#“you will never be able to wash your hands of your crimes. they will haunt you until your dying day”

[intern-seraph]

playful land presents such genuinely baffling themes and throughlines that i am rendered speechless in its wake. why is "SCHOOL IS COOL!" a theme for this event when the more important thing should be the human trafficking. why do they intersperse tense moments with "you should go to class! there's so many good things about going to school!"

like, if the audience for this game was younger... well, it probably wouldn't be the same game, but the VERY hamfisted "stay in school" message would make more sense. but, like, this kind of game is targeted towards older teens and young adults. people who are finishing secondary, are high school graduates, college students, and college graduates. this kind of theme is so bizarre.

also, it is strongly implied that there are no public school systems in twisted wonderland??? like, is there NO nation that has free public education??? why does fellow honest/ernesto foulworth (what a name lmao) believe that high school is for rich kids only?? what the fuck is going on??? WHY IS THIS SOMEHOW MORE IMPORTANT TO THE EVENT THAN THE ORGANIZED HUMAN TRAFFICKING RING??????

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

All I Need

NIGEL BANYAI X READER ⚠️ Warnings: None ⚠️

You're wandering the streets of Bucharest at night when you come face-to-face with your "ex" husband, Nigel. There's a rekindling- even if only for a moment- where you realize he might be more intertwined in your life than you'd thought.

Disconcertment washes over your face like a flood when you see him walking forwards, in that haunting but familiar walk you'd grown used to. He was polished, as per usual, adorned with a dog printed button down and a cigarette lax between his teeth. The protruding fold of his shirt would be incomprehensible to passerby who didn't know of his hobbies, but to you, it was the imprint of a gun.

His eyes shifting up from the road he was walking down and meeting yours held you in a trance. There was something to be studied about the man's eyes; so full of agonizing self-inflicted sorrow that shone through the very core of his being and simmered into the rest of the world through his gaze. He was deeply saddened. But it was all under a mask of his he wore to wind through the mindless crowds so that there wasn't anything about his character to be discovered unless he'd wanted you to. His cheekbones shone under the streetlights with their summery glow making waves of blues and pinks and greens with the lights from overhead in the city. He was a Monet painting come to life, a landscape of colors washing away everyone else and drawing you inwards to where he stood, finally stopping amidst a puddle from rain fallen this morning. He was beautiful. But he was also dangerous.

You had finally stopped running from him long ago. That sadness he contained within himself had become ever so apparent throughout your relationship and spilled over into everything else. He tormented himself so deeply that it was only a matter of time before he tormented you.

Never with his touch, no. His touch had always been careful, predetermined. He would never have laid a hand on you that wasn't accepting or invited by the warmth in your features and your verbal acknowledgement. Even after long arguments where you'd fallen asleep on your side of the bed, turned away from him, he would caress you only with his mind.

Instead, his torment was his love. There was too much of it, too little of a mutual understanding of what was wrong and what was right. He had been too suffocating in his eternal vows to protect you and love you. And with this time period in your life- this new one you'd created for yourself- you couldn't suppress your desires of freedom. You'd allowed him to love you and whisk you away with his promises (which he'd kept, of course), but you'd never been able to experience the world, let alone the streets of Bucharest in the way you'd always wanted to- on your own.

But you had loved him. There was no denying that.

And despite all your efforts to push him away; to ask him to take his love and give it to someone more deserving, someone who'd understand his suffocating requests of social isolation and relationship devotion, he was always finding his way back to you. His heart seemed to have a mind of its own which never coincided with the work he performed or the crimes he'd commit.

And here you were, by the famous Hostel off the side streets of tourist-populated areas, staring at one another. Both of you with the impression that the other was a work of art, staring into one another's souls as if they had painted the landscapes themselves. You heard the faint chatter of those nearby; the drunks walking back home from a night out, stumbling over their feet and laughing with their partners holding them up. The children who'd been playing hopscotch despite their parent's wishes at this hour in the night. The sound of the rain from earlier dripping off the rooftops and onto the parked cars below. And through all the commotion, it was just Nigel and you.

He offered something to you that most people would never see in their lifetime from a man like him. A smile.

You sent one back through slightly teary eyes, hoping for a minute he would look into you the way you were looking into him and that he would understand your internal dismay. You'd never loved like you loved him. Ever. And that would be true for the rest of your life. Your relationship had been an amalgamation of every emotion and he brought out sides of you that you'd never prepared yourself to confront. It was beautiful. It was bittersweet. And it was over.

He knew. He knew you'd wanted nothing more than your freedom, which was the one thing he didn't know how to give you. Not even now. He knew it was at the expense of your own happiness, but he couldn't help himself to follow you around Bucharest even if you hadn't caught him in the act of doing so, such as tonight. He wanted to be in your life anyway you would let him and even though the former was preferred, he was okay with learning how to live on the outskirts of your heart while you lived on the very insides of his.

He'd follow you around Bucharest and he'd follow you around the world.

You shifted in your jacket, despite the summer air. Your eyes had gone from his to the subway opening a couple yards away, where you'd initially been heading. There was your apartment waiting for you, where you'd have your own melancholic isolation. It was a hop skip and a jump away from the man who'd been your husband for all the years prior.

An image came into your head just then. One of a faraway place, tucked into the crevices of your mind so far back you'd almost forgotten its existence entirely. A cool night in your city where he'd gone on a walk with you, wearing the same jacket you had on now. You had chopped your hair and dyed it bright orange following the news of your father's death. It was just a silly coping mechanism to you, but Nigel had smiled when he'd walked into your shared apartment and saw the brightly colored hair littering the floor tiles. He'd suggested a walk to get some fresh air, under the rainbow colored lights you'd grown so fond of.

That night, you were looking at the snowflakes falling from above, threatening them with your tongue to catch them in your mouth and have them melt against your lips. They refracted against the colors in the sky, a light magenta touching the clouds as far as the eyes could see. Shimmery eyeshadow caught in the corners of your eyes, making them appear to be even more wet and filled with sorrow than they were. Nigel was here for you though, admiring the way you turned around in the snow, over and over again as if you were the little dancing figurine hidden in a jewelry box.

He'd held you close to him as you cried the eyeshadow in streaks of black down your face, the orange seeming less bright and the snow feeling more cold. You hadn't felt the totality of his admiration for you until this night, where his hug wasn't more than just that. Before his presence became a prison. He smiled at you, one of those toothy grins only he was capable of managing.

And then, he let go. This was the only time he'd done so on his own accord, almost leaving you fighting to be back in his embrace. He turned to the subway, then to you and back to the subway before leaning in with a kiss,

"urmează-mă și te voi săruta."

And then he went racing off into the night towards the never stopping trains ahead. Smiling, you ran after him. Eyes still wet with the tears for your father and hair still orange from the impulsive chop. The wind whipped through it, leaving you with a coldness on the back of your neck you weren't used to. It felt freeing, though. Your first taste of freedom. Running after him, you saw the water from the other side of town, touching the sky and creating more of the pinky-blue color that Bucharest was full of. The snow crunched under your feet as you placed one in front of the other before the soles of your shoes hit the concrete steps leading underground. Nigel was only a few meters away, sliding down the poles in his dog button down he favorited.

And then suddenly you came to a halt as you crashed into him, stopping the chase almost as soon as you'd started it, in the middle of the busy underground station. You'd lost your balance ever so slightly but he held you upright, not letting you fall.

And suddenly your eyes were on his. There was such a beautiful agony within them. There was far more to this man than you'd ever know and his love would have no bounds. He was soft in the way he stared at you, mouth pressed into a smile as he really took you in with everything you were. Nothing was lost in translation as you looked at him, his soul instantly filling your own. Everything was slowing down but the two of you, seemingly lost in time to the rest of the world with the passing trains and people.

"I will never stop looking for you." He whispered softly. voice suddenly laced with concern.

You were confused, looking up at the man you'd known you'd be with for infinity. "I'm right here?" You questioned, wondering what the significance of his words could mean, if they were laced with an underlying hidden message as concealed as the man's identity himself.

He smiled once more. "I will never stop looking for your kind of love." He corrected himself and you felt your insides go fuzzy with a warm and loving feeling.

You smiled from across the street, towards the same junction you'd run down the first time he'd proposed a nighttime walk. This could get you into a lot of trouble, to hint at the idea of a potential rekindling with the man known to be a criminal. The man who'd offered you nothing but love, even if there was a side of toxicity it'd been served with.

It was at that moment that you deeply felt the confines of your freedom without him- and it felt suffocating.

You both locked eyes once again, and he had a look on his features as though he'd been reminiscing about the same memory. It was impossible for him to truly still want something with you after all this time, wouldn't it be? You had pushed him away countless times, over and over. Whenever you'd seen him in public since the official ending of everything, you'd never spared him more of a glance.

Fuck it.

"urmează-mă și te voi săruta." You whispered under your breath, figuring the future would be in whether or not he could read your lips, if he would have remembered that time from so long ago, if he still wanted to be with you. A tear fell from your eye and cascaded down your cheek almost as silently as you'd spoken his phrase, "Find me, and I will kiss you."

Not even a second later, you both sprinted towards the subway.

[carmenized-onions]

chapter 333333 - we back!!

(platonically) (for now) (what?) (I didn't say anything). - HHHHNNGHH!!!! ONION!!!

is this entire series just a love letter to me wanting to take care of this guy? maybe so. maybe so. - so based of you

is this entire series just a love letter to me wanting to take care of this guy? maybe so. maybe so. - all of the cherries

you’re thankful that you’re alone - cmon now chippy did you really think carmy was able to stay away

it’s not gonna somehow get more correct than correct… - but but what if can be…

“Fuck are you doing here?” You and Carmen manage to speak in perfect unison. - they’re soulmates

“If you need a palate tester, lemme know.” - mood. i love that she’s bold enough to say it cause i’d be thinking it but wouldn’t want to overstep

lone chef - lone chef, lone wolf (well bear)

He might not consider himself a brightening presence, but to you, he certainly is a nice lamp. - fucking fuck fuck fuck

not wanting to stroke his ego, but he’s already clocked it. - i love that for them. their dynamic is everything

On their one black plate - her plate!!

But then he leans forward, head meeting your level, amusement lilting his voice - i would die

He grabs the fork from you to try for himself - the way they’ve always shared:’)))

you press the back of your hand to his chest / grazing your hand on the small of his back - it’s so small but oh the touches!!

poor man’s sommelier… - poor syd’s sommelier

“I take the L.” - yeah you do *badum tss*

“What’s wrong with home, Carm?” - she’s too good

He sniffs, he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for you to tell him he has to go home / “You can hole up at mine.” - I LOVE THEM

“Good. Where’s the black plate go?” - in your apartment and also MY HEART

It’s heavily thrifted and upcycled from furniture you found on the side of the road - love that, especially cause you just KNOW chippy knows how to properly clean the furniture

This is a perfect apartment because you live in it. - :’))))))

Nothing can hit, in here. - 😭😭😭💕🫶🏼

“I uh, I left your Carhartt at work.” - RIIIGHT CAUSE SHE PUT IT ON HIM IN THE WALK-IN AAAAH

“you can put your shit there.” - she’s so slick

“Fuck is this?” / “Fuck is what?” - i am in love with them

“Don’t say my name like that…” / He has discovered does not like it when you say his name with any sort of animosity or disappointment. - because he liiiiikes her:3 he’s so precious

“Carmen no… Two in One?” “…Five in One.” “Five in One?!” - they’re so funny!!! these moments are so<333

pair of sweatpants your brother left here ages ago. - it makes me happy that it’s her brother’s and not an ex like most fics do :’)

Goddamn it he is very pretty, sonofabitch. - he is, it hurts

There’s a boy in your house and you’ve just discovered he’s pretty. - !!!

And without verbally checking in, you once again flow into a silent rhythm - they’re so natural together like yeah they’re meant to be

You make a face, and while he doesn’t fuckin’ guffaw, he does smile - like how richie does:’) she probably made faces with eva oh OH

You both speak at once. “Weird to see you out of uniform.” - SEEE!!! they are perfect. let’s go back to when everything was good and hair was being washed

And he can see you. - how mikey saw her, OH THIS IS A CRIMEE

“You’re good at it.” - 😭😭😭

does he laugh at the sound? Yes. Yes, he does. - that’s what good p-

“What’re you doing?” “I’m taking the couch.” - i also did not forget about this entire interaction, a monumental moment

I will be haunted all night by my Nonna if you sleep on the couch—” / “My own grandmother takes the couch when I visit. She would throw me off my own balcony if I made a guest take the couch.” / “My Nonno would stab me if I let a pretty girl sleep on a couch.” - this in particular i never moved on from. it’s so funny and accurate (especially for carm)

“Then let me use it!” “No!” - the no is so sidieirj

also once again thanks for making his text bold so we know who’s who. love you what who said that, that was just a gust of wind

ALSO!!! PRETTY GIRL!!!!

“So whichever one you find the least sacrilege.” - ugh your way with words

“C’mon, Tony.” / “Heard, pretty boy!" - so if i want to tattoo their dynamic on my eyes how would one do that exactly

all of this is - I JUST MISS THESE MOMENTS WOWIE WOW WOW

Binging through my Popcorn asks, what a TREAT and a half. Shout out to google docs for continually crashing as I try to write ask responses MORE EFFICIENTLY THROUGH THEM AND THEN THEY STOP WORKING FCUK YOU GUYS ANYWAYS LETS GET INTO IT!!

So many cherry flavours that I didn’t plan for. I might just really like cherries. I’ve been eating a bowl of them like every day lately cause they’re in season here right now.

BAD IMPOSTER SYNDROME BAD!! IT’S NOT GONNA GET MORE PERFECT THAN PERFECT!! DRILL BOY!! DRILL WITH YOUR HEART!!

Key signs of a soulmate: you keep talking at the same time. You think he’s a lamp. He can’t stop smiling when he can tell you’re impressed by him. He gives you the black plate. He shares forks with you (they keep running out of forks ok). Also you keep touching him and he’s not saying it’s making him freak out but it’s making him freak out. Positively.

BROKE ASS SYD���S SOMMELIER (so aggressive for no reason RELAX me)

When is he NOT taking the L. How many Chicagoans get tortured by this joke every day? I wonder. I really do. I love the way Chip manages this scene in general, but it’s so fucking. Looking back, it really tracks because like— this is the way that she mourns!! She’s not gonna tell CARMEN to do it any different from her. She sucks at taking her own advice but she won’t force someone to do shit SHE wasn’t strong enough to do. I love her.

I KNOW her handyman dad has a fucking steam cleaner and powerwasher she borrows all the time to clean her shit. As a crafty guy there’s always that little random weird tool that always comes in handy— I imagine handyman dad OG Chicago’s Kindest owns SO MANY big and small specific tools

Carmen, the jacket thief. How dare he. He likes her, he’s forgiven. Still a sinner for Five In One.

SO MANY FICS DO EXES PANTS AND IT’S LIKE— Man me personally, I gave him his fucking clothes back. But I’ve got 4 of my brothers sweaters in my closet rn. Mostly cause they’re hand me downs and he didn’t fit in them anymore but still. There’s also the pain of Chip did borrow her brothers sweats (and brought unused toiletries home) in Two Steps Back,… are they the same ones? FOR YOU TO DECIDE MY BOY!!

THERE’S A BOY IN YOUR HOUSE AND HE’S PRETTY!!! I love their silent rhythm. It’s like my favourite thing in life with people and in characters when two people just flow like one unit without effort. I adore them for this. That and the in sync speaking. Oh how I miss these days.

HE CAN SEE YOUU AUUHHGHGH (roblox death noises). You’re good at it!! Same shit she said to him earlier!! Hell scape!! Burning !! flames!! Flames on the side of my face!!

—sy sounds like—

MONUMENTAL ONE BED SCENE— Need SquidInk to recreate this rn with their Holiday Inn room. Who am I ordering, I’m the writer? 100% Carmen would say I would get fucking stabbed if I let a pretty girl sleep on the couch. That’s him. That’s him at his most romantic man. NO!!

I MISS THESE MOMENTS TOO MAN I’m looking into eye tattoos of dynamics and memories as we speak I’ll let you know when I find out. I HAVE TO GO PUT MY LAUNDRY IN THE DRYER BUT I WILL FIRST SEND THIS OUT AND GO OVER THE WONDERFUL MEMES YOU SENT IN THE NEXT ONE!!

[msmarvelwrites]

For Old Times' Sake

Summary: “Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue,”

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Explicit sexual content, Vaginal penetration, fingering, Choking, Bucky with the filthy words, mutual pining.

Word Count: 2.8K

Authors Note: WOW! It has literally been a hot minute hasn't it? I cant say that I’m not a little excited about this 3rd lock-down in Ontario because it means I can actually find time to write. I’m sorry it’s been so long, babes. Anyways, enjoy! (I’m actually the worst and it’s been so long since I’ve done this!) The Biggest Thank You to @sweeterthanthis for literally cheering me on the entire time. This was such garbage before you came along 😂 I had so much fun with this one babe 💕 thank you for all you do ✨

The wind whipped against your face, bruising your skin with it’s callousness. Though the unwelcomed lash was nothing compared to what was to come. Or who, for that matter. 

It had been longer than you cared to admit. The dodged calls hanging at the bottom of the icon on your phone serving as a cruel reminder of how cold you had been. Of course, it was never in your job description to take care of Bucky after Steve left— but there was an implication that made you run for the hills. 

You couldn't do anything for him - give him anything. The last five years had consisted of running and trying to start over. 

Besides, after the Accords, in the government's eyes you were just as fucked as Hydra. An ally turned fugitive the moment you’d chosen your side in that airport. You’d fight with yourself most nights that you decided with your head, but your first evening with a man who had bruised your lips with promises of what would come may have had more pull than anything else. 

The same man that had called you every week for the past six months… The same man you had spent countless nights with, years of your life you would never be able to scrub away, no matter how hard you tried. 

You had watched from afar as half of the world returned, their loved ones welcoming them home with teary eyes and broken hearts. You watched as he came home. His eyes, always scanning the crowds waiting for you. Waiting to see your face. 

It made all of this so, so much worse. This was definitely not the homecoming you could have hoped for. 

“We’re nearing the drop.” Your comm’s rang with a woman's voice who had helped smuggle you onto the craft. You weren’t exactly welcome in europe at the moment- or anywhere for that matter. The government did not take lightly to your’s and Sharon’s betrayal. You’d think that after everything the world had seen they would be a little more forgiving, but you couldn't exactly blame them for their trust issues either. 

You could, however, blame yourself. 

As soon as your feet hit the ground you were off. The distress call had come from Sam earlier that evening and now with the sun setting you could only hope you weren't too late. You tried to push the man who had haunted your thoughts for the past few years out of your head, desperate to focus on the task at hand. 

Bullets exploded through the air, a warning as you were approaching the large shipping container unit. Your comms went static as they began to connect with Sam’s, his voice ringing through your ears as—

“Sam, a little help here!” 

His voice stopped you dead in your tracks. 

“I’m on my way - called in some back up.” Sam grunted as the sound of strangled yelps echoed around you. 

“Back up? Who do we know that-” Bucky’s words were cut short as he let out a growl, the sound of his vibranium arm whirling in the background. 

You rushed in without a second thought, the sound of his pain too raw as it ripped through your chest. Before you could assess the danger, you charged forward, hurling yourself at a large man pointing his gun right at- 

With a loud thud, the man hit the ground. Your combat boot, heavy on his throat until he went still, and with it came silence. It was deafening despite the explosive gunfire around you. 

“Y/n?” 

Your name ripped through the air, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Back turned and body rigid, you were frozen in place. Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue, soft and get so personal. Like no one had spoken it before. 

“Y/n, what are you-”

Sam's voice cut the newly cropped brunettes words off,  “I got two coming in on your left, Buck. Oh- and welcome back, Y/L/N.” 

You smiled sheepishly at Bucky, pulling your gun from its holster and flicking the safety off as you closed your distance with him. Despite the aggravation apparent on his face, a broken smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“Here we go again, huh?”  You chimed, your eyes locking with his just as all hell broke loose. 

The trip back to Sam and Bucky’s base was one filled with uncomfortable silence, and a tension that had your blood running cold. 

Once the adrenaline of the fight had worn off and you were left face to face with Bucky Barnes, the guilt began to creep in. 

“So…” Sam started from the backseat of the beat-up truck, the suddenness of his words startling both you and Bucky for a moment. “Long time no see.” 

The scoff that left Bucky’s lips wasn't as subtle as you imagined he meant it to be. You tried not to let it bother you; in fact, you had prepared for this. How he might react when you finally returned home. What you weren't prepared for, however, was how indescribably gutted you would feel to watch him - eyes trained to the road ahead - as he gritted his teeth at your proximity. 

To say that yours and Bucky’s relationship before the snap was easy would be incredibly delusional. It was messy and at it’s best dysfunctional. But for whatever reason, the two of you looked beyond that. He saw through you like no one ever had and before you knew it, the two of you were glued at the hip. It didn't make sense, but no questions were ever asked. 

You just fit. 

And of course there was the sex. Good god, you could feel your thighs clenching at the thought. 

The way’s Bucky knew how to take you apart, with an accuracy that only he had. How he had your toes curling and body vibrating from the flick of his tongue. How he would have you screaming the most filthy things for him, all while begging to never ever—

“Y/n?” 

Sam’s voice was like an ice bath. Your name yanking you back into the present and the question at hand. What was the question again? You couldn't think straight. Not when Bucky was staring at you the way he was, one brow cocked and that same familiar smirk plastered on his lips. If you didn't know any better, you’d think he could read your thoughts. 

“Sorry- I… I was…” You couldn't seem to bring yourself back to this realm, too lost in the Super Soldier’s stormy eyes to remember what exactly you were trying to say. 

“He asked you where you’ve been, Y/n.” Bucky spoke your name like it was a curse, laced with razor sharp ache and pain. His eyes told a different story though. The way he looked at you; the same way he always did. 

With a warmth that only he had for you. It made you shiver. 

“Running, mostly.” You started, your body physically breaking your gaze with Bucky. It was too much, watching him glare down at you. And maybe you deserved it. 

“And you never thought to, I don't know, call me?” Bucky’s words were spiteful, oozing with a disdain that was beginning to wear down your patience. 

“It wasn't like that, Buck-”

“You can’t call me that anymore.” He snapped, his eyes trained on the road. Your gaze snapped to him, brow arched as you all but scoffed at him. 

“Oh, I can't?” You chuckled, but the sound came out flat. He had every right to ask you where you've been. Hell, get angry if he wanted. But the way his words seeped with disgust made your blood boil. 

“Okay, okay guys. Let’s all take a breath and just—”

“Shut up, Sam.” You both snarled, causing Sam to roll his eyes as Bucky pulled into a long winding driveway with a small log cabin sat at the end of it. You reached for your seatbelt until your door swung open. 

“You two figure your shit out. Whatever this is,” Sam motioned to the space between you two, “ isn’t leaving this car. I’ll be inside. Feel free to come in when y'all have killed and made up, okay?” With that, Sam slammed the door leaving Bucky and you alone in your static tension.

Bucky worried on his lip, his eyes trained to his lap. You opened your mouth to speak, but your words seemed caught in your throat. 

