#into the holster and belt you go

[lanternlightss]

okay .. take two !!!

+ bonus doodles

[ghostaholics]

.

[teeth-draws]

Another post of my boy with messy lines and a white background ig lmao

[dirt-str1der]

Im like giggling and shit thinking about how me and dante are going to be vashwood , finally the four fingers will have me date every member (remembers im the number one vashwood hater) oh no

[ehlnofay]

updated my full body drawing of torr since I didn't have time to do it before artfight. now they're all ready for next year!! this image takes place sometime after joining the brotherhood and sometime before that whole concept went to shit. you can't see but they have so many weapons on them rn

[finniestoncrane]

Ain't So Bad

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.1k i want this man to do horrible things to me, i want him to tell me he'll make sure i'm ok when i know full well he's the most dangerous thing around, he's driving me INSANE anyway i'll have a softer thing for him soon!! 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: dubcon/noncon, restraints, use of 'no' but reader is quick to do as told, restraints, slight threat, gun mention, hair pulling

The sun had thankfully almost set, the long shadows cast by it a welcome relief, though it did mean that night was coming, along with the threats that were its constant companion. But you always assumed you were safe, travelling with your own companion. Especially when that companion was Cooper Howard. Charming, despite his foul attitude that put most people off. Handsome, at least to you, and much to the disappointment of the more ‘reserved’ folks you came across out in the wasteland. And you felt lucky, most of the time, to consider him yours. But you suspected that, while he kept the danger away, that there was a reason for that.

Even predators had something they were afraid of. There was always a greater evil.

And as the darkness fell, his silhouette lit only by the small fire in the corner of the roofless room, you began to realise that Cooper was a lot more dangerous than you had let yourself come to terms with.

“Cooper, wait… we’re not safe enough, I don’t…”

You trailed off, aware that your words were falling on deaf ears as Cooper dragged his dry lips across your cheek, grazing his teeth against the skin as you felt him pushing you backwards, your spine straightening against the crumbling wall behind you.

“It ain’t so bad out here… certainly won’t be when you see what I’ve got in store for you.”

“Please, Cooper�� no, Coop, I can’t-”

Interrupted by your own sharp inhale, you held the breath as you watched Cooper’s eyes settled on yours, your hands above you head against the wall, his hands tight around your wrists, preventing you from holding him back any further.

“I’m here to keep you safe, darlin’. You’ll be fine.”

His words meant very little against what you knew was lurking out there, and your nerves pushed your protests out of your clamping throat.

“But Cooper, you know I get scared… I don’t want to do this, not here.”

“Well too bad, missy…”

He lifted your hands and slammed them back down again, watching as you winced at the dull pain.

“… it ain’t like there’s a nice place I can take a girl like you for something like this…”

Cooper’s grip loosened, one of his hands leaving yours as he fumbled with the belt on his pants. You could have easily pulled away, but you didn’t. You couldn’t be sure why, and you chose not to linger on that thought, luckily distracted from it as Cooper’s unbuckled belt clanged, his eyes back towards you.

“…Now, are you going to be a good girl and take it?”

The free hand now drifted to his hip, pushing back his long coat, his palm lazily resting on the holstered gun by his side before he continued speaking. Slowly, clearly, in a low, guttural tone.

“Or am I gonna have to be a bad man and take. It.”

His stare penetrated you, like he could see through your skull to the wall you were trapped against. Your chest seemed to stay completely still despite the deep breaths you took. When you tried to speak, your tongue stayed flat, your lips trembling, nothing but a squeak of air managing to pass between you.

“I asked you a question.”

All you offered was a stuttered mumble and a sheepish nod of your head, a smile offered to you by Cooper as he kicked your legs apart with his muddy boot. Two gloved fingers teased at the front of your pants, pulling them away from skin before sinking below the waistband and brushing against your thickened lips. Excitement, adrenaline, fear. All of it passed over you in a heartbeat, your heart fluttering as he removed his hands from you. Bringing the fingers to his lips, he bit down on the leather with his yellowed teeth, tearing off the glove and tossing it to the ground. His fingers were back down quickly, spreading apart your folds. His uncovered fingers delved inside of you, only briefly, before he withdrew that small modicum of pleasure from the otherwise intense and nerve-wracking situation.

As he separated himself from you, your back arched involuntarily away from the wall, your body betraying your protests as you ached for more of his touch.

“My, my… you sure were fussing a lot for someone who is clearly enjoying themselves…”

Bringing his two fingers up, he spread them apart, watching carefully as your slick stretched in long strands between them.

“Bend over.”

“Cooper, wait, please, I-”

Gripping your waist, Cooper knocked you off balance and let you fall to the floor, a cloud of dust rising up around you.

“I done enough waitin’, darlin’.”

As you struggled to get onto all fours, you felt yourself knocked once more, cheek slamming to the ground as your arms were pulled up behind your back. You could feel the rope tightening around your skin, your wrists bound together and stuck against your spine.

“Now listen, you just lie there…”

He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his hot breath tingling you, making the hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“… and try to keep quiet.”

Behind you, Cooper fell to his knees, pulling down his own pants before turning his attention to yours, uncovering just enough of you that he knew he could slip himself between your thighs and into your wet, warm cunt without leaving either of you too vulnerable to any surprise guests.

Once his other glove was off, you could feel his palm sliding up your back, cracked nails scratching at the nape of your neck before his fingers gripped your hair. Your back contorted as he lifted your face from the ground, positioning you perfectly for his curved cock, lubed with his own drool which he let drip down from his lips in a long, lewd strand, to slide inside of you with little mercy. He pounded into you once, setting the tone for the rest of the encounter you had to endure.

But he hadn’t lied.

“Just a little longer, darlin’, we’ll have you back on two legs… just hng gimme… ah… fuck, that’s it…”

His brutal pace, the way he was so desperately trying to get to the conclusion, the relief, the pain of the stretch, the heat in your own chest that made you moan in response to the way his cock pulsed within your walls.

But he was true to his word.

Because while one hand was tugging at the hair, fingernails scratching your scalp, his hips bucking into your body, knocking you forward and into the ground, his other hand clutched the shotgun, finger teasing the trigger, tempted to send shots into the air at his climax, but ready to defend you both against anyone, or anything, that threatened to interrupt him.

“See, darlin’… not so bad after all.”

[jjenthusee]

Woven Hands

jason todd x reader

A/N: thank u to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes for their post linked here for their jason headcanons, they got me dancing and swinging my feet while I wait for my classes. 🤭 ENJOY my small drabble, tell me ur thoughts in the comments :D

also small rant but tell me why i never undated my tumblr app and i was struggling for so long and everything didn’t look like how it was supposed to? 😀 please don’t be like me and update yo shiz like responsible human beings

“Don’t make me do this.” You muttered, standing on top of the couch cushions, water gun hoisted in your pocket, filled completely with sink water.

You felt the weight of the water droop in your pants, you squinted, trying to frighten your opponent. You didn’t have a holster, so your sweatpants pocket was the next best thing.

The couch increased your height, made you stand tall, allowed your voice to be more direct. You wanted to overpower Jason, part-time Red Hood, full time smack talker.

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t listen?” Jason’s eyes lowered, voice deepening to a menacing tone. Invisible cowboy hat tilted on his head.

He stood tall, spreading his legs shoulder width apart, letting muscle memory place him in an opposing stance that’s proven effective each time someone has tried to stupidly test the Red Hood.

He lowered his hands, fingers dancing in the air as he waited to reach for his water gun in his holster.

Lucky fucker was wearing a holster because he’s the Red Hood. Not only does he get a cheat, but he has two water guns?

Completely absurd.

“You might not live long enough to find out.” You tilted your chin up, trying to attempt to be arrogant, but the smirk on Jason’s face was telling you it wasn’t as effective as you hoped.

Maybe if you could actually be taller than him, it would make you sound tough, but looking from just above his eye-level was the best you were going to get.

Jason’s shook his head, slowly, calculating your moves as he never took his eyes off of you.

You met his stare, never blinking as you watched.

You could feel your eyes wavering, shaking the longer you looked.

Jason was calm, his stare locked onto you. Countless interrogations under his belt, aiding him the experience you didn’t have.

“You know we both can’t walk away from this. We have too much history.” He spoke, letting the words settle between your showdown.

You firmly frowned.

“I stand by what I said and if you can’t live with that…I guess you leave me with no other choice.” You quickly grabbed your water gun, angling it to your partner.

By the time you could pull the trigger, water was hitting your shirt. Soaking into your skin as you looked down, watching the fabric darken.

