#FBI!reader

[writtenbyan-aries]

I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this. Adding detail taking too much detail, so I figured I’d just start right when it gets good and go from there and make a KILLIONAIRES series.

This is Part One.

Warnings are for the WHOLE SERIES | SMUT18+, strong language, swearing, enemies to lovers, mentions of weapons, knives, guns, gunfire, KNIFE PLAY, blood, injuries, wounds, arguing, some physical fighting, mentions of drugs, smoking weed, mentions of car accident, fbi!reader, reader being restrained, kissing, biting, hair pulling, scratching, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (m rec), violence and filth

Word Count: 5.7k | unedited

PART ONE | PART TWO

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It’s been one body after another, sometimes two or three at once scene, if they are feeling up for it.

It’s been weeks and you and your team still don’t know who they are.

Billionaires are the target, why? No idea.

That was until you walked into the latest crime scene and the first thing that caught your attention was ‘They're not an inspiration, they're soulless scumbags’ spray painted on the wall in red.

“Heathers.” You snap and the officer turns towards you, “What’s up, y/n?” He looks from you to the wall and you tilt your head, “Did Gerald have any investments in anything?”

Heathers shakes his head, goes down over the report again, “Um.. oh wait.” He turns the paper towards you, pointing at something that sticks out.

“These people are after billionaires because they’re taking away from the people who barely have enough money to get by.” You turn towards the officer, “I need a list of people around here who have a background with the police.”

“Anything else?” He takes out his note pad and writes down what you told him. You shake your head, “No, as of right now I’m going to finish my look over here and then I’m going back to the station.”

“I can wait for you, take you back myself.” He shrugs and you nod, “Okay.” You smile as you walk away, finishing gathering everything you need.

You fill the chief in on what you told Heathers to do and he nods, “You’re onto something, y/l/n.” He looks around, “That thing Heathers pointed out, that I think was a plan that was talked about months ago.”

“What plan?” You tilt your head and he sighs, “A few people came together to buy an area of older apartment buildings on the west side of town.”

“The west side is where-“

“Exactly.”

You purse your lips, “Okay. I have everything here. I’m going to go back with Heathers to the station and start coming up with a list of possible suspects.”

“Thanks for coming on such short notice. You’re one of the best. We’re lucky to have you.” Chief smiles and you nod, “It’s the least I could do. You helped find the guy who shot my brother.”

“A few other officers are heading back to the station now.” Heathers walks up and you nod, “Alright. I just filled the chief in on everything.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

You both nod to the chief and head towards the car. As you get in, you let out a sigh, “I just can’t help but feel like we’re so close, you know?”

Heathers nods, “No, I know exactly what you mean.”

“Thank you for watching out for me. I know you and Ben were close.” You smile over at him, “I truly appreciate it, Heathers.”

He chuckles, “Would you please call me by my first name?” He shakes his head, coming to a stop at a red light, “Cody is not that card to remember.”

You laugh, “Sorry. Ben always calls you that, so it just stuck.”

“I just hope he’s back on his feet here soon.” He sighs, “Sucks that that even hap-“

Your body is jolted to the side, the air bags go off and glass flies everywhere. The sound of tires screeching to a stop fill your ears before you’re slammed back against the seat, falling unconscious.

——

You weren’t sure how long you were out for, but you were hurting.

You groaned as you lifted your head, but the pain in your neck caused it to fall back down. You heard distant bickering, “I told you not to hit the fucking passenger side of the car..”

“You fucking moron, you could have killed her. That’s not what we are trying to do.”

“Fucking Christ, I’m sorry if I missed the road and had to do a U turn… She’s here… what more do you fucking want from me?”

All of them were different voices.

You finally lifted your head, seeing four blurry figures in the distance. You tried to pull your hands, but your wrists were bound to the chair behind you, same with your ankles to the chair legs.

“H-hello.” You try to yell, but your voice was raspy. Your throat was dryer than fuck. You tried swallowing, trying to clear your throat before you yelled again, “Where the fuck, am I?”

“Shit. She’s awake.”

“Now if you look to your right, asshole.” The one figure motions towards you, but he’s talking to the other guy, “You’ll see that your target is alive.”

“Where’s Cody?” You ask, breathing heavy as the pain starts to set in worse, “Fuck.” You pull your wrists, but you freeze as the one man walks over and bends down between your knees, “I wouldn’t struggle sweetheart.”

Your eyes scan over his face, taking a mental image for when you do finally escape these psycho fucks, “Who are you?”

“Well, I’m Jake.” He lays a hand on his chest as he turns, pointing to each of the guys who walk forward behind him, “That’s Sam, Colby, and then the asshole who hit your side of the car when he was told not to, is Johnnie.”

“In my defense, I don’t have a license.” Johnnie shrugs and you just look at them so confused.

“So, by your face, I can tell you’re confused.” Jake moves to sit where he was just kneeling, his tattooed arms come up to wrap around his knees, “So let me break it down for you, y/n.”

“Where my badge.” You state and Jake just laughs, “y/n, sweetheart, I don’t need a badge to tell me who you are.”

Your heart thumps in your chest, what the fuck is happening?

“Listen. It’ll all make sense in a second, but right now..” Jake leans forward, “I want to know how bad you want to live.”

His statement makes your skin crawl.

“What do I need to do?” You ask, “Money? I can get money.”

“I mean, money wouldn’t be a bad idea, right?” Johnnie asks and Colby smacks him upside the head, “Can you be serious for once in your fucking life?”

Why were these men so hot?

No. No. Stop that.

You clear your throat again, “Can, I.. get some water please?” You look up between the guy on the floor and the blonde who speaks, “Oh she’s polite?” He raises his brows as he walks over with a water bottle, “Didn’t expect that.”

He opens it and holds it up to your lips, allowing you to get a long awaited drink. You lean back, looking down, “I’m not going to pass out or start foaming at the mouth in two minutes am I?”

“She’s funny.” Colby says tilting his head, “No, y/n. You aren’t. But.. Why are you so calm?”

“I’m an FBI agent, but..” you tilt your head to Jake, “I’m sure you already knew that.”

Jake smirks and nods, “Yeah, we’ve been, well.. I’ve been following you for a while. You’re the talk of the town you know. Super sexy fbi agent solves ten year mystery in a week.”

“What’s your point?” You sigh and Jake tilts his head, “You are going to be our little spy.”

“Your little spy?” You furrow your brows and then it all clicks, “Killionaires.”

“What did you just say?” Jake asks leaning in and you swallow, “Each case we have we give nicknames too. I’m assuming.. you’re the ones who are killing the soulless scumbags who aren’t an inspiration to any?”

Jake purses his lips, a smirk forming as he nods, “You got my message.”

“I was literally at that scene.. well, I don’t know how long I’ve been.. here.” You look around and Jake shrugs, “Five hours, give or take.. and we left your fuck buddy super trooper in the car, along with your phone and anything else that could be tracked.”

You stare at Jake, “How do you know about that?”

He smirks, letting out a sigh, “Like I said. You’re the talk of the town, babe. I knew they were going to bring you in for us, so as soon as we started planning this, I had to get a head of you.”

“You fucking stalked me?” You scoff, “What the fuck.“

“Like I said. Right now, I want to know just how much your life is worth to you.” Jake stands up, “When ever you’re ready to tell me I’ll c-“

“I want to live. Okay.” You look up at Jake and he walks over to you, hands resting on the arm rests as he is inches away from your face, “I don’t think I believe you.”

You lean in, getting closer, “Do you want me to fucking cry? Beg for my life?”

Jake shrugs, eyes moving from your lips back up to your eyes, “Why do you want to live?” You hold your ground, “You seem to know all about me, you tell me.”

Jake chuckles, looking back to his friends then back to you. His laugh stops as soon as his hand is around your throat, a gasp from the sudden action escapes your lips, “The attitude was hot at first, but now you’re just pissing me off.”

A smile forms on your lips and he scoffs, shaking his head as he stares down at you. His voice is low, “I couldn’t kill you even if I had to.”

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you snap your head away, “If that’s why you br-“

“No. We brought you here because you can help us take out all the billionaires easier, fucking rob their bodies for what they got. Give back to what they want to take away and leave them out to fucking rot.”

You couldn’t lie. The motive behind Jake, and friend’s, ongoing crime, was valid, but with you being an active investigator, you were sworn to put these guys behind bars, not become a pawn in their scheme.

“We just want you to get information for us, mainly people who are really fucking people over.” Sam steps up and you look over at him, “What’s in it for me? Like.. I help you, I go to prison.”

You scoff, “Do you know what they do to agents in prison?”

“That’s the thing, sweetheart. You help us, we help you.” Jake explains, “All we want is the information on who’s planning to buy and knock down that hospital.”

You knew exactly what he was talking about, too.

“That hospital is in an area where kids are constantly falling and getting hurt. You have to see that we aren’t doing this just to get a thrill out of killing.” Colby steps up, “I mean, they deserve it, so it’s very satisfying, but we do it because we want to help people and no one wants to do anything about it.”

You look between them, your breathing growing more rapid, “Yeah, m’gonna pass o-“

——

You bring your hand up to your face, rubbing your eye before you stop. You pull your hand away and open your eyes, sitting up quickly when you realized you weren’t tied to the chair anymore.

You sit up quickly, and a little too quick at that, “Fuck.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t move, too fast.” Sam’s voice causes you to jump, “Sorry.” He chuckles, “Jake still thinks you’re a flight risk.”

You raise your brows, rubbing your hands on your wrists, “So where are we?”

“About three hours from New York City.”

You were surprised Sam told you, but then again, you felt oddly safe with them. You didn’t feel like you needed to be ready to fight off someone.

You didn’t feel on edge.

“Are you going to kill me?” You look over at Sam and he shakes his head as he stands up, walking over to meet Jake when he walks in, “Hey.”

You nod, “Hi.”

“Do you remember our-“

“Yes.” You cut him off, “I do.”

He nods, staring at you for a few seconds, “Do you hurt? Do you need anything?” He reaches up, fingers gently brushing over your bruised cheek, “Anything at all. You tell me, okay?”

Your eyes stay locked on his and you nod, “Thank you.”

He leans back, “We’re going back towards the city. If you made up your mind, we can take you back with us and you can walk in saying you don’t remember anything.. or-“

“I don’t want to die, Jake. I told you that.” You stand up, closing your eyes as you feel dizzy, “I’ll get you the information, but you have to keep my name out of it if you get caught.”

“That wasn’t the deal.” Jake shakes his head and you scoff, “You said, if I help you you help me-“

“We’ll be back.” Jake turns around and you walk over to him, “I’m coming with you!” You push his back and he turns around, leaning over you.

You lean back slightly as you stare up at him, “I’m coming.”

He tilts his head, “I would know if you are.” He winks and you roll your eyes, stepping back as you cross your arms, “What do I have to do to get you to believe that I won’t snitch?”

“I’ll get you the guy that wants your brother dead.”

You freeze, “W-what? No.. that can’t be possible the guy that shot him is-” Jake cuts you off, “A cover up for the guy who actually did it.”

You stare at him, “Who.”

He shakes his head, “No. Not until I get the information I want.” You step closer to Jake, “I promise I won’t do anything. I just want a name.”

“We all want names, y/n. The faster you get me what I want, the faster you get what you want.” Jake tilts his head, “Do we have a deal?”

You chew on your lip for a few seconds before sighing, “If you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you myself.” You lay your hand into his and shake it as he smirks, “Feelings mutual, babe.”

——

“I just want you to know that you’re safe.” Jake’s voice breaks the silence and you look over at him, “What do you mean?”

“With us. Without us. Either way. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You laugh slightly, “I just don’t.. know how you expect me to be okay with this.”

“The only thing I expect from you is names, y/n. Everything else is on you.” Jake shakes his head, “I don’t want to kill you. If I wanted you dead or even thought about wanting you dead, you’d be dead.”

“You’re a killer, either way, Jake.”

“I’m a goddamn hero.”

You scoff, “Whatever. I’m going now.” Jake laughs, “Could have went twenty minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes, “No one told me that. I’m afraid if I make any sudden movement I’ll be sniped on site.”

Jake snickers as he shakes his head, “I’ll be seeing you around, y/n. Good luck.” You don’t say anything, you just get out and start walking down the dark alley. You did look pretty beat up, so wandering away from the scene is more than likely a believable story.

You hoped it was, at least.

You walk in and three officers quickly rush over to you, “Oh my god.”

“Someone get the Cheif!”

“Y/n, hey. What happened, where were you?”

You looked around before you pretended to pass out again, dropping to the floor. You laid there, eyes closed as you focused on your encounter with the Killionaires.

You feel people moving you, trying to shake you awake, but you don’t budge. You give it a few more minutes before you snap your eyes open and gasp.

“We have an ambulance coming for you, y/n.” The chief says as he bends down, “Can you tell us what happened?”

You shake your head, “I-I do-n’t.” You couldn’t lie, the feeling of agreeing to do this was weighing on you hard, but at the same time, you felt more safe with a group of random killers than you do right now.

You didn’t know what to do but start crying, “The acci-dent.. Cody..” you look up, “I-is he okay?”

The chief nods, “He’s in the hospital still, but he’s been asking about you. He woke up and you were gone. No one knew where you were.”

You let out a sigh, “O-okay.”

The EMT’s come in, telling people to make room and you’re taking to the hospital.

You were admitted almost immediately. They wanted to run all the tests so you were stuck there for a night.

It wasn’t long before Cody was pushed in, smiling as soon as he sees you, “Where the heck did you go?” You shrug your shoulders, “I couldn’t tell you, Heathers.”

He tilts his head, “Y/n.”

You sigh, “Cody. Right, sorry.” He shakes his head, “You call me whatever you want.” You smile and let out a sigh, “I remember I was in the cruiser with you, then we were hit and then I blacked out for a while.. I must have gotten out and went to the woods or something because I woke up under a tree.”

“You’re lucky to still be here. The damage to the car is.. I’m surprised you’re still here.” He moves closer and takes your hand into his.

“Was it a drunk driver?” You ask and he shrugs, “It was just me at the scene when someone else came rolling up onto it and called it in. I’m not even sure what happened myself.

Good, good, you think to yourself, “Hopfully we can figure it out. When are they discharging you?” He shrugs, hopfully this afternoon.”

“What time is it? What day is it?” You look around and Cody squeezes your hand, “Hey. Relax. It’s nine thirty in the morning and it’s Wednesday. The accident happened last night around seven.”

Sounds about right, or at least you thought it did.

You relax into the bed, “So I was thinking.” Cody chuckles, “When are you not thinking?” You smile and shrug, “I’m not sure, but anyway. I want to look into getting information about that hospital that’s closing its doors, maybe we help it stay open, get better supplies for it. There’s a lot of kids in that area, Cody.”

He stays quiet for a few minutes as he thinks, “We can move the families and such into protective custody.” He nods, “Y/n. That’s genius.”

Oh fuck.

You swallow, “Y-yeah. It is.”

——

“Everything came back normal. You were dehydrated and you’ll have a few bumps and bruises the next few weeks, but you’re going to make a full recovery.” The doctor smiles at you, closing your folder, “I’d stay out of work a few days, but other than that. You’re good to go home.”

You nod, moving the blankets off of your legs, “Thank you so much.”

“I’ll have someone come in and remove that IV for you.”

You nod and rest your head back, waiting patiently for the nurse to come in, which is rather fast in your opinion. She comes in smiling, settting stuff beside you before grabbing gloves.

There’s a knock on the door and it slides open, “I hear they’re discharging you. Is it safe to come in?”

“Yes, Cody. You can come in.” You laugh slightly as you watch him walk in. The girl puts a bandage on your arm and walks out.

“I just have to change and then I’m free to leave.” You stand up and Cody moves next to you. As much as you liked Cody, and as much as you shouldn’t, you couldn’t stop thinking about Jake.

“Y/n?”

“What?” You look up at him, “Sorry. I’m so tired.” You laugh slightly as you move your hair for him to untie your gown.

“I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you wouldn’t want to put your dirty ones back on.” He lays the stuff on the bed and you nod, “Thank you.”

——

Cody walks you up to your door and you get this odd feeling not to let him in, “Thank you, again. I will be sure to give my brother a call and let him know that I’m home safe and sound.”

“I can stay if you-“

You cut him off, “It’s okay. I’m home. I’m going to be home. I’ll call if I need anything.” You reach out and touch his arm, “You’ve done so much for me already.”

He nods, leaning in to kiss your forehead, “I mean anything.”

You nod, “I know.” You watch as he walks back to his car and as soon as you turn back to your door, you twist the knob.

To which is already unlocked.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Jake says as he stands up from your couch, “Cute little place you got here. It’s nice to actually see the inside.”

You close your door, letting out a sigh as you set your paperwork on the counter, “Do you have to make everything weird?”

He walks over and leans down on the counter, “I mean, I’m just that kind of guy I guess.” He smiles and you aren’t sure if it’s the pain killers, or what but you liked his smile.

“What did they give you for pain, y/n?” You toss the bag with the medicine bottle inside and he nods, “C’mon. I have something better for you.”

He holds his hand out and you feel like you have no other choice but to follow his orders, you and now your brother’s lives are at stake.

You intertwine your fingers with his and he leads you outback to your patio. It was fairly private, so you didn’t have to worry about nosey neighbors snitching on you to your bother, or even Cody.

You sit down on the patio couch, Jake sitting next to you after pulling something from his pocket. Your eyes go wide when you see what he’s lighting and you stand up, “Jake. I cannot do that.”

“Just sit down. You don’t do it regular so it’ll be out of your system in like three, I don’t know five days tops?” He takes a hit and you don’t know if it would be considered Stockholm syndrome or what, but you felt like you needed this man sitting before you.

“You said three days?” You ask sitting down next to him and he nods, exhaling the smoke, “Three days, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch up your nose, slowly bringing the joint to your lips and inhaling. You close your eyes, instantly feeling the high setting in, “It’s weird.” You breathe out, handing it back to Jake.

“Take another, sweetheart. You deserve it.” He pushes your hand back up to your lips, encouraging you to take another hit, to which you do.

Your body relax into the patio couch, you cough with this one, covering your mouth as Jake takes the joint from your fingers.

Once you calm down, Jake looks at you, “Why do you trust me?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t have drank the water, hit this joint, or even sat in the car with me for twenty minutes when you could have left.”

“I was thirsty enough. I’m in that much pain, and I didn’t know if I was going to get shot or now.” You shrug, smirking as he just stares at you.

You tilt your head, “Why don’t you want to kill me?”

Jake laughs, giving you back the joint, “Alright, now you’re pushing it.” He looks over at you as you take another drag, “You can get something I need. Why would I want to get rid of something that benefits me?”

“I mean..” You exhale the smoke, “..I guess that’s fair. I don’t know.” You shrug with a laugh. Jake shakes his head, “You are pretty hot. I will give you that, too.”

“You’re not so bad lookin’ yourself, you know.” You purse your lips, “So what else do you want from me? I feel like you’re being too lenient with me. Aren’t murders supposed to be. scary?”

“You’re saying you’re not even the slightest bit scared of me, or any of my friends you’ve met?” Jake raises his brows and you nod, “I wouldn’t be sitting here, doing something I shouldn’t be doing, with someone like you.”

“I’m just..” he shakes his head, “Amazed, I guess? I was expecting you to put up a fight once you woke up.”

“Well, with the way Johnnie hit me, I won’t be fighting for a few weeks.” You sigh, “So what? Are you just going to keep killing?”

“While you work to get me the names I need, yes.”

You nod, “Okay.” You look down, “I know this is wrong.. but..” You look out into your yard and Jake tilts his head, “Say it, baby.”

You side eye him about the nickname and shake your head, “I agree with what you’re doing. I do, I’m just.. also under oath to protect and serve and this is not me protecting and serving.”

Jake turns towards you, hand reaching out to gently turn your head towards him, “I promise, y/n. When this is all said and done, you won’t have to worry about anything ever again.”

“I just want my name kept out of it. I can’t go to prison, Jake.”

He nods, “You’re too pretty for that place, they would eat you alive, literally.” He smirks slightly and you roll your eyes, “Oh my god. You’re right, but knock it off.”

He smiles and you shake your head, “I’m serious. I’ll get you the list of names, but that’s it.”

“Can you do one other thing for me?” Jake tilts his head and you sigh, “What.”

“I’ve always wanted to cross off fucking an FBI agent off of my bucket list.” He smirks and you stand up, “We can’t do that, we might fall in love.”

Jake stands up, following you inside, “What’s so wrong about that?”

“Everything is wrong about that. My life is on the line no matter which way you look.” You take a deep breath, “I’ll make a call, I’ll have an officer bring everything to me. I’ll have someone email me a list of potential names but Jake..”

“What?”

“You have to move fast.” You swallow, “I said something about getting a list of names and they’re probably already looking at moving them into protective custody.”

His jaw clenches and you could tell he was pissed, but he wasn’t going to take it out on you, “I gotta go. If we’re doing this, you need to get that shit tonight.”

He walks towards your back door and you just stand there, you didn’t know what to do about this situation. The only thing you could really do in general is get that case information brought over, as soon as possible.

——

You stand up as there’s a knock on your door. As you make your way over to look out, you see an officer from the station and you let out a slight sigh of relief.

“Hey Nat.” You smile, moving away so she can bring in the box, “You can just get it down on my coffee table in the living room.”

You close the door and walk in. She looks up at you, “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, “Doc gave me pain meds. They seem to be helping. I want to come back.”

“You take all the time you need, we aren’t sure what this accident was, and if it was about the current case..” She shakes her head, “We need you safe.”

“I know. I know.” You laugh slightly, “I get so stir crazy. Nothing like this has happened to me before.”

Especially the part where you were kidnapped and bribed by the current suspects in a massive case.

“I get off at five. I can bring dinner?” She tilts her head and you nod, “Please.”

She gets a call in her radio and she raises her brows at you as she answers, “McAndrews responding.” She looks up at you, “Duty calls.”

You smile and walk over to the door, closing it as she runs down the steps. You turn around and gasp, body jolting as you see Jake and Colby standing there.

“Sorry.” Colby laughs, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Uh huh.” You walk but then stop, “We’re you watching me?” You look at Jake and he smirks, “How was your nap?”

You ignore him and walk back into the living room, “This is everything, but go into my bedroom or something. They’re going to have people checking in and doing surveillance.”

Jake bites his lower lip, looking at you as Colby grabs the box, “The list of names in there?”

You hold your stare on his, “Should be right on top.”

His eyes move down to your lips and he smirks, “Thank you Agent Y/l/n.” He goes to turn and you grab his arm, his head snapping down to look at your hand, “What.”

“Where’s your end of the deal?” You push him to face you and he steps closer to you, “I don’t think you can handle taking care of a man like this.”

“What makes you say that?”

At this point you were both whispering to each other, bodies inches from each others, anger rising quickly within you, “Huh?”

He raises his brows, “I think, you’re all bark. No bite. You shoot when you have to, not when you want to.“

“What aren’t you telling me?” You furrow your brows and Jake chuckles, “What do you mean?” You shake your head, “There’s more to it, Jake. Isn’t there?”

He shakes his head, looking away as he tries to figure out something to say.

You challenged him more than he knew, and that’s never happened to him before.

“You’re smart.” He says as he looks back at you, “Figure it out yourself.” He goes to walk away and you don’t even think, you shove him in the back and he whips around, backing you into the wall.

He just stares down at you. You clench your jaw, hands pushing into his chest, “We had a deal.”

“Yeah? And? What are you going to do? Turn us into the cops?” He leans in close, lips brushing against yours, “Let me tell you something, sweetheart, we go down. you go down, too.”

You watch as he leans back, looking you up and down, “I see why your best friend’s brother loves to come over after shifts. I wouldn’t be able to stay away from the fire either.”

He walks backwards, turning as you stay silent and watch him go back the hall.

You couldn’t lie, you were absolutely flustered, but pissed.

You walked back the hall, leaning against the doorframe as you watched them go through the folders, “Try and keep everything where it was please.”

Your voice was quiet and Colby looks up, giving you a nod, “We will.” There’s a knock on your door and you whip your head over, “I don’t know who that is, so just please. Go into the guest room and please..” you look at Jake with a pleading look, “Stay in there.”

He stares at you as another knock on the door sounds and he nods to Colby, “C’mon.”

You watch as they go in, “They look in the windows, stay hidden.”

“I know the drill, babe.” Jake winks as he closes the door and locks it. You sigh as you rush to the door, opening it to reveal the chief of police, “Hey, y/n. How are you feeling?”

You motion for him to come in, “I’ve been better.” You laugh slightly and he nods, turning to look at you, “Yeah, yeah. Did McAndrews being over the files and stuff that you asked for?”

You nod, “She did. I actually, passed out while going over them.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He shakes his head, “I just came by to tell you that we decided that since we have no information on the other driver of vehicle, I’m going to have an officer posted here until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Whatever works best for you, Chief.” You smile and he walks towards the door, “If you need anything at all. Please do not hesitate to let whoever know. You know all of them.”

You laugh as you open the door, “Thank you. I’ll be sure to keep them in the loop.”

“Alright. Rest up, don’t strain yourself.” He points and you point back, “You know I can’t help it.” You close the door and let out a sigh, locking it before going back to your bedroom.

“I told you to-“

“I know what you said.” Jake says, “But we don’t have time to waste.” He stands up, “Colby. We got it.”

Colby moves, glancing at you as he walks by you. Jake stops right infront of you, chest almost on yours, “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

He leans in, gently pressing his lips to your temple and you close your eyes, taking in a slow breath as he tilts his head down, lips right at your ear as he whispers, “I hope this was enough time for you to fall in love with me.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’ll think of you when I do.” He winks and leaves with Colby, sneaking out without a trace of them even being there.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Holy fuck. Okay. Please for the love of Jake Webber tell me how this was !! I need to know! I love you all, thank you so so so much for waiting on this, I know it’s not exactly what I had originally planned, but TRUST!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[my-stories-vault]

Timestamp ~ Hushed.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X FBI!Y/N L/N

Blurb: The monsters find out that Dean Winchester has an undercover wife. So that's gonna go over well . . .

Trigger Warnings/Warnings (18+): violence, gore, angst, mentions of torture, language, keeping secrets (does that count?).

{ Main Masterlist }

Hushed: No More.

The lights felt mundane. You couldn't take your eyes off the blub that hung above the teenage manning the check-out counter; it was swaying above her like a modern halo. It was so bright that you couldn't remember the last time you saw such blinding white. It was the good clean energy that would help you burn the things you've seen from your retinas if you stared long enough.

'Hey, lady!' you heard the distant snap of fingers. You'd been hearing it for a minute now. 'Ma'am!' the voice was coming from above the surface, it couldn't reach you where you were drowning.

'It's your turn, dear,' someone said, a hand patted you on the back, cranking the reality into fast-forward.

You tensed before you realised it was just an old couple behind you. The man frowning impatiently while the woman smiled at you pleasantly, encouraging you to move ahead in line.

Startled, you put your things on the table where the teenager sighed in exasperated boredom, scanning the two meagre objects on your list: cup noodles and water.

'Anything else?' the teen asked, raising a brow as if she was daring you to say "yes".

You shook your head and searched your person for a wallet. You emptied your pockets as you went when you couldn't find it in the usual places: your napkin, phones, pocketknife, badge, and gun piled onto the table one after the other.

You didn't see how the teenager swallowed, horrified, and the older couple shared a wary look.

'I,' you exhaled, 'don't have any money.'

''S alright,' the young girl nearly squeaked. 'On me.'

You searched her eyes for kindness but only found fear. For the first time that day, you looked down. Black glowered at you: jeans, shirt, bullet proof vest, a coat to hide it, a belt to hold up your jeans an extra gun, and shoes. The only color you wore was the simple plain gold wedding ring that you had only slipped back on after your mission. With your primary gun out of the holster, you must look like a terrorist to them. But even your FBI badge was out; it made you realise that the girl might be more scared of the police.

A quick rake-over told you that she was mildly stoned. Least of your concerns, if you were honest. You weren't that kind of an officer anyway - juvie wasn't your area, and if a teen was ruining their life, it was between them and their parents. And you surely weren't the kind of officer that would accept food you hadn't earned.