“You didn't even call…” 

It was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it. But you did… 

Voice small and so filled with ache; it kicked you in the stomach, the guilt washing away any anger you had felt. 

“Bucky… I- I couldn't.” You forced out, tentative as you met his gaze, stomach dropping as your eyes locked with his. 

“I thought I lost you. I thought - I mean, fuck - you were all I cared about.” He sighed, clearing his throat as if it would help ease his discomfort. “I looked for you, ya know?” He chuckled, but there was no warmth behind it. Just a brokenness that made you squirm. 

“It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, I know it’s not.” Bucky quipped, his eyes flicking away from yours and turning back to face the cabin. “It was your own selfish decision.” 

You scoffed, head snapping back to meet his glare. “Selfish? Bucky, I had no other choice. Not everyone can be pardoned for their crimes. It’s not like I had Steve Rogers advocating for my freedom!” 

Bucky only rolled his eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, you swore he might rip it clean off the car.  “Don’t bring him into this. You don't think that I would have done everything to get to you? To clear your name?”

You laughed bitterly, blinking away the tears that welled at the corners of your eyes. 

“You gotta at least give me more credit than that, Doll.” The pet name rolled off this tongue easily, washing over you, and making you freeze. 

“Please don’t call me that…” You faltered, wiping away a stray tear that rolled down your cheek. 

It seemed the tension dissipated in that moment, silence heavy between you both as Bucky reached out, his flesh fingers finding a tear and brushing it away. You tried to speak, but with everything that had been said, and all that would never be, you decided words just weren’t enough. 

You didn't have time to object before his lips were on yours, your body moving at its own accord as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs either side of him as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. You tried to moan, but his mouth swallowed the sound. He rendered you breathless, his taste intoxicating as you melted into his embrace, grinding into him and shivering when a familiar growl slipped from his lips; vibrating against your mouth. 

“Fuck, I missed you.” You moaned out, clutching his jacket as you licked down his neck. His skin was burning against your lips, the rumble of his breath heavy against your ear as he let out a dark chuckle, urging you on. 

“Well, if you had just called me—” 

Before he could finish the sentence, you reached for the recliner, snapping it forward as you toppled forwards onto Bucky’s chest. His words fell back into his throat, hands automatically finding your hips to steady you while you fumbled with his belt. 

“Doll—” He tried to start, but you swallowed the name with your kiss, heated and rooted in a desperate need to feel him again. You ached for him in a way you’d never felt before. 

Maybe what you had was unfixable. Maybe it was beyond repair, but with the way he was kissing you and hiking down your pants, it didn't matter. You were drunk on him, and by the way he bucked his hips, so was he. 

You shivered as his vibranium fingers looped into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down over your legs as you both awkwardly tried to move in the cramped seat. You wanted to laugh, but as his cold thumb swiped through your slick folds, all you could do was whine. 

“So wet for me…” He hummed, teeth sinking into your throat as he pulled a whimper from your lips. 

You cursed, hands propping you up on either side of him as he dipped his index finger into you, the intrusion enough to have your back arching into him, desperate for more. 

But Bucky was a tease. And even now, after all of this time, it was the very thing that had your buckling above him. Pleading and begging for more.

“Look at you.” He started, his eyes dark as he pushed deeper inside, his finger curing into you as you gasped. 

“P-please, Buck.” You begged, grinding down onto his hand. To your dismay he only chuckled, watching intently as you came undone around him. 

“I told you,” He started, lifting you off of him and tossing you against the backseats, “Don’t call me that.” 

You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of your throat as he awkwardly crawled towards you. But the look in his eyes had your stomach twisting into something that emulated fear. It was guttural as he pressed into you, the outline of his cock digging into your drenched folds.

You bit back a moan, eyes rolling back in your head as his cold fingers brushed against your core, pulling himself free from his boxers. 

“Do you still love me like you did?”  He spoke, and though the words were soft and filled with promises you had broken before, there was a darkness in his voice. 

“I never stopped.” You admitted. And it was true. But that didn't seem to be the answer he was looking for as he licked his bottom lip, eyes trained on your throat. 

“I’m afraid isn’t gonna’ feel much like love, doll.” He breathed out, lining himself up with your entrance. Before you could speak, he thrusted into you, knocking the air out of your chest as he bent you uncomfortably in half. You could only scream as he caged you in, forcing you down against the seats as he fucked into you. 

It’s not like you forgot how Bucky filled you, but his size was something you would never be able by to fully adjust to. Especially not now, when he was holding you steady, his hips snapping against you giving you no time to ease into the assault. And by the looks of the lopsided smirk plastered on his swollen lips, he knew exactly how shredded you felt. 

“Fuck, you take me so good, sweetheart.” The pet name doing nothing to quell the ache he sent ripping through your body as he sank deeper into you. You could only cry out, head smashing into the door as he kept up his brutal pace. 

“B-Bucky, please.” You weren't exactly sure what you were asking for, but at this rate you wouldn't last long, the familiar coil building in your abdomen as he nudged up against your cervix. 

“Slow down, baby.” You choked on a sob, eyes glassy as his vibranium fingers coiled around you thoat, pining you to the seats.  

“Did you miss this part, doll?” He whispered against your ear, a shiver ripping through your body and igniting a flame you had so desperately craved since the moment he vanished from your world. “Miss the way I ruin you, Hm? I can feel you, coming undone. You’re so close, aren’t you?” he teased, pressing his fingers deeper into your throat until you were coughing around the pressure. 

“All I need to do is-” His flesh thumb ran circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back into your skull as you croaked out his name, begging him to ease up. “There it is.” He chuckled, quickening his pace until you were a shivering mess beneath him. 

“Bucky, I-” 

“I’m going to ruin this cunt, sweetheart. Stay still, and let go for me” His voice was like gravel, only letting you breathe once you nodded your head in complicity, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth as the orgasm wrapped itself around your core. 

“Fuck.” You managed to scream, your head lulling back as a title-wave of ecstasy crashed over you, pulling you under.

“That’s my girl.” His words tipped you over the edge, his name on your lips like a prayer as you quivered, your body violently shaking. “God you're so tight when you- Shit!” 

With a few sloppy thrusts, Bucky came undone. His hot spend coating your pulsing walls as he gasped. Your bodies a tangled mess as he puffed out a breath against your neck. 

You both just stayed frozen, too afraid that the moment you pulled away, reality would sink in. And the truth was, you weren't exactly sure what that meant. 

Bucky slowly eased himself out of you, gasping a little as you spilled out onto, what you only hoped, would be easy to clean seats.

 “Doll, that was-” 

“Hey,” Sam knocked hard against the now foggy glass, “You two hungry, or what?” 

[liitlesunshiine]

Villainous Taste

(Detective reader x Villain Bakugo)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, mentions of death, degradation, manipulation, very bad bad stuff, dubcon, noncon, assault, sub/dom themes, don’t read if sensitive to violent themes

_________________

You sighed in frustration at your desk that was fully covered with a mountain of papers. It’s been over year now since you’ve been assigned to the notorious Bakugo, Katsuki case; and you’ve made little to no progress on catching the pesky fucking villain. You were losing your patience by the day. Especially since it felt like a personal attack on your ego that you still haven’t managed to pin this guy down. The great detective Y/N, Y/LN getting played and taken a fool by the villain himself. It’s not like you’ve made no progress though. There were times, many instances in fact, when you managed to pin the villain down. The constant face to face encounters only ending with the villain toying with you and taunting you. It’s honesty a surprise that you’re still alive considering all the chances he has had to kill you. Condescending dick, you were sure he was getting off by the chase. This all seemed to be a game to him and it infuriated you even more since you were practically entertaining it. He was thriving off the little interactions with the quirkless detective.

The way he would cockily stride his way to you with that big smirk smeared across his face. Eyes devouring your body that left an unsteady chill run down your spine. His presence held such power and intimidation that you couldn’t help but take steps back with every step he took forward. You always felt like a deer in headlights whenever he swaggered towards you. No amount of experience or expertise will ever get you accustomed to his predatory gaze.

“Go figure they’d send a quirkless bitch my way. They must really hate’ya.” He said with a rather amusing look, never breaking his eye contact with you. He grabbed a piece of your hair twisting it softly between his fingers, as if he were inspecting it. You could’ve sworn he was sniffing it too.

Yea, you were quirkless but you managed to hold your own ground. Having to work ten times as hard, having to prove yourself among your peers and having to earn the respect and position you have worked so tirelessly for years. While being quirkless was a hinderance or handicap as some would say, it was a mountain that you decided needed to be climbed. You reached its peak and planted your flag years ago. This title wasn’t given to you mindlessly. You dedicated tears, sweat, and blood to get to where you are now. Gained recognition from higher up heroes themselves and even managed to get assigned to Bakugo’s case; the most wanted and powerful villain in Japan. Now, you weren’t in denial either, you were well aware you stood no chance against the hero toe to toe. Hell, even the top tier heroes themselves barely made it out alive. You were simply here to pinpoint his locations and set up an area for his arrest. What seemed to be a simple task ended up as a wide scale massacre with Bakugo skimping through all the heroes nonchalantly. It was a complete blood bath. All the pro heroes who were posted for defense that day were to be blown up to pieces; the graphic scene till this day haunts you in your sleep. Sleepless nights and paranoia became a norm, with the image of him dripping with blood casually stalking towards you was something that you have not been able to shake out of your head for months now.

He had forced you into an alley that day. You were trying your best to steady your breathing and figure out an attempt to get the fuck out of this predicament. Your eyes skimmed for any opening, avoiding his intense gaze, looking anywhere but his blooded face.

You felt your back hit against the wall. He was now sickly close to you, you placed your head down in shame looking at his shoes rather than his face. Knowing damn well there was no way out of this situation. Beads of sweat ran down your back and colored your forehead. He slammed both his hands against the wall, causing you to jump, your head now trapped in between his forearms. His body hovered over, the smell of blood forcing its way into your nose. The intense body heat radiating off of him, had your head spinning. You felt frozen in place, every worst case scenario rushing through your mind, trying to stay steady while silently sobbing to yourself.

“My eyes are up here slut.” He gripped your chin roughly forcing your eyes to meet his. You took in the rough image of the villain in front of you. You saw the spiky unruly hair sticking out in every direction, some parts drenched in the blood of his victims. His sharp facial features looked even more intimidating under this light, little scars freckled his skin here and there scattered throughout; and his 5 o'clock shadow appearing in patches. It was his eyes that took you by surprise most. None of the pictures posted online, none of the documents you saw ever matched what appeared in front of you. The dark ruby colored eyes stared curiously back at you, analyzing your every move. The stare felt strangely intimate, and it probably would’ve been considering the circumstance. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was really fully conscious of what was happening, but having him so close was making her feel unnerved. Hell, even as a villain there are many people who admire and drool over the criminal. But seeing him this up close drenched in the blood of your peers was when the fear and guilt washed over you and you quickly snapped out of his trance. You were brought back to your senses and reminded of your current predicament. The images of the heroes fighting and dying at the hands of this animal quickly flooded in. Anger now overwhelming your sense. You reminded yourself that you were quirkless, not helpless. And with that thought, you broke your intense gaze away from him, slapping his hand off your chin and quickly spitting in his face. The action caught him rather off guard and you took this delayed response to knee him in the balls and bolt for it “FUCKING BITCH!” He roared.

~

Ever since then your encounters with Bakugo have been rather odd to say the least. You didn’t really know how else to describe it. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There were instances where he would get rather “touchy” and others where he would straight up just physically hurt you. It was a wind whirl of emotions and odd behavior whenever you encountered him. You didn’t know what to make of it either. He could’ve killed you months ago and the fact that he hasn’t, has left you feeling uncomfortable and confused. You felt yourself wanting to avoid him now, you haven’t been prioritizing his case anymore and you’ve lost all the spunk and passion you had in the beginning. Continuously failing to catch him and having countless of pro heroes dying at the hands of his explosions was something you no longer had the heart to bare.

Especially now that whenever you found him he’d just toy with you. It was beginning to seem as if he's looking forward to these little encounters, like he’s waiting for you. You began to notice the issue when he was becoming purposefully sloppy in hiding his tracks, it was if he was screaming to be caught. And after working his case for over a year Y/N knew his actions, how careful and precise he could be when he wanted to. A perfectionist in his own right but now, now he was practically waving a flag yelling at you where he is and to come and get him. This was a total 180 from his usual behavior and tactic and with each encounter becoming more unseemly; Y/N thought it was best to take a break from the scandalous villain. You decided on no longer participating on the missions. You couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling of this situation and where you were once so headstrong stepping into the battlefield, your courage and pride was stripped from you. Now the only thing you prioritize was staying the hell away from him. So with whatever information you did find on the villain was quickly handed over to the hero agency without any hesitation.

~

After a few months of you steering clear from the villain, his crime scenes were becoming more brutal and graphic by the week. His killing sprees drastically increasing and the victims were piling up. Y/N couldn’t help but to let guilt consume her. Thoughts of Bakugo infiltrated Y/N’s mind. From the moment she woke up, to while she’d desperately attempt to sleep. You felt yourself slowly going insane. As if your movements were being watched at all times. Your mental state began taking a toll on you and was affecting your work. You could no longer focus on anything for a span of time without the mere image of a bloodied Bakugo appearing in your head.

His case was one you guiltily found compassion in. One of the top students in UA Academy showing nothing but absolute potential to become a top ranking hero crumbled and fell to villainy after his long time friend Izuku Midoriya, was killed trying to save him. It appeared the guilt ate him up inside and as a result, Bakugo quickly blamed the heroes for being weak and unable and decided on taking matters to his own hands by killing everyone involved that day in Midoriya’s death. This paired on with him living in an abusive household led to what he is now, at least that’s what Y/N assumed. Y/N’s heart felt torn in two feeling somewhat sympathetic towards him due to his rough upbringing and traumatic past but either way it did not excuse the atrocities he was committing now. You felt yourself falling deeper into the rabbit hole because of this man. You finally decided this couldn’t continue on any longer. You requested a transfer, figure you cut your losses with Bakugo’s case and move on with your life.

~

It had been two weeks since you’ve transferred departments and moved into the inner city of Tokyo. It was new, it was adventurous, and it was a step forward. A perfect way to start fresh and move on. You felt the withdrawals from Bakugo’s case every now and then, mainly the guilt consuming you at night or whenever you saw the news appear on TV with a new crime he had committed. You did your best to avoid those emotions though. He was no longer your problem and you did everything you could anyways. Regardless, your attempts at catching him always resulted with blood on your hands.

It was a particular long day at work. You decided on staying later than usual setting up the finishing touches in your new office. You figured you’d also catch up on some cases to avoid getting swamped on Monday. By the end of it you came to realize it was a quarter past midnight. “Oh shit, I gotta get the hell outta here,’ you mumbled to yourself while you quickly got your personal things and organized the remaining loose ends in the office. You locked up everything and exited out the building, deciding on taking the metro home since you felt exhausted and couldn’t commit to the 2 mile walk.

You weren’t used to the metro being so empty and silent, but it was rather peaceful you thought. While the doors open you took no notice in the looming figure behind you. Exhausted and empty minded you walked in, to the doors behind you closing. You were instantly snapped out of your daze when you got shoved against the pole and a hand quickly covering your mouth to silence your scream.

“I’m real upset quirkless.” You immediately recognized the voice and a chill ran down your spine. You looked up to see the reflection of Bakugo off the window, he was staring at you dead in the eye. His signature scowl heavily evident on his face.

“Are you trying to hide from me? Made me follow your ass all the way to Tokyo now? Come on quirkless, you know I hate being teased.” He positioned himself to have his crotch lined up with your ass. You felt the pressure only getting bigger with each word he spoke. Your heart was racing by this point, you tried to wiggle your way out of his grasp but he only gripped you harder as a result. He pulled your hair forcing you to look at him once again through the reflection.

“What happened slut, got bored of me? Am I not important enough anymore to catch? I’ve killed hundreds of people ya know, why did you stop trying to arrest me? Don’t tell me another villain got your attention. I don’t mind killing off the competition babe.” He gripped your hair even harder to the point where your skull was becoming numb, your cheeks already salted with tears.

“Fucking slut, I should seriously punish you. You’ve been making me work overtime.”

The train did a gradual stop and the doors open once again with two individuals walking in. Y/N felt a bit of hope wash over her until Bakugo moved to sit down on the opposite direction, forcing you on top and both your backs facing the two people who just walked in. Since he was wearing a hoodie no one would be able to recognize him from this angle. Right now the situation looked like two people who are just foundling on the train. You now sat directly on top of the villain’s lap. His hand still covering your mouth harshly. When you felt the bulge in his pants fully erect is when you began to whimper.

“Awe, did my slut miss me? Don’t worry detective, I’ll give you some nice warranted attention.” His free hand began to stroke your exposed thigh. The action immediately had you squish your thighs together and attempt to get away. But he simply responded with gripping you tighter.

“Try anything and I’ll fucking take you right here, right now. I’ll blow up everyone in this fucking train. Try me bitch.”

He placed a testing hand on your thigh and tapped it softly as if waiting for your reaction. You stayed still not daring to move. “Come on baby, open up for your favorite villain.”

You silently nodded your head no, more tears springing out. He gripped your thigh roughly.

“Y/N, I won’t ask again. Fucking open.” The authority and venom that came from that demand left you having goosebumps. The fear reached you and before you knew it, you had your legs opened and spread for him.

"Atta girl.” He hummed satisfied and began stroking your inner thigh. Absolute shame and guilt overtaking your senses, you felt completely out of control and held prisoner. Your mind trying to disassociate itself with the current reality you’re in right now. But only to being brought back with his rough hands violating you and his threatening tone looming over you. “Now, I’m gonna release my hand from your mouth. If you make any fucking noise, I’ll kill everyone in this metro and make you watch while they beg for their lives, m’kay.” You nodded rather quickly, you wouldn’t be dumb enough to even dare to do such a thing. Too many people have already fallen victim to this animal, you refuse to take part in anymore blame for it. You’d figure you just let him use you and quickly get over the situation and forget it ever happen. Maybe you’ll set up an attempt to try and kill him yourself. Either way, the sooner this is over the sooner you get to go home and ball your eyes out and come up with a plan. He hummed again with your response.

“Good girl.” His hand slowly and hesitantly left your mouth and snaked its way to your thighs. He gripped both of them and forced your legs to open wider.

"Really liking the skirt baby. Makes accessing you so much easier.” He chuckled in your ear, mocking you. Ironic considering this is the first time you’ve worn a skirt in over a year. Your fucking luck. This whole thing was just entertainment for him, bastard.

His hands slowly made themselves lower reaching the inner most part of your thighs. He pulled the skirt up, completely showcasing your thong and pantyhose. You practically heard him salivating behind you. You tried to close your legs feeling painfully embarrassed.

“Tsk. What did I say Y/N” he forced your legs apart once again but with more aggression and speed, that lead you to buckle your hips onto him. You instantly became flushed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the realization of what you just did. You heard him groan.

“Such a fucking tease.” He ripped your pantyhose apart, giving him full entrance to your underwear. The cold air had a cooling sensation on your inner thighs and you felt yourself softy throb. You let out a silent whine and he quickly shoved two of his fingers in your mouth while the other started doing soft circles on your clit.

“Fuck quirkless. You’re so wet, always knew you were a fucking whore for me.”

Even to your surprise you didn’t expect yourself to be this hot and ready for him. You felt completely betrayed by your body but you couldn’t help in relishing in the sensation. It felt so good to finally be touched by someone even if it was someone as vile as him. Is this what it feels like to have the most dangerous man about finger fuck you on the metro train? Maybe you can just pretend you’re getting touched by Jim- the cute and quirky coworker of yours, but with every flick even that was seeming to be difficult already. You were sucking and licking his fingers shamelessly and subconsciously grinding down on his erection. You were definitely disgusted from yourself. But you’d be lying if the thought of fucking this villain hasn’t crossed your mind. Especially with the constant harassment you faced whenever you crossed paths, how he’d violate you but never to this extent. Always leaving you in an array of emotions. Even now you’re having a hard time understanding what exactly is happening.

Your eyes snapped right open when the fingers in your mouth left to slap your pussy. You glared at him with a concerning look. He only smiled in response, the sadistic kind.

“You seemed distracted baby. Got me doing all this work and you’re not even paying attention.”

His wet fingers hooked your underwear and causally pulled them off. You were now completely exposed and the reality of the situation was settling on you. “Bakugo please don’t.”

“After you were sucking and grinding on me? Don’t act so innocent now bitch, you’re fucking soaked. Pussy is practically begging for my cock.”

He slipped one finger inside slowly, as if he was exploring the inside of your pussy. His fingers were thick and scarred due to years of using his quirk. The sensation alone was enough for you to throw your head back on his shoulder, opening your legs wider for him. You couldn’t grasp the reason for your actions. Here you were shamelessly opening yourself up and enjoying the fingers of a villain who has caused so much destruction and brought about so much pain in your life. How is it that you’re enjoying this? You really are a terrible person.

“Fuck baby, this is quite the sight.”

Any attempt in trying to hide what you and Bakugo were doing was completely thrown out the window by the sloppy and lewd noises from the villain fingering you. You began to bite your bottom lip in attempt to hold back the moans trying to escape you when he added a second finger.

“Don’t hold them noises back, let these people know how good you feel from just by my fingers slut.” By this point you couldn’t control the soft noises coming out of you even though you were trying. He was fingering you with such expertise, you were feeling yourself beginning to melt under him. When was the last time someone had touched you liked this? Are you so touch starved that you’re about to cum from out of all people- Bakugou Katisuki? Your mind was spinning.

The train reached its second stop. You tried to close your legs and compose yourself before the doors had open but Bakugo didn’t stop his assault. “Bakug-“

“Keep them open baby. We’ll put on a show for whoever sees. I don’t give a fuck.”

The only two passengers who were on the train walked out rather quickly and with no one else entering, it was just you and this villain inside. You couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or bad but at least the risk of him hurting someone else isn’t looming over your head. Instead of taking this moment to escape you threw your arms up gripping Bakugo by the neck. Might as well and try to get this over with. Sooner this ends, the sooner you get go home and bleach your skin clean and pray for forgiveness to whichever god decides to listen. This action did indeed catch him slightly by surprise but he stopped fingering you momentarily and ripped your shirt off revealing your bra to him. He quickly gripped both of your breasts massaging them in his hand.

“Turn around.” He huskily said into your ear. Already lost in the sensation of how good he was making you feel, you quickly got off him to then get back on straggling him. You were now back on him facing him with your cunt completely exposed, skirt crumbled up to your waist, and your breasts directly in his face. He was smirking down on you. He gripped the center of your bra and activated his quirk leaving the bra in shreds.

“Any idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck this pretty little body of yours?” He gripped your neck, choking you slightly while his mouth made his way to your nipple. “Way too fucking long. Gonna devour your little cunt. Gonna make you pay for all the trouble you’ve been causing me.” His hand left your throat and began squeezing and pinching your nipple. The action causing a moan to rip out of you. “Fucking bitch, you’ve been such a distraction.” You were gripping and pulling his hair now while grinding furiously against his crouch in a desperate attempt to feel some type of friction. “Bakugo-“

“Katsuki,” he corrected, “we’ve been past the formalities for a while now”

You blushed, you rarely call anyone by their first name but Bakugo could be the exception. Besides it’s not like he wasn’t fingering your pussy like a jackhammer on a public train 5 minutes ago, not like you were grinding on him like a desperate dog in heat right now...