Like in slow motion, you fell to your knees, watching Jason also get his shirt soaked, but not nearly enough as yours.

“No, no, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.” You dropped your plastic water gun, reaching up with your free hands to grab your shirt.

You plopped down onto the couch, letting your body go limp as you laid there.

“I told you, only one of us would walk away from this.” Jason walked over, kneeling next to the couch, where your body lay.

You reach up, feigning shaking hands as you reached for the muscular man with his imaginary cowboy hat.

You gestured for Jason to lean closer, following along with your antics.

You carefully lowered your voice to a whisper, a final wish.

“Delete my search history.”

You closed your eyes, arms going limp as you stuck your tongue out in a bad rendition of fake dying.

Jason laughed, reaching out to grab your hands in between his warm ones.

You never moved, zeroing in on the feeling of your fingers.

Soft caresses. A small peck before Jason littered your knuckles in kisses. Kissing down to your finger tips, then repeating down to your wrists.

“I should’ve chosen a sword fight, how could I choose water guns of all things?” You opened your eyes, shaking your head as Jason continued to worship your skin.

“You’re just pouting.” He said in between kisses, nose pressed into your palm.

“Come on, you always get to kiss my hands, when can I hold yours?” You watched carefully, thoughts slowly lost to the repeated warmth from Jason’s lips.

“Wanna sword fight to find out?” Jason smiled into your hands.

end a/n: serial hand kisser jason changed my life, thank u pooks for ur headcanons and restructuring my brain. and thank u 🫵 for reading my drabble, i just thought this was a silly idea :D

[ddejavvu]

Tyler’s being with a girl who is absolute firecracker and is always kind of sort of looking for a fight and one night just absolutely mouthes off to the wrong dude and Tyler is like jfc not again

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're not surprised when you wind up face-down over Tyler's shoulder, your legs still kicking violently in the air, but you're positive you could have ducked the punch coming your way.

"I told you," He grits, backing quickly away from the angered bar patron, "Don't mouth off to the ones that have holsters hanging from their belts!"

"If he needs a weapon to fight me, he's not strong," You scoff, mouth loud and uncensored even if the man is still fuming before Tyler, "That's a coward's way to play."

"Let's not call the armed man a coward!" Tyler wrestles you into complacency over his shoulder, "Sir, I'm very sorry. She's very drunk. I'll keep her away from you."

"She's lucky you're here to scoop her up," The man sneers, "Woulda fucked her up real bad if you hadn't wrangled her." You huff angrily where you're staring at Tyler's upside-down ass; actually, it's not a bad view. Worth the headrush.

"This is getting ridiculous." Tyler gripes, storming away with you on his shoulder to sit you down in the bed of his truck, arms braced on either side of your legs to stare you down. He looks menacing, like a parent disciplining their naughty child. You're not cowed.

"The only thing I'm s'posed to be wrangling is a tornado, darlin'." He reminds you, "Need I remind you we've been banned from most of the bars in this area? Where are we gonna go for a good time if you keep pissin' off the wrong guys?"

"We could have a good time in the bedroom, but if you'd rather suck down a beer-" You scoff, but you're unable to finish as Tyler grabs your chin and holds it steady, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Don't be mouthin' off to me next, firecracker," He warns, "Now you get a handle on that mouth'a yours, otherwise I'm gonna have to hold it shut the whole night."

"Don't threaten me with a good time," You narrow your eyes, matching his stern glare with mischief in your own, "You know I love bein' shut up, Tyler. S'why I always pick a fight around you- I know you'll be there to manhandle me over your shoulder and haul me back home."

[soosavy69]

No refunds~

Sebastian x Fem! Reader

Minors DNI, This one's long but it does have smut in it. :)

Tw: Smut (obvi), crying, praise, slight degrading, cockwarming

Being forced to kill The Saboteur was not the situation you would expect to find yourself in. To put it simply, Sebastian was a huge pain in the ass for everyone at Urbanshade. From causing the lockdown to releasing all those monsters. That's why you were sent down to kill him.

The higher ups had disguised you as a prisoner, yearning for her freedom. They said you were a convincing actor, thus was the perfect woman for the job. Only armed with a gun, you made your way through the facility.

'This thing can't be that hard to kill.' You made your way through the doors, each step nervous. Strangely, no monsters appeared to try and kill you. Not even those wall dwellers the prisoners described. To be honest, you kinda felt bad for them.

Trapped in an eternal damnation, dying an infinite number of times before they succeeded. Seemed like hell to you. And if you truely being honest, you didn't wanna kill Sebastian either. An innocent guy convicted and experimented on. You had to find a way out of this.

You approached door '053' sliding the thin blue keycard into the slot. It slid open with a beep, and a light illuminated a small vent on the wall. Walking a few steps in, it flew open and slid into the abyss. "Stranger, over here." A deep voice called out to you. This had to be your target.

Army crawling your way through the vent was uncomfortable to say the least. It made you claustrophobic with all the dust. It obviously hadn't been cleaned in a while. You crawled out the other side a got up, coughing and dusting off your pants.

"Ah, fresh meat. Welcome! My name is Sebastian. Don't worry i'm not going to hurt you." He flicked on his angler light and smiled down at you, clasping his hands together. "I'm here to help you acutally. I've set up a shop for you. You can just pick the items off my tail." He pointed to the large sacks strapped to his snake tail, "As long as you have enough data of course."

You unzipped your suit silently and pulled out a small file. He smile never fading. You looked down and flipped it open, holding it up so both the page and Sebastian were visible. Perfect match. You put the file back.

You sigh and grap at your gun holster, slipping the weapon out of it's holder and aiming right between his eyes. But he didn't flinch. "No need to be hostile friend. I'm here to help." Your hands seemed shakey, mostly from being nervous. "I'm sorry, I have to do this. They're making me."

He looked down at the gun. "Hm, those bastards finally want me dead, hm?" You nod slowly. "Let me guess," He clears his throat and says in his best announcer voice, "Failure to terminate the target will result in immediate execution. Correct?" You nod again, your shakey hands make the gun feel like it's made of lead.

"You can put that down. It's not going to do much." He leans down and moves your aim with a hand. You flinch, closing your eyes. "I'm not going to kill you. And you don't want to kill me, right?" You open your eyes and meet his. "No..." You mumble.

He chuckles, "No need to be so scared hun. I'm not going to hurt you." You lower the gun and put it back in it's holster. "There we go." Two hands wrap around your waist and lift you up, bringing you on his lap. He gently rubs your back, the action soothing you more than you care to admit.

You sniffle quietly as tears start coming. And once they come, they don't stop. You lean into his chest and just sob. "I'm just... so scared." You whimper out. He nods, listening silently. "I-I don't want to die. But I don't want to kill you either." He removes your diving kit, and uses a screw driver to deactivate your RGP device. A hand comes to hold you against his chest as he undos his belts holding his supplies.

"I'll find a way for us to survive. I promise. But you'll have to wait. Those assholes can't kill you." He holds the device in a claw and smirks. You return his smirk with a soft smile. His other hand comes up and wipes your tears away. "There's just one thing you have to do for me. Okay?" You nod.

"I need supplies to sell to prisoners. However it is... difficult, to get those supplies because of my size. I would like you to go out and collect those items for me." He then holds your chin in his hand. "If your lucky, you may get a reward." Blush creeps up your cheeks from you shoulders, and you look away.

"What about the monsters?" He frowns lightly "They don't attack me because I freed them. It doesn't help that your wearing a prison uniform." He taps a claw on his chin in thought. "How about you show them the card I used? I still have it." His hand digs into his coat pocket and fishes out the card. "They will think that you helped. And thus won't kill you. Sound fair?"

You stare at the keycard and nod. "Okay." You swing your legs over and hop of him. "Go get em' tiger." He chuckles. You smile and crawl out of the vent. Standing back up and looking at the keycard, you notice little specs of blood overlaying the gold. You grimice and wipe of the blood with your suit.

'What the hell happened here?'

Your suit allowed you to carry a multitude of stuff without slowing your movements. Your footsteps echo around the hall as you make your way back to Sebastian. The door opens and then you see it. A shark with hundreds of green eyes. It's pull is intoxicating, your head seems to move on it's own, forcing you to look at the shark and you panic.

The card. The card! You fumble for it, putting a hand over your eyes. The shark's smile is engraved in your brain. You fish in your pocket and pull it out, showing it to the shark. The pull stops as soon as it came.

Bit by bit, your hand comes away from your face. "Oh. I'm sorry. I thought you were human. I thought you were here to hurt me again." A honey sweet voice rings out from beyond the glass. You gasp lightly. "I would never hurt you." The shark's smile widens.

