at you with a big, sincere, smile on his face. “How has work here been? It must be so nice working with so many children!”

You feel your eyes involuntarily roll, shaking your head and leaning against the wall behind you. “It’s nice until some kid gets sick on themselves and their mother isn’t here to help. We have extra clothing in the back because it’s happened more than once.. I don’t understand why kids throw up so much.” Your groan turned into a laugh, eyes leading to lost n found. You had an unamused look on your face talking about it. He noticed but couldn’t stop looking at your soft brown eyes. He felt like he was a kid all over again, the blush on his face never faulting.

“I see adults get sick all of the time if you can believe it..” He chuckled, looking out of the store window for a few seconds before speaking again. “Do you have a number I can text? I would love to talk to you more.. If that’s okay with you?” He braced for rejection, It was kinda weird to be hitting on you after dealing with kids wasn’t it? Maybe he should take it back. Was he coming off sleazy? Maybe he should talk to you a few times before he asks.

Your eyes widened in the slightest, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “Sure, Let me see your phone,” You stepped closer to the counter, seeing him fumble in the pouch of his belt before handing you his phone. You went to his contacts, making yourself one of them and handing it right back to him. He had an even bigger, cheesier, grin on his face after he took it back.

“I have to um.. I have to go back to my agency to make sure everything is settled for the night. I’ll be texting you as soon as I’m off!” He spoke quickly, stumbling over his words as he slowly backed towards the door. “I hope you have a good night y/n!” He waved, bumping into the door with his back before quickly leaving. He didn’t want to continue making a fool of himself.

Finally, you could go home as well. Not that he was a problem, but that man sure could talk. It was endearing. You thought to yourself, grabbing your keys and walking out to lock the small bookshop up. There was no doubt that you were attracted to him. Every woman in America.. Japan, Hell the world was attracted to him in some way. But he asked for your number. You felt your chest swell with some kind of pride. By the time you made it home, he had already texted. You two made plans to hang out soon and have dinner together. You talked for hours until you eventually fell asleep. He was ecstatic. You really enjoyed his company.

As the next Friday rolls around, He tells you to put on the most fancy thing you have in your closet. He refused to tell you where he was taking you, only that he’d be to pick you up at 6. You weren’t one for surprises but this couldn’t go too bad. Fancy clothing? Had to be a dinner! You hoped it was just dinner. Your social battery couldn’t take being fancy for more than about two hours max.

And 6:00pm sharp, there he was. He wore a shiny black tux with a handsome sage green tie, carrying flowers for you. Thinking that roses were too cliche, he had bought you a bouquet of daisies and pink lilies. He took a deep breath, walking up to your door and knocking before taking a small step back, wanting to give you some space to avoid smothering you as soon as you opened the door. The gold watch on his wrist flickered in the sunlight, the reflection of the light shimmering across your chest as you answered the door.

You had on a short, silk, black dress, fitting to your body in the best way possible. Your hair was done, your make-up was done, you even had on these cute black glittery heels you got on sale. You looked stunning. He blinked a few times, scanning your body with his emerald eyes. His jaw stayed slack, struggling to speak at first. “You look gorgeous.. I-I brought you flowers.!” He extended his arms out to hand them to you, feeling his face radiate heat from how red he had gotten. He tried to fan himself, laughing softly.

You simply smiled, taking them and going to put them in a vase. “You can come inside if you’d like! It’s not really tux weather, huh Deku?” You teased, turning on the water from your faucet and looking back at him.

He quickly nodded, walking in and shutting the door quietly behind him. “Please- Call me Izuku.” You undid the rubber band on the bouquet, sliding the flowers into the vase along with the small flower food it came with. 

“Is that your first or last name?” He looked around your cozy apartment, looking at pictures and the designs on the coffee table. Just soaking in small details. “My first name, Midoriya is my last..” He looked over at you, hearing the small clunk of glass hit the table lightly as you set the vase down. You bent over slightly, centering it at the table and moving the napkins to the kitchen counter top instead. “How’s it look, Izuku?” You looked over at him, standing up straight and leaning your arms on the back of the dining room chair.