“Suki,” you said hoping the cute pet name would be enough to grab his attention, you attempted to sound as desperate and needy as possible, “please make me cum already.” You pleaded while placing your hands on his shoulders. Makeup smudged from the tears and sweat, lipstick smeared on your chin from him covering it, clothes all ruined and your hair a mess, you already looked so fucked out, Bakugo just ate the sight up. He had his hands gripping the side of your hips caressing them. You leaned in wanting a kiss until he quickly gripped your face squeezing your cheeks together preventing it so. “On your knees baby.”

While still squeezing your face you slowly get off his lap on your knees in between his legs.

“Open your mouth and show me your tongue.” He released his tight grip but kept his hand in place, you opened your mouth and slowly stuck out your tongue. He gave a devious smirk, in which you saw something enlighten in his eyes. The bright red color seeming more mahogany now. He leans in lining his mouth above yours and spits on your tongue. He nods his head allowing you to swallow, which you complied easily to. You now waited patiently for his next orders, your full submissive side completely taking over, not like you have much of a choice anyways. Regardless, the desire to please him and the desperation from under is consuming your every thought and sensation.

“Go on slut, suck daddy’s cock.” He leans into the seat with his legs fully spread to you. You slowly unzip his pants with shaking hands allowing his dick to spring free. You nearly drooled at the sight wanting to taste him badly. He was completely erect, a huge vain running down the base of his cock, the tip already covered in precum looking swollen and red. You lean in his dick using your hands to pump him, you slowly bought the tip towards your mouth giving it small kitten like licks. As you began sucking the villain in front of you, he lets out small grunts and groans throughout. He eventually pulls your hair and shoves his dick entirely in your mouth forcing itself to hit the back of your throat. 10 seconds pass by and he hasn’t removed his hand, 11, 12… your eyes begin watering and you’re desperately attempting to get fresh air. You begin pulling away only for Katsuki to laugh and hold you down tighter. “Aha’ha choking on my dick detective? Such a cock hungry whore… this outa teach you a lesson, maybe I’ll get some hand cuffs late-later on and treat you like you really deserve, yea-yeah. That sounds soo good.”

While Bakugo goes back and forth with himself, you begin getting red faced and losing consciousness he pulls your hair up forcing you off and you while you take this opportunity to weed in gaps of air desperately and choking, he quickly shoves himself back inside your mouth. This time he moved your head in up/down motions, you attempted your best to slurp and suck with minimal oxygen entering your system, but it was proven to be very difficult, luckily enough you notice the villain becoming slower and sloppier with his movements. You brought yourself to deep throat his cock once more until the warm liquid has finally entered your mouth. The taste sour and sticky inside, this is what sin must taste like you thought.

As on cue, the metro did a halt and you instantly recognized the location. You gave a side eye to the villain next to you who also knew this was the stop to your neighborhood. He self confidently got up and immediately zipped his pants. He took off the hoodie he wore only leaving the black tank top underneath and shoved it over your head. The hoodie was long enough to cover your whole body and you were thankful since your current garments were in shreds across the floor. It also smelled strangely sweet, odd, like burnt caramel? Maybe the lack of oxygen is making you slightly delusional? You assumed, well hoped- this is where you would go separate ways with the villain. Have this memory go to the grave with you and forget it ever happened. But to your lovely surprise he picks you up bridal style and carries you out the metro. You looked at him questioningly, the feeling of dread looming over and suddenly becoming overwhelming just waiting for his response. He simply smirked.

“You’re clocking in overtime tonight detective.”

[get-shiggy-with-it]

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— ���

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

[sacredsorceress]

Secrets (Four) || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: when you wake up in the avengers compound after being saved by bucky, sam and nat, you discover that something’s changed.

a/n: thank you for all your feedback!! reblogs and replies are super appreciated!

word count: 2.7k

warnings: arguing, swearing, angst

Prologue, One, Two, Three

masterlist || request || taglist

Opening your eyes, blinking to clear your vision, you were immediately met with ice coating the ceiling above you despite feeling as though you were locked in a sauna.

“What the-”

Sitting up in your bed, you tried to piece together where you were, why you were here and what had just happened, but all you could see was the concrete room you were sat in with nothing but a bright light shining above you and frost coating every inch of the room.

Suddenly the events of the day all came back to you- the men in your house, being kidnapped, being locked in a container to freeze to death... the truth about your husband.

Bucky.

The last thing you remembered were his eyes meeting yours on the other side of the glass.

Despite years of marriage and precious memories, all that flooded your brain were the images of the Winter Soldier- masked and ready to kill. All you could hear were the screams of his victims and those who fled at the sight of him. 

All you could feel was fear.

“You’re awake.” You heard an unfamiliar voice declare.

Snapping your attention towards the door of the room you hadn’t even noticed was there, you recognized the very familiar red-headed Avenger standing in the doorway.

“Wait, you’re.... are you-” You stumbled over your words. “Where am I?”

Carefully stepping into the room, closing the door behind her, Natasha slowly made her way over to your bed.

“You’re at the Avengers Compound.” She informed you. “Do you remember anything?”

You thought then that she might have been glad to learn that you had retained your memory, but you sure wished you hadn’t.

“More than I’d like to.” You said.

Shooting you a sad smile, her gloved hands pulled up the chair next to your bed, seating herself beside you. As she did you finally took in her appearance, noting the large jacket she was wearing, the hood over her head and thick gloves on her hands, meanwhile you felt as though you were soaking in your own sweat.

“God, how are you wearing that?” You asked, pointing at her jacket. “It’s so hot in here.”

Chuckling, she leaned back in her chair.

“Well when you’re ninety degrees, I guess an ice rink would feel a little warm.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you sat up straighter in your bed.

“Ninety degrees?” You asked. “Shouldn’t I be dead by now?”

“That’s what we all thought.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you remembered the feeling of the frost hitting your skin when you were enclosed in the container, the sounds of the cold air rushing out of its walls. You were trapped, feeling the biting cold in a way you never had before. So cold that when the frost began to form over the glass, your husband’s eyes meeting yours, all you could feel was the cooling sense of exhaustion wash over you as you closed your eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

“How long have I been out?” You asked.

Just as Natasha was opening her mouth, you heard a voice coming from the other side of the room.

“Two days.”

Your eyes snapping open, you turned your attention immediately to the man in the doorway. When you saw your husband standing in the threshold, you felt your heart begin to race in your chest as you scrambled back against the bed frame.

“You.” You said, swallowing, the word venomous in your mouth.

Hearing the word slip out of your mouth almost as though it were a cruse, Bucky’s eyes widened and he began to feel his heart beat against his chest.

He knew then that the consequence of the secret he had been keeping for years was now staring him back in the face.

“Y/n-” He eased, taking another step forward.

Grabbing the pillow from behind your back, you tossed it at him.

“You lied to me!” You shouted. “You fucking lied to me all these years. I- it’s sick!”

Letting the pillow hit his chest, he began to feel sick.

He had known deep down that someday his past would come back to haunt him. Even deeper down he knew that someday you would discover the truth, but he had hoped to be gone by then, leaving you to hate him once he could no longer feel your wrath. He had shoved down the idea of the look on your face when you found out for years, but now as he stood there, his own nightmares playing out before him, he just wished he had told the truth sooner.

The consequence of losing you and never having you was better than knowing your love and having it tainted with hatred by his own hand.

“Doll,” He said your pet name, his shoulders slouching.

“No!” You shouted, pushing yourself off of the bed. “You don’t get to call me that anymore! God, did ever even feel bad about lying to your own wife?”

He did.

He felt awful every time he made up some lie about his past. He felt awful every time he told you he had no family, no friends. He even felt awful every morning when he lied to you about where he was going off to work every day.

It had been eating away at him for years.

He had told himself that it was for the best, but he realized now that he didn’t do it for you, but entirely for himself. He had been so incredibly selfish and you were now paying for his crimes.

“Of course I did.” Bucky said so low, it was nearly a whisper. “Of course I felt bad, Y/n.”

Before you could reply, you heard another knock on the door, it cracking open slightly.

“Oh thank God.” Natasha said from her seat when she saw Bruce and Sam.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you turned away from your husband, instead focussing your attention on the two Avengers now entering the icy space.

Before anyone could speak, however, the man you recognized as Captain America made his way over to you, reaching his gloved hand out for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” He said, giving you a soft smile. “I’m Sam. I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, but...”

Glaring at Bucky, you shook Sam’s hand.

“Sam.” You said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you too.”

Your eyes still on your husband, the three others in the room glanced between one another before Bruce cleared his throat.

“Y- you’re probably wondering about the ice in the room,” Bruce said

“You could say that.”

“Well, while you were out for the past couple of days we had some of the best doctors we know examine you,” Bruce explained. “I understand that this may be... difficult... to understand, but this- this ice- it’s-”

“It’s coming out of you.” Sam said finally, finishing Bruce’s sentence for him.

Quirking your eyebrows at the three members of the group of Avengers, you thought for a second before shaking your head, laughing.

“You’re joking, right?” You asked. “You have to be kidding.”

This couldn’t be real. There was no possible way you actually had ice coming out of your body. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t real.

Standing up from her seat, Natasha crossed her arms.

“When you were in cryo, you were in temperatures nobody comes back from.” She said, seriously. “You should be dead right now. No one knows why you’re still here.”

Lifting your hands from your sides to stare at your palms, you attempted to digest the information the three of them had just fed you.

You were alive when every logical answer said you shouldn't have been. You had abilities that no other living person did.

You were supposed to be at home, spending the weekend with your children. You were supposed to wait for your completely honest husband to walk in the doors of your home and kiss him hello.

But now you were standing there, being told that you had changed- transformed. You were different than you were before. You didn’t feel warm and fuzzy, but cold and distraught.

Feeling the anger course through your veins, tears meeting your eyes, you stared at your palms and in a flash, frost burst forth from the center of your hand.

Jumping back, you rapidly closed your hands into a fist, feeling your heart thumping against your chest.

“I understand that this is hard to take in-” Banner attempted.

“I’m... I’m a monster.” You said, staring up at them with wide eyes. “I have ice coming out of my hands!”

Gazing at you from the other side of the room, watching the fear in your eyes behind the tears begging to break free, Bucky felt incredibly guilty.

He had known what you were going through because he had gone through the same himself. He had woken up only to discover that he had become a super  soldier with a metal arm- that he was no longer Bucky Barnes- but someone else- someone different.

He would have never wished the experience on his worst enemy, never mind the woman he cared for most in the world, but you were experiencing it nonetheless. You were in it because of him.

He had told himself that he was trying to protect you, but in the end he had forced you into a life you had never asked for.

He felt his heart shatter in his chest watching you fall apart before everyone.

All he wished was for him to be able to go over to you, to hold you in his arms despite the cold bite of ice that was sure to frost over him as soon as his skin met yours, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew you didn’t want him to.

“Y/n that’s not true.” Sam said. “I know it might feel that way, but you’re still you and Bruce is going to figure out a way for you to control it. I know it seems bad, but you’re going to be okay. You’re a part of our family now. We’ll figure it out, alright?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you nodded.

“Okay.”

As much as you were in shock, you trusted the three individuals in front of you. They hadn’t given you a reason not to- they had risked their lives to save you and even now when you felt they owed you nothing, they were working their best to help you.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” You said. “Really. I think I just need some space right now.”

“I understand.” Sam nodded. “If you need anything, we’ll be right outside.”

Without a word the others followed him as he left the room and you slowly made your way over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it, placing your head in your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

Shaking your head you pulled your face out of your hands.

“What part of ‘I need space’ don’t you understand, Buck?” You asked.

You heard his footsteps slowly cross over the room to you.

“I need to say something-”

Of course he did.

“Oh that’s rich, James!” You scoffed. “Funny how now you have something to say. Funny how you didn’t say anything when we started dating, or got married, or God- had children together.”

“Y/n-”

“It’s just so insane to me how you could go all this time without saying anything.” You continued. “How could you even look yourself in the mirror-”

“Fuck, Y/n, just listen to me!” He shouted, standing in front of your spot on the bed. “I fucked up really bad- I know that. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but can’t you see why I did it? I was so afraid you’d be ashamed of me because of what I am and I thought I was protecting you-”

Feeling the ice beginning to shoot out of your palm, you pushed yourself off of the bed, pointing your finger into your husband’s chest.

“I’m ashamed to have a liar as a husband.” You said, knowing just how much the words stung for him, but you felt nothing but ice flowing through you at the moment in the heat of rage. “How could you think this was protecting us? How could you think keeping the truth from me was protecting our kids? You not only put me in danger but my kids, Buck.”

“They’re my kids too, Y/n.” Bucky said.

“Are they?” You asked. “Because I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

You watched as he stepped back, his back hitting the icy wall behind him. He had known you were angry, he even knew that he deserved every harsh word you were throwing at him, but to hear you dismiss him so entirely- to almost denounce him from your life- made him feel a pain that even his worst days in Hydra or in recovery could never rival.

“I- I mean I don't even know who I am anymore, Buck.” You said throwing your arms in the air. “I mean look at this. Look at this room! Nobody can even touch my hand without gloves or without bundling up like they’re going to the fucking North Pole!”

Backing away from him, you held your face in your hands once again.

“I don’t even recognize myself and I’m all alone.” You said, lowering your voice. “I- I can’t even hug my kids- I can’t see my kids. It’s so hot in this room to me but everything just feels so cold and empty. I just wish you didn’t fucking lie to me because it would be so much easier to not hate you the way I do right now. Looking at you makes me want to scream but, God, I feel so alone.”

Beginning to feel a sob catch in your throat, your head still in your hands and the tears turning to ice when they met your palms, you felt the cool touch of Bucky’s vibranium hand meet your arm. 

Shrugging him off, you shook your head.

“As much as I fucking hate you right now, you can’t touch me, James.” You said. “I’ll just hurt you.”

He knew that. He knew the biting sting of your ice against his skin. He had spent the past two days sitting by your unconscious side and no matter how many times the others told him to keep his gloves on at all times, your touch mattered more. They brought more warmth than any glove could- no matter how cold your hands were.

Seeing you breakdown in front of him, despite all of the harsh words you had thrown at him, he was sure he felt his heart break in his chest. You didn’t deserve this pain. You didn’t deserve this suffering. You didn’t deserve to be alone.

Resting his vibranium hand on your arm once again, the frost slowly creeping up his arm, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Wrapping both of his arms around you, he pulled you into his embrace. Rather than shrugging him off and pulling away, you wrapped your arms tightly around his torso, digging your face into his bundled up chest, sobbing.

Feeling a chill run throughout his body at your touch, he rest his chin on the top of your head, running his frozen vibranium arm up and down your back.

Although he knew that all was not forgiven, and that things would not be the same or even okay for a long time- if at all- all that mattered to him in that moment was that you weren’t alone. No matter the ice that overtook his body when you were in his embrace, the warmth that you brought him would never grow cold.

Going into cyro ten thousand times would be worth just one second of your peace and he would do whatever it took for you to forgive him for his mistakes that you now bore the consequences of.

[rcksmith]

Spring breeze part.4 — Spencer Reid

Icon by @obiwansjedi

Part.1 Part.2 Part.3

Sumarry: After the breakup, Spencer and the Reader follow different paths and lives. But, after 8 years, Gideon's death brings an avalanche of emotions, putting the two face to face again in a reencounter that could break their hearts again — season 10 —

Couple: Spencer Reid /Gideon's daughter!reader.

Warnings: mention of death, mention of violence, death of the father, depressive thoughts, murder, crying, swearing, a lot of anguish, mention of love, fluff (but it has a very fluff too, I'm not a monster)

Word count: 5k.

A/N: This is the most sad chapter that has, I promise that the next will be very cute.💖

I saw Gideon's death episode again to make it as faithful as possible for you guys. I used the original Criminal Minds chronology too, being 8 years from Gideon's last appearance until his death.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Let me know if you want to be added for a taglist for a specific fandom (Criminal Minds, The Umbrella Academy, Riverdale, Roman Godfrey, or all)

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — — —

Hunting bandits. Save people. Improve the world a little bit every day. Those were the three things Spencer believed it was worth to be at BAU. It was worth fighting for, holding on, staying sleepless for days, being haunted by murderers by day and nightmares at night. For what it was worth looking at the abyss, even when it looks to you

Reid could deal with human perversion, with the thousand and one ways to practice heinous crimes, the sowing of evil and cruelty. He could cope with constantly being inside insane minds, learning his whys and mechanisms. He could take it. He put up with it day after day, case after case. He endured being tortured, stay being held at gunpoint, having a piece of his essence plucked with red-hot iron month after month. Spencer knew he could handle it.

But he couldn't handle death. Goodbye. It shattered his soul far more than difficult cases, pushed his own sanity to the limit. Perhaps burying his feelings as deeply as possible was just a method of delaying the wave that would drown him at one time or another. Inevitably.

Each farewell took a piece of Reid away. His father, his mother, Ellie, you, Gideon, JJ, were just a few of the people who left, living their lives elsewhere. But what about those who died? The victims, the children, Hayley, Maeve, Emily (even if only for a short time) and so many others. These took much more than a piece of him. Maybe costu his whole soul.

Spencer felt himself harden over the years, the cases, loss after loss, day after loss. He felt the purity of his own heart slip through his fingers like sand, the faith in humanity to be put to the test. Sometimes even faith in himself.

Was that the price to pay for that job? Being constantly vulnerable? See his life and the lives of the people his loved most at gunpoint?

It was worth?

Maeve's death shook him more than any other, sucking all the pink glow from his world, leaving him with only the cold feeling of hopelessness. A very deep void. It took a long time for memories of she not to hurt like red-hot iron, for his breathing not to be heavy. It took a long time to be happy again.

And when Spencer felt healed from the deepest wounds, the most visceral pains, he was hit again. Deeply. If Maeve's death was a wave that brought him down, Gideon's death was the tsunami that destroyed him.

“It's Gideon.” Hotch's voice confirmed the fear of everyone in that cottage.

Then Spencer felt shattered. Torn apart. Torn like a rag doll and placed on the fire. He wanted to scream, to scream so loudly that he would never regain his voice. He wanted to break something, destroy some, run away.

But run away from whom? From what? That pain or himself? If Spencer had been able to tear off his own skin at that time and be someone else, he would not have hesitated. Not having dropped to his knees in that cottage was a miracle, because Spencer no longer knew what was holding him upright.

Jason Gideon, in many ways, was all that Spencer had. He knew that they took different paths and traveled different roads, living different lives, but he believed that they always end up on the same, even one they was old. Spencer was sure that if he was dying on his knees, Gideon would be to rescue him. For all those 8 years, it was extremely comforting to think that Gideon was out there, living life, finding the hope he had in college, finding the brilliance the world had.

And Reid knew that Jason had you. And you had Gideon. That was the most soothing and comforting thought. No matter what, he knew that you would take care of Jason, just like he would take care of you. But now... now Spencer's world had dissolved in the air. Like a sandcastle knocked over by the wind.

And the pain was surreal.

When he realized, he had left the room, close to the... body. If he could, Spencer would have moved away from himself. How would he take it? One more death, another psychopath. How many other people he love will are died at the hands of the work he did every day?

The answer to all of these questions was frightening, and Spencer wasn't sure if wanted them.

The trip to the coroner was the worst Reid had ever done, talking about the body was the worst conversation he had ever had. And when Morgan put his hand on his shoulder and said that he couldn't close himself now, that they were going to get that son of a bitch, all Spencer wanted to say was that he couldn't take it anymore. That he couldn't breathe. The emptiness was too oppressive. So much visceral pain.

But that was not what Spencer said. He just clung to the only lifeguard in the middle of the rough and deserted sea: justice. Gideon deserve it.

Reid doesn't know how he managed to get back to the Gideon’s house, how he managed to hear Hotch and Rossi talking about what could have happened. But he was there, standing, by some miracle.

“Do you know who might want to have done this?” Hotch asked Stephen, who had arrived, his eyes red from the crying he struggled to hold.

“No. I know he had a list of things he wanted to do before he died... That's how we came back to speak, one of the things was to get back in touch.” His voice was so reminiscent of Gideon's that it was stabbed in the heart of Reid.

“Didn't he talk about being chased? Feeling anything strange?” Rossi commented.

Reid watched Stephen's expressions carefully, first because he reminded Gideon a lot, and second because he looked for any clues in his reactions.

Stephen took a second to think before saying: “No, but we both don't keep in touch daily, you know?” He swallowed a sob, probably with regret, but then his eyes lit up with some information: “'But Y/n surely know, they both spoke to each other every day, if my father was thinking differently, surely she know.”

The mention of your name hit Reid with a very different wave. Bringing a very different feeling than it should. At that moment, he felt himself holding the air.

For a second, a lapse of consciousness, Spencer had not connected any of this with your physical presence. The notion that you were Gideon's daughter was obvious but, for some reason, Spencer didn't think about the fact that you were going to be there. That you would share the same air with him again, the same place...

“We will have to call her, bring her here to see if something has been left, or taken. If there is anything important on the scene.” It was Hotch.

“I called her as soon as you guys called me.” Stephen said “She arrived from California the day before yesterday, my father and she were going to travel.” He tried to swallow the crying, his eyes trembling.

"And you weren't going?" Rossi added.

“I have a son and a wife.” He gave a smile broken by the sadness of the mourning “They would stop by before I go… Y/n was going to tell me the news, since our schedules hardly match much, she works as an astronomer in…”

“Caltech.” Spencer completed, without even realizing it, like a thought out loud.

“Yea.” Stephen agreed.

Spencer felt a chill go from head to toe, and another ton of feelings were thrown at his back. The reality that he was going to see you again hit him hard. Like an arrow. Suddenly, Reid wanted to get out of there. Run as far as possible.

He couldn't see you. He had no ability to deal with those feelings now. Not now, when his life was so overwhelmed with emotions for Gideon’s death that he still hadn't dealt Not when you aroused the feeling of... hope. Spencer can’t could hope, of any kind. Not for them to be taken from him with visceral force. Reid was already hurt enough for handling another fall.

“... But I don't think it's a good idea for my sister to be here, anyway.” Stephen continued to speak.

Rossi and Hotch frowned: “Why?”

“They were very connected. Seeing this scene is not going to do her any good...” he sobs this time “Y/n is not like me… she is sentimental, emotional. ”

“As long as you're trying to stay calm, she'll be the opposite.” Hotch completed.

“I just don't want my sister to suffer anymore and...”

But it was too late for Stephen to complete. It was too much for Spencer to escape. It was too late to be born again, in a different life.

A gray car moved forward on the stone road, at too high a speed not to have washed several road fines. That was so much typical of you who hurt Spencer's heart pieces more than he thought possible. More than he thought he could feel at the time. You were always so wild at the wheel. But Reid didn't have time to finish a thought, not even Rossi, Hotch, Morgan who was with them or even Stephen. Because car brutally stopped it, the door opened and…

And it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds after years. As if summer had finally come after decades of overwhelming winter. In a burst, everything you've ever represented for Spencer has come back for him once again. And he felt the same thing that he felt when he first saw you, 8 years ago. And he was catatonic.