'Never mind,' you sighed; your stomach growled in protest.

You swept your stuff in your hands and exited the store. You dumped your belongings on the passenger seat once you had settled behind the wheel. You clipped your seatbelt on and screeched out of the parking lot. The streets were empty owing to the relative late hour and the backroads you took. The drive was ten minutes from your appartment and even while your car sat purring in your parking spot, you didn't feel like getting out; there was an empty house and an empty pantry waiting for you.

Glaring at the luminous yellow projecting on the ground beyond from the headlights, you watched your last case play before your eyes. You could almost see the blood on your hands again that were tightly clutching the steering wheel at ten and two.

It would fade in time, you knew, like all the other things you witnessed. But tonight would be restless.

The insistent buzzing of your phone pulled you from your dark thoughts. You let it go to the voicemail. You checked your notifications, watching as an email popped in seconds after the voicemail with an attached file: a new case.

You threw it back down and fished out a more important device.

You refreshed the screen of your other cell a few times with a frown. Unlocking your second phone, you scrolled down your phone list, your finger hovering over your husband's name. With a weary sigh, you swiped the contact.

As predicted, it went to voicemail.

'Hey, Dean,' you rubbed your face as if that could scrub your worry lines away. 'Hi, baby,' you said again, smiling a little more. 'I finished my case. Yay,' you cheered in a hollow voice. 'It was long. I'm starving. In our building right now. About to head up with no groceries because I lost my wallet. But hey, the bad guys are gone, right? We wanted to arrest them,' your face twisted, 'well, let's just say guns got involved.' You paused, 'I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Really, you don't need to worry, but you are such a sweetheart to.' You imagined his annoyed grin and the roll of his eyes. 'You know what would make this all better?' you said in a tone that he knew well, one with your narrowed eyes. 'If I know that you're still alive,' you hinted, your throat tightening with anxiety again. You knew if you kept talking, you might cry, so you whispered at last: 'Call me.' You hung up.

You blinked back the predictable swell of your tears. There hadn't been a word from your husband in over a week. There was a horrible lump in your windpipe, choking you every day you went without any news.

You knew his job was tough. You didn't know what or who he "took care of" exactly. You had a deal with him: you won't discuss your cases with him and he could have the privilege of the same ambiguity; it was an understanding you two shared. The confidentiality protected all the people involved: no drug cartels would come hunting Dean, and no . . . whatever he did, would come get you. It was like a trust fall - if you could be in a long-distance relationship with a key secret on both sides, your relationship would be unbreakable. In three years of marriage, you'd never had a problem with it until the times he went A.W.O.L., like he had now.

Your only grudge with Dean was the lack of calls. At least you were frequent. As the anniversaries were added to your marriage, it also grew hrder for you to let him go. And vice versa (you assumed).

The lift was broken - what else was new? You climbed the five floors, at least you weren't wearing heels. Your stomach was still rumbling in protest, it was threatening to eat itself - your legs shivered, your head was faint. Maybe you would bother your neighbour for some food. Or you could sleep and not think about prospective food until come morrow. That would also save you some more overthinking about Dean.

Deciding to prioritise sleep, you jammed your key into the door. Stepping in, you threw your keys into the bowl that clanged loudly against another set. Before you could even freeze in realisation that there is another set, the light clicked on. Shocked, you whirled to see Dean standing next to the switch.

'Dean!' a happy sound left you, and without thinking, you pounced on him. He was ready for you, stumbling only a step back before he was holding you by your thighs, his arms wrapping possessively around you, his perky ass resting on the armrest of the couch to help him support your weight.

He chuckled, and you were too relieved to recognize the tightness behind it.

'Hi, sweetheart.'

You nuzzled your face tighter into the crook of his neck, breathing his scent in till you reached the point for diziness. His hand came up to comb your bird's nest, to keep your face nestled against his body, his other hand like a steal band binding you to him. He pecked your head, and then your cheek to leave a lingering kiss there, his lips brushing down your jaw to your neck where he sighed.

'I missed you so fucking much,' he said.

You pulled his head up to sealed his lips in a needy kiss, desperate to surround yourself with him. He took it somewhat hesitantly.

When he parted from you, you both were breathing harder. Your legs uncrossed and you set your weight back on your trembling feet; he held you upright. Your heads touched and your eyes were closed, reveling.

Before you found the strength to say something, his hand was shoving your shirt up.

You blinked; you didn't think you had the energy to do much more than walk to your room and sleep. Regretfully, you opened your mouth to reject Dean but you noticed his gaze was stuck.

You followed his eyes to your tattoo - the one he insisted you got. You thought it was quite tacky: a basic design, a circle with some sort of star in the middle with sun rays for a circumference.

When he'd shown you the picture, you'd told him that the tattoo could only be made look good by beautiful people - like the one on his chest was very handsome because it was on him. Until he told you that he wanted you to get it for his job; it would protect you, he'd said. You couldn't argue any more; you had to listen to him, no questions asked. That's how you'd ended up at the tattoo parlour the next day with a sheepish Dean to hold your hand.

Now, he was stroking the symbol with his thumb, some of the tension melting. It was then you noticed how anxious he'd really seemed. He had bags under his eyes, and he had let his scruff grow in ignorance.

'Hey,' you put your palm to his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. 'Are you okay? Did something happen?'

He swallowed, taking a shaky breath. His eyes darted across your floor, as if chasing words to give you.

Your heartbeat picked up. 'Is Sam okay?'

He nodded mildly. His hands were gripping your waist for stability, his fingers imprinting into your skin and cloth. He seemed to be a thousnad miles away, thinking of things your mind couldn't fathom. It was work, you sensed, but it wasn't your right to ask. You could only give him what he needed from you.

You mustered a teasing smile for him, forcing the sleep-deprived whining of your body to the back of your mind.

'Tell you what,' you said. 'If you want, I'll order us some take-out, we can watch some shows and have a nice night in - only we won't sleep,' you winked suggestively.

It forced a chuckle out of him. 'God, I've missed you,' he repeated, panic in his eyes when he brushed your hair behind your ear.

'Dean?' you implored, holding his hand to your cheek.

His lip quivered. 'We have to leave,' his voice was thick with emotion.

Your lips pursed. 'I'll pack a bag.'

'I did,' he said.

Your eyes trailed to the bag on the couch, buldging with your amenities, no doubt shoved in carelessly. Boys.

'Let's go,' you said instead.

He took your bag for you, and you went right back out the way you came. You made for you car, to drive behind him.

'You're with me,' he said, taking your wrist and pulling you to his Baby.

It was parked a street away, which could only mean that he had been afraid of being followed. He opened your door and made sure you were safely in before jogging to the driver's side. He locked the doors before throwing your bag over his shoulder. Baby revved as he pulled out of park.

You were watching his side-profile carefully: the way his eyes jumped from the rear-view glass to the road, the way his free leg bounced restlessly, the way his hands had whitened on the wheel, the way his shoulders wouldn't relax. Silence reigned for a long time until your stomach made it's presence known, embarrassingly loud.

'You haven't eaten?' Dean's lips pulled down further.

You shrugged.

'Were you going to?'

He would probably scold you if you told him you planned to sleep the hunger off. And then order take-out in the morning.

'I lost my wallet,' you admitted.

'When?' he said, much sharper than you expected.

You had to think hard because your mind couldn't conjure coherency except for food and Dean (reduced to the basic instincts of hunger and worry).

'Um,' you sighed, squinting at the scenary beyond his window. 'Yesterday. I think.'

'Think harder, Y/N,' he gripped.

A spike of irritation made you grit your teeth but you did as he asked of you. The images of the ambush flooded your mind - your team cornering the drug cartel. The gunfire echoed in your head. You remembered keeping your wallet in your car, or so you thought.

'I think I forgot to take my wallet outta my pocket, and it was lost during the case,' you said. It must've been lost at the warehouse.

'You think?' Dean said.

'What do you want from me?' you crossed your arms. It would be easier if he told you, it wasn't like you could guess what he was looking for anyway.

'Was it stolen?' he posed.

You usually kept your belongings in the car. Your "Dean" phone, your wallet, your wedding ring and everything important to you. If you considered Dean's theory a possibility, what would the odds be that the same day that you forgot to empty your wallet, would be the day it decided to jump out of your pocket? Then again, what would be the odds of it getting taken from a locked car?

'I don't think so,' you said. 'It's not possible. It would either have to be in the car, or on my person.'

'Son of a bitch,' he cursed. 'You keep everything in your car; it was stolen!'

He knew that because sometimes he called during your cases, and he couldn't reach you because everything was stowed in your glove compartment.

'The car was locked,' you reasoned. 'Why would a person break into a sixty-thousand dollar car, and leave with a wallet? It had to be on me, and I lost it.'

'They didn't come for the car,' Dean grinded out, face hard.

Your eyes widened a bit - were Dean's enemies looking for you? You'd assumed Dean wanted to go off the grid, which is why he took you with him.

'But the car alarm would've gone off,' you insisted. He was shaking his head before you finshed.

'What was in your wallet?' he urgently asked, then added: 'Take out a phone from the glove compartment and dial Sammy.'

'Oh, um, okay,' you said, speaking while you did as he said.

You knew he had an array of phones, about ten or more. It helped him keep his cover in his illegal world. You only had his number to one - the phone you got him only to talk to you; that way, he could always have contact with you without worrying about someone tracing you through him, or vice versa. When you had got him that phone, you had got one for yourself as well, to help him preserve his anonymity. You both kept your marrital phones on your persons, alongside your work phones - except the times when there was danger of damage to the phone.

'Money,' you said, grabbing the first cell and pressing speed-dial. 'Driver's liscence, a few cards, um, our wedding picture, and—'

His litany of curses cut you off.

Sam hadn't picked up, so you dialled again.

'What?' his anger displaced you.

'They have your face,' he said.

Your shoulders slumped; you wanted to argue again that no one could've broken in, and you sure as hell would've realised if someone was stealing it from your pocket in case someone was brave enough to try.

And why would they want your face? If they had waited a little longer, they could've had the whole person. (You shuddered at that.)

Somehow, Dean's hopeless expression didn't let you contradict him.

'I've got some people on it,' you pipped up, hoping to reassure. 'If someone uses my cards, it'll show up. I'll personally pick it up—'

'No one's gonna use it, Y/N,' he groaned.

You were about to answer when Sam picked up on your third try.

'Dean?' You put it on speaker. 'Dean, is Y/N with you?'

'Hi, Sam,' you said, trying to inject cheer in your tired tone. 'How are—?'

'They know what she looks like,' Dean cut you off again.

You rolled your eyes when Sam cursed on the other end.

'Did you track her?' Dean asked quickly.

'No,' Sam said, regretfully.

'They have Y/N's wallet, Sammy,' he said in a thick voice. 'They must've tracked her car, and the house. The wallet has her photo. They're bidding their time.'

'Fuck,' Sam said. You resisted throwing your hands in the air with exasperation. Sam seemed to carry the same absurd notion that your husband was.

'Why didn't they take her?'

'I don't know,' Dean said, running hand over his mouth.

You recognized his nervous tic. Against your better judgement, you took his free hand in yours and he kissed his knuckles. On reflex, he squeezed your hand and then left it on the seat between you, making you frown.

'Are you sure it's her?'

'Her tattoo is intact,' Dean confirmed.

With a start, you realised they were talking about you. How could Sam doubt if it was you?

'Y/N, can you take me off speaker?'

You blinked in confusion, but did as asked and handed the cell in Dean's waiting palm.

'Yeah?'

'Dude, did you double-check?' hissed Sam.

'Why would I?'

Dean's heart pounded but his other hand left the wheel and produced his flask from his leather jacket, he thrusted it in your direction.

'A demon can make a small incision, possess her and it'll heal,' Sam pointed out. 'Check with holy water.'

'Drink, sweetheart,' he said.

You were taken aback with his abruptness. You nervously took the container from him.

'What's going on?' you asked despite your better judgement.

'Drink,' Dean snapped, his phone hand holding the steering wheel and his free hand brushed the jacket back to show you the gun tucked in his jeans. Your eyes widened at his aggressiveness. You unscrewed the top and took a small gulp of . . . water.

You were so confused.

'It's her,' Dean spoke to Sam.

'Are you going to tell her?'

Dean could imagine your reaction. He could also imagine the divorce bells, if that was a thing, in his future when he told you. His chest constricted with panic again.

'I don't know,' Dean said, face stoic but both you and Sam could detect his pain.

'Dean, she—' Sam paused. 'Cas is calling. I'll let you know if we find something.'

Sam hung up.

'Were you honestly checking if I was me?' you couldn't hide your incredulity, shoving the flask back to him. Dean nailed his gaze to the road guiltily, giving you a half-hearted half-shrug.

You ran a hand through your hair. You knew your husband was a weird cookie; the salting of the doors and windows when he was home, the tattoo on your hip, a similar mark on the rug before the room to your bedroom, the obsessive checking of locks on the doors and windows, the constant reminders on the text for you to take care - you knew his dark past drove him to these insanities - but checking to see if you were you?

That had to be a new level.

You might have not even minded that, to be honest . . . if he hadn't threatened you with a fucking gun.

You were irate with him for that.

'You should call your work, let them know you're taking off.'

You were reminded of the hefty online file lying in your mail, and the job you were supposed to commence from tomorrow. Your boss, the Captain, wouldn't be happy.

Then again, you and Dean had a protocol for situations like these: no questions asked.

You just hadn't realised that rationality would have to be specifically added in the "no questions" clause. Because you were seriously considering having your man tested one of these days . . . 

'How long?'

'Indefinitely,' he replied in a monotone.

You gave him a critical eye but at least this was a fair request. You knew that his job was just as dangerous as yours; sometimes, you felt like it was worse. You knew if you would ask him to go underground with you, he would go, no questions asked.

'What's the cover?'

If he thought that someone would track you down through your office, he'd better suggest a cover. But when Dean shrugged it just made your frown deepen. What kind of a criminal does he chase? It was basic common sense to find someone from where they went to work, everyday. 

Your boss picked up on the third ring.

'Hey, Troy.'

'L/N.' You still went by your maiden name at your office to not blow your cover eventhough on your official papers, you never your changed your name back from Winchester.

You let your emotions overwhelm you for a good act. You let your anxiety about Dean from the last week grip you and it wasn't long before tears were wetting your eyes.

'My sister's been hospitalized,' your voice cracked. What you said was actually code for "Someone's after me".

Dean gave you a concerned side-eye, but he knew what a good actor you were.

'Dear Lord, again?' you rolled your eyes because the weariness in his voice was genuine. You had a penchant of being in pickles. 'Will she make it?'

'I think so,' you whispered, keeping your pretense - your way of telling him that that you are currently uninjured and optimistic of your survival.

The story behind your "sister" was that she had an immunity disorder and was to be frequently hospitalized - this explained your frequent disappearances.

'Do you need someone for moral support? Pick up your laundary or somethin'?'

Translation: did you need extra hands on the deck? Pick up a dead body or somethin'?

'My husband's here today,' you told him, simultaneously letting him know that it wasn't your enemies after you this time. You added an artificial sniffle.

'Ah,' Aaron said. He was the only one who knew about Dean, and he was the only one who helped you keep your cover in times like these. But he also didn't like your husband, mostly because of all the hush-hush nature of your relationship with him. After all, Aaron Troy had raised you after your parents had died, he was a father figure to you, and treated you like his daughter. Another fact that no one at your office knew.

'Give him my regards,' Troy said, sounding annoyed. 'I'll transfer your assignments.' 

Aaron hung up, making a smile of amusement twitch on your face. You wiped your fake/real tears and sighed.

'I'm sleeping,' you announced.

'There's a blanket back there,' Dean immediately responded. 'And some food.'

'I'm not hungry, Dean,' you sighed again, turning over the back of the frontseat to reach the quilts.

Dean shot you a look of annoyed apprehension. 'I thought you were.'

'Lost my appetite,' you grunted, pulling the upper blanket. Your abdomen felt knotted with Dean's attitude. You were in such disbelief with him that it made you mad.

He caught onto the edge in your voice.

'Look, I'm sorry,' he pled.

'It's fine,' you said unconvincingly. You wrapped the cloth around you and curled into a ball against the passenger side door.

'Don't be like that,' he accused. 'I thought you trusted me with this.'

You scowled at him. 'With what?'

'This,' he waved his hand at the dashboard. 'Me grabbing you and hauling ass.'

'That's fine,' you really meant it this time. 'I'm mad at you because you didn't call me back!'

You could see when the information clicked in his head.

'Oh.' Like it hadn't even occurred to him.

'Do you know how worried I've been about you?' you got emotional again. 'I've been calling you every day!'

'They took my phone, Y/N,' he sighed, happy to explain something that wouldn't make you hate him. 'They had me for a week.' In fact, they only let him go when they unearthed his phone.

A gasp escaped you; your eyes searched him for injuries but there were none. 

'Cas healed me,' he waived your unspoken worry away. 

Castiel. Dean's best friend who had an angelic nature apparently, but you'd never personally met anyone from Dean's life except Sam, and Jody with her family. You didn't know a lot about the man though, not even Cas' last name. You were grateful to him, however. 

You laced your fingers with Dean's. 

'Does it still hurt?' you asked. 

'No,' Dean said, clearing his throat. 'Cas, uh, did a good job. It's like I was never hurt.'

You smiled small, before, 'Why did they take your phone?'

'They want revenge,' he said, his lips thinning. 'That's all I know. They . . . ' he shook his head, 'I didn't say it, I swear. They found out about you on their own.' There was an desperation in his voice, it was cutting him deeply - as if this was his fault.

You made a face at him, scooching closer. You put his hand in both of yours then put them between your curled body, encasing his entire arm before laying your head on his shoulder. That relaxed him, and you felt his rigidity deflating.

'I know that you protect me, Dean,' you whispered, 'I know you wouldn't out me yourself.'

'Even under torture,' he insisted.

'I know.' He loved you too much for it.

His lips brushed your hair in response, and he released a tumultuous breath while placing his head on yours. 

'Why didn't you call me when you were driving over?' you questioned after a beat.

He remembered your number. Losing the phone compromised you, but it wasn't his fault. Failure to contact you while he was captured wasn't his fault either. But . . . .

'I was . . .' he trailed off. He didn't have an answer that didn't make him sound like a total jackass.

If he were being honest, after being tortured for half a dozen days and waking up from his unconsciousness to Sam and Cas' worried faces hadn't helped make him smart decisions. He'd panicked straight into his car and stepped on his gas while his imagination gave him fuel in the form of harm befalling you. It had barely occurred to him to call you, and when it had, he was scared that you won't be the one picking up.

It was very stupid but he chanced it. It wasn't like you could've protected yourself against the monsters anyway. He hadn't taught you how . . .

His heart stuttered when he thought of how close the demon came to you. It didn't make sense for them to leave you

Unless . . . Unless they wanted Dean to get to you first.

He tensed at the thought.

'Dean,' the sweet dulcet of your voice made him shake his fear off. He realised that he had shifted his hand in a way that was acting like a makeshift seatbelt on you now, you were still holding it to your frame; and his heart was pleased with your safety.

'I don't know,' he chose to say. 'I guess I was . . . I'm really sorry. I just wanted to be with you as soon as possible - I forgot . . . .'

You didn't have it in you to scold him when he seemed so distraught and frayed. You sensed with your tingling "Dean-sense" that he wasn't being a hundred percent forthcoming but his agony was true.

You pressed your lips to his scruffy cheek, making him glance down at you. You pressed a quick light kiss to his lips at an opportune moment before he had to look back at the road again. You let your head fall on his strong shoulder again.

Just like that, he knew he was forgiven.

'Wake me up when it's my turn to drive, okay?'

You never got that turn because Dean drove for six hours straight. It was a good thing that you were too tired to use a restroom, and he was too tensed for one because Dean didn't move his feet from the accelerator a lot.

He hurried to the shotgun side when he got out, as if you couldn't open a door. Which you did, just to be a bit annoying. He was there to wrench it apart the rest of the way. He put his hand around your waist protectively but his eyes were sweeping across the dead parking lot of a rundown motel you probably wouldn't step in on your good days.

Dean made two rounds to the car because he wouldn't let you help him carry anything after he dropped you into the "safe" confines of the motel room. You didn't know what his logic behind it all was until you flipped a light and saw weirdly figured symbols painted all around. It seemed like he had prepped this room beforehand, or your brother-in-law must've.

Dean dumped your bags on the couch, and shut the door behind himself.

'Okay,' he breathed out, seemingly relieved. 'I'm going to go help Sam, okay? He's at the Bunker. You'll be alright on your own, right?'

You were disheartened. It must've shown on your face.

You wished you could go with him to this Bunker you'd heard so much about. But he said it would be a dead giveaway of his profession. You wanted to help him more, but besides self-preservation, you didn't see yourself of being any use to him.

'What? What is it?' he asked, anxiously.

You walked the three steps and took his hands in yours, letting your palms progress over his shoulders and across his back so that you were embracing him.

'Do you have to leave?' you frowned.

He nodded with a sad understanding smile. 'Yeah, baby. I promise, we'll try to be quick.'

'I believe you,' you said.

'And then I'll make it up to you,' he smirked for the first time. He gripped your hips to bring you closer.

'I'll hold you to that,' you chuckled. 'And you'll take care?'

He pressed his lips to your forehead, hugging you tightly.

'I love you,' he said.

He didn't often say it out loud, mostly through his actions. It further made you realise the depths of his disturbed emotions.

'Love you, too,' you kissed his neck, squeezing him with all your might before you had to let go.

He cupped your jaw. 'Don't leave, okay?' he ordered. 'Not even for ice, not even if there's an earthquake.'

'Seriously?'

'Yeah,' he said, no trace of humour in his voice or face. 'Not even for a zombie apocalypse,' he warned.

You couldn't supress your smile even if you tried to be sincere for his sake.

'Anything else?'

'Not even if I call,' he thought out loud. 'I'll come in person, okay? And when I do, I want you to throw this on me,' he handed you his flask.

'Water?' you quirked a brow.

He gave you half a smile. 'Do you trust me?'

You rolled your eyes. But, 'With my life.'

'Good,' he approved. He also gave you his gun.

'You pulled this on me,' you said with a tinge of upset. You looked up in time for you to see him flinch in guilt.

'I'm sorry,' he sighed through his nose. 'I had my reason, I promise.'

'If you promise . . . ,' you mumbled childishly. 'Are you going to threaten me again?'

He smiled boyishly that time. 'No, you are. I'm giving you the chance to get even - anyone, even me, if it's weird when you throw water at anyone, you shoot. Go for the heart or head, okay?'

'Dean, I have a gun,' you protested. On a side-thought, it had to say something about your mental health that that was the part you protested on. It prompted you to add, 'And I'm not shooting you.'

'You will be if the water reacts, okay?' he swallowed as a dark look crossed his face; he was, after all, asking you to technically kill him - but your safety was more important, so he moved on,  'And this gun is special, only shoot with that. It has a full round in it, okay? No other gun.'

You tried not to be ired by being told what to do. He cupped your other cheek, locking your gaze with his. There was that desperation again that seemed to be tormenting him.

'Capiché?'

For his sake, 'Okay!'

'Thank you,' he murmured, lowering his head to place an urgent kiss to your lips. It was long, passionate, and afriad. His tongue invaded your mouth, demanding and begging at the same time. He was memorising the taste of your lips, as if nothing would be the same after that day.

When he let you go, you felt the sting of his departure.

'Don't let anyone in. Not even the maid,' he said, walking back to the door. 'Here, take this,' he said, pausing and giving you a silver rounded dagger.

'Well, what will you take?' you frowned.

'I have more,' he assured you. 'You shouldn't need it anyway - I don't think they would come close enough for a hand-to-hand.' He bit his lip, 'I hope.'

You smoothed his worry lines with a thumb, offering him a smile. 'I will be fine. Okay? Not my first rodeo. I deal with mafia for a living, you realise that, right?'

He chuckled humourlessly on that. 'Yeah, don't even get me started on that.'

And that was that.

You watched from a slit in your curtain as your husband pulled away in his beloved car, and your heart yearned for him again. You hoped he would return to you safe and sound; your hand reached to the cross around your neck and you prayed to God for him. Dean might not believe in those prayers, but you would believe in Him enough for the two of you.

Silence reigned the library. It was probably the most silent library on the planet that day.

Dean's mind was splitting focus between his laptop and his wife; he wished he could split body as well and leave a part of him with you back at the motel, fifteen minutes away from the Bunker.

He had a tremendous migraine from not consuming anything besides alcohol and coffee, staring at a screen didn't help him either. Not for lack of trying on Sam's part: he offered Dean a sandwich, a few take-out options, even a pie; Dean refused everything. But, like a hypocrite, he kept wondering if you'd eaten anything back at your room, Sam had left enough food packets there when he'd been warding the room before your arrival.

In three hours, neither brother had spoken a word. When Sam stood up to refill his coffee cup and get himself some gronala bar and fruit, there had been a scrape of chair. Otherwise, their scrolling was noiseless on their laptops.

When Sam came back, he noticed Dean was on the same line that he had left him on. Just to break pattern, he thudded his coffee mug on the table. It didn't pry Dean away from his work.

Sam cleared his throat then.

It earned Dean's fleeting glance.

'Dean,' Sam outright called.

It got a raise from Dean's brows and the turn of his face to see his younger brother towering above his chair.

'So, how'd Y/N take it?'

No prelude or anything.

'It's Y/N,' Dean shrugged, progressing to the next line at last.

Sam sighed, resuming his seat parallel the elder Winchester's. He placed the coffee mug a bit loudly again. This time, Dean gave him a nettled look over his device screen.

'What?' Dean knew that expression only too well on the taller man.

Sam had a nice bitch-face going, underlying was his concern for his family. He was a little too familiar with this situation; a boyfriend who didn't tell his girlfriend how to protect herself and so she ended up dead.

The situation had it's varying points, of course. For one, you weren't a hunter, but you weren't a damsel in distress either. For another, Dean and you were married, and you might not know what the secret was but you knew there existed one. Lastly, this demon seemed to want revenge for ulterior motives and not Dean himself.

The demon had had Sam and Dean for just under a week where she tortured them, but didn't kill them. She waited until she found out about you to erase the sigils that kept Castiel from finding them. The demon apparently found you and stole your belonging, almost like she was taunting Dean, but then she let you go. It didn't posses you either.

There was a superior plan in play, a long con, and it was infinitely uneasy for both brothers to not know what it was.

Sam and Castiel had motioned to bring you back to the Bunker, where you would be the safest. But Dean was sure that he could maintain his secrecy while also keeping you out of the harm's way at the motel.

Sam had learned from his mistakes, but it didn't seem like Dean was inclined to.

'Did you talk to her?' Sam broached.

'No,' Dean grunted. Face hard yet hardly concentrating. 'She understands, Sam.'

'Exactly, Dean. If anyone, she'll understand.'

'We're not having this conversation again,' Dean said, sharply. But that tone had mostly lost effect on Sam after so many years of companionship.

'Look,' Sam persisted, 'I respect whatever your pact with her is, but that was okay when she wasn't exposed.'

Dean shook his head, 'I can protect her.'

'From this demon,' Sam had no doubt. 'But can you protect her from all?'

Dean's glare was frightening. Sam cautioned himself.

'Think about it,' he said softly, 'a demon finds out that one of us has a wife of three years - that's too good to let go. She'll probably have announced it to the entire world.'

Dean imagined it, his fist clenching and nails digging into his palm under the table. He could envision a horde of monsters swarming and clamouring before your motel room right now. He could see them banging on your door while you shifted the room furniture in front of the door to keep them out. He could see the resigned fear in your eyes, and he could hear your overwhelmed sobs.

He didn't realise when his heart started battling it's cage or when he held his breath. Suddenly, he didn't regret any decision of his life as much as he regretted leaving you alone.

Sam gave him a reality check: 'Hell, maybe the demon figured you wanna hide her, and maybe that's why she is waiting, so she could take Y/N from under your nose!' A thought that made both the brothers' guts churn.

