#〘 ooc ���the one who speaks for the legends

[eorzeashan]

thinks about Eight, who begins his career as an agent removed from his culture since childhood, who struggles being unfit in both worlds of the Empire and being Echani, who constantly battles and redefines what it means to be a warrior of both, who feels lost from others because a sword is all he is. Eight, who eventually becomes a hero of the Alliance, and legend to his people; who becomes immortalized as patron of unnamed warriors and those who walk the shadows alone.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

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

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

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

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do they?" you drawled.

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

You hummed.

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

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

"That's cute," you remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he nodded.

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

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

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

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

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

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

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

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

They valued revenge.

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

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

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

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

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

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

[Bruno?]

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

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

[Say it!]

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

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

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

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

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

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

And then you heard four gunshots. 

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

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

"What are you talking about?"

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

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

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

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

"Oh, you son of a—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

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

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

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

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

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

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

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

But you knew better than that.

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

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

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

"Detective Walker."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?" 

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

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

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

"A code to what?"

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

❧

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

"You're going to need help."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're— you're her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Already on it, Sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

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

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

That's what you explained to Hotch.

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

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

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

You gave him a look.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn't respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can tell."

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded and let him get away with it.

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

"Dating," you repeat.

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

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

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

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

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

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

He still didn't look at you.

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

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

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

You were gone.

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

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

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

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

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

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You insinuated it."

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

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

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

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

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Talk to me, babygirl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, you have."

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

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

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

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

"Negative."

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

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

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

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

"I had every available man on the street."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

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

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

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

"Get over it, Morgan."

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

❧

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

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

Suicide by cop.

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

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

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

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

"You got it, angel."

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

"Good. And Spencer—"

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. They parked next to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then everything went black.

❧

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

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

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

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

No, not an accident. This was planned.

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

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

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, I think so." 

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

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

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

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

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

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

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

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

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

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

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were gonna be sick.

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

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

"Do it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This area is restricted," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My orders are what they are." 

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

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

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

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just killed himself right in front you.

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

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

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

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

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

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

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

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

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

Please let them be okay.

❧

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

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

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

That wasn't too far off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were 7 years sober.

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

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

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

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

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did.

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

"No. Nothing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Derek," you started.

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

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

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

It was meant to take you here.

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

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

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

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

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

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

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

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

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

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

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

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

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

None of you said a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't have many of those.

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

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

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

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

And so were you.

❧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You told yourself it was the job.

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

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

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

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

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

But he was.

"Yo—"

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

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

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

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

"You're avoiding me."

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

"I'm not."

"You are."

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

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

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

"But I want to."

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

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

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

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

He took another step forward. "I do."

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

"Y/N—"

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

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

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

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

And then you were gone.

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

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was.

"Y/N."

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

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

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

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

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there were two.

Fuck.

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

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

You were nothing.

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

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

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

But you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you had more. 

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

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

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

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

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

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

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

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

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

If you know what I mean ;)

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

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

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

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

"With Garcia?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a second.

❧

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

His presence was already pushing it.

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

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

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

You knew what instability looked like.

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

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

Prepared.

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

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

"I can see that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um—"

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

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

You. In his apartment.

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

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

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're kidding me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. "More or less."

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

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

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

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

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

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

What am I hiding from?

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

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

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

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

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

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

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

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

This wasn't gonna happen.

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

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

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

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

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

[cherryredlove]

☆ the eyes of the weirwood ☆

Alicent Hightower x Targareyen Septa! Reader

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The childhood companion of the Princess turned Septa sits grieving by the weirwood tree. You seek out the love you have always denied and comfort her aching heart.

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: angst, lesbian angst, just let my girl alicent be a wlw queen cmon, religious guilt, kinda OOC soz

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The godswood is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over the Red Keep and painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. You walk through the ancient grove, your footsteps hushed on the moss-covered path. The old oak trees stand tall, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms. Your robes sweep the floor, and you heart thuds in your chest. 

In the midst of this serene setting, you find yourself drawn to a familiar figure seated on a stone bench beneath the weirwood tree. Her auburn hair glows like fire in the dimming light, and her shoulders tremble with silent sobs. Queen Alicent Hightower, once your childhood companion, now the widow of King Viserys, grieves alone. You are not unknown to this grief yourself. He was your father, despite only ever seeing Rhaenyra as a true Targaryen princess.

You stop for a moment, taking in the sight before you. The woman who once laughed with you under the very same tree now sits, silenced and wrought. The years have carved paths of worry and weariness upon her face, but to you, she remains the beautiful girl you once knew—a girl you secretly loved.

As you step closer, your heart pounds in your chest. Your decision to become a septa instead of marrying had not been an easy one. It severed any chance of relationship with your father and sister. You were too pious and meek for their dragon blood. It was a path that granted you freedom from the duties of court life, yet it had also been a means to escape the yearning you felt for Alicent—a love you dared not speak of, not even to yourself. You remembered the hot shame you felt when your sister teased you for wanting to dance with Alicent instead of handsome suitors as a younger maid.

"Alicent," you whisper softly, your voice barely breaking the solemn silence she sat in.

She looks up, her eyes red from crying, yet they soften upon seeing you. The weight of the crown seems to slip away, if only for a moment, and before you sits not just your Queen, but also your Alicent.

"(Y/N)," she breathes your name like a prayer, as though your presence alone could aid her stricken heart. "What are you doing here?"

"I know not, my feet took me here of their own accord," you reply, though your true purpose is far deeper. "But seeing you here... I couldn't leave you alone in your sorrow."

Alicent wipes her tears with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. "It's foolish," she says, her voice cracking. "To weep like this. He was your father too."

"It's not foolish," you reassure her, taking a seat beside her. Your hand hesitates before resting on hers, and you feel the warmth of her skin—a touch you've longed for, yet denied yourself for so long. "Grief is the heart's way of speaking when words fail."

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the whispers of the trees. Your mind drifts back to those days of youth when you and Alicent would escape to this very spot, finding fun and companionship away from the prying eyes of the court. You would steal away with cakes stolen from banquet tables and regale each other with reenactments of legends of old. Back then, your feelings were a secret, even from yourself, masked as the innocence of friendship.

"I miss him," Alicent confesses, breaking the silence. "Viserys... he was a good man, even if our marriage was... complicated."

Your heart aches for her loss, but there's something deeper—an ache for what might have been if circumstances were different. You glance at her, taking in the sight of her gentle profile, the elegance that is Alicent, and suddenly, the words you've held back for so many years press against your lips. The blood of the dragon finally roars within you, urging you to be brave, be true.

"Alicent," you begin, your voice trembling with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. "There is something I must tell you... something I've kept hidden for far too long."

She turns to you, curiosity and concern mingling in her gaze. "What is it?" You believe she already knows. How could she not, when all you ever did was gaze longingly at her?

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you are about to reveal. "I've loved you, Alicent. I have always loved you, from the days of our youth until this very moment. From when you would declare yourself the Rhaenys to my Visenya, I have loved only you."

Your confession hangs in the air between you, the air heavy and thick. Alicent's eyes widen, and for a brief moment, you fear rejection. But then, something shifts in her expression—a softening, a recognition.

"(Y/N)," she murmurs, her hand squeezing yours gently. "I have longed for you as well. In the silence of my heart, I wished things could have been different." Her face is fraught. Fear of shame is etched into her, but yet she still holds your hand.

The relief that washes over you is mingled with a bittersweet realization of the paths you both chose. Duty, family, and honor had dictated your lives, pulling you away from each other. Yet, in this stolen moment beneath the weirwood's watchful eyes, those burdens seem to fade.

Your gaze locks with Alicent's, and without another word, you lean forward, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss is gentle, filled with the yearning of years unspoken. It is a taste of what could have been, a glimpse into a world where your love was not confined by duty and titles.

Alicent responds, her kiss tender and hesitant, as though afraid that acknowledging this love will unravel everything she has built, everything she has fought for. She has given her maidenhood and life for the crown. But within this fleeting moment, the world outside the godswood ceases to exist, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken bond you share. The kiss is not just a kiss. It is a promise, and the weirwood tree's eyes watch knowingly.

As you finally part, reality returns, bringing with it the weight of your choices. Alicent's eyes glisten with tears, and you know this moment, as perfect as it is, cannot last.

"I must return," she whispers, her voice laced with sorrow. "To my children, to the realm. There is no place for us in this world." That cuts you like a knife.

Your heart breaks at the truth of her words, yet you nod, understanding the burden she carries. As a septa, you have vowed to live a life of celibacy and devotion to the gods, but your heart will always bear the mark of this love. Your true devotion will lie with her.

"Know that you are not alone," you tell her, your voice steady despite the ache within. "I will always be here, by the weirwood, in your heart, should you need me."

Alicent nods, and though her eyes are filled with gratitude, they are also heavy with the loss of a love that can not be. She stands, and you watch as she walks away, her form retreating into the shadows of the evening.

As the night falls over King's Landing, you remain, like a statue, your heart tethered. In the quiet solitude of the ancient grove, you pray to the Mother and the Maiden not only for peace but for the strength to accept the path you both have chosen.

Yet, even as you bow your head in silent supplication, you know that your heart will always linger in the godswood, where the echoes of your love for Alicent remain eternal, like the whispered prayers carried on the wind. And so, you continue your vigil, hoping that one day, perhaps in another life, your paths may cross again without the chains of duty holding you back.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: very sappy and ooc, very much inspired by Alicent and Rhaenyra’s scene in the sept. Alicent just can't catch a break lol

[beneathstarryskies]

Summary: It's been centuries since Ganondorf's victory in bringing Hyrule to its knees. However, victory is lonelier than he'd anticipated. The once great Demon King is a shadow of his former self, drinking his way through the castle's wine cellars and mumbling to himself in the dark. That is until one brave stranger wanders through the castle gates, led by curiosity...Or perhaps fate.

Word Count: 5,002

Warnings: mentions of violence, depression, Ganondorf is a recluse, beauty and the beast AU, might be OOC but i don't care this idea wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it so here we are, overall it's pretty PG

Taglist: @emmacornell, @actuallysaiyan

In the remnants of a castle once grand but now desolate, Ganondorf wanders the halls alone. Some days he is focused on working his way through the wine cellar, but other days he mutters quietly as he wonders where it all had gone wrong. He’d achieved everything he wanted. He sits upon the throne of Hyrule, the entire realm under his control, yet as centuries pass the emptiness in his chest persists. Even the people of the realm stretching from the deserts of Gerudo to the flatlands of Akkala noticed the grip of the once fearsome ruler lessening. Only occasionally would he exert his dominance again, as though only to remind them he is still present. Even the darkness of his gloom seemed to fade from the landscape as life returned to normal for the people of the realm. Tales of the great demon king who once took over the kingdom are still passed from grandparents' mouths to the eager ears of children, but Ganondorf as they speak of him almost feels like fiction. 

It was this sense of safety and curiosity that led you to Hyrule Fields. A thin layer of snow is falling on the landscape as you walk through the fields. Your eyes widen as you see the castle, and the now-empty town surrounding it. The walls are covered in a thick layer of ivy vines, now brown and barren from the cold air. You carefully walk forward, tiptoeing past the gloomy black and red sludge as you pass through the gates. As you explore the once great Castle Town, you remember the stories you’d been told as a child. The horrible stories of a great big demon who took the form of a horrible pig. Every little noise sent your mind into a frightened frenzy, and you were beginning to wonder if staying here much longer was worth indulging your long-held curiosity about the castle. 

Ganondorf became aware of the intrusion when he wandered outside of the master bedroom onto the balcony. He looked down to see the tiny form of a Hyrulian woman poking around the old stalls in the market. Every so often he noticed her flinching and looking around as though frightened. Her attention soon turned to the wide doors of the castle. He recognized her intentions almost immediately, and he threw on a cloak to meet her at the door. 

When you push open the double doors, you let out a squeak of surprise at the large figure looming at the bottom of the stairs. Long red hair falls in front of his face and glowing yellow eyes stare at you with malice as he growls. 

“What are you doing here?” his voice, even as a whisper, echoes through the empty halls. 

“I’m sorry,” you stammer as you try to back away. You trip over your own feet and fall backward.  Just before you hit the ground, a large hand catches the front of your cloak. Suddenly, your feet are no longer on the ground. Ganondorf lifts you to force you to look into his eyes. 

“I asked a question, little one,” he snarls. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you stammer as your hands instinctively come to his wrist, grabbing on in case he drops you. “I thought--” 

“You thought the castle to be empty,” he finishes your thought. “Perhaps I have been too kind to your people, allowing them to live too comfortably. My existence having been relegated to folklore and legend, is that it?” 

“No!” you cry out, the thought of your kingdom being punished for your stupidity makes your skin crawl and your chest tightens with guilt. “No, it’s just…Me…I was curious.” 

“Oh,” he pulls you closer. “Curious? You wish to see my castle?” 

His words lull you into a false sense of comfort as you mistake his annoyance for understanding, “Yes, your Highness.” 

“I see, little one,” he throws you over his shoulder. “You wish to see my castle and know its secrets. I see…Well, I shall make sure you spend all the time you have left within the walls of this castle.” 

He walks you upstairs and tosses you into an empty bedroom. Before you can scramble to your feet the door is being slammed shut, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock trapping you inside. You crawl to the door, standing on your knees as you bang on it desperately with shaking fists. 

“Please,” you call out. “I’m sorry! Please let me out! I’ll leave! I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you!” 

Your cries and pleas fall on deaf ears. Ganondorf closed himself off to emotions like pity and empathy long ago. He ascends the remaining stairs to go to the master bedroom once more. He grabs his earlier forgotten bottle of wine and throws himself into his chair. He throws his head back and finishes the bottle in one long gulp. His heart is racing as he thinks about you. Your pitiful eyes as you tried to explain yourself, and then your tiny hands on his wrist to cling to stability. There’s something about your curiosity and bravery that piqued his interest. He can’t remember the last time someone ventured to the castle. 

Your cries and pleas continue for hours until you wear yourself out from exhaustion. You crawl onto the old bed and you begin sobbing until you fall asleep. 

_____

Ganondorf awakens when the sun is high in the sky. He has almost forgotten about having locked you away. You on the other hand have been awake since dawn. You’ve torn the room apart in search of some sort of escape. Realizing the king had you locked up tight, you felt a wave of defeat crash over you. 

“Damn it all,” you cried out and fell onto the bed with an annoyed sigh. Tears sting your eyes, but you try to hold them back. 

You could feel Ganondorf approaching before you could see him. His looming presence was difficult to ignore. He pushed the door open, not feeling even a moment of remorse as he saw your pathetic form on the bed. 

“You’re lucky it’s been ages since I’ve had anyone in this castle,” he speaks. “I require a new servant.” 

You sit up on the bed, turning to him with a look of indignation. 

“Who says I’m trying to become a servant?” you ask. Immediately you regret the question when his eyes begin to glow with anger. He reaches out to grab you by the collar of your dress, and easily he lifts you off the ground just like before. 

“The alternative is death,” he growls. 

You had no choice but to give in to him. He drops you back onto the bed before turning away. His imposing figure stalks to the door, only stopping for a moment to look over his shoulder at you. 

“Start by cooking breakfast,” he says, his voice a perpetual growl. 

You don’t know what else to do. There’s not much you can do besides go along with his orders. You go downstairs, and it takes a bit of searching before you find the kitchen. There’s almost no food in the pantries, only a few things you assume he must have gathered on his own at some point, or perhaps those from neighboring villages brought in the goods as offerings. You’re staring up at the shelves trying to plan a meal when his shadow looms over you. 

“A farmer nearby brings supplies,” his voice booms through the pantry. “In return, I keep the monsters off his sheep.” 

“Why would you?” 

He answers your question with another, “What threat does a farmer hold to my rule?” 

You don’t turn to him, instead, you reach up to the high shelf where there’s a bag of flour to try to reach it. You expect him to help you, but he doesn’t. He stands back and smirks as you climb up the shelves to grab the bag of flour and start to pull it slowly in the hope you can shimmy it down. Instead, it falls and bursts on the floor. 

“Now you have a breakfast to cook and a mess to clean,” he chuckles. “It’s good to see you can keep yourself busy.” 

He leaves you alone, and you manage to clean up. Then, you cook a nice meal considering what little you have to work with. After that, he tells you to pick a room and begin cleaning. 

The days continue in this manner. You cook and clean in the castle. Occasionally you manage to tease some semblance of conversation from him, if grunts and the occasional sarcastic quip can be considered as such. To your surprise, he’s not cruel to you. He’s just cold, almost apathetic as far as you can tell. You’re mostly kept to your own devices, which is lonely. As long as you do the chores, he doesn’t have much to say. 

Considering his indifference, you didn’t think he would put in any effort to stop your escape. Being able to explore the castle on your own for so many hours of the day, it had taken you a week to muster up the courage to try to leave. However, as soon as you passed through the gate gloom hands surprised you and dragged you back to your quarters. If he had known of your attempt to escape, he never spoke a word of it to you. 