"I like you. You are like Sebastian. Sorry for trying to hurt you." It's eyes scan over your features. "It's okay. What's your name?" You smile at her. "My name? I don't know... The scientists call me Eyefestation. You can call me that." You nod. "Okay. Bye." She smiles and swims away.

A shiver runs up your spine as you continue staring out the glass. Shaking your head and slapping your cheeks, you continue on back to Sebastian. Door '052' greets you in red writing and you smile, oddly looking foward to seeing the fish again.

You army crawl your way in the vent again and stand up, looking at his cyan eyes in the dark. "Ah. Your back. I was beginning to think you'd died or something." He pulls on the angler light, and it flickers on. It casts his face in a pretty warm glow, showing off his dark freckles.

You were basically gawking at him, looking over his pretty face. "You gonna get staring at me or are you going to show me what you got?" He chuckles. You shake your head again and empty your pockets of supplies. He peers down, crossing his arms. "Hm. Pretty good." You look up at him expectingly. "What, you want your reward?" He smiles, showing off his teeth.

You blush and look away, nodding slightly. He laughs. "Of course." Playfully rolling his eyes -at least to the best of his ability-. He gathers the supplies and places them on the shelves on the side of the room. "All right then. On your knees for me." You're taken aback slightly, but do as your told. "Good girl." He slithers behind you, putting a hand to your back and forcing you on all fours.

"Heh, you like this don't you? Dirty girl." You blush. The sound of rustling comes from behind you as he takes off his coat, folding it and laying it down infront of you. Your fingers brush over the leather and you smile faintly. "May I?" You feel his claw tap your suit.

"Mhm." You nod. "Good girl." He uses and hand to hold you flush against his pelvis, unzipping your suit. A white shirt and a bra lay underneath. He makes quick work of those, slipping off your shirt and unclipping your bra swiftly. His touch returns to your chest and he pinches your nipple, massaging your breast in his hand.

"Good girl." You whimper quietly and hold onto his arm. The heat from your cheeks spreads to between your legs. He leans you down on your arms, hand exploring your ass and clothed slit. "I need your permission sweetheart." He traces the elastic of your pants.

"Please." You whimper pathetically. "Such a good girl, begging for me." He pulls down your pants and underwear, letting them pool at your knees. He spreads open your folds and chuckles. "You really like this, hm?" You hide your face in your arms.

He smiles and starts rubbing your clit, circling the sensitive bud with a claw. Pleasure racks up your spine and you whimper. His touch is rough, pushing you into the floor. He slowly enters your hole, your walls clenching around him. "S-Seb." He groans. "Yes?" He draws out the word. "You like this?" You huff and moan into his jacket. a small 'mhm' is heard, muffled by the leather.

A second claw joins the first, and your back arches, your toes curling. Another hand grabs your waist as he speeds up his pace slightly. A knot forms in your belly, your moans becoming more audible to him. His pinky reaches lower and rubs your clit again, bringing you to your climax.

This one felt different however, more wet. You suddenly realized you were squirting on him. "You really must've liked that. Heh." He brings his finger to his mouth and sucks your slick off of them. "Delicious." He groans. He pant into the jacket and grip it tightly. "Tired already? We're not done sweetheart. After all... You did so good for me~"

You huff and he chuckles. His first hand retreats and is replaced by a writhing tentacle. He ruts against your clit and you whine. You feel his hot breath on your neck as he leans down, "You gonna take it like a good girl?" You nod. His cock adjusts, circling your hole. "Good girls get rewards."

He suddenly thrusts into you and your eyes roll back into your head. He spears you open on him, his other hand wraps around your chest and brings you flush to him. "Be nice and loud for me, okay?" He hilts inside of you and you whine. He pulls out slowly, the emptiness inside you slowly being filled by him. Just him.

His other hands come to the floor and he roughly thrusts back in, the lewd slap of his pelvis on your ass making you blush more. "There we go. Just let go for me, hm?" You moan pathetically into his grip. His cock hitting all the right spots inside of you. "So tight for me. All for me." He growls in your ear and you cry out.

Your slick coats him, making it easier for him to slide in and out of you. He groans, claws scrapping against the floor. His tail slaps against wall with a large thump. You look over but he redirects your gaze, using a hand to make you look at him. "Eyes on me sweetheart." He huffs out.

His cocks spurts a bit and you clench around him. "So good. Such a good girl." He rambles and trails down to your neck, biting down hard with his sharp teeth. Your mouth drops open in a silent cry. He pushes you back onto him roughly, his cock reaching the spot that makes you scream. Your orgasm washings over you with deafening force.

"Hn. Almost there. You're doing so good." Overstimulation crashing down on you suddenly and you fall limp onto the floor. He growls and pushes into you, filling you completely. It's quiet for a bit, the only sound being your whimpers and pants mixed with his.

He shifts a bit and rests against the wall, lifting you up and twisting you around. You're set down on his cock again and moan. "Seb-" He leans down and kisses you, his tongue filling your mouth. You moan against him and he pulls away. "Shh darling, no need to say anything." His signature smirk returns and you smile.

"There we go. Good girl." Exhaustion creeps up on you, sleep pulling you deep into it's clutches. "Sleepy? Go ahead." He grabs his jacket and lays it over you, the warmth pulling you into a deep sleep.

Raugh. Finally done. Sorry if it's shit. I'm tired. :P



[pathologicalreid]

could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱

back again | S.R.

part one | part two

in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category? angst and then fluff

content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333

It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.

He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.

Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.

Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.

Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?

You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.

Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.

Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.

“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.

You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.

Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.

You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.

His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.

The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.

“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.

His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”

In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.

That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.

Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.

He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.

Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.

As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.

Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.

Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”

He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”

A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.

After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”

You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”

He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”

“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.

You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”

Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”

Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.

“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”

Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”

You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.

At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.

Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.

You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”

He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.

Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”

At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.

“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”

[zvdvdlvr]

— Alive and Breathing.

— 🩷. Synopsis. Spencer gets a phone call.

— 🩷. Warnings. Angst. Lung injuries. Back injuries. Blood but nothing descriptive. Possible medical term errors. Hospital. Fluff. Unedited. I want an octopus. Worried!Spencer. Crying. Pet names. Welder!Reader. Female reader. — 🩷. Other welder!reader fics. Lunch Break. Learning to Live Again.

Spencer’s phone rang, disturbing the silence that blanket the office. It was a paperwork day: the time had finished up the night before and since it was so late Hotch let everyone postpone their work until tomorrow. He looked at it, confused. The ringtone was different than the one he had specially for you, so he was worried. He clicked answer and held it up to his ear.

“Is this a Spencer Reid?” A (tired) woman asked the second he picked up.

“Uh…” Spencer paused, eyebrows furrowing even more, “yes. Why?”

“Your wife, y/n, was found outside a… Loco Fiesta Motel. She is currently recovering from extensive surgery, but the last thing she asked for before going under was to call you,” the woman explained patiently.

Spencer felt his stomach drop. “I- I- I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He slammed his thumb down on the ‘end call’ harder than intended. Emily peered at Spencer from her paperwork, Derek doing the same.

“What’s happenin’, pretty boy?” Derek asked, watching his best friend pack all of his necessities in his bag.

“Y/n. She- she’s jn the hospital and it’s bad. I- I need to go. I need to go…” Soencer rambled, tears blurring his cision as he fumbled for his keys. You were his everything: if something happened to you Spencer wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you-

“Hey, hey, hey. Take a breath, Reid,” Enily soothed, gingerly taking the keys from Reid’s hands. “We’ll go. Just let me go tell Hotch, okay? Get a water with Morgan and I’ll be right back.”

Spencer’s shuddering form was swiftly embraced by Derek’s as Emily went up to Hotch’s office.

She walked in, making Hotch look up immediately. “Y/n is in the hospital. Spencer said it’s pretty bad. Can-“

Hotch stood up. “We’ll all go. Dave’ll come by later,” he explained as he hastily tucked his gun in it’s holster and his badge on his belt. “He was out getting lunch, I’ll tell him to meet us there.”

Enily nodded, following Hotch out the door of his office. His fast steps slowed considerable as he approached Reid’s shaking form. Hotch rested a hand on his shoulder, making the youngest agent of the BAU turn. “She’ll be okay, Reid. Let’s go,” he murmured consolingly.

The entire ride to the hospital, Spencer didn’t say a word. ‘Extensive surgery’ the nurse had said. That could mean any number of things: heart surgery, lung surgery, leg surgery, literally anything. Did you fall? Did someone ambush you? Did something in your body just… stop working? Did someone do things to you? Was it even another person?