'I should call her,' he said, getting up after seven or so long research-filled hours. The blood rushed to his legs and he had to grab the edge of his table for balance.

'You need to tell her,' Sam emphasised. 'Give her the "talk".'

Dean answered him by giving him his back. He had been with you for alomst seven years now, he'd be damned if he let anyone but you tell him how to run this relationship. Not even his brother would interfere.

His worry mounted and his paces grew wider when you wouldn't pick up. He tried three times and you hadn't recieved the call. His hard limit would be five before he took off running for the garage. Luckily, the phone clicked in answer on the eight ring of the fourth call.

'Hello?' came your beautiful gorggy voice. It made Dean's heart flutter with more than just relief.

'Hey,' he said, trying to underplay his galloping heart. 'Did I wake you, sweetheart?'

You hummed, ''S alright. Where are you?'

'Bunker,' he said.

He had stopped calling this place a home, long time ago. His home was the apartment where he'd snucked you from. Better yet, his home was wherever you were. And it pained him to know that his enemies were, metaphorically, trying to inavde his home.

'Did you eat?'

'Yeah. You?'

'I thought, maybe, you would be up for a second, very late, dinner if I come over in a while?' he tried to make it sound casual.

He could hear the smile in your voice when you invited him over.

Neither of you wanted to hang up so while Dean prepared sandwhiches and shoved pie into a basket, you told him about a few channels and reruns you'd been watching to pass the time. It felt like it was back to normal for a while.

'No way,' Dean scoffed. 'She's ugly.'

'I'm telling you, Dr. Sexy has no standard,' you teased him.

'Hey lady, Dr. Sexy is a whole standard on his own,' Dean grumbled, shutting the car door behind him, about forty-five minutes into the call. He had also carried out his duffel to stay with you overnight, finally catch up on some sleep after the exhausting blur of days he'd had.

'Is it Baby I hear?' you enquired, suddenly excited.

Dean grinned to blueing sky as he pulled out of his garage. 'Yeah, I'm fifteen minutes out.'

'Ah,' you sighed, satisfied with his answer. 'Good. I was getting bored. Even lit up a buncha candles.'

'Candlelight dinner, huh?' he grinned widely. Leave it to you to make the best out of crappy things . . . Like she makes the best of me, he thought.

'Wanted to do something nice for my husband. He's a very busy person, you know?'

He laughed. 'Well, he appreciates it.'

'Oh, yeah.'

Dean put the phone on speaker and kept it down on the seat.

'Are you ready to talk yet?'

'What d'you mean?' he wondered, distracted.

'Who are these people, Dean? What do they want?'

'I thought you didn't wanna know,' Dean tensed.

Several times in his longest relationship, he worried that you had run out of patience for him, and that you would demand that he spill his guts or that you would leave him for his "nonsensical" antics. He couldn't see having a conversation with you about his family business without an ultimatum being thrown in his face.

And he didn't know how to choose between his two lives.

One was where there was blood and gore and a broken family that he would never give up on. And the other life was you, something that had come so close to his heart that he couldn't imagine any happiness without it. He lived in two worlds, and it was a weight off his shoulders when he could go from his hunter's world into the world he'd created with you - where he could just shrug off his other life and simply be a normal human. In a safe cocoon. With the love of his life.

It came under his top three fears that his worlds would collide. And he would be destroyed.

'I don't. I'm not asking you for names, I mean.'

'Well, then what?' he let out a breath of relief.

'They just seem to be going to lotsa lengths to get their grubby mitts on me. Crime of passion, it seems. What'd you do to them?'

Dean was looking for the exact answer. This demon was really specific and it didn't make sense that in spite of all the ways it could've ended the Winchesters a thousand times by now, why she was evading. Waiting, like a predator for the right prey. Like she wanted to hurt the Winchesters in very specific way. Perhaps, Sam's theory wasn't too far-off.

Thus, their research was mainly based on all the cases they'd ever solved.

'We're looking into it,' Dean said, voice clipped.

You snorted. 'You don't know who your enemy is, but you know how to dice them?'

All demons die the same way. To find them, you have to know them.

How could he tell you that?

'She was wearing a mask,' Dean framed. Or he, he added in his mind.

This demon had just asked one thing, over and over to them: Remember me?

Classically, the Winchesters didn't remember.

They were only assuming that she was a she because the meatsuit was a female's and the demons usually preferred to infiltrate the same gender.

'Right. Do you need some help tracking her down? I could ask Aaron for a favor.'

'No,' Dean said a little too quickly. This wasn't the kind of research your people would/could/should do. 'We got this.'

'Okay,' you let it go.

You often gave Dean a lease that most sane humans wouldn't. Then again, Dean was also quite crazy. When it's meant to be . . . .

You groaned on the other end. 'Argh, it's so hot in here.'

'Sure, you're in there,' Dean flirted.

Your voice set into a tinkling laughter that always had his heart going. 'So cheesy, geez. But no, babe, the lights are out.'

The smile was snatched from his face. 'Wait, what?'

You chuckled nervously. 'Okay, fine. The candlelight wasn't my brilliant idea, alright? I think the entire motel lost lights or something—'

'Since when?!'

'Three, four hours? I dunno, I was asleep.'

'Fuck!' It could not be a coincidence. 'Do you smell something like rotten eggs?'

You paused, catching onto his panic. '. . . Yeah. Quite strong. Is that their M.O.?'

'Sulfer. Yeah,' Dean gritted his teeth. 'I need to call Sam. Don't leave the room!'

Dean was totally about to head in without back-up. The chances that he would be taken by surprise were next to nil, but if, and that's a huge if, he weren't able to tackle the demons alone, he knew you would charge out, guns blazing, to save him. He would need extra hands to protect you.

. . . Or this all could just be a coincidence, Dean futilely hoped as he dialled his brother.

You were changing clothes.

There was a good chance that this would turn into a car chase and you wanted to be ready to jump into Dean's car, shall the occasion provide itself. You did grimace at the thought of Baby being in the line of open fire, but you knew that there wasn't a car your husband couldn't fix. It was actually the lie he'd told you when you'd first met him; he introduced himself as a mechanic. Come to think about it, there had been a car chase that night, too.

It made you smile as you quickly collected the stuff around the room and dumped it in your bag. You were blowing out the candles when you heard a horrible gunshot echo through the early night.

Without thinking, you grabbed your Glock and swung the door wide-open.

In the middle of the parking lot, between parallel lines of the motel rooms, you noticed a cowering woman on the floor and another woman, a blonde whose straight cornsilk-like hair glinted in the moonlight, towering above the redhead with a gun aimed for a headshot.

You crossed the threshold, forgetting Dean's adviced Colt and knife in the room. Your mindset slipping into your job set-up, transforming you from the victim you were to a protector.

'FBI!' you yelled. 'Drop your weapon!'

The girl turned to you with a Cheshire cat smile that sent a lance of fear down your spine.

On second thought, maybe you should turn back.

The woman on the ground started laughing, and to your asbolute disbelief, she vanished the next second.

'What?' you gasped, paralysed with fear and shock.

'For a Winchester, you're not so smart,' goaded the other woman, pointing her own gun at you. 'Didn't think it'd be so easy to pick you - and right in time for your husband to see us, too!'

And as it all had been perfectly and painstakingly timed, headlights flodded the lane, and Baby's rubber shrieked against the gravel road. A hand came in a chokehold around you, as if out of nowhere, and you could only see the face of your captor in your periphery - the girl from the ground.

'We're going to have so much fun, dearie,' the voice whispered in your ear. 'Won't you bid goodbye to your protector?' it was a mock.

Beffudlement incapacitated your actions.

The last thing you heard before apparently disappearing into thin air was Dean's scream of your name.

Blackout.

249 times 4.15 is 86403 seconds.

That's three seconds more than how many seconds make a day. You played the song 249 times in your head, the guitar strings included. The same song over and over to keep you anchored. It was especially sung in Dean's voice, your comfort song ever since you'd loved him.

. . . The sounds of someday, maybe home . . .

You could hear conversing in your background, but your centre focus was was the voice in your head. Heck, it was what your world revolved on right now, the axis on which you were able to exist.

'Do you think she's dead?' one voice asked, hopefully.

'We're not killing her,' the second, the authoratative one, the blonde woman, said. 'Yet.'

And though . . .

'Why isn't she responding?' whined the first. 'Did you cut her tongue out?'

The lead didn't answer. Two fingers curled under your chin and your unfocused eyes met your captor's.

'No. Maybe she bit it,' hypothesised she.

Her head tilted and her eyes were covered by an onyx sheet. Your concentration didn't waver, but your heart rate accelerated.

'She's alive,' she dropped your head. 'And she can hear us alright,' she huffed.

All gone is here today . . .

'Do you know what your husband did to her?' huffed the redhead, crossing her arms.

The blonde lead introspectively gazed at you. You continued singing in the safe confines of your mind.

'He sold my soul to the Hellhounds,' mused the "victim", apprently. 'Or, well, he collected. And he wasn't very nice about it.'

Even the fires on the road . . .

'My husband was caught in the crossfire,' she continued. 'Imagine what he did.'

. . . Trying to get away . . .

'He killed him,' the dramatic redhead spit. 'In front of her. Even though she sold her soul for her husband! He was only trying to protect her, you know?'

For your silence, you got a backhand. The blonde grasped your hair and ripped your head backwards to inspect your now split lip. It was certainly astonishing how a petite woman with no visible muscles could pack such a mean slap - you could attribute it to her demonness, perhaps.

Demons were real: what a rude awakening it was for you into Dean's other world.

'That's what we're going to do to you! I'm going to kill you! And there's nothing your fucking husband can do to save you! And I will drag him down to Hell myself!' the blonde's enraged spittle sprinkled your face.

Out of control today . . .

You lifted your shoulder in a casual shrug to wipe your face, your outfit came away with blood and sweat as well.

The girls shrieked in indignance and the redhead landed a kick to your shoulder that must have at least bruised your collarbone.

It was a day and three-forth, approximately. You forced yourself to sleep around ten last night to maintain a pattern. Like a clock was ringing, your body roused after it's four hours' worth of very superficial sleep. You started singing again then. You had also been forcing your body to tolerate the pain instead of losing consciousness; God knows you had enough practice. Your adrenaline kept you from going into shock and your focus on the song helped you divert from the evilness of it all. Your mind was concentrating on the one good thing you had. The one ray of light: his voice.

Until your sun found you, you would have to make do with the piece of sunshine in your mind.

As far as your awareness to the reality went, you knew the girls had gone out for a break; they had a job or a shift or something that they couldn't leave for another day, they would be back by evening. Who knew Hell had rules and productivity?

Probably Dean.

You kept singing well into the evening. Mostly to keep track of time now. Your eyes also traced the patterns on the walls: sigils, to keep angels out, they'd said. They talked a lot.

Monsters are real! your mind tried to panic. You wouldn't have that, Go on beyond your way . . .

A door above opened; you braced yourself by letting the humming in your mind intensify.

About a hundred and seventy seconds passed and then a familiar gentle hand lifted your head by supporting your jaw, cupping your face with the other as well.

'Sweetheart, can you hear me?' came a begging voice. 'Y/N, hey, hey . . .'

His deep timbre put a shame to your memory of his voice. You took a deeper breath, as if he was enlivening you once more.

Your eyes were closed, you hadn't opened them in a while. You were reluctant to admit the fear in your heart, because what if this voice was a mirage . . .

Wouldn't be the first time, a nasty voice snickered.

'. . . pulse is weak,' whispered the gravel, his voice coming from from the left. 'Sammy, her hands,' demanded it.

You felt warmth radiating off another presence to your right. When fingers delicately harrased the rope on your skin, you moved faster than thought.

Your singing abruptly ended.

Your bloodshot eyes glowered at Sam whose neck you had in one air-tightening hand. He grasped your wrist and could've easily pried your strangling hand off, but he waited for you to trust him.

'It's just us!' Dean explained, pulling his shirt down to show his untouched tattoo. 'Our tattoos protect us from possession. Holy water makes their skin sizzle,' he told you. He used his flask to pour some water on his hand and then on Sam's that was trying to hold your wrist at bay.

You had no choice but to believe them. Even if demons had infested them, it wasn't like you could do anything to them or fight the demons. You would have to take their word for it. Whatever happens . . .

Your grip loosened and Sam swallowing convulsively. Your fingerprints were already reddening against his muscled skin.

'Good chokehold,' he complimented, running his hand on his neck soothingly.

'Sorry,' you muttered.

You'd only attacked because you were afraid that he would discover that your hands had been free. You had broken the thumbone and freed your hands from your rope long ago, but you hadn't known how to rescue yourself withoit necessary weapons. And you hadn't wanted to run away either because that would have continued this goose chase. In your indecision, you'd stayed, bidding your time.

'We're going to get you out of here,' Dean promised.

His hand brushed away strands that clouded your face from him. His lips came to brush up against yours in relief, you could only respond a second before he was pulling away to work on your leg binds.

'I believe you,' you smirked weakly. 'But now that you're here, I think I have a plan.'

The Winchesters exchanged a surprised look.

So far, it felt like they were your family. They hadn't attacked you so that was a very positive sign. Obediently, the Winchesters were hiding in the kitchen upstairs, per your plan - which was the sanest one, Sam agreed even if Dean hadn't liked it.

Without your song, everything was quite acute to you: the cracked tiles of the basement you were in, the creaks and groans of the abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, the staleness of the air, and no sunlight the whole time you'd been trapped here - it all made sense.

Sam filled you in about everything you needed to know about demons. Throughout, he was very professional about it, but Dean had watched you through it was like he was expecting you to slap him or something.

Your husband also carefully relocated your left hand bone while you'd cried out closed-mouthed in pain; his fingers had lingered on your wedding ring for too long there, his brows creased in careful non-chalance.

He had been the most hesitant to leave you alone. But you assured him that this wouldn't be your first time. He wasn't happy with that either, but at least he had more confidence in you.

You loosened the muscles in your neck and closed your eyes, you rearranged your hands into the rope. You had told Dean not to cut your legs one, only to loosen them. And you had an angel blade in your right hand, behind your back.

Let's show them what Mrs Winchester can do.

You weren't listening to their words anymore: there was no information to be gained.

You waited until you felt one of the demons near you: the blonde had been mostly handling the bloody parts, it satiated the masochist in her. The redhead was more like a cheerleader in the background.

When you felt a warm breath ruffle your hair, your legs shot up and slung around her neck with the help of your roped ankles and then brought her jaw down against the seat of your chair with all your might; you heard a distinct crunch.

Who bit her tongue now? you were a tad bit smug.

The redhead spluttered in horror and rushed towards you. It was the last thing she did because you plunged the silver blade into her neck. You only paused for a second because her skull glowed up orange from the inside out.

Unfortunately, the second was enough time for the blonde to strike back.

The blonde, already somehow healing from a severed tongue (there was enough blood to make an educated guess), flipped your chair, and you fell backwards with it. Your head cracked against the cold floor, but you didn't have the time to gauge your pain because she rained down punches on you by straddling you within the split-second. She was so busy scratching, punching and slapping your bruising face that she didn't hear the Winchesters race down the stairs.

Dean shot her in the head and she fell sideways from your body.

The light on the ceiling was woozy to you. There was a single bulb in the centre that hung from a wire a few feet down from the ceiling. In your disorientation, you could see four of those bulbs.

And then four Deans came to your aide. The Winchesters' mouths were moving but there was a dintinct whinning in your ears. Then Sam swam into your vision too. Something wet spread from your head and trickled down your back like a warm shower.

Someone lifted your sore head, and you groaned loudly, though it sounded to you like your were underwater, drowning slowly into your subconscious.

Sam hurriedly removed his shirt to hand to Dean who used it as a cushion for your head.

Then it was lights out.

Your first sensation was the cozy butter-like energy smoothing down your nervous system. Your body hummed in appreciation when your eyes opened, and followed the two fingers leaving your forehead to the face of an unknown man with striking blue eyes and a baby face.

'Hello, Y/N,' he greeted, deep voice that contrasted his childlike look.

He was pushed aside by a much too familair a face then, the beauty of which was marred by aggravation.

'Dean,' your voice was clear. Not like you had sung under your breath for hours, not like you had lost a ton of blood, not at all like it should sound after a good session of torture.

In fact, there was no trace of pain. Your bones felt fine, the lacerations on your thighs, chest, and arms were gone. Beside the slight buzzing faintness behind your eyes, you felt like you'd drunken God's elixir.

Castiel, it clicked in your head. Of course, the healer, your husband's best friend.

The new man smiled as if he could read your mind.

'What are you?' you blurted out.

'I'm an angel of the Lord,' Castiel introduced. 'Castiel. They call me Cas, it's a nickname.'

'Alright, that's enough,' Dean interjected. 'Cas, thanks for your help, but can I be with my wife now?'

'It was nice to officially meet you,' Castiel beamed.

'Glad to see you awake, Y/N/N,' said the younger Winchester. Sam, who had been leaning against a desk chair also straightened, and walked out with Castiel.

'Angel . . . ,' you murmured. 'Huh.'

You took your surroundings in.

There were guns hooked on the colour-coded wall. You were sat on a memory foam mattress, in a room with simple and sweet decor. There was a sink to one side, drawers next to it. There was a desk with a chair, and on them photo frames; one in particular caught your eye, the one with your face looking up at Dean like he was your whole goddamn world and with him smirking at the camera as if the bastard knew it; it was placed next to a blonde woman's picture that ressembled Dean's gorgeousness, Mary.

Your eyes trailed around across more furnitures, noting the overflowing hamper, the tray with tangled chargers, a few books on the nightstand. You almost had an inkling that if you bent over right then, you would find a more "private" collection of Dean's under his bed, the thought almost made you smile.

'Bunker,' you said. And Dean's room, too, you understood.

Dean slowly nodded, drinking your expression in, watching you watch the room. Your eyes came downward to clash with his.

His eyes were gaurded again.

You pressed back against the headboard and scuttled to one side, your hand patting the other, inviting him. He didn't seem too pro that, but he swallowed whatever rational reply he had and crawled the distance between you two. His shoulder rubbed against yours, but one of his feet was still grazing the ground like he would run if he had to.

It made fear spring into your heart. You had been fine getting to know his past, but suddenly, you were realising that he may not have been.

'What happened?' you prodded, curling against his side. But it caused your heart to lurch when he didn't gather you in his arms like he usually would.

His face didn't betray anything, but his eyes were burning.

'We, uh, took you to the nearest hospital to stabalize you,' he recounted. 'Castiel came in a while and healed you, but because you'd lost a lot of blood which he couldn't replenish, you didn't wake up. We brought you here. Your body was in shock, so Cas tried to use his mojo for three days - today, you woke up.'

You gaped at him. 'I've been out for three days?'

His jaw clenched.

'That must've been terrible for you,' you gently side-hugged him but he stiffened up further.

'Me?' his voice was gruff. 'Are you kidding? You're in this mess because of me.'

He detached, turning over to face you better.

'You were tortured, Y/N,' he informed you. 'By monsters!'

You nodded slowly. 'Scary,' you played along.

'Aren't you mad at me?' he asked, quitely exasperated.

You frowned. 'Will you be mad at me if, God forbid, one of the mafias I tango with, kidnaps you and tortures you?' you flinched at that, but you stared at him intently. 'It's risk of the job . . . I don't want it for you. It just . . . happened.' You should probably be less callous with words, but to be fair, you weren't the safest person to be around either.

'It's not the same,' he gritted out.

'How come?' you posed.

'I would've kicked their asses,' Dean stated.

You bit your amused smile. 'FYI, I kicked ass.'

He rolled his eyes. 'You're not taking this seriously!'

'What do you want me to do?' you couldn't help but laugh. 'So, your enemies are crazier than you. But at least, my wackadoodle is one wackadoodle for a reason! I mean, I don't have to worry I'm married to a mad man now; phew!' you wiped off the non-existent sweat from your forehead.

His face was incredulous. 'Why aren't you reacting to this? I've lied to you about monsters!'

It was almsot like he wanted you to be adverse and obtuse.

'One,' you held up a finger. 'You have never lied to me. Second, we both agreed to omit truths. I have government confidentiality, and you have . . . reasons. Why again?'

He went defensive on that question.

Worlds colliding. One of his lives burning down.

Except it wasn't much of the implosion he thought it would be.

He knew how emotional you were. How come he wasn't facing any heat right now?

'What are you doing?' he asked, crossing his arms.

'What do you mean?'

'This is not how you would react!'

You blinked, but sighed. 'You're right.'

Dean almost expected you to jump on him and attack, suddenly. She's possessed, an inner voice told him - but Castiel would've seen it.

And you remained seated quite comfortably.

'I'm responding to you,' you calmly told him.

'What?' he was stumped.

'I don't have to feel anything until I've understood you,' you explained.

It struck him, that method of yours. He recalled that this wasn't the first time you'd done it to him. He remembered why he had felt that this version was so unlike you - because this was how you dealt with your criminals.

This was how you'd once dealt with him. When you had been on his case, years ago.

His chest ached when he recognised the cold, collected familiarity in you.

He deflated in disappointing defeat. You deserve it.

'What?' you searched his face apprehensively.

'Don't do that,' he muttered. 'I'm not some fucking colleague or-or a delinquent. Don't treat me like that,' his voice wavered.

Your face fell, and eyes widened at your mistake. Despite sitting one feet from each other, it was as if a cavern of distance had grown between the two of you out of nowhere. You let your mask collapse, letting the feelings catch up to you.

It took you several minutes before you fully allowed yourself to feel the brunt of having emotions. You started crying for what happened to you, you were afraid that every semblance of your reality was crumbling under the knowledge that monsters existed, and your throat constricted when you imagined Dean running into God-knows-what places to save strange people, risking his life more than you could ever imagine.

'I'm sorry,' came his whisper. He still wouldn't touch you.

You eyed him with a new fascination. The man you loved and married: he was raised by his father after his mother was murdered, he child-reared his kid-brother and sacrificed his own childhood. Now, he was sacrificing a safe life, running around saving people, hunting things, continuing the family business for people who didn't even believe in it.

People like you, who criminalised him and hunted him for being a fucking hero.

A hero who was sorry because . . . ?

'Why?' you couldn't fathom.

He judged you with disbelief. 'I ruined your life, didn't I?' his words cracked at the end.

You pursed your lips, considering his statement. 'What, the monsters only savour people who are "aware"? What are you talking about? I mean, c'mon, would I have been spared by a vampire if I hadn't known?'

He winced at the mental image. But you fixated on something else, your hand grasping his sleeve. 'My God, vampires exist, don't they!?'

Dean laughed darkly, taking your hand in his. 'Exactly my point. The fear, the constant paranoia that this comes with - it's not worth it!'

'Maybe not,' you concedded. 'But awareness is one thing, choosing to be a . . . What are you?'

'A hunter,' he admitted, for the first time.

'Hmm,' you smiled. Yeah, it suited him. 'Well, whether you want to be a hunter or not is secondary. Right now, I'm glad I finally know . . . That is, if you wanted me to.'

'I never wanted this for you, Y/N!' he excalimed. 'That God you pray to so much - news flash, He's a dick!'

Your eyes buldged. 'You've met Him!?'

He ran a hand through his hair. 'More than I wanted to,' you thought you heard him say.

But you were too busy stewing in that new idea. It came with a sense of dislodgement - as if a large chunk of your life had fallen out of place and left a void behind. More tears slugged down your cheeks.

It made your heart go out to him more. How did he deal with this all alone?

Or was he distracting himself? came a worse idea.

'Were you . . . Did you marry me because I'm normal?'

'What?' he didn't seem to understand your question. 'Where'd you get that idea?'

'Just seems that this . . . discovery of mine is ruining it more for you than me,' you observed. 'I mean, did you not want to tell me because of our deal of confidentiality, or because you never wanted me to know?'

'The only reason I ever agreed to that supid deal is because I never wanted you to know,' he clarified.

'Oh,' it stung worse than you thought it might.

'Don't you see it? I have a fucking bulls-eye on my back!' he tugged his hair in frustration.

Your shoulders slumped in resignation. 'It's understandable,' you nodded even as more tears cascaded down, 'you just wanted an emotional hatch where you don't want to think about the monsters. You've never had that before.'

'No, no, that's not it,' he said, coming to sit in front of you, suddenly panicking. You wouldn't look at him so he had to brace your shoulders and pull your face up to search your eyes. His heart took a hit when your tear-stained face stared back at him, with betrayal shining bright in your eyes.

'That's not what I meant,' he hoped that you could see the depths of his sincerity. 'Sweetheart, if something happened to you because the monsters knew who you were - it'd kill me,' his eyes corraled some tears of his own. 'I love you, you know that.'

'Really?' your voice wouldn't go above a whisper.

'How can you doubt that?' he rolled his eyes, as if you were being silly.

You sobbed, shaking your head in relief - he scared the bejesus out of you more than monsters had right then.

He gathered you in an embrace and pulled you on his lap, encouraging to bury your head in his shirt till you were cried out.

It was only when your tears were tapering and your sniffles were subsiding that he thought of using a joke you had on him - he barely got your humour, but it sure made you laugh.

'I told you: you shouldn't have married someone so much hotter than you,' he teased.

Your laughed predicably, slapping his chest. He tightened his arms around you reflexively, he'd been unconciously rocking you back and forth.

'It always comes at a price,' you said hoarsely.

He snorted, pressing a tight kiss to your forehead. Though you tipped your head back to bring him in for a lasting one on your lips.

Dean broke apart after a beat, 'Wait, wait. Doesn't it bother you?'

'Kissing you?' you quipped, 'I won't lie to you. I like it.'

Dean bit his lip. 'You love it,' he corrected.

You smirked in agreement. Then, he forced his concentration.

'I meant,' he struggled, 'I'm the Job, you know? Doesn't it bother you that I'm so . . . fucked-up?'

His question made you remember the demons.

Usually, you were so tuned out of our own head while captured, all the talks and plans would brew in the back of your mind while you concentrated on something to keep you sane, something like a voice-over sugarcoating your traumas. It would fortify your mind. But one thing from your most recent torture stuck with you.

Their conversation about Dean's "reality" surfaced.

'Can I ask you something?' you side-eyed him.

He nodded slowly.

'Did you . . . really kill an innocent human? And her wife?'

Dean's jaw clenched. He knew exactly what you were asking. The abandoned house had been the demon's when she was still alive.

'I, uh, yeah.' No denial. He's the monster there.

'Why?'

There wasn't any judgement in your eyes. Which disturbed Dean. He should be punished for his actions, you're too good to him.

So he spilled his truth. About the Mark of Cain, and his mindset during that time. He narrated then, years of crap before, and then years of misery after. He narrated things that happened even while he was with you.

You listened in utter silence, silently matching his bodily scars and late-night tears to his stories.

Outside the Bunker, the sun climbed the sky and then descended from it. The moon strutted to it's peak glory. 

You both took a dinner break before returning to continue the stories Dean had hid from you.

By the time it was three in the morning, you had a headache from information overload.

In your tiredness, you took Dean's arm around your waist and slept. Dean stared at the ceiling most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep around late morning.

You woke up first, in the afternoon.

Dean had curled around you during his sleep. Possessively, as he often was, he had thrown an arm and a leg around your bodice so that you didn't have an escape.

He didn't want you to go, you knew. What you came to know last night was that he thought you should nevertheless. It was clear Dean expected you to break his heart; he thought it would be the right kind of punishment for him, for how many people he thought he had harmed.

But then, so had you. Indirectly, like he had.

It reminded you of a similar predicament he'd put you in a few years back - when he had warned you about his job for the first time, about himself. Your answer to him would still be the same as it had been then.

Determined to show him, you woke him up with peppering kisses across his face.

'No,' he groaned, garbled.

You snickered a bit and he popped one eye open to glower at you with it.

'I want to talk,' you said.

His forming smile sobered.

'Oh,' he braced himself.

'It doesn't bother me,' you said quietly, honestly, eyes locked on his. He took his due time to gauge if you were lying for his sake.

'You don't have to do this for me,' he whispered. You knew his voice would've cracked if he's spoken in a normal decible.