You got out of the car in a very hurried and desperate way. And as much as there were tears in your eyes and redness in cheeks, Spencer has never seen anyone so beautiful. Your hair was longer, in a brighter shade, maybe you had dyed it. Your features were more lyrical and beautiful, and Reid thought that the passage of time had no effect on you. While he considered himself just less clumsy over the years, you proved to be blooming like Romania's most superb rose.

“DAD!” But that was when your desperate voice brought Reid's consciousness back to earth.

You weren't calling your brother, you weren't asking why, you weren't in mourning. You were in denial. Disbelieving. You called out to your father, with the certainty that he would show up. And the despair in your eyes hurt Reid more than being shot.

But before the agents could do anything, you were running towards the house and Stephen ran towards you, taking you in his arms, trying to keep you from getting inside.

“LET ME GO, STEPHEN!” You struggled, trying to get rid of your brother's arms, your hair messing with the wind, tears streaming down your eyes. “They are wrong! It's not our father! Let me fucking go! DAD!”

“Y/n” Stephen had a broken heart in his eyes, some tears streaming down his eyes “You need to calm down before you get in there !”

“LET ME GO!” Yours sobs broke the hearts of the four agents over there “DAD!” You was cryng out, almost like a prayer, in a desperate call.

"He's gone, Y/n.” Your brother kept his arms stronger in you, trying to contain you while you struggle in trying to break free and go inside the house, under the illusion that you would find your father there.

“NO!” Now your crying was continuous “I spoke to him yesterday! It's not him, Stephen!” Then your brother turned you to him, holding you tight, and you melted into a visseral pain “It can't be him!”

“I know...” he sobbed, looking at you with the same shared pain “I know...”

So you gave yourself up to a painful, loud and desperate crying, the kind that won't let you breathe. And, unlike Reid, you fallen down. Your knees found the stone and grass floor, your hands clasped on Stephen's shirt, who knelt on the floor with you, delivered the pain you both shared.

You knew what your father's risks were in working in such a dangerous profession. Expose yourself to constant and frightening danger. You always knew about the risks, you just tried to ignore them all your life, sinking your fears about your father not coming home at night. Then, when he let the BAU, that fear dissipated. You felt a colossal weight being lifted off your shoulders, like tons of lead, and you let go of a fear so great that you didn't even know you had it.

For 8 years you thought that the chances of him not coming home were over, that the chances of seeing him the next day had increased dramatically. For 8 years you two traveled together, stopping at every type of diner for milkshake, chocolate ice cream and mint - his favorites - For 8 years you had your best friend, the only thing you knew you had in the world. You always knew that if you were drowning in the ocean, it would be your father who would give his lungs for you to breathe.

You didn't see a life without Gideon.

For you, you were crying for hours in what one day was your father's backyard, totally devastated, but for the rest of the world it was a matter of minutes.

Your sobs were so loud and real that Hotch and Rossi caught themselves with watery eyes, perfectly understanding the pain you were going through, the devastation. The two had lost many people, many of them being essential pieces to be able to continue breathing. Many of them felt wounds that would never heal.

But it was Rossi who approached you, the pain at the top of his throat, his mind wandering the day Gideon said he was going to have a little girl. Unlike Stephen, Rossi never saw you in person, but the sparkle in Jason's eyes whenever he talked about you, or with you on the phone, was enough to know that you were one of the essential pieces to keep breathing.

“Hi, my name is Rossi.” He knelt in front of you and your face went towards him, your cheeks and nose as red as your eyes.

“M-my dad talked about you."” You were still sobbing, slowly letting go of Stephen's shirt.

"Good things, I hope.” The two of you laughed like a sigh, and soon the pain returned to your eyes in a visseral way. “I know this is not fair, and I know it is asking too much, but I need you to go inside and try to find something out of place. Something that whoever did this to your father may have taken or left. ”

You closed your eyes in pain, tears streaming as you sobbed. Your hands, trembling and cold, went to your face, perhaps trying to hide from reality, perhaps wiping away tears. Maybe both. When you looked back at Rossi again, you saw the pain in his eyes too.

"I don't know if I can do it.” You admitted, your voice shaking.

"I know.” Rossi took his hand to yours, squeezing comfortingly “But only you can help us now, help other daughters not lose their father to the same killer. Being inside in the house can bring information that is in your subconscious. I promise you will make it, we will all be here with you.”

His handshake got stronger, and it reminded you of your father. That should have been the same way he comforted the victims' relatives, the way he was supposed to act with people.

'Everyone is somebody's son.' That's what Gideon said. It hit you like an atomic bomb. And, for a moment, you thought it was possible to die of sadness.

You squeezed Rossi's hand tightly, as if you were looking for courage. When you opened eyes again, you gave a weak nod. Carefully, as if any sudden movement is capable of causing you more pain, you stood up, your legs wobbly, your heart bleeding, sadness clouding your vision. Rossi put his hand behind your back, in a way to make sure him were there, as an anchorage in reality that would not let you get lost in the valley of sadness and pain.

As you walked up to the house, you didn't see the other agents, you didn't see the trees, the cars. At that time, you didn't even know what color the sky was anymore. It was like a suspended moment, when the world is in slow motion, the hemisphere is terrified. The sadness was palpable in the breeze, in the way that the rays of the sun did not reach the ground. The whole land looked like mourning.

As soon as you stepped inside the house, the smell of home and Gideon hit your nose, and you felt your face tighten in an expression of pure pain. You didn't notice the agents coming in behind you, you didn't notice Penelope and JJ. You just saw the furniture, the decor, his stuff. As if Gideon had just left for the market and was going to come back.

Everything was in was there. Minus the most important thing: him.

You did not notice when Rossi left you, you did not notice who approached. Everything was in a haze of pain.

But that's when you saw the strong blood marks on the floor, stuck to the wood with possession. A cold shiver as sighed from death ricocheted through your entire body, bristling all over your skin. In a burst, like the bursting of a violin string, the mist dissipated, the state of tupor burst, and reality hit you with overwhelming force.

And then the plug fell.

Jason Gideon had died.

You fell again, barely noticing the sobs and loud crying starting to come out again, the most desperate and painful in you life. But this time the arms that took you were different, bringing with you sensations that you haven't felt in a long time. That a long time ago you forgot that you could feel.

They were long, thin, and contained a vigor hidden beneath the thin facade. The smell of his presence was… heaven. That feeling was your anchorage on the high seas, in the valley of despair, and you clung to him for fear of drowning, of not finding your way back home.

You didn't have to see it to know who it was.

You turned to the arms that took you, now Spencer kneels with you on the floor, and you cried in a way that you never cried before, with a visseral pain. Your hands went to the brown cardigan he wore, closing there as if the fabric was your only chance for salvation.

So you looked at the immensity of the his brown irises.

"He was the only thing I had, Spen.” You sobbed loudly with the crying, gently swaying his coat, your voice utterly torn.

Spencer felt his eyes sting, his throat lock and the remains of what was his heart ache in a hideous way.

“I know.” He felt a tear run down his left cheek, his hands on your arms.

At this time, the two of you supported each other. Gideon meant a lot to you two. An irreplaceable role in yours life. And Spencer knew that was what you were talking about when you said:

"He was the only thing we both had.” You closed your eyes, your hands still firmly on his coat, your heart pounding.

But this time Spencer's voice was just as broken when he said: “I know.”

Then he hugged you.He hugged you for everything. He hugged you because it was a pain that only you two could understand. He hugged you because you needed it, and because he needed too.

Jason Gideon had a special connection with you two, a connection that only the two of you had ever experienced. Each relationship with Gideon was different, special in different ways, but only the two of you had him as a protector, mentor, a much more paternal and confidant figure. He was the kind of person you could leave your life in his hands, the kind who would teach you the secret of the worlds, show you what goodness was and at the same time strength. And you two had that.

You stained Reid's coat with tears, and Reid stained you with the strong smell he had. He stepped far enough away to be able to see your face perfectly, at a considerable distance, and, against everything he had ever done before with anyone, he took your face in his hands, his eyes fixed on your in pain shared.

“We will catch how did it.” Reid assured you, as if he had tattooed this words on your skin. You closed your eyes in pain, but he brought you back “Hey, keep looking at me."

So you did it. Because you would always follow Spencer. To hell if he asked.

"Don't take your eyes off mine, okay?” His voice was so sweet, so gentle, and you couldn't have done anything but agree. “When was the last time you spoke to Gideon?”

“Yesterday.” You replied “We were going to travel to the beach today, I took a vacation from work.”

“Was he at home when you two talked?”

The team looked at each other, with several questions in those look.

You denied it, the hiccup now because of the shortness of breath you had because of the crying.

“He stopped at Roanoke for...” and that's when you seemed to remember something.

Your eyes widened softly, your lips trembled, and you let out a stammering sigh as you try to remember something very important.

“What do you remember?” Spencer stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, trying to calm the beating of your heart that went back to being frantic and making you focus on the question, not the sea of ​​emotions you felt.

“He…” was when your eyes fluttered before meeting Reid's again. “He said he saw a woman on the news who was found dead. And ... and that he had to make sure of one thing ”

Rossi looked at Hotch, who gave an attentive and objective expression.

“Did he tell you why?” His eyes closed again and you sobbed. Reid moved closer, bringing your face back in his direction again “Look at me, Y/n.”

As soon as you did, he gave you a gentle smile, but contained all the pain in the world. He understood what you were felling.

“Why was he interested in the case?” He changed the question.

“I-it was something about...” you searched in your mind “Girl named Tara. I don’t know. He mentioned about a blue butterfly tattoo on her ankle as well, and that it was something to do with a… a case or something.”

“1978” Rossi interrupted and everyone looked at him “Gideon and I worked on a case in 1978, the suspect was never caught and Tara was a teenager who we thought had been kidnapped by him. The killer left dead birds in the hands of the victims ”

“But he didn't mention birds and...” That's when your eyes, fluttering, darted around the room and you stopped abruptly.

Spencer turned his attention to you again, seeing that you were staring somewhere. His hands slowly left your face and he asked:

“What?”

“The board.” You pointed to your father's board, which had a beautiful brown bird.

“Does say anything to you?” Rossi turned his attention to you.

You shook your head, your body too exhausted to go to the painting and examine it.

“He shot the board.” You looked at the agents “My father loved that painting, he never would have done that. Even though my father is stunned, he has the best aim I have ever seen.”

“The devil is in the details." Rossi went to the pinting and, after two seconds, turned to the team and said “I already know who did this.”

You let out a gigantic sigh of relief as the agents split up to continue the case, speaking so fast that you couldn't keep up.

“I helped?” You looked at Spencer, tears still shining in your eyes.

He smiled and nodded “Very.”

But when he got up, you took his hand, making Reid turn his attention back to you again, a questioning look on his face.

“You're going to get it, aren't you?” The sob invaded your voice "Promise me that you will catch him, Spen."

Reid took his hand in your, giving you a strong, comforting squeeze before saying:

"I will. I promise.”

And then he left, along with the other agents.

- - -

You thought you knew what pain was, the loss, the tightness in the heart. You thought that your many relationship breakdowns showed you what it was like to suffer. But you have never been so wrong. None of that compared to how you were now, to what you felt.

You would trade that feeling for anything in the world.

This was terrible. A cold, coercive, brutal and cruel feeling. As if you were at the bottom of a black ocean, unable to breathe, falling deeper and deeper, consumed by the overwhelming cold of the water.

It was impossible to say in words how you felt. But if it were you had to define it in one word you would say: pain. A pain that bends you, a pain that makes you want to scream, that pierces your lungs so that it is not possible to breathe, but that even so, you fight for air.

It was pain at its rawest, most brutal, sharp and atrocious like a dagger blade. You would go through Dante's hells for eternity instead of living one day with that pain.

Since Spencer and the agents went after the person in charge, you have sat on the steps of the front door, watching the nature, the shaking of the trees, but your attention was so far, far away. Perhaps unattainable.

Gideon always loved watching the seasons go by, and in that moment, you wondered if looking at the same thing he looked at every day would make you feel close to him. Feel with him. It had only been three days since you last saw him, when he picked you up at the airport, but you felt like you were past three lives. How would you go without it? How were you able to think of living without it?

You pulled your knees up against your chest, hugging your legs, the metallic, atrocious and icy taste of devastation stuck to yours in your mouth. The trees shook hard, forcing the birds to fly away, but you didn't feel cold. You were not feeling the cold breeze hit your body, nor were your muscles contracting in exhaustion from the hard wood of the steps you were sitting on.

The hunger, the cold, the heat or the craving could not reach you, as if the pain had paralyzed all your system. Probably your soul.

You didn't see when Stephen put father's blanket over your shoulders, nor did you hear his sobs for seeing you so devastated. But you smelled Gideon, and the warmth of the blanket was like having his arms around you again. Then the rest of the water in your body found its way to your eyes and crying was as automatic as breathing.

You were clinging to Spencer taking the son of a bitch who did it, trying to chase away any other thoughts that weren't about that. You didn't want to think about what would happen after he was caught. Which meant his capture for you. It would bring justice to Gideon, honoring his name, his life, but it wouldn't bring him back. What was taken from you would not be repaired, regardless of the end of that damned man.

When he was caught, you would have nothing else to focus on instead.

You don't know how long you stayed there. Hours? Days? The those peach and gold tones in the sky is from dusk or the dawn of a new day?

You had lost track of time, as if your watch had stopped since the time Gideon died.

The sound of cars on the road was the only thing that pulled you out of your fucking valley, and as soon as the black SUVs stopped, you stood up as if you had been waiting your whole life for that moment. The blanket fell from your shoulders, heart accelerated at an alarming rate, and for a second, everything was gone from your mind.

Rossi was the first to get out of the car, but yours eyes darted to Reid. You wanted to run, ask what had happened, listen to the answers. But you were paralyzed in place. Afraid of the truth, of reality.

What would become of you after that news?

Spencer came towards you without hesitation, and you couldn't take your eyes off him for a second. He didn't say anything, nor did he explain anything. It was not needed. The way he reached out his hand and placed your father's rings in your palm were enough answers.

Your whole body shook and you looked at Reid with more emotions than askers.

"He is dead." He told you, and it made you fall down again.

But this time you fell into his hugging, clinging to him in despair. There were many meanings in that embrace: gratitude, relief, fear, pain and grief. And Spencer hugged you back in the same way.

You two stayed that way for a while, even when the agents went to talk to Stephen, even when Garcia and JJ left the house, even when the cold wind hit you both.

“Thanks." You heard yourself say it, and Spencer shook his head, signaling that it wasn't necessary, and the two of you moved away.

So you went to Rossi, and hugged him too. In that second, Rossi could feel Gideon in that hug, and it took a second to not cry.

“Your father was a great man." He told you when the two of you walked away, and you agreed on a sad smile.

"He was." You looked down at the rings in your hand, staying a second there before turning to the agents and saying: “You guys are going to the funeral, aren't you? I ... my dad would like it w-very much.”

"Of course." Rossi guaranteed it.

As they walked away and went back to the car, heading for their own houses, your eyes met Spencer's and he whispered in the air to you:

“I will see you at the funeral."

You nodded, giving you a sad, grateful smile. And while everyone was leaving and you were looking at the rings in your hand again, you had a feeling that your story with Spencer had just started over.

A/n: I also lost a very important person to death, and for everyone who went through it too, I mean that no one is alone! My message box is open if you need anything! Love you❤️

Tagged @gublersuvula

@peculiarinsomniac

@measure-in-pain

@nobutalsoyes

🍒 @misshale21

[spidernerdsblog]

Match made in Hell : Chapter Three

A/N : Chapter three is here. Survival of the fittest this is how life evolved on earth. And to survive you have to learn to adapt even if you have to make truce with people you hate. Hope you like this chapter. Let me know what you think.

A Happy New year to all of you lovely peeps! 💖💖

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Summary : you always wanted a simple life but to be born as the daughter of a dangerous mobster turned out to be a curse for you. Everything changes when your father gets your lover killed and forcefully marries you off to another mobster as a part of a deal. You hate your father and your husband the only thing you seek is now revenge. Will you ever be able to fall in love again or this burning hatred inside you will consume you?

Warnings : 18+,mature content, a little PMS drama, language, flashbacks in italics, slight nudity, suggestive themes.

Mini Playlist : Bad Things by Meiko

SERIES MASTERLIST

Complying to the note you take a quick scan of the room ensuring that you’re not being followed by anyone before making your way to the restrooms but instead of going inside you sidetracked to your left and stride your way to the staff exit door across the hall and sneaked outside continuing to walk down the dark alley. You stop when you see a large figure standing in the dark a few feet away from you.

"Y/N" the man speaks with a deep voice.

"Who are you?" You demand. The man walks out of the shadow and your face lit up as you saw his face illuminated by the street light. 

"William? Oh my god!" You rush to embrace him. William Marshal, your father's most trusted wing man and your mentor. All the knowledge you have raptured be it hand to hand to combat or gun fight he taught you all. 

"How are you my little tigress?" 

"Surviving" You say with a small smile. "But what are you doing here?" You were so surprised as well as happy to see him.

"Your father sent me here."

Your brows draw into a frown ''Daddy sent you?...But why?"

"You are alone and boss thinks it's a little dangerous to leave you in the enemy territory on your own" 

You scoff. "Huh, since when did he start worrying about my safety?" 

"He wants me to help you with your task, so how much progress have you made?" He asks.

"Actually William there has been some changes in the plan” You say. “I’m no more playing daddy’s little killing puppet" 

William gives you shocked look. "What, are you planning to backstab your father?" 

''Not literally stab him though I wish I could heh. But I'm gonna make him pay for his crimes by turning him in and then let the law decide his punishment."

"You want to go on a legal battle with the king of illegal trades?” He chuckles lightly at your childish idea. “You're bluffing right?"

"I'm not bluffing Will. I just want to deliver justice to all the people who have suffered for him without anymore bloodshed. And I’m not ruthless like him and at the end of the day he's still my daddy so even if I want I will never be able to kill him" You sigh with remorse. 

"It's a suicide mission Y/N, you can't win against him, not alone"

"Well Rome wasn't built in one day, Will. Plus I have you."

His face went stoic. "I can't betray your father Y/N." 

"Will, how could you forget that this man killed your whole family? He didn't even spare your five year old daughter. Don't you want revenge?" You tried your best to persuade him. 

"That man died when he accepted his allegiance."

"Then here's your another chance to avenge your family. Are you going to help me or not?" You ask him firmly.

"You know I have always seen you no less than my daughter" He reaches out a hand cupping the side of your face "so what does my daughter want me to do?" 

The corner of lips turn up into a smile. "Nothing much for now I just want you to pose as a double agent, provide me all the information and report back to daddy whatever I exactly say to you" You explained. 

William nods in agreement to your plan. "So have the Holland's agreed to this?"

"Holland's?" You frown. "Why on earth would I involve them? They are no less evil."

"You are plotting against your dad the mafia kingpin and you need allies Y/N."

"I don't need any allies…" You pause mid sentence as it finally hits you what Will was actually trying to imply. You narrowed your eyes with a sly smirk "Unless I rat them out against each other and they end up destroying each other in the process without anyone suspecting it was me behind all this. Like this I can hit two birds with one stone"

"Well now you're getting it." William says proudly. 

"By the way boss told me to give you this." He holds out a revolver, you stiffen at it’s sight.

"That's my gun" You swallow hard.

"Yes indeed it is." 

"I can't take it Will and you know why" You say anxiously.

"I know that the past haunts you Y/N but that phase is over. You have to let go" He takes your hand and places the gun. "Keep it, you'll need it" Your palms were sweaty as you gripped on to the gun and looked at it intently. 

"I think you should go back now before your husband gets suspicious and remember.." 

You cut him off before he could finish. 

"To be nice and call in a truce. Trust me I got this." You winked with a sly grin and rushed back to the hall through the backdoor but you are met with an obstacle. Tom was standing right in front of the restrooms, you quickly retreated behind the wall.

"Shit! Why are men so clingy?!" You groan with slight irritation when your phone lights up

T : Hey you okay? You're in for too long. 

T : Y/N???!! 

You roll your eyes as you text him back. 

Y : No I'm not okay!!! 

Concern clouded his features whilst he texted you back.

T : Hey what's wrong? 

T : Darling, you alright? 

You couldn't think of any valid reason to get past him so you had to swallow your pride and texted back with the most safest and believable excuse for a woman. 

Y : I'm PMSing!!!  T : ….OK. 

You peered to see his reaction and you swear you would have burst out laughing if you weren’t in such a sophisticated place, the look on his face clearly showed how weirded out he was. 

Tom on the other hand was clueless about what to reply next, since a young age he has been dealing with the most dangerous people from the underworld but never in his life he had to deal with someone pmsing specifically he never had to deal with you. Though he had a little knowledge about these things thanks to sex ed at high school. You saw him take a deep breath before typing. 

T: You need something? 

Y: Yeah, will a tampon be too much to ask? 

Y: It's kind of urgent. 

T: Right on it. Just stay there. It will be fine, love. 

T: Do you need a change of dress? 

To be honest you were quite taken aback seeing this concerned and understanding side of his. 

Y: No, I'm fine. And please don't come barging in the ladies room. 

T: Yeah I know that. 

As soon as Tom moves away you quickly slip inside the restroom and heaved a sigh of relief. After a few minutes a middle aged woman walks in the restroom.

"You must be Y/N?" She asks with a smile.

"Yeah." You nod.

"Here you go, love." She hands you a tampon. You take it and go inside a stall. You wait for a few minutes before throwing the tampon in the dustbin and emerging out of the stall with a smile.

"Thank you so much." You say smoothening the slight creases on your dress.

"Oh don't be but I must say your husband really loves you. You should have looked at his face how freaked out he was."

"I really doubt the love part.'' You snicker, turning on the faucet in the basin to wash your hands.

"Well darling, here’s an advice from a lady to a lady keep your man happy and satisfied and then not only will he be showering you with all his love as well as—"  She coils her thick glimmering diamond necklace around her slim finger "might get these too."

"Well thank you for your advice but not a fan of leashes you see." You quip drying your hands with the paper towels.

"Trust me sweetie one day you will just want to wear these leashes only for your man." She steps closer putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Will see." You give a tight lipped smile.

After sometime you step out and find Tom patiently waiting for you.

"All good?" He asks, you nod in affirmation.

"It was lovely talking to you sweetheart. See you again." The woman chirps, you smiled waving at her.

Bad Things starts playing……. I know what I want And I'll get what I need I'll come over and I'll show you how Don't you wish that you can have me now?

"Shall we have this dance?" Tom held out his hand. You take it with a smile as he leads you to the center of the room. Your hands go to his shoulders while his hands rest on your hips. You slowly begin to sway your bodies to the music going back and forth, your eyes looking around to the other couples dancing. 

You say that you want all of my love But let's be honest we don't need all that I like it better with no strings attached

"You're welcome." Tom says, drawing your attention back to him.

"Uhh..." You look at him in confusion.

"I guess the words that you are looking for are thank you."

"To be fair it was kind of your duty to help your wife from an embarrassing situation." You quip.

"Oh now I'm your husband, huh?" He raises his eyebrows amused.

Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it

"Well you have been rubbing the fact on my face since day one so—" You half shrug. 