Spencer felt the anticipation growing in his stomach, growing and making him feel cold. He felt his finger twitching, remembering how they had carded through your hair the night before. His lips tightened in a straight line, he couldn’t lose you. If he lost you, he lost himself.

His foot bounced on the floor of the SUV. He couldn’t hear the sirens that Hotch had turned on to get them to their destination- the hospital- faster, couldn’t hear his own uneven breathing as his mind showed him imaged of you, couldn’t hear Emily calling his name from literally two inches away from him.

It was only when a blast of cool air from the now open door beside him did Spencer realize they were there- at the hospital.

He got out shakily, not registering Derek’s presence behind him. He inhaled and exhaled once before darting toward the doors of he hospital.

Behind him, the team followed. “You ready for this?” Derek asked Emily, struggling to even keep up with Reid.

She shrugged. “Have to be,” she answered. “I mean, I want to be here for both of them. It’s just hard to see him like that.”

“I know, Em. I know.”

“I’m looking for y/n Reid. She- she was in surgery last I heard,” Reid burst out.

“Hold on just one second, sir,” the male nurse drawled, scrolling through something on his computer. “She’s still in surgery right now. Do you know what happened?”

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The man nodded. “From what we understand, she was working on the roof at…” he trailed off, looking through his record again.

“Loco Fiesta motel,” Spencer prompted.

“That’s the one. The harness she had used while working on the building was faulty. When she lost traction on the roof, she fell off. Mrs. Reid landed on her back. Luckily, she was wearing a construction helmet, which prevented many cerebral injuries. But, as you probably understand, a fall like that messed up her spine and could cause major damage to her legs,” he explained solemnly.

Spencer whimpered, knees threatening to give out. All he imagined was your limp body strewn out of concrete like an unwanted doll.

Gasps came from Emily and Derek. Hotch reached out fast enough to catch Spencer before his legs gave out, steadying him. “Do you have any idea how long it’ll take for the surgery to be over?” Hotch asked, a lump if emotion lodged in his throat.

“It’s hard to say, sir, but the second I hear anything, you’ll be notified,” the man assured.

Hotch simmered in emotions closely identified to rage and sadness. He knew y/n wouldn’t knowingly use faulty equipment, wouldn’t even consider accepting that job unless she knew for a fact that all of her equipment was up-to-date and guaranteed to get her through the job unharmed. Aaron vowed to prosecute the company that made the harness and to make sure their business went bankrupt.

“Let’s just, uh,” Hotch started, adjusting his grip on the man currently leaning onto him, “let’s sit down.” He silently led the team over to a seating area. Hotch set Spencer down carefully, making sure his limp arms didn’t hit anything. When Spencer was situated, Hotch leaned back and onserved the man in front of him. Spencer Reid, the man he’d knew since Spencer was 23. The man who’d gone from a ocially awkward guy who couldn’t hold a conversation with a woman for more than thirty seconds to a husband who was barely holding himself up in the hospital that his wife was currently currently being cut up in. My god, Hotch thought, kid’s grown up.

Thirteen hours later. Thirteen hours later, Spencer was shaken awake by the nurse that had previously told him what had happened to his wife.

“She’s out of surgery, sir” was all the man had to say before Spencer snapped awake and starting waking up Rossi, Hotch, Emily, JJ, Garcia, and Derek. Spencer didn’t remember Penelope or JJ coming in. “Where is she?”

The man led the way, bringing Spencer up to speed on what happened. “She crashed three times during the surgery. Mrs. Reid has bruised many columns of her spine and the fall caused internal bleeding in the stomach, lungs, and heart. The spinal contusions take about six months to a year to heal. This added with the bleeding? I’d say Mrs. Reid will have to leave work for roughly two years. She’s in a medically induced coma for the time being as we moniter her progress. But. She’s alive.”

‘Two years’ winded everyone. It felt like a literal gut punch, especially to Spencer. You loved your job. You loved working with different personalities. You loved working with your hands. You loved working. But the thing you loved most? You loved being able to come home, embraced by Spencer after a pretty rough day and Spencer insisting on massaging every inch of your body after drawing you a bath. Two. Damn. Years.

And yet, you were alive. A fall like that could have wasily killed someone: snapped their neck, splattered their brains on the pavement, organs exploding on impact… the list goes on. But you were alive. Alive and breathing.

That’s what Spencer repeated to himself as he entered the ICU. Alive and breathing. The nurse had walked the team to your room, insisting on only one people at a time: visiting hours were over, but the nurse sympathized. Hotch had nodded and shaken the nurse’s hand, gravelly voice speaking the words “You don’t know how much this means” and “Thank you so much”, ending with a quieter “From all of us”.

Alive and breathing, Spencer repeated, exhaling.

He slowly walked into the room, eyes locked on you. And the freakish amount of machines and the respirator you were hooked into. Spencer felt tears spring in his eyes as he rounded the bed to your side.

Spencer quietly tugged a chair over to your side and sat down. “Hi, baby,” he greeted. His voice shook as he gingerly took your hand in his. The calluses on your hands were comforting, something you’d always have. But after those two years…

“I brought the team, y/n. They’re- everyone’s here. Here for you,” Spencer sobbed, hiding his face in your closed hand. They were cold, Spencer observed. Too cold. Cold like the blood in Spencer’s veins when he got that damn phone call. Cold like the nights when Spencer would literally lay on top of you to get warm during the winter months (you’re basically a walking heater). Cold like the corpses Spencer saw every goddamned day. He choked on his breath. Alive and breathing, his consciousness weakly whispered. But you almost weren’t alive.

When he caught his breath, Spencer looked at your sleeping face. “I’m so sorry this happened, baby. You don’t deserve this.”

Spencer’s body shook with sobs. Somewhere deep in his heart he hoped you would magically wake up from your coma like in the movies you’d watched with Spencer. “I’ll be back in a minute, baby. I’ll- I’ll send in the team so they can go home and get some sleep,” he spoke, brushing hair out of your face and pressing a kiss to your clammy face. “I love you, wife.”

Spencer walked out, fist pressed to his mouth, struggling not to break down in front of the people he grew to call his family. “Go in and see her. Go home. Get some sleep. I’m-“ Spencer’s voice trembled as he kept his eyes locked on the floor. “I’m staying with her.”

Garcia darted into the room first, withholding tears.

Rossi approached Spencer, who was still caught in a staring contest with a floor. “Hey, kiddo. I’ll go with you to get something to eat and drink,” he said. He felt his heart break a little more when Spencer just nodded, furiously scrubbing at his eyes and when he leaned in to Rossi’s arm as Rossi led the way to the vending machine.

Penelope placed little Beanie Babies on the desk next to y/n before taking a shiddering breath. “We’re all waitin’ for you, you death-defying woman,” she whispered.

Derek immediately pulled her into a hug when she exited the room, nodding to JJ to go in next.

“Derek, she looks- she looks-“ Penelope stuttered, makeup smearing through all her tears. Derek hushed her and pulled her back into his arms. “I know, mama. I know.”

“What, uh… what are you going to do?” Emily asked Hotch. She herself felt little pinpricks in her eyes.

“Spencer needs to be here,” Hotch replied. “He’s getting the time off, I just- this is gonna tear him apart.” He dragged a hand down his face, his other hand resting on his hip. “Keep an eye on him, Emily.”

She nodded silently. JJ emerged from the room shortly after, sniffling. “I’m gonna head out, Hotch. Call me if-“

“I will. Get home safely, get some sleep,” Hotch responded.

JJ nodded.

“Go,” Hotch urged, tapping Emily’s shoulder.

A few minutes after Emily left, Derek took Penelope back home. That left Hotch.

He quietly took a seat by you, clearing his throat. He had to find the right words. “I’m glad you’re…” Aaron fiddled with the button on his suit. “I’m glad you fought as hard as you did. Thank you, y/n. Keep breathing, okay?” Aaron sat there in silence for a few more minutes until Rossi brought Spencer back.

After Aaron stood up he really looked at y/n. Her closed eyes, clammy skin, yellow complexion- Hotch assumed something happened to her liver- and memorized it. He knew this would be one of the turning points in your life and Spencer’s. And Hotch wanted to be able to be there to offer advice. “Sleep well, y/n.”

“Go see her, Dave. Then go home, alright?” Hotch murmured, patti g the man’s back.

Spencer leaned against the wall, granola bars and water bottle in hand- unopened. “I love her, Hotch.” He whispered, finally looking Aaron in the eye.

Hotch nodded. “I know you do, kid. She knows it too. Just… be here. You have all the time you need, you understand?” After Spencer nodded, Rossi left the room.