_____

Ganondorf isn’t accustomed to having company anymore. The centuries have passed, and his former companions have fallen by the wayside. Either having fallen in battle or to the ravages of time. He tells himself he’s a lonely old fool the first time his heart races when you attempt to make casual conversation with him. 

His heart pounds even more so when you shyly ask if he misses being in Gerudo Town. Nobody over the years ever had the bravery to ask such a deeply personal question. You were sitting on the sofa by the fire mending a hole in your skirt when the question fell from your lips as simply as asking if the sky is blue. He looked up from the flames. 

“What a bold question little one,” he commented as he took a deep breath to prepare his answer. “I miss my sisters most of all, but none of the sisters I knew are living any longer. Those who inhabit that place are now strangers to me as I am to them.” 

A pang of sadness hits your chest, “Are there other things you miss?” 

“No, not necessarily. The blistering sun and unforgiving sands hold no sentiment except for how they made me strong.” 

“I see,” you say and quickly return to mending your clothes. 

“You need more attire,” he says. 

“You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Ah, but you’re wrong. It is because of me that you are here, therefore it is my responsibility to care for you.” 

Your mind feels blank for a moment. Was that kindness? From the mouth of the demon king himself? Before you can say anything, he rises from his seat. He doesn’t bid you goodnight before disappearing. Nor do you notice him locking the castle up like he usually does at night. 

The next morning when you awaken, there’s a a pile of neatly folded clothes placed on the armchair in your room. You look through the clothes carefully. Among the more casual pants and blouses, you also find a beautiful gown. The material is soft, emerald green with gold floral embroidery along the hems. You assume it must have been by mistake that he brought something so elegant and beautiful to you. With great care, you hang the gown in the wardrobe, where among the shelves you find a new pair of shoes and a winter cloak. 

You get ready for your day, dressing in the new clothes he brought, and then busy yourself with chores. It’s nearly night when you hear Ganondorf stir. Looking to thank him for his gesture, you quickly make your way towards the staircase to greet him. However, the words are caught in your throat when you see him. 

He’s dressed in a fine, majestic robe. You recognize the patterns on it as being Gerudo. His hair is tied back, and the red beard that had been down to his chest when you arrived is neatly trimmed back up to his jawline. 

“Did you have something to say?” he asks, hoping to put a stop to your wide-eyed gaping. How long has it been since someone looked upon him with awe rather than fear? 

“Y-you look nice,” you smile shyly, having forgotten your original intentions for the moment. 

“Ah, yes,” he nods. 

You look down to the floor again then the thoughts return to your mind. You bounce softly on your toes and your eyes light up. 

“Thank you for bringing me new clothes!” 

“I told you I would,” he comes down the rest of the stairs and looks down on you but not with malice. “Did you find the gown?” 

Your eyes widen. So it hadn’t been a mistake? 

“Y-yes, I did! It’s so beautiful.” 

“I was hoping you’d wear it tonight,” he doesn’t sound as authoritative as he’d hoped to. 

“Oh, sure. I’ll put it on after dinner.” 

“No, don’t worry about dinner. Go change now.” 

With a short, courteous bow you make your exit. Upstairs in your room, you quickly bathe and then slip into the beautiful gown. Upon inspecting your appearance, you decide a bit more effort needs to go into it if you’re to wear such an opulent outfit. You brush your hair and braid it neatly.

 As you set to work on your appearance, you wonder what Ganondorf has planned for the evening. You’ve never seen him quite so…Handsome. He’s all cleaned up and dressed like the true king he is. Surely he wouldn’t go to so much effort for you, would he? No, you tell yourself that’s not possible. Perhaps he’s just having a bit of fun with you. After all, he’s been in this castle by himself for centuries. It would make sense for him to take to a bit of fanciness since he has someone around to share it with. 

Somehow imagining him seeing you as more than just a servant makes your heart flutter. You tell yourself you must be insane for thinking this way. Yet, he’s become more than a master to you. You’ve spent long nights sitting by the fire, listening to his tales of times long past. Somewhere among hearing his childhood tales of starvation and heat among his people and witnessing the opulence Hyrule hoarded, you began to understand his anger. Perhaps you couldn’t fully condone his path, but you could understand why he would grow to desire the conquering of the kingdom. You began to see through the dark, foreboding reputation of the demon king. 

As you descend the stairs, you notice more light in the castle than you’re used to at this time of night. The grand chandelier in the main hall has been lit along with the chandeliers on the stone walls throughout the corridor leading into the ballroom, as though lighting your path. As you open the large double doors, you see a dining table set up by the large windows looking out onto the courtyard. It’s filled to the brim with fruit, cheese, and dried meats. A bottle of wine is chilled by two glasses. Ganondorf stands nearby, his back straight as he stares out the window with his hands locked behind him. 

“Your majesty,” you say to get his attention. 

He turns to you, his eyes widening momentarily before his face returns to being neutral. 

“You look lovely,” he whispers, almost too quiet for you to hear it. You bow politely. 

“Thank you,” you smile. 

“I have set up dinner,” he explains. “You asked me once what it was like being the king of the Gerudo. I thought I would show you how I ate then.” 

“Oh?” You approach the table, and he quickly pulls the chair out for you. You thank him as you sit down. 

“The heat was intense. So, I often tried to eat light yet still filling meals. I ate considerably more than this, of course, but I thought you’d appreciate having more variety.” 

“You put this together?” 

He smiles as he begins pouring the wine, “Yes, of course. Can’t I do things for myself? Or do you wish to take care of me completely?” 

Your cheeks heat up at his double entendre. It takes you a moment to regain your bearings, trying not to imagine what all ‘taking care’ of him might entail. 

“I suppose it’s just unexpected.” 

He places a glass of wine by your hand, and you hear a deep chuckle from him as he sits across from you. 

“Believe it or not, back then I didn’t have many servants. The Gerudo people are prideful therefore believe it or not, they didn’t bow to me like I was a child in need of praise. I was proud to be self-sufficient.” 

“I see,” you smile. “So, what is all this?” you gesture to the ballroom all lit up and with a few flower arrangements scattered about.

“I thought you might enjoy a bit of grandeur,” he sighs. “Must you ask so many questions?” 

Your cheeks burn as you look down at your plate, “I only wished to know.” 

“All in due time,” he answers before beginning to pile his plate with food. 

You follow along, taking a bit of all of the offerings. It was a nice, light meal. Leaving you full, yet still energetic instead of ready to fall asleep in your chair. The wine made your cheeks burn and your muscles feel loose. Ganondorf encourages you to eat more if you need more, and you’re surprised by the way he seems to be taking such care of you even though he doesn’t seem the kind to have a caring bone in his body. 

After the two of you finish your meals, he takes your hand and leads you to the middle of the ballroom. He explains that he wishes to teach you some of the traditional Gerudo dances. He explains how often in his time as King, the dances would be performed with two women. However, as time passed and the Gerudo became more focused on finding husbands they began altering the steps. 

“Women are strong and can stand on their own, but I suppose as time passed they wanted to be more meek to attract husbands,” he explains as he shows you the steps as intended which would see your hips swaying carelessly. “Are you meek?” he asks with a teasing smile. 

“For you?” you giggle. “I think not.” 

He laughs, surprising you deeply yet thrilling you none the same. Soon he has you pulled close as you perform the steps as he’d showed you. One large hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you to move along with him. The ballroom is large, and it’s perfect for what he does. Every corner is explored by the gentle tapping of your feet, barely out of synch considering the difference in your size. 

“Come,” he says as he pulls you closer. He gently guides you to stand on his feet. The weight doesn’t seem to bother him as he holds you as close as he can. He moves the two of you as gracefully as waves across the ocean. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks down at you, and finally leans closer. 

“Are you…?” 

Before you can speak, and ruin the moment, he presses his lips to yours. The warmth of his mouth spreads through you, lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. His hands rest upon your waist and his feet go still as he loses himself to the kiss. Your fingers are small and gentle as they comb through his fiery hair. Finally, the two of you separate. He almost looks ashamed of his actions. He steps away, looking around the room like a wild animal in a cage searching for an escape. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. “Intimacy shared when one is bound is a violation.” 

“Gan…Wait,” you grab his hand but he quickly pulls away. “I don’t feel that way with you.” 

“It matters not what you feel. The truth is unchanged. If I’d not forced you here, then this moment would have never come to pass.” 

“No, please-” 

“You should leave,” he growls. “Do not look back at this place. Leave me here.” 

“Just listen to me,” you plead. “Please, I want to stay!” 

“Leave! Now,” he bellows through the halls. “Do not ever return!” 

Tears fill your eyes as the sting of rejection fills your chest. You want to open your mouth and tell him how badly you wish to stay. Throughout your time with him you’ve seen him grow from being a reclusive, grumpy king to showing the side of him that’s charming. You’ve found yourself growing more confident and content as well. Despite everything, you seem to have brought out the best in one another. Yet, he’s pushing you away now. 

“If you do not leave, I will kill you!” he snarls, the threat as empty as the wine bottle on the dining table. He’d never be able to bring himself to harm a hair on your head. 

Without another word, you run upstairs to pack your few belongings.  _____

You were surprised by the greeting you’d received when you’d returned home. Your family was delighted to see you. Your mother doted on you for days, having spent the better part of a year thinking you had abandoned the family or worse got yourself killed. You have always been a curious one, after all. After all of your family realized not only were you in good health, but you weren’t going to share what you’d been through it was business as usual. There were chores to be done on the farm, and you were eager to busy yourself with mindless work. 

You missed him deeply. It was a surprising turn, even to you. At night when you sat by the fire, you often found yourself asking your family philosophical questions they couldn’t answer all that deeply. In your mind, you could almost hear the way Ganondorf would have answered them. The way he almost seemed to purr in the back of his throat when he sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard, as he considered how to answer your best. You remembered the way his eyes would light up when you’d managed to push a topic he was particularly interested in. His eyes would light up when you would argue with him, confidently asserting your thoughts, as though he was proud of you for being so willing to stand up to him. Meanwhile, you felt suffocated by returning to your old life. Your family are kind people, surely, but they’re also simple in their desires. You missed the thrill of being close to someone who had a worldview so interestingly different from your own who could both challenge and be challenged in exchange. 

Yet, you worked. Finding solace and quiet in the familiarity of it all. It was the same thing you’d found yourself doing up until the fateful day you had been at the castle. 

Did he know how much the time you spent with him meant to you? Somehow you felt that question burning in your mind for weeks. Maybe if you had told him the truth of your feelings sooner, then he would have never sent you away. If he had known you didn’t feel imprisoned with him, would he have let you stay by his side? Would the budding feelings between you have finally bloomed? Not having the answers to these questions was enough to drive you to madness. And yet…The answers would not come. 

Months had passed when the adventurer arrived. His name was Link, and as your family served him dinner he explained his mission. He was to free Hyrule from the Demon King, Ganondorf. 

“The Demon King has been silent for many years,” your father said. “Is such a feat really worth laying down your life for?” 

“He may be silent for now, but the conquering spirit in him still remains. Hyrule will not be free until he is gone,” Link replied. 

“Will peace truly ever return?” your mother asked.

“Yes,” Link said, with an unwavering resolve. “Princess Zelda will take the throne, and restore prosperity.” 

As all of you laid down in your bedrolls that night, you had tried to push away the fear. He had made sure you no longer felt like he was your problem, therefore you felt it was in your best interest to pretend it wasn’t. Whether Ganondorf lived or died, should have been of no concern to you. 

Yet, the next morning, you rise with the sun. You quickly go check the spare room, and see that Link has already left. His blankets are neatly folded and there’s a small pile of money off to the side. 

“No, no,” you whisper to yourself. 

You run to the stables and take one of your family horses. You ride towards the castle, praying that you will make it in time to save Ganondorf. Although truth be told, you didn’t know if it was entirely possible. 

The sun is shining brightly overhead, the sky a cheerful shade of blue. In the distance, you can see a dark, gloom-filled cloud hanging over the ruins of Hyrule castle. You wonder if Link has already made it there, and is now fighting Ganondorf. There’s a strange conflict brewing in your chest because you understand why Link wants to defeat him. You just can’t stand the thought of losing Ganondorf. You keep replaying that night in your head, and you wish more than anything that you would have fought harder to stay by his side. Knowing you may never get to tell him the truth of your feelings makes your heart sink into your stomach. 

As you arrive at the castle, the clouds of gloom have begun to fade. Leaving only rainclouds in their wake that are slowly being pushed aside by the soft breeze. Does this mean it’s over? Ganondorf has been defeated? 

You leave your horse by the gate and run past the walls. You see his large form hunched over on one of the balconies. Link lunges with his sword, and suddenly Ganondorf falls. He lands with a loud crash on the ground, sending cracks through the stone from the impact. Link stands at the edge of the balcony and crawls onto the ledge. He points an arrow bathed in divine light down at Ganondorf, aiming for the finishing blow. 

“No!” You cry out as you run to Ganondorf’s rumpled form. 

“Huh?” Link gasps as he sees you throw yourself over Ganondorf. Your considerably smaller form does nothing to truly shield him, but Link knows you wouldn’t be able to withstand the blast from the light arrow. “Move!” Link calls down to you. 

“No! I won’t!” 

“Little one,” Ganondorf coughs. “It’s over…Do not…” he trails off when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks. He can’t remember the last time anyone cried for him, or if they ever had. 

“Please, I won’t let you die,” you cry softly and bury your head against his chest. You don’t care about the blood and grime covering him. You feel his large hand on your back, his fingers curling through your hair. 

“I’m glad you came, if only so I could see you one last time.” 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “Don’t speak that way.” 

Link jumps down, landing with a thud on his feet, “You don’t understand. I have to finish him. Ganondorf has to die so Hyrule can be saved.” 

“Why does he have to die?” you sob as you continue clinging to him, your tears soaking into his tattered clothes. Link looks down, unsure of how to answer your question. Truth be told, he didn’t truly understand himself. Ganondorf had practically been dormant for half a century, and the monsters had slowly begun to fade away. 

“It’s fate,” Ganondorf tells you, continuing to rub your back. “Stand aside, little one. Do not weep for me anymore.” 

“Ganondorf, I can’t leave you like this,” you whisper. “I love you.” 

“Love?” he whispers as though the word is one he’s never heard. He wants to laugh, not at your feelings but at the notion of someone feeling something so gentle for him. “I…I love you as well, but it matters not now.” 

You look up, expecting to see Link standing over you. Instead, you see his retreating form. Almost seeming to sense your gaze, he looks over his shoulder. “Make sure he doesn’t give me a reason to seek him again. The two of you find somewhere to go, somewhere far away from here. I will tell everyone he’s dead.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper through gentle sobs. 

Ganondorf can hardly believe his ears. Had the hero truly decided to spare him? He couldn’t imagine a time when something like this would happen, and yet he knows there’s something he’s never had before…Rather someone. You must be the most precious thing he’s ever held in his arms. 

You embrace him again, savoring the beating of his heart and the warmth of him. Still alive, still breathing. He touched your hair, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. When you finally look up at him, there’s a sweet smile on your face despite the tears in your eyes. Then, you lean down to kiss him. His heart soars from the gentle affection. 

 It would seem fate had something different in store for him this time. 

[twilightaurora]

bolstering a fighter's spirit – sage

sneak peek: before battle, link pulls you aside with a request. he wants to wear his barbarian armor into the fight, but he needs help with the paint patterns of the set. after all, the attack bonus only happens when the purple paint completes the armor. won't you help him?

pairing: sage (totk!link) x fem!reader, background chain (no wind) x fem!reader (poly) – this will be four parts! one for sage, wild, and cal, then the triplets together ;)

warnings: 18+ content! (do NOT interact with this unless you have an age indicator in your bio - I WILL block you) cursing, spitting, handjobs/masturbation, hair pulling, praising, mentions of oral (m! receiving), sage is a big tease, a little bit of exhibitionism (public setting, but you're alone), jealousy ;) biting (forgive me if sage is ooc, he's just a little gremlin in my eyes) this is mostly teasing – the good stuff will come in part four ;)

word count: 6.4k

a/n: i want sage in a way that is concerning to feminism i think (/j... or am i??) this is dedicated to @neverchecking who fueled my brain rot xD this series is for you >:D

It starts with Sage.

Because it always does. 

The chain landed in his Hyrule the day before, appearing on the borders of Zora’s Domain. The shift wasn’t terrible this time – for you anyway. Hylia, whether intentionally or not, had dumped you directly atop Time and Twilight. 

In your humble opinion, Time made a much worse cushion than his successor. With his broad chest and stiff armor, the eldest hero was less than comfortable to land on. Twilight, on the other hand, managed to grasp a hold of your waist in the midst of the fall, and dragged you into him as the three of you went down. You ended up landing mostly atop Twilight, much to your thanks. However, you could still feel the harsh press of Time’s armor against your sides.

“Oof,” you grunt as the air escapes your chest involuntarily. Pressing a hand to your ribs, you suck in a grateful breath of air as you lean forward. 

A hand slips around your hips as another gently taps against your back.

“You alright there, darl’?” 

It’s Twi. His accent is unmistakable. 