"So what was Mrs. Sinclaire saying?" He asks looking around the room.

"Nothing of my interest just how I should get one of those shining collars around my neck." You roll your eyes dramatically.

"Those are gifts from their husbands who love them dearly, love" He corrects you, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

How much more can you take if I give you a taste I've been waiting for you all night long I come around and then I'm gone

"But for me those are glittering leashes" You retort.

"Darling, how much ever you pretend but under this tough shell you're just a hopeless romantic, you crave love and I can give you all of it only if you allow me." Tom laces his hand with yours another hand stays at the small of your back, waltzing to the music. 

You'll get yours, I'll get mine Then we run out of time You're the only one that I desire 'Cause I love to play with fire

"Maybe I'm that's why I still dream of a beautiful life away from all this from you" you say looking deep into his brown orbs.

He leans down to your ear and whispers. "I can assure you one thing princess the farther you want to go away from me the more I will pull you back towards me"

A shiver runs down your spine as his smile turns into a wide grin.

Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it

His hand moved from your back to your lower waist and he dipped you low, taking you by surprise. You bent on your back as he pulled you back up with a force, throwing you against his body sending your body right into his broad frame.

Ooh (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) Ooh (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) When I'm down I let you know (ooh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) When I'm down I let you go (ooh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

You stayed like that for a while, inhaling deeply but the only thing you could smell was him, his expensive cologne intoxicating your senses and then he pushed you back again, spinning you around twice and settling back for the previous slow pace. 

Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

The night ends and you are now back at home sitting on your bed busy with your night routine rubbing on some body lotion on your hands as Tom walks in.

"What are you doing in my room?" You frown.

"Technically this is my room" He reminds you rummaging through his closet.

"Not anymore." You state haughtily. He plainly ignores you and goes inside the bathroom. 

After a while he comes out with a towel wrapped lowly around his waist, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. You couldn’t help but admire his chiseled upper body, muscles rippling and glistening in the soft golden light of the room.

"You’re staring" He sing-songs, smirking cockily.

"No-no, I'm not'' You fumble. 

"It's ok, darling I'm all yours to look at" You roll your eyes meanwhile he takes off his towel and throws it in the hamper before getting on the empty side of the bed just in his black calvin klein boxers.

"Whoa, you are gonna just wear that?" You ask in surprise. 

"Why you gotta problem?" He smirks while getting inside the covers. 

"No seriously, you’re either fully covered or almost naked. Nothing in between." You remark giving him an annoyed look.

"Why does it turn you on babygirl?" He says with a sultry voice. 

"Shut up and stop with these weirdass names, will ya" You grimace as he chuckles.

"And what about you? You are going to sleep in that?" He points out looking at your sleep shorts and a loose shirt. 

"Well you may think of yourself as a calvin klein's model but I ain't a Victoria’s secret angel. So yes I’m gonna sleep in these" 

"But your Instagram says something else" He quips, making you smile mischievously.

"Aww did someone get all riled up at work?” You click your tongue pouting “so sad." 

Tom all of a sudden grabs your arm pulling you down to him as you jolt down surprised.

"And for that you deserve a nice spanking" His voice low, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

"If you touch me I'll chop off your hands." You threaten with a cold stare and pull out your arm from his grip. You lay down turning to your side and snatched away the covers from him.

"Oi! blanket hogger!" He protests, pulling the blanket back.

"Get out of here!" You kicked his leg playfully snatching the cover again.

"Y/N I swear to God I’ll push you off the bed!" He says laughing.

"Shut up you whiny baby." You retort laughing as well.

He moves closer to you bringing his hands to tickle you on the side of your hips. You squealed trying to push him away but he tightened his hold around you both laughing like kids when suddenly you realized how close you were the heat from his bare body felt like burning against your skin. 

What are you doing? You hate this guy, he is the reason Ethan is dead. You remind yourself gaining back your composure and stopped laughing. You went silent closing your eyes as Tom got the hint and backed off.

You soon fell asleep breathing softly but Tom was still awake staring at the ceiling thinking about all the meetings and deals he has to make tomorrow when you shifted on the bed and turned to Tom’s side in your sleep. You subconsciously hiked a leg above his placing your hand over his chest snuggling close to him. 

Tom found it really amusing chuckling softly as he took his time to admire how beautiful and innocent you looked. He went to wrap his arm around you just then he heard you mumbling in your sleep. 

"I'm sorry - I'm so sorry Ethan." His expression goes hard. He retracts his hand away placing it under his head and lets out an exasperated sigh before closing his eyes to sleep.

Next morning you squint your eyes open to find yourself practically laying over Tom's chest, you sit up hastily waking him up in the process. 

"Good morning, princess." He says with a groggy voice. You look at him timidly. 

"By the drool I’m assuming you slept well." You frown rubbing the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. 

"So much for chopping my hands eh?" He snickers. "But what about you taking advantage of me while sleeping." you felt your face heat up in embarrassment.

"Sorry I used to have a side pillow when I slept."

"Oh it's ok, love. I'm honored to be your human side pillow.'' he says cockily before getting off the bed to get ready for the day. 

"Dickhead" You mutter under your breath.

****

 You went to punch his chest, but William blocked it

"As a devout feminist, I refuse to say that you hit like a girl." William quipped letting go of you, and you spin around in frustration

"Let's try this again, shall we?" 

"Tell me again why I have to learn self defense this early in the morning." 

William began to roll up his sleeves to better move around "You are my  responsibility." 

You smiled "...says the feminist." William chuckled. 

"Fighting is rhythm. There is a music, there is a meter, there is a pattern. Let that rhythm beat within you." He stood defensively and nods at you. 

"Again." you put up your fists and start to fight him, but he easily blocks your blows. You two spin and continued practicing. You struck him again but he blocks it. 

"Legato" You strike again with increased force,

"Ostinato" You strike back with all your force. 

"Crescendo" You managed to hit him, but he blocked the majority of it and held you by your neck. 

"And then, once you've established your cadence--" You spun out of his grip, kicking him, and pressed him against the wall while he's distracted. 

" --You change the key." you said smiling proudly. 

 "Very nice." He said a little out of breath. "But none of this matters if you cannot make the kill." 

"But I don't want to kill anyone." 

"You will. To survive" He said.

You stepped back to catch your breath from the intense workout.

"Now c’mon we will learn something new today." He brought two wooden staff and throws one at you out of the blue which you barely catch.

"Hey! I wasn't ready!" You protested. 

"First lesson-- always be on your guard." He instructed. You took note of the weight of the staff in your hands for a moment.

"It's heavy." 

"I was half your age the first time my father gave me the staff. I would have torn every muscle rather than let him see me strain. And, had I--" He attacked you, you barely blocked his blow "-- he would have corrected me." 

"No offense, but your dad sounds like a jerkwad" You panted. 

"Mothers love their children. Fathers make them strong" He attacked you again, and though you struggle to keep up, you manage to continue blocking him.

"Well in my case my daddy doesn't care 'cause he already kind of bidded me off in a stupid deal--" You started to fight back  "-- and my mother is quite ardent to make me strong enough to face anything what is to come my way" You grunt while attacking but William easily dodges your strikes.

"You're anticipating. Do not let me see your move before you make it." He strikes at your staff, knocking you off-balance and causing you to twist your ankle as you fall and whimper in pain

"Get up." He commanded.

"I can't, my ankle hurts." You groaned.

"The ability to end your pain is a warrior's true weapon. Master that, and nothing holds power over you." You glared at him. 

"Now, on your feet." You winced. 

"I said, On. Your. Feet." He barked.

You continued to glare at him, but do grab your staff to use it to help you to pull yourself up on your feet. You leaned against the staff for support. William looked mildly impressed.

"Good. Perhaps you've actually learned something today." 

It’s been almost two weeks since the gala night William has been in contact with you providing you with valuable information. You were lost in your thoughts when your phone buzzed and you were broken out of your daze. It was William, you received the call. 

"Hey Will!" 

"Got some news." 

"Seems like Victor has grabbed quite a hold in the European drug cartel. He has been making quite some big deals." 

"Daddy is making deals with the European drug mafias?" You were surprised at this news. "But how is that possible? As much I know he planned to oust the Hollands off their turf first before taking over their business." 

"Working with your dad I have learnt one thing about him, ‘compartmentalization’ nobody gets to know about his real plans. And that is the reason behind his success." 

"I think I know someone who might give me more info on that. But the most important question is who is doing all the dirty work for him while he is sitting in NY." 

"A new gang has emerged in the city ‘the vipers’ but I’m surprised that the Holland’s didn’t happen to come across them yet." He says before ending the call.

Meanwhile Tom was at the docks of the London port accompanied by his brother Harry for a meeting with an old time ally.

"Gomez, after a long time mate." 

"Yeah Holland business has been a little rough these days"

"So my brother tells me that you wanted some negotiations to be done with the current revenue arrangement of the port area"

"Yes Holland about that you see you're charging an outrageously high protection money and for that I am having very little profit from my drug trafficking business" 

"Well mate protecting you from the cops and allowing you to smuggle through my port comes with a high price I told you at the beginning only." Tom says.

"Then I might have to rethink our alliance, Holland."

"You mean you want to call off the deal?" Tom raises his eyebrows.

"Yes you guessed it right" 

"That's really brave of you given that the narcotics are already suspicious about your activities" Tom mocks with a sinister look in his eyes.

"I'll take my chances and there's this new gang who are ready to provide protection at a much cheaper rate plus they are going to help me expand my trade to the States. And profit has always been my first priority mate." Gomez states.

"Well whatever suits you mate but the port is still under my control if I may remind you so perhaps you should start watching your back" Tom advises, malice in his voice and then he storms out of the place.

****

You have finally decided to have a night out and blow off some steam. You dressed up in a slip dress and put on your matching stilettos. Booking yourself an uber you were just about to go down the stairs when you heard some heated argument coming from the office though it was mostly Tom’s voice you heard and by the tone you deduced he was very angry. 

You slowly made your way towards the room to see Tom standing in the middle of the room with Harrison and Harry beside him, his men surrounding him as he yells at them. They were so engrossed into the meeting that nobody bothered to notice you standing so you quietly lean against the doorframe and listened to their conversation.

"I'm paying a bunch of assholes for nothing!" Tom barks. 

"Tom, calm down." Harry goes to tone down his brother.

"How can I calm down?! Some bloody newbie gang has been operating right under my nose! on my turf! and I have no news about that." He snaps.

You couldn’t help but the whole conversation made you chuckle a little too loudly drawing everyone’s attention present in the room. Tom was already seeing red with his business going into jeopardy and seeing you laugh like that he went ballistic. 

"Does something here appear funny to you?" He glares at you.

"Well funny things do." You retort.

"And may I have the pleasure of knowing what you found so funny?"

"Well seeing you guys all worked up about this whole new emerging gang snatching away your territory. I really feel pity for you."

"Thank you for your pity now you may leave, anyways women are not allowed here. I should not see you snooping around in the future near this room." He orders.

"Your loss I might know something that could have helped you in solving your little problem." You shrug and turn to leave. 

"Wait! What do you mean?" 

"Well I guess women don’t do business here so I better keep my mouth shut." You taunt agitating him even more.

"Stop fucking with me Y/N! If you know something then tell me." You pucker your face pretending to think. 

"Please" he adds softening down a bit, you sigh audibly.

"Ok then let me give you a heads up. The viper gang which is hampering your business deals is owned by none other than Victor Martinez aka my daddy dearest." Tom's eyes went wide as well as Harrison's and Harry's. 

"What! You’re kidding right?" You scrunch your nose shaking your head sideways dismissively.

"But-but we had a deal!" He was still in disbelief.

"Honey you made a deal with the devil. What did you expect?" Tom crosses the room in three strides and grabs hold your arm with a death grip anger raging in his eyes.

"Leave my hand, Tom! You’re hurting me!" You struggle twisting your arm. He slightly loosens his grip but still holds on to you. 

"What more do you know? What have you father-daughter planned behind this whole wedding facade?!" He spat gritting through his teeth.

"Hey don't go all out on me! I myself didn't know about this until today. He never told me about this secret gang." 

He scoffs, raising his eyebrows. "And you want me to believe that?" 

"It’s up to you if you want to believe or not but if I would be plotting against you why would I even care to tell you all this?" You pull your hand away "--and this growing hatred inside you I have thousands of times more of that hatred inside me for him" you seethe.

"Then what was the meaning of the whole deal?" 

"Well he wanted me to lure you and trick you into writing everything you own including your business to my name and then kill you." Tom is left speechless with your revelation.

"What? Feel the bitter taste of betrayal?" You smirk. "Now you’ll understand what I felt." 

"Okay then you guys have fun working out your plan on going against your new enemy while I enjoy my night with some music and drinks." You chirp enthusiastically.

"Now where are you going so late?" Tom sounded tired.

"None of your business" 

"Anthony, Michael go with her" He orders two of his men.

"No need, my uber is already waiting outside" saying so you left.

Reaching the club you order some drinks for yourself. You sit on the seat near the counter enjoying the ambience as the bartender hands you a martini. Though it wasn’t like the rave parties you had in NY but you really felt relaxed finally out by yourself after being trapped in that house for two weeks after your wedding which felt like ages. 

"You're Y/N right?" You look up to your side to find the red head girl from yesterday.

"And you're the hooker" You quip and she chuckles.

"Yeah I am, it's Sandy by the way." She takes seat beside you. "So where’s your husband?" 

"Probably still shouting at his men." You shrug, taking a sip of your drink.

"Not to be prying but what's the deal between you two? It looks like you hate each other's guts"

"Don’t know about him but I definitely do, perhaps after tonight he might start hating me too." 

"Then why the hell did you get married?" 

"Well honey things don't work like that in the mob. A wedding is just a strategic alliance between two families for their own mutual benefits. We just serve as scapegoats, our fates were sealed together the day we were born" You explain. 

"Well that’s some really messed up shit" She sympathizes. 

"I know." 

"But you can still work it out. You know he isn’t that bad, at least not in bed" She grins cheekily. 

"Okay I didn’t need to know that" You chuckle sarcastically. 

"You’re really missing a good dick girl, that you can have any time you want and all your life." 

"Do I look like a nymphomaniac?’’ You laugh ‘‘-and no doubt he is a dick. He is the reason my innocent boyfriend is dead, I’m stuck here in this stupid marriage and instead of apologizing what does he do? He brings in girls, acting like a slut" You rant.

"You're bothered aren't you?" 

"No, why would I be bothered with whom he sleeps?" You stand up from your seat stumbling a little already feeling tipsy.

"-- you know what I'm gonna enjoy today, get drunk and dance my sorrows away." "Everyone in the house tonight’s drinks are on me! Enjoy the free booze!" You screamed. The whole crowd whooped and whistled.

"To my fucked up life!" You shouted, downing a shot. 

You made your way to the center of the dance floor and started dancing without any worry about tomorrow. Within seconds you felt two hands around your hips, you turn your head to find a cute boy probably of your age as you continued to dance and grind against him. After a couple of songs you went back to the counter and had some more drinks. You were totally wasted as your vision went blurry and pretty soon everything blacked out.

It feels like a struggle for you to open your eyes as you stir inside the covers. Huh? You squint your eyes open and realize you were actually lying in a bed. You slowly sat up, your head was pounding with last night’s hangover as you groaned holding your head. Your eyes slowly adjusts to your surroundings and you realize that you were indeed back home and in your bedroom. You look down at your body and were shocked to find yourself in just your black strapless bra and underwear.

"You’re up at last." You hurriedly pull the covers up to your chest hearing Tom’s voice. 

He walks in a pair of grey sweatpants and a tightly fitted black t-shirt, his biceps bulging out of it. It was really odd to see him in such an informal attire but he looks good, you slapped yourself internally for the last thought.

"What happened last night? How did I get here? And where are my clothes?!" You badgered him with questions.

"Woah slow down, that's a lot of questions at one go and you should be the first one explaining about your reckless behavior last night."

"Why, what did I do?" You frown.

"Oh you really went wild last night. For starters you danced with random blokes and then you drank more and got wasted. And then you took off your dress whilst those drunk bastards did body shots." Your mouth falls agape in shock.

"Wait what? I took off my dress in public?!" You were still in disbelief.

"Yeah and that’s not all” He says with a scoff “You let those twats lick salt and lemon off your body while they did shots. Thanks to Sandy who informed me on time." You rolled your eyes looking away. 

"After seeing you being used for body shots things got a little nasty out there and they had to close early."

"What did you do?" You ask anxiously. 

"That any man would do seeing his wife being touched by other men." He growls the last bit.

"What do you mean?" 

"I made sure they will be in the hospital for a good couple of months." He states rather proudly. 

You slap your forehead shaking your head in annoyance. You didn't realize that you had let go off the sheets covering your body giving Tom quite a view which he had missed the other day. 

He slowly leans forward, eyeing you up and down lustfully prompting you to back off until your back touched the head board. He crawls towards you further hovering over you reaching his hand out to cup your face.

"You really upset me yesterday Y/N." His voice low as his hand brushes your hair from your shoulder and travels downs to your chest fingertips gently brushing over your rib cage down to the valley of your breasts slightly tugging to the soft material of your bra. You caught hold of his hand to stop him from going down further, he smirks. 

"Funny how you allow strangers to touch you, but not me, your husband who has the only right to do it." You kicked his crotch but not too hard. 

"Bloody hell!!" He groaned as you tackled him down bringing yourself on top straddling him. You were far gone from feeling self conscious, sitting on top of him in just your undergarments. 

"Well the thing is I don't take you as my husband." You sneer narrowing your eyes. "And the last time I checked, you don't trust me." 

"Well I never trusted you on the first place and you proved it last night quite nicely for the reason why” He says. “but honey I'm not letting you go so easily."

"After a lot of thought I actually think you could be a perfect leverage for me" He then goes to press his hand to your lower stomach "Moreover if you were with my child I guess grandpa Victor will certainly agree to some negotiations" He ticked his jaw with a devilish grin. You flare your nostrils fuming at his audacity. 

"I would rather be barren than let you father my child and give him/her this cursed life." You seeth. Tom seemed a little hurt by your words of how you think he's going to be a terrible father but he masked it with his usual cocky self. 

"Truth be told princess I love to be on top and in control but for a change you really look so pretty on top, can't imagine how beautiful you'll look while you ride my dick" He says tracing your jawline with his fingers. You swat his hand away. 

"You're such a piece of shit!" You snap getting off him. He gets up chuckling and leaves the room as you quickly get off the bed and run to the bathroom. 

Undressing yourself from the leftover clothes you ran a warm shower, the warm water quickly relaxing your muscles. You smelt of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes which made you feel dirty. You squirted some body wash and lathered your body with it before washing it off. Then you washed your hair with shampoo. 

You take your time before drying yourself off and walk out of the bathroom busy fixing your towel and bumped into Tom. His large hands held your arms steadying you meanwhile your towel loosens and falls off your body. You both looked at each other in shock. 

Tom stands there like a statue gaping at you, eyes lingering from top to bottom of your exposed body; ‘man you have a goddess like body’ he thought as beads of water trickled down your wet hair. You finally come back to your senses then it suddenly hit you that you were standing completely naked. 

"What the fuck!! Tom close your eyes!!!" You shriek out quickly bending down to grab the towel and cover yourself. Hearing you scream Harrison came barging in your room. 

"What happened mate?" Out of instinct Tom lunges forward and embraces you tightly blocking you from anyone's view.

"Harrison! Get the fuck out of here!" 

"Oh I'm sorry bruh. Didn't know you were busy." He cackles turning around. Some of his other men also came rushing in thinking something happened, leading to a total chaotic situation in the room. 

"Yes, who else is left to join the party you are cordially invited!" You yell frustrated. 

Tom is still guarding you as he yells sharply. "Get out of here you bloody morons!" 

When everyone is finally out of the room Tom steps back as you stand at your place clutching on to your towel, both of you looking away from each other. After a few awkward moments of silence Tom finally speaks up. 

"That was quite a spectacular view, you have kept things quite perked up I see." He says playfully. And that was enough to get on your nerves. 

"You!!!" You glower taking the vase you found near you in your hand to hurl it at him. He steps back a little, raising his hands defensively. 

"Careful love! That cost me thousands of dollars, though I don't have any shortage of money but still don't want a lovely art to go to waste just to appease your anger on your piece of shit husband" He snickers breaking into a laugh and runs out of the room leaving you fuming. 

"Son of a bitch! Uggh!!" You stomp your feet keeping back the vase at its place. Your phone dinged and you went to check, it was a message from William. 

W : Good news

..................................................................

Taglist in bio or send an ask/dm I’ll add you

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Last Cigarette (Spencer Reid x Reader) Smut

Summary: Mr Scratch was an unsub with undoubtedly the greatest impact on the team. Even in death, he pushes Spencer beyond the preconception of his limits. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​‘ server! This Unsub!Spencer!AU is for the outstanding @cardigayn​ <3 I hope you like it! 

Content warning: Character death, abuse of power, physical assault, murder, Unsub!Spencer, mentions of rape and attempted murder, mentions of knife wounds, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Smut content warning: AFAB!Reader, they/them pronouns, facesitting, hair pulling, overstimulation, light choking, riding, biting, praise kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a hint of breeding

Gif credit: @imagining-in-the-margins​ // Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

No one on the team spoke about what Luke did to Scratch – or rather, what he didn’t do. The BAU were far beyond tired of that man’s torments. His impact upon each member was the greatest of any unsub they had ever encountered and now it was finally time to close the book on his crimes. That included turning their gaze away from the abuse of power that Luke had taken by letting Scratch fall from that building. Not the first time the team had banded together to mask a member’s tracks.

Spencer glanced up from his paperwork. Everyone else in the bullpen was focused on their tasks, as if nothing had happened. Even Emily was at her desk and typing away at her desktop when she had been an inch away from death not two weeks ago.

Spencer’s pen tapped against the desk twice before it was placed down adjacent to his pencil pot. He remembered the details of their cover-up. That wasn’t what paused his paperwork.

His mind was straying to another timeline, in accordance to the multi-verse theory. Luke had made a choice in this universe to not pull Scratch up. In another universe, he decided to save the unsub. What happened next?

After experiencing prison first hand, Spencer could somewhat pinpoint how long Scratch would have lasted in a place like Millburn. The respect for serial killers on the inside, especially those who had tormented law enforcement, would keep him alive.

There was the chance that there was another universe where Scratch would have gotten off scot free. And another timeline where Scratch, without a gun, overpowered Luke or Matt, taking either or both of them down. Kristy had no husband. Jake, David, Chloe, and Lily had no father. Roxy had no owner.

Maybe it was better that Luke didn’t help Scratch off that ledge, that Matt had just stayed back.

Spencer could not decide what he would have done in that situation, and he didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean another version of him didn’t. To be jealous of a version of himself that did not exist in his world was a bad idea. It was out of his hands and in his head – the roof, the unsub, the choice.

 --->--->--->--->--->

“Anyone want a coffee?”

A series of murmurs rose from the team, all negative, and Luke tucked his chair back under his desk before he walked off to the SAPD break room. Spencer watched his reflection in the conference room’s window. There was an itch in his brain that spread through a nerve to his knee – bouncing it just beneath the table.

Suddenly that nerve propelled him to follow Luke. Spencer’s feet weaved him in between officers until he found his teammate switching on the station’s coffee pot.