You caressed a thumb across his light scruff. 'I'm not,' you said, pleased to find that you meant it with your whole heart. 'I married you knowing you had a secret, Dean. I knew the secret was about your job. This isn't a dealbreaker.'

'Are you sure?' he pulled your closer by the hips so that your faces were inches apart, with little to no space between your bodies.

You grinned, 'As I'll ever be. You're a good man, and,' you took a faltering breath, 'I believe in you like always. I trust you like always. Nothing has changed except that I know you better now. And I still love you fo—'

He swallowed the rest of your words in a bruising, albeit mouthwatering kiss. The heat reminded you of the day you two had read your marriage vows, but the vulnerability was second to none. Dean had given up a hidden part of him, probably what he thought was the uggliest, and you were determined to show him that it was just as beautiful as the rest of him.

Screw self-depreciation, your husband was a freaking myth come true and he'd better know it. So you spent the rest of the morning showing him that.

A/N: I love bad-ass female protagonists who can keep up with Dean - don't you? Lemme know what you thought of the chapter 🥰!

Tag List.

@aylacavebear @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @emma1998sblog @globetrotter28 @jollyhunter

[sunflowersoldat]

Blood in the Water - Fresh Meat

Hello lovelies! It's been a very long time, I have been working on something entirely different in my personal time, hopefully one day soon I can share it. In the meantime, I got the itch to take a break from my project and have been wanting to revisit this little AU for some time now!

Main Master List

Series Master List

Series Summary: Spin-off to All is Fair. Mob syndicates are yours and your partner's specialty. They don't call you the Sharks for nothing. There is blood in the water in New York City, not only is know Mob affiliate Steve Rogers missing, but the two other Mob bosses died in a huge shootout last year. It is up to you and your partner to uncover the truth, but not all is as it seems.

Series Warnings: 18+! Mentions of blood and violence, bad language words, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, death, trauma, please follow the warnings for each chapter. There are chapters with brutal and dark themes, please read at your own discretion, warnings will be before each chapter!

Chapter warnings: Actually this is pretty much warning free, alluding to mob dealings and some language.

Pairing: Mob!Buckyx FBI Agent!reader

Word Count: 1712

“White.” 

The deep timber of Bull’s voice pulls you from your trance, gaze falling back onto your phone.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Your gaze flickers back up the building towering over you. The clouds above wash over it in a dull gray. 

You straighten your fake press badge clipped to the belt of your skirt, today you were Joey King, senior investigating reporter for the Daily Bugle.

“You’ve got this. It’s just another case, kid, treat him the way you would any other mafioso.”

Except this is the head of the Rogers family, you thought. Taking a deep breath you release through your nose, you ask, “You on site?”

“Never too far away sweetheart.”

Good. Without a goodbye you hang up the phone slipping it into your messenger bag as you make your way into the building. 

A friendly redhead looks up from the front desk, soft green eyes sparkling when she smiles in greeting. 

The name on your badge falls from her lips, “Mr. Barnes is in his office ready for you. Please just follow me.”

You nod as she slips out from behind the desk leading the way, “It’s Ms. Maximoff, correct?”

She nods, “Yes, but please call me Wanda.”

You return her smile, “Of course. Have you worked for the Howling Commandos for long?”

She keeps her smile, but a glimmer of mistrust flickers in her eyes, “For long enough.”

“So you know Steve Rogers?”

A flicker of sadness shone in her eyes, “Yes.”

You sweeten your smile, false sadness flickering in your own eyes, “It must be really hard on all of you, with him missing. I couldn’t imagine…” placing your hand to your heart, you play the concerned reporter quite well.

Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes anymore as she knocks on the door next to her. “It is.”

A gruff ‘come in’ sounds through the door.

Wanda clears her throat as she swings the door open, greeting the man at the desk, again your name falls from her lips.

“Thanks Wanda, that’ll be all.”

She nods, backing out of the room, the door closing with her.

Your attention shifts to the man as he rises from his desk to shake your hand, “It's nice to finally meet you Ms. King.”

His eyes graze over you, taking in every detail from your stilettos, to the black skirt with the badge and wine red button down, finally meeting your eyes again. 

His eyes don't linger on you like you’d half expect them to. As far as the ladies in the city say, Barnes has never shied away from a woman he found attractive. You had hoped to exploit that detail, but it seems that little bit of intel was false… or you weren’t his type. Either way, he would play into your hands like they always do.

Your smile is saccharine as you take a seat in front of his desk, pulling a notepad and pen from your bag, “I could say the same, James Barnes, you are a hard man to get ahold of.”

He’s very business-like, from his tailored suit and polished shoes to the oh-so-fake smile that's plastered on his face. There isn't a hair on his head that's out of place, that in and of itself is a glaring redflag. 

He sighs as he sits back in his chair, hands clasped on his desk, “I’m a busy man, the business doesn’t run itself. So, what can I do for you?”

Busy. You couldn’t help but wonder what all his business entailed. Did he look the part of the Mafioso? Yes, but that wasn’t enough for a warrant or a judge. If looking like a mafioso was enough to warrant jail time, most corporate men would be serving time. Not that they didn’t deserve it for other reasons… 

“What are your thoughts on the events from this past year?”

“Events?” confusion laces his tone.

Your eyes flicker from your notes to him, he looks bored, emotions hidden behind a well-worn mask.

 “The killings, Mr. Barnes. The attacks on your businesses, do you think they have a connection to Mr. Rogers being missing?”

His brows raise, he chuckles lowly, 

“Attacks? The warehouse fire was ruled as a gas leak. As for the other businesses, I was told the police had picked up a group of teenagers causing havoc on that side of town. And if I remember correctly, more than just our businesses were affected.”

Your brows furrow, but you nod, “Speaking of business, has Mr. Rogers’s disappearance affected dealings with other companies?”

“Howling Commandos Shipping Company has continued to operate the way Steve would run it. Profits are rising and there is no shortage of work Ms. King.”

“I can see that in the stock market, Mr. Rogers’s company is at a record breaking high…” you tap your pin to your lips, Barnes’s eyes follow the movement and linger just a little too long; gotcha. “It must be easy for you to take over the business, you and Mr. Rogers were like brothers, I’m told, you must know all of his business practices.”

His eyes flick back to yours, “I was his right hand for many years, I’d say I knew him best.”

“Yes I thought you would. It must be difficult coming into the office without him… Is that why you were not on the list of suspects in his disappearance?”

His smile tightens, “That Ms. King would be a question for the police. And if that is all, I really must get back to work, as I said, I am a very busy man…”

Your smile falters, his answers are too easy; rehearsed, you need to throw him off kilter. “You are right Mr. Barnes, I do apologize. You must be endlessly busy… being that your previous boss went missing, I would say you have more responsibility and more power than before.”

There is a slight tick in his jaw, but he remains quiet as you continue, “Would you say your boss’s disappearance has…” you tap the pen to your lips, again his eyes linger there, watching as you bite your lower lip, “Well, it looks like you've had good fortune, would you say it has been beneficial to you, Mr. Barnes? Mr. Rogers’s disappearance, that is.”

Aside from the tick in his jaw, he keeps his composure well, his two thumbs tap against each other as he debates his answer. He swallows, “Tell me, Ms. King, why did you take this story.”

The deflection didn’t surprise you, you had done your research, knew what buttons to press, heard the talk amongst the other detectives, unsightly criminals, knew the Right Hand of the mafioso head when you saw one. You personally had flipped many loyal rats: offered them less jail-time, a way out or anonymity, and they ate out of your palm.

“Mr. Rogers was a well-known pillar of the community. New York deserves to know the truth behind his untimely disappearance.”

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, “How long have you worked for The Bugle?” 

You sigh, “This is an interview for you, Mr. Barnes, not for me. My information is on the Bugle’s website, but if you must know, I’ve worked there for five years.”

He tilts his head, “Forgive me, I like to know who I am talking to… You’re a little young to be a senior investigative reporter, no?”

“I’m good at what I do. And it seems you should research those you let into your office beforehand.”

He nods, a glint of something flickers in his eyes, you can't place it, but it makes your stomach churn. “Some advice then,” he stands from his desk, placing a hand on either arm of your chair. Tantalizingly close, you take him in coolly, you hadn't noticed earlier, but his left hand glinted in the light. Instead of flesh it was dark glittering metal with thin strips of gold. 

Craning your neck you meet his gaze, “I suggest you drop the story, kid. It's a dead end, and better to quit now before it gets you into trouble.” 

His eyes don't match his words, they are bored, not a glimmer of threat. A smile pulls at your lips, “I find that the stories most claim are dead ends, tend to be the most interesting. If that is a threat, I don’t scare easily, Mr. Barnes.”

He huffed a laugh, licking his lips, “Wasn't meant as a threat, Ms. King, merely some professional advice.” he pulls away, moving toward the door. 

Sighing you roll your eyes before rising to follow him. You stop short of the threshold, “You may be a busy man Mr. Barnes, don’t make the mistake thinking you are the only one. You didn't answer my questions.”

He leaned against the door, a single brow raised, “No, I guess I didn't. Then again, I agreed to see you, not answer your questions.”

Pursing your lips you nod, “So it seems… Well, I offer a bit of professional advice then, I suggest declining an offer to interview, instead of wasting someone’s time.”

“I’ll take that into consideration, Ms. King.”

You eye him, letting the ire fill your gaze, “Good-day, James Barnes.” without another word or looking back you can feel his gaze burning into your back as you make your way down the hall. 

A younger man with brown waves passes you, a bright smile on his face that falters slightly when he sees what you can assume is Barnes glaring at you from behind.

Out onto the busy sidewalk, you let your shoulders relax a little as you hail a taxi. You settle into your seat as the clouds that had rolled in from the harbor finally crack open and drench the city.

The whole interaction hadn’t been completely useless, it did shed some light on who James Barnes was. Which questions he answered, which he didn’t, how much information he offered, and what he omitted. James Barnes only solidified your suspicions, Howling Commandos Shipping Co. was only a front for their mafia business. Steve Rogers had been its head, and one thing was glaringly clear, Steve Rogers was not missing. Not in the traditional sense of the word.

Settle in James Barnes, this is only the beginning.

Tag list:

@daiseychaindisaster @dontbescaredtosingalong @texan-tazzy @tianamontag @silently-killing-you @buckyfan12 @leyannrae @justlovelifeblog @austynparksandpizza @capson-of-coul @vicmc624 @bigphattygyal @calwitch @buckysteveloki-me @curlyladylazarus111 @talesofadragon @trudy-shams

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, slow burn, strangers to reluctant allies, nonidol au

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Warnings: violence, onomatopoeia, switching btwn chris and chan (but its the same person), russian (there will be translations), mullet chan...

a/n: I liked this piece a lot actually, and I hope you do. dw, there will be more parts (relax...), uhh my longest so far? 5k words? yeahh..if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

next...

Christopher Bang is dead.

The world had been convinced that Christopher Bang was dead.

His funeral was quiet, attended only by select FBI agents and a few grieving colleagues. A closed casket. No family to claim him. A legend reduced to whispers in the hallways of Quantico. They said he died in an operation gone wrong, a noble sacrifice to protect the country. Christopher Bang had never been an ordinary FBI agent. He was a prodigy—recruited young, trained hard, and shaped into one of the Bureau’s finest operatives. His reputation was legendary, whispered in briefing rooms and hushed conversations. He was the kind of agent you sent when failure wasn’t an option. His career had been built on precision, unwavering loyalty, and an unshakable sense of justice. He wasn’t just good at his job; he was the job. His instincts were lethal, his mind sharper than the blade he always carried strapped to his thigh. From high-profile kidnappings to dismantling international crime syndicates, Chan had seen it all. And for a while, he believed in the mission. Believed in the Bureau.

Until he didn’t.

The cracks had always been there, but Chris only started noticing them after Operation Nightfall. Nightfall was supposed to be routine—an undercover mission to infiltrate an arms smuggling ring with direct ties to high-ranking officials. The Bureau had been tracking them for years, their operations spanning across borders, feeding civil wars, and keeping global conflict at a steady boil. This was supposed to be the mission that brought them down. Chan had spent months buried deep in the criminal underworld, assuming the alias of a ruthless gunrunner. He had earned their trust, gathered intelligence, and secured evidence that could take down some of the most powerful players in the game including politicians and government officials who were supposed to be on his side.

That was his mistake.

Because when the time came for the bust, nothing went as planned. The moment his team stormed the compound; they were met with bullets. Not from the criminals, but from their own men. The FBI’s tactical unit, the very people meant to back him up, had turned their guns on him and his informant. It was a hit. Chan barely made it out alive. His informant, his only lead to the bigger players and his best friend, was executed in front of him, and he had been left for dead in the chaos. A staged accident. A casualty of war. But Chan had survived. Wounded, disoriented, and betrayed, he disappeared into the underground before the Bureau could finish the job.

It took weeks for him to recover, to put the pieces together. The truth was uglier than he could have imagined. The people he had trusted had sold him out to protect their interests. He had two choices: fight back and risk everything, or disappear.

Chan chose to disappear.

Faking his death wasn’t easy, it never was but it was the only way to move undetected. He had to erase Christopher Bang from existence. Burn his past. Cut ties. He left behind no body, no trace, nothing for the Bureau to track. The world mourned him, but he watched from the shadows. And from those shadows, he did what he did best.

The glow of your desk lamp cast long shadows across the scattered case flies, illuminating worn folders that had become your life for the past three weeks. The first time you saw Christopher Bang; he was nothing more than a file on your desk. You didn’t mean to stumble onto his case. It had been a late night at the office, one of those quiet, lonely shifts where the air smelled like stale coffee and ink-stained fingertips. Fewer voices, more room to think. Most agents had gone home, the bullpen dimly lit by the glow of monitors. You had been assigned to a different case—routine arms trafficking, nothing out of the ordinary. But in the midst of your research, his name popped up not once and that didn’t sit right with you. At first, it was a footnote. A long-forgotten alias linked to an offshore account. It should have been nothing just another dead man’s forgotten assets. But then, the details started to unravel, one thread at a time. The account had been accessed recently. Money had moved. And whoever had moved it knew exactly what they were doing.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard of your system as you scrolled through classified financial records, piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The deeper you dug, the more the numbers twisted into a dead end. As you combed through the financial web, his name resurfaced again. Your breath hitched.

“Ok, what the actual fuck?”

The world buried that name two years ago but here it was, tied to a forgotten alias buried in offshore transactions. “Thats impossible.” You turned in your chair toward the stack of classified files and papers piled on your other desk. Quickly, your flipped through the pages and pushed aside other papers. The alias wasn’t obvious, Chan had been careful but when you spotted it, you knew. The name was one you had come across years ago during a different case, linked to a false identity the Bureau once used for deep-cover work. An alias that had supposedly died along with him. Yet here it was alive and well, funnelling money through ghost accounts. The neatly organised system you prided yourself on was gone, replaced by a frantic need to confirm what you already feared.

“Come on, come on...” you muttered, flipping again past cases that had long since gone cold. The scent of ink and the faint musk of time filled your senses as you pulled open another manila folder, the edges frayed from years of handling. And when you saw it, your pulse spiked.

FBI CLASSIFIED: CONFIDENTIAL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

BANG, CHRISTOPHER CHAN

Stamped in bold red ink across the top was a single word that now could’ve been a lie.

DECEASED

Swallowing hard, you spread the contents across your desk. A black and white photo of Chan stared back at you, his badge clipped neatly to his suit, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

Name: Bang, Christopher

Alias(es): Phantom, K-Strike, Shadow OP

Date Of Birth: October 3, 1997

Place of Birth: Sydney, Australia

Nationality: Australian/Korean

Last Known Rank: Senior Special Agent – FBI covert Operations Unit

Specialization: Deep cover infiltration, counterterrorism, tactical reconnaissance, financial crimes, high-risk asset extraction

Status: Deceased (as per Bureau records, declared KIA during Operation Nightfall, 2023)

You glanced through the pages of his physical and psychological evaluation, very impressed by his results. On his classified operations list, Nightfall was disclosed as a failed mission declaring his KIA, which should have solidified his name as a martyr in the agency’s war against organised crime. People who die in the field don’t get forgotten so quickly. When you reached the last page however, a small text at the bottom was handwritten which stood out to you;

FILE STATUS: ARCHIVED

NOTICE: Any activity involving this alias or financial transactions linked to Agent Bang should be considered a breach of classified intelligence. Further investigation requires authorization from the Director’s Office.

Signed, M. Reynolds.

You grabbed his mission report, flipping through the pages searching for what you might have missed. Nightfall had always seemed too clean on paper. A mission that ended in disaster, yet conveniently wrapped itself up without loose ends. No body recovered. No autopsy. No real proof of death, only ‘witness reports’; a term that had been conveniently vague. You stomach twisted as you skimmed the list of operatives present during his last assignment. A few familiar names, including higher-ups who were still active in the Bureau today. And one name in particular...

Deputy Director M. Reynolds.

You stiffened. Reynolds had been the one to officially close Chan’s case. If Chan had supposedly faked his death, Reynolds either knew about it or it was one of the reasons he disappeared in the first place.

The weight of the situation dwelled heavily on your chest. You weren’t just looking at a missing agents financial trail. You had reopened a case the Bureau had long since buried. And if you weren’t careful, you’d be buried alongside it.

Deputy Marcus Reynolds was once one of the most respected figures in the Bureau a man who built his career from bringing down high-profile syndicates. But Chan had seen what others hadn’t: the cracks in his so-called justice. Their relationship had always been tense. Reynolds saw Chan as an asset useful but too unpredictable. Chan, on the other hand, never trusted Reynolds, especially after noticing discrepancies in classified reports. The deeper Chan dug, the cleared it became Reynolds wasn’t just complicit in the corruption; he was orchestrating it. His last mission, Nightfall, had been an evident setup. The intel had been too clean and easy. As if someone wanted him in the field open and vulnerable. But when it went sideways, Chan realized too late, that he was the target. And he had to disappear.

Reynolds closed the case within 72 hours, an unusually fast decision for a high-ranking agent’s death. Because if Christopher Bang was dead, he couldn’t expose what he knew.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and hushed conversations. You moved quietly, off the books, following leads that didn’t exist. It was dangerous work digging where you weren’t supposed to. But you had always trusted your instincts, and your instincts told you something was very wrong. You kept this new discovery to yourself of course, exposing it may open multiple Pandora’s boxes that couldn’t be closed. You didn’t know why you chased him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, the need to understand why a man like that would fake his own death. Or maybe, deep down, you knew that whatever he had been running from was still out there. The breakout came unexpectedly. Against the dim glow of your laptop casting shadows across your apartment walls. While cross-referencing transaction time stamps with recent disappearances, you noticed a pattern- each financial movement coincided with a known safehouse burning to the ground. It was subtle, almost untraceable, but not for you. When you saw it you knew. Christopher was surviving. Amongst all the locations you had scouted one hadn’t been touched yet. An old decommissioned safehouse outside the city; a place you remembered from your early years at the Bureau. Officially, it had been abandoned after an op went sideways and unofficially could be Chan’s hideout. If he was still alive.

You grabbed your gear- a discreet sidearm, burner phone, flashlight, and the flash drive with all the evidence. The drive that proved the Bureaus corruption against Chan and why he had to disappear. The drive that could get you both killed.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you navigated the overgrown path toward the building. It stood hidden between skeletal trees, its exterior worn by time, but the security measures were still intact. A rusted fence. Motion-triggered floodlights ones that shouldn’t work but flickered on as soon as you stepped closer. He was here you were so sure of it. Your breath came shallow as you approached the side entrance, pressing against the damp wall. The door had been reinforced new locks, fresh welding along the hinges. Not abandoned at all. He’s careful.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small USB device. It wasn’t the evidence neither was it just a tool; it was bait. Plugging it into the old security panel, you let it do its job—overloading the system for a brief five-second window. It was all the time you needed.

Click. The lock disengaged. Heart pounding, you stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and aged wood, but there were signs of recent use—a makeshift bed, scattered papers, a half-empty glass of water on the counter. A map was pinned to the wall, red markings circling names you recognized. People who had gone missing. People the Bureau wouldn’t miss. People Chan had eliminated. Then, movement.

A whisper of sound behind you. Before you could react, an arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just hard enough to warn, not to harm. A gun was at your temple, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine.

"Who sent you?" The voice was deep, familiar. You swallowed hard. "You did." A pause. His grip didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull the trigger either.

"You should have stayed away," he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Calculating. But underneath it all—a flicker of something else. Something human. "I couldn’t," you whispered. "Because you didn’t."

 A sharp exhale—barely a whisper—was the only warning you had before you were tackled to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as your wrists were wrenched behind your back, pinned in an unbreakable grip. The cold press of a gun barrel met the back of your skull, and the weight of a solid, muscular frame held you immobile against the dusty floor.

"One last time," a deep voice murmured above you, low and lethal. "Who sent you?"

You gritted your teeth, twisting slightly beneath him. "No one." A pause. The weight above you shifted slightly, but the gun didn’t move.

"Third times a charm, princess. Try again."

His voice was cold, but something about it struck you—not just familiarity, but certainty. You had found him.

"Bang Chan," you rasped. "I found you." That was the wrong thing to say. The grip on your wrists tightened, his knee pressing into your lower back with just enough force to make your ribs groan. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping. "Yeah?" he mused, almost mocking. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

You sucked in a breath, your pulse thrumming against the barrel of his gun. "Your offshore accounts," you admitted. "One of your old aliases popped up in my case files. I traced the transactions—saw the pattern. You're covering your tracks, but you missed one."

A slow exhale. He was processing. Then, suddenly, he yanked you up. Your legs scrambled for footing as he hauled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. He spun you around, and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His hair was longer now—jet black, damp at the ends, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. It fell into his sharp eyes, barely concealing the raw intensity burning behind them. The years had refined him, hardened him—his jawline sharper, his muscles defined beneath the tight black shirt clinging to his frame. He adjusted his grip on his gun, holding it lazily by his side but never out of reach.

But what struck you the most was the way he was looking at you. Like he was deciding whether to kill you or let you live. "Prove it," he ordered, his voice softer but no less dangerous. Your breath hitched. "I have proof of the Bureau’s corruption. On a flash drive. I brought it with me." His gaze flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then abruptly released you, shoving you back slightly. "Don’t follow me next time," he muttered before turning away.

Your heart still pounded as you watched him move, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he returned to whatever he had been doing before your arrival.

You took a step forward. "You're just going to pretend this didn’t happen?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

Your frustration flared. "So, what, you’re just gonna keep hiding in the shadows? Killing off whoever you think deserves it?" Chan finally looked at you again, his expression unreadable. "That’s what ghosts do." A beat of silence stretched between you before he turned away again. "You should go back to where you came from," he said, voice quieter this time.

But you didn’t move. Because now that you had found him, there was no way in hell you were letting him disappear again.

Chan had stripped off his tight black shirt, revealing the sharp, battle-worn lines of his torso—faint scars cutting across his chest and shoulders like remnants of a past he didn’t care to remember. He pulled a clean, loose shirt over his head before dropping into his chair, exhaling as he propped his combat-booted feet onto the wooden desk. A plastic bag of heated ramen sat beside him, the faint steam curling up as he ripped open the top. The scent of instant broth filled the air, and with a slow, almost lazy motion, he dug his chopsticks in, slurping up a mouthful without a care in the world.

But when he turned his head, there you were. Still standing. Arms crossed. Stubborn as ever.

His chewing slowed. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm not leaving without an explanation." Your voice was firm, unwavering. Chan let out an amused scoff, flicking his eyes away as he continued eating. "Not my problem."

"It is," you shot back. "You disappeared. You faked your own death. People thought you were murdered, Chan."

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even pause, still chewing. "And?"

"You don't get to just vanish without an answer," she pressed, stepping forward. "You were one of the best agents we had. Then one day, you’re gone? What was I supposed to think?" Chan finally lowered his chopsticks, resting them on the rim of the ramen cup. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, with a lazy, almost bored movement, he reached for the gun beside him. The soft click of the chamber sent a chill down your spine.

Without lifting his feet from the desk, he cocked the gun and aimed it directly at you. "You should go," he murmured, voice laced with quiet threat.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "You’re not going to shoot me." Chan tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes. And then—

BANG.

The sound shattered through the room. A sharp sting cut across her cheek as the bullet tore through the window behind her, the glass shattering into a thousand shards. A thin line of warmth traced down her skin—a graze. He had aimed for the perfect near miss. Your breath hitched, heart hammering as she stared at him in disbelief.

Chan twirled the gun in his fingers before leveling it back at you, still slouched in his chair.

"I don’t bluff, darling," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk.

The weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to make your next move. But you wernt going anywhere. And by the way Chan’s lips curled into a smirk, he knew too. The silence stretched between both of you, thick and suffocating only broken by the soft plink of glass shards hitting the floor behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t take a single step back. Instead, you exhaled sharply, leveling your gaze with his, voice steady. "Fine then," she said, brushing a thumb over the fresh graze on her cheek. "I guess I’ll just go back and tell Reynolds where you are. Let him know his little ghost isn’t as dead as everyone thinks—"

The reaction was immediate. Chan’s boots hit the floor with a solid thud as he swung his feet off the desk. His once lazy posture vanished as he stood, slow and deliberate, the air around him shifting into something darker. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no frustration—just a cold calculation in his eyes as he started toward her.

"You see, that’s where you make your first mistake." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, as he took another step forward. "You think Reynolds is the one pulling the strings."

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Chan smirked. "Your second mistake? Threatening me. You don’t have the leverage you think you do, sweetheart." Another step. He was close now, towering over her. She could see the sharp lines of his face, the way the dim light cast shadows beneath his jawline.

"And your third mistake?" He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down as he scoffed. "Letting me get this close."

She stiffened, but he didn’t move—just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was reading her next move before she even made it. Then, his voice dropped lower.

"How long have you been in the agency?"

She swallowed, keeping her stance firm. "Five years."

"Hm." He studied her, gaze lingering on hers a moment too long. "And in those five years, did you ever stop to wonder why you care so much about this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because you disappeared. Because none of this makes sense, and every time I get close to an answer, another door shuts in my face."

Chan hummed, considering her words. His gaze flickered between her eyes like he was searching for something.

"And?" he pressed, voice barely above a whisper now.

She exhaled. "And because you were one of us. One of the best. If they turned on you, who’s to say they won’t turn on me next?"

That made him pause. For the first time since she walked in, something flickered across his expression—something almost unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, the distant sound of the city outside the only thing between them.

Then, in a tone laced with something far heavier than before, he murmured, "They already have."

Chan’s gaze flickered back to her, something sharp settling behind his dark eyes. "What’s your name?"

You hesitated for only a second before responding. “Y/N.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he walked back toward his desk. Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to her. "Tell me something. Did you tell anyone about this little research project of yours?"

You straightened. "No."

He let out another humourless chuckle. "You should’ve left it alone. Left me alone. Whatever you found, whatever little breadcrumbs you were following, you should’ve buried them. I was doing just fine in the dark." Your jaw clenched. "I'd rather work under the right leaders than serve corruption."

He stopped, tilting his head slightly. He was about to respond when—

A voice. Muffled, hushed yells from outside. His entire posture snapped into something rigid, head whipping toward the sound before his gaze cut back to you, something deadly brewing beneath his calm exterior. "You cleared your tracks, didn’t you?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes told a different story, survival mode kicking in.

"I did," you shot back, but even as you said it, her stomach twisted. Had you been wrong? Had you been followed? Chan scoffed, already moving. "Of course you did."

Then, instinct kicked in. He grabbed a duffel bag from beneath the desk, moving swiftly, shoving in stacks of cash, fake passports, and a few flash drives you barely caught a glimpse of. He zipped the bag, yanking open a drawer and pulling out two guns, checking the clips before tucking them into his waistband. The voices outside grew closer. Chan turned to her, jaw tightening. "See what you’ve caused?" Before she could respond,

CRACK!

A bullet shattered through the window. Her body froze for half a second, but Chan was faster. He yanked you down, his grip firm as another round of shots rang out, tearing through the walls. "You just had to come looking for ghosts, didn’t you?" His breath was hot against her ear, voice low and edged with frustration.