“Call me, Reid, if you need it,” Rossi told Spencer, patting his shoulder. “Good night, kid. Try to get some sleep, okay?

“I’ll try,” Spencer replied. “Good night.”

And then there was one.

Spencer entered the room and sat back down. “I’m back, my beautiful wife,” Spencer mumbled. “I won’t be leaving you anytime soon.”

Eventually Spencer fell asleep. He didn’t care about visiting hours, he just showed the nurses his badge and his sunken, bloodshot eyes and pleaded them to let him stay.

And then later when Spencer woke up, you were still alive and breathing.

[michelle-is-writing]

Unsuspecting Suspect, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.2k~

In movies, the "pregnant women always have to go to the bathroom" is a popular joke to use. However, what most people don't realize is that the joke is highly played down. What you see in movies is nothing compared to what really occurs.

What really occurs is getting up from bed after only five minutes of getting comfortable to go to the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day. Not to mention you've become so used to the bathroom that you don't even have to turn the lights on or anything - you already know where everything is. Plus, if you're me, then that also means picking up your husbands lazily discarded pants that are crumpled up on the floor with his gun and all of his badges still hooked on there just so you can wash your hands.

"Spencer, I know you've worked long and hard," I start, picking up his wrinkled slacks from the bathroom floor. "But if your pregnant wife has to continue bending over and picking up your pants every time she has to use the bathroom because your daughter seems to think my bladder is a punching bag," I begin taking everything off of his belt. "Then I might just have to use you as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry!" I hear him apologize from the bedroom, an ounce of laughter behind his voice. "I forget and just leave them there - I'm sorry!" Spencer repeats himself, making me bite my lip from laughter. He has eidetic memory, and yet, he still 'forgets' his pants when he takes them off everyday he comes home from work.

Taking his badge off his belt and placing it on the counter, I begin dismantling everything else as well. The last thing to remove is his gun and holster, and with this clunky thing, I try as hard as I can to not let it make a sound as I put it on the countertop. Spencer has been very quiet for the past few minutes, and if he's fallen asleep, I don't want to accidentally wake him up.

I just hope he's not quiet because he's worrying himself sick. As of lately, he's had a stalker that the BAU can't seem to figure out who they are. They know they're male, going by the style of handwriting, and they know he has a pattern. Every Tuesday, a letter is sent to Spencer's desk at the BAU, and yet, there's never a return address or fingerprints to go off of. Today was Tuesday, and for some reason, Spencer didn't receive anything. It worried Spencer a lot, but I'm just hoping the stalker has given up; however, his previous letters show no sign of him doing this which makes this all more worrisome.

"No, no, please," I hear Spencer's voice from the bedroom once more, making my eyes go wide as I quickly catch onto the fright and panic in his tone. Who is he talking to? Especially when I've been in this bathroom no longer than five minutes, and I didn't hear a phone ring or anything.

"You are Spencer Reid," My ears catch a very unfamiliar voice, causing me to fully come to a halt with Spencer's revolver still in my hand. Who the hell is in my house? And how the hell did they get in?

Silently padding over to the bathroom doorway, I try as hard as I can to crack open the door enough to see who's in our house. As I do so, I feel my heart beat a mile a minute, and the little girl in my stomach still hasn't given up on her kicking assault. "Your birthday is October of nineteen-eighty-one. Your mother,"

The man pauses to laugh, appearing as if he were trying to mock Spencer; I take this chance to open the doorway as much as I can without alerting the man, and thankfully, it seems to be a success. "The poor old broad can't decipher through her own mind - never has been able to," The man continues. "Finally, you turn eighteen, you send her away, and you go on to live your own life in college and, soon enough, the BAU,"

Slowly peeking around the corner, I see the man talking to a very wide-awake Spencer with his gun raised at him, no mask concealing his face. Instead, his entire body is covered in black material spanning from a dark turtleneck all the way down to pitch black slacks and charcoal boots. Yet, his head and face are completely visible to anyone who sees him, and going by the fact that he's doing such a thing, he thinks he's going to get away with it and not get caught. Not on my watch.

"You've spent- no, wasted! Wasted nearly eleven years of your life on a job that prevents you from actually having a life!" At the mans words, I squint my eyes while readying Spencer's gun in my hands. "Face it, doctor Reid - you are nothing! I am smart - we are smart! But you have married yourself to your job that doesn't need you; it needs me," with that, the man pauses once again, but this time, he begins to pant, obviously worked up over what he's been saying. This guy has to be one of the most conceited guys to walk the earth.

"Now," The man states, leveling his eyesight with the gun once again. "Was there anything I missed?"

At this point, I come around the bathroom corner with Spencer's gun raised at the man. Through the sights, I see the two small pieces of metal lining up with the mans head, and in my peripherals, I see Spencer warily nod his head as he glances over me with extreme and utter nervousness.

"Uh, y-yes, actually," my husband answers, swallowing down his worry as the fate of his life rests at the tip of my fingers. Now that I think about it, if it weren't for Spencer's bad habit of leaving his pants in the middle of the bathroom floor, I wouldn't have the ability to save him right now.

Just as the man turns around, I line up the sights with his head once again as I pull the hammer back, the trigger following soon after. Watching as the man quickly goes down with no life left in him, only slight convulsions surging through him now, I slowly let my hands fall back to my side as the realization of what just occurred passes through me. I just shot someone... someone who was threatening my husband's life, but still! I've never done that before, and I never want to have to do it ever again!

Within a few moments of my eyes widening in shock, I feel Spencer take me into his arms while slowly taking the gun out of my hand and tossing it onto our bed. "You did so well, love," Spencer assures me in my ear, making me slowly sit on the ground with him as shock runs through me. I'm so stunned by what just happened that I can barely breathe. "You did good, baby, you did so good. I'm so proud of you."

Despite Spencer's words running through my head, I find myself suddenly gasping as I realize something. "Baby! The baby!" I almost shout, turning my head toward Spencer as my now free hand falls to my thirty-week old bump. "Spence, the-the noise, the noise! Could the noise have hurt her ears?"

Immediately, Spencer shakes his head before moving to place his hand on top of mine, his other hand raising at the same time to wipe away the sudden rush of tears falling down my face. "No, no, she's fine, (Y/n), she's fine," Spencer assures me, gently rubbing his thumb against my clothed belly. "The muscles and amniotic fluid protect her, so when the noise does reach her ears, it's extremely muffled," he further explains, gently taking my face into his hands to turn me toward him. "But I am going to have a medic look over you and the baby when they get here, okay?"

Keeping my eyes on his, I nod before laying my head against his chest, a small sigh falling from my lips. "He was the stalker, right?" I ask Spencer, my eyes flickering up to his face as his hand reaches down to gently card through my hair.

Spencer simply nods. "Yeah, he was," he tells me, making me shake my head. "The way he spoke, it's how he wrote his letters," Spencer further explains, "He was an obvious narcissist with a superiority complex - just like his letters."

That would explain the man's words from earlier and how selfish they all were. Although, what if the cops don't believe us and arrest me in spite of what's been going on? I know Spencer wouldn't have gotten in trouble shooting him as a BAU agent, but what about me?

"Spencer, am I going to jail?" I immediately ask, my eyes growing wide as panic sets in my chest.

"No, no, you aren't, and you need to calm down," Spencer tells me, holding my head to his chest as he kisses my temple. He's trying to comfort me while also preventing me from looking over at the dead man currently lying on our bedroom floor. "You did nothing wrong, that was self-defense, and you protected me as well as save me from the man who was going to kill me, no doubt," he points out, his voice growing softer with every word. "You're awesome, love."

In response to his comment, I find myself lightly laughing with tears rising to my eyes again. That's what I usually tell Spencer when he gets back from a case and they successfully stopped a killer. Even if the case goes awry and Spencer returns home sad or disappointed in himself, I still remind him of my usual compliment. Now, much to my disbelief, the roles have reversed and now it is me who has stopped the bad guy.

Once my breathing is slowed and my panic has settled down, Spencer helps me go back to our bathroom where he makes me stay. Without wasting anymore time, Spencer grabs his phone from his side table and dials the police before walking through the house with his gun in hand to make sure there are no other intruders. Thankfully, there isn't, and Spencer soon returns to the bathroom to take me out to the living room, getting me as far away from the dead body as he can all the while making sure I remain comfortable.

Sitting behind me on the couch, Spencer makes me lie between his legs as I rest my back against his chest, his right hand rubbing soothing circles against my bump while he uses his other to dial up his team. Thankfully, soon of them are still at the office working late when Spencer calls.