“Change your mind?” Luke raised an unsuspicious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, and he collected a mug to wash up. Suds flooded in the sink, rolling out the mug and around the plughole. Spencer fixated on them, a menial hope that he could focus on something else rather than the temptation of asking Luke for details.

He had to be closer of being clean of this whole thing than he thought. Scratch was dead, the case was closed. A few more years, this would be a memory that haunted him every few weeks instead of every day.

Dilaudid was craved by a tiny section of his brain, but he knew that it would not help him at all. He needed something else to help ease the cravings. If only he had inherited his mother’s affinity for cigarettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luke shrugged in return, “Sure.” He had opened his palm by his side but did not reach out to Spencer’s clean mug. Spencer appreciated that. A glance at the bullpen, visible through the open door, told him that no one else had followed them. It wasn’t too late. He could come up with a question about the case, about Roxy, about anything.

“What did he look like before he fell?”

Luke’s expression sobered and soured. He too checked the proximity of the police officers outside their bubble. Clearing his throat twice, he poured the coffee into his mug and spun the handle once it was down to fit Spencer’s need.

His voice was low as he said, “He looked desperate.”

Spencer nodded while he poured into his own cup. Perhaps more caffeine would aid him, for he had scratched the itch and it had spread elsewhere. Stirring in some sugar, he took a burning sip before it had dissolved and cringed at the granules in his mouth.

It was when he’d finally swallowed them, instead of spitting out like he wanted to, that Spencer gave into the itch: “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me to help him.” Luke blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even then, he still struggled to swallow it. “He begged.”

“That can’t have been easy. Thanks for telling me.”

But Luke didn’t seem like he concurred. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to make right the claim and say that letting Scratch die was the easiest decision in the world.

Spencer blinked. Luke was gone, already back in the conference room. Perhaps he’d imagined something like that. His attention shifted to Scratch’s face, morphing it until it was a stereotypical expression of fear. Spencer had heard too much of that man’s voice, but it was good for one thing: recreating the words Luke had told him.

“Help me. Please!”

Matt was back with Emily.

And suddenly so was Luke. Spencer had gone it alone after Scratch. It was just the two of them on the roof, and soon it would be one.

Scratch’s clothes were whipped up by the wind, his begging too. It was almost as though he reached up for Spencer. One last cry for help. Then he fell, silent and ragdoll-esque.

Just before the body hit the ground, Scratch was clinging to the building’s side again. When he fell this time, he screamed hysterically. It echoed across the roof until Spencer couldn’t discern it from the wind. A swell of relief spread through his body. He took a sip from his coffee.

“Reid?” Just as he had done a minute prior, Luke was lingering in the doorway. “We should get back to the conference room.”

“Right,” Spencer dropped the teaspoon onto the side. It clattered about the side, then went quiet, then hit the floor. Spencer didn’t turn to see where it landed.

 --->--->--->--->--->

What an absolute smarty pants who could just about learn to use Teams by himself. Spencer leant to the right in his office chair as his partner Y/N showed him the ropes of his new application. How lucky he was to still have them after all they had been through – together and apart.

“And… ta-dah!” Y/N made jazz hands at the monitor.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” Spencer straightened up, smiling at the screen, “Can I get you a reward?”

Y/N seemed to ponder on this offer, an act Spencer had seen many times and never grew tired of. Then Y/N tapped their cheek twice and bent forward. With butterflies in his stomach, Spencer tilted his chin up and pressed a lingering kiss there. There was a bashful smile across their face when they drew away. Even after all this time, Spencer was proud he could still affect them so.  

The door to his office shut behind them and Spencer looked over his desktop’s background. His students’ homework was hovering in the background, already being printed off. The printer stuttering out each page had long since been tuned out

He glanced away from it to his left and saw Y/N again. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, their body close and facing Spencer with a clear expression drawing bravery upon them. Spencer’s head then turned to see if Scratch was still dangling by the tips of his fingers. He was.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked, his voice almost torn away by the wind he couldn’t feel against his cheek.

Y/N hardly spared Scratch a glance. They had never seen him before, and they made this one time they did as short as possible. Their hand moved Spencer’s head so that Scratch was in his blind spot. They held his face and looked on him sweetly, even in the darkness around them.

They gave Spencer their answer: “Leave him.”

Scratch’s body trembled as his head rigidly shook, “Please!”

But Y/N took Spencer’s hand in their free one and they held it even as Scratch’s grip failed him. Only then did they look at the unsub and watch unflinchingly together as their tormenter fell to his death. A second later, the pair heard the body hit the ground. Spencer began to move towards the ledge, Y/N tugging him back towards the door of the roof.

“I have to see,” Spencer insisted, “I have to know he’s really gone.”

There was no pity, just empathy, as Y/N nodded their head, “Ok.” Their hands tensed together while they approached the roof’s end.

There he was, his body broken, his head smashed against the dirt. Lifeless. Gone.

Then Scratch was falling again, the last seconds of existence, and Y/N was hiding their face in Spencer’s shoulder. He was holding them tight, so that if they changed their mind about watching, they wouldn’t be able to. But he was watching everything in slow motion.

Every fraction of change in Scratch’s terror was drawn out until it was a pantomime of itself.

“Are you ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes, Spencer kissed Y/N’s head. He basked in his comfort before he opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath from the comfort of his desk chair. Then he collected the printed essays of his students, grabbing a pen to prepare for marking.

  --->--->--->--->--->

 This time Hotch was there, Jack’s face hidden in his father’s chest. Derek too, holding little Hank with all the tenderness a father could.

Spencer waved his hand towards the door, “Get them out of here. I don’t want them to see this.” He waited dutifully for them to leave, both of them sending a nod Spencer’s way.

Once the door bounced against its frame to close, he stood at the edge. He couldn’t feel the cold rushing past him, coaxing him to fall with Scratch, but he could picture hearing it. Almost deafening him to Scratch’s pleas, he turned those words up loud so that he could hear the moment the words stopped, the moment that Spencer pulled out his Smith & Wesson and shot Scratch in the head. His grip faltered instantly and his lifeless body tumbled down.

“No.”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut before looking back at the geographic profile.

“No what?”

He started. He didn’t realise that Tara was still in the room with him.

His words tumbled out quickly, “Just testing a theory, but it’s not right, it doesn’t fit.”

Nodding, Tara made her way beside him and observed the evidence collected so far, “We’ll get there. Just keep that brain going.”

Spencer planned to do just that. This daydream wasn’t as satisfying, like Nicorette mists or chewing gum. Just shooting him in the head? That was more than mercy for Scratch. No, he’d have to come up with something else to use. For the daydream of course.

He was glad that Tara was treating him normally. Not like JJ, who had checked in on him for Dilaudid before take-off. She was hovering around him like a gnat and it was starting to piss him off. Where was this energy when he was actually contemplating the drug’s pros and cons? He was determined to keep it together for the team to function and solve this case, but JJ in his peripherals was making it hard to focus. On work. Not the daydreaming. He loved her to bits, but he just wished she’d leave him to his own devices unless it concerned the case. That was the priority now.

The broken fingers of the victims sat like warped roots of a tree on the board, each knuckle shattered with a hammer. This unsub – a man in his 20s, not 30s – had such an odd post-mortem signature. Like when Ronald Weems did on the prostitutes. The ones Nathan Harris was obsessed with, wrote about, then killed himself before he could re-enact such a crime.

But it was fine. This was different. Spencer wasn’t writing these down. He didn’t need to. That, and he wasn’t about to recreate his daydreams.

“Excuse me.”

“Off for a smoke?” Luke joked half-heartedly.

Shortly after shaking off that effort at a joke, Spencer’s hand froze against the metal pole of the wheelchair access to the police station. His lungs took a deep breath of the cool Christmas air, a worthless hit. He hoped that Derek and Hotch were being the fathers they always wanted to be - that Gideon could have been.

--->--->--->--->--->

Adrenaline was what enabled him to haul Scratch up. Still, Spencer strained with his weight. He was gasping with the unsub when they were both allowed back onto the roof, Scratch’s knees digging into the floor for security and his hands still clasping the edge of the building - from the other side now.

Spencer watched, blood roaring in his ears with each panting breath. He took one deeper and let out a yell as he kicked his foot up into Scratch’s nose. Scratch rolled onto his back with a ragged rasp, blood spouting from his nose to stain everything it made contact with, and his head lolled off the edge of the building. Spencer’s chest burned with unsatisfaction so he kicked again. This time, his foot came down on Scratch’s groin. Ineffective in stopping him from standing, this was personal deliverance of pain.

He was out of breath but completely fine. He had the energy to drag Scratch back with one hand at his ankle, so now his head was beneath a solid enough surface to stomp on three times. Each one sent Scratch’s eyes rolling back further into his head.

Spencer began to use his hands. Getting close into Scratch’s space, he lay punch after punch, no pain on his hands, no. He put it all into Mr Scratch for every second he stole from him and his team until finally he stood up.

Scratch barely had enough energy to cough behind the blood pooling in his mouth. But Spencer could make out the one word he was wheezing in his agony.

“Spencer.”

Then, and only then, did Spencer draw his gun once more and shoot Mr Scratch in the neck.

The jet jolted as its wheels touched the runway. Spencer leant back in his chair, dragged as the jet slowed to a stop. He grunted, his head still catching up to that sudden jolt.

“I want you all to just go home, alright?” Prentiss was already stood at the end of the plane’s gangway, “Get some rest.”

The rest of the trip home was a blur for Spencer; it was committed to his memory but not with any intrigue. Only when he dropped his keys in the front door’s bowl did he start paying attention to his surroundings again. Y/N was powerwalking over to him, instinctively reaching out long before they made it to him.

“Hey baby!” They greeted, and Spencer enfolded them into a tight embrace, “You must be knackered.”

They swayed a little on the spot as Spencer answered, “I was.”

“Was?”

“Not after seeing you.”

His chin brushed over Y/N’s shoulder before he kissed that spot, smiling against the cloth of their shirt. His support rocked as Y/N giggled. Their grip on him tightened for a moment before they ran a hand over his tummy, the little “pouch” as they had affectionately named it. A thought ran past his eyes: that it wouldn’t hurt to start working out if he was going to do more than just shoot Scratch.

“Cheeky,” Y/N touched one of his curls as they pulled away, “Come on, let’s go to bed. Not like that.” They tapped his nose at the raise of his eyebrows.”

“I missed you,” Spencer said, not immediately after that, but when they were both in bed together, “I always do.”

“Me too.”

Y/N was unable to look Spencer in the eye. Spencer loved that they were so overwhelmed with love that they had to seek refuge elsewhere. They were just like him in that sense.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Gun drawn, Spencer took deliberate steps stalking through the darkened apartment complex. The entire area was due for demolishing the following morning, so there were plenty hiding spaces for this unsub to jump out of. Every deep breath stilled his hands as he moved swiftly around each corner. Matt mumbled something in his earpiece about going down to the poolside.

He made his way to the third floor and followed the glowing green signs towards the fire escape.

Martin Harvey had just turned around to see Spencer. He instantly dropped the pipe he was wielding and thrust his hands into the air.

“Ok, ok, ok, you got me. Don’t shoot.”

His legs crumbled and he fell to his knees. A coward, just like the profile had said. This was too easy. No, it wasn’t actually. Interviewing those parents and friends of the victims, gritting teeth while working through red tape set up by the small town talk and the prejudices constructed long before this case occurred, none of that and none of what came prior was easy.

“Get up there.”

Harvey frowned, his eyes unsteady between Spencer’s face and Spencer’s gun, “What?”

Spencer tilted the barrel of his gun to the fire escape stairs for a second, immediately returning it onto Harvey, “You heard me.”

Shaking, Harvey took the steps as they came. His hands were still on his head. His boots made hollow clanks against the rusting metal, echoing Spencer’s lighter taps, until they came into contact with the concrete of the roof. The wind felt more brutal today. It was colder than Spencer imagined. The February chills shouldn’t dissuade him much though.

The second Harvey made a move to spin around, Spencer smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Harvey tripped forwards but remained upright. So Spencer holstered his weapon, grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, and punched across his nose. Both men let out a cry. Spencer flexed his fingers to subside the pain, but it continued to shoot up and down his bones. Another attempt, he grappled with the scruff of Harvey’s shirt then shoved him off his balance to the ground. The unsub wobbled and cried out as he fell backwards. Spencer kicked again, not as strong as the last time, but he felt the surge of power in him. Adrenaline, real and flooding his every movement. This was beyond what his fantasies had ever brought him, and he was living for it. He didn’t have to hold back anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey sobbed, trying to hide in his hands. Pathetic. The man who had raped and attempted murder on five different women couldn’t take it when a man stood up to him.

He hit Harvey once more but drew back from the opportunity for a third. Instead, he rolled the body over the edge with just enough tact to allow Harvey to make a grab for the edge.

Once more, Harvey begged for Spencer to stop.

Spencer looked down on this low life, this scum that dared to interfere with innocent lives for fun. The heel of his shoe came down hard on Harvey’s hand. He howled in pain. Spencer stomped down again; this time there was a series of collective crunches. Harvey let go with that hand, but the other was still clinging dearly to the roof.

As he stared into those panicked eyes, Spencer squatted down beside Harvey’s hands. Broken fingers flailed nearby, Harvey not strong enough to pull himself up and reach for Spencer. His thumb slid off the edge, and the pinkie finger too.

The begging faded into the background. The fear in his face, it had to be at least somewhat the same as Scratch’s. The proximity to danger was beyond comfort.

People he lost:

Derek.

Hotch.

Emily, nearly.

People he loved:

Tara.

Matt.

Penelope.

Luke.

JJ.

Him.

Mom.

Y/N.

Spencer brought down the butt off his gun onto the last three fingers holding on. His eyelids forced him to watch as Harvey fell fast to the ground, a crunch of bones reaching his ears when the ground met with him

A delicious shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. He shook his shoulders and breathed it out. There was not the extreme of happy. Felt in his heart was content in the gentle breeze, in the dull pain.

“Prentiss. He’s dead. I’m on the roof.”

“We’re on our way, Reid.”

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Paramedics had pressed the sterilised cotton against his cuts while his eyes were on the bag that was wheeled away towards the other ambulance. Spencer’s thousand-yard stare ended shortly after that; Emily walked into his view and touched his shoulder. Her embrace was welcomed greatly, as was the nap he took on the flight back.

His bag was not as heavy as he remembered it being as he drew up to his apartment. Once his keys were out the door, he dropped everything and was on his way to the bedroom for an early night when he bumped into Y/N – who was all bundled in their pyjamas.

“You’re back! In time for Valentine’s Day!” Y/N’s smile was quick to disappear, “What happened?”

“I found the unsub. He fought back, resisted. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh Spencer.” They hovered an inch over his face before they settled their hands on him.

A quick kiss on his lips, then they took him into the kitchen and set about making a tea for him. But Spencer didn’t really need, or want, one. He slipped up behind them, mumbling into their ear, “I’m meant to be the one taking care of you today.”

“We take care of each other, Spencer, you know that.” Y/N patted his arms that were now around their waist. Spencer kissed the spot below their ear, smirking into\ them as he felt the stutter in their movements. His lips found the side of their neck and kissed again.

“We do,” He agreed.

“You know, I won’t be able to take care of you if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer nuzzled his cheek against them, “Just not by making me tea.” To make extra sure his point was getting across, Spencer moved them around and kissed them with two fingers lightly pinching their chin.

“Your hand-”

“Doesn’t hurt. And I have two.”

Already Spencer was unbuttoning Y/N’s shirt, his thin fingers parting it open to place his cool touch against their bare skin. It shuddered beneath him, sending waves to help him map the rest of their body again in his mind. A tingle sat in between his shoulder blades as Y/N tugged at the curls in the nape of his neck.

How they got into bed doesn’t really matter. It was when Spencer’s hands pressed into the mattress that he winced away from Y/N’s lips.

“You are hurting,” They pushed to sit up.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“What I need is for you to sit on my face and not stand up until I say so.”

Spencer heard Y/N’s teeth knock together as they closed their once-agape mouth. “Can you help me with that?”

Y/N nodded, dumbstruck at Spencer’s words and the thumb he was dragging across their bottom lip in an attempt to distract from his injuries.

“Y/N, I’m ok. Really. It’s just a little sting. Let me love you.”

“I’m not stopping you. I’m just worried.”

Throb of each cut on his hand as his fingers fanned across their skin Grasping tight on their thighs

He only had to let go for a moment while Y/N stripped clean of their clothes Seeking refuge, he felt completely content with those thick thighs wrapped around his head. Not a single time did his mind stray to Scratch or any other unsub now that Y/N was safe from them. Calm seeped over him, fuelling his biting and lavishing his tongue upon their inner thighs

His pace enjoyed such a leisurely stroll around their cunt, the tip of his tongue gliding through each of their folds. Eyes still closed, he had the image of it soaking wet with his spit and their juices. He licked his lips once before he pursed them around the clit. His hands, now stiff and sore from stroking their hips, reached up to touch their chest. He fondled at their sensitive nipples with delight at Y/N fisting at his hair. All this, and he licked at Y/N’s clit like it was an ice lolly on a summer’s day.

When Y/N came first, they let out short bursts of breath coupled with their moans. The second time, they had to hold onto the bedframe as their body slumped forward and their clit rubbed up against Spencer’s nose. On the third, they fell off his chin, rolled to their side of the bed. Giggles fell from their satisfied smile as they curled up. Smearing the back of his hand across his mouth, Spencer pushed onto his side so he could reach them for another kiss. Y/N could barely respond and they were still laughing as Spencer pulled them into his lap. His fingers looked so pretty around their neck; he kept them there until silence filled the room again. When they reached that moment, he squeezed lightly and let out a gentle “hmm” at Y/N’s moan.

“You good, darling?” He whispered.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Though their lips were together, they parted in pants and smiles.

“You got one more for me?”

“Of course,” Y/N clumsily patted a hand down his cheek, “You haven’t even had one yet.”

“I don’t need one.”

“You must be the only guy to say that and mean it.”

Swallowing the statistic on how many men had said they wanted to orgasm during sex, Spencer watched Y/N struggle to sit on his cock. Their legs were shaking uncontrollably; they didn’t settle, not even in his firm hold.

His hands dragged them down onto him and over their moans he whispered, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

“I wanna give you what you want.”

As Y/N  rocked into him, Spencer shared the last of their tangy taste that lingered on his tongue. Then he found peace in resting his chin on their shoulder, rising and falling as they did.

“You wanna cum for me?”

Their words hit his ears, “Please, help me.”

A spike of pleasure ripped through his body. In an instant, Spencer flipped them over and drove his hips hard into them. His teeth sunk into the skin of their shoulder before releasing his load into them. His entire being trembled into Y/N, their ankles locked in his lower back lazily as he milked every last drop of exhilaration he could from them.

His cock stayed inside them, keeping his cum safe inside. Y/N barely lifted their head but luckily for them, Spencer’s shoulder was within their reach. They bit him in the same spot he had bitten them, not releasing him until their marks matched.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” They mumbled against him.

Spencer tipped himself back an inch or two, “I’m happy you’re safe too.” He didn’t mind the ache on his skin any more than the others. It was a nice collection he had gathered today.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.”

--->--->--->--->--->  

 This was it, the last cigarette. He didn’t have to worry about Scratch anymore after this.

A low whistle lead Spencer to pull at his collar sheepishly, and Tara leant against his desk. At first, he ignored her, signing off the last of his paperwork. His mandatory session with the team’s therapist set fresh on his lungs without a single symptom of guilt.

“Well, well, well,” Tara teased, indicating to her neck with two fingers tapping, “Something about a life or death situation that gets you in the mood?”

“Actually, research into the terror management theory has shown that people respond to mortality reminders by bolstering their own cultural view, derogating opposing views, and shoring up their self-esteem. By this account, the effect of death on libido will depend on the meaning that sex has for a person.”

“And what does it mean for you?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tara grinned, “I would hazard a guess that Y/N’s looking the same.”

Spencer shook his head playfully, “We said we wouldn’t profile each other.”

The ribbing came to a close as Penelope brushed past and announced to the bullpen, “We have a new case, in the conference room.”

Spencer dropped his finished case file into Emily’s empty office on the way to the conference room, his hand only complaining an itch at the motions of holding a pen and a form. It didn’t end as he flicked over the file’s papers while Penelope went over the details of their latest case – gruesome photos of open knife wounds the television screens.

The shrinking juxtaposition between body discoveries indicated a devolving unsub with a disintegrating cooling off period. Basically, it was an unsub not worthy of his daydreams or of his injuries.

Except that’s not what it was at all. This was an unsub to be arrested and face punishment, before more people could be hurt. Spencer didn’t need a cooling off period because he wasn’t going to do that again. He could recall his played-out fantasy in complete and utter detail, never forgetting a thing he saw.

And anyway, this unsub was definitely an impotent and disorganised man lashing out. Couldn’t hold a candle to Scratch. So why waste his time on that? Why would he have another cigarette when he didn’t need one right now?

--->--->--->--->

AN: I do not condone the actions displayed in this fic. I find unsub!AUs of the show interesting developments and the intended recipient of this fic is aware of that. I will not write a part two for this, because I do not have the motivation or idea besides Spencer getting caught and subsequently arrested.

Thank you for reading!

[moral-turpitudes]

Burnt Toast:

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst.

Word Count: 4,226

Characters: Polly Gray + The Shelby Siblings x Shelby!Sister Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: @atjafshelby​, I hope you like it love!

Summary: After seeing her family turn to a life of crime, one incident causes Y/N to finally leave Small Heath in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the Shelby name. But when the family makes a sudden appearance after years of no contact, she soon realizes she’s not the only one with news to bear.

“Kids! Breakfast is ready!” Shouted Y/N from the kitchen, the smell of toast and crackling bacon snaking it’s way through the two story town house in the middle of suburban Manhattan. The sight of the meal reminding her of home when she’d help cook, practicing her craft until she rarely made burnt toast. The voice of her aunt telling her how long to toast it so it would be perfect, even if the family eating it was far from so.

As she prepared the table, the scurrying of little feet pattering away on the floorboards filled the room as they sprinted down the lavish hall. Giggles erupting as two bright eyed girls climbed into their seats.

“Now girls, you both have to get ready quickly today alright? I have some errands to run.” Y/N said, placing a mug of coffee in front of herself. Heavy footsteps came trotting down the stairs as her husband, a man of status in the banking industry, waltzed into the room.

“Morning love. I have to go in early today. Are you sure you and the girls are okay?” He asked, adjusting his tie.

“Yes, I’m going to take them with me. I have some...personal matters to attend to.” She said, her tone dropping slightly as the girls played with their food.

“I know plenty of children back home who’d love to eat what you’re playing with, now stop it...” She said sternly, memories of her mother swatting her hand when she’d go to eat with her fingers instead of the silverware.

“Is it your family again?” He asked, brushing a stray hair from her face as he sat down next to her.

“Yes.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee as her hands shook, the anxiety of ever seeing them again gnawing at her brain.

It seemed like only yesterday that it happened. Her younger brothers running out of the old shop in Small Heath to go on a another mission after their fathers business had been left on their shoulders after the war. The sight later that night making her swear off violence all-together.