You didn’t have time to argue. Not when the next shot nearly clipped the spot where she was just standing. The sound of heavy boots against concrete echoed through the abandoned building, growing closer with each passing second. Mixed in with the rapid orders were voices speaking in clipped Russian. Chan’s body went rigid.

"Чистите здание!" Sweep the building!

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched around the grip of his gun, the muscle in his temple ticking as he processed. Russians. He cursed under his breath. His gaze flicked to her. "Stay close, don’t do anything stupid." You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance.

With practiced ease, he slung the duffel over his shoulder, grabbed your wrist, and yanked your toward the back of the room where the garage was. Another voice cut through the air. "Если увидите его—убить сразу." If you see him—kill him immediately.

Chan’s grip on you tightened. "Move.”

The gunfire had stopped, for a while but Chan knew better than to think they were safe. The silence was worse—it meant they were moving, repositioning. The Russians didn’t shoot blindly; they cornered their targets like hunters. He pulled her through the darkened hallways of the safe house. The air was thick with dust, the only light coming from the flickering emergency bulbs that barely held power. His pace was quick, calculated, and she had no choice but to keep up.

They burst into the garage, Chan’s boots crunching against the concrete floor as he beelined for the nearest car. He didn’t care which one just one with gas and working tires. He threw the duffel bag into the backseat, yanked the driver’s door open, and turned to you.

“Get in.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. But he wasn’t in the mood for second-guessing.

“Now.”

There was something about the sharpness in his voice, the raw edge of urgency, that made you obey. You slid into the passenger seat, barely buckling up before the roar of the engine cut through the silence. Chan reversed so fast that the tires screeched, burning rubber as he whipped the car around and sped toward the exit. The second they burst onto the empty road, the garage door behind them rattled. A second too late—the Russians had reached the safe house, but they were already gone.

His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenching as he forced his breathing to steady. But Y/N wasn’t stupid you saw the shift in his composure. The rigid tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerous behind his eyes.

“Who were they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Since I became a ghost and not dead, someone put a bounty on my head.”

“A bounty?” She blinked, processing. “By who?” He hesitated, just for a beat. Then, his lips curled into something bitter. “A former Russian cartel.”

Silence.

“Wait? A Russian mafia?!”

Chan rolled his eyes, his grip flexing on the steering wheel. “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart.” You turned in your seat, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You mean to tell me you pissed off the Russians? The same ones who wipe out entire families without blinking? And you thought, what? That they’d just let you go?”

He shot her a look, unimpressed. “I did die, remember?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “They weren’t supposed to know I was still breathing.”

“But they do know,” she pressed. “No shit.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it.”

She stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. “What did you do to them?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but he wasn’t seeing it—his mind was elsewhere.

“Something they don’t forgive,” he murmured. And somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else.

The road stretched endlessly before them, a dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the night. The drive was silent. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the car’s frame and the distant wail of sirens in the city. Chan’s hands remained steady on the wheel, his foot pressing just enough on the gas to keep them moving fast but unnoticed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “So, are you willing to become a ghost, just like me?” His voice was low, unreadable.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “What?” Chan exhaled through his nose, still keeping his eyes ahead. “You found me. Which means others can, too.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, slow, deliberate. “Now that you know I’m alive, you’re at risk.”

You let the weight of his words sink in.

“If you want answers,” he continued, “there’s no going back. You either disappear, like I did, or you keep living with the lie that I’m dead.” Silence settled between them. The reality of the situation pressed against you, suffocating in its finality.

You didn’t know what to say.

All you wanted was the truth—why he disappeared, why his name kept surfacing in places it shouldn’t. But now, you were tangled in something far more dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “I just… I just want to know the truth behind everything.”

Chan scoffed under his breath. “Truth comes at a price.”

You turned back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were ready to pay it.

Chan's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the dashboard. His mind was running a mile a minute—running through every possible reason why they had found him so easily, why she had been so careless.

Or maybe… she hadn't been careless.

Maybe they were watching her before she even found him.

He pulled into the parking lot of an old roadside motel, one of those places where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie red glow over the cracked pavement. He killed the engine, but neither of you moved for a moment.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Here’s the deal, Y/N," he said, voice low. "You have two choices. You stay here tonight, in this room with me, and by morning, you’re gone. You forget you ever found me, forget what you saw, and go back to playing by the agency’s rules." He let the words settle before continuing.

"Or…" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "if you're actually ready for this life, if you’re ready to stop working under men like Reynolds and start chasing the real truth—you stay until morning."

A pause.

"But if you stay, there’s no going back."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a loaded. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you refused to show any hesitation. You had risked too much and come too far. He was giving you a way out, to turn back and pretend none of this ever happened. Btu you couldn’t do that.

“You think came al this way just to walk away now?” you finally said, arms crossed as you met his gaze head-on.

Amusement flickered in Chan’s eyes. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered.

“No,” you shot back. “I don’t.”

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

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[angellic4l]

la vita è bella - s.r

in which; sunshine!bau!reader and season2!spencer see a foreign film together after work.

content: fem!reader and season2!spencer, they’re so in loveee, fluffy fluff, mentions of drinking but no one actually does it, brief mention of spencer’s germaphobia, mention of the holocaust and ww2.

a/n: i wrote this all in one go bc my draft that i’m working on is so not ready, so i apologise if it’s bad. also, la vita é bella means life is beautiful, the Italian name of the film, which is why i called the fic that. WAIT I JUST READ IT AND I NEED TO SAY I DON’T THINK ELLE IS MEAN I LOVE ELLE! anyway, kisses!!

After a pretty rare, uneventful day at the BAU - just hours of paperwork, filing, reports, and a lot of team banter - the team of profilers begin to pack up. Coats are lifted from the backs of chairs, bags slung over shoulders, chairs put under desks, and a chorus of contented sighs coming from the agents.

The team, bar Hotch and Gideon, begin to make their way to the elevator together, walking in a huddle on their way out of work while making light conversation about their plans, considering everyone’s getting out early today.

“I say we all go the bar, a few drinks, maybe some darts, and lots of fine women,” Morgan suggests with a smirk, patting Spencer on the back when he says ‘fine women’.

Elle and JJ laugh, the thought of Spencer trying to talk to ‘fine women’, as Morgan called them, an amusing thought to the two of them.

Spencer, who’s walking in between you and Morgan, pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger, his face sporting one of his infamous looks you’ve come to know, his brows furrowed as he silently questions Elle and JJ’s laughter.

“Actually, I was going to go and see a foreign film downtown, if any of you want to come. It’s an Italian film, but I can whisper translate, called ‘Life is Beautiful’, which is kind of ironic because it’s about a Jewish man and his son becoming victims of the holocaust, but-“ Spencer’s cut off by a comment from Elle about him being ‘dorky’, his face loses the small smile he’d had while talking about the film, and his once gesturing hands fall to his sides.

You think your heart might’ve actually shattered at the sight, Spencer’s dejected look never becoming easier to see, no matter how many times you do see it. The other three agents agree to go to the bar together while you and Spencer remain silent, walking in step with each other.

“You coming, sunshine?” Morgan asks, looking past Spencer to gaze at your face, Elle and JJ turning their heads slightly to look at you stood behind them, all of you coming to a stop at the elevator doors.

“No, I think I just want to have a quiet night in. I hope you guys have fun, though,” you reject them, a small smile on your face because only you know what you’re actually going to do.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

All of you step out of the FBI building, JJ, Morgan, and Elle splitting off to head to the bar, Spencer walking through the parking lot and starting his journey to the metro station, while you wait for the other 3 to be gone.

It’s not because you’re embarrassed of Spencer, no, you wouldn’t have cared about offering in front of the others, but you knew he’d probably be teased for it, and that’s the last thing you want. He’s so sweet to everyone, unbelievably kind to you, but everyone teases him regardless. It hurts your heart every time he goes quiet after being told to ‘shut up’ or someone comments on his rambling.

Once you’re sure Morgan, JJ, nor Elle are in earshot, you hurry over to Spencer’s slender figure that’s slowly dissipating, emerging with the dark night sky, becoming nothing but a shadow as he gets further.

“Spence! Wait, come back!” You call out, quickly realising his long limbs are no match for you and he was getting further by the second.

Spencer stops almost immediately, spinning on his heels when he hears your voice. He could recognise it anywhere, your sweet, melodic voice engrained into his brain; it’s one of his favourite things about you, how each word you speak seems to be infused with honey, ringing out sweet and soft.

Although, even if your voice is sweet and soft, despite the fact that you’re shouting, adrenaline spikes in his body - Why are you shouting him? Are you hurt? Are you okay? - the questions plague his mind, increasing his heart rate faster than anything ever has before. That’s saying something, considering he sees dead bodies, crime scenes, and confronts serial killers almost weekly.

Spencer’s legs have carried himself over to you before he’d even processed it, his own mind had distracted him, thoughts had clouded his head, and he only realises he’s stood in front of you and that you’re okay when he hears your melodic voice again.

“Spence? Spencer? Are you okay?” You ask, brows furrowed ever so slightly and pink lips pouted to express your concern for the brunette boy.

You didn’t ask him to ‘snap out of it’, make a joke about him being stuck in his big brain, or say ‘are you even listening?’. No, you just asked if he was okay. Spencer smiles softly at that, another gentle reminder that you really are an angel personified, despite his agnostic beliefs, regardless of whether he prays to a God or not, you are angelic to him.

“Yeah, yes, I’m okay,” Spencer reassures you, the soft smile on his face still there as he looks down at you. His brain catches up after he stops being dazed by your seemingly divine presence, in his opinion.

“You called me over, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s okay. Could I come and see that movie with you? I know some Italian and you said you’d whisper translate.”

Standing in the middle of Quantico’s parking lot, the pair of you clad in thick coats due to the recent spike in cold weather, your head tilted back so that you can look up at Spencer and his tilted down so that he can see you. You watch Spencer’s face go from a small smile to a full blown grin, his teeth peaking out from behind his pink lips making your heart warm in your chest, winter weather aside.

“Yeah? You’re serious?” Spencer asks, you nod.

“I’ll drive us there, no need for the metro. I’ll take you home, too,” you say, dangling your keys on your ring finger. The pair of you begin to walk to your car as Spencer explains what the movie is about, not being cut off this time.

In the car on the way there, he starts to talk about WW2, rattling off all of the details he knows about it, mainly ones he thinks will be relevant for context to the film. Smiles rest on both of your faces as he does so, his hands moving frenetically as he talks. When you know what he’s talking about, you’ll wait for him to finish before talking yourself, but mostly, you just listen to him.

Spencer stays true to his word and whisper translates the film to you, his voice in your ear something you like much more than you probably should, close proximity between the two of you because of it. His head is tilted towards you, lips by your ear but not so close that all you hear is his breath, Spencer’s very mindful of that.

At some point, you both reach for the popcorn between you without looking, his hand coming to rest on top of yours in the bucket. Suddenly, you’re very thankful for the dark room hiding the pink tint of your cheeks, completely unaware that he’s thinking the same thing.

Retracting his hand from the bucket quickly, he whispers a small “sorry,” secretly hating the loss of contact with your smooth, silky skin, warm fingers, no longer under his.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, eyes never leaving the screen in front of you for fear of him seeing the blush that’s painted your cheeks. You reach into your bag and hand him a hand sanitiser, knowing how he is with germs.

Spencer can’t help but wonder if you carry this just for him as he takes the clear bottle from his hands, reading the label as best as he can in the dim theatre and learning the hand sanitiser smells like vanilla. So do you, he notes, and he decides he doesn’t mind his hands smelling like you, in fact, he actually quite likes it.

An hour into the film, despite your best efforts not to, you succumb to sleep, the sound of Spencer’s voice in your ear every few seconds, the dim room, and how warm you are all lulling you into the unconscious state you currently find yourself in. Well, Spencer finds you in that state when your head drops to his shoulder, looking down at you through his glasses, and realising you’d fallen asleep.

He blushes at the sight of your head on his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him and sending him to some extreme height at the same time, your hair splayed over his shoulder making him smile to himself. In this moment, he decides that, despite all of the horrors he sees daily, the trauma he was subjected to growing up, and everything else in between, life is beautiful.

[newobsessionweekly]

You will always be my Boot

Main masterlist | The rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x FBI!FormerRookie!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You are a former FBI agent and come back to your roots after many years. Little did you know Tim waited for you all these years.

A/N: This is my first Tim Bradford one ever and I know I need some improvement in this police area. I'm thinking about making a part two of this. Anyways, let me know what you think. Have a wonderful day, bubs! Lots of love.

Requested: Yes Words: 2.5k Requests for Tim Bradford are open! GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

The flight was exhausting and the shitty bed from that cheap motel was even worse. They'd think an FBI agent would afford a five star hotel and a warm meal, instead of that reheated noodles you had last night, but LA is expensive as shit. One thing you didn't miss about this city were those self-centred Hollywood "stars" and the exorbitant prices.

You watched the time over and over again, shaking your foot nervously. You are ready to go, but you just can't gather the courage to face those police officers again. The bathroom light is dim and you put the blame on that for your horrendous bun, not because you lost practice. You redo the bun one more time and watch yourself in the mirror. LAPD uniform hugs your curves so perfectly and the overloaded belt accentuates your waist. You allow yourself to wear a small smile today, for the sake of old times.

The tranquility of the morning was shattered by the unmistakable sound of gunshots ringing out in the distance. Instantly alert, with your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins, you grabbed your service weapon and badge, slipping them into your waistband as you hurried out the door and into the cool morning air.

As you made your way down the narrow staircase of the motel, the sounds of the gunshots grew louder, sending a chill down your spine. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you quickly assessed the situation—a group of armed men engaged in a shootout with one another only a few blocks away. Confusion made its way to your mind; why would some people from the same gang fire at each other?

As you analyse their tattoos, some have it on their neck, some on their wrist, it snapped. You recognise those tattoos from your FBI files that lay on your motel bed, two different markings, two different gangs. Dangerous ones, wanted ones.

Without a second thought, you sprang into action, ducking behind parked cars and storefronts, you closed in on the scene, your heart pounding in your chest as you prepared to confront them. There's no time to wait for backup. And who'd you call anyway?

With a burst of adrenaline, you emerged from cover and sprinted towards the gunmen, your weapon drawn and ready. The element of surprise worked in your favor as you caught them off guard, their attention momentarily diverted as they turned to face you.

"Drop your weapons! FBI!" you shouted, your voice ringing out clear and commanding above the chaos of the shootout.

For a moment, there was hesitation in their eyes, uncertainty flickering across their faces as they weighed their options. But then, with a defiant snarl, they raised their guns once more, their fingers tightening on the triggers.

Time seemed to slow as the standoff unfolded, each moment stretched to its breaking point as you and the felons locked eyes, the tension thick in the air. And then, with a burst of gunfire, the situation erupted into chaos once more.

Bullets flew past you in a deadly dance as you returned fire, each shot ringing out like a thunderclap in the stillness of the morning. You managed to hit two of them, one in the shoulder, that dropped the gun and grabbed their wound in shock and the other one in the thigh, forcing them to fall into the ground. You didn't had enough handcuffs to secure them all, so it was your priority to stop them from running away until the officers arrived.

It's crazy to see how four rival gang members united to get rid of you when seconds before were about to blow their heads off.

"I said, drop your weapons, now!" you demanded to the masked one still standing, gunshots finally stopping. You didn't see any response or will to do so and that made you place aim for their legs as well, forcing them to collapse. "Hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers."

Before handcuffing them, you pulled up your phone and searched for that one number.

"Sergeant Grey" the voice on the other side responded.

"Agent Y/L/N, FBI. I have in custody two of Crenshaw and two of Tongan. I need backup and R/A. Crenshaw bulevard with W 66th Street." you informed Sergeant Grey.

"Copy that."

Not long after you made the call, three cars and an ambulance pulled up to the address you gave. The look on the officers faces when they saw you holding one handcuffed suspect and three injured on the street, was as satisfying as catching those. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride wash over you.

"Y/L/N, FBI." you presented yourself to the officers, you showed your badge and shake their hands, each wearing a mortified expression after they heard your name. "After they're checked, let's get going. I'm late for my first day." you demanded and the six officers nodded as an understanding.

You could tell by the look on their faces, some of them are rookies. You can't forget those eyes, you had the exact same expression when you were a rookie and as Tim as your T.O. didn't help much.

"Agent Y/L/N." a serious tone came from just as a serious man. Sergeant Grey standing tall and imposing in the booking room as you walked the men to one of the benches and let another officer take care of him. As you approached the man, a big and friendly smile appeared on his face "It's so good to have you back."

"Good to be back, sir." you accepted his handshake with that small smile from the morning that you promised yourself you'd be wearing all day.

Your name was on everyone's lips as you walked through the station besides Grey.

It had been years since you last walked these familiar corridors, but as you made your way toward the meeting room, a sense of nostalgia washed over you.

"Is that Y/N?" one officer whispered to another, having the impression you didn't hear them.

"Yeah. Still hot. Heard she's working with FBI now." that remark made you turn your head in their direction, locking your eyes with one of them as he swallowed the lump in his throat and returning to his seat.

Inside, the meeting room was filled with the buzz of conversation as officers gathered for the morning briefing. All eyes turned to you as you entered, whispers and murmurs following in your wake. You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, their curiosity palpable in the air as they watched the former FBI agent return to their ranks.

"Good morning everyone. Sorry I'm late, had to take care of something so early this morning because someone doesn't sleep." he glanced at you and the murmur stopped when the eyes landed on you standing in the doorframe. "Take a sit." you nodded and sat down in the first row.

"Is that Y/N?" Lucy whispered to Nolan and Jackson. It was impossible to shake the feeling of being under a microscope, every move you made scrutinized by your colleagues.

"Hell, yeah, she is!" Jackson laid his eyes on you and gave you an appreciation smile.

As the sergeant launched into the details of the day's assignments and priorities, you found it difficult to concentrate, the weight of everyone's eyes on you making it hard to focus. But you pushed through, determined to prove yourself in your new role as a police officer.

"Today we made serious progress towards the gangs that won't let Los Angeles sleep in peace. Agent Y/L/N, first thing in the morning had in custody four men, almost as important as the gang leaders." your mind zoned out, you already knew that story. But what you didn't know and what's really eating you inside is that specific blond man.

In the corner of the room, Talia and Angela exchanged knowing glances, their whispers barely audible over the sergeant's voice.

"Can you believe she's back?" Angela muttered.

"I heard she was with the FBI," Talia replied, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Wonder what brought her back here."

"From an FBI agent to an officer? Seems like a joke to me..." Lopez paused as she looked at Tim for a moment. "Maybe something bad happened. Maybe she did something bad." the excitement of her voice was unquestionable.

Meanwhile, Tim Bradford watched from his seat at the front of the room, his expression unreadable as he observed the scene unfolding before him. Memories of your time together as rookie and training officer flashed through his mind, the bond you had shared still lingering despite the years apart.

"I heard she was the best rookie this station ever had. And it was his rookie, can you believe that!" Angela's mind was focused on one subject and one only. She is more than convinced that something has happened between you and Tim.

"Almost 100 on every exam and she was the only person this grumpy smiled to!" Talia added, making Tim shift uncomfortable in his seat, his eyes not letting the sight of you even for a second.

"That's not true. And I'm not grumpy, I do smile..." Tim responded to their feminine gossip, something he's not doing too often. He still thinks it's a waste of time this kind of conversation and one's personal life is no one's business, but maybe, maybe he wants to know more about you. "Sometimes"

He was wondering as well what could've possibly had happened to make you come back to LA, knowing very well how much you hated the city and how much you suffered the moment you stepped on that plane.

Tim's heart was below the sea's surface, buried inside the burning hell somewhere since the moment he caught a glimpse of your siluete walking around these hallways again. His hands were sweating and the lump in his throat could swallow him.

But you were nowhere far away from that feeling either. All the feelings from back then were coming alive faster than the light-speed and the memories of the time you were his rookie, the looks, the touches, the sweetness of his words alongside the glances from your colleagues made your eyes fill with bittersweet tears. You had to raise your head a little and blink as fast as you could to make those tears disappear and take a few deep breaths to calm down. You have to put this feelings aside. Now.

As the meeting drew to a close, Sergeant Gray turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment before moving on to the next item on the agenda.

"You're dismissed and be safe out there!" Gray closed the meeting and everyone rushed to start the day.

You waited for everyone to clear the room, mostly because you hate crowded places and people jostling around. You kept your head low, already full of everyone staring. When the room cleared just enough, you wanted to make your way to Sergeant Gray's office when a big, warm hand landed on your shoulder, freezing you on spot.

Some time ago, you knew by heart every single trace and curve of that hand, and now your mind doesn't disappoint you remembering it all with just a blink. His breath winding down your spine as minty as always.

You hated him. You hated yourself. Damn, you hate everyone and everything this moment.

"Y/N." his voice was as overwhelming as always and it made your feet weak. It made you weak and it hit you hard right into your bones. You didn't think twice and as you raised your chin up high and faked a confident expression, you turned to your heels to face him. Once and for all. "I can't believe you're back."

"Tim" you nodded, greeting him with a smile. This time a genuine one, wider and more powerful than the one you had forced yourself to wear all day. Not a forced one, but one that you found you couldn't hide. "It's been a while." you cleared your throat and searched his eyes.

They were staring right into your soul with the same spark and love you've missed so much. It seems like you've never changed, seems like everything is just the way it was. Like he was your TO, teaching you, teasing you, caring for you, having your back and you were his rookie, learning from him, turning into the best version of him, making him proud.

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension as you struggled to find the right words to say. The spark that had once ignited between you still burned bright, despite the years and distance that had separated you.

"How are you? How's Isabel?"

"Uh-Yeah..." he paused for a moment, the light in his eyes fading. "We separated a few months ago."

Tim wished this words would hurt more admitting them in front of you, would hurt just as much as he hurt you. But it didn't. That wound is almost healed, making room for another one to open.

"Oh, Tim. I'm so sorry" you were sincere, though not with all your heart. You knew it must've hurt like hell having in mind how much Tim loved his wife. But at some point he loved you too. Maybe not as much as her, maybe more, maybe less.

"But I'm fine, yeah. It's past now." he cracked a smile, resting his arm on the table as close to your thigh as you could feel its warmth. "What about you? Making an entrance for sure. Catching those guys from Crenshaw and Tongan, impressive. I taught you well." oh, he knows what he's doing and watching your shield breaking before his eyes, he's delighted.

"Oh, don't be so cocky—"

"Why are you here? Why now?" he asked. You rested your hand on your belt and raised an eyebrow as a response to his questions.

"You know I can't tell you." he sighed at your words, realising just now maybe the things are not how they were. You are not as open to him or talkative as before. You are not in love with him as you were before. But he's not done trying yet.

"Dinner tonight?" Tim was bold for sure and his question took you by surprise. You weighed the answer, but before you could say yes, he continued "I can't lose the chance again. I can't lose you again, Boot."

"Okay, yes!" you pushed your finger into his chest "Stop making those puppy eyes, you know I can't resist." he laughed and before you can walk away, he grabbed your waist and kissed your forehead gently. His lips lingering on your skin few more seconds, memorising your sweet scent, trying to remember it, like if he could ever forget.

"It's good to have you back, Boot!"

"Stop calling me 'Boot'!" you fought back, annoyed, but he enjoyed every moment. He missed you like hell and now all of this is hitting him hard in the face like a... boot. "I'm not your Boot" you persisted.

"Oh, you'll always be my Boot!"

[atlasjoyce]

THE VEST STAYS ON !!

[prettygirl-gabi]

Protective Custody

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: AU: FBI AU

Warnings: Trauma response, implied violence, stalking, protective custody, PTSD themes, emotional distress

Summary: entering witness protection, guarded by agent posing as wife.

A/N: please do enjoy….

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @iowahawkeyes22 , @kamspeaks , @tenaciousglitternerd , @jupitermoonbaby , @k1ttyluvcc , @evry1luvzzae , @liloandstitchstan

They say you never forget the smell of fear. But no one warns you about how loud it is.

The screaming. The sirens. The wet crunch of someone being tackled just a little too late. The way your own heartbeat can sound like gunfire in your ears when you’re crouched behind a dumpster, hands trembling so hard you nearly drop your phone trying to dial 911.

I never meant to be part of anything like this.

I was just trying to walk home.

Just a ten-minute shortcut through the alley I’ve taken a hundred times. Except this time… this time, someone else was waiting.

The details blur. Blood. A blade. A scream—mine, or someone else’s, I couldn’t tell. He said something to me, something I don’t remember except for the final words:

“You’re next.”

That’s when the officers found me, hunched behind the bins, barely breathing, mascara streaked like war paint down my face. Someone tossed a blanket over my shoulders. Someone else kept asking if I was hurt. All I could do was shake my head.

But the damage was already done.

That’s what brought me here.

The hum of fluorescent lights was the only thing steady in the interrogation room.

I sat hunched in the chair, legs bouncing, fingers trembling in my lap. My clothes still smelled faintly of smoke and whatever sterile detergent the police had shoved into the department’s spare sweats. My eyes were dry, but only because I’d run out of tears hours ago.

“Miss Y/L/N,” a deep male voice broke through the silence. “I’m Detective Rowe. I just need to ask a few questions about what you saw tonight.”

The moment the man stepped inside, something inside me snapped.

My breath caught. My chest tightened. The room blurred. And before I even realized it, I was screaming, kicking my chair back, stumbling into the wall behind me.

“No—no, no, please don’t—don’t let him near me! Get him away from me!”

Rowe froze, hands lifted. “Hey, hey—it’s okay. I’m not—”

“Get her someone else!” an officer called from the door. “She’s in trauma response.”

Within seconds, the door slammed open again.

And then… her.

The only woman in the building wearing a badge, with calm blue eyes that held steady like a shoreline.

“Agent Bueckers,” someone muttered, relief in their voice. “She’s the only one she’ll let in there right now.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Paige Bueckers stepped into the room, quiet and composed—but something in her expression shifted the second her eyes landed on mine. She crouched slowly beside me, hands empty, voice low and warm.

“I’m Paige,” she said gently. “I’m not here to scare you. I’m here to protect you.”

I clutched my wrist tightly, blood thundering in my ears. The fight or flight was still gripping every part of me—but somehow, she didn’t feel like a threat.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t lie.

She just looked at me with steady resolve and said:

“From this point on, you’re not alone anymore.”

The silence that followed her words was the first kind I could breathe through.

Not because the fear was gone. It wasn’t. It hung thick in the air around me, clinging to the fibers of my hoodie like soot. But Paige’s presence was different. Grounding. Like the weight on my chest had shifted just enough for air to creep in again.

“I’m going to sit,” she said calmly, gesturing to the other side of the table. “But if you want me to stay down here on the floor with you, I will.”

My throat felt raw, and my voice barely scraped out. “You can sit.”

She nodded once, deliberate and gentle, and moved to the chair across from me. For a long moment, neither of us said anything. She didn’t start pushing me for answers. She didn’t prod at my memory. She just waited.

And eventually… I spoke.

“He—he said I’m next.”

Paige’s jaw twitched just slightly. Her eyes never left mine.

“You’re not,” she said. “Because he’s not getting anywhere near you again.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to.

But even then, a small part of me wondered if that kind of promise could really be made. Especially by someone like her—badge or not. Still, she said it like she meant it.

Like she knew it.

After another beat, she stood again and offered me her hand. I hesitated, then slowly reached out and let her help me to my feet.

“There’s a room upstairs where it’s quieter,” she said. “No badges. No questions for now. Just… rest.”

They brought me to a room that didn’t feel like a police station. The overhead lights were warmer. The walls weren’t tiled or gray. There was a couch, a cot, and a small table with a water bottle waiting. I sat down numbly. Paige followed me in and leaned against the wall near the door.

“I’m guessing no one’s explained anything to you yet,” she said.

I shook my head.

“They’re still gathering evidence. The man you saw tonight—he’s not just a random criminal. He’s been on the FBI’s radar for months. Possibly years. He’s… smart. Slippery. And dangerous.”

I looked up at her. “But he knew my name.”

“That’s why you’re here,” she said. “You’ve become part of a larger case, Y/N. Whether you meant to or not. He chose you for a reason—and until we figure out why, we’re putting you under protective custody.”