He let his eyes drift over to the vase, smiling as he felt his face finally cool down. “I think it looks great! I didn’t want to get you roses, I just thought it was.. boring?” He didn’t want you to be allergic in some way or throw them away right after he left. Then again, He couldn’t ask what your favorite flowers had been. You would have known what he was getting. You began walking over to him, grabbing your handbag. “I think it looks pretty! Are you ready to leave?”

He beamed, nodding and opening the door for you. He gave a small bow for you to go first. You thank him, flicking off a few lights on the way out. He followed before shutting the door. You lock it with a small hum, checking that it was locked before walking you to the.. fucking limo he had waiting? Your eyes shot open in surprise, looking over at him as he looped his arm around yours and walked you to the newly washed, maybe even newly painted, vehicle.

“I hope I didn’t go too overboard? I just wanted the first date to be nice. Ya know?” He flashed a small smile, opening the door for you and hopping in himself as you two drove into town. You looked around the area, seeing fancy liquor and wine glasses close to a very clean mirror. The seats were cream colored and it smelled like new leather. Your eyes roamed, seeing Izuku sitting tense with his scarred hands placed in his lap. Maybe he was trying to avoid making you uncomfortable.. He really had been a gentleman.

You scooted closer to him, watching him quickly move his arm up top of the seat to give you room. You lean your head onto his chest lightly. “Where are we going?” You ask, looking at your freshly done nails. He wanted to leave it a surprise, looking down at you with a small chuckle.

“Nowhere too expensive,” He joked, letting his freckled hand slide to rub over your shoulder. You eased into his touch, smiling and looking down at the tight fit of his pants, rubbing a hand over his knee as well to make sure he was alright.

“That didn’t answer my question, Where we goin’?” You laughed, looking up at him to see he’s already looking down at you with the most lovey dovey face he possibly could. Still trying to soak in the sight of you.

“Don’t you wanna wait until we get there?” He faked a pout, holding back a grin creeping onto his face. You faked annoyance in return, huffing and scratching his knee a few times with your nails. “Fine, Fine.. I’ll wait.” You looked through the tinted windows, feeling your heels squish at the carpet on the floor of the limo. 

He looked at the mirror, seeing your pretty shaven legs and wanting to run his hands down them. Your skin was just so soft.. But he didn’t wanna be weird, sighing and looking away from your frame quickly. “You like steak? Or are you more of a sushi person?” Maybe he didn’t even know where you two were going, sliding his scarred hand down your arm lower than before.

“Steak is so good,” You laughed, trying to recall if you had even tried sushi. You think you have? You were up to try it again. You shrugged, “The sushi I don't mind trying, I’m probably just going to get something small.” You fumbled with your nails, picking at them slightly. Eating on first dates was always kinda weird. Especially when the person gets too scared to eat in front of you. Then you don’t wanna eat and it’s wasteful.. 

“You can buy everything in the place if you want. Don’t look at prices. I’m treating you, y/n.” He leaned down to your forehead, giving a small peck before he looked out the window again. You smiled wide as the feeling of the limo moving started to slow to a stop. The valet opened the door for the two of you, ducking his head down slightly and smiling. “Right this way,”

He bowed at the two of you, seeing the pro hero get out and turn to you. The place was lit with warm lights and music coming from the revolving door as people walked in with big flashy outfits and styled hair. You took Izuku’s hand, getting out and letting your heels clink against the top of the curb and onto the carpet leading to the entrance. He pulled you close, moving his hand to hold your waist. “Do you like it? I know we haven’t gone in yet but the lights on the outside look pretty cool, right?” The valet shut the door behind you two as you walked towards the door.

You were speechless, letting out a small but nervous laugh. “It sure is something.. It already looks too expensive.!” It wasn’t like you were poor, but it wasn’t like you were rich either. This place looked like the start off price was 200 a person for a damn drink! You kept yourself close to the hero as you both walked into the rotating door. The carpet from the walk-way turned to fancy tile that made a lovely click noise when you stepped onto it. The interior was more gold than anything with dark wood complementing the hostess stand and the pillars of the building. Gold designs littered the bar area, making it look more than pleasant. Looking to your left, there was the tallest fish-tank that you think you had ever seen. Still not as tall as the ceilings but it sure was tall enough. There had been lots of colorful fish, octopus, starfish.. Everything was in that damn tank. 

heres another link to part two if you don't wanna scroll up lol

[igotanidea]

Red light: Jason Todd x reader

instincts are a funny thing that works regardless of what your brain tells you.