His hand rubs sweetly against your side as you cough. Sitting up with a huff, you feel Twilight hum as you lean away from his chest. Awkwardly, you shimmy off his lap to land between him and Time, smiling with a little chuckle, you nod. 

“Yeah, m’okay,” you smile, feeling your breath return. “You?”

Twilight chuckles, shifting and stretching his back. The three of you landed on your backs, facing skyward as the portal closed above you. It wasn’t a big fall, but it was enough to leave you winded. 

“M’alright, too. What about ya,’ Time? Ya’ good, old man?” Twilight turns over his shoulder to look at Time with a toothy grin. You catch a glimpse of his sharpened canines and have to look away before he catches your lingering stare. 

Time huffs, rubbing his own hand against the chest-plate of his armor. 

“Watch it, pup,” the eldest murmurs, but there’s no heart in it. Especially when you find the grin twisting the corner of his mouth upwards. “I’m okay. Is everyone all here?”

“We’re good!” 

The reply comes from Wind, the youngest already standing and looking around the new environment. His hands are on his hips and there’s a beaming grin on his lips. 

“Speak for yourself, kid,” Legend grunts. The Vet is pulling himself from a pile of limbs, buried beneath the forms of Hyrule, Sky and Wild. “You didn’t land at the bottom of the pile.”

A resounding groan comes from Sky as he weasels his way from underneath the others, offering his own complaint. 

“Four’s a little woozy, but other than that we’re doing fine,” Warriors inputs, his form crouched beside the mentioned hero. Four is on his hands and knees, panting as he attempts to right himself. Shifts are always a little different for him. Perhaps it had something to do with the other parts of him still constrained within one form, but he didn’t quite know. 

“I’ll be fine, Wars. Just gimme’ a few minutes.” 

Time is on his feet a moment later, turning back to you with a sweet smile and offering a hand. 

“Thank you,” you hum as you slip your fingers into his own. Twilight props you up as you begin to stand, his hand sliding from your back to a fraction lower. When you turn over your shoulder to shoot him a look, Twilight gives you a wolfy smile and a little wink before he begins to stand as well. You roll your eyes goodnaturedly and ignore the flash of heat that zings through your gut. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Time murmurs, brushing the dirt off your tunic as you fix yourselves. “Anyone know where we are?” 

“It’s my Hyrule,” comes Sage’s voice. The Hero of the Zonai is looking down at his Purah Pad, scanning through something as he speaks. “We landed pretty close to Zora’s Domain. If we’re lucky we can make it there before nightfall.” 

Wild nods, brushing off his tunic as he confirms Sage’s words. 

“I recognize Inogo Bridge,” he muses as slings a Lynel Bow over his shoulders. “Is the road to the Domain as overrun here as it is in mine?” 

Sage hums as he filters through his weapon inventory, eventually summoning a Zonaite Sword that’s been fused to some monster part that the others don’t recognize. That Fuse ability of his is still something the Chain is getting used to. 

“It’s not so bad. I cleared it out before the last Blood Moon, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been gone.” 

Time leaves your side to join Sage and Wild. Cal fills his empty place easily, a little grin on his lips as he scans over your form. When he finds no injuries, his smile broadens, giving you a nod as you lean forward to pat his cheek sweetly. The pinkish hue of his cheeks is too cute. 

“I’m fine, Cal, really,” you murmur, leaning into the Hero as he blushes. 

“Just checking, is all.” 

You smile, pecking Cal’s cheek as you leave his side to join the other heroes. Time has his arms crossed over his chest as Sage speaks, his one eye still shut and his armor glinting in the sun. 

“Okay,” the Hero of Time begins, scanning over the Chain as he mulls over his words. “We move in an hour. That should give everyone a chance to recover from the shift. We should prepare for a fight – with our luck, the road will probably be overrun.” 

The rest of the Chain offer various forms of agreement, beginning to move away as they shift through their various belongings. You pull your pouch to your front and untangle the strings as you rifle through the magically enhanced insides. Finding the bottles you’re searching for, you count the number of healing potions and fairies still on your person. Mentally accounting for the rest of the chain and the number of potions you know are in Wild’s slate, you hum thoughtfully. There’s enough. As long as nothing goes terribly wrong, everything should be just fine. 

A moment later, your name is called. 

Lifting your head, you find Sage’s eyes across the clearing. The Hero of the Zonai finds your gaze and lifts his hand to beckon you closer. 

“C’mere, sunflower,” he smiles, the glint in his eyes reflecting something deeper. His grin looks a little too close to a smirk, and your heart skips a beat. He wants something. “I need your help with something.”

You follow his motion with a silly tumble of your stomach. Sage never fails to make your gut flip and your skin warm. You’re so weak for this man and he’s not even doing anything. 

“What’s up, Sage?” 

The hero is already wearing different clothes from the ones he landed in. You recognize them – you’ve seen his barbarian armor before. He and Wild – as well as Cal, you’ve come to learn, each have a set of the ‘armor.’ You’re hardly sure it can be called armor, given how little it actually seems to protect during battle. Wild had mentioned the armor was enhanced by the Great Fairies, giving him some kind of magical boost during battle. You didn’t really understand it, but you believed him. The triplets were wonders on the battlefield, and with the addition of the armor, you could tell their prowess seemed to grow. 

However, though Sage dons the leg wraps and the chest guard, the helm is still missing. When you step closer to the hero, you notice he’s suspiciously missing something else too. 

There’s no paint decorating his skin. 

The fur of his boots and at his shoulders ruffles with the soothing breeze, and you desperately try to keep your eyes away from the toned lines of his abdomen. Sage, however, seems to notice your struggle, because his grin only seems to broaden. 

When you reach his side, Sage holds something out to you. 

A paintbrush. 

“Can you help me with this, pretty? I can’t reach my back as easily as you can.” 

You have to battle against the way your stomach flutters. Skin warming and fingers twitching, you reach out to grab the brush from Sage’s outstretched hand. 

“Are you sure?” you murmur. “I don’t know the pattern as well as you.” 

Sage gives you another grin, humming sweetly as he reaches for your hands. His skin is warm as he pulls you closer. 

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll help you, love. Just come with me, please?” 

The look he gives you makes your knees weak. His lidded eyes are filled with something you can’t decipher, and his pretty cerulean irises are peering down at you with something dark in their depths. The way he leans forward over you is troubling given the way your heart clenches. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” you whisper, smiling back at the hero.

Sage leads you away from the camp the Chain begins to build. You’re not quite sure what the distance is for, but you assume he must want some privacy given how close the paint is to… 

Oh. 

Sage smirks as you begin to realize what he’s asked you to do. His grip on your hand tightens and you press your lips together to repress the way your cheeks warm. Your stomach flips and something hot surges between your thighs. 

“You finally realize what I’m asking you, pretty girl?” 

Goddesses, this man is too much for you. 

You offer Sage a look, feeling suddenly small beneath his heated gaze. His blonde locks are loose and hanging delicately around his face, and you want to run your fingers through the silky tresses. You wonder what kind of sound he’ll make if you tug on them. 

Turning back to you when he’s deemed the distance enough, Sage gives you another smirk and pulls you close. He clutches your hips in his hands, tugging you closer with lidded eyes and leans down closer to you. Your heart skips a beat as his lips graze over your own, and you surge closer to his pretty mouth. 

Sage chuckles, the low sound making your stomach feel funny. 

“Ah ah, sunflower…” he tuts playfully, squeezing your hips and pressing his waist into your own. “I still need your help – there’s no attack boost without the body paint, you know?” 

You huff, shooting him a withered look at Sage grins. The hero pulls out the paint he uses for such purposes, outstretching it towards you as he motions towards the paintbrush. 

“Please, my love? You can start with my legs.” 

You nearly roll your eyes at his honey-sweet tone, giving him another look as you accept the paint. Your stomach flips again when Sage leans back, resting his weight against a tree behind him. The hero spreads his legs a bit, offering you the space between them as he looks down at you. 

With something hot rippling beneath your skin, you realize what he beckons for you to do. Huffing, you drop to your knees at Sage’s feet and look up at him with your brows raised. You find the man already looking down at you with a toothy grin, and something feral in his expression makes you even weaker to his salacious smirk. 

“This what you wanted, Sage?” 

“That’s perfect, sweet girl. You know I love you on your knees for me,” he purrs. “You know what the pattern looks like?”

You offer a small nod, shifting your eyes to the empty expanse of his toned thighs. On your knees, your head comes up to his hips, and you’re given a beautiful view of his gorgeous legs. The little skirt the armor uses barely covers more than a few inches beneath his hips, and you’re given more than an eyeful of his pretty, bare skin. 

Turning back to the paint in your hands, you dip the paintbrush in the royal purple color and lift it back towards his skin. Looking back up at him once, Sage inclines his head in a nod and you melt underneath his dark eyes. 

You start at his legs, dragging the paintbrush across his right leg. On his outer thigh, you paint the crossing pattern that you’ve seen span over his legs. You definitely have not been paying close attention to the pattern that the armor always dons… 

Flushing at the memory, you feel your thighs weaken, so you spread your knees farther apart to counter the weight. Head spinning as you finish the first leg, you look back up at Sage. He’s still watching you, one of his hands lifting to brush some of your hair out of your eyes sweetly, you melt into his hand. He gives you an uncharacteristically tender look before he nudges you back to your job. 

When you turn to the other leg, you find the leather drop sheath encasing his upper thigh. The dagger in the holster glints in the sun, but that’s not why your stomach flips. 

“Can I…” you murmur, voice uncharacteristically weak. “Can I take this off? I think the paint goes across here, doesn't it?” 

Sage hums, a knowing smirk on his lips as he runs his fingers across your scalp again. Leaning his hips forward towards you, you feel another lick of heat flick between your thighs. 

It’s so… hot. Everything is so hot. You know he’s teasing you, but it’s working. 

By the Three, is it working... 

Sage makes no move to take the holster off himself, simply offering you his hips and looking down at you through his lashes. “Go ahead, pretty. Take it off f’me.” 

You melt beneath his gaze, shakily lifting a hand to his legs. Your brain is racing and your thoughts are so fuzzy. Sage knows exactly how to make you weak beneath him. It takes so little effort. In any other situation, you’d probably throw a playful swat for such behavior, but when Sage gives you that lustful smirk, you find you’ll do anything he says – as long as he keeps looking at you like that, you’ll do anything and everything. 

When your fingers find the holster, skimming across the pretty, pale skin of his inner thigh, Sage keens. Goosebumps ripple across his flesh where your fingers were, leaving a trail of little bumps in a pattern across his skin. Knocking his head back against the tree trunk, Sage hums out a sweet sound and pushes his hips closer to you. 

“Hnng…” 

Goddesses, does he make pretty sounds. 

You want to hear more. As his hips roll forward, you become more than aware of how close his waist is to your face. It takes every fiber of restraint you have not to drift your hand just an inch closer to the edge of his little skirt. 

Loosening the strap of his sheath, you begin to pull the leather from around his thigh. Dragging it down his legs, you drop it at his feet and look back up at him. 

Sage still has his head thrown back against the tree, his lips tugged upwards in a hazy look with his eyes closed. You’re so tempted to brush your lips across the span of his inner thigh, just where you need to paint. Your legs clench, the heat beginning to swell between your own thighs. Before you stand back up on your knees, the leather discarded at Sage’s feet, you indulge your fantasies. Darting forward, you drag your lips across the pale skin of his inner thigh, grinning when Sage curses. 

“Oh, Hylia,” he hisses, eyes prying open to glare down at you. You grin and Sage reaches a hand out to flick your forehead. 

“Keep going, sunflower. There’s still more to paint, and we’ve only got an hour,” he coos. “If you’re quick, maybe I’ll give you a reward for being so good for me.” 

You hurriedly dip the paintbrush back into the violet ink and Sage chuckles in that deep tone that makes your insides mushy. You finish the second crossing pattern on his leg before Sage’s eyes open again. 

Looking up at him, you lift off your knees and sit up. Now closer to his stomach, you hum shakily and whisper quietly. 

“I can’t remember the entire pattern on your chest, Sage. M’gonna need some help.”

“Of course, my love,” he muses sweetly. His hand is back at your scalp, gently scratching at your scalp and grinning when you keen into his hands. He loves when you go limp in his grasp. Oh, Hylia – he wants to see the look on your face when he yanks the strands back. Would you make a pretty sound for him when he does? Would you beg him to do it again? 

He wants to find out. 

Sage loves the sound your voice makes when you beg him so sweetly. He remembers the way your hips canted up into his own not so long ago, desperate for him to roll back into you as he pinned you beneath him. His eyes slide back shut at the memory, feeling his cock stiffen beneath the skirt of his armor. It twitches and Sage can barely contain the urge to drag your hand beneath the waistband to solve the growing problem. He can so clearly recall the touch of your fingertips against the head of his cock. 

Fuck, it’s so hot. 

“There’s a line across each of my ribs. They go around my back,” he manages to choke out. “Do those first.” 

You obey him without complaint, dragging the soft bristles of the brush across his chest just beneath where the chest-plate ends.  The bristles tickle across his ribs, and in any other circumstance, they might have elicited a silly giggle from the usually so stoic hero. However, Sage is far more distracted by the throbbing beneath his waistband to spare the attention for such sensations. 

As you lean back on your heels, tilting your head to assess if the short lines of pain across Sage’s abdomen are even, the hero chuckles again. Licking his lips, he gives you that feral grin that makes your heart clench. Pushing off the tree, he twists around to give you his back. 

“They go down to my waistband,” he murmurs. “You remember ‘em?” 

You offer a vague nod, too distracted by the cutting lines of his hips. Sage eats up the attention. 

With a racing mind, you finish the pattern, dragging the brush from mid-back downwards to the small of his back. When you lift a hand to the edge of his skirt, pulling the edge slightly to dip the brush beneath his waistband, Sage shivers. 

You grin. 

When he turns back to you, he speaks with a flash of sharpened canines. You nearly squirm at his feet, a notion Sage adores. 

“Now my hips.” 

You swallow thickly. 

Before dipping the brush back into indigo paint, you bite the edge of your lip and push back the smirk that attempts to show. You have an idea. 

“Sage…” you hum sweetly, leaning closer to the hero’s waist. Just an inch from the waistband of his skirt, you pull one of your hands up from the ground to rest against the bare skin of his hip. The toned skin of his waist flexes under the touch of your fingers, and you watch Sage’s closed eyes twitch. 

Perfect. 

“Can you help me, darling? I can’t remember how this looks?” 

Sage’s eyes pry open, seemingly with immense difficulty, and the hero’s dilated pupils meet your own. Blown wide with some kind of primal emotion, Sage’s flushed cheeks spread into a grin as he registers your words. You lean closer to his hips, your fingers delicately tracing shapes over his side. You try desperately to restrain a scheming grin when Sage pushes closer to your hands. 

“‘Course, my sunflower. S’just a triangle over my waist. I’ll help you.” 

When one of his hands reaches for yours, you beam. Sage gently lifts your fingers, pulling you closer by your wrist until your front is nearly pressed up against his legs. He looks down at you with that feral, dominant look he knows you love, and you shiver. Your heart thunders beneath your ribs and Sage adores the way you move so easily for him. Always so eager to obey his commands… Goddesses he loves you. He’ll treat you so well after this – he promises. 

Lifting your hand, he helps you drag the paintbrush over his right hip and carefully draws the triangular shape across his waist. He twists a little, allowing you to finish the shape at his back. With another silly grin, he begins to help you start the other side. 

“There you go,” he coos with batting lashes. “Doin’ so well f’me. That’s just perfect.” 

When you finish his hips, Sage helps you paint the three dots on his front before moving to allow you to replicate the same at the small of his back. 

Then, you’ve reached the part you’ve been eagerly awaiting. The last part of his barbarian armor – the handprints.

Sage twists back to his front, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead – a sweet caress compared to the way he’s been looking at you. He’s always so adoring in the way he treats you, even when he’s manhandling you beneath him. When he pulls your legs over his shoulders, darkened irises scanning over your bare hips, Sage always presses a chaste kiss to your calf to apologize for the stretch of your muscles. Always so sweet to the one he loves. 

“Thank you for helpin’ me. Now, give me your hand, sweet thing.” 

You obey, hand already outstretched with your palm facing skywards. Offering him the brush, freshly dipped in orchid-colored paint, Sage hums and accepts. He delicately cradles the back of your hand and begins to coat your fingers in violet ichor. The clay feeling of the paint sinks into your skin, and you sit obediently as Sage paints your palms. 

His eyes flick upwards to meet your eyes with another teasing grin. 

“You’re enjoying this as much as I am, aren’t you, pretty?” 

You nod, a matching smile on your lips. 

“Good,” Sage purrs, finally finishing the coat of paint across your palm. “C’mere then.” 

He twists to give you his spine first. You grin, reaching forward with your unpainted hand to pull gently at his waistband. Sage’s head knocks back as you nudge the skirt lower. When you can clearly see the small of his back, accentuated by his thin waist – his slutty waist, in your opinion – you lift the violet hand and carefully lay it across his spine. 