"(Y/n) shot the stalker?" I hear Derek's familiar tone over the phone as Spencer explains the situation. As he goes on, the sound of sirens in the distance slowly grow closer, and the only thing I can do is hold a hand to my swollen tummy as our little girl gives the occasional kick to my ribs.

"Yes, directly in the head," Spencer answers Derek with a quick glance over to our bedroom where the dead body remains, the spilled blood from his wound no doubt soaking into floor. I never would have listed 'blood is easier to clean up' as a pro when choosing hardwood over carpet. "She shot like a trained officer."

Spencer's comment warrants a rare chuckle from their boss. "Too bad she wasn't able to help you when you failed your shooting test and needed to retake it," Hotch's voice pipes up from the background, causing Spencer to let out a little 'hey!' in response. In light of the situation, I laugh a little at that. I can remember him calling me after failing it and I had to tell him it was okay. Of course, in his mind, it wasn't.

"I don't fail tests." I remember him telling me, making me laugh. No matter what I said, he still continued on about failing the test, unable to let it go.

"The team will be here in a few minutes, okay?" I hear him tell me, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the moment. I hadn't even realized he ended the call with his team.

Still, I nod back at him, only a few seconds passing before he's leaning over and pressing his lips against my cheek. "It'll all be okay," He assures me, making me slightly nod with another small shuddered breath. "I promise," He further assures me, sensing my anxiety. "I'd never let anything happen to my hero~"

[heytheredelulu]

ready to comply part 2? 👉👈

As you wish!

I may have left this one on a cliff hanger as well. 🫣

I’M SORRY! I was just having so much fun I had to leave it open in case there was interest for a part three. ❤️

Ready to Comply - Part Two

Requested by @littleone2001

Soldat!Bucky Barnes x PlusSized!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, gun play (sorry, not sorry), unprotected sex, rough sex, a lil boob slap (once, because I had to), spanking, fingering (f receiving), anal fingering (f receiving), brief discussion of kidnapping/making reader his sex slave

✏️ A/N at the end.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Oh fuck.

You muster up a small, broken sound from your chest when the realization finally hits you that your desire is overwhelming Bucky’s senses to the point that he’s struggling just to think.

“I-“

His fingers hook beneath the saturated fabric of your panties, his fingers grazing against your folds and igniting a heat in your body that sets your nerves on fire.

He tears them away, reducing them to a tattered rag in his fist which he brings to his nose and inhales deeply before he discards them to the floor with a growl.

He forces your thick thighs apart, spreading you open with his trembling fingers to observe your tight, wet hole as it clenches desperately around nothing.

“Fuck!”

His breath catches in his chest and he stumbles back, withdrawing the gun from his shoulder holster and brandishing it at you.

Your eyes widen as you snap your legs shut, raising your hands defensively and shrinking back in horror.

Bucky steps forward and presses the barrel of the gun against your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out.

“You’re going to kill me.” You whisper, fear taking hold as your eyes screw shut and a tear slips down your cheek.

He shakes his head slowly, tracing the cool metal of his weapon along your jawline. “No, I ain’t gonna kill you. Not yet.”

Your eyes open, your expression twisting into one of confusion. “Then why.. why are you sorry?”

He sets his jaw, lifting his left hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Because I’m gonna hurt you.” He rasps.

Your brows knit in concern. “What do y-“

Bucky cuts you short, replying only by dipping his gun between your legs, pressing it firmly against your bare, weeping cunt.

Your entire body seizes in terror but as he drags the cool, hard weapon along your slick folds, the fear gives way to something else entirely.

“You don’t wanna hurt me..” You say slowly, carefully, biting back a moan as the barrel of the gun grazes across your clit.

“But I do.” He taunts, pulling the gun away and gripping your jaw with bruising force. He presses it to your mouth, your slick coating the metal and wetting your bottom lip. “Open.” He growls, leaving you little choice with how hard he’s holding your chin. He forces the gun into your mouth, your eyes wide in apprehension. “Suck.” He demands, pressing it down on your tongue. You swirl your tongue around it, tasting yourself on the bitter metal. He groans, withdrawing it harshly from your mouth with a string of spittle and tucking it back into its holster.

“I’m gonna fuck you. And it’s gonna hurt.” He mutters, his calloused fingers moving to unbuckle his belt.

“Bucky y-“ He pinches your cheeks together painfully in his metal hand, effectively silencing you.

“Quit fuckin’ calling me that!” He snaps, using his grip on your jaw to yank you forward to him.

“Soldat.” He corrects in a menacing tone, nodding your head for you to ensure you understood.

“That is my name. I suggest you remember it, because you’re about to be screaming it.”

He releases your face harshly, reaching to pull his hard, thick cock from his jeans and spitting into his palm. He curls his hand around his impressive length and pumps himself lazily from base to tip, rubbing his thumb roughly over the slit and smearing beads of precum along his shaft to mingle with his saliva.

Your eyes follow every stroke of his hand as he closes in on you, your brain working to comprehend just how in the hell your body was going to accommodate his size.

He’s right. This is going to hurt.

He clutches the neckline of your dress with his free hand, ripping and tearing the fabric until you’re bared to him and he kneads at your breast roughly pinching the pebbled flesh of your nipple harshly between his fingers, drawing a small cry from you.

“Buc-“ You stammer.

He slaps your tit hard and you wince from the sting as it radiates across the tender flesh of your ample breast.

“Soldat.” He growls through clenched teeth, hiking your legs to rest your heels on his shoulders and tilting your pelvis upwards as he lines himself up with your aching entrance.

You suck in a sharp breath as the crown of his cock breeches your tight, wet hole and you writhe underneath him against the sting as he splits you open, stretching your cunt and filling you in a way you’ve never experienced.

A shameless moan erupts from your throat when he begins to snap his hips, fucking into you with a merciless rhythm. What was once pain is quickly building into pleasure and your back arches up off the desk.

“So fucking tight.” He grunts, his heavy sack swinging with every deep thrust into your dripping cunt. His jaw clenches and he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs, spreading you wider as he tucks his chin to watch himself disappear into your wet heat with a predatory gaze.

Pleasure builds in your abdomen and you rock your hips to meet his hungry thrusts, biting down on your bottom lip as his thick cock massages your inner walls. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s biting back a smirk when he registers you eagerly moving in sync with him. He snakes a hand down between you, tracing his fingers along the girth of his cock where he’s filling you and gathers your slick along his fingertips, raising his hand and spreading his fingers to admire the sheen of your wetness with a thoughtful expression.

Without warning he withdraws, leaving you desperate and empty when he lets your right leg drop and curls his hand around your left ankle, flipping you hard onto your stomach. He grabs your hips and yanks you backwards towards him so you’re bent over your desk with the lip of it biting into your pelvis. He delivers a harsh smack to your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand, then dipping his head down to suck a bruise into the skin before biting down hard into your plump cheek. You yelp and raise yourself up on your palms, but Bucky splays a large, calloused hand across your back, forcing you back down and kicking your legs wider with the toe of his boot.

He plunges two fingers in your thoroughly fucked hole, coating them in your arousal before withdrawing them and sinking his cock back into your swollen cunt. Strangled noises of pleasure catch in your throat and you push your hips back greedily to meet him, your walls throbbing around him as ruts into you, his balls slapping against your clit and sending shockwaves through you with every brutal thrust.

He spreads your ass cheeks roughly, teasing his wet index finger along your backside, circling your puckered hole and causing you to squirm. He presses into you, working his finger in sync with his hips, massaging it into you until you manage to take him to the knuckle and he lets out a satisfied groan that you nearly drown out in your own wanton moan.

“Fuck.” He rasps out, pain blooming as he moves to add a second finger. You cry out at the intrusion, your hands clenching into fists above your head and your nails biting into your palms as he rocks his fingers into you, scissoring you open.

You thought you’d been full when it was only his cock but fuck, were you wrong.

It was too much.

It was too good.

The tension wound tight in your abdomen finally snaps and you completely shatter.

A choked sob rips from your throat and your pussy spasms, your walls fluttering around his cock and your asshole contracting around his fingers as you scream, your orgasm tearing through you with enough force to make your head spin and your ears ring.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He slips his fingers from your tight hole, grabbing hold of your hips with both hands and slamming into you with unrelenting force, fucking you through each wave of euphoria as they crashed over you in succession.

“I’m gonna tell them I killed you.” He grunts, his cock kissing your cervix. “So no one will ever come looking for you.”

You mumble incoherently, tears of ecstasy staining your cheeks as you lay limp in the wake of your earth shattering release while he continues to pound into you at a steady pace.