I swallowed. “Witness protection?”

“Exactly.”

I curled in on myself a little. “What happens now?”

She hesitated for a second, then crossed her arms and finally told me the part that made my breath freeze all over again.

“We need to move you tonight. His last known patterns suggest he stalks before he kills. If he knows your name and where you live, he might already know your routine. That’s why…” She exhaled. “We’re assigning an agent to live with you. Someone to be with you at all times. Keep you safe.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “That sounds… smart.”

“And there’s more.”

I looked at her warily.

“Given how high-profile the case has become, we need this to be air-tight. You’ll be moved to a residential safehouse under an assumed identity. Publicly, it will look like you’ve relocated out of state… with your spouse.”

I blinked. “My… spouse?”

Paige nodded once.

“You and I,” she said, voice steady. “Are about to be wife and wife.”

I laughed. Or maybe it was more like a breath that stumbled out wrong. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” she said. “It’s the best cover. Married couples blend in better. Easier to explain two toothbrushes. Two plates. Someone being around constantly. No one suspects a couple. Especially not in the suburbs.”

“And you… volunteered?”

She looked away, just for a second. “I was the only female agent available. And… you trusted me in the room earlier. That matters.”

It did. I didn’t want it to, but it did.

“So what? We live together? Pretend we’re married and what—bake cookies and mow the lawn?”

“If we have to,” Paige said dryly. “But mostly, I’ll be guarding your life. You’ll be under 24/7 surveillance. I’ll take you to doctor’s appointments, the grocery store, everything. Until we catch this guy—or figure out what he wants from you.”

I rubbed my face, overwhelmed. “This is insane.”

She softened her tone. “I know.”

“And how long?”

“As long as it takes,” she said quietly.

I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time. Tall. Calm. Almost unreadable, but her eyes… they held something different.

Something careful.

“I don’t even know you,” I whispered.

“You will,” she said. “And whether this is fake or not… I will keep you safe.”

By midnight, I was in a different car with tinted windows and an FBI escort heading toward a “temporary home.” A beige house with a white fence and two sets of keys: one for me, one for Agent Bueckers.

She carried my issued duffel bag inside without a word, her jaw set. I noticed her fingers twitch once when they brushed mine handing me the house key.

Fake wife. Real trauma.

And I was about to find out which blurred faster—the lie or the truth.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[miedei]

mystery girl blurb bc i miss them!!

1k, new bf!spencer mirrors your physical touch (and learns some of his own)

It took months of barely-restrained small talk over your shared lab bench, a few more of stolen coffee breaks and lunches, but finally, you and Spencer Reid have something concrete. (Never mind that he was all but yours by the time you spoke to him for the fifth time.)

This is all new to him, having a person to confide in, to express his every emotion to. To be honest, it's rather intimidating. He's used to being reminded to reel it in, making sure that he's not coming on too strong with his often long-winded rambles. Despite that, he's come around to letting those walls down around you. It helps that you're always genuinely interested in what he has to say. Over the short time you've dated, he's quickly gotten comfortable with allowing himself to prattle on.

However, one thing about your newfound relationship that's still difficult for him to grasp is physical intimacy. Although Spencer adores physical touch, it's something he's never allowed himself to indulge in. At most, he will sit at his mother's side when she reads to him, but now that he's lived away from her for years, he's very unacquainted with the intricacies of that sort of affection.

At the beginning, he just held himself back from everything. He was never sure what was okay, and feared embarrassment if he stepped too far.

In spite of that, he quickly grows desperate for closeness, craving the rare moments when you initiate touch.

That's what leads him to this. Although he'd never admit it, he's been studying you (more than he already does). There's a little nook in his brain that's dedicated to you, and a small part of that consists of an extensive list. Every type of touch you've initiated, and his own observances when he does the same.

The first time was an accident, really. He'd been posted up on your couch, watching you putter around your living room in search of your wallet. He was supposed to be helping you look, but he found his eyes consistently drawn back to you, unable to look away.

"Aha! Found it."

You straighten up with a satisfied smile, striding over to where he's sitting. With you standing between his knees, he has to crane his head back to see your face.

"Ready to go? I think this restaurant's really..."

You must keep talking, he knows that, but he can't possibly register anything else. Not when your hands have drifted to the crown of his head, idly running through the sandy-brown locks of hair there.

He all but melts, pupils dilating as his eyes remain fixated on your face.

Later that same night, once you've returned from the date and you're both trying to find excuses for him to stay in your apartment for just a little longer, you're leaning softly towards him in the doorway.

"I had a great time tonight."

Your smile is so sweet, and your eyes so shiny, and he can't hold himself back from mirroring your earlier movements, his hand migrating up from your waist to your head. With slow, clumsy movements, he intertwines his fingers with your hair, moving slowly back and forth.

He's terrified of overstepping, but the low sigh that escapes your lips signals to him that yes, this is something he can see himself doing. Playing with hair is the first item to join the list.

He slowly ramps up in the following weeks. The list gets countless additions. Kisses on the cheek, hands cupping necks, quick hugs for no discernable reason.

Slowly but surely, he's learning to understand his own boundaries with touch, and gets comfortable enough to explore beyond what you've expressed.

Picking you up from university one day, he steels himself before going for it. As he walks up to you, he gingerly places his arm around your shoulders, his hand landing on your upper arm.

He braces himself for a response, a notification that he's being too much, but it never comes. Instead, you turn your head, flash him a smile, then lean into his chest.

His neck is covered in a blotchy red blush, sure, but he's happier than he's ever been.

[mrsnishimuraaa]

i’ll take good care of you

PAIRING : FBI agent!niki x CEO daughter!reader

SYNOPSIS: having an insanely rich and powerful father was always something different, you never know who can be after you or your family. So when you have your own agents hired and Nishimura Riki is assigned to look after you, trained to always keep his emotions in check but when he meets you everything changes, the professional detachment unravels as he falls for the girl he’s sworn to keep safe. torn between duty and desire even in the worst of times.

GENRE: strangers to lovers, fluff and angst, mentions of death

m.list

well i did do a poll for this but i ignoredthe poll and decided to write it anyways plus all the votes were yes! so here we are ☺️

“now off you go, don’t mess this up Nishimura” the head of agents says sternly as he pats niki’s shoulder gently. they had just finished a long briefing the objective coming out as: Protect the CEO’s daughter. keep her safe. at all costs. Simple enough, very do-able.

niki stepped out of the office building and made his way to the sidewalk. the area around was busy, but he caught the company transport, gave the driver the address, and relaxed as they drove through the nice neighborhood, passing big houses and well-kept gardens on the way to the destination.

when niki arrived at the place he was sent to, the first thing that hits him is the silence. The kind of quiet that comes with a fuck ton of money. as he steps up to the front doors, he’s greeted by an abnormally large door that’s framed by tall columns. lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and a series of different flowers. useless stone statues in spots around the well kept garden. ‘what kind of fucking person with this much money needs a special agent’ is the thought running through his mind, but he continues to walk up the concrete steps before knocking on the door.

the front door swings open and he’s met with a man in a suit “nishimura riki right?” the man asks , he can hear the money imprinted in his voice. “that’s me, you can call me niki if you’d like” he responds, reaching a hand out to shake the man’s hand. “come inside” the man wavers him in, stepping aside to invite him to the house.

as he steps in he’s met with marble floor, a big grand staircase and chandeliers as if they were normal room lighting. the openness of the house screams filthy wealth to him, expensive artwork on the walls and an unnecessary amount of vases. “take a seat, take a seat let me call my daughter down” niki nods as he lets himself fall back on the big white couch, admiring the inside of the house that is before him.

the man comes back with a girl, as she elegantly walks down then stairs before making her way over. “hey, i’m y/n it’s nice to meet you” her smile beams as niki stands up in a array of manners , reaching his hand to shake hers “ Riki Nishimura, but you can just call me niki” he faintly smiles and nods his head. “look i’m so sorry about this, my dad is just so paranoid” you laugh in attempt to lighten the mood a bit, sitting on the chair across from him. but niki knows how oblivious you are to the situation your in, your thinking your dad hired him for no reason. “ well it is my job at the end of the day right” he says , clasping his hands together.

after chatting for a while, and niki being shown to the room he will be staying in for probably quite some time, night had fallen and niki was left to soak in his own thoughts.

niki had forced his mind back to the mission what felt like millions of times , pushing aside the thoughts that kept drifting to y/n. everything about her was distracting, but he couldn’t afford to get caught up in it. this was only a job, nothing more. he had to remind himself that his focus had to stay sharp and collected, any personal feelings were a risk he just couldn’t take.

the first few days were definitely something , attempting to grow to know each other he figured the job may not be too difficult, the only instruction from her father being to keep her safe at all times, even if it means fleeing the country. you on the other hand never knew why being protected so well was so important, your father never explained it to you and only left you just plain curious as to why what he does is so serious that people want to hunt down him and his family

all of that aside you thought niki was generally attractive, though you know that’s something you can’t go against on your father, you’ll just have to keep it to yourself. although you do enjoy his company, despite how cold and collected he may seem. as you’ve never really spent much time with many people your age because of the so called ‘risk’ . it was oddly comforting to finally have someone to talk to other than your mother or father for once.

but at the same time he has this cold, almost unapproachable look, with a tough expression that doesn’t seem to change no matter what’s happening around him. it’s like he’s built a wall around himself, but sometimes in the quiet moments, you catch a glimpse of something different. softening in his eyes or a rare smile that feels out of place but somehow not. you know it’s there, buried beneath the tough play, that soft heart of his waiting to be seen if you’re patient enough to look beyond the coldness. and it really makes you wonder sometimes how long it’s gonna take for you to crack the cold surface of his heart.

you think maybe it’s because he’s here sincerely to do his job and that he could possibly get in trouble if he shows a warmer more bright side of him. either way your determination to figure it out grows

although most of the time your father was never home , and your mom always being in other countries on business trips, you found yourself spending a awful lot of time with niki, desperate to crack the coldness and authority in his heart against you, bringing up random topics to get to know him better was definitely helping a bit but never a lot.

but oh little did you know his feelings only ever growing fonder and fonder of you, having to push them right back down and attempt to separate his feelings from buisiness. he can’t let his guard down like this, he’s only here simply for work right?

never in a million years would his mind cross that you would feel the same way as him, suppressing your feelings thinking he would not be here for a long amount of time. or even the thought of how cold hearted he may seem, you hope maybe he will become much warmer to you one day.

but the day your father never comes home from work, it all changes.

your first instinct is to panic, the morning you realise your father has been missing for 2 days, your hysterical sobbing whilst pacing the kitchen awakens niki as he rushes downstairs, completely forgetting to put on a shirt but that’s the least of his concerns, grabbing the gun he was told to bring incase of an emergency, thinking you were being attacked.

he puts his back to the walls, gun drawn infront of him as he carefully yet quickly makes his way to where the sound of your crying is coming from.

gladly hes met with the sight of you laying over the kitchen counter sobbing at a piece of paper in front of you rather than being stabbed brutally by a hit man. “y/n what’s wrong, talk to me” he rushes over dropping the gun on the counter, his cold hearted play immediately washing away as he hears your cries, placing a hand on your shoulder, the other reaching out to pick up the letter infront of you.

“Dear miss Kang Y/N

We are incredibly sorry to inform you of the tragic assasination of your father Sir. Kang Jin-woo.”

that being the only sentence his eyes run over,the word ‘assasination’ ticks something off, completely ignoring the rest of the long letter. he engulfs you in a hug, rubbing your back as you sob into his bare chest. the moment is cut short by the ringtone of his phone “shit, one moment” he gives your back a last light rub before pulling back to answer the phone. “Hello? yes nishimura speaking, okay i’ll be gone in the next hour.” he hangs up the phone in urgency.

“get your stuff y/n we have to leave. now.” he hurries you, your sobs coming to a stop slowly as panic sets in “w-wait what’s going on” you sniffle as you follow him upstairs “i’ll explain later, transports gonna be here in half an hour hurry” he firmly says, but the urgency in his voice gives you the instinct to pack up and go.

he gathers his own items before dropping them downstairs , making his way up to you as he knocks on your door “come in” you chime as he makes his way in, “how close are you to being ready” he asks , leaning on your doorway as you push your last suitcase toward him “now, but can you please tell me what the fuck is going on?” you question as he takes your suitcases and bags , leading you downstairs “there’s a car out the front get in and i’ll explain to you there, we don’t have time we need to go”

you get into the car, saying hello to the random driver as you buckle yourself in, hearing the trunk close before niki jumps into the seat beside you.

“now y/n, don’t panic okay” he starts to trail off

“your dad was assassinated by the people that want to take over his company, this was the whole reason i was sent to take care of you in the first place, now they are coming after you as your the next person in line to take over as the next CEO. they are already on their way to find you, most likely more than half way as it’s not that difficult to track people down anymore.”

the seriousness in his voice concerns you the slightest “what the fuck?” your face shows utter shock.

“i know” he sighs “i’ve already booked us flights to japan” he leans back in the car seat , man spreading in search of comfort. “sorry what?” you blurt out “i don’t even speak the tiniest of japanese” you raise your concern. “i know, but i do” he raises a brow as you give him a look of confusion

“y/n im japanese,i was born there.” he laughs, as you nod and form a small ‘ohh’ understanding his idea a bit more. “we’re gonna stay in Okayama where i was born, trust me we will be safe there okay?” he says as he reaches for a bottle of water from the cup holder “niki i’ve known you for barley 3 weeks and you expect me to ‘run away’ with you?” you say quietly. “it’s my job y/n i am here to look after you. i can promise you i’m not some creepy freak that’s kidnapping you, it’s for your safety ” he adds a small joke to a serious matter, you seem to relax a bit at that.

arriving to the airport, he hands you a mask and gestures for you to put it on, you need to keep your identity hidden until your out of south korea.

the two of you make it through checkin and security with ease, and begin to roam to the international terminal. “sorry to bother but im lowkey hungry” you tap him on the shoulder. “that’s okay, there’s a cafe just there we can go get something?” he says pointing around the corner as you nod, leading you over to the cafe. you grab a drink and 2 hash browns to snack on, you reach into your pocket to grab your card but as you look up you see that niki had already payed for you. “niki.. you don’t have to pay for me” you shove him lightly and he only chuckles at you “its fine y/n ,let’s go to the gate” your heart warms at his sweet gestures.

maybe he wasn’t so cold after all? the geniune care and thought in his gestures make your doubt of him ever showing any feeling to you wash away.

though y/n needs to keep her feelings in check, no matter how strong they may be. the reality is, he’s just there to do his job, not someone she can let her heart run away with, or can she? but the feeling of finally seeing niki’s warm hearted side envelopes her in her thoughts. would she ever know he’s thinking the same?

boarding the plane as the attendant tells you to turn left, you look at him in confusion “oh yeah i booked us business class” he laughs as he ushers you forward. “ki” the nickname slips out of your mouth and goes straight to his heart, he feels like he could melt into a puddle right infront of you.

sitting down on the comfy seats next to each other , making small talk as the flight fills. doubt starts to set into you, and your mind runs a million miles per hour and niki can see it on your face. “what’s wrong?” he leans forward to take a better look at you in an attempt to read your expression better.

“ nothing , it’s just what if they find us in japan? y’know what if we’re not safe niki” you turn to face him, “y/n i can promise you we will be okay, im gonna do whatever it takes, i’ll take good care of you” he pushes the strands of your hair behind your ear as you smile at him.

you relax a bit more, after takeoff you find yourself in an attempt to ponder off to sleep, but you just can’t so you opt to just rest your eyes for a while knowing you may have a big day ahead of you.

on the other hand he can’t help but think about how he’s been holding onto his feelings for a while now, wanting to confess but unsure if it’s the right time. there’s a part of him that wonders if she sees him the same way or if it would just complicate everything between them, his doubt lingers making him hesitate, but the urge to be honest with her grows stronger with every conversation the two of you share.

until he finally gains courage speaks up “y/n” his settled voice slightly startles your tired self but you hum at him, gesturing him to continue on. “this might sound crazy but just listen to me please” he asks for reassurance and you nod

“y/n i’ve liked you since the day i layed eyes on you, every conversation we have, every time we laugh together i can’t help but love it. i know your in a crazy situation right now and i promise im never going to let anything bad ever happen to you. i’ll do whatever it takes to prove that i can keep you safe y/n, hell we can even stay in japan for the rest of our lives if you want too y/n im willing to try” the loving words that leave his mouth have you in shock for a second or so, and your heart races in your chest at the sudden confession

“niki..” you trail off, “but what about your job?” you question “ i would quit in a heartbeat for you, we can both start fresh, please give it a chance” his voice is so sincere.

you think for a moment, your dad got assassinated your mom has probably fled for good and people are after you big time, you realise how you may have little to nothing good left back in korea, and the opposed risks of going back truly frighten you and the opportunity of a fresh start with a lot less risk is something you can’t afford to not take up and the offer really sparks up your brain.

fuck it let’s do it.

“you know what” you breath, and niki’s face brightens a bit “ yes, only if you really want too niki ill start fresh and give you a chance” you look into his eyes for assurance and he can’t help but smile so brightly at you pulling you in for a quick kiss, he feels like your smile lightened up the whole entire plane. “ i’m gonna take good care of you y/n i promise” he says in a warm voice as his thumb caresses your cheek gently.

the two of you land in japan, and you immediately feel so much more free and relaxed as niki communicates to the airport staff for you as you can’t speak japanese, though you find that utterly attractive but anyways. collecting your luggage and making you way out of the airport before catching transport to his home town.

the feeling of this once in a life time opportunity is so beautiful to you, a fresh start in a new country. you prepare to meet niki’s family the next day as a surprise and can’t help but feel nervous alongside excitement to meet new people.

meeting his family went extremely well, they took a strong really liking to you and you bonded so well with his siblings. also slowly starting to pick up the basics of japanese as niki gives you occasional lessons when needed otherwise you both communicate in korean any other time.

two years pass and you can’t be any more thankful for the opportunity of a fresh start, you haven’t had any opposed threats so far and seem to be un reachable from the people after you back in korea. and the thing your most grateful for?

you and niki got engaged.

[averalia]

When Agencies Collied

|Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x Reader, Spencer Reid x Reader

| Summary: Your a NSA deep cover agent, and are furious after the FBI's BAU team inadvertently exposes your two-year operation.

| Warning/s: Strong language, Implied violence & discussions of trauma, Emotional distress, Confinement.

| A/N: OMG, can you feel the tension?! Your having a really, really bad day, but look super cool even when your totally ticked off! 🥺

The sterile white walls of the interrogation room seemed to press in on you, but it was the glare from the one-way mirror that truly rankled. Your hands were cuffed to the table, a stark reminder of how badly this had gone south. You were Agent [Y/N] [L/N], an undercover operative for the NSA, and your carefully constructed world had just imploded, courtesy of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit.

The door creaked open, and in walked the two agents who had been circling you like sharks since your arrest. Aaron Hotchner — stoic, sharp, and radiating an authority that usually commanded respect, but today just ignited your fury. Beside him, Spencer Reid — brilliant, observant, his eyes normally full of a gentle curiosity now held a cautious, almost accusatory glint.

"Agent [L/N]," Hotch began, his voice calm, clipped, and utterly infuriating. "We'd like to understand your involvement with the Weston group. We have evidence placing you at multiple locations where their operations were carried out."

You scoffed, a raw, bitter sound. "My involvement? You want to talk about my involvement? How about your involvement in blowing a two-year deep cover operation straight to hell?"

Reid’s brow furrowed. "We understand you're upset, but-"

"Upset?" You leaned forward, the cuffs digging into your wrists, but you barely noticed. "Upset doesn't even begin to cover it, Dr. Reid. I was this close," you held up your cuffed hands, gesturing with them, "to bringing down a major international arms trafficking ring. Two years. Two years of living, breathing, eating their lies. Two years of sleeping with a knife under my pillow, wondering if today was the day I'd get made. And you two, and your whole damn team, just waltz in and throw a grenade into all of it!"

Hotch’s expression remained impassive, but you could see a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or a dawning realization. "Agent [L/N], we followed standard protocol. Your profile matched several key indicators for association with this group. We had no information that you were-"

"No information?" You cut him off, your voice rising, fueled by pure, unadulterated rage and exhaustion. "That's convenient, isn't it? Because I'm pretty sure 'NSA Undercover' is a pretty crucial piece of information! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? I watched them execute a man in cold blood because he owed them money. I smuggled illegal weapons across three borders. I earned their trust, piece by agonizing piece. And for what? So you could come in like a wrecking ball, all guns blazing, and make me a target for every dirty mercenary on the planet?"

Reid shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to Hotch. "We genuinely had no prior intelligence, Agent [L/N]. Had we known you were an undercover operative, our approach would have been entirely different."

"Oh, I'm sure it would have been," you spat, sarcasm dripping from every word. "But you didn't know, did you? Because you didn't bother to check! Or your internal communication is so utterly fragmented that you're endangering agents in the field! Do you know how hard it is to build a new identity, to shed every piece of who you are, to become someone else so completely that even you start to forget the real you? I can't go back to that life now. They know my face, they know my voice, they know my name. Because you exposed me!"

Hotch finally spoke, his voice lower, more measured, but no less firm. "Agent [L/N], we understand the gravity of your situation. However, your arrest was based on solid behavioral analysis and forensic evidence. If your cover was that deep, why were there no safeguards? No emergency contact procedures, no fail-safes in place with local or federal agencies?"

"Safeguards?" You let out a disbelieving laugh. "My safeguard was not being found! My safeguard was blending in so perfectly that I was invisible! And as for 'fail-safes,' my chain of command doesn't exactly hand out gold stars for calling in every time some FBI agent wants to play cowboy! My job was to infiltrate, not to wave a flag saying 'I'm a spy, please don't arrest me!'"

You leaned back, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the anger was a roaring fire within you. "Do you have any idea how many lives are now at risk because of this? Not just mine. The people who helped me, the informants I cultivated. They're all vulnerable now. And for what? A few quick arrests that won't even scratch the surface of what I was about to uncover?"

You looked from Hotch's unyielding gaze to Reid's troubled one. "You think you're the only ones who care about justice? About catching the bad guys? I've been doing it for years, quietly, effectively. And now, thanks to your 'profiling,' I'm a ghost, a dead woman walking, and that entire network is going to scatter like roaches."

Hotch slowly pushed a folder across the table, his eyes still fixed on yours. "Agent [L/N], we've made calls. We've verified your identity. Your NSA handler is currently en route. This is a massive misunderstanding, and we will work to rectify it. But your cooperation is still vital."

You stared at the folder, then back at them, the raw fury slowly starting to mix with a bone-deep weariness. "Cooperation? You want my cooperation after you just handed my life over on a silver platter to a bunch of killers? You want me to help you clean up the mess you just made?" You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Fine. But know this: you didn't just blow my cover. You may have just signed my death warrant. And if anything happens to me, or to anyone connected to this operation, I will hold every single one of you personally responsible."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken apologies and the crushing weight of your accusation. Hotch and Reid exchanged a look, and for the first time, you saw something akin to genuine regret in their eyes. But it was too little, too late. Your world, as you knew it, was irrevocably shattered.

[writtenbyan-aries]

Warnings are for the WHOLE SERIES | SMUT18+, strong language, swearing, enemies to lovers, mentions of weapons, knives, guns, gunfire, KNIFE PLAY, blood, injuries, wounds, arguing, some physical fighting, mentions of drugs, smoking weed, mentions of car accident, fbi!reader, reader being restrained, kissing, biting, hair pulling, scratching, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (m rec), violence and filth

Word Count: 2.8k | unedited

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You kept thinking about the kiss.

Maybe overthinking it?

You kept thinking about how soft and gentle it was. How you expect it to be rough and dominating but instead, it was total opposite, which kind of throws you through a loop.

He’s a killer, but does he have a soft spot for me? Why would he do that, to prove a point maybe?

“Y/n.” Cody reaches over and lays his hand on yours, “You didn’t take some of your pain meds before you came did you?”

Oh right, we’re at dinner, “No. no. I didn’t sleep well last night and then I tried taking a nap earlier after we got back from the station and that..” you shake your head, “Sorry. I’ve been itching to get back to work and-“

“Well what do you want to know?” Cody leans back, “I’m pretty well caught up on it, so maybe I can help fill you in on what you think you don’t know.”

You smile, “Yes. Work talk would be great right n-“

Your attention is taken away from Cody, and placed onto Sam who is sitting at the bar.

“What is it?” Cody asks, slowly turning his head to look over. Sam turns around right as Cody looks at him, and with a saving grace, Ben and Nat walk in, giving you the perfect excuse, “Sorry. It’s my brother and Nat.”

“Ben and Nat? I was wondering when they were going to reconnect.”

“You knew?!” You look at Cody, laughing slightly, “Like for certain you knew?”

He shrugs, “I mean, you can read it off of them from a mile away.”

“That’s what I said! Well, something like that.” You laugh, glancing back over towards Sam. He raises his glass to you, giving you a wink before standing up to move somewhere else.

If he’s here, then that means one of the others is here, too.

And you’d be correct.

He meets Johnnie down at the other end, but you turn your attention back to Cody, “So.. work. Sorry.”

He shakes his head, giving you a smile, “You’re good, sweetheart. Ask away.”

“Have the families of the men who are a part of that plan to take down the hospital moved into P.C yet?”

You look at Cody as he shakes his head, almost looking disappointed, “No. Since the murders have been happening in the east side of town, they-“

“They’re waiting until one of them finally loses a husband. A father. A grandfather?” You roll your eyes, “Please. They have all the -“

“Y/n. I’ve been trying. Ever since you said something to me about it in the hospital. A lot of the men, who I have called myself, laughed and said let them come. They think they can take down these assholes themselves. No matter how much we push or try, it’s really on them.”

“That’s actually..” you stop, taking in a deep breath, “I’ll talk to the chief myself about that. I’ll go door to door myself if I have to.” You take a long sip from your glass, “Do you think there’s more to Ben getting shot?”

Cody takes a sip of his drink and tilts his head, “I’m going to need you to elaborate a little bit more. I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Do you think that there was just one shooter? Was this a part of the.. Killionaires?”

Cody is quiet for a moment before leaning in, “Y/n. If he was a target for those assholes..” He sighs, “I hate to say this, but I think you’d be a target, too.”

“Are you saying you think the accident was from them?” You take a sip of your wine and raise your brows as he doesn’t answer, “You do.”

“I didn’t say that.” Cody shakes his head, “What..” He sighs, “What I’m saying is, I don’t know what or who caused our accident, and if you think there’s something more about Ben shooting then take it up with the chief.”

You swallow, clenching your jaw, “Okay. Maybe work talk was a bad topic of-“

“No, no. I just.. I care about you a lot, and even thinking that you could be a potential target.. it just pisses me off. I didn’t mean-“

“Fancy seeing you two here.” Ben says as he walks up.

You smirk, “Yeah, I could say the same thing about you.” You glance to Nat, “Could have told me.”

She laughs slightly, “Yeah, yeah. I just.. wasn’t sure where we stood after.. everything, you know?”

You nod, “I understand.”

“Would you like to join us?” Cody offers and luckily, they decline, making their way over to their own table.

Cody looks from them to you, “Cute couple, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Totally.” You smile and down your wine, “Where’s the waiter? I need-“

“More wine?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at your eyes meet Colby’s, “Uh. Yes, yes please.” You remind yourself over and over again to stay calm, cool, and most importantly, collected.

“And for you sir?” Colby looks at Cody and Cody shakes his head, “Whiskey, please.”

“Coming right up.” Colby turns, giving you a wink before going to fetch your drinks. You take a deep breath, “Didn’t we have a different waiter before?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Cody laughs, “You look really pretty tonight.”

“Thank you.” You smile, looking down, “You clean up really well, yourself.”

You couldn’t lie, you felt weird being here with Cody after you run in with Jake this afternoon. You swore you could still feel his lips on yours, which only made you sink deeper into the hole of betrayal.

“I’m going to run to the restroom quick, if he comes back to take our order when I’m not here just get me what you get.” You give him a smile and turn, your smile disappearing as you walk away.