Her younger brothers had a knack for messing with the wrong people, even before the war changed them. John was the feisty one, always rough-housing with the boys and bullies on the streets, always pestering her and Ada as they chased rats through town. “I’m trying to help you defend yourself sis! Don’t be such a baby!” He’d say after tackling her to the ground where she’d cry and hesitate to fight back, Ada always punching him in the shoulder to stop as their aunt Polly would come running out of the house with the Devil in her eyes.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, Y/N. Too sweet to be a Shelby.” Polly would say while bandaging any cuts or scrapes.

“You sure as hell didn’t get it from your father...” She’d say, looking at the oldest Shelby girl with a mixture of awe and pity. Y/N resembled her mother more often than not, her temper only shining through in certain situations. But she never thought she’d lose it like she did that night.

It was the night of her first real date, Polly helping brush her hair as she flipped through an old book she’d found in their house.

"That Tommy’s?” Polly would ask, looking at the cover to see a horse running wild in a field.

“Yeah.” She’d say, wishing she could be free like the horse.

“Where are you meeting this young man, Y/N?” Polly asked after a moment of silence.

“The pub down the road.” She said shortly. She remembered Polly’s grip on her hair tightening at the mention of it.

“Ow! What is it?” She asked yanking herself free and turning to look at her aunt.

“D-don’t go. Please don’t.” She said, a fearful look in her eyes.

“Why? Arthur, Tommy, and John get to go anywhere in town and I can’t?!” She said, angrily putting her hair up herself and adjusting her dress.

“It’s not safe...” Polly said, walking down the hall.

“Right...so you want to lecture me on what’s safe because I’m so nice aye? What do you fucking see in me anyway?” She asked loudly. She never really raised her voice to Polly, fearing her to a slight degree. But as her younger brothers went out on business more often, she was practically shoved away, only being able to see Ada and Finn even though she was the oldest.

Polly’s eyes welled up with tears as she spoke.

“I see hope for this god-forsaken family. You have more control over yourself than I care to admit and I can’t bare to see you squander it all away by becoming one of them. You should live for yourself, at least then one of us in this family would be doing something good for a change.” She said, sauntering off into the kitchen.

“Tommy’s planning something isn’t he? That’s why you don’t want me to go on the date.” She said, following her into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. Even if she was older than Arthur by two years, he and the rest of them never stopped being over-protective.

“Yes.” Was all Polly said before Y/N ran out the door. If she wanted her to live for herself then she was going to do as she pleased. She was tired of being seen as some family secret, some mystery sibling that was different. She never liked the violence she grew up in but was that such a crime? To know how to not hurt people? To be able to know when to call it quits? These were thoughts she still struggled with as she looked at her two little girls getting up from the table and racing up the stairs. Their hair wild and smiles a mile long. Carefree like she always dreamed of being, and like most of her aunts family always claimed to be.

“I want you girls ready in 10 minutes!” Y/N yelled as the girls moved about upstairs, her husbands voice breaking her from her thoughts.

“Well I’m off love. I’ll see you all at my lunch break.” He said, kissing her goodbye and heading off to his ordinary job. Despite him being successful and full of money himself, she couldn’t shake the fact that they led very different lives before they met. He’d go off to college while she stayed and helped Polly with Finn, and Ada occasionally staying to help as she was always wanting to be out and about. While he grew up with a silver spoon, she grew up with rusted broken ones. She couldn’t for the life her know why he chose her, maybe it was luck? But nevertheless they worked out together and she was grateful no matter how many times her past haunted her.

As she cleaned up the kitchen, she fell back onto the memories from years ago. Her heart still aching like it was yesterday.

Remembering herself sprinting towards the pub where her new date had agreed to meet her, seeing a rowdy group of men near the entrance. The sharp sound of bottles breaking and slurs being spewed as she warily made her way over. Her eyes landed on her date and her stomach dropped. Arthur was holding him by the neck as Tommy pulled off his cap, slashing the mans face open in one fell swoop.

Y/N’s screams soon pierced the air as she saw him fall limp to the ground, Tommy finishing him off with a harsh twist of his neck.

The blinders all looked up to see their older sister just mere feet away from their mess. Without thinking, she ran over to the man she had grown to know, his face almost unrecognizable after what they’d done to him. As she cradled him, her eyes blurred with tears as her brothers stood in silence, the rain washing the mans blood off Tommy and Arthur’s hands as they waited for her to speak.

“Tommy...” She said, seeing red as she started at the man she once knew, lying dead on the cold pavement.

Her brother walked over, a tired look in his eyes as he crouched down to her level and put his cap back on.

“We had to do it Y/N...” He said, trying to reach for her hand.

Without warning she slapped him across the face with all the strength she could muster. Her hand stinging with the impact.

Polly came running in the distance, stopping near John who’d been holding his rifle as he sat against the wall of the pub.

As she got up, she wiped the blood on her clothes as she stared down her brother. A red handprint forming on his cheek as she neared him. With one hand she took his arm and with the other she grabbed Arthur’s hand, leading them near Polly and John.

“I knew him you know. How was he so bad that you had to kill him? Why was this part of your fucking plan?!” She yelled as they all looked at her with sorry expressions.

“He was working with Kimber’s men. Remember him?” John asked.

She got closer to John as she spoke, her arms folded in frustration.

“No John. I don’t remember. I wasn’t part of the family meetings...remember that?” She asked, knowing they always kept her, Ada, and little Finn in the dark ‘for their safety.’

“He was bad Y/N...” Tommy said, sticking a cigarette in his mouth.

“Like you all are any better. You didn’t even know him!” She shouted.

“Y/N love, please calm down. We had leads on him. He was trying to get with ya in order to get to us.” Arthur said.

“No...he wouldn’t.” She said, shaking her head as her tears fell.

“He did. Not everyone has a good heart like yours alright?” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette.

“You know what? Fuck the lot of you!” She yelled, her eyes boring into Tommy’s specifically.

“I can’t even look at you all anymore. You took away my one shot at meeting someone that wasn’t associated with this family and you all ruined it. You all ruined everything I’ve ever tried to do and here I am, the oldest fucking Shelby and I can’t even leave me own house.” She said, giving a side eye to Polly. As she spoke she remembered her aunts words, her eyes tearing up as she spat out her frantic goodbyes.

“You know what? I’m listening to what you said Pol. I’m going to go live for myself and I don’t want any of you to come for me. I can’t stand to be around any of ya. Goodbye.” She said, walking through the familiar dark streets for what felt like the last time.

“Mum? We’re ready!” She heard her oldest yell from the front door, ripping her from her thoughts.

“Alright, c’mere you.” She said, swooping her youngest up in her arms and walking out the door. As she walked with her oldest hand in hand they noticed the rain falling slightly as the city life bustled around them.

“I wish daddy didn’t take the car. He’ll be at his lunch break before we get there.” The oldest girl said, her white dress flowing in the wind.

“We’re going right up to the bank. He’ll be there. I promise.” She said, her nerves getting to her as they entered the tall building.

“I got a call about a check being sent from Polly Gray?” She asked the teller.

“Ah yes! Here you are. She also left a note.” She said, handing her the envelope.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the figures on the check, having to clutch the desk for support.

“Jesus fucking christ.” She said quietly.

“Jesus fuckin cwist!” Her youngest mumbled excitedly.

“Hey! We don’t say that.” She said smirking down at the little girl.

“Darling! Didn’t expect you to be here so early!” Her husband said as he stepped out of his office.

“This was uh...one of the errands. Can we go outside for a moment?” She asked.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, looking at her with concern.

“Oh um...it seems me aunt gave us a check for...$100,000.” She said.

“My god...you’re kidding. How did they get that kind of money?” He asked, even though they were well-off in New York it was still a shock, especially since the shop back home was far from successful all those years ago.

“Oh...you don’t want to know.” She said, her eyes scanning over the letter.

“Dear Y/N,

I know you don’t want to hear from any of us especially after so long, but we wanted to let you know we’re planning a visit to New York. We have some business to take care of and Tommy saw it best to come there personally. We’d love to meet up upon our arrival if you’d like. We have some unfortunate matters we’d like to discuss. In the meantime though, I wanted to gift you this check, seeing as we’ve come into more than enough good fortune over the years.

With love,

Aunt Pol”

“I have to get to a phone. Watch the girls please? I’ll be back.” She said, running inside the bank.

“What’s mummy doing?” Their oldest asked.

“Calling her family.” He said, holding her hand.

“She has a family? Like us but somewhere else?” She asked.

“Yeah...” He said, not knowing much about them as well. She’d kept that part of her life a secret for a while, but she’d let a few things slip every now and then, and she always got a check from Polly despite her refusing her help, but they never got one for this much before.

“Shelby Company Limited.” The woman said over the phone.

“Yes, this is Y/N...Y/N Johnson-I mean...Shelby. Y/N Shelby....is Polly there?”

“I’m sorry miss. The family has left for America, they’re expected in New York at noon.” She said.

“Alright, thank you.” She said, her watch ticked towards noon at a fast pace, knowing they’d be arriving soon.

“Girls were taking a trip. We uh...have to meet some of my family.” She said rushing out of the bank, scooping their youngest up in her arms with the others following.

“We need to get to customs, now.” She said, hurrying towards her husbands car.

Within the next 30 minutes they’d scrambled to get there, seeing the passengers get off the ship in groups. Her heart sped up as she saw her family, more dressed up now than before, but still the same tired features give or take Finn growing up before her eyes.

“Stay here you three. It’s going to be a moment.” She said, taking a shaky breath as she walked towards them.

“Y/N? Is that you?” She heard Polly call out. She stood frozen as they walked to her, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Hello Polly.” She said with a small smile, her tears plummeting to the ground as she gave her a warm hug.

“Oi! Is that really you?! Look at ya!” Arthur said with a smile.

“Yeah it’s me. Same old Y/N.” She said, wiping her tears as her brother Tommy stared at her.

“Cat got your tongue brother?” She asked, he gave her a hug but it was half-hearted at best.

“Right...so what are you lot doing here aye? Why’d you send us all that money?” She asked looking at them, Tommy’s eyes were more dead than all those years ago. She couldn’t shake the feeling something had happened as Polly spoke.

“Can we talk about this somewhere private at least? We just got here love...” Polly said.

Y/N sighed as she turned to her little family, the ring on her finger glinting in the sun as she nodded.

“Of course...follow me. I uh, have some people I want you to meet.” She said.

“Y/N...” Polly said in a shocked whisper as she saw the two girls and her husband standing there looking at them with smiles on their faces.

“This is my husband. His name is Charles Johnson, he’s a banker in Manhattan. And these are our girls. Jane is 7, Polly is 3.” She said, picking the little girl up as she giggled and waved at them.

“You...you never told us you’d met someone. Never told us you’d gotten married...Never told us you had children...” Polly said, waving at the girls.

“Well the street goes both ways. Didn’t know you got married aye Tom...” She said nodding to him, he lit a cigarette as they walked ahead. The tension growing in the air as she nervously took her husbands hand.

“It’s complicated, but yes I did.” He said shortly, the smoke wafting through the air.

“No smoking...please.” She said, her girls looking curiously at the man with piercing blue eyes.

“You serious?” He asked.

“Yes, the girls don’t like it. You’re such a grump though love. You’ve turned into an old man, older than Arthur even. Jesus.” She said, none the wiser to what they’d all been through over the years. Tommy just nodded with a slight smirk, knowing his past couple years would’ve destroyed her.

As the Shelby’s made small talk with the little girls, Charles got them a ride to their house, the bustling city taking them a little bit by surprise.

“I don’t know how you live here. It’s hectic.” Polly said, sitting in a small armchair in their living room.

“Well you wanted me to live my life for me Pol. I came here and I loved it. Never saw a reason to move.” She said, pouring her a glass of wine.

“Anyone want a drink?” She asked as her worse-for-wear brothers sat around.

“Now there’s our sister. You got whiskey?” Arthur asked.

“Did you think I left all of Birmingham behind? Of course I do.” She said, pouring out a couple glasses and handing them out. Her husband taking one and giving her a small peck on the cheek, Tommy staring him down for a moment before she came to him with a glass.

“What kind?” Tommy asked before drinking it.

“Irish...what else would it be? You taught me that.” She said with a smirk.

“Right...” He said, fixing his golden glasses.

“So tell me, what’s life been like here? It seems...grand.” Polly said looking around the place as the girls ran around giggling.

“Jane! Polly! No running in the house...go out to the courtyard.” She said, taking a sip of her whiskey.

“You named the little one Polly? I’m touched.” She said, sipping her wine.

Y/N sighed before she spoke, her husband sitting near her on the large sofa, holding her hand as he knew she had some things to get off her chest.

“Look...I was....angry. I was angry at the world when I left and...I’ve held onto that for so long it’s eaten me up. I know you all don’t care for me now, hell I wasn’t invited to anything anyways, but I did the same. I did this for me. And I’m happy here. I’m happy with my children. I named her Polly because even though we wanted to rip each other’s throats out some days, you were the one that helped me realize who I wanted to be. You helped raise me and I couldn’t not name her after someone I loved dearly.” She said, the room falling silent.

“You want us to forgive you?” Tommy asked.

“No. Honestly Tommy I’m still trying to forgive you. It was because of you all that I watched you kill him. I moved here so you’d never take people away from me again, but no I’m not looking for forgiveness or anything, I just want it behind us.” She said finishing off her whiskey.

“That was for your protection, love. You can understand that now at least, since you have your own children now.” Polly said, clasping her hand over hers.

“I can. But I wouldn’t kill someone. That’s how we’re different. I’ve told Charles about it, because I’ve always been the nice one. He may think otherwise though.” She said smirking at her husband.

“But, I’ve tried to move on. I just want you all to know I’m happy and I’m honestly not that hurt by it anymore. I’m just plagued with the memories that’s all.” She said.

“What about back home? How’s Ada? I’m assuming she’s with her kid...Karl right?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yes. She has another on the way as well. Different father. Deceased though.”

“That’s too bad, I know she’s probably torn up, the poor thing. Give her a hug for me will ya? God I haven’t seen her in so long.” She said and Polly nodded.

“What about John? Where’s the cheeky bastard at anyway?” She asked. Polly teared up as Tommy held her hand, which he never did unless it was something important.

“He....he got shot. One of the mafias with a vendetta against us got him...it was recent enough that we figured we’d come to tell you.” He said.

“No.” She said, getting up quickly.

“No...no I-I said the most hateful things the last time I saw him. He can’t be...” She said as tears poured down her face.

“Hey....shh it’s alright darling.” Her husband said attempting to comfort her as she clung to him, her tears staining his expensive suit as Arthur and the rest looked away, their hearts growing heavy after re-hashing the news.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We couldn’t get to you in time for the funeral though, love.” Polly said, walking over.

“I have to sit down.” She said, her face paling as she sat on the sofa.

Her hands shook as she wiped her tears away. Polly kissed her forehead as she walked outside, observing the little girls as they played in the garden to keep from breaking down as well.

As Y/N settled down, she took another shot of whiskey, wincing at the burn of it going down. Since having her kids and working, she didn’t have as much time to drink, at least not like they did back home.

“I should’ve came back sooner...I-I should’ve written you all more often.” She said.

“Y/N that wouldn’t have changed much. We’re just happy you’re happy alright love?” Arthur said, patting her on the back.

“Yeah...” She said.

“Say...I know you all are tired. Would you all care to stay? We have enough room...” Charles asked as Polly walked in with the girls.

“Mum! Who that?” Little Polly asked in her sweet voice.

“Hello! Oh you silly girls! I hope you loved meeting Polly! These are your uncles, Arthur, Tommy, and Finn.” She said wiping her tears away as they came in, letting them walk over to them. Tommy smiled at them and put on his best kind expression, knowing how impressionable kids were.

“So uhm...Tommy do you have kids?” Y/N asked, circling back to the ring on his finger and trying to lighten the conversation.

“Yeah. I have a boy name Charlie, and a girl named Ruby. Charlie’s mum was uh...shot...by the mafia, Lizzie is well, she’s working at the office and helping with little Ruby.” He said.

“Shot! Jesus fuckin cwist!” Little Polly squealed out.

Y/N’s mouth dropped as she picked her up. Arthur and eventually everyone erupted in laughter.

“We do not say that Polly! Don’t repeat bad words!” Y/N scolded her, trying to hold back her own laugh in the process.

“I’m sorry about your first wife Tom...I’m also sorry little Polly over here has the mouth of a sailor.” She said playfully eyeing her daughter and giving her brother a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s alright love. Things happen aye?” He said, his heart still hurting after the loss, but warming at the sight of his little happy and not so nicely-mouthed nieces.

“Maybe we can visit the rest of the family sometime? I’m sure we can arrange that.” She asked looking at her husband.

“Of course! We’d um...we’d like that. Very much.” Polly said a genuine smile on her face as she watched her niece with her children.

“I’m so glad you’re doing well for yourself dear. Truly. We all are, and if we haven’t said it yet, welcome to the family Charles.” Polly said, shaking his hand.

“My offer still stands though by the way...” Charles said after a moment.

“What’s that aye?” Tommy asked, finally loosening up a bit.

“You all can stay here. You all aren’t the only ones with big houses you know. You’re family after all.” Y/N said.

“Well it’s not like we have anywhere else to go. What to do you say?” Polly asked, looking at Tommy. He smirked a bit before answering, Y/N could see the conditions he’d have with their stay floating around in his head.

“Alright...As long as we get to have the toast you always made. I’ve hired many a housemaid and none of them could make it like you do, they always burn it up.” He said.

She chuckled at the memory, always making a bunch of it in the mornings before they’d all go running off in the streets.

“Deal.” She said, giving him a small smile, knowing that even after all the years and all the losses, she knew she could never fully be away from family.

[spencersstrawberryjello]

Scum of the Earth (Spencer Reid x fem!MC)

Summary: After a prison interview gone wrong, MC is left to recover from the disgusting things the prisoner said (with Spencer’s help, of course)

Content: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of violence related to crime, including rape and torture, as well as swearing

MC’s name and pronouns: no name mentioned, she/her

Word Count: 2420

A/N: Can you tell I watched Mindhunter right before I wrote this one? lmao

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Pretty girl,” the man in front of me clicked his tongue, observing me from his position across the interview table, “The things I’d do to you…”

My hands trembled, but I forced myself to appear calm as I leaned in, a challenge in my eyes. “Would you do to me what you did to those girls?”

He let out a harsh laugh, one that sent a shock of fear straight through my body. He leaned back in his chair, giving me a shameless once over before he spoke again. 

“Oh sweetheart, you’re better than any of those whores.”

“Whores? So you mean to tell me you weren’t attracted to them?”

“Of course I was attracted to them,” He scoffs, as if it was obvious, “How could I not be? No, I was attracted to them; I just didn’t respect them.”

“And you respect me?”

“Well you are an FBI agent, are you not?”

“People like you have a tendency to resent us more than respect us, if I’m honest with you.”

“People like me? You mean monsters. Is that how you see me, Agent? A monster?”

“Not monsters. I merely mean people in prison. We are the reason you’re in this hellhole, after all.”

“Dirty mouth,” He laughed, “Wonder what else you could do with that.”

“I -”

“You asked me if I’d do to you what I did to the other girls,” He leaned in now, his face inches from mine, his voice barely above a whisper, “The girls I raped. The ones that I tortured, that I murdered. Would you like to hear what’s running through my mind right now, honey?”

I couldn’t breathe, my throat tightening as cold fear coursed through my body. But my entire job was to figure out how this man thought. For research.

Nothing in my research could’ve prepared me for what he was about to say, though. 

“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To hear what’s running through your mind?” I replied. His mouth curled into a haunting grin, and he lowered his voice even more, as if he was trying to keep the people he knew were monitoring this interview from outside the room from hearing him.

“I’d take my time on you,” He started, his voice making every inch of my skin crawl, “Too good to waste…”

I had to force myself not to pull away as he began to detail exactly what he was thinking, his voice still too low for Hotch to hear him through the weak security camera microphones. 

Never in my entire career did I imagine I’d be sitting across from vermin like him, listening as he described, in painstakingly visual imagery, how he’d force himself on me, how he’d torture me until I craved the sweet relief of death. How he’d finally murder me. My entire body was shaking, and I couldn’t do anything but bite back the nausea at the scenes he detailed for me. 

I had half a mind to thank god that I remembered to turn on the recorder in my front pocket. There was no way that the mics on the security cameras were picking this up - there was a reason no one had pulled me out of the room yet - and the things he was saying were incredibly revealing, from a behavioral standpoint. But I couldn’t be excited about the new information when he was describing my own death in front of me.

It wasn’t until he reached up and ran his finger along the curve of my jaw that Hotch stormed back in. I hadn’t realized I was close enough to him for him to touch me, but I flinched away from his touch, making him laugh as guards returned to the room, pulling his arms behind his back and escorting him from the room as he laughed.

“Hope you got the information that you needed, sweetheart!” He called as he was removed from the area. I heard his laughter echo up and down the hall, and I immediately rose from the table, my hands still shaking. 

“Can it, Lewis!” One of the guards demanded, but it was quiet as the sounds faded down the hall.

Hotch’s expression of anger turned to one of concern when he saw my expression, my face paled, my eyes far away. 

“What was he saying to you?” He asked. I just pulled my recorder out of my pocket with trembling hands, holding it out to him and fumbling with the button to turn it off so I didn’t waste space. 

“You can listen for yourself. I can’t -” I shook my head, trying to clear it. 

“Ok,” He took it from me, slipping it into the pocket of his suit as he regarded me carefully, “Ok. Are you good to walk back out of here?” 

I attempted to steady my breathing before nodding and grabbing my blazer off the back of the chair, slipping it on and following Hotch out of the prison. I felt a bit better with every step away from the prison we took, but his voice bounced around my mind, the scenes that my imagination created so vivid that I couldn’t seem to push them away. 

Somehow, he knew exactly how to play on my history to get under my skin. He knew exactly what to say to make my skin crawl, and it made another wave of nausea wash over me just thinking about it. Because as bad as the horrors I’d just heard were, they brought about an even more terrifying question.

How did he know?

I had half a mind to ask, but there was a chance it was just a coincidence. I knew that if Hotch had any concerns after listening to the recording I’d made, he’d come to me about it. For the moment, I merely stared out the window, watching the scenery rush by on our way back to the jet. When we finally arrived at the airstrip, I wanted nothing more than to be alone. 

Or at least, alone with one other person. 

Spencer greeted us when we got back on the jet, and immediately he could tell that something was wrong. I was pretty sure my hands were still shaking, and he pulled me into a tight hug.

“How’d the interview go?” He asked. I wasn’t sure if the question was directed at me or Hotch, but I replied before he could.

“It was incredibly informative,” I broke the hug, pulling back to talk to the both of them, “His conversation directly with me revealed a lot about his thought process when doing what he did.”

“Directly with - you were in there by yourself?” Spencer immediately snapped his gaze to Hotch. 

“Calm down, Spence, I volunteered to talk to him alone. You really think our resident Unit Dad here would just ditch me?” I joked, to which Hotch rolled his eyes as I continued explaining, “I thought that I might be able to elicit a more honest response from him if I was talking to him one on one.”

“Because you’re a pretty young woman,” Spencer stated, showing he understood my thought process. I just faked a scandalized gasp, one shaky hand on my chest.