He was standing at the red light because something told him that on this particular day speeding through might be a bad idea.

And then something told him to turn his head to the right.

And he noticed her.

The girl sitting in her car on the sideway, engine turned off, face full of tears running down her cheeks.

With a heavy sigh he switched lanes, not caring about the middle fingers pointed his way and knocked on her window, but she was either scared of a stranger doing so or simply didn;t care at all.

"Are you okay?" he mouthed, hoping to get her attention, looking like and idiot, standing in front of a shut down car, half-yelling while she pretended not to hear.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't get it. What?"Finally the window was opened and she turned to look at him, not making any move to get out of the vehicle though.

"I said are you okay?"

"Yeah. yeah, I am okay--"

"Sorry to break it to you, but you don;t look okay."

"Then why asking?" she scoffed, finally looking at his face.

"It;s polite way to do. Or so I've heard. Not that I know much about politeness."

"Why did you ask me in the first place?"

"Cause you look like you need help."

"I;m okay... It;s just - my car broke down and - I got into an accident and- "

"Do you want me to call someone for you?"

"hm? what? what do you mean?"

"call. you know, get that little device that people use to reach out a long distance and let people know what happened?"

"haha, very funny,"

"I'm being serious. You are in no state to get anywhere by yourself." he pointed at her shaking hands and tears on her cheeks and she immediately wiped them out. "Friend? Boyfriend?"

"Oh! oh, no, no. I'd rather not call my boyfriend." she objected before biting her tongue. And those words, coming out of her mouth so fast, got his attention and put him on alert. "It's just - " the girl stuttered "he'll get mad and he;s not acting nice when he's mad and-"

"Your car broke down." Jason pointed out. "It;s not like it's your fault. Shit happens. Why would he be mad."

"It's just - oh, it's nothing really. I don;t want to upset him-"

Clearly, that girl was in a relationship with a bastard who didn;t treat her right.

"Okay fine. You know what, here;s what we're gonna do. We're gonna call a trailer and I'll drive you home. How about that?"

"But- but-"

"Great. Come on."

Jason grabbed his phone and within half an hour Y/N;s little fiat was at the mechanic's. He even managed to get her a discount dropping BRuce's name here and there in a conversation a few times.

And after all the technical details were taken care of, he pulled her onto his motorbike, right behind him, waiting patiently until she decided to wear a helmet.

"Have you ever rode a bike before?"

"Nope."

"Well then I am afraid you're gonna have to scoot a little closer and hold on tight. I won;t speed, but I'd rather not have you falling behind."

"Okay. fine." she hesitantly wrapped arms around his waist and with a laugh he took off taking her home. Subconsciously wishing her place of residence was somewhere further so the trip could last.

"Thanks for your help today..." she almost jumped off the bike, quickly discarding the helmet, almost running to the apartment as if scared someone could be watching her interact with Jason on the driveway.

"Jason." He was not about to just let her bail like that.

"Right. Jason. Thanks for your help Jason. I - I really gotta go and- "

"You owe me."

"Hm? What?"Those pretty e/c eyes grew a little wider and she blinked a few times, before understanding the meaning and blushing a little. "Oh! Oh, right..."

"What's your name?"

"My name?"

"Yeah, your name. You owe me that much after all" Jason chuckled.

"I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Mhm... I really, really gotta go. Thanks again for your help and - "

"Y/N!"

There was a guy standing in front of the building calling her name and looking half-concerned, half-angry at the sight of his girlfriend interacting with another man.

"Coming! I'm coming!"

There was a brief moment of tension and eye-crossing between Jason and the guy who already was coming off as an asshole.

However, since Y/N was already back home there was no reason for Jason to keep staring, regardless of how much he wanted to.

But there was no way in hell that he was not going to do a little digging on the domestic violence in the neighbourhood.

And damn, if he wasn;t going to use his Red Hood persona to make a few things right.