You walk around the bar, stopping when you see Sam sitting at the end. He looks over at you and you tilt your head, mouthing, “What are you doing here?”

He chuckles, mouthing back, “Keeping an eye on you.” He raises his finger off the glass, pointing at you and you roll your eyes, pushing the bathroom door open.

You walk in, hands gripping the counter as you feel like you’re about to pass out, “Shit. Okay.”

“You alright there, honey?” An older woman asks as she walks up next to you, “You look a little pale, and you’re sweating.”

“I think I drank too much.” You laugh slightly, “Wine doesn’t agree with me sometimes. I don’t know why I drink it.” You reach out to take the paper towel she ripped off for you, “Thank you.”

“I had that same problem, but with tequila. Oh boy was that rough.” She laughs, “Water will help, and a cool towel, and if you need to puke, don’t fight it.”

You nod, “Thank you.”

She washes her hands and exits the room, leaving you alone to calm down.

You make your way back out, bumping into someone as you round the corner, “Oh, sorry.” You look up, seeing Colby as he turns with the tray of glasses, “Not a problem, sweetheart.”

He smirks at you, “After you.”

“Mhm.” You huff as you walk around him, smiling at Cody as he comes into view, “There was a lady in there who told me her life story about how tequila is a no go for her.”

“People are so comfortable nowadays.” He laughs, motioning to Colby, who he doesn’t know is Colby, “Ah, yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. Are we ready to order?”

You and Cody order, spending the rest of the night, not talking about work, mainly so you don’t spew all over the table.

It was a good evening. You became slightly tipsy and giggly, but you could still hold your tongue and not say anything too specific.

Once you arrive home, you hoped Cody would just drop you off and leave, but the alcohol in your system had other plans as soon as he kissed you goodnight.

He walks you back through your door, lips still on yours as he kicks it closed. His hands hold you close to him as he guides you over to the couch.

He sits down and you instantly straddle him, grinding down as his lips trail down your neck. You let out a small moan as his teeth sink into your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin between them.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispers against your chest, “You have no idea.” His hands slide up to pull the straps of your dress off your shoulders, kissing the skin that was hidden beneath them, “You are so beautiful.”

You close your eyes, whimpering out as he moves your hips, grinding his bulge up against you.

As you open your eyes, Jake’s figure appears from within the hall and you gasp, scrambling to stand up as you push yourself away from Cody, “Um. I’m sorry. I’m not..”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. We don’t-“

“No, I just.. I don’t think doing this while I-“ you take a deep breath, “I can’t have this and focus on the current case.”

“It’s fine. Okay? I get it.” Cody stands up, “You don’t ever have to explain yourself, okay? I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you.” You sigh, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drank with the pain meds probably still in my system anyway.”

“I should have thought about that, I’m sorry.” Cody kisses your head, “Get some rest. Text me in the morning, okay?”

You nod, “Okay. Thank you.”

You walk him over to the door and give him a smile as he turns around to wave. You lift your fingers off the door, making sure he gets to his car before you close the door.

“Well that was quite a show.” Jake breaks the silence, “You didn’t have to stop on my account.”

“I didn’t find anything else out. If that’s what you’re here for.” You press your back against the door, “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, love?” Jake walks up, copying your position, “You tried, right?”

You nod, “He thinks that if Ben was a target for you guys, I would be one too.. and-“

Jake clicks his tongue, “So, you think I shot Ben?”

You shake your head, “Didn’t say that, but I would like to know who did.”

“The guy in prison, was the one who shot your brother, but the person behind it.. he’s..” Jake stops talking and you turn, pushing his shoulders into the door, “Just fucking tell me, Jake.”

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Jake smirks and you push his shoulders harder, “I swear to god. I gave you what you wanted. You have the names. What more do you want?”

“I need you to stop them from placing them into protective custody.” Jake says calmly, “Your work is far from done, babe.“

“They’re not going.” You mumble as you step back, “According to Cody, a lot of them just laughed and hung up, said something about let them come or whatever.”

Jake laughs, “Oh that’s hilarious. They really think they can take us on?” He shakes his head, “That’s.. I needed a laugh. Oh fuck, is that funny or what.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“Make sure it stays that way, will ya?” Jake walks around you and without even thinking, you grab his arm, pulling him to you, “What more do you want from me?”

“I think you’re asking that for yourself.” Jake whispers, “What are you doing?” His eyes follow as your hand slides up his chest, “Y/n.”

“Do you want this to happen or not?” You look up at him and Jake takes a deep breath, “I would love for this to happen, but you’ve been drinking, and I do have respect for you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are, baby.” Jake steps back, cupping your cheeks with his hands, “You’ll hate yourself even more in the morning if we go through with this. I’m saying no because you don’t need a distraction right now. You need to sleep.”

You stay silent, pushing yourself away from him before walking back to your room and slamming the door.

You sit on the bed, staring at the floor as your mind races, asking yourself what the hell you’re doing.

Your bedroom door opens and Jake steps in, “Ben is home.”

“You better go. I don’t know how I’d explain you being here after he saw me at dinner with Cody.” You stand up, reaching behind you to unzip your dress.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you can’t grasp the small zipper.

“Here.” Jake whispers as he reaches to spin you around, “I got you.”

He drags the zipper down your back, his head tilting as your bare back is exposed to him. He licks his lips, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “We’ll have our moment, just not like this.”

He steps back, freezing as footsteps and shuffling fill the hall. You can hear him and Nat laughing as they file into the room Ben is staying in.

“Gonna be a long night, yeah?” Jake laughs slightly and you scoff, “uh huh.”

Jake reaches back, locking the door, “I can stay for a while?”

“Do you not trust me?” You walk over to your dresser, pulling out a shirt and a pair of shorts. Jake watches as you drop the dress, revealing your figure to him and he clears his throat quietly, “We’ve been over this, y/n.”

You change into your clothes, “So your minions, following me to dinner was what, to get ahead of me?”

Jake nods, “Pretty much. But I also want you safe.”

“No, you need me safe. You’re scared I’m going to turn on you.”

“Are you scared I’m going to turn on you?”

You stay silent asJake walks over to you, “You may not have done the killing, but there’s blood on your hands, too, sweetheart,”

Your brain was clouded, you couldn’t sort through anything, no thoughts were clear, “Fuck. Fuck.” You lay your hands over your face but Jake pulls them away, “Listen to me. As long as you do as I ask, you’re safe. Why do you think I flipped out on Johnnie for hitting your side of the car?”

“Why did you even let someone who doesn’t know how to drive, drive in the first goddamn place?” You throw your hands up and let them slap your thighs.

“Quiet down.” Jake whispers, fingers brushing your jaw, “and calm down.”

“D-“

“Calm. Down.”

You take a deep breath, the sound of laughter and the bed hitting the wall sounds and you can’t help but laugh, “Oh my god. I can’t.. I can’t believe this is my life.”

Tears form in your eyes, but you continue to laugh, “Oh my god.”

“Are you good?” Jake asks and you look at him, “Oh yeah. I’m great. I might be losing it, but I’m gre-“

Jake cuts you off with a kiss to your lips, which he allows you to deep. His hands squeeze your face as he pulls back, “No, I told myself-“

“I don’t care what you told yourself.” You breathe out, “Just don’t think about it.” You pull him back in for a kiss and walk him backwards, pushing him down onto the bed before you crawl up to straddle him.

“Not like I can tell anyone about this anyway.” You smirk down at him and his hands move up to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as you grind down on him.

“I probably would have lost it if i seen him fucking you.”

“I could tell by the look on your face, Jake.” You lean down, lips connecting to his.

He rolls over, his hips between your knees as his lips find your neck, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” You groan quietly at his words, “Why?”

“Like you said, baby.” He lifts his head, tilting it as he flicks his brows up, “Might fall in love.”

You smirk, “That such a bad thing?”

He nods with a quiet laugh, “I mean, yes and no.”

“Do you not want to?” You sit up onto your elbows, “I’m giving you full opportunity here.”

Jake sits up, “I know. I know.”

You sigh, “It’s fine. You can go now.” You move up the bed, getting under the blankets, “I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m going to be gone a few days. I have names that need crossed off.” Jake says as he stands up and you nod, keeping your stare away from him.

“Y/n.” He asks lowly, “Are you o-“

“I’m fine.” You cut him off, pulling the blankets up to your chin, “Just fucking fine.”

Jake nods and lets out a quiet sigh, “I’ll catch up with you in a few days.”

You stay still until you know he’s gone. A part of you is so sad that he left, but the other part or you can only wonder one thing.

Who the hell am I becoming?

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

I know this is short, but I honestly felt like this is a good set up for part 4 👀 let me know what you think. I love you so much. Thank you for reading! I’ll see you in the next one!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[angellicxx]

Steady - Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x Rookie FBI Reader

summary: As a new FBI agent, you’re paired with Dex for your first mission manning a sniper’s nest. Your aversion for each other has you both struggling with staying on objective and following the rules.

warnings: Gun, unprotected sex, smut, semi-public sex, bruises, scratching, strong pull out game

a/n: first smut let's goooo

w.c: 3,400

You were new to the unit.

A fresh graduate from Quantico, you proudly wore your badge of Special Agent for the FBI with a smile. The other agents had been welcoming and kind; throwing out tips about the rugged New York streets, helping with the overwhelming paperwork— and even assigning a more experienced agent to show the ropes and keep a watchful eye on you.

Agent Benjamin Poindexter.

Even the name gave you chills.

When his dark eyes glared at you for the first time, greeting you with a raspy voice and that smug smirk, you knew it was going to be rough.

Unlike the other agents, Dex wasn’t that enthusiastic on helping a rookie.

Cocky and independent, you could tell he hated you.

It ruined his order of things.

He would always send you down to fetch his coffee or do some other chore he couldn’t be bothered with, anything to get you away from him. Yet whenever you weren’t next to him, obediently waiting and ready for the next task, you could feel his piercing gaze from a far, just in time to see him quickly look away when your eye caught his.

You could really feel his stare when he was assigned to man the sniper position with you.

One of your first ever real missions; keeping watch during a high profile event where some underground crime network might attend, of course you were thrilled— until you found out you were going to be stuck with Dex all night.

The job was easy, if things went south while the other agents were in the building, the sniper would take out the problem from an isolated distance.

The kind superior he was, Dex of course gave you the honor of being the sniper—which was really just lookout and a punishment for ruining his night. The bright streets of Midtown were alive with distant sirens and pedestrian chatter echoing off the buildings. Too bad you had to enjoy it on a cold rooftop lying stomach down on the ground next to the one guy who hated you the most.

Six feet of Dex was towering next to you, completely engulfed in his work and eyes rarely leaving the building through his telescope. Your bones had began to ache— your hips had been digging into the floor for the past hour and your arms were tired from gripping the rifle, which was positioned on a tripod at the edge of the roof. You were becoming dizzy from the height, multiple stories and the cold concrete being the only thing separating you from falling whenever the wind shifted.

It was late, but you didn’t know how long this event was going to last and if things were going to even get exciting. As far as you knew, you would be stuck like this next to Dex until dawn.

After a while of staring at the windows and entrance, you began scanning the New York skyline, trying to name as many familiar buildings as possible.

Just when you were adjusting the sights to see the Brooklyn Bridge, a rasped voice pierced the silence.

“Do you even know how to handle that thing?”

You pulled back, looking up to see Dex had lowered his telescope and was now watching you.

“If you didn’t know if I could handle it, why give me the gun?”

He only shook his head. “Stop messing with it, its not a toy from your training.”

“I’m not.”

Your objection was no use. You could see that smug look in his eye through the dark, peering down at you like an ant near his boot.

“Then take a practice shot, rookie.”

A nervous feeling formed in your gut at the future criticism that was bound to happen.

“We’re not authorized to fire unless its for approved force.”

Dex was almost surprised at your defiance. “I’m your superior, you can do what I say or leave. There’s not going to be any action anyways.” He sighed, putting the telescope back in the sniper case, crossing his arms over his chest with a patronizing smirk. “Now c’mon, lets see if you’re really the hot shot you think you are.”

You swallowed your pride for a moment, looking back into the scope and gripping the gun steady. You brought the sights back to the area, scanning the nearby rooftops for a target to hit.

There was a low groan of annoyance when Dex landed on his knees next to you. He took one close look at your form and position and scoffed.

“Lower.”

You rolled your eyes, shuffling your hip against the hard floor. “I can see.”

“No-” A rough hand pushed your shoulders, knocking your chest to the ground and nearly your jaw. “Here.”

You gritted your teeth to stifle the whimper at the hit to your ribs. “I got it.” You managed to hiss, nudging your shoulder to get his hand off of you.

“No, you don’t.”

Before you could fit another snide remark in, arms wrapped you— caging you to the ground and gun.

His broad forearms were on the concrete floor on both sides of you, biceps flexed and brushing against your numbing arms. Dex’s chest was hovering just above your flexed back, shifting his weight to draw closer to the scope.

His head loomed over your shoulder for his eye to reach down the sight, so close you could feel his breath on your cheek— hot and raspy. His knees were anchored to the ground next to you, the holsters and buckles of his belt dug into the side of your leg, your hip brushing his waist.

He felt close.

Way too close.

You were now pushed nearly face forward into the ground, your superior almost completely on top of you and so close you couldn’t tell if it was his heartbeat you were hearing or just the blood thundering in your ears.

You had no choice but to try and slow down your breathing and not make a noise every time you felt him touch you. You kept your eye through the lens, not even realizing his hands were reaching for yours until you felt them wrapped over the sides of the weapon.

Dex moved the gun around on the ground, just enough to find the new target as you laid there in a daze.

“Right there,” he whispered. “You see that billboard?”

You could only manage a small nod as you felt your breath catch in your throat. The large billboard was on the building parallel from you across the street, featuring a model posing in the newest collection of a fashion designer; big blue eyes peering at you through the dark night, sparsely illuminated by the bright lights on the street level.

“I want you to hit the eye, got it? Right in the middle.”

His hand brushed against yours as he reached the scope, adjusting the ring until it was in perfect focus for the distance and looking right into the model’s pupil. Rough skin cradled your own as he gently moved your loosened grip around until he decided it was right.

“Deep breath,” His right hand disappeared from your own as it reached back, gently resting on your back below the end of your vest.

The vision in the scope seemed to blur and fade away for a moment as he brushed it lower, sending a shiver straight through your body from the contact. You obeyed, stirring the night air into your nervous lungs as his hand pressed deeper into you the more you inhaled.

“Just like that.”

He assured, yet it sounded more like a growl than a whisper.

His index finger lightly applied pressure over your own, pressing on the trigger. You breathed in tandem with him, your back brushing against his tense chest as the heat between your bodies overwhelmed you more than the cold air ever did.

He let out a deep exhale against you, pushing your finger down as your body jolted against his, a shot ringing out into the night and piercing the eye perfectly in the middle.

You could finally breathe again when the sound of the shell clattered to the ground and snapped you from the trance, a sheepish smile formed on your face as you admired the perfect hit.

You pulled your eye from the scope and looked over your shoulder to suddenly become face to face with Dex.

His jaw clenched, a flicker of something raw flashing behind his eyes. The grip on your hand tightened, just slightly, like he was holding onto restraint by a thread.

A soft gaze— his dark eyes glinting with the reflections of city lights. It was out of character seeing Dex look at you like that.

He must’ve realized he was staring at your lips— his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, “Good.”

The praise lingered in your ear, whistling in the wind and reverberating in your mind.

His lips hovered inches from yours. You could feel his breath ghosting against your skin, every inhale shared in that narrow space. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find a reason not to do it, trying to remember what lines he wasn’t supposed to cross.

But then his hand slid further down your back—deliberate, grounding, possessive.

He hated that he was stuck with you.

He hated that he was always partnered with you. He hated that he couldn’t get your body out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He hated every single second he was near you. And he hated that he couldn’t stop himself.

Your lips brushed.

A mistake.

You gasped softly, and that was all it took—Dex’s mouth crashed into yours like he’d been starving for it, rough and hungry and angry at himself for wanting it this badly.

His hand gripped the side of your neck, tilting your jaw up and holding you like he was afraid you’d pull away, the other still pressed firmly into your back, anchoring you in place— slowly skimming lower down the curve of your spine and over your hip.

Your breath hitched and his smirk pressed into your lips.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your teeth grazed his lip— you weren’t sure if it was punishment or need—but it made him moan against you, breath hitching as he pushed you further into the rooftop floor.

A hand hooked under you, flipping you to your back and pulling you by your hips away from the edge and the gun as you struggled to regain your lost breath. Dex loomed on top of you, straddling your body with his knees on each side of your legs.

His belt clinked as he shifted above you, his weight pressing into you harshly. One hand slid up your shirt—calloused fingertips exploring every line and curve like he had to memorize, methodical and precise , just like how he handled the gun.

You moaned into his reconnecting kiss, your hands clutching into his hair.

Your conscious returned for a moment and you managed to breath out a plead.

“Dex—the mission-”

“Fuck the mission.”

He practically ripped your vest off from the sides in one brute stroke, tossing it the dusted concrete next to you.

He leaned back just enough to rip the rest of your shirt over your head, his eyes dragging over your body like you were something he couldn’t believe he’d kept his hands off this long. There was something frantic in the way he moved now—like weeks of tension had finally cracked open all at once.

His eyes stayed on you as he shrugged off his vest, tossing it next to yours and pulling his shirt off in one brisk motion. The warmth of his chest hit yours, your fingers digging down his neck to his back, pulling him against you.

A deep groan escaped him as he dropped his head to your neck, gently biting your sensitive skin as his arms hooked under your back, lifting you from the cold concrete to unclasp your bra.

A trail of heat led from your collarbones to your breasts as Dex kissed your exposed skin, fingers caressing over your peaking nipples and gripping your ribs as he trailed down your torso.

You were breathless and flushed, looking down to see Dex’s arms flexing as he manhandled you to lift your hips, tearing off your pants as you kicked off your boots in desperation.

The cold night air brushed at your bare legs, but it was nothing compared to the burn his mouth left as he trailed kisses along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

Your back arched off the concrete as his hands dragged down your thighs, rough palms searing into your skin with every possessive touch as he reunited his lips to yours.

This wasn’t the same Dex from a moment ago, complete control and smooth precision—this was chaos breaking through, hungry and shaking as he grappled your body with a wet mouth and trembling hands.

You whimpered as his belt dug into the thin fabric of your panties, sending a sensitive throb in between your legs.

“Dex-” You breathed out as his hands gripped your thighs. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Shut up.” He growled, spreading them wider as he pressed his hips against yours. “They’ll call if they need us. Right now, I need this.”

He looked down at you from half lidded eyes as his fingers hooked under your waistband, dragging them down as your bare legs moved to cling to his hips.

Dex grunted as he leaned back on his knees, towering over your vulnerable form as his fingers undid his belt— never breaking eye contact as he freed his straining cock, stroking the pre-cum over bulging veins.

In one swift, harsh motion he pinned your hip in place and thrusted inside of you, stealing the air from your lungs as you managed a breathless whimper, fingers digging into his tense shoulders to stabilize the blinding pressure that pierced your body. Dex began a rhythmic pace, digging deeper into you with each movement, grinding you into the ground as the silent rooftop filled with the raw noise of your bodies slamming together.

“Oh, fuck—” Your hand reached for his stomach, nails trailing down firm abs to his v-line as you clutched at his skin, palm pressing into his tense muscle.

His outstretched arm holding him up from the ground next to you buckled for a second, breath catching in his throat as he hovered closer over you.

Dex brought his mouth to yours, your moans mixing together with a sloppy kiss.

You were ruining each other, abandoning all sense of the mission to fuck each other senseless, the rooftop dissipating as his body slammed against yours. Your muscles strained to keep up with his movements, hips bucking and back arching.

His mouth bit into your neck, sucking at your pulse and hand pushing into your hip so hard you knew it would be a black bruise by morning. He was fast, desperately driving deeper to reach both your climax’s before you were caught. The anticipation was driving you mindless, resisting the impulse to let your eyes fall back by keeping them locked on Dex.

Your moans were erratic, high pitched and needy as tension in your body became overwhelming against the friction. You whimpered incoherently as your fingers clung into his shoulder, a plead to continue. He grunted as your nails dug into his skin, obeying with a sharper thrust.

You cried out as the orgasm shook through you, your hold on Dex being the only thing keeping you grounded. He groaned with his last thrusts, trembling as your pulse around his dick sending him over the edge.

Dex tore himself away, spilling hot cum over your belly and dripping down your thighs as you both struggled to catch your breath in the cold night air. Hot pants rippled through the quiet, your chests heaving as you gasped for air. Dex collapsed back onto his knees, muscles twitching and abs trembling with rapid breaths and covered with red welts left from your nails.

Your eyes locked in the dark, staring at each other in awe as you resisted regret. You swallowed, remnants of his spit trickling down your throat as his hand flinched close to your skin.

“Poindexter.”

The static of the comms tore through the silence. “We’ve got movement.”

Dex didn’t move, breath rasping as he looked down at you.

“Dex, do you copy?”

The sudden wave of shame and cold air rippled over you as Dex pulled away, harsh reality pulling you from your lust induced trance.

He switched into sniper mode in an instant, like a trained command and subconscious pull of routine. All distractions of the mission fell away.

He would curse himself for abandoning procedure, for falling through and giving in— to you.

As you breathlessly stared at the dark sky, Dex was already at the edge of the roof, pants zipped and in position, one knee down cradling the gun in his arms— eye trained down at the street.

“Suspect exiting through west side.”

He was back in his domain, grip steady— the same tight force around the gun like he’d used on you.

But metal doesn’t bruise.

He gripped it harder, forcing it down as he breathed out. A sharp roar of the gun rippled in the night. Dex jolted with the weapon, the end jabbing into his tight uncovered shoulder, red marks decorating the skin.

A yelp pierced the air from below, a man screaming echoing across the street as sirens lit up.

After a few seconds the comms crackled back on. “Nice shot, Dex. We got him.”

He lingered with the rifle, his bare back glistened with sweat in the faint light, flexed muscle trailing from his shoulders to his biceps as he moved with rapid breaths.

A finger trembled over the trigger— like it was taking everything in him to resist the urge to plunge the next shot through the bastard’s skull for so selfishly interrupting your moment.

He had to follow orders. Keep the suspect alive.

Not like he was good at following them— not when a second body laid breathlessly naked behind him.

Finally, he pulled himself from the gun, keeping his eye on the scene below, refusing to look back at you. With practiced ease he dismantled the rifle, stowing it back in the case as he retrieved his shirt and vest like nothing had ever interrupted the job.

You managed to tug your clothes back on, wincing as the fabric clung to skin smeared with cum and dirt, every movement a sharp reminder of what had just happened.

“Transporting suspect to Mass General—shot obliterated his kneecap. Recon at lobby.” The comms buzzed and clicked off.

As you clipped your vest into place, Dex loomed over you—one hand gripping the case handle, the other securing his belt with a harsh tug.

Without warning, he grabbed the strap of your vest, hauling you up with one arm until your toes barely scraped the ground.

His face lingered inches from yours, looking down at you. “You don’t tell anyone about this, got it?” He rasped, low and cold. “Not a fucking word.”

You nodded fast, breath caught in your throat before you could mutter a promise.

Then, without warning, he kissed you—sloppy and raw, more claim than affection. He pulled back just enough to flash that crooked grin.

“Good girl.”

He let you go, sending your half tied boots staggering for a grip on the floor as he brushed past you. You looked back at the empty roof, red and blue lights cascading through the dark from below, revealing the emptiness— proof nothing had ever happened.

The only evidence left now marked both of your bodies in reddening lines and darkening bruises.

You followed Dex down with a lowered head, praying he wouldn’t turn around and see your creeping blush and smile.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Hey! I’d love a one-shot where Hotch is really protective over the reader, who’s been getting some unwanted attention from someone at work. Maybe she’s a bit younger and new to the team, and she’s always been close with Hotch, but lately, he’s noticed that someone’s been making her uncomfortable. I’d love to see how Hotch handles it, especially since he’s been realizing he has feelings for her. Lots of protective Hotch vibes, maybe a little angst, but definitely some fluff and maybe a confession at the end. Thanks so much!

Of course lovely!!

Title: “Shield of Silence”

Pt2

You weren’t sure when it started, but the pit in your stomach had been growing for weeks now. At first, it had just been lingering looks—nothing overtly inappropriate but just enough to make your skin crawl. You’d brush it off, thinking you were imagining things, but the feeling only intensified as time passed. It was like being watched constantly, a gaze that clung to you when you least expected it.

It was your third month with the BAU, and although you were still adjusting, you felt like you’d finally found your place among the team. Spencer had been a wealth of knowledge, always eager to share some obscure fact or statistics. JJ had quickly become like an older sister, guiding you through the maze of FBI procedures and office politics. And then there was Aaron Hotchner—your unit chief, your mentor, and more recently, the person you found yourself gravitating towards the most.

Hotch had been nothing but professional with you, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. You admired his leadership, the way he commanded respect without demanding it, and his quiet but unwavering sense of justice. More than once, you’d caught yourself staring at him, wondering what it would be like to cross that line between professional and personal. But you always pushed those thoughts aside—he was your boss, after all.

Lately, however, you found yourself needing his presence more than usual. There was someone on the team who was making you uncomfortable, someone who lingered a little too close, who spoke a little too softly when he was near you. It was subtle—nothing you could report without feeling like you were making a mountain out of a molehill. But you knew it wasn’t just in your head.

The elevator ride that morning had been the final straw. You were alone, checking your phone, when you felt the presence beside you. Your stomach twisted as he moved closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. You stepped away, mumbling an excuse about needing to review a case file, and practically fled to your desk.

It wasn’t until you were safely seated that you noticed Hotch watching you, his brows furrowed with concern. He’d always been perceptive, but this time, his gaze felt like it was peeling back the layers you’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Y/N,” his voice was low as he approached you, leaning on the edge of your desk. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a smile, trying to mask the anxiety churning in your gut. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Hotch didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If anything’s bothering you, you can always come to me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, grateful for his concern but unwilling to drag him into something that might just be a product of your overactive imagination. “I know, Hotch. Thank you.”

But Hotch wasn’t the kind of man to let things go easily, especially when it came to his team. Later that day, as the team gathered in the conference room for a briefing, you noticed that Hotch had positioned himself closer to you than usual. It was subtle—just a shift in his usual place—but it felt like a protective barrier, a silent assurance that he was there if you needed him.

The meeting went smoothly, but as it wrapped up, the same coworker who’d been making you uncomfortable sidled up beside you, his hand brushing against your arm in a way that made your skin crawl. Before you could step away, Hotch was there, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Y/N, I need you to stay back for a moment. We need to go over the details of the Montgomery case.”

The man beside you stiffened, his eyes flickering between you and Hotch, but he said nothing as he backed away. You watched him leave, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the room was finally empty, Hotch turned to you, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “This has been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”

You swallowed, nodding reluctantly. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I thought maybe I was overreacting.”

Hotch shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You’re not overreacting. If someone’s making you uncomfortable, it’s my job to protect you. I don’t take that lightly.”

There was something in his tone that made your heart ache, a protective edge that spoke of more than just professional duty. “Hotch, I—”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush your arm where the other man had touched you. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not when I care about you as much as I do.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind racing to process what he’d just said. “You… care about me?”

Hotch’s eyes softened, the usual hardness melting away to reveal something far more vulnerable. “I care about you more than I should, given our positions. But I can’t help it. I need you to be safe, Y/N.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken feelings. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to a truth you hadn’t been ready to face. But as you looked into Hotch’s eyes, saw the sincerity there, you felt the walls you’d built around yourself begin to crumble.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hand resting on his chest. “I feel the same way,” you admitted softly. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but… I can’t anymore.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with the tension of words left unsaid. But then, Hotch’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“Let me take care of this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He smiled—a rare, genuine smile that lit up his usually stoic features. “You can call me Aaron, you know.”

Your own smile mirrored his as you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the lingering tension. “Okay… Aaron.”