“Dr. Reid, are you calling me pretty? You know, that’s very unprofessional behavior for the workplace.”

“I can think of some behavior that’s a bit more unprofessional,” He teased before pulling me in for a quick kiss. I heard Emily’s voice from behind us. 

“Ugh, sit down!” She called. I offered her a choice gesture before moving away from Spencer, moving to sit in the corner near the back of the plane. Hotch held up my recorder as he walked by, signaling that he was going to listen to it and bringing the nausea back in full force. 

I felt the color drain from my face again, though he didn’t notice. He’d already taken his seat, pulling out a laptop and headphones from his bag. 

Spencer noticed though, from his seat across from me.

“Hey,” He grabbed my hands. I hadn’t even noticed they’d started trembling again. “What happened in there?”

“I - he’s a disgusting person, Spence. Like, scum of the earth disgusting.”

“Lewis?”

I nodded, and he moved from sitting across from me to sitting next to me, pulling me into a hug. I just buried my head against his chest, trying to distract my mind from the sound of George Lewis’s voice, and the images that came flooding back to me. 

“What did he do to you?” Spencer asked. I shook my head.

“He didn’t do anything. It’s just what he said that shook me up.”

He was quiet, clearly waiting for me to continue. I drew in a shaky breath, not moving from his arms as I spoke.

“I… I was trying to get inside his head. I wanted to hear his thought process during the crimes the way that he viewed it, and I knew that using my femininity against him was the best way to do it. I was trying to get him to open up to me because he thought I was attractive…” I trailed off for a moment, the feeling of his hand on my face so real that I almost reached up to smack it away. I fought back the bubble of nausea rising in my stomach as I continued, going into as little detail as possible. “It worked, I guess. What he said was very telling.”

“Babe?” Spencer said after I fell into another lapse of silence. I pulled back to meet his eyes, and the concern in them stopped my heart, “What did he say?”

“...He described exactly what he would do to me if I were one of his victims. In painstaking detail, how he would rape me, torture me, kill me -” My whole body was shaking at this point, and I ducked my head back into his chest, feeling his arms tighten around me. “- I just can’t get his voice out of my head. Can’t get those images out of my head.”

“Reid?” I expected to hear Spencer respond, but instead I heard Hotch. I looked up to see him standing in the aisle, a dark look in his eyes, “Could I talk to you for a moment?”

“I -” He looked between me and Hotch, and I gave him a small smile. 

“Go,” I assured him. I had a feeling that this little meeting was because Hotch had listened to the recording, anyway. 

Spencer reluctantly got up, following Hotch over near the back of the cabin, where he’d set his computer on the counter. I watched as Spencer put the headphones in his ears, pressing play on the recording and listening. I couldn’t see his face, I could only see Hotch’s reaction as the clip went on, but Hotch looked pissed.

I mean, more than his resting pissed face, of course. 

Spencer took the headphones out of his ears after a moment, slowly placing them back on the computer, his body language illustrating a state of shock. He glanced back at me, and I saw a dozen emotions raging across his expression. Of course, there were three that were the strongest.

Anger.

Shock.

And worry.

He immediately crossed the plane back to me, pulling me into a tight hug before moving to sit back down, still keeping me in his arms. He placed a kiss on the top of my head without speaking, one hand splayed on my back to keep me close to him. 

“You listened to the interview?” I phrased it as a question, even though it was more of a statement.

“He never should’ve been allowed to say that stuff to you,” He said. I just shook my head.

“I provoked it. I wanted him to reveal what he was really thinking.”

“It still should never have gotten that far.”

“It worked though.”

“It worked at your expense,” He argued, “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t have to do anything. I chose to.”

“Are you ok?” He asked, the question catching me off guard. He pulled a bit back from the hug, prompting me to look up at him. “I heard the shit he said, baby. Are you ok?”

“I… I’ll be fine. It just really shook me up.”

“You're trembling - you have been since we got on the plane. You’ve been trying to hide it, but I noticed. And I can tell you’re trying not to be sick -"

“... Maybe a better way to phrase it is ‘scared the living shit out of me.’”

He laughed softly, leaning back against the arm of the chair before pulling me close again so I could rest my head against his chest. “That’s closer to what I’ve observed.”

We laid there silently for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around me, one hand softly tracing indistinct patterns up and down my back as I felt his chest rise and fall against me. George Lewis’s voice echoed inside my mind, and I buried my head deeper into his chest, prompting him to hold me closer. 

I was still shaking, and I wrapped my arms around him, gripping the back of his shirt to try to steady my hands. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, and continued to run his hands along my back. The gentle motion was comforting as I forced the memories of the interview to the side, allowing myself to drift off into what I prayed would be a dreamless sleep.

-----------------------------------

“How is she doing?” Hotch asked. Spencer sighed, looking down at me now asleep in his arms. 

“She was trembling, Hotch - I don’t know if I’ve seen something as simple as an interview affect her this badly before.”

“I know… is there any other reason you can think of that what Lewis said would have such an effect on her?”

He reflected for a moment, biting his lip and looking back down at me with indecision in his eyes. Finally, he looked back up at Hotch. “There could be. But it’s something you might want to talk to her about directly… it’s not really my business to share.”

“Is she in any danger?”

Spencer shook his head. “Just something that happened when she was younger. With her sister.”

Hotch nodded, giving Spencer’s shoulder a squeeze in a gesture of comfort before returning to his seat. Spencer returned to his soft touches around my body, his hands smoothing down my hair as I slept in a cold slumber.

[hotchley]

pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things 

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case. 

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

[my-bated-breath]

Do you think Aang and Katara would still end up together if Katara killed her mother’s killer? How would that affect their relationship?

Hey anon! Sorry it took me a while to answer your question, but the truth is that there is no clear trajectory regarding Kata/ang in this situation, especially when we take into account that Kata/ang in the show canon was abrupt and significantly underdeveloped. More specifically on Kata/ang, both Katara and Aang’s arcs were twisted to accommodate for their endgame romance, but while Katara’s arc reaches its culmination by the end of the Final Agni Kai, Aang’s character had become inconsistent in its direction throughout all of season 3.

As such, two conflicting outcomes can result from this hypothetical scenario — one outcome which upholds Aang’s flaws and stagnated growth, or another outcome which forces Aang into growing, accepting, and understanding, as was the original intent behind his character.

From a broader context, Aang’s entire journey since he woke up in the iceberg has been about him reconciling his airbender and Avatar identity, and by the end of season 2 when he is with the guru, Aang is on the cusp of fully accepting his Avatar responsibilities, of letting go of his selfish attachments (or in other words, his blinding biases).

Except Aang cannot let go as he hoped he would be able to. Because his attachment to Katara is selfish, but beyond that his attachment to Katara is a replacement for his attachment to the Air Nomads — and it draws him away from his duties as the Avatar, causing him to embrace an ideal he does not comprehend. After all, the Air Nomads were not perfectly pacifistic either.

Still, just as Aang refuses to recognize the complexity in the Air Nomads’ legacies, dismissing what he may deem as an act of violence, Aang refuses to recognize the complexity to Katara’s rage and compassion, to her violent and protective nature. In my meta “On Ideals and Idealization,” I elaborate on Aang’s idealization of Katara:

Aang loves Katara, yes, but he is in love with an idealized version of her. In his mind, he holds close the idea of a gentle Katara, a smiling Katara, a compassionate and all-loving Katara. Even though he has seen her darkest moments when she bloodbends Hama - arms bent in disjointed angles, fingers curled as if manipulating puppet strings -  it does not tarnish his image of her because, at this moment, she is not the persecutor, but the persecuted.

After her experience with Hama, Aang is there to comfort her and help her come to terms with the terrifying power she now possesses. With her face streaked with tears and eyes widened with horror, it is clear that this is a power that Katara does not want, that it has been thrust onto her against her own will.

The conclusion that Aang draws from this is that Katara’s inner darkness is a separate entity from her inner light, and he perceives this acquired part of her as a blemish on her inherent goodness. As such, in “the Southern Raiders,” when he witnesses how Katara’s anger and grief drive her to hunt down her mother’s killer, he equates Katara seeking closure to Katara succumbing to darkness, tainting her purity and compassion in the process.

Thus, given Aang’s reaction to Katara’s bloodbending, he may be inclined to love her in a piteous, nearly-obligatory manner. He’ll love her as the victim who lost sight and control and he’ll love her as a being of compassion and pacificity, but nothing more. Just like in the Southern Raiders, he may magnanimously grant Katara his forgiveness and his continued love even when she never asked for it. And in the end, Aang and Katara will kiss on the balcony of Iroh’s tea shop, only this time it’s not only “the hero winning the girl,” but “the bright and cheerful boy fixing the broken girl” as well.

This is the ending where Aang clings onto idealization even when it renders him a hypocrite, in the same way he is a hypocrite for shouting at his friends for pushing him to kill Ozai when it is implied he killed thousands at sea in the Siege at the North Pole.

This is the ending where he does not grow.

Note: Aang retreating into a ball of earth as a narrative parallel to the beginning of the series when he was encased in a ball of ice would have been much more powerful if only Aang entered the Avatar State through character growth rather than by the power of the Pointy Rock of Destiny (TM).

Now, let’s consider an ending where Aang’s perspective broadens rather than narrows and where Aang unroots himself from the past, pulling free from stagnance. Let’s consider a hypothetical scenario in which Aang finds out Katara killed Yon Rha. How may he react?

He may not be able to at first, too torn between his belief that Katara only uses violence as a last resort and the reality that Katara uses violence as a means of agency as well. Revenge corrupts; it is a stain that cannot be washed away. There is no reconciling Katara’s previous compassionate and loving nature with this dark path she has now chosen.

Except this is Katara he’s talking about, Katara who he loves and gave up the Avatar State for. Surely there’s a way to save her, right? Yes, just as Aang told Katara before she left, forgiveness is the answer. And while Katara may not have chosen forgiveness in the end, Aang can guide her by example.

The next day, he approaches her with the offer to exempt her from her wrongdoings.

Katara, tired and mournful, looks down at Aang.

“What was so wrong about what I did?”

Inside she is hurting. There is truth to what Aang said, that revenge is poisonous both to the victim and the perpetrator, but it is not poisonous for the reasons he thinks it is. As George Orwell writes in his essay, “revenge is an act which you want to commit when you are powerless and because you are powerless: as soon as the sense of impotence is removed, the desire evaporates also” (Revenge is Sour). There’s no doubt that Yon Rha was despicable, and there’s only a little doubt in saying that his punishment should fit his crime — the only regret Katara may have here is that killing Yon Rha is a meaningless act, for she has already gained power over him in every meaning of the word. Revenge is only a gateway to senseless violence and hatred; it is not a slope from which there is no recovery, and given Katara’s emotional intelligence, she likely has or will recognize this. Although she may feel regret, she needs no one’s forgiveness.

Aang is shocked. “But violence is never the answer,” he stands by, he pleads by. His voice grows quieter. “You know that… you knew that, didn’t you?”

Katara answers him, but it’s all a blur. She says something about agency, protection, and justice. He remembers something about that too, about the fury that burned in her eyes when she declared, “I will never, ever, turn my back on the people who need me!” Then there was the hostility simmering in her glare towards Zuko, the way she muttered that she didn’t trust him, not when he could still hurt them — hurt Aang — again. 

Because Katara’s anger and compassion do not simply split themselves into two identities. Instead, they coexist and coalesce into one. They drive each other; they feed into each other; they are two sides of the same coin.

Excerpt from my meta Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between

The beloved ideal of Katara — the one that he thought was on the verge of being tainted, the one that never existed — shatters. But just because it’s broken doesn’t mean Aang doesn’t want to fix it. So in the days leading up to Sozin’s Comet, he tries to pick up the fragments to the Katara-he-knew and piece them together again, all the while avoiding Katara’s mournful (yet resolved) stare. He ignores the way Zuko and Katara share glances with a heaviness as if they were the only two people in the world, full of some significance he cannot grasp. Still, it haunts him like the way Zuko’s touch lingers on Katara’s shoulder or Katara’s hand brushes Zuko’s briefly whenever they don’t think anyone’s looking, reflecting a togetherness escaping loneliness.

But there’s no answer that arrives quick enough to save Aang from his doubt and confusion. All too soon, Sozin’s Comet is upon them, and Aang wanders to another world on the lion turtle's back — but this time when he listens to the past Avatars’ advice, his perspective undergoes a paradigm shift.

They are right. The Air Nomads that he prioritized, that blinded him to his duties — they do not exist. Their love is still there, pure and human but not all-encompassing, tucked in the corner of his heart. And Katara was the same. She was and is not all-loving or all-compassionate or all-anything, really, because she is more human than that.

This time Katara’s image shatters again. But Aang does not follow the falling pieces to the ground, desperate to find them and force them together again. No, he sees past the remains and sees Katara for who she is. For who she wants to be. For who she can be (around someone else), when she’s not compelled to take on the caretaker role just for him.

(And he thought he was so generous, offering to forgive him. But it was never his forgiveness to give in the first place.)

Aang lets go of his last attachment.

The last airbender lives on, but so does the Avatar.

[deja-you]

Hey! Could you do a Drabble where like Thomas cheats on the reader and (kinda like Eliza) y/n takes him back but things just aren’t quite the way they were and it’s bothering both of them

yep! this one is 967 words

Your presence floods the room.

When the two of you were younger and newer to the whole idea of love and forever, you would flood the room with light. Golden, shimmering light that warmed the room from the inside out. He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You still fill the room with your presence; up to its full capacity. Now it's a flood.

You flood the apartment, the water damage seeping into the ground. Contractors say the damage is irreparable. But maybe it's not so.

Thomas can't remember the last time you've said his name. He misses the way it sounds on your tongue, but he understands this isn't something he deserves.

The bed is cold and empty while two people lay next to each other.

He reaches his hand toward you before pulling back. He knows better. Thomas misses you, but reaching out is what he wants, not you. He's made enough selfish decisions lately to last him a lifetime. He's afraid they will last him a lifetime.

If he's being honest, sometimes he thinks his life would be better if he had never told you. It was one mistake. One awful, unforgiving mistake that had destroyed everything good in his life. If Thomas had kept his mouth shut, everything could've remained unimpaired and beautiful. But nothing good can grow out of lies, and the very least you deserved was the truth.

That didn't make the admission any easier. The way you looked away from him when he had told you about her. If you were angry with him, if you had yelled or thrown something, he would've understood. Thomas, to some degree, had suspected this behavior. Maybe that's partly why it hurts more when you speak to him softly.

You are gentle to him in a way he doesn't deserve. It's not forgiveness, and it breaks his heart even further when he realizes it's shame. On your part. Somehow his actions have made you feel less than adequate, and this hurts him the most.

“Twenty years.” He remembers you saying after his confession. “I have loved you for twenty years.”

Your voice was quiet when you spoke, and he thinks it was so he wouldn’t be able to hear all the cracks and factures in your words.

“I have loved you and only you. I only know how to love you. I only know how to love you. Do you know that? I so desperately want to hate you for this!”

And Thomas responded with something like: “you deserve to hate me.”

“I know that. But I can’t. I can only love you, which leaves me to carry the blame of your infidelity myself. What could I have done to make you love me more?”

Thomas was stunned and shocked into silence.

You can’t help your voice from breaking on your next words. “You are the only person I will ever love. Why am I not enough for you?”

Those words haunt Thomas when he closes his eyes. And when he wakes up. And when he goes to work. And when he takes a shower. And when he makes dinner. There is no point in his life where those words don’t ring in the back of his mind like chains anchoring him to his crimes. Why am I not enough for you?

The two of you are lying in bed now, the both of you being as still as possible, hoping your presence doesn’t take up too much space. After a brief lapse into weakness, you have shut off your emotions, becoming a shell of the person you once were. Thomas misses your laugh and your anger and your raised eyebrows when he does something stupid and the way you used to kiss him because it brought you an endless amount of joy. There is nothing left, save for the pain and sorrow he has inflicted upon you.

Nights like these, the two of you can hear the entire city of New York. On the street below, a group of young girls climb into a taxi for a wild night out. In the apartment across the way, a musician is practicing for opening night at the city orchestra. Across the hall, a single mother tries to rock her baby to sleep while she talks to her sister on the phone. Brown-blue water washing against the riverbank a few blocks down.

There is so much going on outside, it reminds Thomas that there is more than just this moment lying next to you. There was the day he had first met you, sitting across from you in elementary and sharing crayons. There was your wedding day, when Thomas swore you were some sort of ethereal being. There was the day after he cheated on you, waking up with a pool of regret in his stomach. There were all these past moments in time that existed out of his reach, and there was every future moment he could spend loving you.

All these future moments with you could only exist if Thomas made a decision now. Gathering any remaining courage, he reaches out across the sheets that had become a vast ocean in the void between the two of you. You tense at the feeling of his fingers on your skin, but after a long moment, you allow yourself to sink into his embrace.

Thomas feels a warmth surge in his chest at your silent acceptance, and delicately – because this might all fall apart if he isn’t careful – he pulls you closer to him. He presses his lips against your back like they could take away the pain his actions had inflicted. It’s not okay, and nothing will ever be the same, but the both of you are learning to love each other in new ways.

[imagine-loki]

Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 12/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly. 

RATING: M (eventually ) 

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

You blushed at that tone coming from Loki.  You weren’t surprised that he would cheat to sit next to you.  He was your Alpha and it was only natural for him to want to be close, even if he hadn’t claimed you yet. The instincts were still there.  You both understood that you needed to know each other better, to make sure it was a good match before you succumbed to your instincts.  

You’d never heard of instincts being wrong before and most Alphas and Omegas immediately gave in to those instincts and were happy together.  It was like a soulmate bond in mushy romance books.  Still, being careful didn’t hurt.

The team chatted together through dinner as usual.  It was like a big family.  Usually.  They were wary about Loki.  “So, Reindeer Games, why are you on Earth again?” Tony asked.  He was an Omega, but really didn’t act like it.  He was always willing to step up to the plate and poke anyone and anything to get a reaction.  

Loki huffed and stiffened.  He looked so closed off and angry.  So you did what any good Omega would do.  You gave him a bright smile and drew his attention to you.  “I know your last trip to Earth wasn’t good, hopefully this one will be better,”

Loki stopped glaring at Tony to look at you.  His expression softened, though you saw chained sexuality in that gaze as well.  He wanted you, badly.  “I am quite sure it will be, Elskling,” he replied warmly to you.  He looked at the others and knew that he needed to answer Tony’s original questions.  “The Allfather refuses to believe that the events of the Chitauri attack were not my fault, despite the testimony of Thor and my mother.  He decreed that I be locked away for my ‘crimes’,”

“Wasn’t it your doing?” Tony pushed again.  

You would’ve kicked him under the table if you could.  Especially when you saw the pain and haunted look in Loki’s eyes.  You reached over and laid your hand on top of Loki’s while Steve glared at Tony.  “Enough, Stark,” he said, his voice an Alpha growl.  You knew that Steve was still getting used to being an Alpha.  His Alpha aura flared more than he clearly intended at that order. Tony’s eyes glazed at the order from the strong Alpha.  At least he wouldn’t be causing more trouble for awhile.  Even he couldn’t go against such a direct order from such a strong Alpha.  

Loki looked down at your hand on his.  He shifted his hand to take yours and squeezed it gently, clearly appreciating your small gesture to reassure him.  Thor looked surprised and you had the feeling that Loki didn’t usually like being touched.  Clearly, you were an exception to that.  That was to be expected.  Omegas were generally allowed casual touches to help calm and soothe those around them.  

Loki looked back up to address the question.  “No, it wasn’t my doing.  I was abducted by Thanos, the mad titan and tortured.  He used the mind stone on me to force me to come here and attack Midgard in his quest for the Infinity Stones,” Loki explained, pain in his voice at the memories.  

You saw the look in Bucky’s eyes too.  The same haunted look.  He had been tortured by Hydra, his mind and memories erased and scrambled so many times that he had trouble remembering what was real and what wasn’t at times.  He was still healing.  Loki was too.   

“Mother fought for Loki’s release from the unjust punishment.  She is still working on getting him entirely off the hook, but Father allowed her to change Loki’s punishment.  He no longer has to spend his days in a cell and was allowed to come to Midgard to help make amends,” Thor explained to the team.  He had the demeanor that he always wanted to look out for his little brother. Though you could also tell that there was trouble in their relationship.  

Once that explanation was out of the way, the team got to introducing themselves properly.  Clint and Bucky both accepted Loki’s story easily, both had been under mind control before.  Since Clint accepted it, Nat accepted it, though she remained a bit wary, mostly for your sake since you were unclaimed.  The rest treated him as a new member, which was the best anyone could hope for at the moment.  

You told stories and chatted amongst yourselves as you ate, telling stories of missions, of battles that Asgardians had been in, letting Loki get to know them, their abilities, their past.  Loki relaxed, though seemed disinclined to let go of your hand.  That was alright.  You could eat with one hand.  

“Are we having movie night?” You asked toward the end of dinner when there was a lull in the conversation.  

The Alphas all turned their attention to you with fond smiles.  “Gladly,” Steve said warmly while the others all agreed quickly.  Movie night was a comfortable way that they could all spend the evening in your presence and soak up an Omega’s aura.  Tony and Bruce just didn’t give off the same aura, given their backgrounds.  

“Movie night?” Loki asked you.  

You nodded and smiled up at him.  “Do you have movies on Asgard?” You asked, unsure what his world did and didn’t have. He shook his head, looking curious, interested, and confused at all the Midgardian things he was going to have to learn about.  “It’s like a play that you can watch anytime,”

Loki considered that and nodded. “That could be entertaining,” he agreed. 

The team predictably argued over what movie you would watch while the dishes were gathered to wash.  You got up and led Loki to the DVD shelf so you could look over movies with him and help him pick out which one he wanted to watch.  You saw his eyes light up at one.  “They have the story of Hiccup and Toothless?  It was my favorite book as a child,” he said with childish glee in his eyes.  

You grinned and pulled it off the shelf.  “They do.  It’s one of my favorites,” you told him brightly.  “Though I’ll be curious as to how this version is different than the one you know,”

Loki summoned an old leather-bound volume in a shimmer of green magic.  He waved a hand over it with another shimmer of green magic before he handed it over to you.  “Now you can read the original for yourself.  I translated it into English for you,” he said warmly, with a look in his eyes that he was proud to be able to do something to please his Omega.

You accepted the ancient volume with reverence.  “Loki… this is amazing.  Are you sure I can borrow it?” It looked old and precious, though it was perfectly well cared for.  Your fingers traced the leather cover and you somehow resisted the urge to smell the pages.  At least not in front of Loki.  Old books just had the very best smell.  

“Yes, Elskling,” he replied in a purr, glad you were pleased.  You vanished the book to safety so you could read it later.

“Did you two pick a movie?” Nat asked as she and the rest of the team started to file into the common room.

You nodded, but before you could answer her, you all jumped as the tower alarm started blaring.

A moment later, you found strong arms around you as Loki hauled you to him, hissing softly like a puffed-up, affronted cat.  His battle armor shimmered into existence and he held you securely to his side, his cape over you, to shield you from view and protect you as he summoned his weapon.  It was an Alpha’s instinct to protect their Omega and Loki had acted without even thinking.