Sage hums, head still tilted backwards and his eyes closed. 

Before lifting your palm, you lean forward, eyes closing as your lips graze over the bare skin of his hip. Sage’s skin is hot, flushed red with the rush of warmth surging beneath his waistband. His cock twitches again. 

“Naughty…” he whispers teasingly. 

Twisting back around to the front and reclining back against the tree, Sage is careful not to smudge the paint you freshly smeared across his back. Inclining his hips forward again, the Hero of the Zonai gives you that feral look once more before his hand lifts and he’s beckoning you closer. 

“Just one more…” Sage teases, beginning to paint your palm once more. “One more and I’ll reward you.” 

You shiver, the rumble of his voice seemingly sinking beneath your skin to sink into your chest. He makes you so weak. Perhaps it’s something about the way dominance seems to radiate from him during moments like this. All he has to do is bat those blonde lashes and give you that feral, little grin, and you’re putty in his hands. Well, you suppose it’s not so bad. Sage always treats you so well. 

“Yeah, you want that, huh? ‘Course, you do… I always treat you so good, don’t I?” 

You hum in response, shuffling forward on your knees, “Yeah, I want that, Sage. Please?” 

Sage coos, a teasing smile stretched across his lips. He strokes one of his hands over your cheeks before it crawls behind your neck. Cupping your head, he runs his fingers through the hair at the base of your skull. Your thighs clench again. Sage does the same thing when your mouth is preoccupied with something else – running his fingers through your hair and pulling your face closer to his pretty hips. His head shifts between tossing back and staring down at your face, as if he can’t decide if he wants to give in to pleasure or if he can’t stand to look away. And he always sounds so pretty when you go down on him. 

“Ahh, I love it when you beg so sweetly for me, my darling. Finish this and I’ll give you what you want.” 

Releasing your hand, Sage drops the brush and lays back beckoning you forward with a lustful expression. When you shuffle again, inching closer, the hero pulls you forward by the back of your head and your stomach flutters. Offering you his waist, you lift your unpainted fingers with only a single tremor of your awaiting hand. 

Sage nods, inclining his chin in a command. 

“Pull ‘em down, pretty thing. You’ll need to see what you’re doing, right?” 

You huff, unable to offer a teasing remark in return, simply too transfixed on the sharp lines that lead down his waist. The v-line beckons you, guiding down where you want him most. 

Brushing your fingers across his waistline, you find the band of his skirt. Looking up at him once, Sage watches you with fluttering lashes as you begin to nudge the waistband. Tugging on it, Sage pushes his hips towards you to help you pull the skirt down onto his hip bones. 

It goes slow – tantalizingly slow. Revealing bare skin inch by inch, you lean forward to press a kiss to his left hip, but Sage’s fingers grip the back of your neck harshly. Tugging gently at the strands of your hair, your stomach flutters and heat prickles between your thighs. You let out a little grunt and Sage grins wide. His body shivers, seemingly pleased at the tiny sound of pleasure that fell from your lips. 

“Not yet…” Sage coos. “Be patient, sunflower.” 

You give the hero a haughty look, but obey regardless of the sweltering heat building in your panties. 

Weaseling the waistband downwards, you feel your heart jump into your throat. With more of his heavenly hips exposed, you feel another wave of heat flush through your skin. Each of your nerves seems to jump with adrenaline, and you eagerly lift your violet hand to finish the task appointed to you. Finally, you stop tugging at his skirt, leaving the waistband just above his dick. You know it’s uncomfortable, given how it twitches beneath the cloth of his skirt, flexing upwards at your teasing. Sage gives you an unimpressed look, motioning for you to finish. 

So delicately, you press your palm against his pelvis, the purple paint sinking into his bare skin. Fingers following after, you teasingly rest your hand between the sharp edges of his v-line – just above the throbbing muscle between his thighs. 

Sage keens, his head finally tossing back against the tree with another delicious sound. His hips push forward into your hands, tugging you closer to his waist by your neck. The other hand drops across his eyes, hiding his flushed cheeks in his elbow. 

“Hah… fuck.” 

With his arm hiding his eyes, you finally lean forward away from his fingers and leave a kiss on the edge of his v-line just beside your violent hand. Sage grunts, clenching his jaw as your warm mouth opens to drag your tongue over the dip in his hips. 

“By the three…” he whines, finally scrambling to tug at your hair again. Pulling you away, you drag your hand away from his pelvis with a feral grin of your own. Looking up at your work, you watch as Sage pants, his chest heaving with each breath. 

When he finally shifts his arm, his eyes prying open to find your scheming smile, Sage huffs and tightens his hold of your neck. Tugging you closer, he drops his other hand to slide two of his fingers beneath the waistband of his little skirt. Tugging at the band by his hip, he drags it another inch downwards with a primal grin. 

The paint must be working – that ‘fighting spirit’ finally kicking in. 

Wild had tried to explain it before; the magic the armor gives them. He said it enhanced his attack in battle, by somehow ‘bolstering his fighting spirit.’ However, when you questioned what that meant, Wild had gotten a little shifty. His cheeks had flushed and he rubbed his hands together, simply waving off your question with a simple “don’t worry about it.” 

But you’re not stupid. 

You’ve seen the way the triplets get a little more… primal with the armor on. They’re more aggressive, quicker to jump into battle in an attempt to burn off the adrenaline surging beneath their skin. It makes their eyes glint with something dangerous, and you’re not ashamed to say that you quite like the way they look. 

“My good girl…” Sage coos, still dragging down his skirt at a teasingly slow pace. “Will you help me with one more thing, my love? Just one more?” 

You nod before he even finishes his words. 

Sage grins, all teeth and darkened irises. 

“Hmm, thank you, baby.”

Then, Sage finally pries his skirt from his hips, letting the fur material slide off his waist and drop to the forest floor in a single motion. You only have a fraction of a second to admire his bare skin before his pretty cock fills your vision. Nearly slapping against his stomach, Sage’s dick twitches just once when you shift to look at it. The hero keens into your grip when you lean forward, painted hand sliding over his hip where you know the skirt will hide the smeared violet color. 

Sage’s cock, hard and already leaking at the pretty-pink tip, lays against his stomach. It ends at the tip of the purple handprint you had just pressed into his pelvis, almost as if you had known exactly how long his dick was. 

The Hero of the Zonai grins in that feral way, his form nearly radiating with primal dominance. He slides his other hand down across his stomach, taking care to avoid the fresh streaks of paint. Sage wraps a hand around his cock, tugging gently and stroking until it comes to its full hardness. He suppresses the sweet whine that desperately wants to escape – you have to work for those sounds if you want to hear them. 

“Open your mouth f’me, my good girl.” 

Your head tilts back into Sage’s hand, squeezing your legs together as something warm drips between them. Opening your lips, you look up at Sage as the hero smirks. 

“So good… thank you, darling,” he coos sweetly, moving his hand to run his thumb over your bottom lip with a dark look. Leaning forward, Sage spits into your open mouth with a smirk. 

Swallowing obediently, Sage hums happily and leans downard again to tug your lips to his own. Groaning into this kiss, Sage pries open your lips to lick into your mouth. Moaning happily, you melt into Sage’s hand, now returned to the back of your head. Sage kisses you wetly, saliva smearing onto your lips as he pants, still tugging at his cock. Pre-cum slides down the head, slicking up the length as he slides his fist over it with a whimpered sound. 

“Mmm…ah” 

When he finally pulls away from your swollen lips, you chase after his mouth with a sigh. Sage grins, his dilated pupils scanning over your flustered face with a haughty look. You watch him tug at his dick, rubbing your thighs to combat the throb between them as he keens into his own hands. 

“Sage…” you whine, trying to shuffle closer. 

Something flashes across Sage’s darkened eyes. 

“That’s not my name, sweet girl,” he murmurs with a frown. “You know better. C’mon, wanna’ hear you say it right.” 

Your stomach flutters, his teasing tone making your skin tingle and your head spin. You lean closer to his stomach, whining again. 

Sage frowns, pulling your hair gently to redirect your attention. 

“C’mon, pretty. Say my name – my real name.” 

Your eyes find his, tugging carefully on your bottom lip with your teeth before you whine out the name he wants. 

“Link…” 

Sage – Link groans, head tilting back to expose his pretty throat as he slicks up his cock again. Tugging fiercely at the length as his gut clenches, heat swelling and twisting in his pelvis with a sweltering warmth. 

“Oh, fuck…” he whines, pushing his hips closer to your face with a twitch of his dick. “That’s it, my pretty girl. Thank you, baby – thank you.” 

Just the sound of his true name on your lips makes him so aroused he can feel his cock throb painfully in his fingers. His hand tugs your head closer, now looking back down at you with those dark irises. Sliding his other hand away from his dick, Link allows your mouth to suck two of his fingers. Tasting the salty pre-cum coating his fingers, you shift on your knees again with a pretty sound. Link smirks. 

“Okay, my sunflower. You want your reward now?” 

Nodding, your tongue still flicking over his two fingers, you lean closer. Purple paint smears onto both your hands, and you know there are streaks of it on both of Link’s hips. You hope the other’s don’t see – or perhaps, you hope they haven’t paid too close attention to where the paint is supposed to go. You think you can feel little smudges of the orchid clay spreading across your throat where Link is clutching your neck, but you forget about it when Sage whines again as you lick over his fingers like you would his dick. The pretty sound makes you drip, and the panties you’re wearing are surely soiled now. 

“Yes please, Link,” you whisper. 

Link grins again, then pulls his fingers from your mouth and pulls you into his waist. Heat in his stomach and cock throbbing, purple paint decorating his pretty skin, Link slides a hand around his dick and taps it against your lips. 

“Good,” he murmurs, abs clenching as heat continues to stir. “Then suck and I’ll give you another.”

When an hour passes and you and Sage return to the temporary camp, the Chain turns to find faint streaks of smeared paint across Sage’s waist and a lilac tint on your palms. You’re both grinning, wild smiles on your cheeks as you step back into camp. Sage is in his barbarian armor, the skirt ruffled and twisted around just slightly and the helm now on his head. If Wild looks close enough, he can see a faint, dark mark on Sage’s inner thigh, just barely obscured by the skirt of the armor set.

“Are you kidding?” Wild exclaims as the two of you enter camp. He had to paint the armor himself when he could have just asked for you to do it? 

Wild and Cal are both in their barbarian armor, having painted on the violet patterns themselves. The former rolls his eyes as he watches Sage follow you, a smirk on his lips. He finds Wild staring at him and his expression only seems to grow more teasing. Cal shifts on his feet uncomfortably, finding your eyes and offering you a bashful look. 

“What?” Sage responds, his fanged grin still beaming. 

Wild grunts, huffing as he steps closer to you, beginning to pull you away from the other hero. The long-haired hero shoots Sage a glare, but the elder hero only seems to enjoy the spotlight. Wild wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you close as he finds a streak of orchid-colored clay across your throat – a fingerprint shaped print. 

“You have other armor that gives you an attack boost, you know?” Wild grunts towards Sage, jealousy swirling angrily in his stomach. 

“Yeah, but I wanted this one,” Sage smiles. “And our darling just wanted to help me with the paint – didn’t you, my sunflower?” 

You offer a shy smile to Wild, feeling suddenly flustered beneath both their gazes. 

Some of the other members of the Chain slowly begin to congregate in the center of the camp, drawn to the chatter. Wind remains over the ridge of camp, scouting the path ahead with Four. Legend scans over Sage’s slightly smudged paint and your ruffled appearance, rolling his eyes and huffing. 

“Could have been more subtle, Sage,” the Veteran sighs. 

“But what’s the fun in that,” said hero responds, sending Legend a grin. 

Legend simply rolls his eyes again, stepping forward and licking his thumb to scrub away the paint across your throat. You shrink under his gaze, feeling so shy with their attention now on you. Legend scrubs gently and you shiver at the feeling of his saliva against your skin. 

“Stay still,” Legend murmurs. 

“Sorry, Vet.” 

Wild, still at your side, pulls at your tunic and straightens your ruffled appearance, wiping away something at the corner of your mouth. You shy away from their attention with a flutter of your stomach. When Legend is satisfied, he sends you a knowing look before he turns back to Hyrule. 

Wild hums thoughtfully at your left, and you twist to face him. You tilt your head, silently questioning Wild’s thoughts. The hero follows your titled head, eyes dilating as he examines your swollen lips. Lifting a hand, he brushes over the bottom lip with lidded eyes and something dark flashes across his expression. 

Oh no – you know that look. 

“Wild…” you murmur carefully. 

The Hero of the Wilds meets your eyes with a smirk of his own, leaning close until his mouth is pressed against your ear. He breathes a warm sigh over your skin and enjoys the way you weaken in his arms. When he’s sure the Chain isn’t looking, he drops a hand to squeeze one of your thighs, briefly dragging a finger across the seam of your pants. You keen into Wild’s chest with a breathy sound and the hero sighs happily.

“After we reach Zora’s Domain,” he whispers, voice saccharine like the honey he cooks with. His mouth presses a sweet kiss to the skin of your throat, pecking it gently before he sets his sharp teeth against your shoulder. You whine quietly into him as they prick your flesh, and Wild bites carefully into your throat with a huff. “It’s my turn…”  

bonus:

sage, walking back into camp: sorry i'm late I was doing stuff

reader, emerging from behind sage: i'm stuff! :D

[askpercyandsally]

ASKS ARE OPEN

OOC

Hello, this is an ask blog for Percy Jackson (currently age SIX). Some general information about the blog is listed below, followed by some story details. If you have questions about this blog, start here. :)

Story Progression

The blog's story will progress in real time, so on August 18th Percy will turn six and start school that September. From there his life will progress according to canon. Unless you readers try to influence his actions with your questions. :)

Content Rating

Though I am an adult Percy is a minor and as such this blog will always be safe for work and minor friendly. Any unsavory asks or replies will be filtered out by Sally since she is the one physically maintaining the blog and helping Percy respond.

Audience Interactions

An askblog depends on asks, so if there is a message you would like to send to Percy or Sally, no matter how trivial, please send it!

Likewise feel free to respond to his answers via reblogs, comments, or by sending follow-up questions. It may not be clear now, but this blog will have a story and your interactions/responses to Percy and Sally will have an impact on what happens, so please don't hesitate to interact!

Roleplay

If you're a roleplayer who would like to interact with this blog, please go ahead! I'd love to interact with you in character. We can use the classic, time distortion/it's a dream/it's just an internet troll excuse to make up for any timeline discrepancies or character duplications.

I am not familiar with Tumblr RP etiquette, so I have been avoiding instigating any interactions with roleplayers, but I'm more than happy to respond to your messages.

Timeline

In order to keep a consistent posting schedule (once a day) asks are normally answered 3-5 days after they are received. If you haven't seen your ask yet, it doesn't mean it won't be answered, I just don't want to run out of content by posting a bunch of answers at once. :)

Formatting

I will not be using color coded text in my responses because I believe that would make it more difficult for people using screen readers to understand. Please assume any text you see is coming from Percy. The way it works in character is that Percy tells Sally his answer and she types and posts his replies. Sally's comments are written in parentheses and always preceded by "Sally:" with her name in bold text.

If the question is addressed to Sally specifically or if she is the primary one answering, this will be reversed. These posts will start off with Sally letting you know she is answering personally. She may include comments from Percy in parentheses. These comments will start with "Percy:" just like the Sally ones do in Percy's posts.

Occasionally, if it makes the most sense, I will post their responses in script format, meaning the name at the beginning of each line will specify who is responding. I know this all sounds overly complicated, but I hope and believe it will make sense in context. Let me know if there's any confusion. Thank you!

Tags

The second tag I use is usually the character speaking, so you know right away whos POV it is. Specifically I use the baby Percy Jackson tag to add context. Some others are explained below.

Character Tags #baby percy jackson - the question is answered primarily by Percy. #sally answers - the question is answered primarily by Sally. #perry the penguin - this post contains information about Percy's imaginary friend. #mrs. banner - this post contains information about Percy's elderly neighbor. Special Events #percy's legend of perseus - this post is part of percy's retelling of the Perseus myth. #50 follower event - this post is from or about the 50 Followers Event we held which featured young Annabeth taking over the blog for a week. #percy likes axolotls - this post is about axolotls, an endangered species. Question Tags #ocean ask - this question is about or related to water, the ocean, or sea life. #percy & sally - the question is about percy and sally's relationship. #greek mythology - this question is about or related to greek mythology. #percy draws - percy drew a picture for this ask. Other #ooc - used for out of character posts, normally just posts that have info about the blog, etc. #volley - i am responding to a reblog and there may be back and forth dialogue going on. #demigods and technology - percy or sally complaining that percy can't use the computer #reading is hard - percy complaining about his dyslexia

Story Details

Some reoccurring names and references Percy uses are explained below. As well as general details.

Percy and Sally live alone together in a small aging apartment.

Percy does not know he is a demigod yet or have any powers. Just like in canon he won't have any of his powers until after he learns he is a demigod, or gets closer to twelve years of age. Just like in canon he believes his dad was a mortal man who was lost at sea.