The moment was perfect, the beginning of something new and fragile, but full of promise. As he pulled you into a comforting embrace, you knew that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab! reader, partners in crime

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: the charity event holds lots of secrets, familiar faces and tense moments Chan and Y/N need to get out alive..

Warnings: TENSION, violence, tiny mentions of Chan's past, in a way

A/n: the plot unwinds here I ain't gonna say much but...pay attention! If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't

previously... next...

The moment Y/N and Chan stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The grandeur of the venue was almost overwhelming an opulent ballroom bathed in golden light, the soft glow from towering crystal chandeliers casting delicate reflections across the marble floors. Everything about the space exuded luxury, from the sheer height of the arched ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing to the cascading floral arrangements decorating every table. The air carried the faint scent of fresh roses and expensive perfume, blending seamlessly with the subtle notes of aged wine and gourmet cuisine.

Elegant couples glided across the room, draped in designer fabrics and priceless jewelry that caught the light with every graceful movement. The hum of polite conversation filled the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from clusters of high-profile guests. Waiters, dressed in pristine white uniforms, weaved expertly through the crowd, silver trays balanced effortlessly in their hands, offering glasses of the finest champagne and hors d’oeuvres that looked almost too exquisite to eat. To the left, a grand stage stood in the spotlight, framed by velvet curtains and a sleek podium. A large screen behind it displayed images of past charity projects, highlighting the impact of the evening’s donations. Beneath the stage, members of the press loitered subtly, their eyes sharp, scanning the room for anything worth reporting.

The crowd itself was a curated mix of the elite—business moguls, celebrities, influential politicians, and heirs to empires. Men in sharply tailored suits stood in small groups, discussing investments and alliances, while women in elegant gowns adorned with shimmering embellishments whispered secrets behind glasses of imported champagne.

In the farthest corner, a live jazz band played a smooth, rhythmic tune, the soft saxophone melody adding a sultry undertone to the night’s proceedings. There was a certain finesse to the way the guests moved, as if they all belonged to an exclusive, unspoken world where power and wealth were the only currencies that mattered.

As Y/N and Chan took it all in, a faint crackle came through the small earpiece tucked discreetly behind her hair. Jisung’s voice came through, casual but laced with curiosity. “Alright, lovebirds, tell me what’s it like in there? Are we talking stiff businessmen or some Great Gatsby type of madness?”

Y/N’s lips quirked up slightly at Jisung’s question, knowing he’d get a kick out of the details. She subtly turned her head, pretending to adjust her earring as she whispered into the hidden mic, “A bit of both. Picture a ballroom dripping in gold, chandeliers the size of small cars, and enough expensive cologne in the air to suffocate a lesser mortal. Everyone here looks like they own an island or at least know someone who does. It’s luxury at its finest, Ji.”

Jisung let out a low whistle through the comms. “Damn. Sounds like I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my hoodie and ripped jeans.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “Yeah, you definitely would. It’s like stepping into a movie.”

There was a pause before Jisung hummed. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.” A few seconds passed, followed by the distinct sound of keys clacking in his background. “Logging into the venue’s camera feed now… Got it.” Y/N resisted the urge to glance around for the cameras, knowing it would look suspicious. Instead, she let her eyes flick toward Chan, who was scanning the room with that quiet intensity of his. The moment Jisung had full access, his voice came back over the line, now tinged with amusement.

“Ohhh, yeah. This is straight out of a spy movie. I see you two, looking all fancy. Damn, Y/N, you clean up nice.”

She smirked. “Was there ever a doubt?” Jisung chuckled. “Fair point. Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for anything shady. You two just keep up the ‘happy couple’ act.” Chan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke—his voice low enough that only Y/N would catch it. “You sure you can handle this, Jisung?”

A scoff came through the comms. “Please, this is child’s play. Just don’t do anything that’ll make me have to hack into another system to cover your ass.” Y/N exhaled softly, steadying herself. The night had only just begun.

Jisung’s voice crackled through the comms, his usual playfulness laced with something sharper. "Well, well, well… Look who decided to make an appearance." Y/N resisted the urge to look up immediately, instead reaching for a champagne flute from a passing waiter to maintain their cover. "Who?" she asked, bringing the glass to her lips.

There was a brief pause as Jisung zoomed in on the feed. "Our guy is at the far end of the room, near the bar. And guess what? He’s talking with a bunch of suits. But here’s the fun part—Reynolds is among them."

Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly around the delicate stem of the flute. "You’re joking." Chan, who had been scanning the room himself, stilled. His jaw clenched slightly before he turned his body just enough to look in that direction without drawing suspicion. His grip on Y/N’s waist tightened subtly. "I see him," he muttered under his breath.

The same Reynolds who had made their lives hell before disappearing into the shadows. And now, here he was, laughing, drinking, looking completely at ease among the city’s elite as if he wasn’t a snake in a tailored suit.

"This just got a whole lot more interesting," Jisung murmured. "What’s the play? Do we engage, or do we keep our distance?"

Y/N felt Chan’s fingers twitch against her back, a silent war waging within him. Whatever they did next could change the entire course of the night.

Petrov stood near the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling the amber liquid as he engaged in conversation with the other elites. His sharp gaze scanned the crowd lazily until it landed on her. Y/N had only meant to take a fleeting glance, just enough to confirm Jisung’s intel, but the moment their eyes met, she knew she had made a mistake.

Petrov smirked. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of smirk that made her stomach churn with unease. He took his time raking his gaze over her, eyes dark with amusement as if he could already sense her hesitance. Chan, who had been watching closely, moved in an instant. His arm curled around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into him, his grip just firm enough to make a statement. The shift was subtle, but effective Chan was no longer just an escort or an arm candy date. He was a man who was staking a claim.

Y/N felt the tension roll off him as he leaned in, voice dropping low, meant only for her. "You need to find a way to get him alone." She blinked up at him, taken aback. "Why me?"

Chan exhaled sharply, his jaw ticking as if the answer was obvious. "Because you’re a woman."

She stared at him, incredulous. "That’s it? That’s your whole reasoning?"

Chan gave a small, almost exasperated smirk. "That means no further explanation."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She knew he wasn’t wrong Petrov was the type of man who saw women as easy distractions, someone to toy with. That was exactly the kind of arrogance they needed to exploit.

Jisung’s voice crackled in her ear. "Damn, Chan, that was the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard also, he’s still staring. Do something before he walks over."

Y/N barely had a second to react before Chan’s hold on her tightened. His arm stayed firm around her waist, his other hand rising to gently grip her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes, dark and unwavering, bore into hers.

"I have to kiss you."

Her breath hitched. "Excuse me?!"

Chan didn’t flinch at her reaction. If anything, his grip remained steady, unwavering. "If we want him to come to us, we need to make it look like you're someone worth stealing attention for."

She scoffed, eyes narrowing. "So your grand plan is to put on a little show?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Y/N." His tone was firmer now, a quiet warning. "You have to be serious about this. You saw how he looked at you he’s interested. And the only thing that will make him act faster is competition."

Her lips parted, ready to protest again, but she had nothing to fire back with. Chan was right. Petrov wasn’t the type to sit back and wait. If he saw something—or in this case, someone—he wanted, he’d go after it. And right now, Y/N was about to become his next pursuit.

She inhaled sharply, her pulse racing. "This is a terrible idea."

Chan’s thumb brushed along her hip, his voice low and coaxing. "Then let’s make it count."

Before she could talk herself out of it, Petrov’s gaze landed on her once more. The moment Chan noticed, he wasted no time.

In one swift motion, he pulled her flush against him, his hand slipping from her waist to cradle the back of her neck. And then, he kissed her.

But God, it wasn’t just a kiss. Chan kissed her with a purpose; hot, possessive, consuming. His lips moved against hers like he was proving a point, like he was branding her with his touch. The world around them blurred, the soft hum of music, the murmurs of the gala guests all of it faded into nothing. Y/N barely had a moment to react before she melted into it, fingers instinctively gripping the lapels of his suit. His other hand tightened against her waist, pressing her closer, deepening the kiss like he was daring Petrov to do something about it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were putting on a show. She knew this was for the mission, for baiting Petrov.

But the way Chan kissed her slow at first, then rougher, hungrier made it dangerously easy to forget.

As their lips parted, Y/N barely had time to catch her breath. Chan didn’t move away. His forehead rested against hers, his breaths slightly heavier than before, his hold on her lingering. His fingers stayed at the curve of her waist, his touch warm and possessive.

The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. Y/N’s heart pounded, her lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, in a voice low enough for only her to hear, Chan murmured, “Look at him.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t need to ask who.

“Slowly,” Chan instructed, voice like silk laced with quiet dominance. “Teasingly.”

Y/N swallowed, gathering herself before her gaze slid past Chan’s shoulder.

There Petrov stood, watching. His smirk had grown, intrigue flashing in his eyes. Exactly what they needed. Chan’s grip on her waist subtly tightened, his lips ghosting over her ear as he continued giving quiet directions.

“Now, kiss me again,” he murmured. “Soft. Just a peck. And whisper something romantic. Make me smile.” Her fingers curled slightly against his suit. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tilting her head up and brushing the softest kiss against his lips.

Chan barely reacted, only his hold twitching slightly.

Then, her lips moved near his ear, whispering, “We should do this more often.” She felt the sharp exhale against her cheek, the subtle curve of his lips as he fought back a smirk.

She pulled away, giving him the smallest, knowing smile before finally slipping out of his hold.

And just like that, Petrov took the bait.

Y/N made her way to the bar, her pulse still thrumming with the lingering adrenaline of the kiss. She could still feel Chan’s lips on hers, the heat of his hands at her waist, the way his voice had dropped into something dark and commanding. It had been a kiss meant to lure their target, but it had done something entirely different to her.

She exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as she leaned against the bar, ordering a drink to steady herself. The air in the room felt warmer now, buzzing with the energy of the gala, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses.

As she reached for her drink, her gaze instinctively searched for Chan. He had blended into the crowd effortlessly, now engaged in casual conversation with some wealthy-looking businessman. The way he carried himself—relaxed, confident—made it seem like he belonged in this world, like he wasn’t currently running an undercover mission.

But then, a voice crackled in her ear.

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice was low, but there was an amused lilt to it. “Your guy is on the move.”

She stiffened slightly, adjusting her grip on her glass.

“How close?” she whispered, tilting her head just slightly so it wouldn’t look like she was speaking to herself.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, clearly checking the feed. “About fifteen feet. And closing.”

Her stomach twisted not with fear, but with anticipation.

“I hope you’ve figured out a way to lure him,” Jisung added, and she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Good luck.” With that, the comms went quiet, leaving her standing there, heartbeat loud in her ears. She took one last, slow sip of her drink before setting it down.

Then, she turned. Y/N's fingers wrapped gently around the chilled glass, but she barely took a sip. Her heart was still racing from the kiss with Chan. Her eyes flicked across the room until she spotted him. He was blending easily into a nearby conversation, laughing at something someone said, but she could see how his eyes still tracked her through the crowd. Then came the quiet shift. The presence.

“Miss,” a low, accented voice purred beside her.

Y/N turned slowly to find herself face-to-face with Petrov. Up close, he was just as imposing tall, refined, charming in a dangerous way. His suit was custom, expensive, and everything about him screamed power. But it was the glint in his eyes, that predatory edge, that reminded her exactly who he was. “You’ve been catching my eye all night,” Petrov said, stepping closer, his tone smooth. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d let me introduce myself.”

Y/N smiled, soft and shy playing the part. “It seems I’ve caught quite the important man’s attention, then.” Petrov chuckled, eyes raking over her slowly. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re quick with your words. I like that.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “And I like women who aren’t afraid of power.”

She let her lips twitch upward, keeping her breath even. “Do you say that to all the women you meet at these things?” “Only the ones who look like trouble,” he said, sipping his drink. “Who’s the man you were with?”

“Just a friend,” she replied smoothly, brushing her hair back. “Someone who keeps me out of trouble.”

“Hmm,” Petrov said, clearly not convinced. “That kiss looked a little too convincing for ‘just a friend.’” He arched a brow, studying her. “But perhaps trouble is more fun, no?” Her pulse jumped, but she kept her tone playful. “Maybe. Depends on the kind of trouble you mean.”

He smiled at that. “Why don’t we find somewhere quieter? I’d love to hear more about you… without all the noise.” In her ear, Jisung’s voice crackled to life. “This is it, Y/N. He’s biting. Keep going let him chew. Just a little longer.”

Y/N gave Petrov a soft, teasing smile. “Lead the way.”

Petrov’s presence seemed to swallow the space around Y/N, but she kept her expression soft, coy—like she was flattered but not overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, Jisung’s voice crackled quietly in Chan’s earpiece. “Hey, you good?” he asked, a note of teasing curiosity in his tone. “That was… some performance.” Chan cleared his throat and subtly stepped away from the small circle of idle socialites. His gaze flicked to Y/N and Petrov at the bar, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

Jisung chuckled. “Yeah, sure you are.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “Alright, focus up—change of plans for you. So quit drinking. There’s a guy two tables from your nine o'clock, navy suit, thinning hair, holding a scotch. He’s got a keycard clipped inside his inner pocket. We need that.” Chan’s eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the man in question. “You want me to pickpocket him.”

“Bingo,” Jisung replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll need that card to access the west wing security panel. You’ve got one chance so make it clean.”

Chan exhaled slowly, brushing his hand down his lapel to center himself, then started moving through the crowd with quiet precision, eyes trained on the mark. Chan drifted through the crowd with practiced ease, a champagne flute in hand and his expression cool, unreadable. The ballroom shimmered with the glitter of crystal chandeliers and opulence, masking the tension that simmered beneath his calm exterior. His eyes landed on the target, a middle-aged man in a dark navy suit, his badge glinting faintly against his lapel. The key card.

“Chan, twenty degrees to your right,” Jisung’s voice whispered through the comms. “That’s our guy. The access badge is clipped to his inner coat pocket. You have a sorta ten-second window while he’s distracted.”

Chan moved in, just another face in a sea of luxury. He approached the man, bumping into him ever so lightly, the clink of glasses a convenient cover.

“Apologies,” he said smoothly, laying a steadying hand on the man's arm while his other slipped into the inner coat pocket with deft precision. A flick of his wrist—clean, practiced, invisible. The key card vanished into Chan’s palm before the man even realized he’d been touched. “Got it,” Chan whispered. “Nice,” Jisung muttered, sounding genuinely impressed. “Tuck it into your belt loop, just in case. Now…”

A pause. “Switching focus. Y/N, Petrov’s leading you somewhere. I’ve got eyes. You’re heading down a private hallway on the east side. Could be a terrace or a VIP room.”

Y/N followed Petrov’s lead, heart still echoing with the memory of Chan’s kiss. Petrov’s presence was commanding, smooth in a way that made her both alert and oddly calm like stepping into enemy territory wearing silk and confidence.

“You handle him like a charm, Y/N,” Jisung said softly in her earpiece. “But stay sharp. If he offers you a drink—don’t take it. And stall as long as possible. We need to find out where he keeps his passcodes.”

Petrov led Y/N with a confident, knowing gait his hand hovering just close enough to her lower back to signal dominance without touching. His cologne was thick and intoxicating, and every calculated step of his reeked of money, power, and danger. She kept her pace languid, careful to play the role, coy but not naïve, inviting but not desperate.

They stopped just outside a private lounge, its door guarded by a sensor. Petrov glanced at her, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t seem like the usual charity types,” he said in that thick accent, tilting his head with amusement. “Who sent you?”

Y/N gave him a subtle smile, stepping closer, allowing the soft glimmer of her gown to brush against him. “A girl can’t enjoy an expensive evening without a reason?”

He chuckled lowly. “You look like you enjoy more than expensive evenings. But you… you’re hiding something, no?” She tilted her head, her lips barely parted. “Aren’t we all?”

Jisung whispered in her ear through the comms.

“Keep him talking. You're doing great. Try to steer him toward Nightfall. Slowly.” Petrov leaned against the wall now, eyes tracing every inch of her face. “Tell me something… Do you believe in noble causes?”

Y/N swallowed subtly, then nodded. “I think the world needs people willing to do difficult things. Unseen things. For the greater good.” He raised a brow. “That sounds like something I once believed.” He paused, staring at her more intently now. “Have you ever heard of Operation Nightfall?”

Bingo.

Y/N hesitated, lowering her gaze just enough to seem cautious but not shocked. “Wasn’t that some old military intel drop or something? A failed coup?”

Petrov gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “That’s what they called it on paper. But in truth, it was something else entirely.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It was an experiment… on loyalty. On silence. On what people would kill to protect. And what they'd destroy if it meant being remembered.”

Y/N's pulse raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

He leaned in, lips near her ear. “Because I want to see what you'll do with it.” Before she could respond, he tapped the scanner and the door opened with a soft click. He gestured her in.

“I’ve got visuals,” Jisung told them. “Chan, you’re clear to approach the west wing once you secure the card. Y/N… keep him talking. Let’s see what secrets our charming Russian might spill.”

Y/N nodded subtly, stepped inside with measured grace—and the real game began.

Chan ducked behind a column, out of sight of the main ballroom. He slid the stolen keycard from his coat pocket and held it up to a wall panel tucked discreetly beside a locked hallway. It beeped once—access granted.

“Jisung?” he murmured, eyes scanning the hallway beyond.

“Yup. That hallway leads to a private server room. That’s where the encrypted drive’s supposed to be. We need a full download of Petrov’s files if we want dirt on Nightfall’s remnants.”

Chan moved fast and low. Inside the server room, ambient red light pulsed over rows of machines. He located the correct terminal, slotted in a tiny black device Jisung had prepped, and tapped the interface.

“Download in progress,” Jisung confirmed, typing on his end. “Keep it running. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Back in the lounge, Petrov poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to YN. He stared at her with growing curiosity, suspicion laced with intrigue. “So tell me…” he said, swirling his glass. “Why do you really care about knowing Nightfall? It’s been buried for years.”

YN took a sip, eyes meeting his. “Because the ones who buried it never paid for the lives they ruined.” Petrov stared at her silent for a beat too long. Then he smiled faintly. “You're dangerous.”

She smiled back. “Only when I need to be.”

Petrov leaned against the velvet wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on Y/N like a panther cornering prey. The low lighting carved his face into harsh angles. Her drink sat forgotten on the ledge beside him as he spoke, his voice smooth but laced with something biting. “You know…” he drawled, stepping slightly closer. “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Not here, of course. Somewhere more… volatile.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten subtly beneath the silk of her dress. Her lips parted, but she kept her smile practiced, soft, flirtatious. “I get that a lot,” she said lightly, brushing a curl from her shoulder and avoiding direct eye contact for just a second too long. Her heartbeat started to race.

Petrov smirked, noting her hesitation. “Do you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because I never forget a face. Especially not ones that make my instincts twitch.” She chuckled, smooth on the outside but screaming inside. “Then I hope your instincts are saying I’m just a pretty face with a taste for expensive wine and dangerous men.”

Jisung’s voice crackled. “He’s testing you, keep your cool. You’re doing good.”

But she could already feel it, Petrov was circling in, mentally, emotionally. Slowly twisting suspicion into something darker. She tried to reel it back with subtle confidence, touching his sleeve lightly, letting her voice drop. “You’re curious. I like that. Curiosity means you’re smart… and smart men, they’re the kind who know things others don’t. Like secrets. Like… what Operation Nightfall really was.”

His expression barely twitched, but his eyes flared like lit gasoline. The air thickened.

The whirr of the data drive hummed behind Chan as he crouched over the rack of blinking servers, fingers moving across the compact keyboard like water, fast, deadly. The room was cold, sterile, dimly blue-lit. “Jisung,” he hissed, “how much longer is this going to take?”

“Couple more minutes. Just keep the line open and stay quiet.”

But then—click clack—footsteps.

Several.

Chan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn, not yet. Instead, he pulled a micro-blade from under his sleeve and slipped it between his fingers, body half-shadowed. Two men appeared in the doorway—security. Heavyset, armored, rifles slung and ready. They stopped when they saw him, confused, then suspicious.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” one barked, stepping forward.

Chan stood slowly, slipping his blade back into his coat and plastering on the dumbest grin he could muster.

“Room service,” he said, gesturing to the servers. “You guys are out of data… figured I’d refill it.”

“Wrong answer,” the taller one muttered and lunged. Chan ducked, instantly pivoting and slamming his elbow into the man's gut. The guard staggered, and Chan used that split-second to swipe the pistol from his hip. The second guard fired but Chan was already moving.

He dropped low, sliding behind a server tower as the bullet cracked through plastic. He returned fire once non-lethal round hitting the second man in the knee. The man crumpled with a cry. The first guard was up again, charging, Chan grabbed a network cable and yanked it hard, whipping it across the guard’s face before driving his knee into the man’s ribs, then slamming his head against the wall with a brutal thunk. The guard collapsed.

“Gee Jisung,” he grunted, sliding the pistol back into his waistband. “Would’ve been nice to know I had company!”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung replied lazily. “The download’s almost done. Try not to die before it finishes.”

Chan exhaled sharply, sweat dotting his temple. He glanced back at the server the drive was at 87%. He turned toward the door, locking it with a quick override, and returned to his crouch.

“Come on… come on,” he murmured. “Y/N better be buying me a drink after all this.”

The echo of heavy boots down the hallway grew louder then came the pounding.

BANG. BANG.

Chan’s head snapped toward the locked door as it shuddered with the force. He muttered, sweat sliding down his temple as he kept an eye on the loading bar on the screen 92%…

“Jisung,” Chan hissed into the comms. “How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here?” Static. Then Jisung’s voice, painfully casual.

“Through the door, obviously. Or, you know, out the window—do a little parkour.”

Chan’s jaw clenched. “You’re a menace.”

95%… 98%… 100%. The console pinged.

He yanked the drive from the terminal just as the door burst open with a bang. Two armed guards stormed in. “Hey! Hands where we can see—”

But Chan was already moving.

He ducked the first swing, slammed his shoulder into the guard’s gut, sending him crashing against the server rack. The second drew a stun baton, swinging for Chan’s head. Chan caught the man's wrist mid-air, twisting it with a brutal torque that forced the baton to clatter to the floor. He landed a hard elbow to the guard’s throat, kicked him square in the chest and then took a punch to his ribs from the first guy, who’d recovered.

He staggered, wheezing, but used the momentum to swing a spinning back kick into the first guard’s knee, buckling it with a sickening crack.

Blood smeared across his knuckles, pain throbbed through his side, but Chan didn’t stop. He shoved the last man against the server, slamming the butt of the stun baton into the side of his temple, and watched him crumple.

Breathing hard, he stumbled toward the exit, clutching the drive.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Jisung chimed in.

“Fuck you.”

“You good?”

“Peachy. Bleeding, but peachy. What about Y/N?”

The air was warm and musky with aged whiskey and cologne now. Petrov sat back on the plush leather sofa, his fingers idly rolling the rim of his glass. Y/N, she sat next to him now, leaning closer, her knee brushing his, her lips curled in soft intrigue.

“You’re a hard man to get alone,” she murmured, tilting her head coyly.

He grinned lazily. “That’s because I enjoy being chased.” Y/N gave a breathy laugh, masking her nerves. Inside, her pulse was still scattered from Chan’s kiss, her thoughts fractured but her mission came first.

“I heard you were in Havana last year. Around the time of Nightfall?” she asked, feigning ignorance. That hit the nerve.

Petrov’s gaze sharpened—just for a second—before he masked it with a smile. He leaned in, his voice lowering. “You’ve got interesting sources. Not many people even know about that name. Let alone dare speak it.”

Y/N blinked slowly, her fingers ghosting over his wrist. “I like danger.”

He chuckled, letting the silence hang for a moment. Then he leaned back, sipping his drink, eyes never leaving her. “It was a slaughterhouse. That palace… you know the one in Cuba? Belonged to a general’s mistress. They were housing something there something classified. And then someone leaked intel, and boom… everyone died. Friendly and enemy. Fire, steel, and screams. Left no one standing.”

Y/N’s hand froze slightly. That aligned with what Jisung suspected. Operation Nightfall was a setup and someone made sure there were no survivors.

She swallowed. “And you walked out of that alive?”

Petrov smiled wider, colder.

“Barely. But I never forget a battlefield. Or the faces I see there.” His gaze locked on hers. “Like yours.” Her stomach flipped. Shit. The tension snapped in her spine, but she forced a laugh.

“Are you saying I look like someone you left behind?”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward. “Or maybe you’re just not as much of a stranger as you pretend.” She covered her pulse with her glass, trying to steady her breathing. And through it all, Jisung’s voice buzzed softly in her ear:

“That was way too close. Stay with him. I think we’ve found the missing link.”

Petrov's eyes danced over her face, predatory and amused. “You have a lovely way of speaking,” he said, voice deep and accented.

Y/N's heart skipped. She let out a soft, throaty laugh and tilted her head coyly. “I get that a lot. Must be the bone structure.”

Petrov narrowed his eyes, but just as he was about to press deeper—

A firm knock. The heavy wooden door creaked open and one of his security men stepped in briskly. His suit was ruffled, and he was slightly out of breath. “Sir,” the guard said in hushed urgency. “There’s been a situation. One of the restricted zones was triggered.”

Petrov’s brows tightened. “Where exactly?”

The guard leaned in, whispering something too low for Y/N to catch.

Whatever it was, it worked.

Petrov straightened with a grunt and set his drink down. “Forgive me, darling,” he said, voice clipped and irritated. “Duty calls. We’ll pick this up later.”

Y/N nodded, feigning a disappointed smile. “Of course. I’ll be right here.” He didn’t wait to respond, already halfway out the door with his guards in tow.

The moment it shut—

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice filtered into her ear. “Time to move. Meet Chan at the eastern balcony third floor. Now.”

She rose, heart still buzzing with the closeness of danger, and silently slipped toward the hallway, heels quiet on the marble as she vanished from the lounge and into the shadows of the corridor.

The air outside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of high-end cigars and champagne flutes discarded by the edge of the railing. Soft jazz floated in from the ballroom below, muffled by heavy glass doors that clicked shut behind Y/N as she stepped onto the marble balcony. Her heels echoed faintly against the stone, slowing when she spotted him.

Chan leaned against the balustrade, slightly hunched, his tux jacket wrinkled and one sleeve stained with something too dark to be wine. His knuckles tinted red, and there was a tear at the edge of his dress shirt where it had clearly been grabbed in a scuffle.

Y/N blinked. “Why do you always end up getting beat up the second I’m not around?”

He turned his head toward her, breath still uneven, but smirked dryly without answering. Instead, he pulled the drive from inside his jacket and held it up between two fingers, its metal case glinting under the city lights. “Let’s just hope this little guy has what we need.”

Y/N stepped closer, her tone dropping. “I managed to get something too.”

That caught his attention. Chan turned to face her more fully, eyes scanning hers.

She kept her voice low. “Petrov mentioned Cuba. The palace. It wasn’t just a base it was a front. Something happened there during Operation Nightfall, and it involved you. He didn’t say what exactly… but whatever it was, it was big enough to make him stop talking when a guard interrupted us.”

Chan’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes a ripple of unease or something buried deeper. He nodded once, jaw tightening.

Just then, Jisung’s voice crackled through their comms. “Okay lovebirds, time’s up. I’ve got cameras blinking red on your floor and guards getting way too curious about who’s missing from the charity bingo.”

Y/N glanced back toward the ballroom. “So what now?”

“Now,” Jisung said, “you leave. Subtly. Because if anyone figures out you’re not here to sip overpriced wine and fund endangered birds, this whole thing goes to hell.” Chan exhaled heavily, slipping the drive back into his pocket. “He’s right.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Y/N looped her arm through his, masking the adrenaline still coursing through her veins with a soft smile. From anyone watching, they were just another power couple leaving early maybe to avoid the press, maybe to steal a moment alone. But beneath the surface, beneath the lights and silk and music, the real mission had just begun.

And the ghosts of Cuba were no longer buried.

😤

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[luthqrs]

“Emily, that's incredible. Oh, my... God. You're gonna be the next director of the FBI.” EMILY PRENTISS and JENNIFER JAREAU in CRIMINAL MINDS 15x09 | ‘Face Off’