“I think I’ll keep you tied to my bed.” He whispers in a menacing tone, his thrusts growing frantic as he chases his impending orgasm. “I’m gonna fuck every hole in your body, every day, until you can’t fucking take it anymore.”

Bucky snaps his hips forward in one last powerful thrust and then stills, shouting a string of curses as his cock pulses and he pulls your plump ass flush to his pelvis, emptying himself deep inside of you.

He tilts his head back, his chest rising and falling erratically and then pulls out, staggering back as you rise up and turn to face him with flushed cheeks and hair slicked against your sweaty forehead.

“Get dressed.” He orders, tugging his jeans up and fastening his belt. “You’re coming with me.”

You nod and move on weak knees, feeling his cum slowly leaking from your cunt as you gather your blazer. He watches you carefully as you pull it on, buttoning it in an attempt to cover your naked body.

Bucky holds out his hand impatiently and you take it, cautiously moving closer to him, your thighs sticky as they rub together with every step you take.

You place a palm flat against his chest and he looks down at you with his brows furrowed in confusion at your gentle gesture before you rise up on your tiptoes, pressing your mouth against his. He stiffens momentarily but quickly reciprocates, his tongue teasing at your bottom lip in a silent demand to deepen the kiss. You comply, moving your tongue slowly against his in a sensual dance and tracing your hands along his broad chest as you lean further into him.

When you break the kiss abruptly and step back out of his embrace, he blinks in bewilderment before his face contorts into rage as he registers that he’s staring into the barrel of his own gun.

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@littleone2001 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe

A/N: My husband gave me so much shit for this while I was writing it: tHiS iSnT cAnOn, BuCkY wOuLdNt Do ThAt, iT dOeSnT mAkE sEnSe

Look, I know. It’s a fanfic, it’s AU, it’s not canon.

Anyway, now I’m really anxious about posting this, worried that it won’t meet your expectations. So I hope you enjoy so I can tell my husband to suck it. 😈

💋Sj

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Motivation

(Part 2)

—

Time Written- 10:23 p.m.

I wrote this 3 times and gave up. Severely gave up

—

“Wakey Wakey, sweetheart.” His lightly exhausted tone nearly roused your eyes open.

A faint click of a bedside lamp invades the silence shortly before Jason shuffles out of bed, displaying a warm glow to your light sensitive vision.

A small groan falls from your mouth, your eyes shutting closed in irritation from the distraction of your comfort. His arms left their sanctuary around your waist, a kiss of warmth remaining along your tummy before he readjusted a soft, thin blanket over your tired body.

Jason was considerate enough to turn off his alarm nearly three minutes before it goes off, saving his special girl a few minutes of precious sleep. As the midsummer sun dies down behind fluffy clouds, golden rays of light reflecting off skyscraper glass into the dead of the night, Gotham’s wild crowds creep out from their crooked caverns to play.

“Hey mama. Sorry to ruin the fun, but I think my arm ran out of blood flow.”

“Do you need it?” Your faint, croaked rumble spews from your barely moving lips.

“I mean, I suppose I’ll need it to fight an’ aim guns at unlucky bastards. Guess that means you gotta lose the pillow.”

Another groan leaves your lips before reluctantly raising your head, setting his arm free from its prison. You spent a minute of quiet suffering before Jason’s fingers cupped your head, guiding you to raise it just enough to slip a fluffy pillow to settle your pretty brain on.

The A/C was on full blast, the blank noise lulling your tired minds to sleep around seven. While it was counterintuitive to be snuggling together in this hot summer heat, you wanted nothing more than to be in his company, comfortable in his safety.

Bare feet shuffling along hard foot floor shifts to heavy rubber soles as Jason gets dressed. Soft cotton and polyester drops to the ground, replaced with tactical fabrics and scrunching leather. A short sonnet of clicks and snaps follow as he adjusts his belt and holsters, getting everything comfortably situated on his person.

“You’re not angry with me, are ya?” He clicks his tongue, fighting off a smile at your lack of response.

“Earth to Goddess.” His calm voice invades your ears as the floor creaks, the dressed vigilante shuffling to his knees beside the bed, settling close to your face.

“Princess.” Jason lightly chimes, brushing your cheek with the back of his pointer finger.

He then proceeds his ever loving assault via planting various kisses along your face, ranging from your cheek up towards your forehead, back down to your nose.

“Babygirl.” He cooes against your sweet smelling hair.

“Do you have to go now?” Came your eventual, irritated whine.

He leans forward, mattress gently creaking as he pressed his lips just under your ear for a quick kiss. “Not yet. You got me for five more minutes.”

Jason settles his head on your collarbone, your nose slightly tickled from locks of soft, dark hair. His eyes are closed, but for once, they’re content with peacefulness. That, and the events that would come within the next month, changing their lives forever.

Jason’s smile widens as your fingers mindlessly trails random shapes along his open palm, your hands always lingering somewhere along his body.

“Y’know I’d give just about anything to get back in bed with you,” his armored chest rumbles with his lowly spoken words. “But, I’m a little big in this get up to be this close to you at the moment. Don’t wanna crush you.”

Those sudden words couldn’t help but make you smile, scoffing just a bit. Ever the doting, overly concerned, slightly overdramatized, loving man he is.

“I don’t know who’s bigger right now,” your exhaustion let you speak in ghostly whispers. “You, or me.”

“Well, you’re the pregnant one,” he says, fighting off a strong, snarky remark with an amused smirk. “So, you definitely take the win with that.”

The look you gave him the second your eyes snapped open made him chuckle, as if he willfully insulted you. The irony of it, considering he was around 6’4 and 250 pounds, a large percent being complete muscle mass while you carried a seven pound baby.

“Kidding, babe. Kidding,” he soothes, trailing a few fingers along your swollen tummy just over the blanket. “Just trying to joke off the nerves. Doesn’t help that it’s my first time…”

“It better be your first time,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah yeah, It is. Don’t worry.” Jason’s voice is soft, his cheeks turning a light shade of red at that, and he can’t help but smile as the two of them laugh quietly at her joke.

The weight of their child is a constant pressure on your body to create an incredible miracle. It’s certainly something new, he always wants to make sure his little mama is happy and healthy. Mostly happy.

He trails a finger down your stomach, pausing when he feels a faint thud near the round lower edge of his palm. For eight months teetering on the edge of nine, the baby was definitely getting active.

“Think your boy’s getting ready to fight those unlucky bastards with you.” You lightly chide with a small grin.

“Language, mama,” Jason retorts, flicking some wisps of hair away from your head. “Don’t want ‘em to hear those foul words. An’ I’m not in the market for sidekicks.”

You frown again, scoffing at his hypocrisy.

The surrealism was intense, affecting him from the center of his brain towards the tips of his hands and toes.

Your boy, his boy. His son.

“You two keep the bed warm for me.” Jason murmurs before pressing a few goodbye kisses along your cheek. “I’ll come back with breakfast when you wake up, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, consciousness struggling to remain afloat. It’s a silly mental image; the reaction of the owners of an early bird, go-to diner frantically scrambling out of shock and awe when Red Hood himself enters their establishment.

He stands from the floor, lovingly glancing down at his beautiful, pregnant woman cradled in bed, nestled with his pillow, perfectly content.

“Be safe,” you whisper to him, watching him reach towards the lamp to shut it off. The warmth of the vanished lap changing his eyes from a strong emerald green back towards a crisp, steel-cut teal.

“I love you.”

Your voice always sweetened the deal, a perfect lullaby once it was his turn to sleep.

The perfect motivation for him to look forward to every morning.

“Love you too, mama.”

[solbaby7]

someone requested [ Manhattan + salt rim + neat ] and I accidentally deleted it but i remembered!!

warnings: leashes (yup like for dogs 🤭) minors dni, thank you thank you thank you thank you for this request 🥵

—

Azriel knew it was going to be an issue—you spending so much time with Nesta Archeron.

He’d found it cute at first. His sweet girl making friends with someone as prickly as death incarnate, until he’d started noticing the changes. How kind words shift into a biting wit; adopting a darker kind of humor that leaves his brows raised and tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Come bunny, it’s time to get out of bed.”

Perhaps it’s in that learned behavior where you find the gall to part your lips and mutter, “No, I’m not going.”

It’s surprising—your defiance. Enough for him to pause in the middle of his morning routine, thigh holsters half buckled with an array of sharpened daggers and switchblades laid out before him. “Say that again?”

“To training,” You elaborate, mindlessly toying with the fraying edges of your nail varnish. Soft sheets swallow you whole, thick pillows and duvets emitting Azriel’s comforting scent all around you. “I’m not going today.”