Mrs. Banner is an elderly neighbor of Percy and Sally's that sometimes watches Percy. She has mobility issues and a grumpy pet cat. She recently moved into a care home because of her illness.

Perry is the name of Percy's imaginary penguin friend. Perry is a secret agent. (But for who?)

Percy would like to save the axolotls.

More to be added...

[sister-lucifer]

Reader uses he/him and has a penis

Summary: Reader wanders into Leviathan’s woods and gets lost, but the naga is friendlier than the urban legends let on

Genre: Smut

content/warnings: medieval-ish time period(i think?), slight use of hypnotism, Naga Levi has two dicks, size difference, belly bulge, Naga Levi has a long forked tongue, outdoor sex, coming inside, slight mating/breeding kink, Leviathan holds you the whole time, reader is really innocent and kind of dumb tbh but it’s cute, Levi is low key OOC but it’s for the sake of the AU, slight overstim at the end, biting with slight blood 

Like my writing? Send in a request! I write NSFW or SFW for any of the fandoms in my bio. 

Also please reblog! It’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out!

Leviathan had never found humans agreeable. One too many times they had branded him a monster, an abomination, tried to burn down his woods or kill him when all he wanted was to be left alone in his wonderful solitude. He had one too many scars from humans, both mental and physical, and he’d been forced to embrace the “monster” label to chase off anyone who wandered too close, though his naturally sweet nature prevented him from really hurting anyone. 

That was, until you came along. 

He had initially huffed with annoyance when he realized he was smelling a human somewhere nearby. He grumbled to himself the entire time he was hunting for you. He supposed it was his fault for being naive enough to think that the humans had finally wised up and left him be for good. Seems he would have to put on the scary monster facade once more.

But when he laid eyes on you, the first human he’d ever seen not carrying a weapon, he was more than intrigued. 

“Oh gosh, oh no…” He listened to you repeat to yourself as you turned around and around, clearly lost. He chuckled at your comical misfortune. 

He only got a few seconds to really look at you with the way you were running about, but it was more than enough. The way the last few rays of sun made your lips shine, the way your eyes reflected the evening light, the clumsiness of your unsure steps… 

Cute. That was the one word running through his head. Cute in the way a frightened animal is cute. 

Upon closer inspection, not only did you not have any weapons, you didn’t have much of anything besides a small leather satchel only big enough to hold a single book and quill. 

You paused and glanced around, impulsively running this way and that as you tried to find your way back to the path you were on just a few moments ago. Unfortunately this less than favorable approach didn’t work, and you were only becoming more and more worried with each passing second. The sun was setting fast, and you couldn’t navigate in the dark, not to mention the array of predators that come out at night. 

Leviathan watched from the trees in silence, merely observing you for a long while although you were oblivious to his presence. Eventually you had to stop to rest, slumping against a tree and catching your breath. 

You sighed and pulled out your book, flipping through some of the pages as a way to take your mind off your current situation. Leviathan peaked over your shoulder from above, looking down at the book. 

It held many sketches and notes about the flora and fauna of the woods, all of which Leviathan could recognize. Each page had a date and a note of the area the organism was found in, and from these he could gather that this was not the first time you wandered into the woods like this. You’d been through many forests, gathering information about the plants and animals you could find, what their uses could be. That must’ve been why you were here. 

You’ve never gotten yourself lost quite like this though. 

Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for you to stray from the paths a bit, but you always found your way back. This time felt…different, though. In your panic you’d gotten completely turned around, and you had no compass to speak of. 

Looking over your book could only satiate you for so long. Soon you were tucking it back into your satchel, preparing to stand when suddenly a low voice called out from somewhere unknown.

“Going somewhere?” 

You jumped up, looking all around you as you tried to figure out where the voice came from. All you saw were the dark trees, blocking out the fading sun. 

“I asked you a question, human.” 

Yet again you did not answer, hardly processing the words over the distress of being taunted by something you could not see. The voice seemed to be coming from all around you, distant one moment then mere inches away the next, but no matter where you looked there was nothing. 

“Answer, human.” Leviathan growled, growing frustrated. 

“I…I-I…” You stuttered, desperately searching for any words in your racing mind. 

“I was just….leaving.” You finally managed, beginning to back away. That was when you looked up.

You saw him. He knew you saw him. You froze when you locked eyes, mouth going dry.

“Is that so?” Leviathan hissed in response. How he loved intimidating you. He wasn’t going to hurt you, he would never, but you didn’t need to know that. After all the hurt humans had caused him, he deserved to have a bit of fun. 

“It’s been a long while since a human was unlucky enough to get lost in my woods.” 

“Your woods…?” You echoed in a whisper. 

Leviathan nodded, slowly extending a clawed hand down the tree trunk, lowering himself just a bit. His eyes shone in the last few rays of sunlight, giving them an ominous glow. 

“Yes, mine. I thought I made it clear many times that humans are not welcome.” 

You were frozen in place as he slowly climbed down, overgrown purple hair falling over his face and shoulders. His seemingly endless tail was tangled in the branches behind him, making the trees shift as he moved. 

“I-I’m sorry!” You blurted out, “I-I didn’t know, really! I was only here to look. I’m making a-a guide, you see—“ 

You began pulling out your book, shaky hands fumbling with the buckle of your satchel. 

“A guide?” Leviathan inquired, quirking a brow.

“Yes sir! A guide to the native flora and fauna— a-and not just to this forest, I’ve been all around!” You opened your book to a random page and turned it to him. He pretended to be interested, as if he hadn’t already seen it. 

“I’m not here to hurt anything, I swear! I-I’ll leave, and never come back. Or, I will if I can, uh, figure out how to leave…” You added the last part in a mutter, stowing your book away once more. 

“Oh, I know that, little human.” 

Suddenly Leviathan was down from the tree, and for a moment you thought he was about to strike. On instinct you crouched with a yelp, covering your head. When you looked up, though, he had circled around you, looking you over. 

“Hmm…I haven’t seen one of you in a while. And it’s been even longer since I’ve seen one so…” 

Suddenly he was rising up, towering over you as his shadow engulfed your form. 

“…Defenseless.”

You gulped, trying to back away but you tripped over one of his coils and landed flat on your ass. Leviathan laughed under his breath. 

With lighting quick speed he was hovering over you, hands on either side of you and face mere inches from yours. His brows were furrowed tightly, his eyes looking over and closely examining every part of your face. He stayed this way for what felt like an eternity. 

“…H-Hello.” You squeaked, breaking the heavy silence in an attempt to be friendly. Anything to convince him not to hurt you.

“Hello.” He replied quickly. “You reek of your human village.“

“I…I-I’m sorry?” 

He didn’t reply, seeming deciding we was done with your face and moving on to your body. His hand rested on your shoulder before moving down your arm, grabbing your wrist and turning it over in his hands.

“Hm. Small.” He observed aloud, pressing your palm to his. 

“Wha— What are you doing?” You asked sheepishly, a little unnerved by his suddenly comfortability with you. 

“Inspecting. I’ve never gotten this close to a human without being attacked. I want to see everything.” 

“E-Everything…?!” You squealed, flinching as his hands moved down to your chest. 

“…Yes? What’s wrong?” 

“W-Well, that’s a bit, um…intimate, dont you think?” You tried your best not to sound too defiant, still trying to stay in his good graces.

Leviathan tilted his head in confusion. 

“Why?” 

“Well, uh…humans dont usually lay hands on another unless they’re, well, partners…a-and I don’t even know your name.” 

“Leviathan.”

You replied with your name, intending to keep speaking but he went right back to what he was doing. He even leaned in to smell you a few times. It was completely normal to him; this was how nagas greeted each other, getting familiar with each other’s scent and feel. Why were you so tense? 

“W-Woah, woah! Watch it!” You scooted back quickly as his hands dipped a bit too low for your liking. 

Leviathan simply stared at you in confusion. There were a few moments of awkward silence as you merely stared at each other, your mouth hanging half open as you tried to find words. Leviathan beat you to it. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

You only nodded, eyes never leaving his face. 

“I’m serious,” He continued, “I never fight humans unless they fight me first.”

You nodded again. 

“I told you, I haven’t been up close with a human before. You’re the first to come in peace.” 

He began crawling nearer once more, but this time you made no move to pull away. 

“It’s…it’s okay.” You replied, slipping your satchel off your shoulders and setting it to the side as you pulled your knees to your chest. 

“Are all humans this…small, now?” 

“Hey! ‘m not small…you’re just big.” 

“Aha, my apologies. Humans usually send their best warriors after me. I’ve seen ones three times your size.” 

Cautiously he reached a hand out, watching for you to move away, but you didn’t. Slowly it came down to rest on your head, combing through your hair. He leaned in once more, his nose brushing over your neck as he inhaled your scent. His breath was so warm, and it sent shivers down your spine. 

Internally you were screaming at yourself. You should’ve been running away from this monster! He appeared out of nowhere! And he stalked you! And he was getting way too into your personal space!

And yet… 

“What are you doing?” You asked in whisper. 

“Getting used to your scent. Do…do you humans not do that?”  

“Not really, but…i-it’s fine…” 

If this was his custom, who were you to deny him? He wasn’t hurting anything, he was just greeting you like he would greet another one of his kind, and that’s okay. Right? 

“Let me ask you something, human. And I want you to be honest.” He said lowly into your ear. He pulled away slowly, eyes catching yours and refusing to let go. You tried to break the eye contact, to just glance away, but you could not. He was so oddly entrancing. 

“Are you afraid of me?” 

“Yes sir.” 

You meant to say no. Why did you say that? You were supposed to say no. And yet when you tried to go and correct yourself, you had no voice. Something in the deep orange of his eyes told you you were under his spell. 

“Figures. I suppose I can’t blame you.” 

Then his arms were wrapping around you, lifting you into the air as if you weighed nothing. You might as well have. 

“Woah woah, wait—!” 

Leviathan tucked an arm beneath you while the other laid over your back, not quite pushing you against him but not allowing you to fall back either.

“Shhh, it’s alright. Don’t struggle, you’ll only hurt yourself.” 

His voice sent a wave of calm through you, filling you with odd warmth that bloomed in your stomach and sprouted up your body and down your arms and legs. 

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re…interesting.” He explained, a hint of heavy breathing behind his voice.

Something about the way he was speaking was making your face feel hot. You weren’t sure why you felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Maybe it’s his piercing gaze, the way he’s looking right into your soul. Maybe it’s his voice that had suddenly gotten a lot lower, reverberating in your chest. Maybe it’s just the feeling of being so minuscule compared to him, yet being oddly assured in his arms. 

For the first time you really looked over him. Messy purple hair that fell to his shoulders and half concealed his pointed ears which flicked about, a muscular torso littered with scars that faded into purple scales that seemed to go on and on forever behind him, strong arms connected to blackened clawed hands that could hold you as if you bore no weight. He was holding you so close as well, his grip firm but not tight as if he thought you may crack under too much pressure. 

His human half was…oddly attractive. 

You were brought out of your thoughts by Leviathan’s voice. 

“I have a proposition for you, human. I think we can help each other. You will go back to your little village and tell everyone that I’m dead, do your best to erase any record of my existence. I’ll even give you some scales as proof. That way, I can live out the next couple of hundred years in peace.  In return, I’ll give you whatever you’d like. Maybe some new plants or beetles for your little book?” 

That definitely wasn’t a fair trade, but he figured you could come up with something better on your own. 

You considered his offer. You weren’t really sure why it took so long; you weren’t losing anything. In fact, this was a best case scenario.

And yet something in you hesitated. You’re just supposed to…go back to your village? Just leave? After meeting a real life naga? Especially one that looked like him?

You didn’t want to. You couldn’t.

Leviathan sensed your hesitation, sighing to himself as he shifted you a bit in his hold, adjusting your position. 

“What’s the matter, human? Hm?”

“I…I-I don’t know.” Something was wrong, but you simply couldn’t put your finger on it.

“I’ve offered you quite a lovely deal.”

“Yes, yes you have, but…” 

“…But?”

You swallowed, words escaping you as you tried to place your feelings. 

“But…I don’t— I can’t just go back. I can’t just pretend like this didn’t happen, and I-I don’t even know what I want…” 

A smug grin broke out across Leviathan’s face, his fangs poking out just slightly. 

“Humans never do. But something tells me you want more than what i’ve offered, yes?” 

You didn’t get a chance to reply. Once again he was at your neck, breathing deeply and taking in your smell. A small squeal slipped through your lips. 

“Mhm. Don’t answer,” Leviathan said, “I can smell it on you…” 

“Smell…? Smell what?” 

Arousal. He could smell your arousal. It was subtle, but certainly there, and he could pick up on it in an instant even if the feeling was subconscious. 

“Never mind that. I could offer you something even better. Something you’ll never, ever forget, little human. Something I know your kind loves.” 

The sound of ripping fabric nearly made you scream.

Leviathan had hooked a claw under the collar of your shirt and dragged it down, tearing through the material like it was tissues paper. It fell to the ground soundlessly.

“L-Leviathan—!” 

The sudden force had you gripping onto him to steady yourself. 

Without skipping a beat his hand moved to the waistband of your pants next, ready to slice through it when you stopped him. 

“Wait, wait wait!” 

Leviathan paused, not moving his hand but looking up at you. 

“Shhhh little human, you’ll be okay.” Once more he was locking eyes with you, capturing your gaze. “You can trust me to keep you safe.”

You didn’t know why you believed him, but you did. Something in your soul told you he was telling the truth. And yet, you couldn’t help but voice your concerns. 

“Y…Y-You’re not really gonna…”

“Fuck you?”

You winced at the vulgarity.

“I…I-I don’t know if I can…” You said meekly, “You’re just so…so….so much bigger…M-Maybe we shouldn’t—“ 

“Aw, little human,” Leviathan interrupted with a laugh, “Don’t worry. I always take good care of my mates.”

And with that he sliced through your pants and underwear in one go, pulling the scraps of fabric off the rest of the way and tossing it down. 

His forked tongue darted out to lick his lips and he looked over your small body. You almost moved a hand to cover yourself, but instead you threw your arms around his neck and gazed up at him. 

He brought a hand up to your chest, drumming his claws against you for a moment before retracting them, leaving behind rather human looking hands.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I seem…eager.” Leviathan said as he hand traveled down, just barely brushing against your now rock hard cock as it passed on its way to your back. “I won’t lie; the second I saw you, I thought you were adorable. Stumbling ‘round like a fool. It was….endearing.” 

You wrapped your legs around him to hold on, allowing him to hold you with one arm around your back. Meanwhile his other hand was teasing your entrance, bringing a whine out of you. 

“Oh, little human. You’re going to be so much fun.“

Then he was pushing two fingers into you, quickly pulling you into a kiss before you had a chance to scream, though it didn’t stop you from trying. 

His hand was so big, and his long, slender fingers hit all the right spots. If he could hit this deep with just his fingers, you could only imagine how amazing his dick would feel. 

“My, my,” Leviathan muttered as he pulled away, “If you’re this tight around just my fingers, I can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my cocks…” 

You nearly choked. 

“C…Cocks…? A-As in—“

“Two? Yes.” 

“Oh, god…”

Suddenly your nerves were amplified tenfold. Leviathan noticed immediately, taking pity on his poor human mate. 

“Now, now, you’ll be alright. I promised I’d take good care of you, didn’t I?”

You merely nodded in reply, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He could feel you shudder against him as he added a third finger, spreading you out as best he could. There was only so much he could do with his hands. 

“You promise you’ll be careful..?” You whispered meekly into his ear. 

“Oh, I promise, little human.” 

Your grip on him only tightened, your nails scratching up his back and one hand coming up to tangle itself in his hair. You tried not to be too tense, hoping it would aid the process a bit, but it was far too difficult to relax completely.

His lips brushed against your neck as he nestled into your neck, sighing against your warm skin. 

Slowly he worked in a fourth finger, and he can feel your nails digging into his back. He certainly was not complaining, though. 

You were struggling more and more to contain your voice, pathetically whimpering against his shoulder as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. He wasn’t being terribly rough, but he didn’t want to be too gentle either. Partly because he really did need to prepare you, and partly because he simply loved the way you mewled when he hit just the right spot. He could feel your cock twitch against his stomach. 

“Oh, please…” You whispered, “Deeper…” 

He gladly obliged, putting even more force into his thrusts. It made you arch your back for just a moment before you relaxed against him once more. The way you constricted around his digits only made him crave to be inside you more. 

He really should’ve kept going, but he was getting so impatient.

“Mm…taking my fingers so well. Think you’re ready for my cocks yet?” There was an odd shake to his voice, a crack in his facade telling you that he wanted this just as much as you. 

“I…I think so…” You replied as you sat up, hands braced against his chest. After one last thrust he removed his fingers, and the second they left you already felt empty. Fortunately, you would not stay this way for long. 

Suddenly you felt something warm and wet rub against your backside. You glanced down to see that both of Leviathan’s erections had unsheathed from a slit on the front of his tail, and they were more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

“Oh, no—“ You whimpered as Leviathan’s hands moved to grip your legs. You instinctively tried to squirm away from them, but he held you firmly in place. 

“Oh come now, you’ll be alright.” Leviathan insisted, but the look in his eyes made you more than nervous. 

“I-I…I just don’t know if I can…” 

Leviathan merely pulled you tighter against him, his face intimately close to yours. 

“I said you’ll be alright.” His voice was oddly stern, but he sounded sure. 

He could see the way your eyes widened as he lifted you, the way your breath labored as your eyes lowered. He couldn’t blame you for being nervous, really, but he promised to keep you safe. 

He leaned in to pull you into a soft kiss, distracting you as you were lowered. You yelped against his lips as his cocks teased your entrance, just barely breaching it. 

He never pulled away from the soft kiss, a tender distraction from the way he was forcing himself into you. It was slow; it had to be, after all. He couldn’t risk breaking his precious human. 

He paused about halfway, finally breaking the kiss and giving you a moment to really breathe. 

“Leviathaaaaaan…” You whined, your thighs trembling in his strong hands. The pain wasn’t nearly what you were expecting—possibly due to a bit of magic work from Leviathan—but you weren’t used to being this full. 

And yet, as he filled you the rest of the way, something about the feeling of his thick cocks resting in your stomach was absolutely blissful. 

“See, human? I told you you’d be alright.” Leviathan said with a grin. You nodded in a daze, hardly processing the words. 

He put a gentle hand on your stomach, letting a groan out under his breath as he felt the bulge his cocks made inside of you. He pressed on it just a bit, savoring the whine it brought out of you. 

“Th…That feels weird…” You whimpered into his neck. 

Slowly you were able to relax against him, growing accustomed to feeling him inside of you. Leviathan was not particularly patient, although he allowed you a minute or two of rest as he stroked your back. It didn’t take long before he was adjusting you in his hold, preparing to lift you. 

“Are you ready for the fun part, human?”

You didn’t reply, but he felt your grip on him tighten as you braced yourself against him. 

You tensed as he lifted you, only going a couple of inches before pushing you back down again. It was slow, careful, a cautious start to ease you into things. The second time he lifted you he went a bit further, and a bit further the next time. 

He was rather uncoordinated at first, focusing more on your safety than anything else, even if the feeling of you squeezing around his cocks was overwhelming. Soon, though, he found a steady pace, rhythmically pushing in and out of you. Each time he got a little faster, and he hit a little deeper. He left no spot untouched, but he still craved more. 

You kept your face hidden in the crook of his neck the entire time. He could feel how your cheeks burned against him.

“Mm…faster…” You muttered through heavy breaths. Leviathan’s ears twitched, his grip on you momentarily tightening. He obliged, sucking in a breath as he picked up the pace a bit. 

His breath shook at the small, barely audible “oh”s and “mm”s you murmured into his ear. They were so quiet, so pathetic, so wonderful. He wanted more. 

A particularly hard thrust hit right at your sweet spot, making you arch you back and let out a broken moan.

“Th-There—! There, please—!” You begged, “Please! S-So good…” 

Once more he lifted you, slamming back in with all his strength. It worked just as he’d hoped, and the delicious whine of his name you gave made him shudder.

He couldn’t wait anymore. 

Suddenly he was lifting you almost all the way off his cocks, just the tips still remaining. There was a split second where you were held like this, a split second where you realized what was about to happen, but it wasn’t enough time for you to protest before he was slamming you back down in one go.

“Oh, mercy!” You shrieked, nails digging into his back with full force. They left angry red marks as they scraped his flesh, ones that Leviathan hoped would never fade; a constant reminder of you.

Again he lifted you, a cry of his name beginning as you rose and crescendoing into a scream as you were forced back down. You could feel him deep in your stomach, every thrust sending shockwaves through your body. 

“L-Levi….Levi—!” You choked out, unable to say anything else. Your head was spinning, heart racing, and all you could feel was him. 

Leviathan was holding it together a bit better, but his low groans and the way his fangs dug into his bottom lip was more than enough to tell you how he felt. He’d had a few mates in the past, sure, but nothing could compare to you. It was like your fragile human body was perfectly molded to fit his cocks. He never wanted to let you go. 

He growled your name into your ear, his long forked tongue darting out to lick a long stripe up your neck. It was wet, warm, and the feeling made you yelp. He sucked on your flesh, his tongue running back and forth over it. You were absolutely delectable. 

He nipped at you just a bit, careful with his fangs. He knew they were sharp;  a bite in the wrong place could be fatal, and he wanted you around for much, much longer. 

You squealed at the pinch of his teeth, but made no move to pull away or even protest. The pain was washed away quickly by the pleasure of being pounded by Leviathan. 

The longer he went the quicker he got, and every time you thought he couldn’t possible hit any deeper or go any faster he found a way to. It was rapidly becoming overwhelming, all of your senses completely overpowered. 

“Levi, I-I can’t—“ You stuttered in a whine. 

“Cant what, human?” Leviathan replied with a rumble to his voice. Normally it would be intimidating, but the way his words shook gave away his desperation. 

“I-I can’t take…m-much more…”

You gripped onto him for dear life, mouth hanging open as you panted. 

“What are you saying, huh? You’re gonna cum? Is that it, little human?” 

You couldn’t reply, but you didn’t need you. The way you tightened around him was more than enough of answer. 

“Come on then, little human,” He teased, “Cum for me, and I’ll fill you up nice. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” 

“Mhm, mhm—!” You hummed with a nod. Your release was fast approaching, and each sharp thrust was pushing you closer to the edge, although you couldn’t tell when you’d inevitably topple over. 

“Levi, Levi—! I’m gonna…Oh, my stars—!” 

“Come on, little mate—“ He panted, “Cum for me. Be a—fuck— be a good boy and show me how good it feels when I breed you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to breed you, make you mine forever?” 

“Yes, yes—!” 

It didn’t matter what he was asking, you’d agree to anything that would keep him pounding into you. 

You practically chanted his name as your orgasm quickly built up inside you, making your stomach flip in the most delightful way. Soon though, the words devolved into slurred moans, and you hardly managed to utter one last warning before all at once your climax hit you like a truck. Your entire body trembled like a leaf, toes curling and back arching as you gripped onto Leviathan. 

“Good little mate,” He praised in a growl, “Good good boy…and good boys get rewards, don’t they?” 

He wasn’t even sure if you’d heard him. He hadn’t given you a moment to rest, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he mercilessly pounded you. 

You could feel his cocks twitch inside of you, a sure sign that his release wasn’t far behind. 

“Levi, please—! I-I can’t take it…!”

“You can and you will! You’re my mate, mine! And I get to decide what to do with you.” 

He bit hard into your shoulder, sinking his fangs into the tender skin and making you shriek. 

“Fuck, fuck— g-gonna fucking…breed this boy cunt…” He drawled, though his words were muffled by your flesh between his teeth.

At the last second he pulled you into a kiss, shoving his forked tongue past your parted lips and further down your throat than any human could ever reach. It almost made you gag, but something about it was wonderful. It squirmed in your warm mouth as Leviathan moaned into the kiss. 

He didn’t give a warning before he came, merely a small squeeze to your thigh and suddenly it all rushed into you. If you could make any noise, you would be screaming. Two cocks meant twice as much cum, but even one of his loads would be too much to fit inside of you. It seemed endless as he thrusted into you the last few times, releasing more and more of his seed that there simply wasn’t room for. It spilled out from your hole, down Leviathan’s cocks and your quivering thighs. 

He didn’t release you from the kiss until he was completely done, quickly retracting his tongue and making you cough. He was panting too hard to ask if you were okay. 

You collapsed against him, trusting him to hold you. Gradually your whines quieted, and the warm feeling of being so full settled inside of you. Leviathan bounced you in his hold, doing his best to soothe you. 

“There there, little human. You’re alright, aren’t you?” 

“Mhm…’m okay…” 

“Good, good…” 

He sighed when he noticed the terrible mark he’d left on your shoulder, small dots of red spilling out and rolling down your skin. He ran his tongue over the bite, muttering an apology for tarnishing your perfect skin. You assured him it was alright, but he still felt a little bad. 

Finally he pulled back to look at you. You were sweaty, exhausted, eyes glassy and hair awry. 

God, it was beautiful. Practically a work of art. 

“It seems we may have…digressed a bit, hm?” 

“I’ll say…” You replied with a breathy chuckle.

“Satisfied, human?” Leviathan asked as he slowly lifted you, his cocks retracting into their sheath once more. He didn’t set you down, though, at least not yet.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have a human man again…” 

Such high praise was unexpected, but certainly welcome. 

“Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to. You have me now.” 

Your face lit up at this, and your lips curled into a clumsy half smile. 

“You…You mean you’ll let me come back?” 

“Of course, little human. I can’t just kick my mate out. Speaking of which, the sun has long set. You’re not getting home til the morning, i’m afraid.”

You nuzzled into his neck lovingly, exhaling slowly. 

“That’s okay…I don’t wanna leave just yet…” 

Leviathan bent down to retrieve your satchel and what was left of your clothes, handing you the bag and draping the torn garments over his shoulder.

“That’s quite alright. My den isn’t far from here, and I’ve got some winter clothes you can borrow.” 

“That sounds nice…” 

You yawned and stretched a bit, clearly more than worn out. Humans and their limited stamina. 

“It’s alright, little mate,” Leviathan assured you. “Go on to sleep. I’ll take good care of you.” 

mdni & reblog banners by cafekitsune

[mahs-dumpster]

"Happy 100th Anniversary."

a/n: this was SO FUN. But also. Floyd was incredibly hard to write. I hated every second of it. So it was fun but also not? Anyway. Also no oc x canon content can you believe this?? I didn't mention Kalim ONCE this feels wrong man

cw: maybe OOC Floyd but I did my best! Poor attempts at making this look like a translation post from a vignette

Template for the frames can be found here

Words: around 900

Jeanne: Ah… this place is gigantic, I feel like I'm never reaching the end of it. 

Jeanne: and I’ve yet to see any pictures of the– oh!

Jeanne: there it is! I’ve been looking all over for this one! 

Jeanne: it’s just as incredible as I’d imagine… 

???: Geez Codfishie, I didn't take you as the type to like art.

Jeanne: …and there's only one person in NRC who’d call me by such an irritating nickname.

Jeanne: Floyd. Do me a favor: stop with that habit. Either choose another nickname or just call me by my actual name, is that too much to ask?

Floyd: Who’s this guy? He has a funny looking face.

Floyd: Oh, look, he’s even got a hook just like you!

Jeanne: And now you’re ignoring me. *Sigh* That’s a pirate i’ve admired ever since I was young.

Jeanne: He’s been fighting a fae kid for ages, wanting revenge from the day he made him lose his hand. That’s why he uses a hook.

Jeanne: I know him because my dad used to tell me stories of this pirate, if I made a good job helping him out in his business he’d even give me a children’s book talking about him.

Jeanne: After I lost my hand, I’ve grown attached to his story. I related to his sense of justice, of wanting to make that kid pay for what he did.

Floyd: You never really told me how ya lost your hand, not that I care.

Floyd: But most importantly…

Floyd: A KID? SERIOUSLY?

Jeanne: H-hey! I said the little bastard was a fae!! He was probably years older than he looked!! 

Floyd: Right, right. Codfishie, I had no idea you admired such a loser! Losing his hand to a kid? What is he, an idiot?

Jeanne: Don’t speak that way about my childhood hero!! I’ll cut your throat open with my own hook if you keep that up!

Floyd: Oh? Codfishie wants to fight? Come at me!

Jeanne: You..! Ugh, whatever. When we go back to Octavinelle we will, just so I can make you swallow your words, dumbass.

Floyd: But that’s no fun…

Jeanne: Don’t look at me like that. If Azul catches us fighting in the museum it’s over for me and you so get over it.

Jeanne: I’l beat your ass soon enough.

Floyd: Oh, look at this one. The lighting is pretty intense, I like it.

Jeanne: It looks very pretty, yeah. Isn’t that the mermaid princess from the legends? Who’s the old geezer?

Floyd: I think it’s her father. This is probably depicting when he broke all her stuff.

Floyd: I think she was pretty dumb to go into a deal without knowing the consequences, but i guess she was desperate to leave after this. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s super stupid for that.

Jeanne: No, I get that. Desperate times call for deperate measures.

Floyd: That’s very uncharacteristic of you. You pity her or something?

Jeanne: I don’t, ok? But I was in a similar situation so I understand the thought process.

Floyd: Hm? You were? Why’d you let them detroy your stuff? Ya should've just squeezed them instead.

Jeanne: It was a punishment. I did something an authority figure didn’t like and they destroyed my toys in return.

Jeanne: I’m over it at this point, it’s been years since that happened. But I understand that, wanting to escape that situation. It’s hard to have a father like that.

Floyd: So it was your father?

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: Hey, look! It’s a painting of that warrior who saved her country!

Floyd: Where??

Jeanne: I’m so glad he has a short attention spam…

Floyd: This looks kinda cool. I like how the blade goes right in the middle.

Jeanne: Right? She looks so cool!

Floyd: You’re awfully excited for this one. You a fan of her too?

Jeanne: Hm… I wouldn't say I'm a fan, but she's super awesome, don't ya think?

Jeanne: She pretended to be a man to fight in the army in place of her father. Just the fact that she managed to make people believe she's a guy is incredible, and for so long too.

Floyd: That's not really hard for you.

Jeanne: Did you decide to wake up today and irritate me or something? 

Floyd: She also defeated that dude who tried to invade her country too, huh? Pretty bold. Who would’ve thought such a small thing like her could do all that.

Jeanne: That's because she's got something you men don't have: a brain.

Floyd: Hey now.

Jeanne: In comparison to men, us women have a biological disadvantage. Well, at least with actual humans, beastmen are a totally different story.

Jeanne: In terms of strength, she’d never defeat him, but in terms of wit… unfortunately for him she's incredibly smart.

Floyd: Stop, you're sounding like Azul now.

Jeanne: It’s the truth, physical strength isn't everything. At least one thing Azul got right.

Floyd: Ah, that sucks. Codfishie got boring all of a sudden.

Floyd: I’m leaving. 

Jeanne: Already? You get over stuff to quickly.

Jeanne: Don't lose yourself in the museum.

Jeanne: Ah, another painting of the pirate captain! And he’s fighting that kid too…

Floyd: Piss off.

Jeanne: he should’ve thought twice before he messed with a pirate. I'm sure he’s gonna make that brat pay for ever crossing his path.

[visd3stele]

Between waves and dunes, there's us

summary: in another universe, paul takes chani to his home planet and she sees the sea for the first time

tw: none, just fluffy fluffed fluff

canon NON-compliant, slighty ooc

a/n: first time writing for paul and chani, let me know in the tags/comments what you think <3

Paul loved Arrakis, there is no denying that. He fell in love with its hidden dangers, making his heart leap with every uneven step he takes in the sand. He couldn't help but admire its people, how resilient they are, how crafty and smart. Admiration that grew in no time into tender care. He even longed for quiet moments when he wasn't training with Stilgar, attacking the harkonnens, or manuvering between fremen worshippers and non-believers.

Like warching the sun set with Chani. Listen to her speak about her planet with the softest voice he ever heard. Watching the blue dim in her eyes as gold begin to shine in the night. Chani spoke of the dunes, their beauty and her wishes for the desert to come to life again.

And while Paul could only agree, something stirred inside of him. A faint pain in his chest, watching the sand fly in the small evening wind. For a second, it was replaced with waves. High, blue, foaming waves crushing against the shores of his home. Salty water washing the green rocks of Caladan, greeting his palace in the early mornings, their whispers gently waking him up for training.

An unusual yarning took over him and before he could realize it, Paul found himself telling Chani all about the sea and its reign on Caladan.

"I don't believe it." She said, scrunching up her nose against the setting sun.

"I'll show it to you one day." Paul promised. And Chani laughed. She spent a lifetime dreaming about a future for her planet, one that turned into a legend more than a hope. She wouldn't start another faithless dream. She couldn't. Leaving Dune seemed just as impossible for Paul now as it was for her.

And Paul laughed too. But not because he knew how low the chances were he'd keep that promise. In his heart, he knew that as long as he won't lose sight of what's trully important he will see Chani to the seas of Caladan one day.

That day took its sweet time, but it eventually came. After defeating the harkonnens and driving them off Arrakis, Paul appointed Stilgar as leader. He left the planet in its own people's hands, a free Dune, benefiting in the known Universe after its resources, gaining a place along the Great Houses.

Paul Atreides had seen his revenge. Usul Muad'dib has played his part in liberating Arrakis to its bright future. Now, the Duke of Caladan had to sort out his own Court.

It was easier than he thought. Leaving the golden dunes of Arrakis behind, knowing Chani is riding a sand worm somewhere through them. But the promise they made each other ringed inside his chest with every beat of his heart.

"You will never lose me," she said, "as longs as you stay who you are."

"As long as there is breath in me, I will love you," he answered.

They both had duties to tend to. But their love was greater than any distance in the Universe.