For only a second he falters before his movements start up again, deft fingers easily buckling strips of leather and filling the slots with weapons. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m feeling like I don’t want to sweat under the burning sun all fucking day.” Your eyes are too busy rolling at the thought to notice the tick of Azriel’s jaw, the strained way he tightens his belt. “Nes and I are going shopping after brunch instead.”

“Oh?” There’s a pause, a tense silence that forces you to lean up on your elbows, neck craning to peer over at the Illyrian. Though, Azriel’s not getting ready anymore and he’s lounging too comfortably for someone who’d been adamant on following the guidelines of his rigorous schedule. The clock tick, tick, ticks away and for some reason he’s not reaching for his top or the crossbody holsters he slides on after. His hair is still dripping wet from his shower, not even bothering to work his styling pomade through. “Says who?”

He just sits there—watching, waiting. Staring at you like one of the prisoners he chains up in his dungeons; prodding at the barriers of their restraint until the spymaster tore it to shreds. You hate how well it works, chipping away at the fortified walls you’d built in your new friendships. How easily Azriel’s able to walk up to those borders and send them crumbling down with nothing more than a look.

It should be embarrassing, the affect he has on you. The way one arched brow has your spine instinctively straightening, throat rolling with a swallow as you struggle to muster up the same confidence that burned through you just moments ago. “I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”

Azriel hums low in his chest, shoulders relaxing and head nodding once, twice, three times before that stoic expression melts into understanding. “I see, that’s probably my fault. Got a touch lenient—allowed room for a little too much…hope.”

“Hope?”

Alarm bells begin ringing the further he settles in the chair, thick thighs spreading wide and veiny forearms eat up the space along the armrest. “Hope,” he agrees. “Give a good pet a little too much freedom—too much hope and all the necessary structure begins to waver.” You’re caught like a fly in a trap, limbs sticking to the carefully spun webs Az’s woven until your struggle only leaves the metaphorical ropes twisting and knotting tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m a good trainer. Won’t let you slack for a second—even if you do bat those pretty lashes up at me.”

Your mouth goes dry when his wrist flicks, two fingers beckoning you closer in silent command. A part of you hesitates; resists the rigorous discipline and rules put in place to keep you safe. Protected. But Nesta said that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself without some overgrown bat looming over your shoulder. Right?

You obey anyway, praying that Azriel doesn’t hold the contemplation against you.

The Mother doesn’t seem to hear your plea, too occupied with more deserving persons to spare a second glance at the predicament you’d weaseled your way into. Each step closer feels like knowing wrong and choosing the sin anyway, solidifying your fate and dealing your destiny with the devil for all time. “Sit.”

A huffy breath of irritation before you ease down to your knees, leaning your weight back against your calves. “I’m not some fucking dog.”

“No, you aren’t,” His hand smells of body wash when a thumb runs over the curve of your cheek, blunt nail tracing against the shape of your mouth. It’s almost sweet, toeing the line of possibly romantic when you hear it—the squeaky strain of fresh leather. The cool bite of the latch registers too late, a metallic click locking it in place. “But lately you’ve been acting like one. My rabid mutt.”

Manicured nails grip at the newest accessory but it doesn’t budge no matter how much you tug at it. Your cheeks flame, a mix of fury and pure embarrassment from the rush of arousal that soils your panties when each breath grows just a bit labored. “You fucking collared me?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll buy a muzzle to match.” He catches on to the way your thighs clench together, lips snapping shut as your brain fights to decide whether you want to scream back a “fuck you” or “fuck me”.

You land somewhere in the middle, words stern but tone leaking with curiosity. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A hellish grin splits across the handsome lines of his face, like a wolf straining in the seams of sheep’s clothing. “Try me.” He’s lost the concept to time when such fun prey has found itself stuck in his crosshairs. Such a sweet lamb should know better than to wander away from its shepherd—heaven forbid something should happen to you. “Test me, I dare you. I’ll walk you through town like some purebred if you keep acting like you weren’t taught to act with decorum.”

He means it too. You know he does. Even after all these years, you still had yet to hear words Azriel’s didn’t back up with action. Instantly, your eyes lower, head bowing in order to conceal the pinpricked pupils that dialate with desire. It burns in your belly, a cacophony of fantasies lashing against your eyelids at warp speed.

You in your shiny collar, name engraved on the customized nameplate with Azriel’s information on the back right under “If Found, Return To”

It’s purely involuntary, the desperate whimper that cuts through the bedchambers and Azriel pats at your head like some pampered pup in need of comfort. Offering love and fond coos when you easily correct the behaviors he doesn’t enjoy.

Obedient. Disciplined. Loyal. His.

“There’s a good girl. Keep that up and I’ll give you a treat.”

[antiquarianfics]

Accidental

What happens when you accidentally kidnap the exact man you were looking for?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

warning(s): canon level violence, kidnapping

a/n: idk if this does well, maybe i’ll do a pt 2?

part 2

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

You glance down at the picture in your hand of your younger sister before putting the picture back safely away in your jacket pocket. You take a deep breath and pull the right ear loop of your black mask up around your right ear to secure your mask to your face. Then, you pull your hood up over your head, check that your gun is still securely in its holster, and slide around the corner. You were going to find your sister. You promised.

You walk with purpose towards the bar that you’d heard men who work for the man responsible for your sister’s disappearance were known to hang out. In fact, you’re pretty sure the man responsible owned the bar, so you have a good feeling anyone you kidnap to question will be able to give you some amount of information. You have a feeling, though, that you’re not getting into the bar, so you slink around the back. Surely someone will need a cigarette break?

As luck would have it, as you slink around the corner, someone is already taking a cigarette break. The man stands tall, leaning against the side of the wall, a cigarette lit. He isn’t smoking it, though, merely holding it lit in front of his face, studying it. The man is wearing a black suit, his jacket unbuttoned. Perhaps he had just gotten off work?

Good, you think. He must be freshly off work; I’ll have a few hours before anyone thinks to look for him.

You walk quietly, stealthily up to the man. Before he notices you, you take the butt of your gun and knock it hard against the man’s temple. He crumbles.

—

It isn’t easy, but you manage to drag the man to an empty townhome where you tie him up in the basement. You have his hands bound to the chair, each wrist tied carefully to the chair’s arms. His feet are bound at the ankles. You don’t bother gagging him. You sit a good distance away on an uncomfortable futon, your mask still on, your hood still pulled up. You’re cleaning your gun when the man finally stirs.

The man groans as he raises his head, bright blue eyes scanning the room, settling on the only exit up the stairs behind him, noticing the lack of windows, and then falling on his captor in front of him: You. The man says nothing, merely stares. You stare back, raising an eyebrow. He breaks first.

“I’m awake now. What do you want?” His voice is gravely with disuse, his tone serious.

You laugh. To your own surprise as well as your captive’s, it’s a genuine laugh—your normal laugh.

“What? No “Who are you? What’s going on? How did I get here?” You ask, amused.

“You’ve watched too many cop shows.”

You laugh again. “Perhaps.”

“I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

“Information.”

“Can’t help you.”

“Sure you can.”

“Why’s that?” He raises a curious eyebrow.

“Found you outside The Red Star. The only people who hang around that bar work for the man that’s responsible for my sister’s kidnapping.”

He laughs humorlessly. “Kid, listen, if your sister was taken by the mob, she probably owed them something she couldn’t repay. You’re going to have to accept your sister was in with the wrong crowd.”

You pull a knife from its sheath at your belt and put it to the man’s neck. He sucks in a breadth.

“Bullshit. Tell me. What do you know about my sister?”

“Nothing.”

You push the knife further against his neck. “Bull.”

“There’s a lot of women in Brooklyn, sweetheart. Can’t expect me to know which one you’re talkin’ about with no information.” He shoots you a cheeky smile.

You sigh and pull away. You pull out your sister’s picture and show it to him.

“Her name is Ellie. Now, spill.”

He leans forward a little to look at the picture before leaning back.

“Never seen her.”

You tilt your head at him and purse your lips.

“You’re lying. You know something.”

“Perceptive are we?”

You hum. He sighs.

“Well, I’m not just going to risk my life and my job for anyone. Who are you? Show your face.”

You roll your eyes, and against your better judgement, you pull your hood back and your mask down. You need answers. The man stares at you, taking in your features, and after what feels like forever, he seems to make a decision. He smirks.

“You’re looking for a man by the name of Barnes, James Barnes. He’s the owner of the bar you took me from, and he’s the head of the Barnes Family. He’ll have the answers you’re looking for.”

“Where can I find him?”

The man grins, a dashing smile.

“I’m right here, Doll.”