"Don't just sit there, young pup," Gurney laughed. Paul named him emmisary for Arrakis and he has just returned... with Chani. In the private area they landed, Gurney allowed himself some casualty with his young Lord, who seemed even younger gaping wide-eyed and in awe upon seeing the woman he loves again.

"Paul!" Chani tackled him in a tight hug. She was happier, more easy-going. He couldn't help but smile to himself faced with this precious, unusual sight, before cupping Chani's face and bringing her in for a kiss.

"I missed you," he whispered in the short reprieves before their lips closed in on eqch other again. And again. And again, until Gurney awkawardly cleared his throat.

"I missed you su much."

"I missed you too, My Lord," she teased, before linking their arms together. "Now, I do remember a promise you made me a while ago. Something about dunes of water."

"Waves. They're called waves."

Paul led her to the shore. The tides were retreating, seaguls flying lazyly above it. The water rustled against pristine rocks, returning to the sea just to be pushed out again, further and further.

Droplets of water landed on Chani's arms, raising goosebumps on her skin. Her eyes rounded at the sight, hands wrapping around her torso against the chilly breeze.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Just like you said."

Paul smiled. And gently took her palm in his. "Come on, there's a lot more to do than admiring."

He took off his clothes, leving only his underpants on and urged Chani to do the same. The water was cold, tickling her bare feet, stealing the land from under her.

"Don't be afraid," Paul soothed her, feeling the grip on his arm tightening. "I've got you, okay?"

She never saw so much water in her life, except for the still fountain of the dead. But that was holy. Untouchable. And this sea of Paul... he made it look fun.

They took more steps into the sea, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it. Slow step by slow step, Chani became more sure on her feet, slightly letting go of Paul to only hold his hand as he drew them closer to the end of the land inside the water.

Chani laughed as a stronger wave crushed against her knees, almost causing her to lose balance.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. That was just weird. In a good way."

Paul laughed too, wondering if he should show her how to swim already or if it was too soon. But Chani trying to move forwards made the decision for him.

"Wait up! You can't walk anymore. Here, let me show you how."

He lowered himself in the water, supporting Chani as she laid on her belly. Paul's hands circled her waist as he gave instructions: "Never stop moving your feet." "One arm at a time, that's it." "Do you want to try back swimming too?"

When they waves grew bigger and stronger, threatening to storm the shores violently, Paul and Chani raced each other back on land. They were dripping, shivering in the cold night air, but their cheeks hurt with wide smiles and where their bodies touched, they burned.

Not so long ago Chani taught him the ways of dunes. Paul was more than happy to show her the ways of the sea.

[astrophelstella]

The Phoenix Soars Over Liyue

Genshin Liyue Character x Strong!God!Reader

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, Baizhu

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Some angst

Another idea that had been floating around in my head. I wanted to do another one for the Liyue characters. SFW. Reader is the dominant one and in a position with a lot of power and experience. Not something commonly seen in a lot of reader fics. First time writing for these characters, sorry if it seems OOC. I did my best. Warning: I'm a Zhongli simp

Monstadt ver.

You as the reader are known as an Adeptus in Liyue. One of it's most well known. The Phoenix. Though, it's much more complicated than that. You were originally from Natlan. The nation of Pyro. When the Archon War began and gods started battling over territory and power, you decided to leave. You were a phoenix, the last of its kind. A creature that continues to reincarnate after their flames dies out only to return brighter than ever. This made you a dangerous competitor in everyone's eyes. But you were also a creature of healing, peace and harmony. Perhaps this was why you were the last of your kind, the ongoing violence prompting your kin to leave this plane of existence. But that was the past. You fled your home, not really having people to worship you (though tales speak of the Murata people's red hair being a connection to you). Then the scorched lands of Natlan turned lush and green as you fly, with tall mountain peaks perfect for a bird of legend like you. This was Liyue.

Of course, before you could build your nest and settle down in this new land you had its inhabitants to deal with. Most of the Illuminated beasts were wary of you but left you alone otherwise. It was fine until this bratty god came along. At least, he was a brat in your eyes. A war god. You thought you had seen the last of those. Despite your attempts at diplomacy, his head was stubborn as stone. A fight ensued and while he thought he had defeated you, he was shocked to see you reform again. This time even stronger. The fight was only stopped by another god, this one much more pleasant and agreeable, who lectured the one that attacked you. She turned to you and had a proper introduction. In the end, if you wanted to stay in Liyue you had to make a contract. Promising to come to its aid and protect the land from dangers. You wanted to escape fighting but at least this was fighting to protect something. From then you made a great friend in the kind god, 'Guizhong' was her name. Not so much with 'Morax' but you had all the time in the world to build some trust.

Fast forward thousands of years later and you were now wandering through Liyue Harbor, on its rooftops. You were a common sight in Liyue. The Phoenix was the friendliest to humans, not necessarily running things but being a warm presence with lots of wisdom to share. You made a point not to interfere, knowing it was best mortals learned on their own. People still admired the sight of you. Taller than most mortals, glowing eyes like fire, the beautiful gold and red markings on your skin and the vibrant exotic clothes you wear. While you found a home in Liyue, you still retained some of Natlan's clothing style. You were as mesmerizing as you were dangerous. Moving atop rooftops elegantly, barefoot. The light jingle of your jewelry the only sound you made.

When you were not in Liyue, you simply napped in the wilds. Your peers saw you as lazy. All this power condensed into a slothful being. You shrugged it off, they aren't the ones who have to reincarnate every so often. Plus, you were practically retired. All that fighting, you just wanted to spend your time being idle. So you let a lot of things go, like decorum. If only people were more lax like you, and not sticking their nose up at other people. It was a much more fulfilling existence. Still, no beings were willing to cross you.

Despite everything you lived a rather solitary life. With a few exceptions...

Xiao

"Y/N are you still napping? Hn, you can't just..."

He had a lot of respect for you. Being older and stronger than him, he spent a good chunk of his immortal existence watching you fight. People called you lazy but he remembered back in the day were you left battlefields covered in blood, all your enemies defeated on the ground.

You would not only help the Yakshas in training and combat, but took care of injuries. Your flames didn't just burn things, they could heal too. Whatever wounds he had were gone as he felt your fire graze his skin. He would shiver, feeling warmth instead of scorching hot. You were truly a being of life.

A favorite hobby of your was to nap anywhere in the wild. Even the strangest of places. It made you hard to find. Not for Xiao. Whenever he wasn't protecting Liyue, he would go out and find you. You've woken up many times to Xiao standing over you.

It was cute, how he followed you around. It was like a feral cat bonding with someone after being fed and trailing after them. You convinced him to rest and value the more mundane things in life.

With memories of being consumed by darkness, he appreciated your bright flames. A source of warmth and light. He was drawn in like a moth, uncaring if it could burn him in the end.

Verr Goldet was familiar with you. There was a room in Wangshu Inn that was basically the attic and yours since it had the fluffiest bed paired with the best view. It was also easy for Xiao to enter through the window and hang around atop the rafters.

There were many nights were he would come back from patrol, still buzzing from combat. As soon as he was in your room, his muscles would relax and he'd feel a little bit at peace. You would tend to his wounds, large hands brushing against his skin along with your beautiful flames washing away the worst of the karmic debt.

With him being so short, he barely reached your waist. The size gap was enormous. He'd turn red you backed him to a wall because his face was right next to-

He'd fluster whenever you beckoned him to sleep next to you. But you didn't know anyone else who would nap with you. You were the best cuddle buddy, being a source of warmth and a large frame that could make anyone feel safe being encased in.

You would sometimes be in your Phoenix form and Xiao in his Adeptus form as you cuddle in your nest. Your next consisting of the fluffiest of blankets, pillows and mattresses along with a few shiny trinkets you would pick up and bring home (you were a bird after all).

Your large wing would be covering him as he had the most peaceful sleep in a long time.

"The nightmares-" he began.

"Won't come near. Not when I'm around Xiao. Sleep." He slept close to you, curled in a fetal position. For the first time in many years, not a single nightmare troubled his sleep.

Zhongli

"I've been waiting for you. Liyue Harbor seems more tranquil this morning. Oh, here, your tea. Just how you like it."

Now there's a lot of history here. He was the first person you actually met since arriving to Liyue. That encounter seemed like lifetime ago. Many things had changed. Including your relationship.

While you didn't get along at first, Guizhong was your common friend. When she was gone, you mourned with him. From then, there was a quiet understanding that you would watch out for each other and honor her memory. It helped he grew out of his more stubborn thinking (for the most part).

He sought out your companionship. Centuries fighting by his side built a trust stronger than the earth itself. Internally, worried he'd lose another. He didn't want it to be you. Not after everything. Tales grew in Liyue about the Dragon and the Phoenix. Eternal companions.

During quiet times he grew melancholic because he couldn't remember her face, you drew him to your side and described her the best you could. When you fell into periods of weakness just before reincarnating, he refused to leave your side. He hated seeing you like that, snuffed out of your flame but he consoled himself knowing you always bounced back.

Other times he'd seek you out when he had troubles leading a mortal life. Despite being a bit older than him, you actually kept up with the times. Like when Childe fed him his special dish, a weird seafood bowl that had tentacles sticking out of it. Zhongli getting terrible flashbacks took one bite, then up and ran to you.

You rubbed his back as he washed out his mouth with water. You made sure to serve him some traditional food later and wash his clothes so it didn't retain the scent of seafood.

Still being new to having a mortal body, he forgot certain necessities. Like eating. He never needed to do it consistently before until his stomach made an unusual noise. He placed a hand on it, confused. Adorable, you thought and reminded him he needed food.

Sometimes he'd skip meals, having work to do at the funeral parlor. You disliked such a habit and would shove food to his face, chopsticks close to his mouth. It confused him why you feeding him made him feel strange but not unwelcome. He would always keep a special pair of chopsticks with him, the one with the dragon and phoenix on it. Funny what mortals come up with. (Liyue citizens be shipping hardcore)

Oh? He bought his own home in Liyue to better assimilate his mortal life? Is there a bed? You're already asleep on it. Zhongli took one step in and saw your large form snoring in his room. He hadn't even told you where he moved in.

Honestly he wasn't surprised, you lazy bird. (Some part of him already knew. It was why he subconsciously picked the largest bed, even if it put a dent on his funds.) You were staying at his home more and more until the neighbors actually thought you were both married.

He tried to explain it to them but his face grew warmer as the neighbors gushed how devoted you seem coming home everyday before dinner with groceries. You two were the couple. To his surprise you laughed (in your human disguise) and didn't correct them, only wrapping a hand around his waist to pull him closer.

This misunderstanding seems to have extended to the rest of Liyue Harbor. He doesn't know how until his boss explained it like it was obvious. What were the locals supposed to think when they see you with a hand on the mysterious funeral consultant's shoulder or lower back, taking long walks around Liyue. He would be his usual self and trying to buy things he didn't have the money for but you pay for it anyways without thinking.

Eventually, it happened so much that merchants and shop owners would turn to you automatically after Zhongli made a purchase so you could hand out the money. In restaurants they knew to give you the check. Some people were jealous how much you pampered him. (A lot of breakups and divorces happened as people's standards rose.)

HuTao made fun of him for having a sugar daddy/mommy but told him not to mess up the relationship because it meant less funds missing from the funeral parlor.

The next time you two went on a walk he was now now more hyper aware of the large, warm hand pressed on his lower back. It felt natural when you first did it but now he wondered what this could mean. Or maybe it was a long time coming.

"Y/N care to make a contract with me?" He asked, there was something different about his expression. He seemed unsure. You were both watching the sunset over Liyue Harbor. In the distance you could hear a storyteller weave a tale about the arrival of the Phoenix to Liyue.

"Oh, what would that entail?"

"After I give up my gnosis, after I retire as an Archon... stay by my side, forever, until the end."

A pause. "We don't need a contract for that." You pulled him closer until he could feel your breath. After all, the Phoenix knew they would spend every reincarnation with their precious dragon.

In the distance, you hear the storyteller finish the story with "... the Phoenix soars over Liyue Harbor and sees a cor lapis born from the earth. It was so radiant and enchanting the sun that was its heart grew captivated. They vowed to stay in Liyue for as long as the cor lapis was theirs."

Baizhu

Its a wonder how the two of you could have met. A mortal healer and an immortal phoenix. The answer was: Qiqi

You were being your lazy self and napping in the wilds when a zombie child approached you. She was looking for herbs but got distracted when she saw you, in your vibrant clothes and shiny jewelry just laying across a bed of flowers. You recognized the the child, remembering the Yakshas' remorse. Still, you were in the middle of soaking up a sunbeam and tried to shoo her away.

This kept happening as the days went by. Until she ran into some treasure hoarders. You, admittedly, had started keeping an eye out for her even as you 'napped'. Before they could even lay a hand on her, your warning came in the form of a flaming tornado. In the end, the scum were sent running and you told the child to be more careful as you walked her back home, her tiny hand grasping your pants so she doesn't wander.

Reaching the pharmacy, the herbalist manning the desk greeted Qiqi with a smile until he paled at the sight of you. He immediately bowed. You waved it off, looking around curiously. You had never been in a place of healing. Mortal medicine was never concern being gifted with innate healing abilities. Then a voice called out, asking about the commotion.

You watched as one of the prettiest mortals you've ever seen walked in. Qiqi let go of your pants to stay near him. He seemed happy to see her until he saw you. Qiqi told him what happened earlier. His usual charisma returned to him and he thanked you for keeping his precious Qiqi safe. You didn't ask for anything in return but wanted to stick around and learn about the place and him. Mortal medicine had peaked your interest.

The following days Baizhu had you sometimes looking over his shoulder. You weren't obnoxious or interrupted his work but you were always there, learning about herbs and watching medicine being made. It's not like he could tell a powerful Adeptus to leave, especially when they weren't doing anything. Plus, you attracted customers.

But sometimes he wondered if your eyes were really on the medicine when he felt someone watching him intently. He'd look to you but you were already chatting with the herbalist. Changsheng would tease, seeing him hesitate around you. To prove her wrong he offered to show you in person how he healed people. That snake was already on your side, after you heaped compliments on them during your first meeting.

Now your closer. It was probably due to your biology but standing next to you felt like being next to a fireplace. He wasn't one to get flustered so easily, coyly asking if you understood what he demonstrated. You had been leaning forward to focus on it, his face a bit too close to your ear. Your eyes would glint a golden light meeting his and he'd shiver at the look. The serpent met its match.

Besides the thick tension between you two, there was a lot of wholesome moments with you babysitting Qiqi. For all your devil-may-care attitude, you took care of her and made sure nothing ever bothered her. HuTao ended up being tossed out like a cat by the scruff when she tried to bury her again. The zombie cowering behind you.

While you didn't interfere with his work, he did ask you to heal his patients sometimes when there wasn't any solution. When his illness got the better of him, you would use your flames on him too. It had a revitalizing effect. His days were much more pleasant now that you were around. Instead of payment, you asked to be around him more. Now you go on outdoor walks or picnics.

You understood what he was going through. As someone who always reincarnated, it meant experiencing times of severe exhaustion. It would be days feeling your body die on you. So with everything you had, you would help him with his.

"Oh? Qiqi hasn't taken up too much of your time Y/N?" he asked, watching the girl fiddle with one of golden chains on your person.

"No. She seems rather attached." you dangled one of your feather pieces and she tried to catch it. Sprawled across the ground, you looked impossibly eye-catching. Eventually, she noticed a butterfly and left to observe it.

He took a seat next to you. "Things have been much more manageable with your presence honorable Y/N. Be careful, or you might be stuck here. " he made it out to be lighthearted but in truth, he meant it. Watching you dote after Qiqi despite your 'uncaring' attitude was unfairly endearing.

Changsheng spoke up, "He's a greedy man. Leave while you still can or it'll be torture working for him." She slithered off his shoulders and on to your stomach, your warmth being too comfortable to resist. Traitor.

He drew a mock offended face. "Why I would never-"

"I don't mind." You looked him in the eyes and smirked. "It's a torture I'm coming to enjoy."

Not for the first time around you, he had no words. How dare you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

School finally lightened up which means time to get this done. Not a lot of characters to choose from. Ningguang or Beidou didn't seem like submissive types and everyone else was too young. Does this one feel a little more fluffy? Anyways, I did my best to get the characters down.

[tulipselfships]

Chiaki, Sonia, Sucy, and Nazuna with male reader who is like Dark Link 🗡️

Chiaki Nanami, Sonia Nevermind, Sucy Manbavaran, Nazuna Hiwatashi X Male!Reader who is like Dark Link from The Legend Of Zelda

CW: N/A

(OOC: Thanks for the request! There was no descriptor for Dark Link's personality on the wiki, so I had to make it up myself. Basically like an emo version of regular Link.)

Requests are open!

Request Rules

Fandom Masterlist

BNA: Brand New Animal Masterlist

Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair Masterlist

Little Witch Academia Masterlist

Chiaki Nanami

She'll mostly just be staring at you in awe. You look like you're made of magic, but you look so real too.

It's unlike anything she's seen before, even in one of her games.

But that makes her love you even more. You're an uncommon breed.

You're not that talkative, which she doesn't mind. You're so silent, that she barely notices when you move.

Attempting to play video games with her goes… interestingly. You're still learning.

Chiaki doesn't care that you don't have much of an identity. She has someone of her own, and that's what matters to her.

Sonia Nevermind

Sonia studies you like she studies anything she finds interesting.

And boy, does she find you interesting.

She constantly asks questions about what you are, exactly.

You don't answer. But, you admire her curiosity.

She warms up to you. She's interested, but she's not repulsed in any way by you.

She finds looking at you mesmerizing, almost hypnotizing.

She constantly says that you'd be a great Prince. And maybe you would.

I mean, you have skills, and the strength to help her out.

She talks about her kingdom with you, knowing you'd be into that kind of stuff.

Later in your relationship, she even sometimes takes you there.

Sucy Manbavaran

Sucy has… seen more, in her life.

The Forest Of Arcturus has some fucked up creatures, man.

Speaking of, that's where you and Sucy like to stroll sometimes.

Either there, or in the city.

She gets you to come as well when Akko takes her places, so she's not bored.

Your silent nature allows her to use you like an information sponge, going on about different kinds of mushrooms and various types of flora.

She tries some potions on you, but they don't seem to have any effect. That's odd.

But, hey, that means you're in less danger, and she's happy. She lets you witness a few of her experiments too.

Nazuna Hiwatashi

You two don't share a lot in common, but that's the thing, right? Opposites attract?

She likes to attempt to imitate your stoic personality, but then break down trying to hold a straight face.

She's so playful, and you aren't the same.

Listening to her sing has given you a spot for that type of Japanese Pop. You even start willingly listening to it in your free time.

She'll always take you on small dates in between shows, because it makes her happy, and she wants you to be entertained as well.

She even brings Michiru in as a 3rd wheel. Shirou wasn't interested in the position.

And riding on her back as she flies is your primary mode of transportation. It's nice feeling the wind in your hair as you ride.

You two are the pinnacle of opposites attract. And you couldn't be happier.

[yveltalreal]

PINNED POST PINNED POST PINNED POST

HI!! I'm Maple!!! He/She/They. New pinned cause I haven't changed out the old one in FUCKING FOREVERRRRR. im 16 lol.

i used to rp the legendary pokemon yveltal but i dont anymore but you can still call me yveltal because at this point its been my online name for a while lol. before any of you guys come at me saying rping a god on rotumblr is disrespectful, i dont believe in legends at all outside of a handful, i stopped, and there are literally other blogs that are rping legends so go bother them.

i attend naranja-uva academy and im a big fan of cyclizar racing!!! please please please talk to me about cyclizar i can answer so many questions! i want to become a professor someday, studying regional phenomenon like mega evolution and z moves, as well as the connections between people and pokemon!!

my current team issss

Pickle the Meowscarada

Dash the Cyclizar

Tami the Vulgradian Absol (service pokemon)

Decibel (Deci for short) the Noivern

I alsp have a rotom named .Zip but he lives in my phone.

sorry if im a little hyper while writing this. im giddy off the high of winning a big race!

ooc below the cut

Story Arcs:

Found (finished) -> a somewhat important mini arc surrounding Maple experiencing paranoia about something watching him in his room, and the fear and delusions that come along with this. things get worse when some of his pokemon begin to act odd as well. eventually the culprit of the feeling of being watched was revealed to be a shroodle living in the walls... or was it?

Unauthorized Fucking Thing (Finished) -> a low stakes but important arc. a strange glameow has appeared in maple's dorm, odd considering glameow don't live in paldea. upon checking its microchip, only garbage data showed up. whats more is that at one moment Maple (?) claimed to know the owner, and the next had no idea what others were talking about nor was able to see the posts. Eventually Maple decides to adopt the glameow, only for her to vanish before he can do so officially.

Anything on this blog from before June 6th 2024 has been retconned. The story told on this blog started from the beginning, and many plot elements and aspects of the lore have been changed. Maple mentioning roleplaying Yveltal is a lore aspect of the redux version (post retconned) and not him having simply made up every post before the date listed

Hi! Blog run by @cassi-pokeblogging-hub and all follows come from there.

All Mail variants like Pelipper Mail are off at this time. This goes for Magic Anons as well.

Any blog can interact, but no promises that Maple believes they are who they say they are. While she knows the multiverse is connected on Rotumblr now, she's still hesitant to believe EVERYTHING, although she is much more open to things under the pretense of "well [thing] could exist anywhere in the multiverse" so like if she thinks someones committing WAY TO HARD for it to be a bit then she'll believe them. eventually.

NEW TAGGING SYSTEM

#maple moment -> maple is speaking/reblogging

#.zip -> posts from maple's rotom, .Zip

#bites -> something important to remember or pay attention to. foreshadowing be hidden here

#blind spot -> blind spot signifies that this post is completely invisible to certain blogs linked to this one ( @espers-n-espurrs @jaimemes @aspens-dragons @victoria-vd @vulgrados-best @rock-n-rolycoly). if its tagged with a specific character, then only that one cannot see it. the rest would be able to. for example if another blog tagged "#blind spot: maple" then maple specifically cannot see that post. blind spot posts are completely free for anyone else, anonymous or otherwise, to engage with, they are only invisible to the listed blogs.

new tags will be added as the blog goes on and characters/things are revealed.

[buzzingblues]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ SHOCK ME, SHOCK ME, SHOCK ME WITH THAT DEVIANT BEHAVIOR!

STATUS: BORED SO BOREDDD!!!

georgie, georgette if youre weird.

— seventeen

— they/she

— 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 🩷💜💙 ??? understandable ???

— hatchetfield hs, class of ‘21. GO NIGHTHAWKS!

as in the arts kids, fuck football.

— you will most likely find me in the auditorium, somewhere in the witchwood, a smoke club meeting, or on a shift at pasqualli’s (gag)

#georgieblr: my tumblr 💫

#losers club: talking to friends! 💐

#i love music: current listens and/or recs!

#rb: reblogs

[ ooc info under the cut ⤵️]

hii this is @exalt1ora (maxie) !! this is my hatchetfield oc roleplay blog im very excited about it yippee

WHO IS GEORGIE DAVIDSON?

Georgie Davidson is a 17 year old student at Hatchetfield High School. She lives with her parents, Mr. Ken Davidson and Mrs. Carol Davidson, in a suburb near the outskirts of Witchwood Forest. She’s a music + theater nerd, a stoner, and an avid researcher of urban legends and local history.

———

Her relationships differ based on timelines and circumstance, but there are some through-lines.

- Best friends with Alice Woodward. They met at a CCRP take your kid to work day as elementary schoolers and have been inseparable since. Bill is also like a second father to her.

- Close friends with Ruth Fleming. Georgie started doing school theater very young, and pretty much knew everyone involved. Ruth joined the tech crew in middle school and, being a certified chatterbox, Georgie regularly spent her breaks trying to talk to the new girl. Eventually, she broke her down and they’ve been close since.

- Drifted apart childhood friends with Richie Lipschitz. In middle school, they rode the same bus and both ended up sitting next to each other one day. Georgie struck up a conversation out of boredom and something just stuck. They kept sitting with each other and talking more in school, becoming closer friends. But, Georgie started developing feelings for Richie and she didn’t understand them, so she began to distance herself. Now, they don’t speak at all.

- Family Friends (?) with Paul Matthews. Georgie was babysat by Paul as a child, often alongside Alice, as she’d frequently stay at the Woodward place. She still calls him Uncle Paul, a childhood habit.

- Charlotte Sweetly babysat Georgie once in a while, too. Mr. Davidson asked the employees of the office to look after his daughter as a last resort, and offered to pay as overtime. Charlotte accepted happily, and spent the night braiding Georgie’s hair, making cookies and singing with the girl. They did this regularly, until Mr. Davidson became uncomfortable with Georgie being around her husband, Sam. But, like Paul, she’s still Aunt Charlotte.

- Second-cousins with Zoey & Zach Chambers. They don’t see each other or talk like, ever. But, it makes Georgie feel very starstruck to be related to Hatchetfield’s finest actress.

- Friends with Deb, Trevor, Caitlyn, PJ, Reese, Rose, Ziggs, Sof, and Danny

- Dislikes Max Jägerman, Kyle Clauger, Brad Callahan, Grace Chasity, Brenda, Ted Spankoffski, The Metzgers

anyone not mentioned she has neutral feelings towards and would gladly be their friend <3 (ppl she dislikes feel free to interact still💪)

———

okay now some OOC maxie things !!

~ i’m new to tumblr rp so if i’m not great pls be understanding LOL thank u

~ multi-timeline blog, will try to appropriately tag specific timelines

~ open to multi-shipping on both ends like idc if you have other ships and i’m cool having more than one bc of the multi-timeline thing

~ as you can see i do have like. specific relationships planned out for her in MY story but anything can happen so i’m open to everything!! i honestly don’t care how u interact with them. befriend them, romance her, bully her, plot to kill them! do what you please

~ she is a minor character so no hardcore nsfw stuff

~ anyone can interact !! obviously not like, basic dni stuff. if ur a bigot and/or a sicko leave me alone. but like i said im new to this and as long as you’re a hatchetfield rp blog you are welcome PLS send me asks or dm or anything!!! love ya

i don’t really have separate timelines yet, so for rn, general in-world action will be tagged #hatchettrash

will tag ooc posts #ooc !!

[godsofduality]

We Welcome You

We are “The Lessers”

Split beings that control the balances of Earth

We were assigned by yours truly

We mean no harm

Ask us anything

~ this is blog for a passion project I have about six five gods, I will be updating story aswell as small stuff on here, hope you enjoy this mess :3 [Main blog: @figitorynonsense]

NOXᔑ ̇/╎𝙹⚍ᓭ

(The people of the past recall a story…)

Out of the six five, red is violence. Out of all, they’ll make sure of your death, perhaps by disease, prions, or if you’re lucky enough, a direct attack from their scorpion tail.

They say they are the feral one, the one that should’ve been killed would kill with any chance they get.

“the name’s nox, or ‘the red one’, if you’re from the right place.”

WINᒷꖎᒷᒲ𝙹リ

(The Myths tell of a monster..)

Wherever blue treads, weather follows. Storms, torpedoes, hurricanes, sleet, if you’re lucky — sun. If you can remotely tread close to them, you will find everything of the past, even them

”Win, or blue.”

⍑⚍ᒲᔑdrayn

(The people tell of an urban legend…)

They say yellow punishes for greed, some say they are greed. To please them, is to be benevolent, and the world’ll be benevolent to you, but who knows? Maybe it’s just a tale to keep greed at bay.

“WWWELOME TO THE SHOW, MY NAME’S DRAYN… OR YELLOW, IF YOU PREFER.”

CHA𝙹リ╎ᓵ

(Science tells of an anomaly…)

In an undisclosed forest, nothing adds up… Except for green’s existence. Every animal is protected, every inhabitant is protected, every last organism. If you don’t want to wake up in bed mauled by a tiger, do not visit this forest, or face their wrath.

“CÁLL M È E Ê BY THE N AMÈ GREEN IN PUBLIC, OR CÇH A CHA, IF YOU’D Ł LŁLIKE.”

dual╎⎓ꖎᒷᒷ

(Time and space tell of a god…)

The very force of gravity, the refractions of light — all controlled by purple, they very well could rule all of Earth if not for.. their mission.

“R e f e r t o m e a s d u a l , o r a s t h e y c a l l e d m e , p u r p l e”

╎ᒲMORTAINE

(The elders speak of a savior…)

Pink, the one that unlike the others, did not poison, strike, maul, drain, or blind, the one that balances when the scale is broken.

TAGS

#[ Offerings ; Asks

#[ ooc ; Out of character

#[ nox ; Anything including Nox

#[ win ; Anything including Win

#[ drayn ; Anything including Drayn

#[ cha ; Anything including Cha

#[ dual ; Anything including Dual

#[ mortaine ; Anything including Mortaine

#[ Manifestations ; New gods

#[ A Tale ; Stories/Lore

#[ visions ; Drawings

In loving memories

[reaperoftheseas]

-> Legends speak of an undead pirate captain, who no one has been known to survive an encounter with. Many things about her are enigmas to many, as dead men tell no tales... only few know her well.

(OOC: Hey! Mod Prism (@prismaticstarshch) here again!

When I saw Dutchman Scythe, I immediately knew what I had to do and instantly came up with lore, so now this exists HDSHS

Rules:

Respect basic DNI

No NSFW, suggestive asks are fine but will be answered at my own discretion and tagged appropriately

I’m fully open to shipping asks, both canon x canon and OC x canon

Please don't beg for art, I don't draw (due to consistently getting burnout from it) and don't have anyone to commission for art

All in all, have fun!

Notes:

All in-character text will be in blue

Like with all of my other instances of Scythe, Dutchman Scythe is panromantic aceflux

There will definitely be various mythology and legend references here, and Dutchman Scythe is knowledgeable about a lot of mythical creatures

Dutchman Scythe has a crew, of course (and has a rivalry with Sunken Ban Hammer lol)

Her weapon's appearance is a bit modified from how it looks in-game (gun form is more musket/older-looking rifle-ish but still has the gears, serrated blades, barnacles, coral, metal and wooden parts, and everything else)

She takes some inspiration from Atlanteans from Arcane Odyssey, having some small amount of sea life mutations

Links:

@sunken-and-silenced (for PD Continuity)

)

[trainerlynda]

Intro

Hello, I guess I should tell you about myself?

I'm Lynda! I'm 35 years old and bigender, going by she/her he/him.

Born the 31st of January.

I research legendary pokemon in my off time, chasing legends and rumors about new ones. I find them very fascinating!

//Current Arc: none at the moment!

//Finished Arc: Fool's Faller

My main team is

Espeon (He/Him).

Raichu (She/Her).

Charizard (pretty sure he's a clone 'zard...) (He/Him).

Sceptile (He/Him).

Greninja (He/They. Demi boy).

Hydreigon (She/Her)!

As for my champ team? You'll need to challenge me to find out~

I also have a Giratina named Oblivion (He/They/It).

I like calling him Blivie. I don't really use him in battle or keep him in his ball, but I can call on him when I need to. He has his own account! @oblivionthegiratina.

I'm married to @silveredfeathers, so no funny business, got it? Really not into flirty banter unless you're him... or @timetravelerpyrite, recently a boyfriend.

I guess I should put this here now since its out now...

The link above will tell you what I am.

Sometimes members of my team will steal my phone so-

⚡: Sparky (She also likes using Yellow for her text.)

🐱: Espie (He likes using Purple for his text (He doesn't like pink))

🦎: Riptor (He likes using Green for his text.

//Mini events that have happened/are happening.

//Shadow Creatures (A mini takeover event)

//Extra info under the cut.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

//Ooc. This is a sideblog! Unreality. Mod is an adult and goes by the same pronouns. All art I use is my own! I follow from @theshadowqueenofthedistortion ... Here's some of my other accounts as well!

//Link to her trainer card!

//Semi-Serious blog, I will participate in active silliness and also write serious stuff. Will sometimes touch on death, abuse and a few other things, I will tag the serious stuff with their appropriate tw/cw tags.

//No magic anons, Lyn has been through enough and I personally don't like them.

//I will not ship with anyone who isn't my BF (and myself, but that's a note for later), just for my comfort. Lyn's universe is a mix of pokemon and abunch of other things, if she goes to hang out with someone he'll likely go there with a portal.

//I am very open to crossover stuff! My character in herself is rather crossovery and his universe has dimensional travel, her world is separate from others and Giratina like screwing around with that (Palkia? Whos that? /j)

//Pokemon in his universe have human levels of sentience, however she is aware of places that have Pokemon that aren't sentient, so he won't find that odd.

//Real life animals exist along side Pokemon in her universe, like divergent evolution (not the pokemon thing, the science thing)

//I don't bite! (But my character might-)

//What the tags mean.

//Shadow Mod Speaks: Mod speaking.

Random Lynda Rambles: Lynda just saying random things, non serious tag, silliness encouraged.

//It is now Lyn Chats.

Lore Crumbs: Me sprinkling little tasty crumbs as a treat (Lynda info).

//Not used much anymore

//Mod Reference: Me and/or Zorana making references for Lyn and/or Silver.

//Shadow Art: Art by me that isn't a ref/finished.

Shifting Explorer: Closed and/or serious RP. I will also use this tag when responding seriously to something.

Espie the Espeon: For ease of finding Espie's posts.

Sparky the Dancing Rai: For ease of finding Sparky's posts.

Riptor the Great Gecko: For ease of finding Riptor's posts.

Oblivion the Distorted: For ease of finding Oblivion's posts.

Icy Apathy (Daniel): Daniel posts

Whirlpool Emotions (Jade): Jade Posts

Shocking Chaos (Crackle): Crackle Posts

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

//To do: Make a important pokemon list, make a general info background thing for Lyn (like those wiki pages for celebrities), make a public ref sheet for Lyn and her Pokemon (4/7 done), write out a public history thing for Lynda and @silveredfeathers (With help from Zorana (Silver's mod), again like those dumb wikis), get the courage to talk to other people (ongoing) /lh